{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_55841/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_55841","id":"gutenberg_55841","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55841","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Journals","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Catholic Church -- Periodicals"],"text":"[Transcriber's note:  This text is derived from\n  archive.org/stream/catholicworld06pauluoft/catholicworld06pauluoft_djvu.txt\n  Page numbers are shown in curly braces, such as {123}. They have been\n  moved to the nearest sentence break.]\n\n\n{i}\n\nThe Catholic World.\n\nA Monthly Magazine\n\nOf\n\nGeneral Literature And Science\n\n\nVOL. VI.\n\n\nOctober, 1867, To March, 1868.\n\n\nNew York:\nThe Catholic Publication House,\n126 Nassau Street.\n1868.\n\n{ii}\n\n\n\nJohn A. Gray & Green,\nPrinters,\n16 And 18 Jacob Street, New York.\n\n\n{iii}\n\nContents.\n\nA Royal Nun, 106.\nAim\u00e9e's Sacrifice, 156.\nA Winged Word, 257.\n\nBasher's Sacrifice, and what came of it, 124.\nBaby, 227.\nBellini's Romance, 408.\nBethlehem: A Pilgrimage, 462.\nBunyan, John, and Plagiarism, 535.\nBartoleme Las Casas, 829.\n\nChristian Schools and Scholars, 44.\nCarlyle's Shooting Niagara, 86.\nCartesian Doubt, The, 234.\nComposer's Difficulty, The, 251.\nChristianity in France, Present Condition of, 275, 360.\nCatholic Congress at Malines, The Third, 289.\nConscript, the Story of, 310, 441, 607, 732.\nCornelius, Peter, the Master of German Painting, 391.\nComedy of Convocation, The, 554.\nCatholic Congress of Malines, Bishop Dupanloup's Speech at, 587.\nCouture's Book, 653.\nCanada Thistles, 721.\nComposers, The Rival, 758.\nChurch and her Attributes, The, 788.\n\nDouble Marriage, The, 776.\n\nFaith and the Sciences, 330.\nForget Me Not, 639.\n\nIndians, What shall we do with the, 403.\nIrish in America, The, 765.\nItaly, Affairs in, 814.\n\nJesuits in North America, The, 192.\nJustification, The Catholic Doctrine of, 433.\nJoseph G\u00f6rres, 497.\n\nKings of England, The Title of, 257.\n\nLearned Women and Studious Women, 24, 209.\nLabor Question, The, 472.\nLibraries--Family, Parish, and Sunday-School, 546.\nLacordaire, Inner Life of, 689.\n\nManager's Dilemma, The, 20.\nMartyrs of Gorcum, The, 71.\nMeadowbrook Adventure, My, 346.\nMagas; or, Long Ago, 666, 804.\nMiscellany, 709.\nNature and Grace, 509.\n\nOur Boy Organist, 64.\nOld Guide to Good Manners, An, 98.\nOld Religion, The, 622.\nOld Roman World, The, 751.\n\nProtestants, A Few Thoughts about, 132.\nParis Impious--and Religious Paris, 577.\nPhilosophy not always Vain, 680.\nParis, The Pre-Historical Congress of, 703.\n\nRome and the World, 1.\nRitualism and its True Meaning, 375.\nReign of Law, The, 595.\n\nSayings of the Fathers of the Desert, 92, 171, 421, 700, 851.\nSubjective in Religion, Function of the, 175.\nStage-Coach, The Inside of, 412.\nSandal of His Holiness, The Ceremonial, 471.\nSacrifice and the Ransom, The, 485.\n\nTemporal Power of the Popes, The, 528.\nThe Pre-Historical Congress of Paris, 703.\n\nWomen, Learned and Studious, 24, 209.\nWashington, Unpublished Letters of, 145.\nWhat Doctor Marks died of, 824.\n\n------\n\nPoetry.\n\nAll Souls' Day, 172.\nAbscondita, 731.\n\nBeati Mites, Quoniam Ipse Possidebunt Terram, 606.\n\nDivine Loadstone, The, 757.\n\nIn Memoriam, 43.\nImogen, 190.\n\nJoy and Grief, 358.\n\nLove of the Pardoned, The, 823.\n\nMater Filii, 484.\nMatin, 527.\n\nOur Lady, 62.\n\nPer Liquidum AEthera Vates, 327.\nProvidence, 701.\n\nRan Away to Sea, 103.\n\nSeventy-Three, 266.\nSeven Sleepers, The Legend of the, 544.\nSub Umbra, 638.\n\nWith Christ, 19.\n\n------\n\n{iv}\n\nNew Publications.\n\n\nAner's Return, 430.\nAlexis, the Runaway, 575.\n\nBattle-Fields of Ireland, The, 288.\nBlessed Margaret Mary, History of, 287.\nBohemians of the Fifteenth Century, 144.\nBreaking Away, 575.\nBlessed Eucharist, The, 859.\n\nClergy and the Pulpit, 139.\nCatholic Crusoe, 430.\nClimbing the Rope, 575.\nChildhood, Happy Hours of, 576.\nCoral Island, The, 717.\nCatholic Poets, Selections from, 718.\nClaudia, 719.\nComedy of Convocation, The, 719.\nCatholic Almanac, 720.\nCromwellian Settlement of Ireland, The, 859.\n\nDay's Synthesis and Art of Discourse, 425.\nDotty Dimple, 576.\nDaughter of an Empress, The, 713\n\nEssays on Religion and Literature, 141.\nExtracts from the Fathers, 144.\n\nFroude's Short Studies on Great Subjects, 428.\nFolks and Fairies, 860.\n\nGalin Method of Musical Instruction, The, 430.\nGolden Truths, 716.\n\nHeiress of Killorgan, The, 432.\nHaldeman's Affixes, their Origin and Application, 432.\nHoly Kings, The Three, 573.\nHildebert, The Hymn of, 574.\nHolly and Mistletoe, 576.\nHome Fairy Tales, 860.\n\nIrish Reformation, Dr. Brady on the, 571.\nIreland, an Illustrated History of, 855.\nIreland, Legends of the Wars in, 858.\n\nKatrina, Holland's, 285.\n\nLacorclaire's Letters to Young Men, 144.\nLife of St. Aloysius Gonzaga, The, 288.\nLittle Pet Books, 288.\nLife of Curran and Grattan, The, 576.\nLayman's Breviary, The, 717.\nLovers' Dictionary, 860.\n\nModern History, Fredet's and Kearney's, 144,\nMeditations of St. Thomas, 431.\nMy Prisons, 575.\nMarie Antoinette and her Son, 713.\nMorgan Rattler, 717.\nManual of Physical Exercises, 860.\n\nNapoleon and Queen of Prussia, 713.\nNewman's Verses on Various Occasions, 858.\n\nPreston's Lectures on Reason and Revelation, 710.\nPoems, 711.\n\nQueens of American Society, The, 719.\n\nRecamier, Madame, Life of, 430.\nRome and the Popes, 718.\n\nSwetchine, Madame, Life of, 429.\nSaint Ignatius and the Society of Jesus, 431.\nSaint Gwendoline, Ye Legend of, 573.\nShamrock and Thistle, 574.\nSaint Vincent de Paul, The Spirit of, 718.\nSaint Francis of Assisi, Life of, 718.\nSeek and Find, 720.\nStrickland's Queens of England, 860.\n\nTwo Thousand Miles on Horseback, 715.\nTommy Hickup, 720.\n\nUberto, 286.\nUngava, 717.\n\nVotary, The, 286.\n\nWhitney on Language and the Study of Language, 423.\nWomen, The Friendships of, 852.\n\nYoung Fur Traders, The, 717.\n\n------\n\n{1}\n\nThe Catholic World\n\nVol. Vi., No. 31.--October, 1867.\n\n------\n\n    Rome And The World.\n\n\nUnder the head _Rome or Reason_ we showed in THE CATHOLIC\nWORLD for last month that Catholicity is based on reality, and is\nthe synthesis, so to speak, of Creator and creature, of God and\nman, of heaven and earth, nature and grace, faith and reason,\nauthority and liberty, revelation and science, and that there is\nin the real order no antagonism between the two terms or\ncategories. The supposed antagonism results from not\nunderstanding the real nexus that unites them in one dialectic\nwhole, and forms the ground of their mutual conciliation and\npeace, expressed in the old sense of the word \"atonement.\"\n\nChristianity is supernatural, indeed, but it is not an\nafter-thought, or an anomaly in the original plan of creation.\nOur Lord was the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world; the\nIncarnation is included in creation as its completion or\nfulfilment; and hence many theologians hold that, even if man had\nnot sinned, God would have become incarnate, not, indeed, to\nredeem man from sin and death which comes by sin, but to ennoble\nhis nature, and to enable him to attain to that supernatural\nunion with God in which alone he finds or can find his supreme\ngood or perfect beatitude. Christianity, whether this be so or\nnot, must always be regarded as teleological, the religion of the\nend--not accidentally so, but made so in the original plan of the\nCreator. It enters dialectically, not arbitrarily, into that\nplan, and really completes it. In this view of the case the\nCreator's works from first to last are dialectical, and there is\nand can be no contradiction in them; no discrepancy between the\nnatural and supernatural, between faith and reason, nature and\ngrace, the beginning, medium, and end, but all form integral\nparts of one indissoluble whole.\n\nBut, if there is and can be no antagonism between Rome and\nReason, there certainly is an antagonism between Rome and the\nWorld, which must not be overlooked or counted for nothing, and\nwhich will, in some form, most likely, subsist as long as the\nworld stands. Rome symbolizes for us the catholic religion, or\nthe divine order, which is the law of life.\n{2}\nThe Catholic Church in its present state dates only from the\nIncarnation, out of which it grows, and of which it is in some\nsort the visible continuation; but the Catholic religion, as the\nfaith, as the law of life, dates from the beginning. The just\nbefore the coming of Christ were just on the same principles, by\nthe same faith, and by obedience to the same divine law, or\nconformity to the same divine order, that they are now, and will\nbe to the end; and hence the deist Tindal expressed a truth which\nhe was far from comprehending when he asserted that \"Christianity\nis as old as the world.\" Tindal's great error was in\nunderstanding by Christianity only the natural law promulgated\nthrough natural reason, and in denying the supernatural.\nChristianity is that and more too. It includes, and from the\nfirst has included, in their synthesis, both the natural and the\nsupernatural. The human race has never had but one true or real\nreligion, but one revelation, which, as St. Thomas teaches, was\nmade in substance to our first parents in the garden. Times\nchange, says St. Augustine, but faith changes not. As believed\nthe fathers--the patriarchs--so believe we, only they believed in\na Christ to come, and we in a Christ that has come. Prior to the\nactual coming of Christ the Church existed, but in a state of\npromise, and needed his actual coming to be perfected, or\nfulfilled, as St. Paul teaches us in his epistle to the Hebrews;\nand hence none who died before the Incarnation actually entered\nheaven till after the passion of our Lord.\n\nNow, to this divine order, this divine law, this catholic faith\nand worship symbolized to us by Rome, the visible centre of its\nunity and authority, stands opposed another order, not of life,\nbut of death, called the world, originating with our first\nparents, and in their disobedience to the divine law, or\nviolation of the divine order established by the Creator,\nconformity to which was essential to the moral life and\nperfection of the creature, or fulfilment of the promise given\nman in creation. The order violated was founded in the eternal\nwisdom and goodness of the Creator, and the relations which\nnecessarily subsist between God as creator and man as his\ncreature, the work of his hands. There is and can be for man no\nother law of life; even God himself can establish no other. By\nobedience to the law given or conformity to the order established\nman is normally developed, lives a true normal life, and attains\nto his appointed end, which is the completion of his being in\nGod, his beatitude or supreme good. But Satan tempted our first\nparents to depart from this order and to transgress the divine\nlaw, and in their transgression of the law they fell into sin,\nand founded what we call the world--not on the law of life, but\non what is necessarily the law of death.\n\nThe principle of the world may be collected from the words of the\nTempter to Eve: \"Ye shall not surely die, but shall be as gods,\nknowing good and evil.\" These words deny the law of God, declare\nit false, and promise to men independence of their Creator, and\nthe ability to be their own masters, their own teachers and\nguides. \"Ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil;\" that is,\ndetermining for yourselves, independently of any superior, what\nis right or wrong, good or evil, or what is or is not fitting for\nyou to do. You shall suffice for yourselves, and be your own law.\nHence, as the basis of Rome is the assertion of the divine law,\nconformity to the divine order, or submission to the divine\nreason and will, that is, humility, the basis of the world is the\ndenial of the divine order, the rejection of the law of life and\nthe assertion of the sufficiency of man for himself, that is,\nsimply, pride.\n{3}\nRome is based on humility, the world on pride; the spirit of Rome\nis loyalty and obedience, the spirit of the world is disloyalty\nand disobedience, always and everywhere the spirit of revolt or\nrebellion. Between these two spirits there is necessarily an\nindestructible antagonism, and no possible reconciliation.\n\nThe radical difference between Rome and the world is the radical\ndifference between the humility of the Christian and the pride of\nthe Stoic. All Christian piety and virtue are based on humility;\nthe piety and virtue of the stoic are based on pride. The\nChristian is always deeply impressed with the greatness and\ngoodness of God; the stoic with the greatness and strength of\nhimself. The Christian submits to crosses and disappointments, to\nthe sufferings and afflictions of life, because he loves God, and\nis willing to suffer anything for his sake; the stoic endures\nthem without a murmur, because he disdains to complain, and holds\nthat he is, and should be, superior to all the vicissitudes and\ncalamities of life. The Christian weeps as his Master wept at the\ngrave of Lazarus, and finds relief in his tears; the stoic is too\nproud to weep; he wraps himself in his own dignity and\nself-importance, and, when his calamities are greater than he can\nbear, he seeks relief, like Cato, in suicide, thus proving his\nweakness by the very means he takes to conceal it. The Christian\nthrows his burden on the Lord, and rises above it; the stoic\ninsists on bearing it himself, and at last sinks under it. The\nworld despises humility, and tramples on the humble. To it the\nChristian is tame, passive, mean-spirited, contemptible. It has\nno sympathy with the beatitudes, such as, Blessed are the poor in\nspirit; blessed are the pure in heart; blessed are the meek;\nblessed are the peacemakers. It understands nothing of true\nChristian heroism, or of the greatness of repose. It sees\nstrength only in effort, which is always a proof of weakness, and\nthe harder one strains and tugs to raise a weight, the stronger\nit holds him. We may see it in the popular literature of the day,\nand in nearly all recent art. The ancients had a much truer\nthought when they sculptured their gods asleep, and spread over\ntheir countenance an air of ineffable repose. The Scriptures\nspeak of the mighty works of God, but represent them as the\nhiding of his power. All the great operations of nature are\nperformed in silence, and the world notes them not. The\nChristian's greatness is concealed by the veil of humility, and\nhis strength is hidden with God. He works in silence, but with\neffect, because he works with the power of Him to whom is given\nall power in heaven and in earth.\n\nMr. Gladstone thinks he finds in Homer the whole body of the\npatriarchal religion, or the primitive tradition of the race, and\nhe probably is not much mistaken; but no one can study Homer's\nheroes without being struck with the contrast they offer to the\nheroes of the Old Testament. The Old Testament heroes are as\nbrave, as daring, and as effective as those of Homer; but they\nconceal their own personality, they go forth to battle in\nsubmission to the divine command, not seeking to display their\nown skill or prowess, and the glory of their achievements they\nascribe to God, who goes with them, assists them, fights for\nthem, and gives the victory. What is manifest is the presence and\ngreatness of God, not the greatness and strength of the hero, who\nis nothing in himself. In Homer the case is reversed, and what\nstrikes the reader is the littleness of God and the greatness of\nmen.\n{4}\nThe gods and goddesses take part in the fray, it is true, but\nthey are hardly the equals of the human warriors themselves. A\nhuman spear wounds Venus, and sends Mars howling from the field.\nIt is human greatness and strength, human prowess and heroism,\nwithout any reference to God, to whom belongs the glory, that the\npoet sings, the creature regarded as independent of the Creator.\nIn reading the Old Testament, you lose sight of the glory of men\nin the glory of God; in reading Homer, you lose sight of the\nglory of God in the glory of men. Abraham, Joshua, Gideon,\nJephtha, David, the Maccabees fight as the servants of the Most\nHigh; Agamemnon, Ajax, Diomed, Achilles, even Hector, to display\ntheir own power, and to prove the stuff that is in them.\n\nPerhaps no author, ancient or modern, has so completely embodied\nin his writings, the spirit of the world, the Welt-Geist, as the\nGermans say, as Thomas Carlyle. This writer may have done some\nservice to society in exposing many cants, in demolishing\nnumerous shams, and in calling attention to the eternal verities,\nof which few men are more ignorant; but he has deified force, and\nconsecrated the worship of might in the place of right. Indeed,\nfor him, right is cant, and there is no right but might. He\nspurns humility, submission, obedience, and recognizes God only\nin human ability. His hero-worship is the worship of the strong\nand the successful. Ability, however directed or wherever\ndisplayed, is his divinity. His heroes are Woden and Thor,\nCromwell, Frederick the Great, Mirabeau, Danton, Napoleon\nBonaparte. The men who go straight to their object, whether good\nor bad, and use the means necessary to gain it, whether right or\nwrong, are for him the divine men, and the only thing he censures\nis weakness, whether caused by indecision or scruples of\nconscience. His hero is an elemental force, who acts as the\nlightning that rives the oak, or the winds that fill the sails\nand drive the ship to its port. Old-fashioned morality, which\nrequires a man to seek just ends by just means, is with him a\ncant, a sham, an unreality, and the true hero makes away with it,\nand is his own end, his own law, his own means. He is not\ngoverned, he governs, and is the real being, the real God; all\nelse belong to the unveracities, are mere simulacra, whose end is\nto vanish in thin air, to disappear in the inane. The man who\nrecognizes a power above him, a right independent of him, and in\nsubmission to the divine law, and from love of truth and justice,\nweds himself to what is commanded, espouses the right and adheres\nto it through good report and evil report, takes up the cause of\nthe oppressed, the wronged and outraged, the poor, the\nfriendless, and the down-trodden, and works for it, gives his\nsoul to it, and sacrifices his time, his labor, and his very life\nto advance it, when he has no man with him, and all the world\nunheeds, jeers, or thwarts him, is unheroic, and has no moral\ngrandeur in him, has no virtue--unless he succeeds. He is a hero\nonly when he carries the world with him, bends the multitude to\nhis purpose, and comes out triumphant. The unsuccessful are\nalways wrong; lost causes are always bad causes; and the\nunfortunate are unveracious, and deserve their fate. The good man\nstruggling with fate, and holding fast to his integrity in the\nmidst of the sorest trials and temptations, and overborne in all\nthings save his unconquerable devotion to duty, is no hero, and\ndeserves no honor, though even the ancients thought such a man\nworthy of the admiration of gods and men.\n{5}\nCarlyle forgets that there is an hereafter, and that what to our\ndim vision may seem to be failure here may there be seen to have\nbeen the most eminent success. The Christians conquered the\nworld, not by slaying, but by being slain, and the race has been\nredeemed by the Cross. Indeed, pride is always a proof of\nmeanness and weakness, is an unveracity; for it is born of a lie,\nand rests on a lie: all real magnanimity and strength for men\nspring from humility, which is not a falsehood, but a veracity;\nfor it is conformity to the truth of things.\n\nThe principle of opposition to the church is always and\neverywhere the same, invariable in time and place as the church\nherself, and has a certain consistency, a certain logic of its\nown; but it varies its form from age to age and from nation to\nnation, and is enraged at the church because she does not vary\nwith it. It is always at bottom, whatever its form, the\nassumption that the creature does or may suffice for itself: \"Ye\nshall not surely die, but shall be as gods, knowing good and\nevil.\" This primitive falsehood, this satanic lie, underlies all\nthe hostility of the world to the church, or of the world to\nRome. Analyze what is called the world, and you will find that it\nis only a perpetual effort or series of efforts to realize the\npromise made by the serpent to Eve in the garden, when coiled\nround the tree of knowledge. The world labors to exalt the\ndignity and glory of man, not as a creature dependent for his\nexistence, for all he is or can be, on the Creator, which would\nbe just and proper, but as an independent, self-acting, and\nself-determining being, accountable, individually or socially,\nonly to himself for his thoughts, words, and deeds--subject to no\nlaw but his own will, appetites, passions, natural propensities,\nand tendencies. He is himself his own law, his own master, and\nshould be free from all restraint and all control not in himself.\n\nIt is easy, therefore, to understand why, with the world and with\nmen filled with the spirit of the world, Rome is held to be the\nsymbol of despotism, and the church to be inherently and\nnecessarily hostile to the freedom of thought and to all civil\nand religious liberty. The world understands by liberty\nindependence of action, and therefore exemption from all\nobligation of obedience, or subjection to any law, not\nself-imposed. It holds the free man to be one who is under no\ncontrol, subject to no restraint, and responsible to no will but\nhis own. This is its view of liberty, and consequently whatever\nrestricts liberty in this sense, and places man under a law which\nhe is bound to recognize and obey, is in its vocabulary\ndespotism, opposed to the rights of man, the rights of the mind,\nthe rights of society, or the freedom and independence of the\nsecular order. Liberty in this broad and universal sense\nobviously cannot be the right or prerogative of any creature, for\nthe creature necessarily depends for all he is or has on the\ncreator. Hence M. Proudhon, who maintained that property is\nrobbery, with a rigid logic that has hardly been appreciated,\nasserts that the existence of God is incompatible with the\nassertion of the liberty of man. Admit, he says, the existence of\nGod, and you must concede all the authority claimed by the\nCatholic Church. The foundation of all despotism is in the belief\nin the existence of God, and you must deny, obliterate that\nbelief, before you can assert and maintain liberty. He was right,\nif we take liberty as the world takes it. Liberty, as the world\nunderstands it, is the liberty of a god, not of a creature.\n{6}\nRome asserts and maintains full liberty of man as a creature; but\nshe does and must oppose liberty in the broad, universal sense of\nthe world; for her very mission is to assert and maintain the\nsupremacy of the divine order, the authority of God over all the\nworks of his hands, and alike over men as individuals and as\nnations. She asserts indeed, liberty in its true sense; but she,\ndoes and must oppose the liberty the world demands, the liberty\npromised by Satan to our first parents, and which, in truth,\nshould be called license, not liberty, and also those who strive\nfor it as disloyal to God, as rebels to their rightful sovereign,\nchildren of disobedience, warring against, as Carlyle would say,\nthe veracities, the eternal verities, the truth of things, or\ndivine reality. There is no help for it. The church must do so,\nor be false to her trust, false to her God, false to the divine\norder; for, let the world say what it will, man is not God, but\nGod's creature, and God is sovereign Lord and proprietor of the\nuniverse, since he has made it, and the maker has the sovereign\nright to the thing made. Here is no room for compromise, and the\nstruggle must continue till the world abandons its false notion\nof liberty, and submits to the divine government. Till then the\nchurch is and must be the church militant, and carry on the war\nagainst the world, whatever shape it may assume.\n\nWith the ancient Gentiles the world rather perverted and\ncorrupted the truth than absolutely rejected it, and fell into\nidolatry and superstition rather than into absolute atheism. The\nEpicureans were, indeed, virtually atheists, but they never\nconstituted the great body of any Gentile nation. The heathen\ngenerally retained a dim and shadowy belief in the divinity, even\nin the unity of God; but they lost the conception of him as\ncreator, and consequently of man and the universe as his\ncreature. By substituting in their philosophy generation,\nemanation, or formation for creation, they obscured the sense of\nman's dependence on God as creator, and consequently destroyed\nthe necessary relation between religion and morality. No moral\nideas entered into their worship, and they worshipped the gods to\nwhom they erected temples and made offerings, not from a sense of\nduty or from the moral obligation of the creature to adore his\nCreator and give himself to him, but from motives of interest, to\navert their displeasure, appease their wrath, or to render them\npropitious to their undertakings, whether private enterprises or\npublic war and conquest. They asserted for man and society\nindependence of the divine order as a moral order. Severed from\nall moral conceptions, their religion became a degraded and\ndegrading superstition, an intolerable burden to the soul, and\ntheir worship the embodiment of impurity and corruption. Such was\nthe effect of the great Gentile apostasy, or Gentile attempt to\nrealize the freedom and independence promised by Satan. The\npromise proved a lie.\n\nWhen the church in her present state was established, the world\nopposed her in the name of the liberty or independence of the\ntemporal order, which implies as its basis the independence of\nthe creature of the creator, and therefore resting on the same\nsatanic promise, \"Ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.\"\nWhen our Lord was brought before Pontius Pilate, and Pilate was\nabout to dismiss the charges against him and to let him go, the\nJews changed his purpose by telling him, \"If you let this man go,\nyou are no friend to Caesar.\"\n{7}\nThe heathen persecutions of the Christians were principally on\nthe ground that they were disloyal to the empire, inasmuch as\nthey rejected its worship, and asserted the immediate divine\nauthority of their religion and its independence of the state or\ncivil society, holding firmly always and everywhere the maxim,\n\"We must obey God rather than men.\" All down through the\nbarbarous ages that followed the downfall of the Roman empire of\nthe West, through the feudal ages, and down even to our own\ntimes, the state has claimed supreme authority over the church in\nregard to her temporal goods and her government, and has\nconstantly sought to subject her to the civil authority, which in\nprinciple is the same with subjecting God to man. The world\nrepresented by Caesar has constantly struggled to subvert the\nindependence of religion, and to exalt the human above the\ndivine. This is the meaning of the mediaeval contests between the\npope and the emperor, as we have heretofore shown. There is not\nat this day, unless Belgium be an exception, a single state in\nEurope where the temporal power leaves religion free and\nindependent, or where the church has not to struggle against the\ngovernment to maintain the independence of the divine order she\nrepresents. Fidelity to God is held to be treason to the state,\nand hence Elizabeth of England executes Catholics at Tyburn as\ntraitors.\n\nThe age boasts of progress, and calls through all its thousands\nof organs upon us to admire the marvellous progress it has made,\nand is every hour making. It is right, if what it means by\nprogress really be progress. It has certainly gone further than\nany preceding age in emancipating itself from the supremacy of\nthe law of God, in trampling on the divine order, and asserting\nthe supremacy of man. It has drawn the last logical consequences\ncontained in the lying promise of Satan, \"Ye shall be as gods,\nknowing good and evil.\" There is no use in denying or seeking to\ndisguise it. The world as opposed to Rome, ceases entirely to\nregard man as a creature, and boldly and unblushingly puts him in\nall respects in the place of God. God, when not openly denied to\nexist, is denied as creator: he is at most _natura\nnaturans_, and identical with what are called the laws of\nnature. Hundreds of _savans_ are busy with the effort to\nexplain the universe without recognizing a creator, and to prove\nthat effects may be obtained without causes. Science stops at\nsecond causes, or, rather, with the investigation and\nclassification of phenomena, laughs at final causes, and, if it\ndoes not absolutely deny a first cause, relegates it to the\nregion of the unknowable, and treats it as if it were not. The\nadvanced philosophers of the age see no difference between moral\nlaws and physical laws, between gratitude and gravitation. The\nheart secretes virtue as the liver secretes bile, and virtue\nitself consists not in a voluntary act of obedience, or in\ndeliberately acting for a prescribed end, but in force of nature,\nin following one's instincts, and acting out one's self, heedless\nof consequences, and without any consideration of moral\nobligation. Truth is a variable quantity, and is one thing with\nme and another with my neighbor. There is no providence, or\nprovidence is fate, and God is the theological name given to the\nforces of nature, especially human nature; there is no divinity\nbut man; all worship except that of humanity is idolatry or\nsuperstition; the race is immortal, but individuals, are mortal,\nand there is no resurrection of the dead.\n{8}\nSome, like Fourier and Auguste Comte, even deny that the race is\nimmortal, and suppose that in time it will disappear in the\ninane.\n\nBut, without going any further into detail, we may say generally\nthe age asserts the complete emancipation of man and his\ninstitutions from all intellectual, moral, and spiritual control\nor restraint, and under the name of liberty asserts the complete\nand absolute independence of man both individually and\ncollectively, and under pretence of democratic freedom wars\nagainst all authority and all government, whether political or\necclesiastical. It does not like to concede even the axioms of\nthe mathematician or the definitions of the geometrician, and\nsees in them a certain limitation of intellectual freedom. To ask\nit to conform to fixed and invariable principles, or to insist\nthat there are principles independent of the human mind, or to\nmaintain that truth is independent of opinion, and that opinions\nare true or false as they do or do not conform to it, is to seek\nto trammel free and independent thought, and to outrage what is\nmost sacred and divine in man. The mind must be free, and to be\nfree it must be free from all obligation to seek, to recognize,\nor to conform to truth. Indeed, there is no truth but what the\nmind conceives to be such, and the mind is free to abide by its\nown conceptions, for they are the truth for it. Rome, in\nasserting that truth is independent of the human will, human\npassions and conceptions, one and universal, and always and\neverywhere the same, and in condemning as error whatever denies\nit or does not conform to it, is a spiritual despotism, which\nevery just and noble principle of human nature, the irrepressible\ninstincts of humanity itself, wars against, and resists by every\nmeans in its power.\n\nWe have shown that the world, as opposed to Rome, rests on the\nsatanic falsehood, and this conception of liberty, which Rome\nrejects and wars against, has no other basis than the satanic\npromise, \"Ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil,\" or be your\nown masters as God is his own master, and suffice for yourselves\nas he suffices for himself. The world is not wrong in asserting\nliberty, but wrong in its definition of liberty, or in demanding\nfor man not the proper liberty of the creature, but the liberty\nwhich can exist only for the Creator. By claiming for man a\nliberty not possible for a dependent creature, the world loses\nthe liberty to which it has, under God, the right, and falls\nunder the worst of all tyrannies. Liberty is a right, but, if\nthere is no right, how can you defend liberty as a right? If\nliberty is not a right, no wrong is done in violating it, and\ntyranny is as lawful as freedom. Here is a difficulty in the very\noutset that the world cannot get over. It must assert right,\ntherefore the order of justice, before it can assert its liberty\nagainst Rome; and, if it does assert such order, it concedes what\nRome maintains, that liberty is founded in the order of justice,\nand cannot transcend what is true and just. The world does not\nsee that, in denying the spiritual order represented by Rome, it\ndenies the very basis of liberty, and all difference between\nliberty and despotism, because it is only on the supposition of\nsuch order that liberty can be defended as a right, or despotism\ncondemned as a wrong.\n\nIt is alleged against Rome that she opposes modern civilization.\nThis is so or not so, according to what we understand by modern\ncivilization.\n{9}\nIf we understand by modern civilization the rejection of the\ndivine order, the supremacy of spiritual truth, and the assertion\nof the divinity and independence of man, Rome undoubtedly opposes\nit, and must oppose it; but, if we understand by modern\ncivilization the melioration of the laws, the development of\nhumane sentiments, the power acquired by the people in the\nmanagement of their temporal affairs, and the material progress\neffected by the application of the truths of science to the\nindustrial arts, the invention of the steam-engine, the\nsteamboat, the railway and locomotive, and the lightning\ntelegraph, the extension of commerce and increased facilities of\ninternational communication, though probably a greater value is\nattached to these things than truth warrants, she by no means\nopposes or discourages modern civilization. Undoubtedly she\nplaces heaven above earth, and is more intent on training men for\neternal beatitude than on promoting temporal prosperity of this\nlife. The earth is not our end, and riches are not the supreme\ngood. She asserts a higher than worldly wisdom, and holds that\nthe beggar has at least as good a chance of heaven as the rich\nman clothed in fine linen and faring sumptuously every day. She\nwould rather see men intent on saving their souls than engrossed\nwith money-making. The experience of modern society proves that\nin this she is right. We live in an industrial age, and never in\nany age of the world did people labor longer or harder than they\ndo now to obtain the means of subsistence, and never was the\nhonest poor man less esteemed, wealth more highly honored, or\nmammon more devoutly worshipped; yet the church never opposes\nearthly well-being, and regards it with favor when made\nsubsidiary to the ultimate end of man.\n\nYet certain words have become sacramental for the world, and are\nadopted by men who would shrink from the sense given them by the\nmore advanced liberals of the day; and these men regard Rome,\nwhen condemning them in that extreme sense, as condemning modern\ncivilization itself. We take the Encyclical of the Holy Father,\nissued December 8, 1864. The whole non-Catholic world, and even\nsome Catholics, poorly informed as to their own religion or as to\nthe meaning of the errors condemned, regarded that Encyclical as\na fulmination against liberty and all modern civilization. Nobody\ncan forget the outcry raised everywhere by the secular press\nagainst the Holy Father, and what are called the retrograde\ntendencies of the Catholic Church. The pope, it was said, has\ncondemned all free thought and both civil and religious liberty,\nthe development of modern society, and all modern progress. Yet\nit is very likely that four fifths of those who joined in the\noutcry, had they been able to discriminate between what they\nthemselves really mean to defend under the names of liberty,\nprogress, and civilization, and what the more advanced liberals\nhold and seek to propagate, would have seen that the pope in\nreality condemned only the errors which they themselves condemn,\nand asserted only what they themselves really hold. He condemned\nnothing which is not a simple logical deduction from the words of\nthe arch-tempter, the liar from the beginning and the father of\nlies, addressed to our first parents. All the errors condemned in\nthe Syllabus are errors which tend to deny or obscure the divine\nexistence, the fact of creation, the authority of the Creator,\nthe supremacy of the divine or spiritual order, to undermine all\nreligion and morality, all civil government, and even society\nitself; and to render all science, all liberty, all progress, and\nall civilization impossible, as we have shown over and over again\nin the pages of this Magazine.\n\n{10}\n\nThe numbers who embrace in their fullest extent the extreme views\nwe have set forth, though greater than it is pleasant to believe,\nare yet not great enough to give of themselves any serious alarm,\nand hence many able and well-meaning men who have not the least\nsympathy with them attach no great importance to them, and treat\nthem with superb contempt; but they are in reality only the\nadvance-guard of a much larger and more formidable body, who\nmarch under the same drapeau and adopt the same counter-sign. The\nArchbishop of Westminster, than whom we can hardly name an abler\nor more enlightened prelate in the church, has said truly in a\nlate Pastoral,\n\n  \"That the age of heresies is past. No one now dreams of\n  revising the teaching of the church, or of making a new form of\n  Christianity. For this the age is too resolute and consistent.\n  Faith or unbelief is an intelligible alternative; but between\n  variations and fragments of Christianity men have no care to\n  choose. All or none is clear and consistent; but more or less\n  is halting and undecided. Revelation is a perfect whole,\n  pervaded throughout by the veracity and authority of God, the\n  Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. To reject any of it is to reject\n  the whole law of divine faith; to criticise it and to remodel\n  it is to erect the human reason as judge and measure of the\n  divine. And such is heresy; an intellectual aberration which in\n  these last ages has been carried to its final analysis, and\n  exposed not only by the theology of the church but by the\n  common sense of rationalism. We may look for prolific and\n  antichristian errors in abundance, but heresies in Christianity\n  are out of date.\"\n\nThe great body of those outside of the Catholic communion, as\nwell as some nominally in it, but not of it, who are still\nattached to the Christian name, adopt the watchwords of the\nextreme party, and are tending in the same direction. Mazzini and\nGaribaldi are heroes with the mass of Englishmen and Americans,\nwho wish them success in their anti-religious and anti-social\nmovements. The universal secular press, the great power in modern\nsociety, with the whole sectarian press, has applauded the\nnefarious measures of intriguing Italian statesmen, demagogues,\nand apostates by which the Holy Father has been stripped of the\ngreater part of his temporal possessions, the church despoiled of\nher goods, religious houses suppressed, and the freedom and\nindependence of religion abolished throughout the Italian\npeninsula. The only non-Catholic voice we have heard raised in\nsympathy with the pope is that of Guizot, the ex-premier of Louis\nPhilippe. Guizot, though a Protestant, sees that the papacy is\nessential to the Catholic Church, and that the Catholic Church is\nessential to the preservation of Christian civilization, the\nmaintenance of society and social order. Our own secular press,\nso loud in its praise of religious liberty, applauds the Mexican\nJuarez for his confiscation of the goods of the church in the\npoor, distracted republic of Mexico. The sympathy of the world,\nof the age, is with every movement that tends to weaken the power\nof the church, the authority of religion, and even the authority\nof the state. The tendency with great masses who believe\nthemselves Christians, a blind tendency it may be, is to\nno-religion or infidelity, and to no-governmentism. It is this\nfact that constitutes the danger to be combated.\n\nThe difficulty of combating it is very great. The mass of the\npeople are caught by words without taking note of the meaning\nattached to them.\n{11}\nWhere they find the consecrated terms of faith and piety, they\nnaturally conclude that faith and piety are there. But to a great\nextent the enemies of Christianity oppose Christianity under\nChristian names. It is characteristic of this age that infidelity\ndisguises itself in a Christian garb, and utters its blasphemy in\nChristian phraseology, its falsehoods in the language of truth.\nSatan disguises himself as an angel of light, comes as a\nphilanthropist, talks of humanity, professes to be the champion\nof science, intelligence, education, liberty, progress, social\namelioration, and the moral, intellectual, and physical elevation\nof the poorer and more numerous classes--all good things, when\nrightly understood, and in their time and place. We cannot oppose\nhim without seeming to many to oppose what is a Christian duty.\nIf we oppose false intelligence, we are immediately accused of\nbeing opposed to intelligence; if we oppose a corrupt and baneful\neducation, we are accused of being in favor of popular ignorance,\nand lovers of darkness; if we oppose false liberty, or license\npresented under the name of liberty, we are charged with being\nthe enemies of true freedom; if we assert authority, however\nlegitimate or necessary, then we are despots and the advocates of\ndespotism. The press opens its cry against us, and the age votes\nus mediaeval dreamers, behind the times, relics of the past, with\nour eyes on the backside of our heads, and the truth is drowned\nin the floods of indignation or ridicule poured out against us.\nOur success would be hopeless, if we could not rely on the\nsupport of Him whose cause we seek to the best of our ability to\ndefend, and who after all reigneth in the heavens, and is able to\nmake the wrath of man praise him, and can overrule evil for good.\n\nIt is alleged that the church opposes democracy, and is leagued\nwith the despots against the people. The church herself leagues\nneither with democracy nor with monarchy. She leaves the people\nfree to adopt the form of government they prefer. She opposes\nmovements pretendedly in favor of democracy only when they are in\nviolation of social order and opposed to legitimate authority,\nand she supports monarchy only where monarchy is the law, and it\nis necessary to uphold it as the condition of maintaining social\norder, and saving civilization from the barbarism that threatens\nto invade it. In the sixteenth century and the beginning of the\nseventeenth century the contrary charge was preferred, and the\nChurch was condemned by the world on the ground of being hostile\nto kingly government; for public opinion then favored absolute\nmonarchy, as it does now absolute democracy. We believe our own\nform of government the best for us, but we dare not say that\nother forms of government are not the best for other nations.\nDespotism is never legitimate; but we know no law of God or\nnature that makes democracy obligatory upon every people, and no\nreason for supposing that real liberty keeps pace with the\nprogress of democracy. Democracy did not save France from the\nReign of Terror and the most odious tyranny, and it certainly has\nnot secured liberty and good order in Mexico. With us it is yet\nan experiment and we can pronounce nothing with certainty till we\nhave seen the result of the crisis we are now passing through. We\nowe to it a fearful civil war and the suppression of a formidable\nrebellion, but the end is not yet. Still, there is nothing in our\nform of government in discord with the Catholic Church, and we\nfirmly believe that, if maintained in its purity and integrity,\nshe would find under it a freer field for her exertions than has\never yet been afforded her in the Old World.\n{12}\nAt any rate, there is no room for doubt that the country needs\nthe church to sustain our political institutions, and to secure\ntheir free and beneficial workings.\n\nBut the world does not gain what it seeks. It does not gain\ninward freedom, freedom of soul and of thought. It is difficult\nto conceive a worse bondage than he endures who feels that for\ntruth and goodness he has no dependence but himself. One wants\nsomething on which to rest, something firm and immovable, and no\nbondage is more painful than the feeling that we stand on an\ninsecure foundation, ready to give way under us if we seek to\nrest our whole weight on it, and that our constructions, however\ningenious, can stand only as we uphold them with might and main.\nThe man with only himself for support, is Atlas bearing the\nweight of the world on his shoulders in a treadmill. He is a man,\nas we know by experience, crossing a deep and broad river on\nfloating cakes of ice, each too small to bear his weight, and\nsinking as soon as he strikes it. He must constantly keep\nspringing from one to another to save his life, and yet, however\nrapidly he springs, gains nothing more solid or less movable. The\nworld in its wisdom is just agoing to get on to something on\nwhich it can stand and rest, but it never does. Its castles are\nbuilt in the air, and it spends all its labor for naught. All its\nefforts defeat themselves. Its philanthropy aggravates the evils\nit would redress, or creates others that are greater and less\neasily cured. In seeking mental freedom, it takes from the mind\nthe light without which it cannot operate; in seeking freedom\nfrom the king, it falls under the tyranny of the mob; and, to get\nrid of the tyranny of the mob falls under that of the military\ndespot; disdaining heaven, it loses the earth; refusing to obey\nGod, it loses man.\n\nAll history, all experience proves it. Having rejected the\nsacredness and inviolability of authority in both religion and\npolitics, and asserted \"the sacred right of insurrection,\" the\nworld finds itself without religion, without faith, without\nsocial order, in the midst of perpetual revolutions, checked or\nsuppressed only by large standing armies, while each nation is\noverwhelmed with a public debt that is frightful to contemplate.\nThis need not surprise us. It is the truth that liberates or\nmakes free, and when truth is denied, or resolved into each one's\nown opinion or mental conception, there is nothing to liberate\nthe mind from its illusions and to sustain its freedom. The mind\npines away and dies without truth, as the body without food. It\nwas said by one who spake as never man spake, that he who would\nsave his life shall lose it, and experience proves that they who\nseek this world never gain it. \"Ye shall not eat thereof, nor\ntouch it, lest ye die.\" This command, which Satan contradicts, is\ntrue and good, and obedience to it is the only condition of life,\nor real success in life. In seeking to be God, man becomes less\nthan man, because he denies the truth and reality of things. It\nis very pleasant, says Heinrich Heine, to think one's self a god,\nbut it costs too much to keep up the dignity and majesty of one's\ngodship. Our resources are not equal to it, and purse and health\ngive way under the effort. Falsehood yields nothing, because it\nis itself nothing, and is infinitely more expensive than truth.\nFalsehood has no support, and can give none; whoever leans on it\nmust fall through. And if ever there was a falsehood, it is that\nman is God, or independent of God.\n\n{13}\n\nThe whole question between Rome and the world, turn it as we\nwill, comes back always to this: Is man God, or the creature of\nGod? He certainly is not God: then he is a creature, and God has\ncreated him and owns him, is his Lord and Master. He, then, is\nnot independent of God, for the creative act of God is as\nnecessary to continue him in existence and to enable him to act,\nto fulfil his destiny, or to attain his end or supreme good, as\nit was to call him from nothing into existence. God is the\nprinciple, medium, and end of our existence. Separation from God,\nor independence of him, is death; for we live, and move, and have\nour being in him, not in ourselves. The universe, when once\ncreated, does not go ahead on its own hook or of itself without\nfurther creative intervention; for the creative act is not\ncompleted in relation to the creature, till the creature has\nfulfilled its destiny or reached its end. God creates me and at\neach moment of my existence as much and as truly as he did Adam,\nand the suspension of his creative act for a single instant would\nbe my annihilation. So of the universe. He creates me, indeed, a\nsecond cause and a free moral agent; but even in my own acts or\ncausation I depend on him as my first cause, as the cause of me\nas a second cause, and in my own sphere I can cause or act only\nby virtue of his active presence and concurrence. When I attempt\nto act without him, as if I were independent of him, as our first\nparents did in following the suggestions of Satan, I do not cease\nto exist physically, but I die morally and spiritually, lose my\nmoral life, fall into abnormal relations with my Creator, and am\nspiritually dead; for my moral and spiritual life depends on my\nvoluntary obedience to the law of all created life: \"Ye shall not\neat thereof, or touch it, lest ye die.\"\n\nHere is the basis of the divine dominion. God is sovereign lord\nand proprietor because he is creator, and man and nature are the\nwork of his hands. Hence the Mosaic books insist not only on the\nunity of God, but even with more emphasis, if possible, on God as\ncreator. The first verse of Genesis asserts creation in\nopposition to emanation, generation, or formation: \"In the\nbeginning God created the heavens and the earth.\" All through the\nOld Testament, especially in the hagiographical books and the\nprophets, there is a perpetual recurrence to God as creator, to\nthe fact that he has made the world and all things therein, and\nhence the call upon all creatures to sing his praise, so often\nrepeated in the Psalms. Indeed, it was not so much by belief in\nthe unity of God as in the fact that God is sole and universal\ncreator, that the Jews were distinguished from the Gentiles. It\nmay be doubted if the Gentiles ever wholly lost the belief in the\nexistence of one God. We think we find in all heathen mythologies\ntraces of a recognition of one God hovering, so to speak, over\ntheir manifold gods and goddesses, who were held to be tutelar\ndivinities, never the divinity itself. But the Gentiles, as we\nhave already said, had lost, and did in no sense admit, the fact\nof creation. We find no recognition of God as creator in any\nGentile philosophy, Indian, Persian, Chaldean, Egyptian, Chinese,\nGreek, or Roman. The Gentiles were not generally atheists, we\nsuspect not atheists at all; but they were invariably pantheists.\nPantheism is the denial of the proper creative act of God, or,\nstrictly speaking, that God creates substances or existences\ncapable of acting from their own centre and producing effects as\nsecond causes.\n{14}\nThe Jews were the only people, after the great Gentile apostasy,\nthat preserved the tradition of creation. God as creator is the\nbasis of all science, all faith, all religion; hence the first\narticle of the Creed: \"I believe in one God, maker of heaven and\nearth, and of all things visible and invisible.\" In this fact is\nfounded the inviolable right of the Almighty to govern all his\nworks, man among the rest, as seems to him good. We cannot deny\nthis if we once admit the fact of creation; and if we deny the\nfact of creation, we deny our own existence and that of the\nentire universe.\n\nBut the right to govern implies the correlative duty of\nobedience. If God has the right to govern us, then we are bound\nto obey him and do his bidding, whatever it may be. There is\nnothing arbitrary in this, it is founded in the relation of\ncreator and creature, and God himself could not make it otherwise\nwithout annihilating all creatures and ceasing to be creator. God\ncould not create existences without giving them a law, because\ntheir very relation to him as his creatures imposes on them an\ninflexible and invariable law, which, if created free agents,\nthey may, indeed, refuse to obey, but not and live. Here is the\nwhole philosophy of authority and obedience. We must not confound\nthe symbols employed in Genesis with the meaning they symbolize.\nThe command given to our first parents was simply the law under\nwhich they were placed by the fact that they were creatures, that\nGod had made them, and they belonged to him, owed him obedience,\nand could not disobey him without violating the very law of their\nexistence. They cannot but die, because they depart from the\ntruth of things, deny their real relation to God, and go against\nthe divine order, conformity to which is in the nature of the\ncase their only condition of life. So Rome teaches in accordance\nwith our highest and best reason. The world, listening to the\nflattering words of Satan and the allurements of the flesh,\ndenies it, and says, \"Ye shall not surely die;\" you may sin and\nlive, may become free and independent, be as gods yourselves,\nyour own master, teacher, and guide. Hence the inevitable war\nbetween Rome and the world, she striving to secure the obedience\nof men and nations to the law of God, and it striving to maintain\ntheir independence of the law, and to make them believe that they\ncan live a life of their own, which in the nature of the case is\nnot life, but death.\n\nOther considerations, no doubt enter into the worship of God\nbeside the simple fact that he is our Creator, but that fact is\nthe basis of our moral obligation to obey him. This obligation is\nobscured when we seek for it another basis, as in the intrinsic\nworth, goodness, or excellence of God. No doubt, God deserves to\nbe adored for his own sake, to be loved and obeyed for what he is\nin and of himself, but it is not easy to prove to men of the\nworld that they are morally bound to love and obey goodness.\nThese higher views of God which convert obedience into love, and\nwould enable us to love God even if he did not command it, and to\ndesire him for his own sake without reference to what he is to\nus, may in some sense be attained to, and are so by the saints,\nbut there are few of us perfect enough for that. The law\ncertainly is an expression of the goodness and love of the\nCreator, as is creation itself, but this is not precisely the\nreason why it is obligatory.\n{15}\nIt is a good reason why we should love the law and delight in it,\nbut not the reason why we are bound to obey it. We are bound to\nobey it because it is the law of our Creator, who has the\nsovereign right to command us, and hence religion cannot be\nsevered from morality. No act of religion is of any real worth\nthat is not an act of obedience, of submission of our will to the\ndivine will, or which is not a frank acknowledgment of the divine\nsovereignty and the supremacy of the moral law. There must be in\nit an act of self-denial, of self-immolation, or it is not a true\nact of obedience, and obedience is better than any external\nofferings we can bring to the altar.\n\nHere is where the world again errs. It is ready to offer\nsacrifices to God, to load his altars with its offerings of the\nfirstlings of flocks and herds, and the fruits of the earth, but\nit revolts at any act of obedience, and will not remember that\nthe sacrifices pleasing to God are an humble and contrite heart.\nIt would serve God from love, not duty, forgetting that there is\nno love where there is no obedience. The obedience is the chief\nelement of the love: \"If ye love me, keep my commandments.\" We\nshow our love to the Father by doing the will of the Father.\nThere is no way of escaping the act of submission, and walking\ninto heaven with our heads erect, in our own pride and strength,\nand claiming our beatitude as our right, without ever having\nhumbled ourselves before God. We may show that the law is good,\nthe source of light and life; we may show its reasonableness and\njustness, and that there is nothing degrading or humiliating in\nobeying it; but, whatever we do in this respect, nothing will\navail if the act of obedience be withheld. Till the world does\nthis, submits to the law, no matter what fine speeches it may\nmake, what noble sentiments it may indulge, what just convictions\nit may entertain, or what rich offerings it may bring to the\naltar, it is at enmity with God, and peace between it and Rome is\nimpossible.\n\nGod is in Christ reconciling the world to himself, but there can\nbe no reconciliation without submission. God cannot change, and\nthe world must. No humiliating conditions are imposed on it, but\nit must acknowledge that it has been wrong, and that the law it\nhas resisted is just and right, and, above all, obligatory. This\nis the hardship the world complains of. But what reason has it to\ncomplain? What is demanded of it not for its good, or that is not\ndemanded by the very law of life itself? The world demands\nliberty, but what avails a false and impracticable liberty? True\nliberty is founded in justice, is a right, and supported by law.\nWe have shown, time and again, that the church suppresses no real\nliberty, and asserts and maintains for all men all the liberty\nthat can fall to the lot of any created being. It demands the\nfree exercise of human reason. In what respect does the church\nrestrain freedom of thought? Can reason operate freely without\nprinciples, without data, without light, without any support, or\nanything on which to rest? What is the mind without truth, or\nintelligence in which nothing real is grasped? We know only so\nfar as we know truth, and our opinions and convictions are worth\nnothing in so far as they are false, or not in accordance with\nthe truth that we neither make nor can unmake, which is\nindependent of us, independent of all men, and of all created\nintellects. What harm, then, does the church do us when she\npresents us infallibly that truth which the mind needs for its\nsupport?\n{16}\nSociety needs law, and how does the church harm it by teaching\nthe law of God, without which it cannot subsist? Men need\ngovernment. What harm does the church do in declaring the supreme\nlaw of God, from which all human laws derive their force as laws,\nand which defines and guarantees both authority and liberty,\nprotects the prince from the turbulence of the mob, and the\npeople from the tyranny of the prince?\n\nAs sure as that man is God's creature and bound to obey God,\nthere is for him no good independent of obedience to the law of\nGod; and equally sure is it that obedience to that law secures to\nhim all the good compatible with his condition as a created\nexistence. The mystery of the Incarnation, in which God assumes\nhuman nature to be his own nature, gives him the promise of even\nparticipating in the happiness of God himself. This happiness or\nbeatitude with God in eternity is the end for which man was\ncreated, and is included in the creative act of which it is the\ncompletion or fulfilment. In estimating the good which is sure to\nus by conformity to the divine order and obedience to the divine\nlaw, we must take into the account our whole existence from its\ninception to its completion in Christ in glory, and include in\nthat good not only the joys and consolations of this life, but\nthat eternal beatitude which God through his superabundant\ngoodness has provided for us, and remember that all this we\nforfeit by obeying the law of death rather than the law of life.\nWe can fulfil our destiny, attain to the stature of full-grown\nmen, or complete our existence only by conforming to the divine\norder, by adhering to the truth, and obeying the law of life.\nInstead, then, of regarding the church as our enemy, as opposed\nto our real good, we should regard her as our true friend, and\nsee in her a most striking proof of the loving-kindness of our\nGod. In her he gives us precisely what we need to teach us his\nwill, to make known to us the truth as it is in him, and to\ndeclare to us in all the vicissitudes and complexities of life\nthe requirements of the law, and to be the medium of the gracious\nassistance we need to fulfil them.\n\nNo good thing will God withhold from them that love him. And he\ngives us all good in giving us, as he does, himself. Nor does he\ngive us only the goods of the soul. He that will lose his life in\nGod shall find it. \"Seek first the kingdom of God and his\njustice, and all these things\"--the things which the Gentiles\nseek after--\"shall be added to you.\" They who lay up the most\nabundant treasures in heaven have the most abundant treasures on\nearth. The true principle of political economy, which the old\nFrench Economists and Adam Smith never knew, is self-denial, is\nin living for God and not for the world, as a Louvain professor\nhas amply proved with a depth of thought, a profound philosophy,\nand a knowledge of the laws of production, distribution, and\nconsumption seldom equalled. \"I have been young, and now I am\nold, but never have I seen the righteous forsaken, or his seed\nbegging bread.\" No people are more industrious or more bent on\naccumulating wealth, than our own, but so little is their\nself-denial and so great is their extravagance that the mass of\nthem are, notwithstanding appearances, really poor. The realized\ncapital of the country is not sufficient to pay its debts. We\nhave expended the surplus earnings of the country for half a\ncentury or more, and the wealth of the nation is rapidly passing\ninto the hands of a few money-lenders and soulless mammoth\ncorporations, already too strong to be controlled by the\ngovernment, whether State or General.\n{17}\nIf it had not been for the vast quantities of cheap unoccupied\nlands easy of access, we should have seen a poverty and distress\nin this country to be found in no other. The mercantile and\nindustrial system inaugurated by the Peace of Utrecht in 1713,\nand which is regarded as the crowning glory of the modern world,\nhas added nothing to the real wealth of nations. But this is a\ntheme foreign to our present purpose, and has already carried us\ntoo far. We will only add that the true Christian has the promise\nof this life and of that which is to come.\n\nNow, no one can estimate the advantage to men and nations that\nmust have been derived and continue to be derived from the church\nplaced in the world to assert at every point the divine\nsovereignty, and to proclaim constantly in a clear and ringing\nvoice that the Lord God omnipotent reigneth, and his law is the\nlaw of life, of progress, and of happiness both here and\nhereafter, the great truth which the world is ever prone to\nforget or to deny. We ought, therefore, to regard her existence\nwith the most profound gratitude. She has done this work from the\nfirst, and continues to do it with unabated strength, in spite of\nso many sad defections and the opposition of kings and peoples.\nNever has she had more numerous, more violent, more subtle, or\nmore powerful enemies than during the pontificate of our present\nHoly Father, Pius the Ninth. Never have her enemies seemed nearer\nobtaining a final triumph over her, and they have felt that at\nlast she is prostrate, helpless, in her agony. Yet do they reckon\nwithout their host. The magnificent spectacle at Rome on the 29th\nof last June of more than five hundred bishops, and thousands of\npriests from all parts of the world, from every tongue and nation\non the earth, gathered round their chief, and joining with him in\ncelebrating the eighteen hundredth anniversary of the glorious\nmartyrdom of Peter, the prince of the apostles, whose succession\nin the government of the church has never failed, proves that\ntheir exultation is premature, that her veins are still full of\nlife, and that she is as fresh and vigorous as when she first\nwent forth from Jerusalem on her divine mission to win the world\nto her Lord. The indication by the Holy Father of his resolve at\na near day to convoke a universal council, a grand assembly of\nthe princes of the church, proves also that she is still a fact,\na living power on the earth, though not of it, with whom the\nprinces of this world must count. Before her united voice,\nassisted by the Holy Ghost, her enemies will be struck dumb, and\nto it the nations must listen with awe and conviction, and most\nof the errors we have spoken of will shrink back from the face of\nday into darkness and silence. Faith will be reinvigorated, the\nhearts of the faithful made glad, and civilization resume its\nmarch, so long and so painfully interrupted by heresy,\ninfidelity, and the almost constant revolutions of states and\nempires. We venture to predict for the church new and brilliant\nvictories over the world.\n\nHeresy has well-nigh run its course. It is inherently\nsophistical, and is too much for infidelity and too little for\nreligion. In no country has it ever been able to stand alone, and\nit acquires no strength by age. The thinking men of all civilized\nnations have come, or are rapidly coining, to the conclusion that\nthe alternative is either Rome or no religion, or, as they\nexpress it, \"Rome or Reason,\" which we showed last month is by no\nmeans the true formula. The real formula of the age is, Rome or\nno religion, God or Satan.\n{18}\nThe attempt to support anything worthy of the name of religion on\nhuman authority, whether of the individual or of the state, of\nprivate judgment or of the Scriptures interpreted by the private\njudgment of the learned, has notoriously, we might say\nconfessedly, failed. Old-established heresies will no doubt\nlinger yet longer, and offer their opposition to Rome; but their\ndays are numbered, and, save as they may be placed in the\nforefront of the battle with the church, the active non-Catholic\nthought of the age makes no account of them, and respects them\nfar less than it does Rome herself. They live only a galvanic\nlife. We are far from regarding the battle that must be fought\nwith the scientific no-religion or dry and cold unbelief of the\nage as a light affair. In many respects the world is a more\nformidable enemy than heresy, and the Gentilism of the nineteenth\ncentury is less manageable than that of the first, for it retains\nfewer elements of truth, and far less respect for authority and\nlaw. It has carried the spirit of revolt further, and holds\nnothing as sacred and inviolable. But it is always some gain when\nthe issue is fairly presented, and the real question is fairly\nand distinctly stated in its appropriate terms; when there is no\nlonger any disguise or subterfuge possible; and when the\nrespective forces are fairly arrayed against each other, each\nunder its own flag, and shouting its own war-cry. The battle will\nbe long and arduous, for every article in the creed, from \"Patrem\nomnipotentem\" to \"vitam aeternam,\" has been successively denied;\nbut we cannot doubt to which side victory will finally incline.\n\nTertullian say, \"the human heart is naturally Christian,\" and men\ncan not be contented to remain long in mere vegetable existence\nwithout some sort of religion. They will, when they have nothing\nelse to worship, evoke the spirits of the dead, and institute an\nillusory demon-worship, as we see in modern spiritism. The\nChristian religion as presented by Rome, though it flatters not\nhuman pride, and is offensive to depraved appetite or passion, is\nyet adapted to the needs of human nature, and satisfies the purer\nand noble aspirations of the soul. There is, as we have more than\nonce shown, a natural want in man which it only can meet, and, we\nmay almost say, a natural aptitude to receive it. Hence, we\nconclude that, when men see before them no alternative but Rome\nor no religion, downright naturalism able to satisfy nobody, they\nwill, after some hesitation, submit to Rome and rejoice in\nCatholicity. Nature is very well; we have not a word to say\nagainst it when normally developed; but this world is too bleak\nand wintry for men to walk about in the nakedness of nature; they\nmust have clothing of some sort, and, when they are fully\nconvinced that they can find proper garments only in the wardrobe\nof the church, they cannot, it seems to us, long hold out against\nRome or refuse submission to the law of life.\n\nWe here close our very inadequate discussion of the great subject\nwe have opened. Our remarks are only supplementary to the article\non Rome or Reason in THE CATHOLIC WORLD for September last, and\nare intended to guard against any false inferences that some\nmight be disposed to draw from the doctrine we there set forth.\nWe hold, as a Catholic, the dogma of original sin, and that our\nnature has been disordered by the fall and averted from God. We\nhave not wished this fact to be overlooked, or ourselves to be\nunderstood as if we recognized no antagonism between this fallen\nor averted nature and Rome.\n{19}\nOur nature is not totally depraved. Understanding and will, if\nthe former has been darkened and the latter attenuated by the\nfall, yet remain, and retain their essential character; but\ndisorder has been introduced into our nature, and the flesh\ninclines to sin; its face is turned away from God, and it stands\nin need of being converted or turned to him. The church brings to\nthis disordered and averted nature whatever is needed to convert\nit, heal its wounds, and elevate it to the plane of its destiny.\nBut after conversion, after regeneration, the flesh, \"the carnal\nmind,\" remains, as the Council of Trent teaches, and, as long as\nit remains, there must be a combat, a warfare. This combat, or\nwarfare, is not, indeed, between reason and faith, revelation and\nscience, nor between nature and grace, but between the law of God\naccepted and served by the judgment and will, by the inner man,\nand the law of sin in our members, the struggle between holiness\nand sin, an internal struggle, of which every one is conscious\nwho attempts to lead a holy life. We have not only wished to\nrecognize the fact of this struggle as an interior struggle in\nthe individual, but also as passing from the individual to\nsociety, and manifesting itself in the perpetual struggle between\nRome and the world, which ceases, and can cease, only in\nproportion as men and society become converted to God, and\nvoluntarily submissive to his law.\n\n------\n\n      With Christ.\n\n    \"Having a desire to be dissolved and be with Christ--\n    a thing by far the better.\"\n\n  To die and be with Christ! far better 'tis\n    Than all this world of sin and strife can give,\n    Whose highest boon to those who easiest live\n  Compares not with one moment of heaven's bliss!\n  And to earth's suffering ones, whose hearts are torn\n    With anguish, while their bodies writhe in pain,\n    What joyous sounds are these: \"To die is gain!\"\n  To leave a world where weary souls forlorn\n  In sinful murmuring wish they ne'er were born.\n  To be with Christ! O words of solemn power\n    To hush the heart-cry! let me hold them fast.\n    If haply I may reach thee, Lord, at last,\n    And, this strange world with all its sorrows past,\n  May learn the meaning deep of each sad, suffering hour!\n\n------\n\n{20}\n\n         The Managers Dilemma.\n\n\n\"I Tell you, child, you can do it; and I say you shall!\"\n\nThe speaker was the fat hostess of a hotel in one of the\nprincipal streets of Naples; the time was the summer of 1812. The\nlady waddled back and forward with an air of importance, her\nhands on her hips. The person she addressed was a lad apparently\nsixteen years of age, and very tall and stout for his years. His\nbeardless chin and boyish features, combined with a shuffling\nbashfulness in his deportment, did not tend to inspire confidence\nin any great achievement to be expected from him.\n\n\"But, buona mia donna--\" he began deprecatingly.\n\n\"I am a judge!\" persisted the hostess. \"Master Benevolo shall\nfind you a treasure, and the jewel of his company! Such a\ncompany! The princess is magnificent! Did not the Duke of\nAnhalt--swear she was ravishing in beauty as in acting, with eyes\nlike diamonds, and a figure majestic as Juno's?\"\n\n\"Superb!\" exclaimed the lad.\n\n\"And such an admirable comic actor; a figure that is one laugh,\nand a wit like Sancho Panza's; a genius, too, for the pathetic;\nhe weeps to enchantment, and will bring tears to your eyes after\na convulsion of mirth. An unrivalled troupe! a coronet of\ngems--wanting only an actor of tragedy!\"\n\nThe boy sighed, and cast his eyes on the ground.\n\n\"And you must travel,\" pleaded the landlady. \"You are not safe\nhere in Naples. You may be taken, and carried back to the\nconservatorio.\"\n\nThis last argument had effect. The lad sprang to his feet.\n\n\"Back to school, to be punished for a runaway--when you might do\nsuch wonders! Come, you are ready, I see. There is no time to be\nlost.\"\n\nShe took the boy by the hand and led him into the grand salon of\nthe hotel. Here sat the manager of an Italian theatrical company,\nin absolute despair. He and his troupe were to leave Naples in an\nhour. For three days he had staid beyond his time, seeking what\nthe city did not afford--an actor of tragedy; and he was now\nbitterly lamenting to his landlord the ill luck that would compel\nhim to depart for Salerno destitute of so important an adjunct.\n\n\"What shall I do?\" cried the impresario, wringing his hands,\n\"without a Geronimo or a Falerio?\"\n\n\"You may yet find an actor,\" suggested the good-natured host.\n\n\"He must drop, then, from the clouds, and at once! My friends at\nSalerno have twice put off the performance, waiting for me. Saint\nAntonio! to think of losing so much money!\"\n\nThe corpulent hostess had entered the room, the bashful youth a\nfew paces behind her.\n\n\"I have found you a tragedian, Master Benevolo,\" she cried; \"a\ncapital fellow. You have fatigued yourself running over Naples in\nsearch of one--and he has been waiting for you here since last\nevening.\"\n\n\"What do you mean!\" exclaimed both manager and landlord.\n\n{21}\n\n\"You shall have your tragedian. All the rest is my secret. Oh! he\nis a great genius! If you had heard him last night! All the maids\nwere in tears. Had he a robe and poniard, he would have been\nterrific. He sang droll songs, too, and made us laugh till my\nsides ached. I should have told you of him before, but you went\nout so early.\"\n\n\"At what theatres has he appeared?\" asked the manager, much\ninterested.\n\n\"He has never been on the stage; but he will make his way. Such\ngenius--such passion! He has left home to embrace the\nprofession.\"\n\nThe impresario mused. \"Let me see him,\" he said.\n\nThe landlady took the lad by the hand and pulled him forward. He\nstood with eyes cast down, in the most awkward attitude.\n\n\"A mere boy!\" exclaimed the disappointed director. \"He--fit for\nan actor!\" And with a look of contempt he surveyed the youth who\naspired to represent the emperors of Rome and the tyrants of\nItalian republics.\n\n\"Everything has a beginning!\" persisted the dame. \"Louis, come\nforward, and show the maestro what you can do.\"\n\nThe overgrown lad hung his head bashfully; but, on further\nurging, advanced a pace or two, flung over his arms the frayed\nskirt of his coat to serve as a drapery, and recited some tragic\nverses of Dante.\n\n\"Not bad!\" cried the manager. \"What is your name?\"\n\n\"Louis,\" replied the lad, bowing.\n\n\"Louis--what?\"\n\n\"Louis only for the present,\" interposed the hostess, with an air\nof mystery. \"You are not to know his family name. You see--he\nleft home--\"\n\n\"I understand: the runaway might be caught. Let me hear him in\n_Otello_.\"\n\nLouis, encouraged, recited a brilliant tragic scene. The manager\nfollowed his gestures with hands and head, and, when he had\nended, applauded loudly, with flashing eyes.\n\n\"Bravo! bravo!\" he cried, rubbing his hands. \"That is what I\nwant! You will make a capital Moor, set in shape a little! I\nengage you at once, at fifteen ducats a month: and here is the\nfirst month's pay in advance for your outfit--a suit of clothes\nto make you look like a gentleman. Go, buy them, pack up to go\nwith us; and I will have a mule ready for you.\"\n\nWhile the impresario made his preparations for departure, the\ndelighted hostess assisted Louis in his. He had spent two or\nthree days roaming about Naples before he came to the hotel, and\nhad some debts to pay. These liquidated, his bill paid at the\nhotel, and a new suit purchased, nothing remained of his fifteen\nducats. In less than two hours the troupe was on its way out of\nNaples.\n\nAt Salerno the manager had advertisements struck off, announcing\nthe _d\u00e9but_ of a new tragic actor--a wonderful\ngenius--presented to the public as a phenomenon--in a popular\npart. Curiosity was soon excited to see him. In the evening the\ntheatre was crowded. The director walked about, rubbing his hands\nin ecstasy, and counting the piles of gold as they accumulated.\nLouis, arrayed in an emperor's costume of the middle ages, was\npractising behind the scenes how to sustain the part of a\nsovereign. A pretty young girl--one of the chorus--who may be\ncalled Rosina, stood watching him, and commenting freely on his\nperformance.\n\n{22}\n\n\"Oh! that will not do at all, your majesty!\" she cried, as he\nmade an awkward movement. \"What an emperor! This is your style!\"\nAnd she began mimicking his gestures so provokiagly that Louis\ndeclared he would have his revenge in a kiss. He was presently\nchasing her around the scenes, to the disorder of his imperial\nrobes.\n\nThe sound of voices and an unusual bustle startled him; he\nfancied the curtain was going to rise, and called lustily for his\nsword. But the noise was outside the private door of the theatre.\nIt was flung open, and the lad's consternation may be imagined\nwhen he saw advancing toward him the vice-rector of his school,\nfollowed by six _sbirri_. The manager was there, too,\nwringing his hands with gestures of grief and despair. Louis\nstood petrified, till the officer, laying a hand on his shoulder,\narrested him by an order from the King of Naples. The whole\ncompany had rushed together, and were astonished to hear that\ntheir tragedian was forthwith to be taken back to the\n\"Conservatorio clella Pieta dei Turchini,\" to be remanded to his\nmusical studies under the great master Marcello Perrino.\n\nThe emperor _in petto_ forgot his dignity, and burst into\ntears; Rosina cried for sympathy, and there was a general murmur\nof dissatisfaction.\n\nThe manager strove to remonstrate. \"Such a genius--tragedy is his\nvocation!\" he pleaded.\n\n\"His vocation just now is to go back to school,\" said the\nvice-rector gruffly.\n\n\"But, signer, you are robbing the public.\"\n\n\"Has not the graceless boy been robbing his majesty, who was\npleased to place him in the conservatorio after his father's\ndeath?\"\n\n\"He is in my service; I have paid him a month in advance.\"\n\n\"You were wrong to engage a raw lad whom you knew to be a runaway\nfrom his guardians. Come, Louis!\"\n\nThe _sbirri_ roughly removed the imperial robes from the\nblubbering lad. The impresario was in an agony, for the assembled\naudience began to give signs of impatience.\n\n\"Let him only perform in this piece,\" he urged.\n\n\"Away with him!\" answered the vice-rector.\n\nLouis wiped away his tears. \"Dear Master Benevolo,\" he said, \"I\nwill yet be revenged. I will be a tragedian in spite of them!\"\n\n\"And my losses--my fifteen ducats cried the director.\n\n\"I will make them up, I promise you.\" The vice-rector laughed\nscornfully, and the men forced the lad away. Rosina ran after\nhim, \"Stay, Louis!\" she cried, putting her handkerchief into his\nhands, \"You forgot this.\" Louis thanked her with a tender glance,\nand put the keepsake in his bosom.\n\nWhen the party had disappeared, the manager went to pacify his\nimpatient audience. He was consoled by the reflection that the\nvagabond had left his trunk behind. It was very large and heavy,\nand, before causing the lock to be broken next morning, Signor\nBenevolo called some of his friends to make an inventory of its\ncontents. It was found filled with sand! The young\n_d\u00e9butant_ had resorted to this trick, that the servants at\nthe inns where they stopped might believe the trunk contained\ngold and treat him with respect accordingly.\n\nThe impresario was in a towering passion. He railed at Louis,\nshowering on him abusive epithets as a cheat and an impostor. He\ncould only retaliate for the loss of his fifteen ducats by\nwriting him a letter full of furious invectives, assuring him\nthat so base a thief need never aspire to the honors of tragedy!\nThe letter was read quietly by Louis, who made no answer, but\napplied himself diligently to his musical studies.\n{23}\nHis progress was so rapid that his masters declared he bade fair\nto rival Bohrer on the violoncello and Tulon on the flute. As a\nreward for his efforts, a hall in the conservatorio was arranged\nfor the private representations of the pupils.\n\n----\n\nIn the autumn of 1830, Ex-Manager Benevolo chanced to be in\nParis. The beautiful Rosina was then noted as an admired singer.\nShe had many conversations with the Italian, who was disgusted\nwith the French actors, and declared that the best days of tragic\nart were past.\n\nOne day there was no small excitement at the announcement of the\ntragic opera of _Otello_. It was given out that a new artist\nof great reputation would appear at the Th\u00e9\u00e2tre Italien. His\nprogress through the Italian cities had been a continued triumph.\nOn his first appearance in Paris the connoisseurs had been\ndetermined to show him no favor. As he came on the stage, his\ngrand, imposing figure and good-humored countenance were\npre-possessing; but, when his magnificent voice rose swelling\nabove the orchestra, there was a burst of rapturous applause.\nPowerful and thrilling, penetrating to the depths of pathos, that\nvoice carried all before it; and he was voted by acclamation the\nfirst _basse-taille_ of the age.\n\n\"You _must_ hear him!\" said Rosina, as the ex-manager\nprotested that he did not care for it. He would be sure to\ncondemn what pleased those fantastical Parisians.\n\n\"You must hear him in _Otello_!\" persisted the fair singer.\n\"Here is an invitation for you, written by himself.\"\n\n\"Why should he have sent this to me?\" asked the gratified\nItalian.\n\n\"As a friend of mine,\" replied the singer, \"he wished to show you\nattention. You will go with me.\"\n\nIn the evening they went to the theatre. There was a thunderburst\nof applause as the colossal form of the actor moved across the\nstage. \"A noble figure for tragedy!\" exclaimed Benevolo. \"Ha! I\nshould like him for the tyrant in _Anna Bolena!_\" When the\nsuperb tones of his voice, full of power, yet exquisite in\nmelody, filled the house with the rich volume of sound, the\nItalian gave up his prejudices. In the deeper passion of the part\nhe was carried away by enthusiasm like the audience. \"Stupendo!\nTragico!\" he exclaimed, wiping his eyes, while the curtain\ndescended.\n\n\"You must speak with him!\" insisted Rosina. And she drew Benevolo\nthrough the door leading behind the scenes. The great artist came\nto meet them. Benevolo gazed upon him in awe and astonishment;\nthen, recovering himself, faltered forth the expression of his\nsurprise and delight. It was \"the king of tragedy\" whom he had\nthe honor of greeting!\n\n\"I am rejoiced to see you at last, my good master Benevolo!\"\ncried the artist. \"Tell me if you have really been pleased. Shall\nI ever make a tragic actor?\"\n\n\"You are wonderful--the first in the world!\" cried the enraptured\nex-manager. \"And Rosina says you are an Italian! I am proud of my\ncountryman!\"\n\n\"Ah! mio fratello! but you had once not so good an opinion of me!\nDo you not recognize your old acquaintance--the runaway Louis?\"\n\nBenevolo stared in astonishment.\n\n\"I have grown somewhat since the affair at Salerno,\" said the\nartist, laughing, and clapping his stout sides. \"Ah! I forgot;\nyou had good reason for being displeased with me.\n{24}\nThe fifteen ducats--and that heavy trunk of mine--that gave you\ntrouble for nothing! It ought to have been ransomed long ago; but\nI waited to do it with my pay as a tragedian. I wanted to prove\nyour prediction untrue! He drew out a paper from his pocket-book,\nand presented it.\n\n\"Here is an order for twelve hundred francs.\"\n\nSignor Benevolo stammered a refusal. He could not accept so large\na gift.\n\n\"Take it, friend. It is your just due! Principal and interest you\nknow. My fortune has grown apace with my _embonpoint_.\"\n\n\"You are a noble fellow!\" cried the ex-manager, grasping his\nhand. \"Now, do me another favor, and tell me your real name. The\none you act under is assumed, of course!\"\n\n\"No, it is the same--Lablache.\"\n\n\"Lablache! Are you a Frenchman, then?\"\n\n\"My father was a Frenchman: he fled from Marseilles at the time\nof the revolution. I was born in Naples. Are you satisfied?\"\n\n\"I thought from the beginning,\" said Benevolo, \"you were a\nnobleman in disguise. I know you, now, for a monarch in art.\"\n\nLablache thanked him cordially. \"Now you must come home and sup\nwith me, in the Rue Richelieu,\" he said. \"I have invited a few\nfriends to meet you, and they will be waiting for us.\"\n\n------\n\n  Translated from Le Correspondant.\n\n  Learned Women And Studious Women.\n\n  By Monseigneur Dupanloup.\n\n\n  [The following treatise by Monseigneur Dupanloup is given\n  entire, notwithstanding that some portions of it bear a more\n  direct application to French civilization than to our own. The\n  attentive reader will see that the fundamental principle on\n  which the argument rests applies to incomplete mental\n  development in every country; and those who take an interest in\n  foreign habits and manners will enjoy the lifelike pictures of\n  French society, so graphic, shrewd, and free from\n  exaggeration.--_Trans_.]\n\n\nDear Friend: Several months ago, in a volume [Footnote 1] of\nletters addressed to men of the world concerning studies adapted\nto their leisure hours, I published a few pages offering\nsuggestions also to Christian women living in the world upon\nintellectual labor suitable for them. This advice I tried to\nadapt and proportion especially to the exigencies of their mode\nof life.\n\n    [Footnote 1: _Letters to Men of the World concerning\n    Studies suitable for them and Advice to Christian Women_,\n    Paris: Douniol.]\n\nI endeavored to show how necessary it is for a woman to acquire\nhabits of serious thought; all the more so because modern\neducation seldom inculcates them; and I maintained that such\nhabits could easily find a place in the life of women of the\nworld.\n\n{25}\n\nI next indicated grave and noble studies, solid and interesting\ncourses of reading, historical, artistic, even philosophical,\nbut, above all, religious, to which they could devote themselves.\n\nThen followed a few practical details concerning the method and\nconditions of good study, useful reading, and serious\ncomposition.\n\nVarious observations were addressed to me _\u00e0 propos_ of this\npublication; eager contradictions coming side by side with the\nmost favorable expressions of approbation. This did not surprise\nme. In an age like ours, such counsel could hardly be given with\nimpunity. In the land of Moli\u00e8re an appeal to women to study, to\neducate themselves, to cultivate letters and the fine arts, could\nnot be allowed to pass unreproved.\n\nAllow me, then, to have recourse to the _Correspondant_,\nthat my various opponents may be answered at one stroke. The most\nconsiderate and the most serious among them supported themselves,\nnot upon Moli\u00e8re, but, strange to say, upon M. de Maistre. It is\nM. de Maistre, then, with the quotations made from his works and\nthe objections raised in his name, who demands my first\nconsideration.\n\n\n            I.\n\n  M. De Maistre's Opinion.\n\nSome of M. de Maistre's letters to his daughters form a veritable\ntreatise upon the humble destiny of woman here below, and the\nsumptuary laws that should regulate her acquirements and\neducation.\n\n\"A woman's great defect,\" he writes, \"is being like a man, and to\nwish for learning is to wish to be a man. Enough if a woman be\naware that Pekin is not in Europe, and that Alexander the Great\ndid not demand a niece of Louis XIV. in marriage.\"\n\nAlso M. de Maistre allows her in scientific matters to follow and\n\"understand the doings of men.\" This is her most perfect\naccomplishment, her _chef-d'oeuvre_.\n\nHe permits women, moreover, to love and admire the beautiful; but\nwhat he does not permit is, that they should themselves seek to\ngive it expression. When his eldest daughter, Mademoiselle Adele\nde Maistre, avowed a taste for painting, and when the youngest,\nMademoiselle Constance, confided to her father her ardent love\nfor literary pursuits, M. de Maistre, in, alarm, taking shelter\nbehind the triple authority of Solomon, F\u00e9n\u00e9lon and Moli\u00e8re,\ndeclared that women should not devote themselves to pursuits\nopposed to their duties; that a woman's merit lies in rendering\nher husband happy, in educating children, and in making men;\nthat, from the moment she emulates man, she becomes an ape; that\nwomen have never achieved a _chef-d'oeuvre_ of any kind;\nthat a young girl is insane to undertake oil-painting, and should\ncontent herself with pencil-sketches: that, moreover, science is\nof all things the most dangerous for women; that no woman must\noccupy herself with science under pain of being ridiculous and\nunhappy; and, finally, that a coquette is far easier to marry\nthan a scholar. In virtue of this last argument, which embraces\nthe preceding ones, M. de Maistre recommends them all to return\nto their work-baskets, conceding, however, the consecration of a\nfew hours to study by way of distraction.\n\n{26}\n\nBut let them beware of wishing to enlarge their intelligence and\nundertake great things. They would be nicknamed _Dame\nbarbue_.\n\nMoreover, \"it is not in the mediocrity of education that their\nweakness lies:\" it is their weakness that makes \"mediocrity of\neducation\" inevitable. In one word, they are radically incapable\nof anything great or serious in the way of culture.\n\nPerhaps it would be presumption to contest assertions so firm and\nuncompromising. I shall not attempt it. I shall beg leave to\ninquire--for this is the most important point now--whether or\nnot these principles lead us logically and imperiously to the\nconclusion of M. de Maistre; if a woman, \"who would make her\nhusband happy, educate her children well, and not transform\nherself into an ape in order to _emulate_ man,\" must\ntherefore renounce not only the exercise of all creative faculty\nin art and literature, but also of serious self-culture, and turn\nto her work-basket with no better consolation than the assurance\nthat \"Pekin is not in Europe, and that Alexander did not ask in\nmarriage the hand of a niece of Louis XIV.\"\n\n\n            II.\n\n  The Question Fairly Stated.\n\nBefore grappling with a subject, one should clearly define its\nsignificance.\n\nLet us set aside the name of learned women, so strangely misused\nsince the days of Moli\u00e8re. We Frenchmen are too apt to settle\ngreat questions with a jest; sending silly prejudices down to\nposterity to be nourished and perpetuated for centuries with idle\nrailleries. In the first place, is there not a just distinction\nto be made, lest we commit the error of confounding in the same\nanathema studious women with learned women, cultivated women with\nabsurd women, women of sense, reflection, and serious habits of\napplication with pedants?\n\nIs it not evident that Moli\u00e8re, in his _Femmes Savantes_,\nattacked neither study nor education, but pedantry, as in his\n_Tartuffe_ he attacked hypocrisy, not genuine devotion?\n\nDid not Moli\u00e8re himself write this beautiful line?\n\n  \"Et je veux qu'une femme ait des clart\u00e9s de tout\"\n\nWith these preliminary words, I enter on the question. The whole\ntheory of M. de Maistre is reduced to this assertion: that women\nshould confine themselves to their own domain and not invade that\nof men. Agreed! but let us see what is man's peculiar domain. Is\nman by divine right the sole proprietor of the domain of\nintelligence? God has reserved to him physical force, and I agree\nwith M. de Maistre that, notwithstanding Judith and Joan of Arc,\nwomen should not presume to bear arms or to lead armies. But is\nintelligence measured out to them in the same exact proportions\nand with the same limitations as physical strength? I have never\nthought so. The pen seems to me as well placed in the hand of St.\nTheresa as in that of M. de Maistre; and I select her name with\nthe intention of citing many more in the following pages, because\nthe name of St. Theresa alone suffices to refute the argument\nthat women should not write for the reason that they have never\nshown superior ability in writing. St. Theresa is one of the\ngreatest, if not the greatest, prose-writer of Spain, and she\neven cultivated poetry occasionally.\n\nBeyond discussion, a woman's great merit, her incomparable honor,\nlies in rearing her children wisely and in making men; as her\ndearest privilege and her first duty lies in making her husband\nhappy. But precisely in order to make men, and to ensure the\nvirtue and happiness of her husband and children, a woman must be\nstrong in intelligence, strong in judgment and character,\nassiduous, industrious, and attentive.\n{27}\nIn the words of Scripture, that look, that beauty, that goodness,\nwhich adorn and embellish a whole household, must be illumined\nfrom on high; (_sicut sol oriens mundo, sic mulier??\n[Transcriber's note: Illegible] bona species in ornamentum domus\nejus._) The hand that holds the distaff and manages household\nmatters should be guided by a head capable of conceiving and of\ngoverning. The portrait sketched by Solomon is not that of a\nwoman engrossed solely with material life; it is that of an able\nwoman; and, if her children rise up and call her glorious and\nblessed, it is because she has an elevated sense of the affairs\nof life, a provident care for the future, and a solicitude for\nsouls; because she stands on a level with the noblest duties and\nthe most serious thoughts; in one word, because she is an\nintelligent companion worthy of a spouse who sits at the gates of\nthe city upon the most exalted bench of justice.\n\nI could quote other passages from Holy Scripture proving that\nnatural science, art, sacred literature, poetry, and eloquence\nwere not foreign to the education of Israelitish maidens or to\nthe career of Jewish women. Was it not the mother of Samuel who\nproclaimed God the Lord of knowledge and the Giver of\nunderstanding? Was it not Miriam, the sister of Moses, who taught\nmusic and sacred canticles to the young Israelites?\n\nBut it is especially since the enunciation of the gospel that the\nintellectual and moral dignity of woman has been elevated, and\nthat Christian women have taken so noble a place in human\nsociety. What I demand is, that absurd prejudices, coarse names,\nand worn-out jests should not drag them down from the exalted\nrank assigned to them by the gospel into frivolity and\nmaterialism.\n\nLet me be clearly understood. I desire, above all, not _femmes\nsavantes_, but, for the sake of husbands, children, and\nhouseholds, intelligent, attentive, and judicious women,\nwell-instructed in all things necessary and useful for them to\nknow as mothers, heads of households, and women of the world;\nnever disdainful of practical duties, but knowing how to occupy\nnot only their fingers, but their minds, understanding the\ncultivation of the whole soul. And I add that we ought to dread\nas disastrous evils those frivolous, giddy, self-indulgent women\nwho, in idleness, ignorance, and dissipation, seek for pleasure\nand amusement; who are hostile to exertion and to almost every\nduty, incapable of study or of continuous mental effort, and\ntherefore unfitted to exercise any important influence over the\neducation of their children, or over the affairs of their\nhousehold or of their husbands.\n\n\n           III.\n\nOn these conditions I willingly resign the name of learned woman,\nclaiming it for no one. And yet before laying it aside, I would\nremark that ages more Christian than our own were far from\ndisdaining it. The disciple and biographer of the illustrious St.\nBoniface plainly tells us that St. Boniface loved St. Lioba for\nher solid erudition, _eruditionis sapientia._ This admirable\nvirgin, in whom the light of the Holy Ghost enhanced an\nenlightenment laboriously acquired from study, united to purity\nand humility (those virtues which preserve all things in a heart)\na knowledge of theology and canon law that became one of the\nglories of the new-born German church. And, moreover, St.\nBoniface, far from despising his spiritual daughter's efforts to\nrise to intellectual pursuits, sometimes robbed the apostolate of\nhours which he deemed well spent in correcting the literary\ncompositions and Latin verses of Lioba, and in answering her in a\nsimilar style; poetic messages carried across seas by confessors\nand martyrs.\n\n{28}\n\nAnd if, going back to earlier ages, we closely examine the\nrecords of history, we find that, after the establishment of\nChristianity, feminine names are constantly met with on the\nliterary monuments most revered by posterity; as, for instance,\nthe celebrated Hypatia, who had Clement of Alexandria for a\ndisciple; the illustrious St. Catharine, teacher of Christian\nphilosophy; and, again, St. Perpetua, who wrote the acts of her\nown martyrdom and recorded the glory of her companions.\n\nWhen peace was restored to the church, and the age of doctors\ncommenced, succeeding the age of martyrs, who were more\ncelebrated for the gravity of their minds and the extent of their\nknowledge than the Paulas, the Marcellas, Melanias, and\nEustochiums, with many other saints and noble Christian women?\nRemember St. Marcella, in whom St. Jerome found so powerful an\nauxiliary against heresy; and St. Paula, who inspired St. Jerome\nto undertake his noblest and most important works, the Latin\ntranslation of the Bible from the Hebrew text, and a complete\nseries of commentaries upon the prophets.\n\nNothing is finer than St. Paula's letter to St. Marcella. There\nwe see all that Marcella had done to elevate the souls and the\nintelligence of women and maidens who called her their mother;\nthere we comprehend the intelligence and the eloquence of St.\nPaula. [Footnote 2]\n\n    [Footnote 2: We read with great interest in _The History of\n    St. Paula_, just published by M. l'Abb\u00e9 F. Lagrange, those\n    chapters devoted to the studies in Holy Scripture of Roman\n    ladies in St. Jerome's school, and to those of St. Paula made\n    at Bethlehem, under the direction of the same saint.]\n\nWho does not know what Theresa was in the following century to\nSt. Paulinus, whose reputation is as much the glory of Aquitaine\nas the name of Ausonius? Who does not know that Elpicia (the wife\nof Bo\u00ebthius) composed hymns adopted by the Roman liturgy?\n\nIn the midst of barbarism education was one of the first\nconditions imposed on Christian virgins. Those who evinced an\naptitude for literary pursuits were dispensed from manual labor,\naccording to the precept of St. Cesarius, that they might devote\nthemselves exclusively to intellectual work. In most monasteries\nwe hear of them engrossed in study, writing, translating,\ncopying, or deciphering without interruption.\n\nSt. Radegonde, not content with attracting to Poitiers one of the\nlast Roman poets, induced him to give so complete a training to\nher nuns as to form among them writers who soon eclipsed their\nmaster. Classic elegance and purity are revived in the writings\nof Bandonovia. All the charm of Christian inspiration is revealed\nin the hymn improvised by a nun of Poitiers at the moment of\nRadegonde's death, and one of the earliest flowers of the new\npoetic era blooms over the grave of this holy queen who so loved\nletters.\n\nThe monasteries of England, Ireland, and France were nurseries\nfor erudite and devout women.\n\n\"It is proved beyond dispute by numerous and well-authenticated\nwitnesses,\" says M. de Montalembert, \"that literary studies were\ncultivated in female monasteries in England during the seventh\nand eighth centuries, with no less assiduity and perseverance\nthan in communities of men; perhaps with even more enthusiasm.\nAnglo-Saxon nuns did not neglect the occupations proper for their\nsex. But manual labor was far from satisfying them.\n{29}\nThey willingly left distaff and needle, not only to transcribe\nmanuscripts and adorn miniatures according to the taste of the\nday, but still oftener to read and study holy books, the fathers\nof the church, or even classic authors.\" [Footnote 3]\n\n    [Footnote 3: _Monks of the West_, vol. v. This fifth\n    volume, and the two preceding ones, written during a cruel\n    and persistent malady, astonish us by the powerful impulse,\n    the tenderness and loftiness of sentiment which they breathe;\n    showing how steadily a valiant, Christian soul can hold\n    itself erect amid the most grievous physical and moral\n    trials. These are books that I would gladly see in the hands\n    of everyone; today especially, when we are overwhelmed with a\n    malaria-tainted literature.]\n\nSt. Gertrude, under Dagobert's guidance, learned the Holy\nScriptures entirely by heart and translated them from the Greek.\nShe sent beyond seas to Ireland for masters to teach music,\npoetry, and Greek to the cloistered virgins of Nivelle. From all\nthese glowing centres issued shining lights; as, for instance,\nLioba, foundress of the abbey of Richofsheim; Roswitha, and St.\nBridget. It was by St. Edwiga that the study of Greek was\nintroduced into the monastery of St. Gall. And the enlightenment\nof the learned Hilda was so highly esteemed in the Anglo-Saxon\nchurch that more than once the holy abbess, screened behind a\nveil, was present at the deliberations of bishops assembled in\nsynod or council, who craved the advice of one whom they regarded\nas especially illumined by the Holy Ghost.\n\nIt would make a list too long to record the examples of all the\nwomen in whom sanctity was accompanied by a gift of luminous\nscience.\n\nWe may name here a daughter of William the Conqueror, Cecilia,\nabbess of a monastery at Caen; the illustrious Emma, abbess of\nSt. Amand; and, above all, Herrade, who astonished her\ncontemporaries by learned cosmological works, comprising all the\nscience of her day.\n\nIn the twelfth century, St. Hildegarde received revelations\nconcerning the physical constitution of our globe, and wrote\ntreatises upon the laws of nature, anticipating modern science.\nNothing surpasses the elevation and nobility of intellect\nrevealed in the various works of this illustrious woman.\n\nIt was St. Elizabeth, of Thenawge, who wrote the admirable page\nquoted in the logic of P\u00e8re Gratry. St. Hildegarde and St.\nElizabeth both lived in monasteries on the banks of the Rhine,\nwhere women wrote, painted, and worked; where they did wonderful\nthings, says P\u00e8re Gratry.\n\n\"What can we say of St. Catharine of Siena, who shares the glory\nof the great writers?\" asks Ozanam.\n\nM. de Maistre maintains that _a young girl is insane to think\nof painting._ And yet saints have had this mania. St.\nCatharine of Bologna was a celebrated miniaturist. She wrote\nlearned treatises and painted _chef-d'oeuvres_; she composed\nsacred music and perfected musical instruments; even on her\ndeath-bed she played on instruments whose conception and\nexecution belong to her. It is for this reason that she is\nrepresented over altars holding the lyre or viola invented by\nherself.\n\nFollowing all these names claimed by the arts as well as by\nliterature comes that of St. Theresa, already cited above. Here\nM. de Maistre is vanquished. Yes, genius has descended upon a\nfeminine intellect, endowing it with a gift as brilliant as any\nthat can be cited. One might dread the guilt of profanation in\nusing the words _chef-d'oeuvre_ and human genius in speaking\nof those sublime pages penetrated with a divine light, those\nmarvellous echoes of heaven that stir our souls even on earth.\nBut where can we find the beautiful realized with more vividness,\nmore simplicity, more nature and grandeur?\n\n{30}\n\nIf all these names have been the names of saints whose aim and\nsupreme inspiration was religion, why wonder? I have already said\nthat women had been elevated by Christianity, heart, soul, and\nunderstanding. They owed to Christianity the homage of all the\ngifts it had bestowed upon them, and that homage they rendered.\n\nTo complete this hasty outline of the history, not so much of\nlearned as of intelligent women, women of mind and heart, of\nfaith and Christian virtue, I will mention that, in times more\nnearly approaching our own, Christina Pisani wrote admirable\nmemoirs of Charles V., in which we find great moral elevation as\nwell as a charming style.\n\nLet me name, also, Elizabeth of Valois and Mary Stuart, who\ncarried on a Latin correspondence for several years concerning\nthe advantages of literary studies. Elizabeth Sarani, one of the\nmost religious painters of the Bolognese school in the\nseventeenth century; Helena Cornaro, in the sixteenth century,\nwas made doctor at Milan, and died in the odor of sanctity. And\nthen what a charming writer was the M\u00e8re de Chaugy in the\nbeginning of the seventeenth century!\n\nIn conclusion, I will mention Mademoiselle de L\u00e9gardi\u00e8re, who\nwrote a work esteemed by M. Guizot as \"the most instructive now\nextant upon ancient French law.\" It was a woman, then, who\nconsecrated a life, in which severe labor and charitable actions\nalone found place, to the execution of the first work that opened\nthe way to new discoveries of modern science, a work of\nprodigious erudition, _The Political Theory of French Laws_.\nThis _savante_, for so we must call her, lived in an\nisolated chateau, where her piety was an example to all who knew\nher, and left a memory venerated by her countrywomen.\n\nMany other examples could be cited to reestablish the epithet\n_learned woman_; but I promised to resign it, and resign it\nI do quite willingly.\n\nM. de Maistre concludes his dissertation by saying: \"Women have\nnever created masterpieces!\" Does he mean to assert that their\nintellectual efforts have been, and that they always will be,\nsterile? We have seen, and history proves, to what point the\nexertions and the acquirements of women have contributed to the\npreservation of ancient literature. It is a hard measure to expel\nthem from the ship they have helped to rescue from the storms of\nbarbarism. Moreover, one need not create masterpieces to prove\nthe possession of talent. God sends dew to little flowers as well\nas to great trees. Humble works may receive the fecundity of a\ngood action. The success of our adversaries must be our\nencouragement. If women of talent have done so much mischief,\nthen Christian women must struggle on the same ground. There are\na great many books, and one book more is but a drop in the\nocean--true! All are not destined to distinction and\nimmortality. Some must console a few souls only, and, like daily\nbread, meet the day's requirements, without enduring until the\nmorrow.\n\n\"If you work for God and for yourself,\" says St. Augustine, \"the\nbetter to heed the utterance of the Word within you, there will\nalways be a few beings who will understand you.\"\n\nThese words are an encouragement for all humble works, for all\nfaithful efforts, that, while developing the faculties received\nfrom God, know not to what purpose they are destined. Let each\none cultivate her natural faculties. Intelligence is one of the\nnoblest of gifts, and in the field of the father of the family no\nlaborer must stand unoccupied, useless, without toil and without\nrecompense.\n\n{31}\n\nBut, it may be argued, most of the examples brought forward prove\nonly that women are especially fitted for Christian learning. I\nrecognize the fact. Inspiration, descending into their souls,\nrises again more directly toward God. Their talents must be\nintimately allied with virtue, and shine forth like those pure\nrays that are filled with the light and warmth of the centre\nwhence they emanate.\n\nBut, alas! one must recognize also the fact that women born with\ntalents and for works of the first order have too often never\nfound this supreme source. M. de Maistre, after discharging his\nunjust spleen against Madame de Sta\u00ebl, calling her discourteously\n\"Science in petticoats, and an impertinent _femmelette_\"\nwhose works he qualifies as \"gorgeous rags,\" confesses, finally,\nin one of those impetuous contradictions so familiar to him, that\nMadame de Sta\u00ebl needed only the torch of truth to raise her\n\"immense abilities\" to the highest grade. \"If she had been a\nCatholic,\" he says later, \"she would have been adorable instead\nof being famous.\" What would he have said of the female writers\nof our own day?\n\nWhat intellectual ruins! What grief it is that talents like those\nof Madame de ---- and Madame ---- should be lost to the good\ncause!--souls that in their fall bear still the impress of the\ndivine ray; crumbling temples that seem to be struggling to rise\nfrom their ruins, uttering from the depths of their desolation\nplaints like these:\n\n  \"O my greatness! O my strength! you have passed like a\n  storm-cloud; you have fallen upon the earth to ravage it like a\n  thunderbolt. You have smitten with barrenness and death all the\n  fruits and all the blossoms of my field. You have made of it a\n  desolate arena, where I sit solitary in the midst of my ruins.\n  O my greatness! O my strength! were you good or evil angels?\n\n  \"O my pride! O my knowledge! you rose up like burning\n  whirlwinds scattered by the simoom through the desert; like\n  gravel, like dust you have buried the palm-trees, you have\n  troubled and exhausted the water-springs. And I sought the\n  stream to quench my thirst, and I found it not; for the\n  insensate who would cut his way over the proud peaks of Horeb\n  forgets the lowly path that leads to the shadowy fountain. O my\n  pride! O my knowledge! were you the envoys of the Lord? were\n  you spirits of darkness?\n\n  \"O my religion! O my hope! you have swept me like a fragile and\n  wavering bark over shoreless seas, through bewildering fogs,\n  vague illusions, dimmest images of an unknown country; and\n  when, weary with struggling against the winds, and, groaning,\n  bowed down beneath the tempest, I asked you whither you led me,\n  you lighted beacons upon the rocks to show me what to avoid,\n  not where to find safety. O my religion! O my hope! were you a\n  dream of madness, or the voice of the living God?\"\n\nNo; these impulses toward heaven, this need of God, this\nstrength, this pride, this greatness, were not bad angels; they\nwere great and noble faculties, sublime gifts. But they should\nnot have been deluded! They should not have been misled into\nvanity and falsehood! They should have been employed for good\nends, and not turned into spirits of darkness.\n\n{32}\n\n\n            IV.\n\n           Duty.\n\n\nThe rights of women to intellectual culture are not merely\nrights, they are also duties. This is what makes them\ninalienable. If they were only rights, women could sacrifice\nthem; but they are duties. The sacrifice is either impossible or\nruinous.\n\nThis is the point of departure for all I have to say. I declare\nunhesitatingly that it is a woman's duty to study and educate\nherself, and that intellectual labor should have a place reserved\namong her special occupations and among her most important\nobligations.\n\nThe primordial reasons of this obligation are grave, of divine\norigin, and absolutely unanswerable; namely:\n\nIn the first place, God has conferred no useless gifts; for all\nthe things he has made there is a reason and an aim. If the\ncompanion of man is a reasonable creature; if, like man, she is\nmade in the image and likeness of God; if she, too, has received\nfrom her Creator the sublimest of gifts, understanding, she ought\nto make use of it.\n\nThese gifts, received from God for an especial purpose, must be\ncultivated. Scripture tells us that souls left to waste, like\nfallow ground, bring forth only wild fruits, _spines et\ntribulos_. And God did not make the souls of women, any more\nthan the souls of men, to be shifting, barren, or unhealthy soil.\n\nMoreover, every reasonable creature is to render to God an\naccount of his gifts. Each one in the judgment day will be dealt\nwith according to the gifts he has received and the use he has\nmade of them.\n\nGod has given us all hands, (which, according to the\ninterpreters, signify prompt and intelligent action,) but on\ncondition that we do not bring them to him empty. Again, he has\ncategorically explained his intentions in the parable of the\ntalents, where he declares that a strict account must be rendered\nto him, talent by talent. I do not know a father of the church or\nany moralist who has ever asserted that this parable did not\nconcern women as well as men. There is no serious distinction to\nbe made. Each must give an account of what he has received; and\ngood human sense, like good divine sense, plainly indicates that\none sex has no more right than the other to bury or to waste the\npossessions granted by Heaven to be employed and increased.\n\nIn short, I say with St. Augustine, no creature to whom God has\nconfided the lamp of intelligence has a right to behave like a\nfoolish virgin, letting the oil become exhausted because she has\nneglected to renew it; letting that light die out that was to\nhave enlightened her path and that of others too, if only, as in\nthe case of some wives and mothers, that of her husband and\nchildren.\n\nThe generality of books relating to the merits, the destinies,\nand the virtues of woman, far from considering her as a being\ncreated in the image of God, intelligent, free, and responsible\nto her Creator for her actions, treat of her as a possession of\nman, made solely for him, and whose end he is. In all these\nbooks, a woman is only a blooming creature meant to be adored,\nbut not respected--a being essentially inferior whose existence\nhas no other aim than to secure the happiness of man, or bend to\nhis most frivolous purposes; dependent, above all, upon man, who\nalone is her master, her legislator, and her judge--absolutely,\nas if she had no soul, no conscience, no moral liberty; as if God\nwere nothing to her; as if he had not endowed her soul with\ncravings, faculties, aspirations, in one word, with rights that\nare at the same time duties.\n\n{33}\n\nThe world declaims, and with reason, against the futility of\nwomen, against their love of approbation, and what is called\ntheir coquetry. But is not this futility produced and propagated\nby the fear of making them learned, of too fully developing their\nintelligence?--as if such a thing were possible, as if that true\ndevelopment through which one better understands duty, and learns\nto calculate consequences, could be injurious. Are not women who\nhave serious tastes obliged to hide them or make excuses for them\nby every means in their power, as if they were concealing a\nfault?\n\nOr if, indeed, a woman is allowed to educate herself, it is only\nwithin very restricted limits, and merely, according to the\nwishes of M. de Maistre, that she may understand the conversation\nof men, or that she may be more amusing, and set off her trilling\ntalk in a more piquant fashion by mingling it with odds and ends\nof wisdom. With such a dread does the learned woman inspire idle\nand frivolous men who will neither work themselves nor let any\none else work.\n\nIn plainer terms still: does not the present system of education\ncreate and foster coquetry and a love of admiration, by making\nman the only end of woman's destiny? It is vain to tell her that\nshe is destined for one alone, and that all others should be to\nher as if they existed not. This is perfectly true from a\nChristian point of view, which embraces at once all rights and\nall duties; but apart from Christian virtue, when that one proves\ntedious, vicious, and absolutely unworthy of affection, and when\ntemptation presents itself under the traits of another, a\nsuperior being, (or one who seems to be superior,) for whom alone\nshe believes herself created, how, I ask, can you persuade her to\nfly from the latter and live only for the former? Imprudent and\nfatal guide that you are, you have taught her that she is an\nincomplete being, who cannot suffice to herself, who must lean\nupon the superiority of another; and then you complain because,\nwhen she meets this support, this other and truer half of\nherself, she clings to it, and cannot fly from the fatal\nattraction! Undeniably she violates the holiest of obligations;\nbut have you not yourselves been blind and guilty? Are you not so\nstill?\n\nI have no hesitation in asserting that only Christian morality\ncan teach a woman with absolute and decisive authority her true\nrights and her true duties in their necessary correlation.\n\nUntil you have persuaded a woman that she is first created for\nGod, for herself, for her own soul, and in the second place for\nher husband and children, to value them next to God, with God,\nand for God, you will have done nothing either for the happiness\nor the honor of families.\n\nOf course, husband and wife are two in one, and their children\nare one in them. But, if God is not the foundation of this\nprovidential union, Providence will be avenged, and the union\ndissolved. This is the misfortune, almost always irreparable,\nthat so often meets our eyes. [Footnote 4]\n\n    [Footnote 4: Does the reader believe these warnings uncalled\n    for in American society? We once explained to a Frenchman the\n    system in vogue in many of our States, of divorce followed by\n    a second marriage. \"Ah!\" said he, \"in France we call that a\n    _liaison_\" _Trans_.]\n\nThis excessive absorption of the _personality_ of a wife\ninto her husband's existence was useful, perhaps, for the\npreservation of the antique matron. Such moral and intellectual\nrestrictions were reasonable, perhaps, at a period when duty had\nno sanction sufficiently strong. The seclusion of the gynaeceum\nmay have served to preserve the domestic circle from frightful\ndisorder.\n{34}\nBut a Christian woman is conscious of a different destiny. For\nher gynaeceum and harem are useless. She loves the being to whom\nGod has united her with a tenderness and devotion rarely met with\nin pagan times, if one may judge by the eulogiums lavished on\nthose who approached most nearly the standard we see realized\nevery day. The Christian woman regards herself as her husband's\ncompanion, as his assistant in earthly as in heavenly things,\n_socia, adjutorinm;_ as bound to console him and make his\nhappiness; but she thinks, too, that they should help each other\nto become better, and that, after having educated together new\n_elect_, they should share felicity together through all\neternity. For such destinies, a woman's education cannot be too\nunremitting, too earnest, or too strong.\n\nThe contrary system rests upon a pagan appreciation of her\ndestiny, or, as has been said with reason, upon the idleness of\nmen who wish to preserve their own superiority at small expense.\nThe pagan conception consists in believing women to be merely\ncharming creatures, passive, inferior, and made only for man's\npleasure and amusement. But, as I have already said, Christianity\nthinks differently. In Christianity a woman's virtue, like a\nman's, must be intelligent, voluntary, and active. She must\nunderstand the full extent of her duties, and know how to draw\nconclusions from divine teaching for herself, her husband, and\nher children.\n\nThis prejudice against the intellectual development of women is\none of the most culpable inventions of the eighteenth century,\nthat age of profligacy and impiety. The Regent and Louis XV. have\nfostered it more than Moli\u00e8re, as they have created more\nprejudices against religion than _Tartuffe_. It was useful\nto all unprincipled husbands to have wives as worthless as\nthemselves, who should be incapable of controlling their\ndisorderly lives.\n\nA superior woman obliges her husband to depend upon her. He is\nforced to submit to the control of an intelligent spirit, and\ndoes not feel free to follow his own caprices. This is why\nvicious husbands need ignorant wives.\n\nMoli\u00e8re struck a blow as severe at frivolity, in the\n_Pr\u00e9cieuses Ridicules_, [Footnote 5] as at pedantry in the\n_Femmes Savantes_. The eighteenth century retained merely a\nprejudice convenient to itself, which the regency established as\na law, and finally licentious men surrendered the honor of their\nfamilie rather than find in a wife an inconvenient judge, a\nliving conscience, an ever-present reproach. They preferred to\nhave wives as vain and frivolous as themselves, and to make of\nmarriage a contract in which fortunes and titles only were\nconsidered, and where affection on either side went for nothing.\nThe world saw with affright the corruption that speedily engulfed\nFrench society.\n\n  [Footnote 5: It is also to be observed that Moli\u00e8re's learned\n  women had only the affectation and not the reality of science,\n  just as the _pr\u00e9cieuses_ merely affected the fine language\n  and manners of the court. The former were ignorant women\n  playing the part of _savantes_ the latter provincial women\n  aping Paris fashions.]\n\nWhy did not M. de Maistre, who saw the remains of this corruption\nand the chastisements it had merited, understand that the\ndegraded position assigned to women was one of its causes, and\nthat prejudice against the intellectual elevation of women was\nthe work of vice?\n\n\n             V.\n\n  The Dangers of Repression.\n\nThe very nature of things speaks plainly enough. Human nature in\nall its faculties demands instruction, enlargement,\nenlightenment, elevation.\n{35}\nFrom my own observation I must assert that nothing is more\ndangerous than smothered faculties, unanswered cravings,\nunsatisfied hunger and thirst. Thence comes the perversion of\npassions, created for noble ends, but turned against truth and\nvirtue. Thence issue those distorted, crooked, and perverse ways\ninto which we are drawn by an ignorance incapable of choice,\njudgment, or self-restraint: _conversi dirumpent vos_, says\nthe sacred writer. There lies the secret of many falls, many\nscandals, or, at least, of much wretched levity among women! If\nthese rich and ardent powers had been cultivated, we need not now\ndeplore their ruin; we should not have to sigh over the pitifully\nincorrect intellectual standard, the mental weakness of so many\nwomen of distinguished nature, called to be ornaments to the\nworld and to do honor to their families, but of whom education,\nchecked in its development, has made elegant women perhaps, at\nthirty years of age, but frivolous, commonplace and useless.\nSurely no one can seriously contradict me in these assertions.\n\nAgain, and this is a very important consideration:\n\nM. de Maistre would make a woman humble and virtuous in the\naridity of her occupations, without anything to raise and console\nher beyond the knowledge \"that Pekin is not in Europe,\" and so\non.\n\nThis is impossible. She will not remain in this humble sphere. If\nwe do not give her intellectual interests to recreate her from\nthe material duties, often overwhelming, that weigh her down, she\nwill reject these very duties, which humiliate her _when they\ncome alone_, and seek relief from _ennui_ in frivolity.\nDo not we see this every day? Let us not deceive ourselves.\n\nThe duties of the mistress of a household, ever recurring with a\nthousand matter-of-fact details--the responsibilities of domestic\nlife are often wearisome and excessively wearisome. Where shall a\nwoman find consolation? who will give a legitimate impulse to her\nsometimes over-excited imagination? Who will offer to her\nintelligence the rightful satisfaction it demands, and prevent\nher from feeling that she is a mere domestic drudge?\n\nI have no hesitation in saying--and how many experiences have\ncontributed to fortify my conviction!--that there are times when\npiety itself does not suffice! Work, and sometimes very serious\nintellectual work, is required. Drawing and painting are not\nenough, unless the painting be of a very elevated character. What\nthe hour calls for is a strong and firm application of the\nunderstanding to some serious work, literary, philosophical, or\nreligious. Then will calmness, peace, serenity be restored. Let\nus acknowledge the truth. Rigid principles and empty occupations,\ndevotion combined with a purely material or worldly life, make\nwomen destitute of resources in themselves, and sometimes\ninsupportable to their husbands and children.\n\nBut allow a woman two hours of hard study every day, during which\nthe faculties of her soul can recover their balance, perplexities\nassume their true proportions, good sense and judgment resume\ntheir sway, excitement subside, and peace reenter the soul: then\nshe will lift up her head once more; she will see that the\nintellectual life to which she aspires, in accordance with a\ncraving implanted in her being by God himself, is not denied to\nher. Then she will be able to fall on her knees and accept life\nwith its duties, and bless the divine will.\n\n{36}\n\nThis is the fruit of genuine work performed in the presence of\nGod. It renders her soul submissive, sometimes more so than\nprayer itself. It restores her to order and good sense,\nsatisfying within her a just and noble desire.\n\nI have sometimes heard mothers say that they dreaded for their\nchildren faculties overstepping ordinary proportions, and that\nthey should endeavor to repress them. \"What use are they?\" it is\nsaid: \"How can a place be found for these great abilities in that\nreal life, with its narrow, cramped limits, which begins for\nwomen at the close of their earliest youth?\" These remarks have\nsecretly shocked me. What! would you check the expansion of that\nfairest of divine works, a soul where God has implanted a germ of\nideal life? You respect this gift in men, provided that it be\nemployed in practical life, and that it serve to make money or\ncreate a social position. But, since the utility of great gifts\nis less lucrative among women, they had better be repressed! Then\nlop off the branches of the plant that craves too much air and\nroom and sunlight; check the redundant sap. But the plant was\nintended to be a great tree, and you will make of it a stunted\nshrub. Take care lest the mutilation do not kill it utterly while\ntorturing it. To extinguish a soul designed by God to shine is to\nbury therein the seed of an interior anguish that you will never\ncure, and which may exhaust the soul with vague, exaggerated\naspirations. There is no torture comparable to the sense of the\nbeautiful when it cannot find utterance, to the interior agony of\na soul which, perhaps unconsciously, has missed its vocation.\nThat word, expressive of a call from on high, of a solemn and\nirresistible claim, applies to women as well as to men, to the\nideal life as much as to the external life. The soul is a thought\nof God, it has been said. There is a divine plan with regard to\nit, and our exertions or our languor advance or retard the\nexecution of that plan, which exists none the less in God's\nwisdom and goodness, and must appear one day as our accuser if we\nfail to execute it.\n\nAnd to secure its accomplishment, the development of the whole\nsoul, mind, and heart is necessary.\n\nIt is difficult to discover in advance to what God destines his\ngifts; but none the less true is it that he destines them to an\nespecial end, and that this providential vocation, faithfully\nanswered, turns aside the dangers we dread to meet in its\nfulfilment.\n\nIndividual natures should be consulted, that we may develop them\naccording to their capacities. I would not create factitious\ntalents by a culture which nature does not demand, but neither\nwould I leave uncultivated those she has bestowed. Nothing is\nmore dangerous for a woman than incomplete development,\nhalf-knowledge, a half-talent that shows her glimpses of broader\nhorizons without giving force to reach them, makes her think she\nknows what she does not know, and fills her soul with trouble and\nbewilderment, combined with a pride that often betrays itself in\nsad misconduct. When equilibrium is not established between\naspiration and the power to realize it, the soul, after making\nfruitless struggles to attain its ideal, becomes discontented\nwith common life, and, craving some excitement of mind and\nimagination, seeks it in emotions and pleasures always dangerous\nand often culpable.\n\nIf you do not direct the flame upward, it will feed upon the\ncoarsest earthly aliment. A superior person once said to me: \"In\nart, mediocrity is to be above all things feared. A great talent\nescapes many dangers. The impetus once given, one must reach the\ngoal; otherwise, who can say how low one may fall?\"\n\n{37}\n\nTerrible examples of this I have seen, showing me what becomes of\nsmothered faculties and of a rich nature rendered abortive.\n[Footnote 6]\n\n    [Footnote 6: I know a woman endowed with a creative faculty\n    which her education has tended to crush. One feels in her\n    incomplete and suffering nature a sort of interior discord.\n    Ill at ease with herself, she seeks excitement in dress and\n    in frivolous distractions. People attribute these defects to\n    her artistic nature. On the contrary, she would not suffer if\n    she possessed the plenitude of her faculties. She has not\n    been allowed to cultivate fully the talent bestowed by God;\n    she has never arrived at the genuine power of production or\n    reached the repose of legitimate interior satisfaction.]\n\n\n              VI.\n\n  Fatal Results of Ignorance and Levity in Women.\n\nWe complain of the vanity of women, of their luxury and coquetry;\nbut for what else do we prepare them, what else do we inculcate\nin their education? We leave them no other resource on earth. Far\nfrom elevating, developing, strengthening, and ennobling them, we\ndissipate, enervate, and debase them; nor am I speaking of the\nmost fatal kind of debasement. Far from forming in them a taste\nfor serious things or even for subjects worthy of interest, we\nteach them to ridicule those who have such tastes. We reduce them\nto coquetry, gossip, every kind of mediocrity and _ennui_.\nThe world is positively irritated against those who sometimes\nremind women what they are in the estimation of God, what they\nare capable of doing, what they owe to God, to society, to\nFrance, to their husbands and sons, and to themselves; against\nthose who dare to assert that it is for them, daughters of that\nEve to whom humanity owes the chastisement of toil, to accept and\nmake others accept this fruit, which, though perhaps a little\nbitter, is expiatory, honorable, and salutary; that it is for\nthem to follow its holy practices from infancy, and, later, to\ninspire in others a taste for it, or, at least, courage to endure\nit; that it is for them to speak that noble language of reason\nand of faith which calls labor the primordial law of humanity, at\nonce a dominion and a reward.\n\nThe world is angry with those who teach women that they should\nuse the gift of _influence_ with which they are endowed, not\nto become queens of the ball-room, and shine beneath the\ncandelabra of a drawing-room or behind foot-lights, but to become\nin their own homes skilful and patient advocates of everything\nnoble, just, intellectual, and generous; not to _futilize_,\nif I may so express myself, the spirits of men, already too\ninclined to futility, but to remind them constantly that life is\ncomposed of duties, that duty is serious, and that happiness is\nonly found in the performance of duty.\n\nInstead of this, what are they? Stars of a day, meteors too often\nfatal to the repose, the fortune, and the honor of families. We\nmay say that these women who have the brilliancy and the passing\ninfluence of comets exercise also their sinister power. Instead\nof enervating them with nonsense, tell them that they will not\nalways remain twenty years old, and that they will soon need\nother resources than their own beauty and caprices. Tell them\nthat, even supposing they can always rule their husbands so\neasily, this sophistical authority will never gain a hold upon\ntheir children; and yet it is a woman's true aim, her first duty,\noften, alas! her sole happiness, to possess influence over her\nchildren and _especially over her sons_. But to obtain that,\nshe needs not only goodness, tenderness, and patience, but\nreason, reflection, good sense, and enlightenment. To obtain\nthese, real instruction, attentive study, serious education are\nnecessary.\n\n{38}\n\nBut there are few women who are capable of rendering solid\nservice to their husbands and children.\n\n\"As a usual thing,\" wrote to me a woman of the world, of very\ngeneral interests, but exceedingly intelligent--\"as a usual thing\nwe know nothing, absolutely nothing. We can talk only about\ndress, fashions, or steeple-chases--nonsense all of them! A woman\nknows who are the famous actors and horses of the day; she knows\nby heart the _personnel_ of the opera and the Vari\u00e9t\u00e9s; the\nstud-book is more familiar to her than the _Imitation_; last\nyear she voted for _La Tonque_, this year for\n_Vermouth_, and gravely assures us that _Bois-Roussel_\nis full of promise; the grand Derby drives her wild, and the\ntriumph of _Fille de l'Air_ seems to her a national victory.\nShe can tell who are the best dressmakers, what saddler is most\nin vogue, what shop is most frequented. She can weigh the\nrespective merits of the equipages of Comte de la Grange, Duc de\nMorny, and M. Delamarre. But, alas! turn the conversation to a\nmatter of history or geography; speak of the middle ages, the\ncrusades, the institutions of Charlemagne or St. Louis; compare\nBossuet with Corneille, Racine with F\u00ean\u00e9lon; utter the names of\nCamo\u00ebns or Dante, of Royer-Collard, Fr\u00e9d\u00e9ric Ozanam, Comte de\nMontalembert, or P\u00e8re Gratry; the poor thing is struck dumb. She\ncan only amuse young women and frivolous young men; incapable of\ntalking of business, art, politics, agriculture, or science, she\ncannot converse with her father-in-law, with the cur\u00e9, or any\nother sensible man. And yet it is a woman's first talent to be\nable to converse with every one. If her mother-in-law visits\nschools and poor people, and wishes to enroll her in charitable\nassociations, she understands neither their aim nor their\nimportance, for compassion and kindness of heart do not suffice\nin a certain class for the execution of good works. To acquire\ninfluence and give to a benefit its true worth, its whole moral\nsignificance, one needs an intelligence only to be acquired by\nstudy and attentive reflection.\"\n\nAnd, now, I must go further, and indicate the fatal results of\nthe present condition of things to domestic life, to society, and\nto religion; and I will tell the entire truth.\n\nI know, I have seen, and thanked God in seeing, the sway\nexercised in her family by a Christian wife and mother; the\npursuits introduced under her guidance; the ideas, at first\nindignantly rejected, adopted to please her; thoughts of\nreligion, of charity, of devotion, resignation, and forgiveness;\nbut more rarely, I must confess, principles of industry.\n\nIt is a painful fact that education, not excepting religious\neducation, rarely gives a serious taste for study to young girls\nor young women. Envoys from God to the domestic hearth, guardians\nof the holy traditions of faith, honor, and loyalty, women, even\ndevout Christian women, seem to be the adversaries of work\nwhether for their husbands or their children, but especially for\ntheir sons. I have seen women who found it difficult not to\nregard the time given to study as stolen from them. Is this for\nwant of intelligence or aptitude? I think not. I attribute this\nprejudice, first, to the education we give them, light,\nfrivolous, and superficial, if not absolutely false; and,\nsecondly, to the part assigned to them in the world, and the\nplace reserved for them in families, and even in some Christian\nfamilies.\n\n{39}\n\nWe do not wish women to study; they do not wish those about them\nto study. We do not like to see them employed; they do not like\nto see others employed, and they succeed only too well in\npreventing their husbands and children from working. This is an\nimmense misfortune, a most fatal influence. It is useless to say\nto men, \"Work, accept offices, occupy your time.\" While women\nseek to destroy the effect of our advice, it will never produce\nresults. So long as mothers advise their daughters not to marry\nmen in office; so long as the young wife uses her whole art to\ndisgust her husband with employment, and the young mother fails\nto inculcate in her children the necessity of self-culture, of\ntraining the mind and talents as one cultivates a precious plant,\nso long will the law of labor remain, with rare exceptions,\nunobserved.\n\nIn the present stage of customs and manners, home life being what\nit is, women only can effectively protect a spirit of industry;\nmake it habitual; inculcate, foster, facilitate, and even enforce\nit upon those around them; early preparing the way for it,\nrendering it possible and easy, according to it esteem,\nencouragement, and admiration.\n\nNow, on the contrary, children are placed as soon as possible\n_en pension_; that is the word; or for the boys a tutor is\nappointed, for the girls a governess. The mother, out of love of\namusement, deprives herself as early as possible of the supreme\nhappiness of bestowing upon her children the first gleam of\nintellectual and spiritual life--she who gave them corporeal\nexistence. The children then go to college or to a convent, and\nwhat becomes the mother's chief care? That they should not work\ntoo hard! If there is a tutor or governess, the case is far\nworse. The mother often appears to be the born adversary of both,\nbent upon finding fault, upon alienating her children from them,\nand extorting privileges, walks, exemptions, and incessant\ninterruptions. The only dream of this weak and blind mother, her\nonly idea of _occupation_ for her son, is to plan hunting\nparties for him, gatherings of young people, hippodromes, plays,\nwatering-places, and balls, where she follows him with her eyes,\nenchanted with his triumphs in society, which should perhaps\nrather make her sigh. No longer daring to be vain for herself,\nshe is vain for him. What defects does she blame? An ungraceful\ngesture, an unrefined expression, or the omission of some\ncourtesy. She never says to him: \"Aim at higher things; cultivate\nyour mind; learn to think, to know men, things, yourself; become\na distinguished man; serve your country; make for yourself a\nname, unless you have one already, and in that case be worthy to\nbear it.\"\n\nFew mothers give such counsel to their children--still less,\nyoung wives to their husbands. They seem to marry in order to run\nabout in search of amusement or of the principle of perpetual\nmotion. Country places, city life, baths, watering-places, the\nturf, balls, concerts, and morning calls leave not a moment's\nrest for them day or night. Willingly or unwillingly, the husband\nmust share this restlessness. He yawns frequently, scolds\nsometimes, but no matter for that; he must yield, longing for the\nblessed moment when he can shake off the yoke and take refuge at\nhis club. The young wife employs every gift of art and nature,\neverything that God bestowed upon her for better purposes, grace,\nbeauty, sweetness, address, fascination, to make him yield. Oh!\nthat she would employ half these providential resources to prove\nto her husband that she would be proud to be the wife of a\ndistinguished man; that she longs to see him cultivated, clever,\nworthy of his name, worthy one day to be held up as an example to\nhis son; to persuade him either to take some office, or to live\nupon his estates and exercise a righteous influence, protecting\nelective places, gaining the confidence and esteem of his\nfellow-citizens, setting a noble example, and thus serving God\nand society!\n\n{40}\n\nBut far from behaving thus, if the poor husband ventures to take\nup a book and seek repose from the whirlwind he is condemned to\nlive in, madam makes a little face, (considered bewitching at\ntwenty, but one day to be pronounced insufferable;) she flutters\nabout the literary man, the rhetorician, the scholar, retires to\nput on her hat, comes back, seats herself, springs up again,\nflits back and forth before the mirror, takes her gloves, and\nfinally bursts out into execrations against books and reading,\nwhich are good for nothing except to making a man stupid and\npreoccupied. For the sake of peace the husband throws down his\nbook, loses the habit of reading, suffers gradual annihilation by\na conjugal process, and, having failed to raise his companion to\nhis own level, sinks to hers.\n\nHere we have a deplorable vicious circle. So long as women know\nnothing, they will prefer unoccupied men; and so long as men\nremain idle, they will prefer ignorant and frivolous women. Men\nin office are no less persecuted than others. Many women torment\na magistrate, a lawyer, a notary, making them fail in exactitude\nand in application to business, instead of encouraging a strict\nand complete fulfilment of duty. They consider punctuality a bore\nand assiduity insufferable. When they succeed in accomplishing\nthe neglect of an appointment or of some important occupation,\none would think they had achieved a victory. The case is worse\nstill for certain careers generally adopted by rich men or by\nthose whose families were formerly wealthy, such as the army and\nnavy. An officer must remain unmarried, or marry a girl without\nfortune. Otherwise, in discussing the marriage, the first thing\ndemanded is a resignation. Every young lady of independent\nfortune wishes her husband to _do nothing_. In view of this\nignorant prejudice, this conjugal ostracism, even sensible\nmothers hesitate about recommending their sons to adopt careers\nwhich will make marriage possible to them only at the expense of\na noble fortune; or else they say in words too often heard: \"My\nson will serve for a few years, and then resign. A married man\n_cannot pursue a career_.\"\n\nAnd young men are asked to work with this perspective before\nthem! How can one love a position which is to be abandoned on\nsuch or such a day in accordance with a caprice? What zeal, what\nemulation, what ambition can a man have who is to leave the\nservice at twenty-five or twenty-eight years of age, when he is\nperhaps captain of artillery or lieutenant of a ship, that is to\nsay, when he has worked his way through the difficulties that\nbeset every career at its outset?\n\nI have known mothers fairly reduced to despair at seeing a son,\njust on the point of attaining an elevated position, forced to\nrenounce the thought merely in accordance with the\n_exigence_ of a young girl and the blindness of her mother,\nwho ought to foresee and dread the inevitable regrets and\ninconveniences of idleness succeeding to the charm of an occupied\nlife, of the monotony of a _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_ coming after the\nexcitements of Solferino, or the perpetual _qui vive_ of our\nAlgerian garrisons, or the adventurous and almost constantly\nheroic life of the navy.\n\n{41}\n\nIt is the duty of an intelligent Christian wife or mother to\npoint out the dangers of idleness and stultification; the social\nand intellectual suicide resulting from standing aloof from every\noffice and all occupation; the political and religious necessity\nof occupying responsible places, distinguishing one's self in\nthem, and holding them permanently in order to exercise one's\ninfluence in favor of morals and religion. This is a vital matter\nwhich will never be understood until mothers teach it with the\ncatechism to their little children. This is the commentary which\nevery mother and every catechist must give, in explaining the\nimportant chapter on sloth, one of the seven deadly sins. And the\nsame ideas must be inculcated in instructing their daughters\nuntil they are twenty years old; teaching them to be reasonable\nand capable, showing them the evil consequences of idleness in a\nyoung husband, the difficulty of amusing him all day long, of\npleasing without wearying him, of averting _ennui_,\nill-humor, and monotony. And let the teacher never fail to add\nthe truth so often proved that it is impossible to induce a son\nto work after having dissuaded his father from working. Of\ncourse, there are moments of pain in an occupied life. It is hard\nto see a husband embark for two or three years, going perhaps to\nSebastopol or to Kabylia. But it is sadder still to see a husband\nbored to death, and thinking his wife tedious, his home\nunbearable, his affairs drudgery; and this is not uncommon. I\nhave heard wives who had consented to necessary separations say\nthat the trial had its compensations; that the consciousness of\nduty fulfilled was a source of inestimable satisfaction; that the\nagony was followed by a joy that obliterated the memory of\nsuffering; that as the time of return drew near, as the regiment\nor the ship appeared in sight, they experienced a happiness\nunknown to other women. It must be so; God leaves nothing\nunrewarded; every sacrifice has its compensation, every wound its\nbalm. I am told that the most admirable households are to be\nfound in our seaport towns, our great manufacturing centres, and\neven in our large garrison towns in spite of the bustle,\nagitation, and dissipation reigning there. I can easily believe\nthis--every one is busy in such places. A husband who has spent\nthe day in barrack or factory (still more, one who has been at\nsea a long time) thirsts for home, longs to be again by his own\nhearth, enjoying domestic life. The wife on her side, separated\nfor several hours from her husband, reserves for him her most\ncheerful mood and her pleasantest smile. She saves him from the\nthousand annoyances of the day, the household perplexities, the\nlittle embarrassments of life, the children's romping. The little\nones run to meet their father, and recreate him after his work\nwith caresses and prattle. This is the way in which men enjoy\nchildren; as a necessity of every day and all day, they dread\nthem.\n\nBut without rising so high, I ask simply what can be more\nagreeable, even for a husband who spends his life in hunting or\nanywhere else out of his own house, than to find on coming home\nhis wife cheerful and good-tempered, because after getting him a\ngood dinner she has amused herself with painting a pretty\npicture, or studying with genuine interest a little natural\nhistory, or trying some experiment in domestic chemistry, or even\nsolving a problem in _g\u00e9om\u00e9trie agricole_, instead of\nfinding her languid and melancholy, a _femme incomprise_,\nwith some novel or another in her hand.\n\n{42}\n\nIf I persist in preaching industry to men and women, it is for\nvery urgent reasons, not only domestic and political, but social.\nWho does not see that we verge on socialism at present? The\nmasses will not work, they detest labor. Salaries have been\nraised again and again; for many trades they go beyond necessity,\nand so the workman, instead of giving six days in the week to his\ntrade, gives but four, three, or even two days. It is for the\nhigher classes who are supposed to understand their duties and to\nfeel the import of their responsibilities, it is for them to\nreinstate labor in popular estimation. In this as in all other\nthings, example must come from above; for here, as in religion\nand morals, the higher classes owe to society and to their\ncountry some expiation. The eighteenth century, with its\ncorruptions, its scandals, and its irreligion, hangs upon us with\nthe weight of a satanic heritage. Like original sin, these errors\nhave been washed in blood; it is the history of all great errors.\nIt remains for us to expiate the idleness, the inaction,\ninutility, annihilation to which we have hitherto surrendered\nourselves, setting a fatal example to those around us.\n\nOur generation must be steeped in labor. There and only there is\nto be found our safety, and mothers must be convinced of this\ntruth. The mother is the centre of home, everything radiates from\nher--on one condition, that she is a mother worthy of the name\nand mission--and such mothers are rare.\n\nWe know what is in general the education of women. Add to it the\nindulgence and weakness of parents, the species of idolatry they\nhave for their daughters, the premature pleasures lavished upon\nyoung girls, the pains taken to praise them, to adorn them from\ntheir earliest infancy, and afterward to show them off and make\nthem shine in a sort of matrimonial exhibition. How can we hope\nto find earnest mothers of families among those whose youth has\nbeen spent in balls, _fetes_, and morning visits? Alas! it\nis not possible. Reasonable ideas rarely come to them until age\nor misfortune has withdrawn their surest means of influence.\n\nAnd the greatest sufferers from this calamity are society and\nreligion; it cannot be otherwise. A little drawing, a little more\nmusic, enough grammar and orthography to pass muster, sufficient\nhistory and geography to know Gibraltar from the Himalaya and to\nrecognize Cyrus as King of Persia, but not enough to avenge noble\nmemories outraged or to rectify erroneous estimates; of foreign\nlanguages a slight smattering, enough to enable one to read\nEnglish and German novels, but not to appreciate the glorious\npages of Shakespeare, Milton, or Klopstock; no literature,\nnothing of our great authors, unless a few fables of La Fontaine\nand perhaps a chorus out of Esther learned in childhood; of\nreligious knowledge a sufficiency to allow of being admitted to\nfirst communion, not enough to answer the most vulgar objections,\nthe most notorious calumnies, not enough to understand one's\nposition and duties, to impose silence on the detractors of\nreligion, or the adversaries of reason and Christian evidence, to\nrefute the grossest sophistry, to lead back to faith and holy\npractices a young husband or perhaps an aged father; with such an\neducation what influence can a young woman exercise?\n\nIf the poor young creature so insufficiently prepared by\neducation never reads, or reads only romances, where will she\nfind arms to defend her against error and blasphemy? In spite of\nsincere piety, she must, useless and timid soldier that she is,\ndesert the holy cause of God and truth for fear of compromising\nit by an ignorant defence.\n{43}\nAnd yet it is a noble cause, and one that belongs especially to\nher, for it is the cause of the weak and defenceless, and only\nasks in its service a sincere conviction, a devout heart, and a\nlittle knowledge. But the knowledge is wanting. Because she has\nacquired neither a habit of reflection nor of seeking in good\nbooks necessary information, she must be silent, and, while God\nand his faith are outraged in her presence with impunity, drop\nher eyes upon her worsted work and sigh.\n\nYes, sigh--that is right; and sigh not only for the poor men who\nread such wretched books and intoxicate themselves with vile\npoisons, but also for the fact that there is no one to open their\neyes, to lead these misled hearts back into the right path, or,\nat least, to excite a doubt in their perverted minds and warped\nconsciences; no mother, sister, daughter, wife, no intelligent,\nenlightened, educated woman to fulfil woman's essential mission.\nNo one else can do the work. If women are not the first apostles\nof the home circle, no one else can penetrate it. But they must\nrender themselves thoroughly capable of fulfilling their\napostleship. Nowadays, when all the world reasons or rather\ncavils, when everything is discussed and proved, when even light\nand life must be demonstrated, it is necessary that women should\nparticipate in the general movement. To speak without reserve--in\nthe face of a masculine generation who graft on to the\n_hauteurs_ which especially belong to them feminine\nindifference, affectation, idleness, frivolity, and\nweakness--women must show themselves serious, thoughtful, firm,\nand courageous. When men copy their defects, it behooves them to\nborrow a few manly virtues. \"It is time,\" nobly says M. Caro,\n\"that minds possessed of any intellectual claims awoke to full\nvitality. Let every being endowed with reason learn to protect\nhimself against literary evil-doers and to repulse their attacks\nupon God, soul, virtue, purity, and faith.\"\n\n  To Be Continued.\n\n--------\n\n  In Memoriam.\n\n  When souls like thine rise up and leave\n    This Earth's dark prison-place,\n      'Tis foolishness to grieve:\n  Or think thou dost thy life regret,\n  And would return if God would let\n    Thy feet their steps retrace.\n\n  'Tis he who ends thy banishment,\n  And by an angel's hand has sent\n      A merciful reprieve.\n\n--------\n\n{44}\n\n  The Early Christian Schools and Scholars.  [Footnote 7]\n\n    [Footnote 7: _Christian Schools and Scholars_; or,\n    Sketches of Education from the Christian Era to the Council\n    of Trent. By the author of _The Three Chancellors_, etc.\n    Two vol. London: Longmans, Green & Co.]\n\nThe history of the schools and scholars of the early ages of the\nchurch is not only interesting as forming an important chapter in\nthe history of the church itself, but is full of most remarkable\nfacts and valuable suggestions bearing on the as yet apparently\nunsolved problem of education. It is replete with matter well\nworthy the profound attention of all who consider the proper\ntraining of youth one of the gravest and most important of public\nquestions; and one which, in this age of advanced enlightenment,\nstill remains the subject of many crude and conflicting opinions.\nNot only do we recommend its perusal to the Catholic teacher, who\nis manfully overcoming the peculiar obstacles presented in our\nunsettled community, as a source of consolation and\nencouragement; but we call it to the notice of those gentlemen\nwho spend so much of their time during summer vacations debating\non the quantity and quality of discipline necessary to enforce\nthe time-honored authority of the teacher, and in endeavoring to\ndefine the exact minimum of moral training required to be\nadministered to the secular student to fit him for the proper\ndischarge of the duties of life. We do this in all sincerity; for\nwith this latter class of persons we are not inclined to find too\nmuch fault. Many of them are men of intelligence and good\nintentions; but, groping as they are in utter darkness, and\nbringing to their deliberations a lamentable ignorance of the\nessential principles of Christian education, it is not wonderful\nthat their counsels should be divided, and their labors as\nunprofitable as that of Sisyphus. Disguise it as we may, it\ncannot be doubted that the state colleges and schools of our\ncountry, after a very fair trial, have not answered the\nexpectations of even those who profess themselves their warmest\nadmirers. There is a feeling in the public mind, as yet partially\nexpressed, that there is something lacking in our method of\ndealing with the ever-constant flood of young hearts and minds\nwhich is daily looking to us for direction and guidance. It is\nbecoming more and more painfully apparent that the mere intellect\nof the children who attend our public institutions is stimulated\ninto unnatural and unhealthy activity, while their moral nature\nis left wholly uncultivated and undeveloped. Conducted, as such\ninstitutions must necessarily be, by persons unqualified or\nunauthorized to administer moral instruction, it cannot, of\ncourse, be expected that the souls for a time entrusted to their\ncare can be fortified by wise counsels and that moral discipline\nwhich was considered in past ages and in all nations as the\nfundamental basis of all Christian education.\n\nEven in a worldly sense, it ought to be a source of our greatest\nsolicitude that the generation which is to hold the honor and\nintegrity of the nation in its keeping should be schooled in the\nprinciples of justice and rectitude upon which all true\nindividual and national greatness must depend. If, then, we have\nexhausted the wisdom of the present, with all its examples before\nour eyes, to no good purpose, let us turn reverently to the\nexperience of the past, and see if we cannot find something fit\nfor meditation in the varied pages of the history of the\nChristian church, in her struggles against ignorance and false\nphilosophy.\n\n{45}\n\nFrom the very beginning the church had to contend against three\ndistinct elements, positively or negatively, opposed to her\nteachings. In the East, as then known, what was called the Greek\ncivilization, superimposed on the Roman, denied all particular\ngods while worshipping many, and culminated either in refined\natheism or the deification of man himself: proud of its\ndisputants, its arts and literature, it affected to feel, and\nperhaps actually felt, a contempt for the simple doctrines of\nChristianity, accompanied, as they were, by self-denial, poverty,\nand lowliness. Over continental Europe and many of its islands\nthe wave of Roman conquest had swept irresistibly and receded\nreluctantly, leaving behind it the sediment of an intelligence\nwhich served only to nourish the latent weeds of ignorance and\npaganism; while in the far West existed a people with a peculiar\nand, in its way, a high order of civilization, untouched, it is\ntrue, by Roman or Greek pantheism, but completely shut out from\nthe light of the gospel.\n\nTo overcome the scattered and diversified opposition thus\npresented, to overturn false gods and uproot false opinions, to\nbend the stubborn neck of the barbarian beneath the yoke of\nChristian meekness, and to mould whatever was brilliant and\nintellectual in mankind to the service of the true God, was the\ntask assumed by the church through the means of education.\n\nDuring the first three centuries of our era schools were\nestablished at Alexandria, Jerusalem, Edessa, Antioch, and other\ncentres of Eastern wealth and learning; of these, that at\nAlexandria, founded by St. Mark, A.D. 60, was the most\ncelebrated, and had for its teachers and scholars some of the\nmost learned men of the period. They were catechetical in their\nnature, and at first were confined to oral instructions on the\nchief articles of the faith and the nature of the sacraments; but\nin process of time their sphere of usefulness was greatly\nenlarged, and the character of the studies pursued in them\nassumed a wider and higher tone, till not only dogmatic theology\nand Christian ethics, but human sciences and profane literature,\nwere freely taught. Thus we read that, toward the close of the\nsecond century, St. Pantaeus, a converted Stoic of great\nerudition, and Clement of Alexandria, who is said to have\n\"visited all lands and studied in all schools in search of\ntruth,\" taught in the school of St. Mark, with an eloquence so\nconvincing, and a knowledge of Grecian philosophy so thorough,\nthat multitudes of Gentiles flocked to hear them, astonished to\nfind the doctrines of the new faith expounded in the polished\nlanguage of Cicero, and the very logic of Aristotle turned\nagainst the pantheistic philosophy of Greece. Their successor,\nthe celebrated Origen, whose reputation has outlived all the\nattacks of time, in a letter to his friend St. Gregory, gives us\nsome idea of the course of instruction pursued in his time, in\nthis school, in regard to the study of the human sciences. \"They\nare to be used,\" he writes, \"so that they may contribute to the\nunderstanding of the Scriptures; for just as philosophers are\naccustomed to say that geometry, music, grammar, rhetoric, and\nastronomy, all dispose us to the study of philosophy, so we may\nsay that philosophy, rightly studied, disposes us to the study of\nChristianity.\n{46}\nWe are permitted, when we go out of Egypt, to carry with us the\nriches of the Egyptians wherewith to adorn the tabernacle; only\nlet us beware how we reverse the process, and leave Israel to go\ndown into Egypt and seek for treasure; that is what Jeroboam did\nin olden time, and what heretics do in our own.\" Here we find\nexpressed, at so early a day, the beautiful idea of the church\nrespecting education; that enduring pyramid which she would build\nup, whose base is human science, and whose apex is the knowledge\nof God.\n\nThe episcopal seminaries, intended exclusively for the training\nof ecclesiastics, were coeval with, if not anterior to, the\ncatechetical schools, for we find the germ of the system in the\nvery earliest apostolic times. They originally formed but part of\nthe bishops' households; and the students were taught by him\npersonally, or by his deputy. When the community life became more\ngeneral and the number of ecclesiastical pupils increased, the\nseminaries assumed more extensive proportions, the school being\nheld in the church attached to the bishop's house, but the\nscholars still living under his roof. Great care was always\nmanifested by the early fathers of the church in the moral and\nintellectual training of ecclesiastical students. Thus, Pope St.\nSiricius, in his decretal, A.D. 385, to the Bishop of Tarragona,\nlays down the following rules to be observed in preparing\ncandidates for the priesthood. He orders that they shall be\nselected principally from those who have been devoted to the\nservice of the church from childhood. At thirty years of age they\nare to be advanced through inferior orders to subdiaconate and\ndiaconate, and after five years thus spent they may be ordained\npriests. In several provincial councils held in the early\ncenturies we find the greatest stress laid on the importance of\nthe careful culture of seminarians, and the second council of\nToledo, A.D. 531, fixes the ordination of subdeacons at twenty,\nand of deacons at twenty-five years of age. As to the course of\nstudies pursued, besides the reading of the Scriptures, the\nPsalter, and a knowledge of the duties of the holy offices,\nLatin, Greek, and generally Hebrew were taught, together with the\nliberal sciences, and sometimes even law and medicine.\n\nThus did the church gradually but firmly lay the foundation of\nher system. First, by giving to the adult neophyte such\ninstruction as befitted his age and condition, to enable him to\nbecome a worthy member of her fold; and next, by providing, under\nthe direct inspection of each bishop, a school where children,\ndisciplined in his household, taught from his mouth and by his\nexample lessons of piety, humility and self-control, and armed\nwith all the resources of sacred and profane learning, were at\nmature years sent forth to convert a gentile world, and in turn\nbecome teachers of men.\n\nWhile the catechetical schools were flourishing in the East and\nthe episcopal seminaries assuming form in Spain and Gaul, the\nbloody persecutions which prevailed intermittingly at Rome\nretarded for a long time education in that city. Many of her\nfirst citizens, it is true, regardless alike of family\nconsiderations and imperial edicts, were to be daily found by the\nside of her humblest bondmen, listening, through the gloom of the\ncatacombs, to the teachings of the gospel; and to this day their\nplaces can be pointed out beside the rough hewn seat of their\nteachers. The Roman pontiffs also labored in their own dwellings\nto educate their young priests, many of whom, like St.\nFelicitanus, passed only from their care to testify their\ndevotion to the faith by a glorious martyrdom.\n{47}\nWhen the Emperor Constantine was converted, the palace of the\n_Laterni_ became the residence of the popes, and here was\nestablished the Patriarchium, or seminary, which for several\ncenturies gave so many distinguished occupants to the chair of\nPeter. The schools of the empire were also thrown open to the\nChristians, who largely availed themselves of their superior\nadvantages to become acquainted with the old authors. But the\nprofessors of the imperial academies were but semi-christianized,\nand, though conforming outwardly to the new order of things, they\nretained not a little of their old ideas and customs. Hence, we\nfind a variety of opinions entertained by contemporary\nauthorities as to the propriety of Christians studying in them.\nIn most cases, however, where the danger of contamination was not\nimminent, or where, as in the case of Victorinus, the\nacademicians were _bona-fid\u00e8_ Christians, the practice was\npermitted, so eager were the fathers to encourage learning.\n\nTertullian was of opinion that, while Christians could not\nlawfully teach in the schools with pagans, they might be\nlisteners, without, however, taking part in idolatrous\nceremonies. St. Basil, who studied for a time in them, and who\nwas a devoted lover of classical learning, entertained much the\nsame views, comparing the student to a bee who sucks honey out of\nthe poisoned flower. St. Chrysostom, who cannot be accused of any\nantipathy to education in all its most elegant branches, but who\nhad in his own person experienced the dangers which beset the\nyoung Christian in the academies, after great deliberation, and\nwith evident reluctance, decided against the public schools as\nthen conducted. His words have a significant sound, even in these\ndays. He writes:\n\n  \"If you have masters among you who can answer for the virtue of\n  your children, I should be very far from advocating your\n  sending them to a monastery. On the contrary, I should strongly\n  insist on them remaining where they are. But, if no one can\n  give such a guarantee, we ought not to send our children to\n  schools where they will learn vice before they learn science,\n  and where, in acquiring learning of relatively small value,\n  they will lose what is far more precious, their integrity of\n  soul. ... 'Are we, then, to give up literature?' you will\n  exclaim. I do not say that; but I do say that we must not kill\n  souls. ... When the foundations of a building are sapped, we\n  should seek rather for architects to reconstruct the whole\n  edifice, than for artists to adorn the walls. In fact, the\n  choice lies between two alternatives a liberal education, which\n  you may get by sending your children to the public schools, or\n  the salvation of their souls, which you secure by sending them\n  to the monks. Which is to gain the day, science or the soul? If\n  you can unite both advantages, do so, by all means; but, if\n  not, choose the most precious.\"\n\nThe character of the academies must have soon changed for the\nbetter; for, when Julian some time after closed them to the\nChristians, ostensibly with a view to the purity of morals, but\nactually to deprive Christian students of the benefit of any\neducation, St. Gregory, who quickly saw through the Apostate's\ndesigns, protested in the strongest terms against the injustice.\n\"For my part,\" he says, \"I trust that every one who cares for\nlearning will take part in my indignation. I leave to others\nfortune, birth, and every other fancied good which can flatter\nthe imagination of man.\n{48}\nI value only science and letters, and regret no labor that I have\nspent in their acquisition. I have preferred, and ever shall\nprefer, learning to all earthly riches, and hold nothing dearer\non earth next to the joys of heaven and the hopes of eternity.\"\nThe decree was afterward revoked by the Emperor Valentinian at\nthe request of St. Ambrose, and the academies gradually fell into\ndecay; and, growing dim in the light of the new Christian\nfoundations of other countries, finally ceased to be objects of\ndiscussion.\n\nPerhaps the greatest good that resulted from the evils complained\nof by St. Chrysostom was the establishment of the Benedictine\norder; an organization destined to exercise for centuries a\ncontrolling influence over the educational system of Christendom.\nIn the year A.D. 522, a poor solitary named Benedict, while\nengaged at his devotions in the grotto of Subiaco, was visited by\ntwo Roman senators, who desired him to take charge of the\neducation of their sons, Maurus and Placidus. He consented, and\nother children of the same rank, whose parents feared the\ncontagion of the imperial schools, were soon after placed in his\ncare. For their government he established a rule, and from this\napparently slight foundation sprang the numberless monasteries\nwhich were the custodians and dispensaries of learning in the\nmiddle ages. In 543, St. Maurus carried the Benedictine rule into\nGaul, where under his charge and that of his successors\nmonasteries multiplied with great rapidity. We have seen that at\nfirst this illustrious order was designed only for the education\nof the children of the rich, who were to be instructed \"_non\nsolum in Scripturis divinas, sed etiam in secularibus\nlitteris;_\" but so great did its reputation become that, in a\nshort time, we find the doors of its schools thrown open to all\nclasses.\n\nIt was not, however, in the polished circles of the cities of\nGreece and her colonies, nor even in the future centre of\nChristendom, that the church was destined to achieve her most\nsubstantial triumphs. The civilization of the East, long in a\nstate of decay, waned with the decline of the Empire, and its\nopulent cities and elaborate literature became part of the\n_d\u00e9bris_ of the colossal ruins of that once stupendous\npower. The soil in which the seeds of education had been planted\nby St. Mark and St. Basil, Origen and Cassian, was already\nexhausted, and incapable of producing those hardy plants and\ngigantic trees which defy time and corruption. We must,\ntherefore, look to Western Europe as the proper field wherein\nwere to be sown the germs of a more enduring growth.\n\nThe monastic system, more or less defined, was introduced into\nGaul long before the advent of St. Maurus, and the education, not\nonly of monks, was attended to with care, but of the laity also.\nFrom the earliest times we find traces of the exterior schools\nattached to the monasteries for the training of children not\nintended for a clerical life. The rules of Saints Pachominus and\nBasil, then generally followed, were careful to provide that\nchildren should be taught to read and write, and instructed in\npsalmody and such portions of the Holy Scriptures as were suited\nto their comprehension. They were to live in the monastery and be\nallowed to sit at table with the monks, who were strictly\ncautioned not to do or say anything that could disedify their\nyoung minds. With a tenderness truly paternal, the young scholars\nwere allowed a separate part of the building for themselves, and\nplenty of time for amusement.\n{49}\nOn the subject of punishment, we recommend the following advice\nof St. Basil to modern teachers, believing that juvenile human\nnature is much the same now as it was sixteen or seventeen\ncenturies ago. \"Let every fault have its own remedy,\" says this\nexperienced teacher, \"so that, while the offence is punished, the\nsoul may be exercised to conquer its passions. For example: Has a\nchild been angry with his companion? Oblige him to beg pardon of\nthe other and to do him some humble service; for it is by\naccustoming him to humility that you will eradicate anger, which\nis always the offspring of pride. Has he eaten out of meals? Let\nhim remain fasting for a good part of the day. Has he eaten to\nexcess and in an unbecoming manner? At the hour of repast, let\nhim, without eating himself, watch others taking their food in a\nmodest manner, and so he will be learning how to behave at the\nsame time that he is being punished by his abstinence. And if he\nhas offended by idle words, by rudeness, or by telling lies, let\nhim be corrected by diet and silence.\"\n\nThe early Gallican bishops showed as great a desire to encourage\nlearning among their clergy as did those of Spain, and were never\ntired of enforcing the necessity of the attentive study of the\nScriptures and the cultivation of letters, even in religious\nhouses occupied by women. The result of this zealous spirit is to\nbe found in the establishment of the schools of Tours and Lyons,\nGrinni and Vienne, the abbey of Marmontier and the more famous\none of Lerins, which produced thousands of missionaries, and such\nscholars as Apollinaris of Lyons, Maumertius, the author of\n_The Nature of the Soul_, and the poets, Saints Prosper and\nAvitus. The \"Academy of Toulouse,\" of disputatious memory, is\nclaimed to have had a very ancient origin, but was probably not\nin existence until the sixth century.\n\nBut the first period of literary culture on the continent of\nEurope was fast drawing to a close. At the end of the fifth\ncentury heresy and schism; the converted Ostrogoths of Northern\nItaly were subdued by the semi-paganized Lombards; the Roman\nempire existed but in name; and civil war broke out in Gaul,\ndesolating her fields and laying in ruins her churches and\nschools. Darkness succeeded light, and anarchy and barbarism\nprevailed on both sides of the Alps. But the cause of Christian\nlearning was not lost. Driven from the mainland, the Christian\nscholars had already taken refuge in the adjacent islands, where\nthey rekindled their torches, and kept them burning with an\neffulgence unknown in the palaces of kings or the schools of the\nempire. The providence of God, which permitted the ravages of war\nand heresy to prevail for a time in Gaul, Spain, and Italy,\nordained that a newer and more secure asylum should be provided\nfor the handmaid of the faith, whence were to issue, when the\nstorm passed over, of hosts of zealous and learned men to\nreconquer for the church her desolated and darkened dominions.\n\nIreland and England were destined to be this asylum, and, even\nhumanly speaking, no choice could have been more propitious. The\nqualities which distinguished the people of these islands, and\nwhich characterize them even at this day, admirably adapted them\nfor missionary life. The Anglo-Saxon genius, mollified by contact\nwith the more imaginative mind of the Briton, developed a strong,\nunconquerable will, great tenacity of purpose, vast powers of\ncooperation, and a capacity for solid attainments; while the\nCelts of the sister island, who had never known a conqueror,\nexhibited the indomitable zeal of a free-born people united to an\ninsatiable love of learning and fine arts, and a subtility of\nmind which easily grasped the most beautiful and abstruse dogmas\nof Christian philosophy.\n\n{50}\n\nThe earliest monastic schools of England were destroyed by the\nSaxon invaders about the middle of the fifth century, and what\nremained of their teachers were driven with the remnant of the\nBritons into the mountains of Wales. Yet even before the invasion\nmany of her youth found their way to the continent, and there\nobtaining an education, returned to their native country to teach\ntheir compatriots. Thus St. Ninian, who had studied at Rome under\nPope St. Siricius and had visited Tours, established his\nepiscopal seminary and a school for the neighboring children at\nWitherne, in Galloway, about the beginning of that century. He\nwas, says his biographer, St. Aelred, \"assiduous in reading.\" St.\nGermanus of Auxerre and St. Lupus of Troyes followed in 429, and\nestablished at Caerleon, the capital of the Britons, seminaries\nand schools, in which they lectured on the Scriptures and the\nliberal arts. Stimulated by their example, monastic schools\nsprang rapidly into existence, the most successful of which were\nthose at Hentland; Laudwit, among whose first scholars was the\nhistorian Gildas; Bangor on the Dee, in which, according to Bede,\nthere were over two thousand students; Whitland, where St. David\nstudied; and Llancarvan, founded by St. Cadoc. This latter saint\nwas educated by an Irish recluse named Fathai, who was induced to\nleave his hermitage in the mountains to take charge of the school\nof Gwent, in Monmouthshire.\n\nWe must not be surprised to find an Irish teacher at that early\nperiod in Wales; for already the wonderful exodus of Irish\nmissionaries and teachers had commenced. The twenty years'\nmissionary labors of St. Patrick and his disciples had literally\nconverted the entire people of Ireland, and, following the\nlessons taught him at Tours, Rome, and Lerins, that saint studded\nthe island with seminaries and monastic schools. His own, at\nArmagh, founded A.D. 455, doubtless formed the model upon which\nthe others were built. \"Within a century after the death of St.\nPatrick,\" says Bishop Nicholson, \"the Irish seminaries had so\nincreased that most parts of Europe sent their children to be\neducated there, and drew thence their bishops and teachers.\" So\nnumerous, indeed, were the schools of Ireland founded by the\nsuccessors of St. Patrick that it is impossible even to enumerate\ntheir names in the limits of an article. The most celebrated were\nthose of Armagh, which at one time furnished education to seven\nthousand pupils; Lismore; Cashel; Aran, \"the Holy;\" Clonard, the\n_alma mater_ of Columba the Great; Conmacnois; Benchor, of\nwhich St. Bernard speaks in such terms of admiration; and\nClonfert, founded by St. Brendan the navigator. When we remember\nthe disturbed condition of the continent during the sixth and\nseventh centuries, and the almost profound peace which prevailed\nin Ireland during that time, we cease to be astonished at the\ninflux of foreigners which thronged her schools. St. AEngus\nmentions the names of Gauls, Romans, Germans, and even Egyptians\nwho visited her shore; and St. Aldhelm of Westminster, in the\nseventh century, rather petulantly complains of his countrymen\nneglecting their own schools for those of Ireland. \"Nowadays,\" he\nremarks, \"the renown of the Irish is so great that one sees them\ndaily going or returning; and crowds flock over to their island\nto gather up, not merely the liberal arts and physical sciences,\nbut also the four senses of Holy Scripture and the allegorical\nand tropological interpretation of its sacred oracles.\"\n\n{51}\n\nAs to the course of study pursued in the Irish monastic schools,\nthere is reason to believe that not only were theology, grammar,\nthat is, languages, and the physical sciences taught, but poetry\nand music also received special attention. The bardic order were\nthe first to embrace Christianity, and their love for those two\nbeautiful arts was proverbial. Latin and Hebrew were studied, but\nthe sonorous language of Homer and Cicero seems to have been most\nin favor, probably on account of its remarkable resemblance, in\neuphony at least, to the vernacular Gaelic. Mathematics and\nastronomy ranked first on the list of the sciences, and\ngeography, as far as then known, must have been familiar to St.\nBrendan and his adventurous companions.\n\nBut, as we have said, the missionary labors of the Irish had\nalready commenced. Obedient to a law beyond human control, the\npent-up zeal of the people had burst its boundaries and\noverflowed Europe. Of the devoted men destined to roll back the\ntide of paganism, the first in point of greatness, if not in\ntime, was St. Columba, the founder of the schools of Iona, A.D.\n563. Amid all the Irish missionaries, this saint stands out in\nthe boldest relief. Of proud lineage and dauntless spirit,\npassionately fond of books, yet sharing willingly with his monks\nthe toils of the field, we fancy we can almost see his tall,\naustere figure stalking amid the unknown and unheeded perils of\nthe barbarous Hebrides and the mountains of North Britain, with\nhis staff and book, overawing hostile chiefs and princes by his\nvery presence, and winning the hearts of the humble shepherds by\nhis sweet voice and gentle demeanor. \"He suffered no space of\ntime,\" says Adamnan, \"no, not an hour to pass, in which he was\nnot employed either in prayer, or in reading or writing, or\nmanual work.\"\n\nLeaving Ireland forging the weapons of spiritual and intellectual\ncombat, and the Albanian Scots to the care of Columba and his\nmonks, we turn again to England, which, with the exception of\nWales, was up to the end of the sixth century sunk in the\ngrossest paganism. In the year 596, when, to use the words of\nPope Gregory, \"all Europe was in the hands of the barbarians,\"\nthat pontiff conceived the idea of converting the Saxons of\nEngland. He accordingly despatched St. Augustine and some monks\nfrom Monte Cassino, lately reduced to ruins. St. Augustine\nbrought with him a Bible, a psalter, the gospels, an apocryphal\nlives of the apostles, a martyrology, and the exposition of\ncertain epistles and gospels, besides sacred vessels, vestments,\nchurch ornaments, and holy relics. He forthwith established a\nseminary and school at Canterbury, which afterward attained great\ncelebrity. But the schools of Lindisfarne, founded by St. Aiden,\nA.D. 635, eclipsed all lesser luminaries. Aiden was a worthy\ndescendant of Columba, and brought to his task all the learning\nand discipline of Iona. \"All who bore company with Aiden,\" says\nthe Venerable Bede, \"whether monks or laymen, were employed\neither in studying the Scriptures or in singing psalms. This was\nhis own daily employment wherever he went.\" In the south of\nEngland, Maidulf, also an Irish missionary, founded the schools\nof Malmsbury; Wilfred, a student of Lindisfarne, the abbey and\nschool of Ripon, introducing the Benedictine rule into England;\nwhile Archbishop Theodore, a native of Tarsis, and Adrian,\ndescribed as a \"fountain of letters and a river of arts,\"' gave a\nwonderful impetus to the study of letters in Canterbury.\n{52}\nThese latter added to St. Augustine's library the works of St.\nChrysostom, the history of Josephus, and a copy of Homer. The\nstudies pursued at Canterbury consisted of theology, Latin and\nGreek, geometry, arithmetic, music, mechanics, astronomy, and\nastrology. The most illustrious pupil of the early schools of\nCanterbury were St. Aldhelm, who was thoroughly familiar with the\nclassical authors, himself a writer of no mean order, and who\nafterward became teacher at Malmsbury; St. Bennet Biscop, who\nfounded schools at Monk Wearmouth, Yarrow, and various other\nplaces, endowing them with valuable books which he had collected\non the continent. He first introduced the use of glass in\nEngland.\n\nIn the school at Yarrow, Bede commenced his studies. This\nextraordinary man, besides attending to his duties as a\nmissionary and teacher, found time to compose forty-five books on\nthe most diverse subjects, including commentaries on the Holy\nScriptures, works on grammar, astronomy, the logic of Aristotle,\nmusic, geography, arithmetic, orthography, versification, the\ncomputum or method of calculating Easter, and natural philosophy,\nbesides his _Ecclesiastical History_ and _Lives of the\nSaints_. He was well versed in the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew\nlanguages, and, for his success in reducing the barbarous\nAnglo-Saxon tongue to something like grammatical rules, he has\nbeen justly styled the father of the English language. For the\nimmense knowledge which he displayed in his various writings, he\nwas indebted, doubtless, to the valuable libraries collected by\nSt. Bennet, who, like a true son of Iona, seized upon a book\nwhenever or wherever an opportunity was afforded. At the\nbeginning of the eighth century, the schools of York attained\ngeneral notoriety under the management of Egbert, who taught the\nseven liberal sciences, chronology, natural history, mathematics,\nand jurisprudence. Here Alcuin, the adviser and friend of\nCharlemagne, received his first lessons.\n\nNor are we to suppose that the great schools above mentioned\noccupied the entire attention of the hierarchy of England. On the\ncontrary, every bishop had his own seminary; and every monastery,\nof which there were hundreds in the seventh and eighth centuries,\nhad its _interior_ or claustral, and its _exterior_\nschool for the education of the children of its neighborhood. In\nEngland, as elsewhere, wherever a monastery was built, no matter\nhow remote the situation or how barren the soil, people flocked\nround it not only to hear the gospel preached, but to learn the\nmechanical arts and the laws of agriculture. Besides this, parish\npriests, or, as they were called in the Anglo-Saxon, \"mass\npriests,\" were obliged to open and sustain parochial free schools\nfor the children of the peasantry and serfs.\n\nIt is acknowledged by all writers, no matter how sceptical they\nmay be on other points, that the church was the first to raise\nwoman to her true place in society. In pagan times woman was\ntreated much the same as she now is in Mohammedan countries, and\nonly the very vilest of the sex enjoyed any freedom of speech or\naction; but Christianity not only threw its aegis around her, but\nprovided for her education with a care only second, if indeed not\nfully equal, to that bestowed on ecclesiastics.\n{53}\nWe find by the correspondence between St. Boniface and his\nrelative Lioba, that the nuns of England at that time understood\nand could write the Latin language, and were well versed in the\nScriptures and the writings of the fathers. Nunneries were, in\nfact, in the middle ages almost as numerous as monasteries, and\nin their sphere as powerful agents in the advancement of religion\nand education.\n\nBy the close of the eighth century England had reached the zenith\nof her first period of literary glory. Not only were her people\nthoroughly instructed according to their degree and rank, but the\nisland abounded in saints and scholars, many of whom, like those\nof Ireland, went forth, from time to time, to repay to benighted\nEurope a portion of the debt contracted two centuries earlier.\n\nIt were an interesting study, if space permitted, to trace the\ndivergent paths pursued by Irish and English scholars on the\ncontinent, in what may be called their initial campaigns against\nignorance. We find the Irish invading France, Switzerland, Italy,\nand even Spain, while the Anglo-Saxons, with a like affinity for\nrace and habits, preferred the northern part of Europe, the\ncradle of their ancestors. St. Columbanus, whose rule, next to\nthat of St. Benedict, was the most generally adopted in the\ncontinental monasteries, founded the schools of Luxeuil in\nBurgundy and of Bobbio in Italy; St. Gall, one of his companions,\nlaid the foundation of the famous schools of that name in\nSwitzerland; St. Cathal of Lismore became the patron saint of\nTarentum, and Donatus and Frigidan were bishops of Fiesole in\nTuscany and Lucca.\n\nSt. Winifred, or, as he was afterward called, Boniface, the first\ngreat English missionary to the continent, achieved great\nsuccesses in the north about 723, and, being desirous of training\nup a native priesthood to perpetuate his works, invited several\nof his countrymen to Germany to take charge of the seminaries of\nthe different bishoprics he had founded. Among those who accepted\nthe invitation were his two nephews, one of whom, Willibald,\nestablished a college at Ordorp. The seminary of Utrecht owes its\norigin to one of his earliest pupils, Luidger, a direct\ndescendant of Dagobert II., who also built several seminaries and\nmonastic schools in Saxony. Another of St. Boniface's students,\nStrum, laid the foundation of the celebrated abbey and school of\nFulda in 744; and, to complete the work of regeneration, thirty\nnuns were brought over from England, who established religious\nhouses innumerable, and introduced among the rude Germans the\nlearning and refinement which marked the nunneries of their\nnative land. St. Boniface, having been appointed papal legate and\nvicar with jurisdiction over the bishops of Gaul and Germany,\napplied several years of his life to the reformation of abuses\nand the establishment of strict rules of life among the clergy of\nboth countries. To this end we are told that in every place where\nhe planted a monastery he added a school, not only for the\nbenefit of young monks, \"but in order that the rude population by\nwhom they were surrounded might be trained in holy discipline,\nand that their uncivilized manners might be softened by the\ninfluence of humane learning.\" His grand work having been\naccomplished, he resigned his delegated powers, resumed his\nmissionary life, and, with nothing but his \"books and shroud,\"\nproceeded to Friesland, the scene of his first labors, where he\nsuffered martyrdom in 755. This saint was a devoted friend to\neducation, and that portion of the decrees of the council of\nCloveshoe, held in 747, in which the subject of learning is\ntreated, is ascribed to his pen.\n{54}\nThe council ordered that \"bishops, abbots, and abbesses do by all\nmeans diligently provide that all their people incessantly apply\ntheir minds to reading; that boys be brought up in the\necclesiastical schools, so as to be useful to the church of God;\nand that their masters do not employ them in bodily labor on\nSundays.\"\n\nWhile Germany was being reclaimed from its primitive barbarism,\nGaul, which had given so many missionaries to the Western\nIslands, was not neglected. For more than two hundred years this\ncountry, once so fertile in pious men and learned institutions,\nwas the theatre of the most frightful disorders, consequent on\ndomestic wars and foreign invasions. There were but few\nmonasteries surviving, but even these were true to the design of\ntheir founders, and in them learning, to use the eloquent remark\nof the Protestant historian, Guizot, \"proscribed and beaten down\nby the tempest that raged around, took refuge under the shelter\nof the altar, till happier times should suffer it to appear in\nthe world.\" But a memorable epoch had arrived in the history of\nFrance. In 771 Charlemagne became monarch of all the Franks, and\nby his extraordinary military successes and political wisdom soon\nmade himself master of the entire continent north of the\nPyrenees. But great as were his conquests in the field, his\nvictories in the cause of letters in France were more splendid\nand far more durable. Under his long and brilliant sway the evils\nof previous centuries were swept away; churches were restored,\nmonasteries rebuilt, seminaries and schools everywhere opened.\nLike all great practical men, the Frankish monarch knew admirably\nwell how to choose his assistants when grand ends were to be\nreached, and in this instance he selected Alcuin of York as his\nagent in restoring to his dominions religious harmony and\nChristian education. The result showed the wisdom of his choice,\nfor to no man of that day could so herculean a task be assigned\nwith better hope of its execution. Trained in the schools of\nYork, then among the best in England, he united to a solid\njudgment profound learning and an energy of mind as untiring as\nthat even of his royal patron. The Palatine school, though in\nexistence previous to the reign of Charlemagne, was placed under\nthe charge of Alcuin, and the emperor and various members of his\nfamily became his first and most attentive pupils. It consisted\nof two distinct parts: one, composed of the royal family and the\ncourtiers, followed the emperor's person; the other necessarily\nstationary, in which were educated young laymen as well as those\nintended for the cloister; Charlemagne, himself setting the\nexample of diligent study, managed to acquire, amid the turmoil\nof war and the labors of the cabinet, a considerable knowledge of\nLatin, Greek, and Hebrew, the liberal sciences and astronomy, of\nthe latter of which he seems to have been particularly fond.\n\nThe first step taken by Alcuin was the correction of the copies\nof the Holy Scriptures, which had become almost unintelligible\nfrom the accumulated errors of former transcribers. This he\nsucceeded in doing about the year 800. He next turned his\nattention to the multiplication and replenishing of libraries. \"A\nstaff of skilful copyists was gradually formed, and so soon as\nany work had been revised by Alcuin and his fellow-laborers, it\nwas delivered over to the hands of the monastic scribes.\"\n\n{55}\n\nThe capitulars of Charlemagne in relation to civil affairs and\nmunicipal laws mark him as one of the ablest statesmen of any\nage, and are peculiarly his own; but those on education are so\ncomprehensive, and of so elaborate a nature, that we cannot help\nthinking them the fruits of Alcuin's suggestions, embodying, as\nthey do, in an official form the precise views so often expressed\nby him in letters and lectures. By these decrees monastic schools\nwere divided into _minor_ and _major_ schools, and\npublic schools, which answered to the free parochial schools of\nEngland. In the minor schools, which were to be attached to all\nmonasteries, were to be taught the \"Catholic faith and prayers,\ngrammar, church music, the psalter, and computum;\" in the major\nschools, the sciences and liberal arts were added; while in the\npublic schools, the children of all, free and servile, were to\nreceive gratis such instruction as was suitable to their\ncondition and comprehension. Those monks who, either from neglect\nor want of opportunity, had not acquired sufficient education to\nenable them to teach in their own monasteries, were allowed to\nstudy in others in order to become duly qualified for the duty\nimposed on them. A more complete system of general education\ncould not well be devised nor more rigidly carried out.\n\nAlcuin ended his well-spent life in 804, and Charlemagne ten\nyears later; but their reforms lived after them, and were\nperpetuated in succeeding reigns with equal vigor, if not with\nequal munificence. Theodulph, Bishop of Orleans, not only\nestablished schools in every part of his large diocese, but\ncompiled class-books for the use of their pupils; the diocese of\nVerdun was similarly supplied by the Abbot Smaragdus; Benedict of\nAnian, reformed the Benedictine order, and like Leidrade, was a\nzealous teacher and a great collector of books; and Adalhard, the\nemperor's cousin, became, as it were, the second founder of Old\nCorby.\n\nDuring the ninth and tenth centuries, so fruitful of scholars in\nevery part of Europe, the monastic schools may be said to have\nreached their highest development. Of those north of the Alps we\nmay mention Fulda, Old and New Corby, Richneau, and St. Gall,\nthough there were a great many others of nearly equal extent and\nreputation.\n\nFulda, as we have seen, was founded by Strum, a pupil of St.\nBoniface, who adopted the Benedictine rule. After its founder,\nits greatest teacher was Rabanus, a pupil of Alcuin, who assumed\nthe charge of the school about 813. His success in teaching was\nso great that it is said that all the German nobles sent their\nsons to be educated by him, and that the abbots of the\nsurrounding monasteries were eager to have his students for\nprofessors. He taught grammar so thoroughly that he is mentioned\nby Trithemius as being the first who indoctrinated the Germans in\nthe proper articulation of Latin and Greek. His course embraced\nall sacred and profane literature, science, and art; yet he still\nfound time to compose, and afterward, when Archbishop of Mentz,\nto publish his treatise _De Institutione Clericorum_. Among\nhis pupils were Strabo, author of the _Commentaries on the Text\nof Scripture_; Otfried, called the father of the Tudesque, or\nGerman literature; Lupus, author of _Roman History_; Heinie,\nauthor of the _Life of St. Germanus_; Regimus, of Auxerre;\nand Ado, compiler of the _Martyrology_. While those great\nscholars were teaching and writing, it is worth our while to\ninquire what the lesser lights of the monastery were doing. Here\nis the picture:\n\n{56}\n\n  \"Every variety of useful occupation was embraced by the monks;\n  while some were at work hewing down the old forest which a few\n  years before had given shelter to the mysteries of pagan\n  worship, or tilling the soil on those numerous farms which to\n  this day perpetuate the memory of the great abbey in the names\n  of the towns and villages which have sprung up on their site,\n  other kinds of industry were kept up within doors, where the\n  visitor might have beheld a huge range of workshops, in which\n  cunning hands were kept constantly busy on every description of\n  useful and ornamental work, in wood, stone, and metal. It was a\n  scene not of artistic _dilettanteism_, but of earnest,\n  honest labor, and the treasurer of the abbey was charged to\n  take care that the sculptors, engravers, and carvers in wood\n  were always furnished with plenty to do. Passing on to the\n  interior of the building, the stranger would have been\n  introduced to the scriptorium, over the door of which was an\n  inscription warning copyists to abstain from idle words, to be\n  diligent in copying books, and to take care not to alter the\n  text by careless mistakes. Twelve monks always sat here,\n  employed in the labor of transcribing, as was the custom at\n  Hirsauge, a colony sent out from Fulda in 830, and the huge\n  library which was thus gradually formed, survived till the\n  beginning of the seventeenth century, when it was destroyed in\n  the troubles of the Thirty Years' War. Not far from the\n  scriptorium was the interior school, where studies were carried\n  on with an ardor and a largeness of views which might have been\n  little expected from an academy of the ninth century. Our\n  visitor, were he from the more civilized south, might well have\n  stood in mute surprise in the midst of these fancied\n  barbarians, whom he would have found engaged in pursuits not\n  unworthy of the schools of Rome. The monk Probus is perhaps\n  lecturing on Virgil and Cicero, and that with such hearty\n  enthusiasm that his brother professors accuse him, in\n  good-natured jesting, of ranking them with the saints.\n  Elsewhere disputations are being carried on over the Categories\n  of Aristotle, and an attentive ear will discover that the\n  controversy which made such a noise in the twelfth century, and\n  divided the philosophers of Europe into the rival sects of the\n  nominalists and realists, is perfectly well understood at\n  Fulda, though it does not seem to have disturbed the peace of\n  the school. To your delight, if you be not altogether wedded to\n  the dead languages, you may find some engaged on the uncouth\n  language of their fatherland, and, looking over their\n  shoulders, you may smile to see the barbarous words which they\n  are cataloguing in their glossaries; words, nevertheless,\n  destined to reappear centuries hence in the most philosophical\n  literature of Europe.\" [Footnote 8]\n\n    [Footnote 8: _Christian Schools and Scholars_, pp.\n    205-206.]\n\nThe school of Old Corby owed its reputation not only to its royal\nabbot, but also to its master, Pachasius Radpert, who, like\nStrabo, was of humble origin, and was indebted to the nuns of\nSoissons for an education. He was one of the most remarkable\nscholars of the age, and the author of several books in prose and\nverse. His most famous pupil was Anscharius, the first teacher at\nNew Corby, in Saxony, founded by monks of the parent house in\n822, and afterward a missionary to Denmark and Archbishop of\nHamburg. The two Corbys, founded on the same plan, long vied with\neach other in the erudition of their masters, the multitude of\ntheir students, and the rarity and number of their books.\n\nBut the monastery and schools of St. Gall surpassed in extent and\nvariety of studies all their contemporaries. For the benefit of\nthose who affect to believe that the monasteries of the middle\nages were nests of slothfulness and ignorance, as well as for the\nbeauty of the sketch itself, we transcribe the following\ndescription from the author before us, premising that it is a\nfaithful condensation of Ekkehard's account of this celebrated\nhouse, of which he was one of the inmates:\n\n  \"The first foundation of St. Gall's belongs, indeed, to a date\n  far earlier than that of which we are now treating: it owed its\n  origin to St. Gall, the Irish disciple of St. Columbanus, who,\n  in the seventh century, penetrated into the recesses of the\n  Helvetian mountains and there fixed his abode in the midst of a\n  pagan population. Under the famous abbot, St. Othmar, who\n  flourished in the time of Pepin, the monks received the\n  Benedictine rule, and from that time the monastery rapidly grew\n  in fame and prosperity, so that, in the ninth century, it was\n  regarded as the first religious house north of the Alps.\n{57}\n  It is with a sigh of irrepressible regret, called forth by the\n  remembrance of a form of beauty that is dead and gone forever,\n  that the monastic historian hangs over the early chronicles of\n  St. Gall. It lay in the midst of the savage Helvetian\n  wilderness, an oasis of piety and civilization. Looking down\n  from the craggy mountains, the passes of which open to the\n  southern extremity of the lake of Constance, the traveller\n  would have stood amazed at the sudden apparition of that vast\n  range of stately buildings which almost filled up the valley at\n  his feet. Churches and cloisters, the offices of a great abbey,\n  buildings set apart for students and guests, workshops of every\n  description, the forge, the bakehouse, and the mill, or,\n  rather, mills, for there were ten of them, all in such active\n  operation that they every year required ten new millstones; and\n  then the houses occupied by the vast numbers of artisans and\n  workmen attached to the monastery; gardens, too, and vineyards\n  creeping up the mountain slopes, and beyond them fields of\n  waving corn, and sheep specking the green meadows, and, far\n  away, boats busily plying on the lake and carrying goods and\n  passengers--what a world it was of life and activity; yet how\n  unlike the activity of a town! It was, in fact, not a town, but\n  a house--a family presided over by a father, whose members were\n  all knit together in the bonds of common fraternity. I know not\n  whether the spiritual or social side of such a religious colony\n  were most fitted to rivet the attention. Descend into the\n  valley, and visit all the nurseries of useful foil, see the\n  crowds of rude peasants transformed into intelligent artisans,\n  and you will carry away the impression that the monks of St.\n  Gall had found out the secret of creating a world of happy\n  Christian factories. Enter their church and listen to the\n  exquisite modulations of those chants and sequences, peculiar\n  to the abbey, which boasted of possessing the most scientific\n  school of music in all Europe; visit their scriptorium, their\n  library, and their school, or the workshop where the monk\n  Tutilo is putting the finishing touch to his wonderful copper\n  images and his fine altar-frontals of gold and jewels, and you\n  will think yourself in some intellectual and artistic academy.\n  But look into the choir, and behold the hundred monks who form\n  the community at their midnight office, and you will forget\n  everything save the saintly aspect of those servants of God,\n  who shed abroad over the desert around them the good odor of\n  Christ, and are the apostles of the provinces which own their\n  gentle sway. You may quit the circuit of the abbey, and plunge\n  once more into the mountain region which rises beyond the reach\n  of its softening, humanizing influence. Here are distant cells\n  and hermitages with their chapels, where the shepherds come for\n  early mass; or it may be that there meets you, winding over the\n  mountain paths of which they sing so sweetly, going up and down\n  among the hills, into the thick forests and the rocky hollows,\n  a procession of the monks, carrying their relics, and followed\n  by a peasant crowd. In the schools you may have been listening\n  to lectures in the learned and even in the Eastern tongues; but\n  in the churches, and here among the mountains, you will hear\n  those fine classical scholars preaching plain truths in\n  barbarous idioms to a rude race, who, before the monks came\n  among them, sacrificed to the evil one, and worshipped stocks\n  and stones.\n\n  \"Yet, hidden away as it was among its crags and deserts, the\n  abbey of St. Gall's was almost as much a place of resort as\n  Rome or Athens, at least to the learned world of the ninth\n  century. Her schools were a kind of university, frequented by\n  men of all nations, who came hither to fit themselves for all\n  professions. You would have found here not monks alone, and\n  future scholastics, but courtiers, soldiers, and the sons of\n  kings. The education given was very far from being exclusively\n  intended for those aspiring to the ecclesiastical state; it had\n  a large admixture of the secular element, at any rate, in the\n  exterior school. Not only were the sacred sciences taught with\n  the utmost care, but the classic authors were likewise\n  explained: Cicero, Horace, Virgil, Lucan, and Terence were read\n  by the scholars, and none but very little boys presumed to\n  speak in anything but Latin. The subjects for their original\n  compositions were mostly taken from Scripture and church\n  history, and, having written their exercises, they were\n  expected to recite them, the proper tones being indicated by\n  musical notes. Many of the monks excelled as poets, others\n  cultivated painting and sculpture, and other exquisite and\n  cloistral arts; all diligently applied to the grammatical\n  formation of the Tudesque dialect and rendered it capable of\n  producing a literature of its own. Their library in the eighth\n  century was only in its infancy, but gradually became one of\n  the richest in the world. They were in correspondence with all\n  the learned monastic houses of France and Italy, from whom they\n  received the precious codex now of a Virgil or a Livy, now of\n  the sacred books, and sometimes of some rare treatise on\n  medicine or astronomy.\n{58}\n  They were Greek students, moreover, and those most addicted to\n  the cultivation of the Cecropian muse were denominated the\n  'Fratres Ellencini.' The beauty of their native manuscripts is\n  praised by all authors, and the names of their best\n  transcribers find honorable mention in their annals. They\n  manufactured their own parchment out of the hides of the wild\n  beasts that roamed through the mountains and forests around\n  them, and prepared it with such skill that it acquired a\n  peculiar delicacy. Many hands were employed on a single\n  manuscript. Some made the parchment, others drew the fair red\n  lines, others wrote on the pages thus prepared; more skilful\n  hands put in the gold and the initial letters, and more learned\n  heads compared the copy with the original text--this duty being\n  generally discharged during the interval between matins and\n  lauds, the daylight hours being reserved for actual\n  transcription. Erasure, when necessary, was rarely made with\n  the knife, but an erroneous word was delicately drawn through\n  by the pen, so as not to spoil the beauty of the codex. Lastly\n  came the binders, who enclosed the whole in boards of wood,\n  cramped with ivory or iron, the sacred volumes being covered\n  with plates of gold and adorned with jewels.\"\n\nThe English missionary scholars of the eighth century were\nfollowed in the ninth by their Irish brethren in even greater\nnumbers. St. Bernard, in his _Life of St. Malachi_, notices\nthis learned invasion, and Henry of Auxerre declares that it\nappeared as if the whole of Ireland were about to pass into Gaul.\nVirgil, Bishop of Saltzburg, was not only a learned man, but an\nardent promoter of education. Clement, who succeeded Alcuin as\nscholasticus of the Palatine school, was an excellent Greek\nlinguist. Dungal, his companion, opened an academy at Pavia, and\nfinally died at Bobbio, to which he bequeathed his valuable\nclassical library. Marx and his nephew Moengall settled at St.\nGall in 840, where the latter became master of the interior\nschool, and introduced the study of Greek; and finally Scotus\nErigena appeared in the literary firmament, like a comet in\nbrilliancy, and as portentous of dire strifes and contests.\nErigena, who first came into notoriety by his translation of\n_Dionysius the Areopagite_, was unquestionably the most\nerudite man of his time, powerful in argument and exceedingly\nsubtle in discussion, with a perfect knowledge of the learned\nlanguages, science, and the profane literature of both ancients\nand moderns. His great gifts, however, were sadly marred by\nextravagant vanity and a pugnacity which brought him into\ncollision with nearly every contemporary of note. He wrote many\nbooks, in which he advanced opinions more remarkable for their\nboldness and originality than for soundness; and finally, his\nwritings having been condemned by several provincial councils, he\nwas obliged to retire from the Palatine school, of which he had\nenjoyed the direction for many years under Charles the Bald.\n\nLet us now return to the country of St. Boniface and of Alcuin,\nwhich we left at the beginning of the ninth century, in the\nplenitude of its intellectual greatness. What a change has taken\nplace in seventy-five years! Churches, monasteries, and schools\nin utter ruin; the weeds growing rank over broken altars; the\nreptile crawling undisturbed where worked the busy hands of a\nthousand monks; and the solitude of the once noisy school\ndisturbed only by the flutter of the bat or the screech of the\nnight owl. The fierce Northmen, the barbaric executors of the\nHuns and Vandals, had been over the land, and desolation\neverywhere marked their foot-prints. \"The Anglo-Saxon Church,\"\nsays Lingard, \"presented a melancholy spectacle; the laity had\nresumed the ferocious manners of their pagan forefathers; the\nclergy had grown indolent, dissolute, and illiterate; the\nmonastic order was apparently annihilated.\"\n{59}\nWhen Alfred had crushed the Danish power at the battle of\nEthandun in 873, and, like a wise prince, proposed to revive\nlearning in his kingdom, he could not find one ecclesiastic south\nof the Thames who understood the divine service, or who knew how\nto translate Latin into English. Nevertheless, this king, justly\nsurnamed the Great, resolutely set himself to work, and, with the\nhelp of the West British scholar, Asser, Grimbald of Rheims, John\nof Old Saxony, and other foreign monks, effected many useful\nreforms, and to a limited extent provided the means of education\nfor his benighted subjects, setting the example himself by\ndiligent and persevering study. He commenced to learn Latin at\nthirty-six, and left after him several works, principally\ntranslations from that language.\n\nThe grand designs of Alfred were not carried out in his lifetime.\nTheir execution was reserved for St. Dunstan, a pupil of some\npoor Irish monks who had settled in the ruins of the old abbey of\nhis native town, Glastonbury, and supported themselves by\nteaching the children of the neighboring peasantry. How strange a\ncoincidence that the countrymen of Columba and Aidan were again\nto be the instruments, under Providence, of bringing back to\nEngland the light of the gospel, and all that adorns and\nbeautifies life. St. Dunstan's reforms were of the most sweeping\nnature; he introduced the Benedictine rule in all its strictness,\nnot only at Glastonbury, but in every monastery he restored or\nestablished; and, despairing of effecting any good through the\nmedium of the secular clergy, he unhesitatingly turned them\nadrift, and proceeded to create a new and more intelligent body\nout of the young men who surrounded him: an exercise of authority\nthe right to which he derived from his position as primate and\napostolic legate. Of the assistants of St. Dunstan in his work of\nreorganization, the most active were St. Ethelwold, a close\nstudent not only of classics, but of Anglo-Saxon, in which\nlanguage he composed several poems; AElfric, author of several\nschool-books in Latin and Anglo-Saxon, and translator of Latin,\nGerman, and French; Abbo of Fleury came to England and taught for\nhim in the school of Ramsey; and the monks of Corby, mindful, no\ndoubt, of their ancient origin, sent him some of their best\nstudents, well versed in monastic discipline. From this time\nforth England, despite the occasional inroads of the Danes and\nthe Norman conquest, advanced steadily in educational progress\nuntil the blight of the \"Reformation\" long after threw her back\ninto ignorance and unbelief.\n\nBritain was not the only country which suffered from the greedy\nand ubiquitous sea-kings. Ireland, France, Italy, even to the\nsuburbs of Rome, were ravished by those barbarians during the\ntenth century. In some countries, as in Italy and Ireland, they\nwere eventually expelled or subdued; in others, like France, they\nmade a permanent lodgment, and were strong enough to dictate\nterms to kings. Wherever they appeared, they seem to have been\nactuated by the same diabolical lust of plunder and murder, the\nmonasteries and schools being special objects of hatred, and\nfavorite places where their ferocity could be gratified at little\nrisk of opposition. Even the Saracens, taking courage from the\ndistractions of the times, took possession of accessible points\non the French coast, and added to the general disorder.\n{60}\nIt is not to be wondered at, therefore, that the tenth century is\ngenerally considered the darkest intellectual epoch in our era.\nGermany perhaps was the only country comparatively free from\nthose disturbing causes, and, under the protection of a line of\nsagacious kings, the cause of learning, if it did not advance\nwith rapid strides, certainly did not retrograde. That country\ncontinued to produce great teachers like Adelberon, Bennon,\nNotker, and Gerbert, afterward Pope Sylvester II., and to sustain\nsuch schools as St. Gall's, Richneau, and Gorze.\n\nWith the opening of the eleventh century we begin to perceive the\ngradual decay of the monastic schools, the rise of scholasticism\nand the university system, and the consequent evils resulting\nfrom the teachings of irresponsible and sceptical professors.\nHeretofore Christian education went hand in hand with religion;\nthe priest who celebrated the divine mysteries in the morning\ntaught his assembled pupils during the day; religion became more\nbeautiful, clothed, as she was, in the garments of science and\nart; and education was ennobled by losing its selfishness and\npride in its contact with the faith; humility, order, and\nobedience marked the scholar, and disinterestedness and a deep\nsense of the greatness of his calling distinguished the master.\nTeaching with the monks was a sacred duty, a means by which they\nmight gain salvation and \"shine like stars for all eternity;\"\nwith the scholastics of the eleventh and succeeding centuries it\nbecame a profession like that of law or medicine, in the exercise\nof which money and notoriety could be gained, opponents silenced,\nand, as was too often the case, vanity gratified and senseless\napplause won from the unthinking multitude. The school ceased to\nbe a holy retreat, and the professor's chair was converted into a\nrostrum from which the most absurd and illogical dogmas were\nfulminated, alike dangerous to religion, morals, and good\ngovernment. In the statement of abuses presented to the Council\nof Trent in 1537-63 by the commission appointed by Paul III., it\nis declared that \"it is a great and pernicious abuse that, in the\npublic schools, especially in Italy, many philosophers teach\nimpiety;\" and it is a well-recognized fact in history that, from\nthe time the universities adopted the study of the Roman civil\nlaw, to the exclusion almost of ecclesiastical and common law,\nthey became the strongest bulwarks of despotic power, and the\npliant tools of absolute princes.\n\nIt is true that the change was gradual and almost imperceptible\nto its friends and enemies; but, when we come to compare the wild\nvagaries of Berengarius, the eloquent but empty harangues of\nAbelard, the scepticism of Erasmus, and the revelries which\ndisgraced such universities as Oxford and Paris, with the moral\nspirit and peaceful calm that brooded over the monasteries of St.\nGall, Fulda, and Glastenbury, we can at once perceive to what\nmonstrous excesses the mind of man is prone when unrestrained by\nreligion. Many of the old-established monastic schools continued\nto flourish, and new ones, like that of Bec and the college of\nSt. Victor's at Paris, became celebrated. Men distinguished for\npiety and learning were numerous during the middle ages,\nnotwithstanding the growing tendency toward irreligion and\nheresy; among whom may be mentioned such theologians as St.\nThomas and Anselm, scholars like Lanfranc and Thomas \u00e0 Kempis,\ngreat doctors like St. Bernard and John Duns Scotus, devotees of\nscience such as Albertus Magnus and Roger Bacon, authors of the\ncalibre of William of Malmsbury, and the almost inspired writer\nof the _Following of Christ_, St. Bonaventure, and Peter the\nVenerable.\n\n{61}\n\nBut the schools of Europe, notwithstanding the examples and\nexhortations of those illustrious divines, continued in their\ndownward tendency toward materialism. The introduction of Eastern\nbooks of philosophy, due to the returned crusaders, the Arabic\nsymbolism and pretended magic of some of the Spanish schools,\nand, finally, the fall of Constantinople and the dispersion of\nGreek scholars over Europe: all had their peculiar and decided\ninfluence on the manners and views of the generations which\nimmediately preceded the Council of Trent. Seminaries had\nentirely disappeared, so that ecclesiastical education could only\nbe obtained in the dissolute and noisy universities, and it\nbecame the fashion with the _dilettanti_ of the great cities\nto ridicule and underrate the quiet teachings of the country\nmonasteries.\n\nThe Council of Trent, mindful of the welfare of the children of\nthe church, took the first great step toward the correction of\nthose abuses. By its eighteenth chapter, twenty-seventh sessions,\nit reestablished the seminaries in every diocese in Christendom,\ngiving to each bishop authority over the professors, and making\nthe expense of educating ecclesiastics a charge on the faithful.\nIn accordance with this decree, an unwonted degree of activity\nwas observable in Europe. Provincial councils took steps to\nenforce it in their special localities; saints, like Charles of\nBorromeo, became champions of genuine Christian education, and\nthe Dominicans, the Franciscans, and the illustrious order of the\nJesuits vied with each other in their devotion to its interests,\nand became the inheritors of the glories of the monks of Saints\nBenedict and Columbanus.\n\nIn looking back for fifteen centuries, and perusing the long and\nbrilliant catalogue of those holy teachers who, through danger,\ndegradation, and defeat, never allowed their minds to swerve from\nthe even tenor of their way; who cared as tenderly for the soul\nand intellect of the poor young barbarian as for the nursling of\na palace; who despised death, and braved alike the fury of the\nsavage and the wrath of princes, that they might win souls to God\nand develop the God-given gift of human genius; we are lost in\nastonishment at the ignorance or mendacity, or both, of some\nmodern writers who unblushingly repeat and exaggerate the slander\nof the post-\"Reformation\" writers against the monks of the middle\nages. With a history like that of the _Christian Schools and\nScholars_ before us, so fruitful in incidents and so\nsuggestive of moral lessons, we are equally at a loss to account\nfor the tenacity with which people, otherwise sensible, cling to\nthe idea of education divorced from moral instruction. Whatever\nis great in the past, personally or nationally\nconsidered--whatever was pure, unselfish, and heroic, is due, and\nonly due, to the monk-teachers of the Christian church. They were\nnot only the custodians of the books which we now prize so much,\nbut they were the conservators of arts, science, and literature,\nand the originators and discoverers of most of the useful\ninventions which now adorn life and make men more civilized, and\nbring them nearer to their Creator. They were not only all this,\nbut they were, as soldiers of the church, the guardians of\ncivilization itself, and without them the darkness that\nenshrouded the world would have been as perpetual as the causes\nwhich produced it were active, and, against any other power,\nirresistible.\n\n--------\n\n{62}\n\n          Our Lady.\n\n\n\n        \"Ancilla Domini.\"\n\n\n  The Crown of creatures, first in place,\n    Was _most_ a creature; is such still:\n  Naught, naught by nature--all by grace--\n    The Elect one of the Eternal Will.\n\n  She was a Nothing that in Him\n    A creature's sole perfection found;\n  She was the great Rock's shadow dim;\n    She was the Silence, not the Sound.\n\n  She was the Hand of Earth forthheld\n    In adoration's self-less suit;\n  A hushed Dependence, tranced and spelled,\n    Still yearning toward the Absolute.\n\n  Before the Power Eternal bowed\n    She hung, a soft Subjection mute,\n  As when a rainbow breasts the cloud\n    That mists some mountain cataract's foot.\n\n  She was a sea-shell from the deep\n    Of God--her function this alone--\n  Of Him to whisper, as in sleep,\n    In everlasting undertone.\n\n  This hour her eyes on Him are set:\n    And they who tread the earth she trod\n  With nearest heart to hers, forget\n    Themselves in her, and her in God.\n\n\n             II.\n\n         MATER FILII.\n\n\n  He was no Conqueror, borne abroad\n    On all the fiery winds of fame,\n  That overstrides a world o'erawed\n    To write in desert sands his name.\n\n  No act triumphant, no conquering blow\n    Redeemed mankind from Satan's thrall:\n  By _suffering_ He prevailed, that so\n    His Father might be all in all.\n\n{63}\n\n  His Godhead, veiled from mortal eye,\n    Showed forth that Father's Godhead still,\n  As calm seas mirror starry skies\n    Because themselves invisible.\n\n  Thus Mary in \"the Son\" was hid:\n    Her motherhood her only boast,\n  She nothing said, she nothing did:\n    Her light in His was merged and lost.\n\n\n                III.\n\n    Nazareth; or, The Hidden Greatness\n\n\n  Ever before his eyes unsealed\n    The Beatific Vision stood:\n  If God from her that splendor veiled\n    Awhile, in Him she looked on God.\n\n  The Eternal Spirit o'er them hung\n    Like air: like leaves on Eden trees\n  Around them thrilled the viewless throng\n    Of archangelic Hierarchies.\n\n  Yet neither He Who said of yore,\n    \"Let there be light!\" and all was Day,\n  Nor she that, still a creature, wore\n    Creation's Crown, and wears for aye,\n\n  To mortal insight wondrous seemed:\n    The wanderer smote their lowly door,\n  Partook their broken bread, and deemed\n    The donors kindly--nothing more.\n\n  In Eden thus that primal Pair\n    (Undimmed as yet their first estate)\n  Sat, side by side, in silent prayer--\n    Their first of sunsets fronting, sat.\n\n  And now the lion, now the pard,\n    Piercing the Cassia bowers, drew nigh,\n  Fixed on the Pair a mute regard,\n    Half-pleased, half-vacant; then passed by.\n\n\n    Aubrey De Vere.\n    Feast Of The Assumption, 1867.\n\n--------\n{64}\n\n         Our Boy-Organist.\n\n    What He Saw, And What Came Of It.\n\n\n\"How was it, doctor, that you first thought about it?\"\n\nWell, I suppose I had better tell you the whole story. It may\ninterest you. Just twenty years ago, on a bright Sunday morning,\nI was hurrying along the road home to Tinton, hoping to be in\ntime to hear the sermon at church. My watch told me that I should\nbe too late for the morning prayer. Happening to look across the\nfields, I was surprised to see little Ally Dutton, our\nboy-organist, running very fast over the meadows, leaping the\nfences at a bound, and finally disappear in the woods. \"What\ncould possibly take our organist away during church time?\nSurely,\" thought I, \"the minister must be sick. And, being the\nvillage doctor, I hurried still faster.\n\n\"But what could take our boy-organist in that out-of-the-way\ndirection at such an hour, and in such haste? Is it mischief?\" I\nasked myself. But I banished that thought immediately, for Ally\nhad no such reputation. \"There must be something wrong, however;\nfor he ran so fast, and Ally is such a quiet, old-fashioned lad.\nThe minister is ill, at any rate,\" said I to myself, \"or Ally\nwould not be absent.\" Contrary to my expectations, I found the\nminister preaching as usual. I do not recollect any thing of the\nsermon now except the text. Rev. Mr. Billups, our minister, had a\nfashion of repeating his texts very often, sometimes very\nappropriately, and sometimes not. It was Pilate's question to our\nLord: \"What is truth?\" You will see, after what happened\nsubsequently, that I had another reason for remembering it\nbesides its frequent repetition. The sermon ended, the hymn was\nsung, but the organ was silent. The silence seemed ominous. I\ncannot explain why; perhaps it was one of those strange\npresentiments of disaster, but I fancied our boy-organist dead. I\nloved Ally very much, and my heart sank within me as I looked up\nthrough the drawn choir-curtains, and missed his slight little\nform, perched up as he was wont to be, on a pile of books so as\nto bring his hands on a level with the key-board, trolling forth\nhis gay little voluntary as the congregation dispersed after\nservice. I missed his voice in the hymn, too; those clear,\nringing tones which were far sweeter to me than any notes that\nmusical instrument ever breathed. I was so filled with this\npresentiment of coming evil that I did not dare to ask any one\nthe cause of his absence. \"Pooh!\" said I to myself, \"there is\nnothing in it. I saw him but just now alive, and well enough, if\nI may judge from the way he cleared those fences and the\nswiftness of his footsteps as he ran across the meadows.\" I\nthought no more of it until a messenger came two or three days\nafterward to my office and said:\n\n\"Will you please, doctor, come down to the widow Button's? Ally\nis sick.\"\n\n\"I will come immediately,\" said I to the messenger. \"We shall\nlose our boy-organist,\" said I to myself. And so we did; but not\nas you suppose. Ally became--but I must not anticipate.\n\n{65}\n\nI found our much loved boy-organist in a high fever. \"He has been\nconstantly raving all night,\" said his mother, in answer to my\ninquiries, \"about what he has seen. There has been something\npreying on his mind lately,\" she continued. \"He has been very sad\nand nervous, and I fear it has helped to make him ill.\"\n\nIn a tone of command, which I find will often elicit a direct\nanswer from patients whose minds are wandering, I said to him:\n\"Ally, answer me directly, sir; what did you see?\"\n\nWith his eyes still staring at the ceiling he answered in a\nwondering manner, \"God!\"\n\nI was sorely perplexed what further question to ask, but,\nthinking to lead him on gradually to some more reasonable answer,\nas I thought, I asked, \"Where?\"\n\n\"The kneeling people and the priest,\" he replied dreamily. \"And\nJesus said, Neither do I condemn thee.\" And here he burst into\ntears. Then the remembrance of the last Sunday morning came back\nto my mind, and I knew what had taken Ally across the fields, and\nwhat he had seen. He was so faint and weak, his pulse fluttered\nso unsteadily, that I feared the worst, and the anxious,\nsearching look of the mother read my tell-tale countenance. She\nbegan to weep violently.\n\n\"Mother!\" cried Ally.\n\n\"Yes, my child,\" she responded quickly, and bent over and kissed\nhim.\n\n\"Don't cry, mother. God will not let me die till I know what is\ntrue, first.\"\n\n\"That is a strange remark,\" thought I, \"for a boy like him to\nmake. What can he mean?\"\n\n\"My darling Ally,\" said the widow, \"you do know what is true. You\nalways say what is true.\"\n\n\"Why should they say it isn't true, then?\" asked Ally.\n\n\"What isn't true, my dear?\" \"God!\" answered the boy, turning his\neyes upward to the ceiling again, and looking, as it were, at\nsome object miles away, \"and the kneeling people, and the priest.\nIt's true, and no lie. This is my body, this is my blood.\" And he\njoined his hot and feverish little hands together as if in\nprayer.\n\n\"Don't trouble about this,\" said I to the weeping mother. \"I know\nwhat it is. He has been down to Mike Maloney's, in the Brook\nwoods, and seen the Catholic Mass. Don't refer to it again just\nnow. I will give him some composing medicine. But I wish,\" I\nadded, \"that this had not happened. It only tends to weaken him.\"\n\nPresently I noticed him playing with his fingers on the coverlet\nas if he were playing the organ. I thought to take advantage of\nthis, and said:\n\n\"Ally, my boy, get well soon, now, and let us have a grand\nvoluntary on the organ--one of your very best.\"\n\n\"For God, for Mass, for the kneeling people and the priest,\" he\nmurmured.\n\n\"Oh! never mind the Mass,\" said I, \"that's nothing to you.\"\n\nTurning his eyes suddenly upon? me, he cried:\n\n\"O doctor! it seems everything to me. I never can forget it. How\ncould anybody ever forget they had seen Mass. Could you?\"\n\n\"That I can't say, Ally,\" I replied; \"for I never saw it.\"\n\n\"Never saw it! Why, I've seen, it.\"\n\n\"Often?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well--I saw it--_one_ Sunday, anyway,\" answered Ally, with\nthe air of one who had never been anywhere else all his life.\n\n\"What was it like, Ally dear?\" asked the mother.\n\n\"Like heaven, mother, if the angels had only been there.\"\n\n{66}\n\n\"Angels!\" said I contemptuously. \"Pretty place to find angels, in\nMike Maloney's shanty! Why, it's like a stable.\"\n\nAgain Ally's eyes went up to the ceiling, and, while his fingers\nnervously played an invisible organ on the coverlet, he began to\nsing, so plaintively and sadly that it quite unmanned me:\n\n  \"He came down to earth from heaven,\n    Who is God and Lord of all,\n  And his shelter was a stable,\n    And his cradle was a stall.\n  With the poor, and mean, and lowly,\n    Lived on earth our Saviour holy.\"\n\nThe widow and I stood watching and listening long after he had\nceased singing. In a few moments a lucid interval occurred, and,\nnoticing me, he said:\n\n\"Doctor, why can't we have Mass in our church? Oh! wouldn't I\nlike to play the organ for it always till I died!\"\n\n\"We couldn't have Mass, Ally,\" I replied, \"because it is only\nCatholic priests who can say Mass.\"\n\n\"Is it? I know I'd like to play the organ forever and ever for\nthe Mass; but I'd rather be a priest. Oh! a thousand, thousand\ntimes rather!\" And his pale, sad face lighted up with an\nunearthly glow.\n\nSeeing I could not divert his mind from the subject, and fearing\nto continue a conversation which excited him so much, I quietly\ngave directions to his mother, and left. I had little hopes of\nAlly's recovery, but his words made a deep impression on my mind:\n\"_God will not let me die till I know what is true, first_.\"\n\"What truth can he mean?\" thought I. \"Can he have imagined he\ndoes not know the true religion? What can have made him think\nthat our Episcopal Church is not true? What strange fancies will\nget into some children's heads! I should be sorry to lose Ally,\nbut I'd rather see him die, I think, than grow up to be a Roman\nCatholic. Ugh! and a priest too, perhaps, who knows? God forbid!\"\nRevolving these disagreeable thoughts in my head as I went down\nthe street, I met Mr. Billups, our minister. We shook hands, or\nrather I shook Mr. Billups's hand while he shook his head, a\nmanner of his that gave him a general doubting air, somewhat\npuzzling to strangers.\n\n\"Mr. Billups,\" said I, \"do you know that Ally Button is ill?\"\n\n\"No, I did not hear it,\" he replied, emphasizing the word\n_did_, as much as to say, \"But I hear it now.\" Although the\nnegative accompaniment with his head would seem to imply that he\ndid not quite believe it.\n\n\"Yes, and very ill too,\" I added. \"If his mind becomes calmer\nthan it is, I think it might do good just to drop in and see him.\nI fear he has been under some bad influences lately.\"\n\n\"You astonish me, not to say grieve me,\" rejoined Mr. Billups.\n\"Ally was always a good, pious boy, and one of our head boys, as\nyou are aware, in the Sunday-school.\"\n\n\"I mean,\" said I, \"that he has been reading or hearing something\nabout Catholics and their Mass, and other things; and it really\nhas made a deep impression on his mind, which ought to be\neffaced; that is,\" I added, \"in case he recovers, which I fear is\ndoubtful.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course, which ought to be effaced,\" repeated he.\n\"Not a doubt of it. I remember, now, Mrs. White, his\nSunday-school teacher, telling me that he had asked her in class\nwhat the sixth chapter of St. John meant. I hope he has not been\nreading that chapter of the Bible _too_ attentively, for it\nis calculated, I am sorry to say, to make a deep, very deep, not\nto say, in regard to the popish Mass doctrine, a most alarming\nimpression upon the mind, especially of a boy like Ally.\"\n\n{67}\n\n\"Well, if you see him,\" said I, not much relishing this opinion\nabout the Bible being in favor of Catholic doctrines, \"you can\nmanage to bring the subject up, and easily explain its true\nmeaning to him.\"\n\n\"Yes, oh! yes! easily explain its true meaning to him,\" again\nrepeated Mr. Billups after me, yet looking rather puzzled, as I\nthought, and doubtful of success; but perhaps it was only his\nmanner that gave me that impression. \"Would to-morrow, think you,\ndo, doctor?\" he continued, after a pause, \"I am quite busy, just\nnow.\"\n\n\"Better,\" I replied, \"much better; Ally is very low at this\nmoment.\" I do not know what made me say it, but Ally's words came\nsuddenly to my mind again, and I added confidently: \"He will not\ndie just yet. He will surely be better to-morrow.\"\n\nI bade Mr. Billups good-morning, not at all satisfied. \"The sixth\nchapter of St. John! the sixth chapter of St. John!\" I went on\nrepeating to myself. Strange! I have never read that chapter with\nany thought of the doctrine of Catholics. And yet, to judge from\nwhat the minister said, it might trouble the mind, even of a\nchild. As I waited in the parlor of a sick lady whom I went to\nvisit before returning home, I could not refrain from turning\nover the leaves of a large family Bible on the centre-table, and\nfinding the chapter in question. I had not time, however, to read\nmany verses before I was summoned to the sick-chamber. Attention\nto my professional duties drove the subject from my mind during\nthe rest of the day, and I retired to rest considerably exhausted\nand fatigued.\n\n\"Now for a good sleep,\" said I to myself, \"and a quick one, for I\nshouldn't wonder if I were called up to Ally again before\nmorning.\" But I could not sleep. Tossing to and fro in the bed, I\nbegan to question myself about the cause of my sleeplessness; I\nsoon found it. The thought of Ally had revived the memory of that\nsixth chapter of St. John. \"Well,\" said I, \"I will remove the\ncause by just getting up and reading it, and there will be an end\nof it. Then I shall sleep.\" So I rose and lit my lamp, got out my\nBible, and there, half-dressed, read the troublesome chapter. As\nI reflected upon what I was doing, I felt more like a thief, a\nmidnight robber, or some designing villain laying plans for\nmurder or housebreaking, than as an honest Christian reading his\nBible; for was I not allowing myself to do what was calculated to\nmake a deep, not to say an alarming impression on my mind, that\nthe Catholic religion was true, and the Protestant religion\nfalse?\n\nNow, without vanity I say it, few people know their Bibles better\nthan I did, and, although I must have read that identical chapter\nmany times, it seemed to me that I had never read it before. I\nthank God for that midnight perusal of my Bible.\n\nOne thing I then and there determined, for private reasons of my\nown, which was, to be on hand at Mrs. Button's when the minister\ncalled; and there I was. Ally was a good deal better and\nbrighter. After some commonplace remarks, Mr. Billups said to\nAlly:\n\n\"You are fond of reading your Bible, are you not, my dear child;\nand would you not like me to read a little of the Word to you?\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, sir,\" answered the boy eagerly.\n\n\"I will read for you, then,\" continued Mr. Billups, producing a\nBible from his pocket, \"a most beautiful and instructive passage\nfrom St. John's gospel, commencing at the sixth chapter.\"\n{68}\nHe said this in such a church-reading tone that Mrs. Dutton\ninstinctively responded as far as \"Glory be\"--but, discovering\nher mistake, covered it up with a very loud cough. Mr. Billups\nread the chapter, but quite differently from the manner in which\nI had read it; slowly and distinctly where I had read rather\nquickly, that is, from the beginning to the fiftieth verse; and\nquickly where I had read slowly, from that verse to the end.\n\n\"That's very beautiful, and very strange,\" said Ally pensively,\nas the minister paused at the end of the chapter. \"But, Mr.\nBillups, is it all true?\"\n\n\"The Bible, my dear Ally ought to know, is all true,\" replied Mr.\nBillups.\n\n\"And did Jesus give his flesh and blood, as he said he would?\"\nasked Ally.\n\n\"Yes, my child,\" answered Mr. Billups, \"he certainly made all his\npromises good.\"\n\n\"I wish I knew where,\" said Ally inquiringly. \"I asked Mrs.\nWhite, and she said she didn't know, and that I asked too many\nquestions.\"\n\n\"When he died on the cross, and shed his blood for our\nsalvation,\" said the minister solemnly, closing the Bible, and\nlooking at me as if he would say: \"There's an end of the whole\nmatter: you see how easily I have explained it to him.\" Ally did\nnot, however, seem so easily satisfied.\n\n\"But where can we get it to eat and drink?\" asked he. \"Jesus said\nwe must eat and drink it.\"\n\nMr. Billups again glanced at me with a look which I interpreted\nto mean, \"I fear he has been reading this _too_\nattentively,\" and then said:\n\n\"You partake of it by faith, my child, but you do not really eat\nit.\"\n\n\"I must _believe_ I eat it, and don't eat it after all,\"\nsaid Ally explanatorily.\n\n\"Yes--no--not precisely,\" replied Mr. Billups, with some\nconfusion of manner, and coughing two or three short little\ncoughs in his hand. \"We eat the communion bread, and drink the\ncommunion wine, and then we believe we partake, by faith, of the\nbody and blood of the Saviour.\"\n\n\"But, then,\" asked Ally, pushing the difficulty, \"don't we eat\nand drink what we _believe_ we eat and drink?\"\n\n\"H'm, h'm,\" coughed the minister, shifting uneasily in his seat.\n\"We believe--we think--in short, as I was about to remark, we\nhave faith in Jesus Christ as our blessed Saviour.\"\n\n\"But don't eat his flesh nor drink his blood?\" added Ally.\n\n\"Not at all, not at all,\" replied Mr. Billups decidedly.\n\n\"Then I can't see what the Bible means,\" said Ally, scratching\nhis head in a disappointed manner: \"Except ye eat the flesh of\nthe Son of Man, and drink his blood, ye cannot have life in you.\"\n\n\"My dear, de-ar child,\" cried Mr. Billups, quite distractedly,\n\"what _can_ you have been reading to put this in your head?\"\n\n\"Only the Bible, sir,\" replied Ally simply, \"what you have read\njust now, sir, and the story of the Last Supper; and I heard\nPompey Simpson say it was all true.\"\n\n\"Pompey Simpson,\" returned Mr. Billups, \"is a negro, and I am\nsorry,\" he continued, turning to me, \"I should say both grieved\nand shocked, to add, doctor, one of those misguided beings\ngroping in the darkness of Roman idolatry, whose numbers are\nincreasing to an alarming extent in our country. Have nothing to\ndo with Pompey Simpson, my dear,\" again addressing Ally, \"or who\nknows you might be led away to become a Romanist?\"\n{69}\nAn event which Mr. Billups's head intimated at that moment to be\ntoo deplorable to be expressed. \"Yes, one of those emissaries of\ngiant Pope, described so truthfully in Bunyan's _Pilgrim's\nProgress_, as you remember. Do not go near them, Ally, for my\nsake, for your mother's sake, for the sake of the church of your\nbaptism, or they will make you like unto them, an idolatrous\nworshipper of the host; which, as you have never seen it, I will\ntell you, is only a piece of bread. You see what ignorant,\ndeluded people these Catholics must be. Just to think of it--to\nworship a piece of bread!\"\n\n\"But the Catholic is the old church and the first one, Pompey\nsaid,\" rejoined Ally, \"and the old church ought to know. Besides,\nI--I--saw it myself.\"\n\n\"Saw it yourself!\" exclaimed Mr. Billups, his hair fairly\nstanding upright with horror. \"My organist dare to enter a popish\nMass-house!\" And he frowned very severely at the widow.\n\n\"It was only Mike Maloney's,\" said Ally deprecatingly. \"And the\npriest in his beautiful robes, and the people all kneeling\naround, didn't look mistaken, sir; and I felt so sure that God\nwas there,\" continued Ally, trembling, \"that I'm all the time\nthinking about it. Somehow I can't drive it out of my mind.\"\n\n\"Your son, madam,\" said the minister, turning to Ally's mother,\n\"_must_ drive this out of his mind. It would be a fearful\ncalamity, madam, to have a child whom you have reared, and, I may\nadd in behalf of the vestry of our church, an organist, whose\nsalary we have paid, fall into the toils of the man of sin. It\nwould be well to curb the inquiring mind of your son, madam, and\nrestrain his wandering footsteps; because, if he is permitted to\nworship at a foreign altar, he can no longer exercise the\nposition of--in short--perform on the organ of our church.\nGood-morning.\" And he rose abruptly, and left the house.\n\nAll this nettled me. I had hoped he could easily explain the\ndoubts in the boy's mind, not to mention my own, and it\nexasperated me to see him have recourse to such base means to\nsilence these doubts, instead of using kindly Christian counsel\nand teaching. To deprive Ally of his situation, and the widow of\nthe support which his salary gave, would be, I knew, to inflict a\nheavy loss upon them. Unwilling to depart and leave the widow and\nson without some comfort, and yet not knowing what to say, I went\nto the window and looked out, flattening my nose against the\nglass in a most uncomfortable state of mind, and presenting a\nspectacle to the passers-by which must have impressed them with\nthe conviction of my being subject to temporary fits of\nderangement. As I stood there, I heard Ally say to his mother:\n\n\"Don't cry, mother. I won't be a Catholic if it isn't true. But\nit's better to know what's true than to play the organ or get any\nsalary, if it's ever so big. Isn't it, mother?\"\n\nI assented to this sentiment so strongly with my head that I\nnearly put my nose through the window-pane, an action that\nelicited a strong stare for my supposed impudence from the two\nMisses Stocksup, daughters of the Honorable Washington Stocksup,\nwho happened to be passing the house at that moment.\n\n\"So it is, my dear,\" answered the widow. \"But I'm afraid, my\ndarling, you are only fancying something to be true that is not\ntrue.\"\n\n\"Doctor!\" cried Ally, appealing to me, \"isn't it true? Oh! it\nmust be true!\"\n\n{70}\n\n\"I can't say I believe it is,\" I replied, \"but I'm very much\nafraid it is.\"\n\n\"Afraid!\" exclaimed Ally, \"what makes you afraid?\"\n\nPoor Ally! He could little comprehend how much it would cost him\nor me to say we believed it to be true. Excusing myself with all\nsorts of bungling remarks, I left the house, my mind torn by many\nconflicting doubts and emotions. Ally slowly, very slowly\nrecovered. In the mean time a new organist, a poor man with a\ndreadful asthma, as I recollect, had taken his place. Deprived of\nthe aid which his salary afforded them, the widow and Ally found\nit hard to live.\n\nThe minister, it seems, related to his wife what had taken place\nat Ally's sick-bed, and it soon got bruited about that both Ally\nand his mother were going to turn Catholics. They soon left the\nvillage, and I did not hear of them until several years after. As\nfor myself, it was not long before I took Ally's way across the\nfields to Mike Maloney's shanty, and now you know how I first\ncame to think about it.\n\n\"What became of Ally?\"\n\nWell, I'll tell you. One day I happened to be in the city of\nNewark. It was the festival of Corpus Christi, and crowds were\nflocking to St. Patrick's cathedral to assist at the grand\nceremonies that were to take place. At the gospel the preacher\nascended the pulpit, and what was my surprise to recognize in the\nperson of the youthful priest my dear boy-organist, Ally Dutton.\nHe took for his text these words, \"This is my body, this is my\nblood,\" and preached a powerful and eloquent sermon. After the\nservices were concluded I went to the presbytery to call upon\nhim, but he did not recognize me; so I said:\n\n\"Allow me, reverend sir, to thank you for your beautiful sermon.\nThis doctrine of the real presence which you Catholics hold is a\nwonderful and a very consoling doctrine; and what is more, _I\nam rather afraid it is true_.\"\n\n\"Afraid!\" answered Ally, smiling. \"That reminds me of a dear old\nfriend of mine who once said the same thing, but he was not long\novercoming his fears.\"\n\n\"And the dear old friend is sorry now,\" added I, looking at him\nclosely, \"that it was even so long as it was.\"\n\n\"Doctor!\"\n\n\"Ally!\"\n\nAs I knelt to crave the blessing of our quondam boy-organist, now\na priest of the holy Catholic church, he caught me in his arms\nand folded me in a warm embrace.\n\n------\n{71}\n\n  Translated from les Etudes Religieuses, etc., etc.\n\n           The Martyrs of Gorcum.\n\n\n                      I.\n\nWe hear it sometimes asked, \"Why does the Catholic Church have so\nmany canonizations, jubilees, and religious displays?\" We pity\nthose who speak in this way, for they do not seem to understand\nthe destiny of the church. If the church, connected as she is\nwith the advance of the human race, has her interests to look\nafter in the revolutions which agitate the world; if, in order to\ndefend her rights which are attacked or are not recognized, she\nis obliged occasionally to interfere in the struggles which arise\nbetween men, this is but one aspect of her history, though it\nseems to be the only one which impresses superficial and\nunthinking minds. At the same time that she shows this exterior\naction of catholicity, there is wrought in her heart a mysterious\nwork, which reveals the divine illuminations of the faith. It is\nan admirable exchange, a divine intercourse between heaven and\nearth--the world offering to heaven its supplications, its\natonements, the heroic virtues of its saints, and the merits of\nits martyrs; heaven bestowing upon the world its aid for the\ncombat, its abundant graces, the seeds of sanctity. At certain\neventful periods, when greater perils call forth more generous\nsacrifices and more earnest appeals to heaven, the mystery of\nthis inward life of the church shines forth in marvellous events,\nwhich overturn all preconceived human opinion, and confound the\nwisdom of the world. We see, then, a throne, which remains firm\nwithout any apparent support, and on this throne an old, helpless\nman, who holds all the powers of revolution in check; we see a\nsociety, against which are unchained all anarchical passions,\nface the storm which threatens to overwhelm it, proclaim its\nproscribed doctrines without fear, lead nations which had\nwandered into the paths of naturalism back to the fold of the\nchurch, and maintain its independence against the coalition of\ntyrannies.\n\nHas a pontificate ever shown this divine spectacle of the\nstruggle of spiritual forces with the powers of materialism\nbetter than that of Pius IX.? To the increasing oppression of\nvice the pope does not cease to oppose the miracles of virtue and\nthe fruits of grace which distinguish the elect of God. To the\ninsolent cries of error he replies by the calm affirmation of\neternal truth. The assaults of impiety he resists only by the\nprayers of pure souls, by the intercession of those saints to\nwhom he has granted the honors of veneration, and by the aid of\nthe Blessed Virgin, whose conception he has proclaimed\nimmaculate. So, when a voice, disturbing the harmony of our love\nand gratitude, was lately heard to ask the ill-timed question,\n\"_Why so many saints?_\" what was the reply of the pontiff,\nin whom his faithful children venerate the wise man of the\ngospel, drawing from his treasure in opportune time the old good\nand the new? \"They reproach me,\" said he, with his accustomed\nsweetness, \"for making too many saints, but I cannot promise to\ncorrect this fault. Have we not more need than ever of\nintercessors in heaven, and models of religious virtue in the\nworld?\"\n\n{72}\n\nIn 1852, a distinguished prelate, who has since entered into the\nrepose of the Lord, Mgr. de Salinis, pointed out to the faithful\nof the diocese of Amiens, in announcing a jubilee, the\nsupernatural character which distinguishes the acts of Pius IX.\n\"You do not ask,\" he wrote, \"the reason of the munificence which\nlavishes upon you favors which at other times go forth but rarely\nfrom the treasure of the church. It suffices for us to know that\nthe Vicar of Jesus Christ receives light from above which is\ngiven only to him. He who holds the keys of the kingdom of heaven\ncan alone tell the time when it is good to spread over the earth\nthe waves of divine mercy. He who directs the bark of the church\nthrough the storms of this world can question the winds, and\ndiscover in the horizon the signs which warn him to urge on the\njourney of the ship. He who is the common father of all\nChristians alone knows the needs of his immense family. His\nglance, which watches over every place that the sun shines\nupon--his solicitude, which embraces all evil and all virtue--his\nheart, which feels all the sorrows of the Spouse of Christ--his\nprayers, in which are summed up all the prayers of the church,\nthe particular inspiration which God reserves for him who holds\nhis place on earth--all these reveal to him, so far as is\nnecessary, the proportion which should exist between grace and\nmisery.\" [Footnote 9]\n\n    [Footnote 9: _Charges, Pastoral Instructions, and Various\n    Discourses of Mgr. de Salinis._ Paris, Vaton. 1856.]\n\nThis is the reply that should be made to these _petite\ng\u00e9nies_ who presume to criticise the holy see, and put the\ncounsels of their mean diplomacy in the place of the inspirations\nof God. Do these men, whose minds are so enlightened, not see\nthat they are in the presence of an administration of\nsupernatural power? Do they not suspect the strength of the\nchurch militant ranged about its chief, and praying with him for\nthe assistance of the church triumphant? Do they not witness the\npious eagerness of the people to venerate, to invoke, and to\nimitate the new patrons which are given them?\n\nThe eyes of all the obedient children of the church are now\nturned toward Rome. The Catholic world, in a rapture of faith and\npiety, is united to the pilgrims of the holy city, to the\nbishops, and to the bishop of bishops, celebrating the triumph of\nPeter, always living and reigning in his successor, applauding\nthe glory of the legion of the blessed, that the churches of\nPoland, of Spain, of the Netherlands, of Italy, of France, and of\nJapan have given to the church of Rome, their common mother, and\nto the church of heaven, the lasting city of the elect.\n\nWe should have liked, if our space and time allowed, to say\nsomething of the many beautiful subjects that this happy time\nsuggests; the coming, the episcopate, and the martyrdom of St.\nPeter at Rome, the lives and virtues of the saints proposed for\nour veneration. We should have taken pleasure in retracing the\nsweet picture of that humble child of the people who represents\nFrance in this illustrious group of the Blessed; of that little\nshepherdess of Pibrac, whose name will henceforth be popular in\nthe fatherland of Genevieve and Joan of Arc. [Footnote 10] But\nwho among us has not heard of Germaine Cousin, her poor and\nsuffering life, her angelic virtues, the marvellous favors due to\nher intercession? And who can add to the glory of this young\nsaint, who, in addition to the honor of being placed upon our\naltars, has had such a historian as M. Louis Veuillot and such a\npanegyrist as the Bishop of Poitiers?\n\n    [Footnote 10: _Vie, Vertus et Miracles de la B. Germaine\n    Cousin, berg\u00e8re. Par M. Louis Veuillot. Paris, Palm\u00e9. OEuvres\n    de M. l'Eveque de Poitiers_, t. ii. p. 109.]\n\n{73}\n\nWe propose, then, to follow those saints who are at present less\nknown among us, but which in the future must not be strangers. It\nis a page in the history of the church which should be made\nprominent, and in devoting our time to it we are sure of\nobtaining the approbation of him whom God has given us to be at\nonce our Father and our Master.\n\n\n                 II.\n\nWe are aware that even the name of the martyrs of Gorcum was\nuntil recently quite unknown to the greater part of the learned.\nModern historians are not accustomed to eulogize the merits of\nthe victims of schism and heresy. But the church never forgets\nher children who have perished in the cause of God; and God\nhimself takes care of his servants by multiplying miracles over\ntheir tombs. These nineteen martyrs of Gorcum, who suffered for\nthe faith on the 9th of July, 1572, were placed in the ranks of\nthe blessed by Clement X. in 1675, and since that time they have\nalways been held in the greatest veneration in Belgium and\nHolland. It is now almost three years since our Holy Father,\nyielding to one of those inspirations of which his life is full,\nfelt the desire that the supreme honors of the church should be\npaid to these noble champions of Jesus Christ; and January 6th,\n1865, the day of the Epiphany, his holiness caused a decree to be\nread in his presence, ordering the proceedings to be instituted\nfor their solemn canonization. The preamble of the decree\ndeserves notice, it says: \"Born of the blood of Jesus Christ and\nnourished with the blood of martyrs, the Catholic Church will be\nexposed to bloody persecutions until the end of the world. And it\nis not without a marvellous design of divine Providence that the\ncause of these illustrious victims of the Calvinistic heresy of\nthe sixteenth century is taken up and completed in these unhappy\ndays, when heretics and false brothers are recommencing a war, an\nimplacable war, against Jesus Christ, against his holy church,\nand against this holy apostolic see.\" The Holy Father expressed\nthe same thought in a discourse which followed the promulgation\nof the decree. \"The Most High,\" said he, \"has reserved for this\ntime the glorification of these Holland martyrs, to prove to our\ncentury, full of scorn or indifference for the revealed faith and\nplunged in the grossest materialism, that the memory of the\nmartyr is never forgotten in the church of Jesus Christ, that\nthere are always men ready to shed their blood for that faith,\nand a supreme authority which is always ready to recognize their\nmerits.\"\n\nThe object of the sovereign pontiff is not uncertain; it is to\ncall the attention of the world to the fact of the continual\nrecurrence of martyrs in the church; to cite these heroes, who\nhave sealed the faith with their blood, as an example and a\nwitness; such has been the special aim in canonizing the martyrs\nof Gorcum. Far be it from the holy church to stifle the voice of\nblood which has flowed from the veins of her children for\nnineteen centuries! This blood, shed in every land from the most\nbarbarous to the most cultivated, bears witness everywhere that\nthe mother of martyrs is also the faithful spouse of Jesus\nChrist.\n{74}\nThe Catholic Church is peculiarly a _witness_, while the\nsects about us are founded on negation and doubt. Our blessed\nLord was the first witness, and the truth of his testimony he has\nsealed on the cross and in his cruel passion; the apostles were\nwitnesses to him who had sent them and the doctrine they were\nbidden to teach; they have gone to give their testimony to the\nGood Master; and now their faith and prayers sustain their\nchildren even to the extremities of the earth, making them gladly\nchoose to die sooner than deny that faith which cost the Son of\nGod his life. This illustrious testimony of blood has never\nceased from the day of Calvary up to the present nineteenth\ncentury; the succession of martyrs is like the church herself,\nfor it knows no limits of time or space; they are dying today in\nCochin-China and Corea, as they have died in Japan in former\nyears, as they have died in Europe, when Protestantism swept over\nthat fair portion of the flock of Christ, and as millions died in\nthe Roman Empire under the pagan Caesars. Look at what Rome\noffers to-day to the world: a noble army of martyrs gathered\nabout Saints Peter and Paul, the victims of Nero, the valiant\nsoldiers of such fearless chiefs; the B. Josophat, Archbishop of\nPolotsk, slain by followers of the Moscovite schism; B. Peter of\nArbues, murdered by Jews in the church of Saragossa; our nineteen\nmartyrs of Gorcum, the victims of the assassins of Calvinism; and\ntwo hundred and five who sweetly yielded up their lives for the\nfaith in Japan.\n\nSchism and heresy are always ready to conceal the blood which\nstains so many pages of their annals, and to hide the crimes\nwhich dishonor their ancestors. But, if the living are silent,\nthe dead are now speaking to us from their tombs; the victims of\nProtestantism have risen from their graves to bear witness to the\ntruth. We cannot thank Pius IX. too much for proposing for the\nveneration of the church these champions of the faith, who have\nfallen so gloriously in the struggles of modern society, and on\nthe same battle-field, as it were, where we continue to engage\nthe foes of our holy mother, the church. Nor can we praise the\nhistorians enough who have consecrated their talent to the sacred\nwork of writing the account of these persecutions, and showing\nforth to Catholic and Protestant the glorious record of these\nmartyrs of the sixteenth century. The time has now come to count\nour slain, that the remembrance of their fortitude may awake\nChristian faith and zeal in our souls.\n\nThe three centuries that have passed since the impious Luther\nfirst dared to raise the standard of revolt against the holy\nchurch bear a resemblance to the first centuries of the Christian\nera. To-day Protestantism is ready to fall to pieces; it is the\n\"sick man\" among the religions of the world, as Turkey is among\nthe nations; it is the time to present the well-meaning souls\nthat its myriad sects embrace with a clear view of its origin,\nand of what it now teaches in its closing years. The\nreestablishment of the hierarchy in England and Holland, the\nrestoration of the episcopal see of Geneva, the beatification of\nF. Canisius, the third centennial anniversary of the council of\nTrent, and several other acts of the holy see show us the unity\nof the Catholic Church compared with the disorganization of the\nProtestant sects, which are now, we can truly say, without faith\nor law. We should take care that those who have been misguided\nshould know the violent means the so-called reformers used to\nestablish their opinions.\n{75}\nTheir origin was stained with the blood of the faithful, and they\nhave completed their course by adopting atheism. Such has been\nthe sad story of Protestantism; a destiny that must ever be the\nfate of those who oppose the teaching of the church that our Lord\nhas bidden to convert the nations.\n\nVainly do Protestants attempt to evade the shameful acts of the\nfirst \"reformers\" by showing its own scars and framing a list of\nmartyrs. No wounds are glorious while the cause they sustain is\nan iniquity; and heresy can never be justified in its rebellion\nagainst the church of Christ. If its apologists tell us that\nrevolution is necessary in order to get liberty, we deny this\ntheory of the end sanctifying the means, of a bad end sanctified\nby unjust means. Let heretics not speak of their martyrs. A\nmartyr is one who witnesses, not one who protests; a man who\ndies, not to sustain a passionate and obstinate denial, nor in\ndefence of speculative opinions and personal ideas, but as a\nwitness to seal the traditional teaching, to confirm the faith\nwhich is sustained by unexceptionable evidence. A martyr is not a\nconspirator, an instigator, and upholder of civil war; he lives\nwithout reproach, defends the truth without fanaticism, suffers\nwithout vain exaltation, and dies without anger; his memory is\nirreproachable before God and man. Would that heresy could point\nto such heroes! We are only too proud and happy in presenting to\nour friends and foes the picture of such men, in whose holy hands\nthe church has put the palm of martyrdom.\n\n\n                III.\n\nIn the Low Countries more than elsewhere, Protestantism has\nconcealed from its posterity its sanguinary and tyrannical\ninstincts. It has perfidiously taken advantage of the national\nsentiment and appears clothed in the cloak of liberty. How many\nconsider Philip II. a monster, the Duke d'Alba an executioner,\nand that they are solely responsible for all the blood shed in\nthe Low Countries? But the time has come when we should no longer\nallow ourselves to be duped by hypocritical declamations against\nCatholic reprisals. They who have first taken arms and begun the\nwar are held responsible for the blood that is shed.\n\nOne of the most learned students of modern history, Baron\ndeGerlache, said, in opening the congress of Malines, on August\n24th, 1864: \"The history of the sixteenth century, written by\nProtestants and copied by Catholics, needs to be rewritten from\nbeginning to end, from the real statement of the facts, which are\ncontained in the archives of the church. Then Protestants will\nappear as they really are, such as they are now in Ireland and\nelsewhere, aggressive, violent, intolerant, inaugurating\npersecution when they are powerful enough, and demanding liberty\nwhen they are weak.\" These words sum up the history of the\npretended reform, acting its double part, the farce of liberty\nand the tragedy of blood, according to the number of its\npartisans.\n\nThe seventeen provinces had unfortunately prepared their country\nfor the introduction of Protestantism; their nobility was immoral\nand their people poorly instructed in their religion, strongly\nattached to worldly goods, impatient of the control of the\nchurch, while continual wars kept the people in a state of\nexcitement, and even the very geographical position of the\ncountry and its commercial relations contributed to open the way\nto the new and, as yet, unknown religion.\n{76}\nThe church could not oppose the rapid growth of heresy; there\nwere but four episcopal sees in the whole territory; and,\nalthough the colleges and abbeys were rich and numerous, they\nwere subservient to the civil power. The church could neither\nguard them from the error, nor act with energy when it had\nobtained a foothold in the land. Charles V., who was aware of the\nseditious and anarchical character of the \"reform,\" put forth in\nvain all the severities of the law against its preachers; he\ncould not check the torrent. Error can scarcely be repressed by\nforce when it meets no opposition in the conscience, and when it\nhas already gained a part of a people.\n\nThe severity of Charles V., while it did not prevent the increase\nof the heresy, at least kept the dissenters from forming a sect\npowerful enough to menace the church or the state. Philip II.\nadded nothing to the edicts of his father. And this despot, this\ntyrant, even made concessions to them that are to be regretted.\nThree thousand Spanish troops were in the Netherlands at that\ntime, and they were sufficient to hold the rebels in check; but,\nwhen they protested against the presence of these soldiers,\nPhilip recalled them to Spain. Cardinal Granvelle aided the\nregent, Margaret of Parma, with his counsel: they protested\nagainst this able and worthy minister, and Philip gave him his\ndismissal. Everything served as a pretext for the disturbers; the\nhypocritical and ambitious Prince of Orange, William of Nassau,\nthe chief of the leaders who had taken the name of Gueux,\n[Footnote 11] spread discontent and insurrection on every side.\n\n    [Footnote 11: _Gueux_, beggars. The origin of the word\n    is as follows: Three hundred Calvinistic deputies were sent\n    to Margaret of Parma to protest against the measures of the\n    government. She became much alarmed at this demonstration,\n    when Count Barleymont said, \"_Ce ne sont que gueux_,\"\n    (they are only beggars,) alluding to the meanness of their\n    appearance. This imprudent remark was overheard and at once\n    adopted by the insurgents as their title. See Bouillet's\n    _Dictionnaire Universel d'Histoire et de Geographie_,\n    article Gueux.]\n\nHe found fault with all the measures that the government took and\nall that he accused it of wishing to take. The creation of\nfourteen new bishoprics by the king with the consent of the pope\nwas looked upon as an outrageous act of tyranny. At last the\ngovernment was unarmed, the victims had been sufficiently worked\nupon by their leaders, and the Catholics were completely\nintimidated: the rage of the sects was now let loose to pervert\nand destroy the fair fabric that God had raised in the land. We\nshall not attempt to describe the hideous saturnalias of the\n\"reform;\" we leave that to Protestant authors, to Schiller, to\nSchoel, to Prescott. We cite from the latter a few lines to give\nour readers an idea of what learned Protestants say of their\nancestors: \"The work of pillage and devastation was carried on\nthroughout the country. Cathedrals and chapels, convents and\nmonasteries, whatever was a religious house, even the hospitals,\nwere given up to the merciless reformers. Neither monk nor\nreligious dared to appear in their habit. From time to time,\npriests were seen fleeing with some relic or sacred object that\nthey desired to preserve from pillage. To the violence they did,\nthey added every outrage that could express their scorn for the\nfaith. In Flanders, four hundred churches were sacked. The ruin\nof the cathedral of Anvers could not be repaired for less than\nfour hundred thousand ducats. ... One becomes sad in seeing that\nthe first efforts of the reformers were always directed against\nthese monuments of genius, erected and made perfect under the\ngenerous protection of Catholicism; but, if the first steps of\nthe reform have been made on the ruins of art, the good it has\nproduced in compensation cannot be denied, in breaking the chains\nthat bound the human mind and opening to it the domains of\nscience, to which until then all access had been refused.\" The\nreaders know how much this _compensation_ is worth.\n\n{77}\n\nAnd now may we ask, if it be true that Philip took too severe a\nvengeance for these outrages, if the Duke of Alva followed the\nrebels with an unreasonable severity, if all that is said of them\nbe multiplied a hundred times, is there a single argument in\nfavor of that liberty of conscience which makes its way at the\nsword's point? Catholicism has never hesitated to disavow and\ncondemn all violence, and every _coup d'\u00e9tat_ done in her\nname; she has always separated from politicians who pretend to\ndefend her in any other way than she demands; no \"compensation\"\ncan disarm her justice against criminal abuses which are excused\nfor \"state reasons.\" The \"reform\" which does not feel itself\ninnocent ventures to proclaim an anathema which falls upon its\nown doctrines and disciples. It is more easy for their historians\nto turn the anger of posterity upon \"the sallow tyrant before\nwhom the people were filled with terror,\" or upon the executor of\nhis vengeance, \"the ogre thirsting for human flesh.\" Such authors\nas M. Quinet find material here for their eloquence, (?) and\nsubjects for such articles as suit the _Revue des Deux\nMondes_. But history will pay but little attention to these\nmelodramatic effusions. What esteem can scholars demand when they\ndeliberately calumniate governments and nations in order to\nconceal the heinous crimes perpetrated in the name of free\nthought; or pamphlet-writers who industriously circulate the\nsilly stories of the inquisition, and have not a word, a single\nword of blame for the sectarians who have covered Europe with\nblood and ruins?\n\nTo those who desire to know, without seeking far, the judgment of\nhistory upon these facts and persons, we counsel the reading of\nFeller, whose opinions always bear the stamp of truth. \"The\nseverity of the Duke of Alva--or, if you wish, his hardness, or\neven his inhumanity--was legal, and conformed most scrupulously\nto judicial proceeding, and forms a striking contrast with the\nchiefs of the rebellion and their tools, whose cruelties had no\nother rule than fanaticism and caprice. William of Marck, for\nexample, the _des Adrets_ of the Low Countries, murdered in\na single year (1572) more peaceable citizens and Catholic priests\nthan the Duke of Alva executed rebels in the whole course of his\nadministration.\" [Footnote 12] To support his statements, Feller\nquotes three or four works which recount the atrocities of the\nProtestants. We shall content ourselves with a statement of the\ndeath of our nineteen martyrs, which happened in this same sad\nyear, 1572, and by the orders of this same William of Marck, one\nof the most abominable of the wretches who figured in the\nrevolution of the sixteenth century. In this single example we\nshall see the barbarous fanaticism of the \"reform,\" and the\nsublime virtues which distinguished these martyrs of the Catholic\nfaith: error will show its power as a persecutor; truth, the\ndivine fortitude with which it vests its faithful champions.\n\n    [Footnote 12: _Dictionnaire Historique_, article Tol\u00e8de,\n    Ferdinand Alvarez du, duc d'Albe.]\n\n{78}\n\n                 IV.\n\nThe Duke of Alva had quelled the revolt: he had not rooted it out\nof the land, for its numerous and powerful ramifications were\nonly waiting to begin a new life. The Prince of Orange, who had\ntaken care to avoid the punishment due to his treason by a\nvoluntary exile, was raising troops, conspiring and intriguing\nwith the great Iconoclastic sect of Calvin and with the court of\nFrance, then under the influence of the Huguenots. The Admiral de\nColigny advised him to build a fleet and attack the northern\nprovinces, where the \"reformers\" were in greater numbers. There\nhad been Beggars on land, and now there were to be Beggars at\nsea; they rivalled each other in massacre and sacrilege, to the\ngreat honor of the \"reform\" and the \"reformers,\" who by these\nmeans had obtained a partial triumph. We are aware that political\nprejudices are complicated with this religious war; but facts\nprove beyond doubt that these people were urged on by a deep\nhatred of the Catholic faith.\n\nA fleet of about forty sail had been fitted out in the ports of\nEngland, and from thence, under the direction of the ferocious\nWilliam of Marck, the Beggars made their course across the North\nSea and along the coast of Flanders. The Duke of Alva complained\nto Elizabeth, Queen of England, and as she did not wish at this\ntime to break with Spain, she gave the corsairs orders to leave\nthe kingdom. This was in the spring of 1572. An adverse wind\ndrove them on the isle of Voom, at the mouth of the Meuse; the\nneighboring port of Briel was without defenders, and was captured\nby these Calvinists on April 1st, 1572. \"They pillaged the\nconvents and churches about the city, broke images, and destroyed\nall that bore marks of the Roman Church.\" [Footnote 13]\n\n    [Footnote 13: _The Delights of the Netherlands_. A\n    General History of the Seventeen Provinces. New Edition 1743,\n    t iv. p. 121.]\n\nThis town was fortified by the pirates, for whom it was a place\nof refuge, and afterward the nucleus for insurrection. Three\nmonths after its occupation, Brandt, a captain, ascended the\nMeuse as far as Gorcum. As soon as the people saw his vessels,\nthey sought shelter in the citadel; religious and priests\nhurriedly transported the sacred vessels and objects of\nveneration to this place of safety. However, the town council and\nthe body of magistrates began a parley with Brandt, who assured\nthem that he only desired religious liberty, and that no outrage\nwould be committed by his followers. They opened the gates. The\nband was increased by several of the inhabitants of the town, who\nwere partisans of this Calvinistic rebellion, and they then\nrequired all the citizens to take an oath of allegiance to\nWilliam of Nassau, Prince of Orange, _governor royal_ of the\nHolland provinces. During this time that the revolutionary troops\nhad possession of the city, the commander of the palace still\nheld out, but was eventually compelled to capitulate because of\nthe failure of hoped for supplies. Brandt solemnly promised to\nspare their lives and give them their liberty; but, scarcely had\nthey taken possession of the place, when, forgetting their oaths,\nthey confined their victims as prisoners. The laymen were finally\nreleased in consideration of large sums of money, except a few\nwho were put to death as firm Catholics and royalists; the\npriests and religious, nineteen in number, remained: they could\nhope for no deliverance but that of martyrdom.\n\n{79}\n\nThen the scenes that are ever recurring in the church, the scenes\nof the passion of our Lord, were reenacted. As our divine Saviour\nhad to undergo the outrages of a brutal soldiery, so did these\nheroes of Gorcum; they, like him, were forced through crowds of\ninfuriated people, who greeted them with scornful questions, with\nblows, and scourges, and mockery, and imprecations, and, last of\nall, with the gibbet. In the midst of this display of rage and\nhate, our heroes were entirely tranquil, blessing God, praying\nfor their executioners, encouraging each other to bear their\nsufferings with patience, gladly offering their lives as a\ntestimony to their sincerity in professing the dogmas denied by\nthe heretics; in one word, they bore themselves as true witnesses\nof our Lord should.\n\nThe facts of their martyrdom have been told by well-informed\nhistorians. God, who leaves nothing hidden in the lives of those\nwhom he has determined to honor, raised witnesses to testify to\nthe merits of those who were such faithful witnesses of his Son.\nHistory celebrated their triumph while waiting for the church to\ncrown them. One of the most intrepid of the martyrs, Nicholas\nPieck, superior of the Franciscans, had a nephew living at\nGorcum, who was a witness to these events, and who is now known\nas the celebrated William Estius, chancellor of the university of\nDouai. He collected all the facts that were known, and then wrote\na complete history of their martyrdom, which reflects so much\ncredit upon his country and family. A young Franciscan novice,\nwho begged for mercy when he was to be executed, lived to tell of\nthe firmness of these confessors of the faith; a canon, Pontus\nHeuterus, who was also unfaithful to the grace of martyrdom,\nwrote the story in Holland verse. It is useless, however, to\ndetail a list of our authorities; for there are no pages in the\nannals of the church more luminous than the acts of these\nnineteen martyrs. Surely God has wished to erect from their\nheroic virtue a monument to the sanctity of the church and to the\nsatanic character of this heresy. [Footnote 14]\n\n    [Footnote 14: The work of Estius, _Historic Martyrum\n    Gorcomiensium Libri Quatuor_, was first printed in Douai\n    in 1603. It was afterward republished, with notes and a\n    supplement, by M. Reussen, professor in the university of\n    Louvain. A French translation of Estius appeared at Douai in\n    1606, under the title, _Histoire V\u00e9ritable des Martyrs de\n    Gorcum en Hollande_, etc. _Acta Sanctorum_, t. xxvii.\n    ad 9 Julii, fol. 736-847. _Esquisses Historiques des\n    Troubles des Pays-Bas an XVII. Si\u00e8cle_. Par E. H. de\n    Cavrines. Deuxi\u00e8me \u00e9dit. Bruxelles, Vromant. 1865.]\n\nAs we have already said, there was but one way to please these\nCalvinistic executioners, and that was to renounce the faith; but\ntheir victims chose rather to endure all the suffering that their\nmalignant ingenuity could suggest. The martyrs affirmed\nsuccessively the right of the church to impose laws in the name\nof God, the divine maternity of the Blessed Virgin, and the\nveneration which is due to the real presence of Jesus Christ in\nthe sacrament of the altar and the primacy of the pope.\n\nThe first day of their captivity (June 27th) was a Friday. They\nhad no food offered them but meat, from which they cheerfully\nabstained, rather than put in doubt their fidelity to the\nprecepts of the church. There was but one who thought it\nnecessary for him to take some nourishment, and he was one of\nthose who did not persevere to the end.\n\nIn the following night, a band of Protestants rushed into their\ncell and pretended that they had come to execute them\nimmediately. \"Behold me,\" said L\u00e9onard Vechel, the aged pastor of\nGorcum, \"I am ready.\" His assistant, Nicholas Van Poppel, was\ndared to repeat what he had so often preached in the pulpit.\n\"Willingly,\" he answered, \"and at the price of every drop of my\nblood, I confess the Catholic faith; above all, the dogma of the\nreal presence of Jesus Christ in the holy eucharist.\"\n{80}\nThey then threw a rope about his neck and began to strangle him;\nthe superior of the Franciscans was treated in the same way; they\nwere both choked until they fainted, when the ruffians held their\ntorches to the faces of their victims, recalling their lives in\nthis gentle way! \"After all,\" said one of the monsters, \"they are\nonly monks. Of what account are they? Who will trouble themselves\nabout them?\"\n\nOn July 2d, the feast of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin,\nFather Leonard was released for a short time, as his friends had\npurchased permission for him to say Mass. The courageous pastor,\nin an address to his flock, extolled the virtues of our blessed\nLady, and when concluding urged them to remain firm in the faith\nof their fathers. This purchased for him increased tortures on\nhis return to the prison.\n\nJohn Van Omal, the apostate canon of Li\u00e8ge, was the hero of\nanother of these pretended executions. He was more than a Judas,\nfor he was not only a traitor, but it was through his efforts\nthat the execution finally took place. Enraged at having been\nfoiled in his attack on Bommel, (July 3d,) he determined to\nrevenge himself on the priests and religious of Gorcum. At that\ntime the liberation of the captives was spoken of, as some\nmembers of the town council had been sent to the Prince of Orange\nto beg him to release them. The apostate, after reflecting upon\nthe possibility of their release, concluded that he had better\ntake them to the Count of Marck, who was at his headquarters in\nBriel. In the middle of the night of the 5th, they were hurried,\nscarcely clothed and without food, on board of a vessel, which\nrapidly descended the Meuse. They reached Dordrecht at nine\no'clock, and Van Omal had an opportunity to satisfy his malice by\nexposing the venerable band to the idle curiosity and unfeeling\ntaunts of a Calvinistic mob. They arrived at Briel in the\nevening, but were detained on board the vessel all night, so that\nthe news of their coining might be well known and their foes\nproperly prepared to torture them. On the morning of the 7th, the\ncount, who esteemed himself particularly fortunate in having\nthese poor monks and religious to torment, ordered them to march\nin procession through the town; he chose for himself a most\nunenviable position, that of riding behind his unfortunate\nprisoners, with a huge whip, and unfeelingly beating them as they\nmade their way through the throngs of infuriated people. That\nnothing should be wanting to this humiliating scene, he commanded\nthe martyrs to sing: a _Te Deum_ was first intoned, and then\na _Salve Regina_. He sought to turn them into ridicule; but\ntheir heroism made them sublime.\n\nThe afternoon of the 7th and the following morning were taken up\nby discussions with the ministers in the presence of the count.\nThe generous soldiers of Christ sustained their belief firmly and\nwith dignity; they bore witness particularly to the dogma of the\neucharist, and to the supremacy of the Roman pontiff. \"Renounce\nthe pope,\" said they to Father Leonard, \"or you will hang.\"\n\"How,\" answered he, \"how can you contradict yourselves in this\nway? You are always proclaiming that you wish for religious\nliberty, and that no one has the right to prevent the exercise of\nyour worship. And now you desire to force me to deny my faith! It\nis better for me to die than to be untrue to my conscience.\"\n\n{81}\n\nHowever, a letter came from Gorcum, in which William of Nassau\nordered the clauses of the convention of June 26th to be strictly\nobserved in regard to the prisoners. This, of course, only\nexasperated the Count of Marck, who saw that his prey might\nescape him. As he was going to bed, after one of the orgies which\nwere habitual with him, he cast his eyes again over the note of\nthe Prince of Orange. He then for the first time perceived that\nBrandt had sent him only a copy of the order, and had preserved\nthe original. This served as a pretext for a display of his\namiable temper, and he declared that he was master of the place,\nand that it was high time for it to be known; an order was issued\nat once to take the prisoners and conduct them to Ten Rugge,\n[Footnote 15] a convent which he had sacked when he first\ncaptured Briel. The torture began at about two o'clock in the\nmorning of Wednesday, the 9th of July; it was accompanied by\nshameful outrages which we prefer to pass over in silence. Their\ncaptivity had lasted twelve days, of which nine were passed at\nGorcum.\n\n    [Footnote 15: The Catholics of Holland have recently\n    repurchased this stolen convent for 16,000 florins. It will\n    soon be a place of pilgrimage for the pious people of Holland\n    and Belgium.]\n\nOf the nineteen prisoners who were taken from that city, only\nsixteen suffered death. Three priests and religious filled the\ngaps in their noble band. \"A mysterious judgment of Providence,\nof which there is more than one example in the history of the\nmartyrs. There were nineteen called to martyrdom, and the\ndefection of some did not prevent the number being preserved to\nthe end.\" (R. F. Cahier, SJ.) We have mentioned two of these\nunhappy deserters, whom God deigned to lead back to himself; the\nthird entered the service of the Count of Marck, and was hung\nthree months after for stealing. But apostasy did not always\npreserve life, for we read that the cur\u00e9 of Maasdam was put to\ndeath eight days after the martyrs, although he had renounced the\npapacy.\n\nWilliam of Marck at last received his reward from a just\nProvidence; he was bitten by one of his dogs, and died in the\nmost horrible agony, amid shrieks of rage and despair. It is a\ngeneral law; the Neros are plunged in the depths of shame and\ndespair, while martyrs ascend to their eternal glory. Eighteen\ncenturies after his crucifixion, Peter receives the honors of a\ntriumph such as kings have never had; three centuries after their\ntorment, the nineteen martyrs of Gorcum are venerated in every\ncorner of the earth where Christianity is known.\n\nWe present to our readers the names of these martyrs: Fathers\nNicholas Pieck, superior of the Franciscans; Jerome Werdt;\nThierry Van Emden; N. Janssen; Willehad Danus, a venerable old\nman of ninety years who did not cease repeating _Deo\nGratias_ during the twelve days of his confinement; Antony\nWerdt; Godfrey Mervel; Antony Hoornaer; Francis de Roye, who was\nscarcely twenty-four years of age, being the youngest of the\nmartyrs; Cornelius Wyk, and Peter Assche. The foregoing were all\nFriars Minor. The Dominicans had a representative in the person\nof Father John, of the province of Cologne, who was captured\nwhile going to baptize an infant. Father Adrian Beek and his\ncurate, F. James Lacops, were seized on the night of the seventh\nor morning of the eighth of July and sent to Briel, where they\njoined those who had come from Gorcum; they were both\nPremonstrants. There was a canon of St. Augustine, John\nOosterwyk, who was directing a convent of the order at Gorcum.\n{82}\nWhen he heard that his own convent (that of Ten Rugge, the place\nof martyrdom) was sacked and the religious put to death, he\nexclaimed, \"Oh  may our Lord deign to grant that I may die as\nthey have!\" How exactly was his prayer granted! The following\nwere seculars: Leonard Vechel; Nicholas Van Peppel; Godfrey Van\nDuynen, a doctor of theology and formerly rector of the\nuniversity of Paris; he had merited by his pure life the crown of\nmartyrdom that he received when more than seventy years of age;\nand, lastly, Andrew Wouters, who was taken near Dordrecht, and\nwho was the third substitute for those who shrank from the trying\nordeal.\n\n\n                V.\n\nWe are not astonished that God by miracles, and the holy church\nby her veneration, has made this episode of the religious\npersecution of the Netherlands so prominent. If we will but\nreflect, it offers to us the most precious teaching; it presents\none of those striking proofs which are sure to convince the good\nsense of the people. A cause which succeeds by such crimes as\nthis is already judged; we are not called upon to condemn it. And\nif this is the cause of a \"_reformed_ religion,\" what need\nhas any honest man of any further arguments to convince him of\nits error? Was Christianity established in the Roman empire by\noverturning the government and giving up its inoffensive citizens\nto pillage, to outrage, and to murder? Does the \"liberty of\nconscience\" preached by the \"reform\" resemble the liberty that\nthe church asked of the Caesars, and which she is asking of\nProtestant governments today? The champions of this modern\n\"liberty\" imposed their doctrines upon unwilling people at the\npoint of the sword, while its opponents gave their blood in\ndefence of their religious rights. In countries where\nProtestantism did not maintain itself by an unrelenting\ndespotism, the people eagerly returned to the faith of their\nfathers, the very violence of the sects causing a healthful\nreaction. [Footnote 16] And this was also the case with the\ngreater part of the provinces of the Netherlands, which gladly\nthrew off the yoke of William of Orange and returned to their\nformer allegiance--an example of a wavering faith being revived\nby the lawlessness of its opponents. The sectaries retained only\nseven of the seventeen provinces, now known as Holland, and which\nwere inundated with the blood of faithful Catholic priests. The\nmartyrs of Gorcum were only a little band of this vast army of\nJesus Christ. In the year 1572, there were more martyrs in the\nLow Countries than in all the preceding centuries together: the\ncradle of the republic of Holland floated in a sea of Catholic\nblood.\n\n    [Footnote 16: \"France,\" says a Protestant historian, \"after\n    having been almost reformed, found herself, in the result,\n    Roman Catholic. The sword of her princes, cast into the\n    scale, caused it to incline in favor of Rome. Alas I another\n    sword, that of the reformers themselves, insured the failure\n    of the Reformation.\" (D'Aubign\u00e9, _History of the\n    Reformation_, vol. i. p. 86.)]\n\nWe wonder what learned and sincere Protestants, such as M.\nGuizot, think in their hearts of these bloody pages of their\nancestors? Do they believe in the \"compensation\" that Mr.\nPrescott talks about, and that such dreadful crimes were\nnecessary to purchase freedom of conscience, which, after all, is\nonly permission to believe nothing? \"Notwithstanding the\ndisorders it caused,\" says M. Guizot, \"and the faults it\ncommitted, the reform of the sixteenth century has rendered to\nmodern times two great services.\" M. Guizot tells the truth; it\nhas.\n{83}\nIt has given to the Catholic Church a noble army of martyrs, and\nconfirmed the promise of our Lord to Peter, when he declared \"the\ngates of hell shall not prevail against the church.\" \"It (the\nreform) reanimated, even among its adversaries, the Christian\nfaith.\" [Footnote 17] \"It has imprinted upon European society a\ndecisive movement toward liberty.\" [Footnote 18] Liberty for whom\nand liberty for what? For Calvinistic Holland, it was the liberty\nof civil war, the liberty to rob unprotected convents, the\nliberty to circulate immoral books, the liberty to follow\nlicentious desires, to desecrate the churches, and, above all,\nthe liberty to persecute the adherents of Catholicism.\n\n    [Footnote 17: We are at a loss to discover M. Guizot's\n    authority for this assertion. Erasmus, one of the most\n    learned men of the sixteenth century, says: \"Those whom I had\n    known to be pure, full of candor and simplicity, these same\n    persons have I seen afterward, when they had gone over to the\n    gospellers, become the most vindictive, impatient, and\n    frivolous; changed, in fact, from men to vipers. . . .\n    Luxury, avarice, and lewdness prevail more among them than\n    among those whom they detest. ... I have seen none who have\n    not been made worse by their gospel.\" (_Epist. Tractibus\n    Germaniae Inferioris_.) \"Our evangelists,\" says Luther,\n    \"are now sevenfold more wicked than they were before the\n    Reformation. In proportion as we hear the gospel, we steal,\n    lie, cheat, gorge, swill, and commit every crime. ... The\n    people have learned to despise the word of God.\" (Luther,\n    _Werke_, ed. alt. tom. iii. p. 519.)]\n\n    [Footnote 18: _L'Eglise et la Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 Chr\u00e9tiennes en_\n    1861. Deuxieme \u00e9dit. p. 8.]\n\nError must necessarily persecute, for this is the only way in\nwhich it can predominate; it never feels sufficiently protected\nagainst the truth over which it has obtained a temporary triumph.\nIt is first the tyranny of the sword, and then the tyranny of the\nlaw. Public opinion has long been imposed upon by followers of\nthe \"reform,\" for they have cried so lustily for religious\nfreedom and liberty of conscience that few have taken the trouble\nto ascertain the fact that their acts have invariably belied\ntheir words. But history, which has been made an accomplice to\nthis delusion, is now effectually unmasking it. If we attribute\nthe introduction of religious toleration to Protestantism, it is\nnot because it has practised it, but because it has made it\nnecessary. Truth has tolerated error, while error has continually\nsought to exterminate the truth. The principle of religious\ntoleration was introduced by Catholic governments, where heresy\ntriumphed; as in England, Sweden, and Holland, the most severe\nlaws were enacted against the former faith, laws so cruel that we\ncan say they were written in blood, and that the church has been\nfor the past three centuries in a state of martyrdom in those\ncountries. We shall notice briefly some of the enactments of\nHolland; but, before we do so, we will briefly refute a sophism\nby which the Protestants attempt to palliate their atrocities.\nThe history of Protestantism is so constituted that, before any\nquestion can be discussed, it is necessary to remove a number of\nobjections due either to ignorance or prejudice.\n\nReligious intolerance, say they, was a characteristic feature of\nthe people of the middle ages. The church held its authority to\nbe a fundamental principle, and, seeing this put in danger, it\nforgot the rights of liberty and used force and the arm of civil\npower to enforce it dogmas. On the other hand, after liberty\nconquered its rights, it unfortunately went beyond its doctrines,\nand even embraced the opposite principle. Thus Christians\npersecuted each other, until the progress of society led them to\nmutual respect. But the illogical position of Protestantism is\napparent: it begins a war in the name of religious liberty, and\nfinishes by putting the church in a state of siege! The church\nwas, at least, consistent, for she never said that men were free\nto deny their Maker and adopt a religion of their own brain or\nthat they possessed an imprescriptible right to preach and\ndisseminate false doctrine.\n{84}\nAn illustrious bishop who lives now among the children of the\nreformation, lately showed them on the forehead of their mother\nthis sign of contradiction, and defended the honorable\nconsistency which exists between the doctrines and the acts of\nthe church. \"The church distinctly holds that society, as well as\nthe family, has its duties to Jesus Christ, and that God is\nequally the Master and Lord of man, regarded as an isolated\nindividual, as of man in social relations with his fellows. She\nlooks back with joy upon the times when, seeing her liberty\nprotected, she became the inspirer of the Christian republic. ...\nBut, if she has thankfully received the protection of the sword\nwhich vindicated her justice, and shielded her weakness when she\nwas forced upon the defensive, she has never wished it to be used\nto impose doctrine; faith is not a forced belief, but a free\nadhesion of both mind and heart to revealed truth. Liberty of\nconscience, in its proper sense, far from being scouted and\ncondemned by the church, is the essential condition of her\nspiritual sovereignty.\"\n\nIt was not enough to attempt to overturn the secular throne of\nthe spouse of Christ, the queen of European civilization; it must\nbe put in chains and confined in dungeons. Let us cite some of\nthe proscriptions of the Protestants in Holland:\n\n  \"1596.--The Jesuits are forbidden to enter the country. Whoever\n  attends their seminaries or universities shall be banished from\n  the country.\"\n\n  \"1602.--1st. The police are ordered to arrest any Jesuit, monk,\n  or priest of the papist religion.\n\n  \"2d. The people are forbidden to take any oath or make any\n  promise to maintain the power of the Pope of Rome. Public or\n  private meetings, sermons, or collections in favor of the papal\n  superstition are prohibited.\"\n\nAnother placard decrees \"that every person in holy orders shall\nleave the country in less than six days, under pain of arrest and\nbeing punished as an enemy to the country.\" It was also forbidden\nCatholic teachers to instruct their pupils, if either of the\nparents had been of the reformed religion; and to will any money\nto any priest, religious, or for any hospital or religious\nedifice.\n\nThis will be sufficient to give our Protestant readers an idea of\nthe liberty of conscience which flourished in Holland. Many\nendeavor in these times to hide the accusing witness of these\nacts, and to conceal entirely the manner in which the religion of\nour forefathers has been overcome; but the day is breaking, the\nshadows of heresy are fast fading away, and they will not be able\nto bring them back again. Pius IX., in an allocution in\nconsistory on March 7th, 1853, alluded to the lamentable\ncalamities the church had suffered in the Netherlands. The court\nof Holland, as it did not desire to acknowledge the odious acts\nof its former government, sent a letter to the Roman court\nprotesting against these historical allusions. The able minister\nof the holy see replied to this effrontery in the following\nlanguage: \"The pontifical document only pointed out, in passing,\nsomething that is fully told not only by Catholic, but also by\nProtestant historians, who are interested in giving impartially\nthe true history of the facts.\" [Footnote 19]\n\n    [Footnote 19: Note of his eminence, Cardinal Antonelli.\n    \"_Ami de la Religion_\" t. clxi. No. 5552, July 11,\n    1853.]\n\n{85}\n\nThere is but one resource for Protestant powers who blush at the\nintolerance of those who have preceded them, and this is to\nstrike from their laws the unjust proscriptions they have\nlevelled against Catholicism. We owe it to justice to say that,\nwhile several Protestant countries, Sweden, for example, retain\nthese unjust enactments, Holland is steadily giving up its former\nfanaticism, and has fairly entered into the way of religious\nliberty.\n\n\n                      VI.\n\nThe persecution of the sword and the law have demonstrated the\ncruel and hypocritical character of this heresy, at the same time\nit has proved the vigor and stability of the church.\n\nMore than once in these nineteen centuries, it has been attempted\nto extirpate Catholicism from the heart of a nation, as Russia is\ntrying to do now: We do not know that they have ever succeeded.\nEven under Mohammedan rule, the church has maintained its\nexistence for more than twelve centuries in Turkey and in\nNorthern Africa; and though it has suffered one continual\npersecution, and lost innumerable multitudes through martyrdom,\nit counts to-day in these very countries more than three millions\nof faithful children. [Footnote 20] In Japan, where missionaries\nhad scarcely time to sow the seeds of Catholic truth before a\nsavage war was waged upon it, its roots are still living, and\nshow after two centuries an unwavering fidelity to the faith.\n[Footnote 21]\n\n    [Footnote 20: See Marcy's _Christianity and its\n    Conflicts_, p. 405, and Marshall's _Christian\n    Missions_, vol. ii. p. 24, for a more complete statement\n    of the church in those countries.--ED. C. W. The\n    _Biblioth\u00e8que de l'Ecole des Chartes_ for May to June,\n    1866, contains an interesting analysis of some curious\n    documents on the relations of Popes Gregory VII., Gregory\n    IX., Innocent IV., and Nicholas IV., with the Christians of\n    Africa.]\n\n    [Footnote 21: \"When some Japanese martyrs were added to the\n    catalogue of saints a few years ago, there were found to be\n    in Japan some thousands of Christians who had preserved their\n    faith without any human ministry solely by the aid of their\n    good guardian angels.\"--_Discourse pronounced by the Holy\n    Father on the Promulgation of the Decree relative to the\n    Beatification, of the 205 Martyrs of Japan_, April 30,\n    1867.]\n\nHeresy, inspired with the same fury as paganism and Islamism, has\nexhausted every resource to destroy the ancient faith: the young\nand flourishing churches of England and Holland proclaim its\nfailure. The Catholics have vanquished by faith those who\novercame them by force; the blood of martyrs is always the seed\nof its liberty and life. Three centuries have passed, and God,\nthrough his vicar, pronounces the word of resurrection:\n_Puella, tibi dico, surge._ And she has risen, weak, but\nglorious and full of hope; her fair countenance again shines over\nthe land of St. Boniface and St. Willibrord, making even heretics\ntremble at her marvellous life. Poor fanatics! You said formerly,\n\"Renounce the pope, or you will be hung;\" but how has God and the\nchildren of those martyrs revenged your cruelty! The pope yet\nrules at Rome; he appoints bishops in your cities to govern your\nsees; he places your victims on the altar; your fellow-citizens\nvenerate these victims. The hour of the complete return of\nHolland to Christianity cannot be much longer delayed. The\ncanonization of the martyrs of Gorcum is an additional element of\nstrength for Catholics, while it must cause the most bigoted of\nits opponents to reflect upon the failure of Protestantism to\noverthrow \"the abominations of popery.\" \"When Rome,\" says the\ngreat bishop of Poitiers--\"when Rome glorifies the saints of\nheaven, she never fails to multiply the saints of earth.\"\n\n--------\n\n{86}\n\n      Carlyle's Shooting Niagara.\n\n\nOf the many expressive words with which the English language has\nbeen endowed few are more forcible than the little term \"bosh.\"\nFor a long time we have in vain tried to discover a synonym with\nwhich to relieve it from too frequent use, and we think that\nCarlyle's last \"essay\" has gratified our patience. Thomas Carlyle\nis what the world sometimes calls a philosopher. No one can deny\nthat he is a man of excellent abilities. Having been an\nextraordinarily close observer of men and things from his\nearliest childhood--and he is now seventy-two years old--and\nhaving, from his first appearance in _Brewster's\nEncyclopaedia_, gone through a literary career of forty-four\nyears with extraordinary success, the world is naturally\ninterested in any criticism he may see fit to pronounce upon it.\nHe will be judged, however, as severely as he judges, by those\nwho have placed him upon the little pedestal from which he looks\ndown. People are anxious to know whether in his old age he ought\nto be dethroned. Naturally of a serious and taciturn mind, having\nbeen buried from his youth amid the works of the most sombre and\ngloomy of Germany's theorizers, and given ever to solitude and\nmeditation, it was not surprising that his writings ever\ndisplayed excessive bitterness, and a distrust of human nature\nmore than Calvinistic; but, when we heard that, in the good old\nage to which Providence had brought him, he had written his ideas\nupon the present state of society, we expected to find a little\nmore of kindness and of love of truth than had been displayed by\nDiogenes Teufelsdr\u00f6ckh, the \"Great Censor of the Age.\" We must\nregard _Shooting Niagara_ as the _r\u00e9sum\u00e9_ of the\nthoughts of Carlyle's life. Coming out of his solitude, as he\ntells us, to grapple with the problem of whither democracy is\ndrifting, and realizing, as he does, \"that it is not always the\npart of the infinitesimally small minority of wise men and good\ncitizens to be, silent,\" we expected, in spite of his modesty, to\nmeet something interesting and profitable. Interested we have\nbeen, and so would we be at seeing the convulsions of a shark\nbrought to grief upon the strand. The only profit we have\nreceived is the knowledge of how miserably small prejudice can\nmake a great mind. In the present paper Carlyle has used to\nperfection (?) that curious style for which he has enjoyed\ncelebrity among many--a celebrity obtained pretty much like that\nof certain metaphysicians, whose obscurity makes some give them\ncredit for profundity. As of two opinions Carlyle always chooses\nthe more uncharitable, so, of two ways of expressing an idea, he\ninvariably adopts the more obscure, intricate, and verbose. In\nour endeavor to illustrate his position, we have been obliged to\nselect his more plain and simple passages, with a sacrifice very\noften to the strength of our own opinions, which would have been\nmaterially increased had we wished to try the patience of our\nreaders.\n\n{87}\n\nParagraph No. 1 is devoted to a kind of clouding over of the\nsubject matter, in anticipation of the Carlylian thunder to\nfollow. We can see, however, that there are \"three altogether new\nand very considerable achievements lying ahead of us;\" and the\nfirst is, that Democracy is to complete itself, and run on till\neach man is \"free to follow his own nose, by way of guide-post,\nin this intricate world.\" If the length of a man's nose indicates\ncorrect perception, and an ordinary power of separating wheat\nfrom chaff, then, though Mr. Carlyle's nose may be a post, it\nmust be a very small one. The second \"achievement\" is the\ndeliquescence and final evaporation of all religions. Such an\n\"achievement\" would be wonderful, but how it can be terrible to\nMr. Carlyle we do not know; for he can have no concern about\nfuture damnation, having been born, it would seem, without a\nsoul. The third \"achievement\" is, that \"everybody shall start\nfree, and everywhere under enlightened popular suffrage. The race\nshall be to the swift, and the high office shall fall to him who\nis ablest, if not to do it, at least to get elected for doing\nit.\"\n\nThis is _the_ \"achievement.\" Of all the cuts which the\nprescient genius of Carlyle has dealt his gushing heart, this is\nthe \"unkindest cut of all.\" _Hinc_ those tears, _hinc_\nthose thunders, _hinc_ all that follows. With the exception\nof a few hundred unimportant digressions, the slashing of these\n\"achievements\" is the object of Carlyle's endeavor.\n\nThe commencement of paragraph two is characteristic of Mr.\nCarlyle, who never omits a chance of showing a knowledge of\nclassic lore. He flings at once into your face the terrible\nAntoninus with the cry, \"Who shall change the opinion of these\npeople?\" The quoted prophecy was certainly Greek to Mr. Carlyle,\nas he thinks it proves that what, individually taken, is the\nhuman face divine becomes, when collectively regarded, a cheese;\nand that, when the human head is regarded in the masses, it has\nabout as much intellect as a cocoanut. In some of his paragraphs\nhe tries to prove a point or so, but in this one he plainly shows\nthat he cannot change the opinion of the masses, erroneous though\nit be. He asserts that delusions seize whole communities without\nany basis for their notions; he will not admit the possibility of\nthere being even a false one. He asserts that the world\nreverberates with ideas eagerly made his own by each individual,\nand affects to believe that the original propagator had no\narguments to enforce their adoption; nay, he seems to ignore the\nexistence of the first propounder, and to admit that thoughts\nare, like cholera or any other pest, inhaled with the air. To be\nsure, as though he felt the absurdity of his position, he invents\na _swarmery_ theory, in which he contends that ideas get\ninto the masses by means of some \"commonplace, stupid bee,\" who\ngets \"inflated into bulk,\" and forms a swarm merely on account of\nhis bulk. But he forgets that the \"bulk\" of his specimen-bees,\nCleon the Tanner and John of Leyden, was, in the first case, the\nflattery poured upon the people, and, in the second, a religious\nfanaticism based upon well-defined though erroneous grounds. Two\nbetter specimen-bees for a _swarmery_ theory could not have\nbeen selected than the Athenian general and the fierce\nanabaptist; but in neither case did the people swarm unless for\nwhat they regarded as honey. To say the people may err is to say\nthey are not God; but to contend that they are insensible to\nargument is worse than foolish. Were the laboring classes of\nEngland whom Carlyle so severely berates but so many\n_swarmeries_, he would be drowned in a horse-pond; but as\nhis theory is false, he will live a little longer--a specimen of\nprostituted intellect and self-crushed humanity such as many of\nhis school have already presented for the firmer conviction of\ntheir opponents.\n{88}\nMr. Carlyle thinks our late war was \"the notablest result of\nswarmery.\" He calls \"the nigger question one of the smallest\nessentially,\" and says that \"the Almighty Maker has made him (the\nnegro) a servant.\" With regard to the first of these two\nopinions, the mass of humanity disagree with the perceptive\nThomas; as for the second, not having been present when the\nordinance was promulgated, we cannot deny that possibly Mr.\nCarlyle knows more of the matter than we do. But, when we are\ntold that, \"under penalty of Heaven's curse, neither party to\nthis preappointment shall neglect or misdo his duties\ntherein--and it is certain that servantship on the _nomadic_\nprinciple, at the rate of so many shillings a day, _cannot_\nbe other than misdone\"--we thank Providence that all armed men\nare not Carlyles. Take away the right of the laborer to leave his\nmaster when he feels he can better himself, and the earth would\nbecome a pandemonium. Lest his position may be mistaken Mr.\nCarlyle tells us that the relation between master and servant\nmust become like wedlock, which was once nomadic, but is now\npermanent. To refute such \"philosophy\" would be to notice the\nravings of a madman. In commenting upon the Reform movement, Mr.\nCarlyle kindly devotes a long passage to prove for us that\nfreedom does not mean liberty to sin, and then informs the\nEnglish nation that each privilege it has wrung from the\nmonarchy, each extension of the suffrage, was a strap untied from\nthe body of the devil, so that the devil is now an \"emancipated\ngentleman.\" Having thus shown that to really tie up his satanic\nmajesty for the advent of the millennium we must go back to the\ngood, innocent days of Assuerus and Nabuchodonosor, or, at least,\nto the pure times of Caligula, Mr. Carlyle opens his third\nparagraph.\n\nWe meet with something refreshing here. Although the extension of\nthe franchise is so evidently nothing but \"a calling in of new\nsupplies of blockheadism, gullibility,\" etc., that Mr. Carlyle\nthinks his opponents to be men of \"finished off and shut up\nintellect, with whom he would not argue,\" he feels a \"malicious\nand _justice-joy_\" in the fact of England's being about to\ntake the Niagara-leap, and, after some ferocious experience of\nthe horrors of democracy, having a chance to come up washed of\nher hypocrisy, \"the devil's pickle in which she has been steeped\nfor two hundred years,\" and thus to show herself regenerated and\nready for heaven. The desperate philosopher must have been\nreminded at this point that most who \"shoot\" Niagara get smashed,\nand don't come up regenerated or unregenerated; for he runs out\nof his way to give a howl at her majesty's ministry for not\nhaving rewarded Governor Eyre, and then stops to dabble a little\nmore in England's \"hypocrisy,\" which he calls \"the devil's\nchoicest elixir.\" We fear you misname that curious brine, Mr.\nCarlyle. You have been drinking of it, and your language is\nunchoice and simply disgusting. Having taken a lesson in\ndescriptive geography, Mr. Carlyle now opens his fourth\nparagraph, ready for the consequences of a trip over the falls.\n\n\"From plebs to princeps there is no class intrinsically so\nvaluable and recommendable as aristocracy;\" and it is to \"this\nbody of brave men and beautiful polite women\" that Mr. Carlyle\nlooks with imploring, half-despairing eyes for the creation of a\nnew and better England after the inevitable \"immortal smash\" of\nthe present.\n{89}\nHe thinks that, in the smash-up of all things English, this class\nwill be alone unsmashed, because no other class dislikes it:\n\"they are looked up to with a vulgarly human admiration, and a\nspontaneous recognition of their good qualities and good\nfortune.\" We are glad to have found one idea upon which we can\nagree with Mr. Carlyle. We believe that, of all the peoples of\nEurope, the English will be the last to assert the principle of\npolitical equality. Great and influential men are contending for\nits actuation, and powerful journals are lending it their aid,\nbut their influence is in reality felt more upon the Continent\nthan in England herself. It may be owing to the degrading\nignorance to which the masses have been reduced, and it may not;\nbut, with regard to their love of aristocracy, the same may be\nsaid as Mr. Carlyle says, though unjustly, perhaps, of England's\nhypocrisy, \"they are saturated with it to the bone.\" Mr. Carlyle\naccuses, in most virulent terms, the varnishing proclivities of\nhis countrymen, who, in spite of the agitation of centuries, he\nthinks, never really rebuild or even repair. But his going to the\nroot of the evil would be somewhat averse to our poor ideas of\npropriety, if we may judge by his \"devil's strap\" theory. Yet no\none can deny that English politicians, whether tory or liberal,\nare almost universally varnishers. In the various struggles for\nascendency for which reform has been the pretext, very often the\nconquering power has gone back of its former principles, and been\nutterly averse to any extension of the rights of the masses. In\nthose cases where through intimidation, such as in the present\nreform bill, an extension of the franchise has been granted, it\nhas been merely a diminution of the amount of property necessary\nas qualification. Tories and liberals alike recognize the\nprinciple of distinction; they berate each other merely as to its\nextent. It is not unlikely that, after a few more reform bills\nhave passed, there will be one put through, making twopence the\nprice of the \"privilege\" of voting; nor is it at all probable\nthat the few friends of manhood suffrage will ever in their\nlifetime see their theory in practice on English soil. Though we\nagree, however, with Mr. Carlyle in this one fact, we cannot\nbelieve with him that to the aristocracy of England or that of\nany other land is exclusively confided by God and by reason a\ncountry-saving mission. If the selling of one's country to the\nforeigners, or the betrayal and robbery of one's vassals,\nconstitute, such a mission, then the almost constant history of\nItaly, Ireland, and Poland will yet set up a new choir of\ncelestial spirits _cr\u00eame de la cr\u00eame_. When Bulwer invented,\nin his _Strange Story_, a man composed of body and mind,\nwithout soul, people laughed--even those who admired\nChateaubriand's idea of man's being constituted of body, soul,\nand _b\u00eate_. They were wrong, for Bulwer has talked with\nCarlyle. But, though Mr. Carlyle may have no soul, he has not\nentirely lost his reason, little though there seems to be of it\nexercised by him. As if he realized that his blind and\nunscrupulous devotion to _titled_ aristocracy would be\nridiculed by all outside of his _ipse dixit_ crowd of\nphilosophical pigmies, he beats a half-retreat with the dismal\n\"and what if the _titled_ Aristocracy fail us?\" But charge\nagain, Carlyle! About face we have him as quick as lightning. To\nbe sure, the masses, \"with whatever cry of 'liberty' in their\nmouths, are inexorably marked by destiny as _slaves;_\" but\nto save England after her \"immortal smash,\" when titles fail, she\nwill yet rely upon \"the unclassed aristocracy by nature, not\ninconsiderable in numbers, and supreme in faculty, in wisdom,\nhuman talent, nobleness, and courage, 'who derive their patent of\nnobility direct from Almighty God.'\"\n\n{90}\n\nForgive us, sweet Thomas! 'Tis true that this sounds, after your\nlast few remarks, like the declaration of one who, on finding it\nimpossible to cross the Atlantic upon a donkey cries out that\nhe'll try a steamship; but yet forgive us for the past--there is\nabout this latter speech a ring of genuine metal. 'Tis ability\nand courage, and not blood and rank, you depend upon? Alas! our\nhopes have vanished. The man of ability, of innate worth, is of\nsome avail, but he is not fit to rule until the _blood_\ncomes in. He must become absorbed into the good old stock;\n_Orson_ must be _Valentinized_. Still the cry, \"Blood\nis blood.\" Of the \"industrial hero,\" Carlyle's aristocrat by\nnature, a transmogrification must take place ere he can wear the\ncrown or wield the baton, and the change is--new blood for his\nchildren, and for himself a new alliance. \"If his chivalry is\nstill somewhat in the _Orson_ form, he is already, by\nintermarriage and otherwise, coming into contact with the\naristocracy by title; and by degrees will acquire the fit\n_Valentinism_, and other more important advantages there. He\ncannot do better than unite with this naturally noble aristocracy\nby title; the industrial noble and this one are brothers born,\ncalled and impelled to cooperate and go together.\" The state\ncannot be saved unless by aristocracy of blood. Even when it\ncondescends to avail itself of the energies of the plebeian, it\nmust take that plebeian out from the throng of \"brutish\nhobnails,\" and make of him a titled aristocrat. Only this and\nnothing more is Carlyle's idea. Even though the collection of\ntitled rulers become emasculated for all good, and for existence\nare forced to recruit their ranks from the vulgar crowd, each\nconscript _Orson_ must not only come under the polite\ninfluence of _Valentine_, but must acquire the \"other more\nimportant advantages\" found in his society. If _Valentinism_\nis necessary, and the titled gentry are already possessed of the\n\"_more_ important advantages,\" why not use a born\n_Valentine?_ The truth is, that Mr. Carlyle regards\naristocracy very much as we would a man, and the _vulgus_\nvery much as we would meat or turnips. Man stands first in the\norder of mundane creation; but he requires nutriment, and so eats\nmeat and turnips, absorbs them into his blood, becomes stronger,\nbut remains still a man, lord of creation, meat and turnips\nincluded. As meat and turnips play their allotted part in\nrelation to man, so has the _plebs_ its task assigned\nprecisely for the benefit of aristocracy. Heaven has placed the\nirrevocable seal of slavery upon the \"nigger,\" and whoever\ninterferes to remove that seal is as guilty of sacrilege as\nthough he robbed the altar of its victim. As for the white\n\"nigger,\" the system of \"nomadic\" servantship by means of which\nhe is not a real \"Nigger\" is a \"misdeed,\" and--oh! listen,\nhistory! \"never was, and never will be possible, except for brief\nperiods, among human creatures.\" To the establishment of these\ncanons of his social system, Mr. Carlyle devotes the greater part\nof his essay--his fourth, fifth, and sixth paragraphs, and part\nof the seventh. When England shall have shot Niagara, therefore,\nher titled aristocracy is to recreate her, and the process is to\nbe the rendering \"permanent\" the relation between master and\nservant; then will the devil be again tied up, and then will come\nthe millennium.\n{91}\nWell does Mr. Carlyle observe, however, that it will be a long\ntime \"before the fool of a world opens its eyes to the tap-root\"\nof its evils, and that, when it \"has discovered it, what a\npuddling, and scolding, and jargoning there will be before the\nfirst real step toward remedy is taken!\"\n\nMr. Carlyle's seventh paragraph is taken up with some pretty\nsound advice upon domestic economy, especially upon the \"cheap\nand nasty\" tendency of the times, which leads us to be too often\ncontented with appearances instead of realities. His remarks upon\nthe inferiority of the London brick of modern make are practical,\nbut the moral he draws about the necessity of rebuilding England\nat once and properly is much more so. It is well, however, for\nhumanity that those Englishmen who wish to rebuild her have a\ndifferent system of philosophy from that Mr. Carlyle advocates at\npresent. It is well, also, for humanity that, while it is not\nimpossible that an experienced \"drill-sergeant,\" such as he\npresents in his concluding paragraph as a remedy for our\ninsubordination in all matters, would be a blessing, it is well\nthat heaven has not given him the baton. Mr. Carlyle gave to the\nworld in 1840 his entire political system in his _Hero\nWorship_, and it is the same substantially in his present\nessay. Then he told us that to heroes alone belonged the right to\ngovern society, and that the duty of society was to discover\nthese providential beings and to blindly obey them. Cromwell and\nNapoleon he presented as types of this heroism. By his many\nallusions to \"Oliver\" in his present essay and his two entire\nparagraphs upon his Industrial and his Practical Hero, we see\nthat he has not yet realized that the very necessity of making\nand following heroes proves the still greater necessity of\nraising people to a higher appreciation of the dignity of their\nmanhood. Could the \"devil's strap\" theory be actuated, there\nwould be in the state a hero, but he would only be great because\nhis people were contemptible. Although Mr. Carlyle promised to\nsay something about the second \"achievement\" of democracy,\nnamely, the gradual deliquescence and final evaporation of all\nreligions under its baneful influence, he says nothing whatever\nabout God or religion. His illiberality, bitterness, and love of\ntyranny make us suspect that in his heart there dwells but little\nlove for that which cannot but be liberal, kind, and respectful\nto the rights of man. Indeed, one finds in this essay an\nundercurrent of the same nature as the spirit shown in Carlyle's\nworks of middle-life, especially in his _Latter-day\nPamphlets_, namely, individualism, raised to the dignity of a\nprinciple of morality and of a one only rule for the safety of\nmankind.\n\nMost men have an ideal of their own of the beautiful in both the\naesthetic and the ethical order. Many men of thought have formed\nto themselves an ideal of a happy and prosperous country, of a\nwise and beneficent government, and so has Mr. Carlyle. An ideal\nis always a key to the workings of the brain and to the\naspirations of the heart. Mr. Carlyle's accords precisely with\nwhat we can gather of both in his present as well as most all his\nother writings. In giving it to the public, he puts his seal upon\nall his philosophical speculations, and shows his opponents that\nhe is game to the end. It is his \"_La garde meurt, mais ne se\nrend pas_.\" For the establishment of his Utopia, he sails to\nthe West Indies in company with a \"younger son of a duke, of an\nearl, or of the queen herself.\" He keeps shy of Jamaica, (and\nwell he may,) and goes to Dominica, an island which is \"a sight\nto kindle a heroic young heart.\"\n{92}\nHe gets grandly pathetic, and describes Dominica as \"inverted\nwash-bowl;\" its rim for twenty miles up from the sea is fine\nalluvium, though unwholesome for all except \"niggers kept\nsteadily at work;\" its upper portion \"is salubrious for the\nEuropeans,\" of whom he puts to dwell 100,000, who are \"to keep\nsteadily at their work a million niggers on the lower ranges.\" He\npulls up the cannon which are now going to honeycomb and oxide of\niron in the jungle, and plants them firmly on the upper land to\nguard his niggers and keep off the sacrilegious invader. With\ntears of mingled joy and regret he cries, \"What a kingdom my poor\nFrederick William, followed by his Frederick, would have made of\nthis inverted wash-bowl; clasped round and lovingly kissed and\nlaved by the _beautifulest_ seas in the world, and beshone\nby the grandest sun and sky!\" This, then, is the end for which\nCarlyle has lived seventy-two years; this is what he has learned\nby fifty years' study of history and political economy! Three\nwise men of Gotham once went to sea in a tub and came to grief\ntherein. Carlyle might imitate their example, and, bidding adieu\nto the \"brutish hobnails\" whom he is powerless to regenerate, go\nout as far as he would: he could never be so much at sea as he\nwas when he penned this remarkable essay.\n\n--------\n\n    Sayings Of The Fathers Of The Desert.\n\n\nAbbot Alois said: \"Unless a man say in his heart, 'Only God and I\nare in this world,' he will not find rest.\"\n\n\nAbbot Hyperchius said: \"He is really wise who teaches others by\nhis deeds, and not by his words.\"\n\n\nAbbot Moses said: \"When the hand of the Lord slew the first-born\nof Egypt, there was no house in that land in which there lay not\none dead.\"\n\nA brother asked him: \"What does this mean?\"\n\nThe father answered: \"If we look at our own sins, we will not see\nthe sins of others. It is foolishness for a man having a corpse\nin his own house to leave it and go to weep over that of his\nneighbor.\"\n\n\nAbbot Marcus said to Abbot Arsenius: \"Why do you avoid us?\"\n\nHe answered: \"God knows I love you, but I cannot be with God and\nwith men.\"\n\n--------\n\n{93}\n\n  An Old Guide to Good Manners.\n\n\nIn the first number of _The Catholic World_ we gave our\nreaders some account of the great Christian school of Alexandria\nin the time of St. Clement, the philosopher. The article,\nborrowed from _The Dublin Review_, sketched the corrupt,\nluxurious, and effeminate society of the Egyptian\nmetropolis--that gay, bustling, frivolous city which was to the\nold Eastern world what Paris now is to the continent of\nEurope--and showed how St. Clement thought it well worth his\nwhile to spare an occasional hour from the discussions of\nphilosophy and dogma, and the definition of a code of Christian\nethics, to rebuke the scandalous luxury of dandies and\n_gourmands_, and the follies of fashionable ladies. It would\nhave been but a meagre code of ethics, indeed, which had\noverlooked the busy trifles that made up so much of the life of\nAlexandrian gentlefolks. The teacher who would form a better\nschool of morality could not confine himself to the church and\nthe market-place. He must enter the bath and the banquet-hall,\nthe shops of the silk merchant, the jeweller, and the perfumer.\nHe must touch with sharp hand little things which are only\nfoolishness to us, but, to the pagan society of Egypt, made up a\nlarge part of the sum of human existence. All this St. Clement\ndid, and the substance, if not the words, of his directions to\nthe flock has come down to us in the pages of his\n_Instructor_.\n\nIt is a curious picture which he gives us of Alexandrian manners;\nbut we question, after all, if much of what he says will not\napply pretty well to our own day. He begins with the diet. This,\nhe remarks, ought to be \"simple, truly plain, suiting precisely\nsimple and artless children.\" He had no faith in the fattening of\nmen as one fattens hogs and turkeys. If he had lived in the days\nof prize-fights and rowing-matches, he would have inveighed\nagainst the processes of \"training,\" and looked with no favor\nupon a bruiser or a boatman getting himself into condition with\nraw beef-steaks and profuse sweating. Growth, and health, and\nright strength, says the venerable father, come of lightness of\nbody and a good digestion; he will have none of the \"strength\nthat is wrong or dangerous, and wretched, as is that of athletes,\nproduced by compulsory feeding.\" Cookery is an \"unhappy art,\" and\nthat of making pastry is a \"useless\" one. He points the finger of\nscorn at the gluttons who \"are not ashamed to sing the praises of\ntheir delicacies,\" and in, their greed and solicitude seem\nabsolutely to sweep the world with a drag-net to gratify their\nluxurious tastes. They give themselves \"great trouble to get\nlampreys in the straits of Sicily, the eels of the Meander, and\nthe kids found in Melos, and the mullets in Sciathus, and the\nmuscles of Pelorus, the oysters of Abydos, not omitting the\nsprats found in Lipara, and the Mantinican turnip; and,\nfurthermore, the beet-root that grows among the Ascraeans; they\nseek out the cockles of Methymna, the turbots of Attica, and the\nthrushes of Daphnis, and the reddish-brown dried figs, on account\nof which the ill-starred Persian marched into Greece with five\nhundred thousand men.\n{94}\nBesides these they purchase birds from Phasis, the Egyptian\nsnipes, and the Median pea-fowl. Altering these by means of\ncondiments, the gluttons gape for the sauces; and they wear away\ntheir whole life at the pestle and mortar, surrounded with the\nsound of hissing frying-pans.\" Do we not feel a little ashamed at\nreading this? Are we so much better than the gluttons of Egypt?\nThey sent to Abydos for their oysters, and we export the\nshell-fish of Norfolk and Saddle Rock to all parts of the\ncountry. If they yearned for snipe, so do we. If they had a\nhankering after eel pot-pies, pray, is the taste unknown to\nourselves? Was the Median pea-fowl, we wonder, a more costly\nluxury than woodcock, or the Sicilian lamprey worse than Spanish\nmackerel? Perhaps we do not quite \"sweep the world with a\ndrag-net;\" but that is only because we should gain nothing by it.\nWe may not ransack the four quarters of the globe for unknown\nviands; but we lay distant climes and far-off years, under\ncontribution to furnish us with rare and luscious wines. The good\nsaint, had he lived in the nineteenth century, would have\ndelighted in Graham bread; for he blames his countrymen for\n\"emasculating their bread by straining off the nourishing part of\nthe grain.\" He inveighs against \"sweetmeats, and honey-cakes, and\nsugar-plums,\" and a multitude of desserts, and suppers where\nthere is naught but \"pots and pouring of sauce, and drink, and\ndelicacies, and _smoke_\" The smoke to which he alludes is\nundoubtedly the fume of the \"hissing frying-pans,\" but it almost\nseems as if he were describing a modern carouse with punch and\ntobacco. The properest articles of food are those which are fit\nfor immediate use without fire. The apostle Matthew ate \"seeds,\nand nuts, and vegetables, without flesh;\" and St. John the\nBaptist, \"who carried temperance to the extreme, ate locusts and\nwild honey.\" St. Clement does not give us his authority for the\nstatement regarding St. Matthew's diet; nor, it may be objected,\nis there any evidence that the Baptist did not cook his locusts\nbefore he fed upon them. In some parts of the East, where locusts\nare still regarded as a delicacy, they are prepared for the table\nby pulling off the legs and wings, and frying the bodies in oil.\nBut Clement's object was not so much to prescribe a bill of fare\nas to teach men of gluttonous proclivities how to emancipate\nthemselves from the thraldom of that \"most lickerish demon,\" whom\nhe calls \"the Belly-demon, and the worst and most abandoned of\ndemons.\" First of all, we must guard against \"those articles of\nfood which persuade us to eat when we are not hungry, bewitching\nthe appetite.\" (How he would have shuddered at a modern grand\ndinner, with sherry-and-bitters first to whet the palate; then\nthree or four raw oysters, just to give a relish to the soup, the\nfish, and the _entr\u00e9es_; and in the middle of the repast a\nsherbet, or a Roman punch, to wipe out the taste of all that had\ngone before, and give strength for a few more courses of meat!)\nThen, being naturally hungry, he says; let us eat the simplest\nkind of food; bulbs, (we hope he does not mean _onions_,)\nolives, certain herbs, milk, cheese, fruits, all kinds of cooked\nfood without sauces, and, if we must have flesh, let it be roast\nrather than boiled.\n\nWine, of course, ought to be taken in moderation, if it is taken\nat all; and it is well to mix it always with water, and not to\ndrink it during the heat of the day, when the blood is already\nwarm enough, but to wait until the cool of the evening.\n{95}\nEven water, however, must be drunk sparingly, \"so that the food\nmay not be drowned, but ground down in order to digestion.\" What\na disgusting picture the holy philosopher draws of those\n\"miserable wretches whose life is nothing but revel, debauchery,\nbath, excess, idleness, drink!\" \"You may see some of them,\nhalf-drunk, staggering, with crowns round their necks like\nwine-jars, vomiting drink on one another in the name of\ngood-fellowship; and others, full of the effects of their\ndebauch, dirty, pale in the face, and still, above yesterday's\nbout, pouring another bout to last till next morning.\" Moreover,\nhe entirely disapproves of importing wines. If one must drink,\nthe product of one's native vines ought to suffice. \"There are\nthe fragrant Thasian wine, and the pleasant-breathing Lesbian,\nand a sweet Cretan wine, and sweet Syracusan wine, and Medusian\nand Egyptian wine, and the insular Naxian, the highly perfumed\nand flavored, another wine of the land of Italy. These are many\nnames, but for the temperate drinker one wine suffices.\"\n\nSt. Clement concerns himself not only with what people ought to\neat and drink, but with how they ought to eat and drink it. The\nchief thing necessary at table is temperance; the next is good\nmanners. We remember to have had the pleasure and profit of\nreading once a modern hand-book of etiquette which abounded in\nthe most amazing instructions for gentlemen and ladies at their\nmeals. When you go to a dinner party, it said, do not pick your\nteeth much at table. Do not breathe hard over your beef. Don't\nsnort while you are eating. Don't make a disgusting noise with\nyour lips while taking in soup. And don't do twenty other\nhorrible things which no gentleman or lady would any more have\nthought of doing than of standing up on their chairs or jumping\nupon the table. But St. Clement's directions for polite behavior\nshow that worse things than these were in vogue in those beastly\nold days. He pours out words of indignation and contempt upon\nthose 'gluttonous feasters who raise themselves from the couches\non which the ancients used to recline at their banquets, stretch\nout their necks, and all but pitch their faces into the dishes\n\"that they may catch the wandering steam by breathing in it.\"\nThey grab every minute at the sauce; they besmear their hands\nwith condiments; they cram themselves ravenously--in such a hurry\nthat both jaws are stuffed out at once, the veins about the face\nare raised, and the perspiration runs all over as they pant and\nare tightened with their insatiable greed.\n\nSuppose St. Clement had dined on board an American steamboat!\n\nThen about drinking. In this, too, the old Alexandrians must have\nhad some queer ways. \"We are to drink without contortions of the\nface,\" says the saint, \"not greedily grasping the cup, nor,\nbefore drinking, making the eyes roll with unseemly motion; nor\nfrom intemperance are we to drain the cup at a draught; nor\nbesprinkle the chin, nor splash the garments while gulping down\nall the liquor at once--our face all but filling the bowl, and\ndrowned in it. For the gurgling occasioned by the drink rushing\nwith violence, and by its being drawn in with a great deal of\nbreath, as if it were being poured into an earthenware vessel,\nwhile the throat makes a noise through the rapidity of\ningurgitation, is a shameful and unseemly spectacle of\nintemperance. ... Do not haste to mischief, my friend. Your drink\nis not being taken from you. Be not eager to burst by draining it\ndown with gaping throat.\"\n{96}\nSad to say, even the women were addicted to \"revelling in\nluxurious riot,\" and \"drawing hiccups like men.\" It used to be\nthe fashion for ladies to drink out of alabaster vessels with\nnarrow mouths--quite too narrow, Clement complains and, to get\nat the liquor, they had to throw their heads back so far as to\nbare their necks in a very unseemly manner to their male boon\ncompanions, and so pour the wine down their throats. This custom\nthe saint strenuously condemns. It was adopted because the women\nwere afraid of widening their mouths and so spoiling their\nbeauty, if they rent their lips apart by stretching them on broad\ndrinking-cups.\n\nThese drinking-cups themselves, and much other furniture of the\ntable, were causes of offence in the good father's eyes, and he\nthunders against them with indignant eloquence, as marks of the\nshameless luxury and extravagance which pervaded the daily life\nof the richer classes. The use of cups made of silver and gold,\nand of others inlaid with precious stones, is out of place, he\ndeclares, being only a deception of the vision. For, if you pour\nany warm liquid into them, they become so hot that you cannot\ntouch them, and, if you pour in anything cold, the material\nchanges its quality, injuring the mixture. St. Clement was right.\nOf jewelled drinking-vessels we freely confess that we have no\npersonal knowledge; but we have a very distinct and painful\nrecollection of certain silver mugs and silver-gilt goblets which\nused always to be given to children by their god-parents, and\nfrom which the unfortunate youngsters were forced to drink until,\nsay, they were old enough to leave boarding-school. How many a\ntime have we not longed in our boyhood to exchange the uneasy\ngentility of a chased silver cup for the plain comfort of a good,\nhonest tumbler of greenish pressed glass! How hot those dreadful\ncups used to be when filled with a vile, weak compound known in\nthe nursery as tea! How they used to hide the refreshing sparkle\nof the clear, cold water in summer, and the beautiful color of\nthe harmless decoctions, flavored with currant jelly or other\ndelicacies, which were allowed us on rare occasions of festivity!\nSt. Clement was right; they were out of place and a deception of\nthe vision. But there was many a vessel on the Alexandrian\ntables, besides the drinking-cups of silver, and gold, and\nalabaster, which shocked this fearless censor of manners and\nmorals. Away, he cries, with Theracleian cups and Antigonides,\nand Canthari, and goblets, and limpet-shaped cups, and the\nendless forms of drinking-vessels, _and wine-coolers and\nwine-pourers_ also. Away with the elaborate vanity of chased\nglass vessels, more liable to break on account of the art, and\nteaching us to fear while we drink. Ah! had he seen a Christian\ndinner-party in the nineteenth century, with the delicately cut\nwine-glasses, slim of stem, fragile as an eggshell, scarcely safe\nto touch; the claret-jugs of Bohemian ware, elaborately\nornamented and hardly less costly than gold; the curiously\ncontrived pitchers for icing champagne; the decanters, the\nwater-flagons, the decorated goblets, and all the other glass and\nchina ware, what would good St. Clement have said? Many other\nthings are there which he reprehends among the apparatus of the\nbanquet, and of these some we have assuredly copied or retained,\nwhile of others we can only conjecture the nature and uses.\n{97}\nThere were silver couches, and pans and vinegar saucers, and\ntrenchers and bowls, and vessels of silver, and gold, and easily\ncleft cedar, and thyme-wood, and ebony, and tripods fashioned of\nivory, and couches with silver feet and inlaid with ivory, and\nfolding-doors of beds studded with gold and variegated with\ntortoise-shell, and bedclothes of purple and other colors\ndifficult to produce. And let no one wonder that he should\nenumerate bedclothes among the objectionable furniture of a\ndining-room. It must be remembered that in those gluttonous old\ntimes people took their meals not sitting on chairs, but\nreclining on couches, so that it would hardly be out of the way\nto say that they breakfasted, and dined, and supped in bed. They\nused to eat and drink so much that this attitude was perhaps, on\nthe whole, the most convenient for them. Among the other blamable\nluxuries which he enumerates are ivory-handled knives. The basins\nin which it was customary to wash the feet and hands before meals\nought to be of no better material than common potter's ware. You\ncan get off the dirt just as well in a cheap earthen washbowl,\nsays the saint, as in one of price; the Lord did not bring down a\nsilver foot-bath from heaven.\n\nMusic at feasts is an abomination to be carefully shunned, and a\ncomic song is unworthy of a Christian gentleman, for \"burlesque\nsinging is the boon companion of drunkenness.\" If people occupy\ntheir time with \"pipes and psalteries, and Egyptian clapping of\nhands,\" they become, by degrees, quite intractable, and even\ndescend so low as to \"beat on cymbals and drums, and make a noise\non the instruments of delusion.\" We must be on our guard against\nwhatever pleasure effeminates the soul by tickling the eye or the\near, and so must shun \"the licentious and mischievous art of\nmusic,\" which disturbs the mind and corrupts the morals. Grave,\ntemperate, and modest music may, indeed, be permitted, but\n\"liquid\" strains and \"chromatic harmonies\" are only for immodest\nrevels. All which shows that in Clement's time there must have\nbeen a wickedness associated with music which that glorious art\nhas now happily lost. The psalmist, it is true, exhorts us to\npraise the Lord in the sound of the trumpet, with the psaltery,\nthe lyre, the timbrel and dance, the chords, and the organ, and\nthe clashing cymbals; but the Alexandrian philosopher interprets\nall this passage symbolically. The trumpet to which King David\nrefers is the blast which shall wake the dead on the last day.\nThe lyre is the mouth struck by the spirit. The timbrel and dance\nare the church \"meditating on the resurrection of the dead in the\nresounding skin.\" Our body is the organ; its nerves are the\nstrings by which it has received harmonious tension; and the\nclashing cymbal is the tongue, resounding with the pulsations of\nthe mouth. Reading St. Clement's instructions, with no light by\nwhich to interpret them, except the bare words of the text\nitself, it would seem to be but a solemn and joyless life which\nhe inculcated a perpetual Puritan Sunday--than, which, probably,\nnothing more doleful was ever imagined of man. But we must\nremember that he lived in an age of ineffable vileness.\nAmusements, the most innocent in themselves, were the recognized\ncloaks or accompaniments of horrible deeds of licentiousness. The\nemployment of certain kinds of music at banquets naturally\nsuggested the criminal excesses with which such music was\nordinarily associated. It was like meats offered to idols.\nChristians were bound to shun it, not because it was bad, but\nbecause it had been dedicated to bad uses. So was it also with\nburlesque singing.\n{98}\nThe songs were not only comical, but wicked. And it is in pretty\nmuch the same sense that we must understand the saint's curious\nchapter on laughing, in which he rebukes ludicrous remarks,\nbuffoonery, and \"waggery,\" and declares that \"imitators of\nludicrous sensations\" (mimics) ought to be driven out of good\nsociety. It is disgraceful to travesty speech, which is the most\nprecious of human endowments, though pleasantry is allowable,\nprovided laughter be kept within bounds. But we ought not to\nlaugh in the presence of elderly persons or others to whom we owe\nrespect, unless they indulge in pleasantries for our amusement;\nand women and children ought to be especially careful not to\nlaugh too much, lest they slip into scandal. It is best to\nconfine ourselves to a gentle smile, which our author describes\nas the seemly relaxation of the countenance in a harmonious\nmanner, like the relaxation of a musical instrument. \"But the\ndiscordant relaxation of the countenance in the case of women is\ncalled a giggle, and is meretricious laughter; in the case of men\na guffaw, and is savage and insulting laughter.\" Of all such as\nthis, it is needless to say, St. Clement disapproves.\n\nYoung men and young women ought never to be seen at banquets, and\nit is especially disgraceful for an unmarried woman to sit at a\nfeast of men. When you go to a banquet, you ought to keep your\neyes downcast, and recline upon your elbow without moving; or, if\nyou sit, don't cross your legs or rest your chin upon your hand.\nIt is vulgar not to bear one's self without support, and a sign\nof frivolousness to be perpetually shifting the position. Then,\nwhen the food is placed upon the table, don't grab at it. What if\nyou are hungry? Curb your appetite: hold back your hand for a\nmoment; take but little at a time; and leave off early, so as to\nappear, indifferent to what is set before you. If you are an old\nman, you may now and then, but very rarely, joke and play with\nthe young; but let your jokes have some useful end in view. For\ninstance, suppose you had a very bashful and silent son with you;\nit would be a most proper and notable good joke to say, \"This son\nof mine is perpetually talking.\" That would not only be very\nfunny, but it would be an indirect encomium upon the young man's\nmodesty. Old men may talk at table, provided they talk sense. The\nyoung should speak briefly and with hesitation when they are\ncalled upon; but they ought to wait until they are called at\nleast twice. Don't whistle at table. Don't chirrup. Don't call\nthe waiter by blowing through your fingers. Don't spit often, or\nclear your throat, or blow your nose. If you have to sneeze or\nhiccup, don't startle your neighbors with a loud explosion, but\ndo it gently. Don't scrape your teeth till the gums bleed, and\ndon't scratch your ear!\n\nThey had a very silly and preposterous custom, those disgusting\nold pagans, of crowning themselves with flowers, and anointing\ntheir head and feet with perfumed ointments, especially on\noccasion of grand banquets and drinking bouts. St. Clement had no\npatience with this. Oils may be good, he says, for medicinal and\ncertain other purposes. Flowers are not only pretty, but useful\nin their proper place. But what is the sense of sticking a\nchaplet of roses on the top of your head where you can neither\nsee it nor smell it? It is pleasant in spring-time to while away\nthe hours in the blooming meads, surrounded by the perfume of\nroses and violets and lilies; but no crowns of flowers for my\nhead, if you please!\n{99}\nThey are too cold; they are too moist. The brain is naturally\ncold: to add coolness to it is plainly against nature. Then he\nenumerates the various kinds of ointments made from plants and\nflowers and other substances. Leave these, he says, to the\nphysicians. To smear the body with them out of pure wanton luxury\nis disgraceful.\n\nAfter supper, first thank God: then go to bed. No magnificent\nbedclothes, no gold-embroidered carpets, no rich purple\nsleeping-robes, or cloaks of fleece, or thick mantles, or couches\nsofter than sleep itself; no silver-footed couches, savoring of\nostentation; none of those lazy contrivances for producing sleep.\nNeither, on the other hand, is it necessary to imitate Ulysses,\nwho rectified the unevenness of his couch with a stone; or\nDiomede, who reposed stretched on a wild bull's hide; or Jacob,\nwho slept on the ground with a stone for his pillow. St. Clement\nwas not too severe in his instructions. He taught moderation to\nall men, leaving the difficulties of asceticism to the few who\nwere called to encounter them. He never forbade comfort, but only\nrebuked luxury. Our beds, he says, ought to be simple and frugal,\nbut they ought to keep us cool in summer and warm in winter.\nThose abominable inventions called feather-beds, which let the\nbody \"fall down as into a yawning hollow,\" he stigmatizes with\ndeserved contempt. \"For they are not convenient for sleepers\nturning in them, on account of the bed rising into a hill on\neither side of the body. Nor are they suitable for the digestion\nof the food, but rather for burning it up, and so destroying the\nnutriment.\" Who that has groaned through a restless night on one\nof those vile things--we were going to say, tossed through the\nnight, but one can't toss in a feather-bed--has been\nhalf-suffocated by the stuffy smell of the feathers, and\noppressed in his dreams by the surging hills of bedding which\nthreaten to engulf him on either hand like the billows of some\nhorrible sea, will not thank good, sensible St. Clement for\nsetting his face against them, and wonder how they have survived\nto the present time? The Alexandrian philosopher knew how to make\na good bed as well as the most fashionable of modern\nupholsterers. It ought to be moderately soft, yet not receive too\nreadily the impress of the body. It ought to be smooth and level,\nso that one can turn over easily. But the reason he gives for\nthis direction is rather comical: the bed is a sort of nocturnal\ngymnasium, on which the sleeper may digest his food by frequent\nrollings and tumblings in his dreams.\n\nThe couch ought not to be elaborately carved, and the feet of it\nought to be smooth and plain. The reason for this is not only the\navoidance of luxury; but \"elaborate turnings form occasionally\npaths for creeping things, which twine themselves about the\nmouldings and do not slip off.\"\n\nIn speaking of dress, St. Clement gives free rein to his\nindignation at the folly and extravagance of both men and women,\nand points his remarks with many a shaft of keen wit and sallies\nof dry humor. Of course, he says, we must have clothes, but we\nrequire them as a protection for the body, not as mere ornaments\nto attract notice and inflame greedy eyes. Nor is there any good\nreason why the garments of women should differ from those of men.\nAt the utmost, women may be permitted the use of softer textures,\nprovided they wear them not too thin and curiously woven.\n{100}\nA silk dress is the mark of a weak mind. Dyed garments are silly\nand extravagant; and are they not, after all, offences against\ntruth? Sardian, olive, rose-colored, green, scarlet, and ten\nthousand other dyes--pray, of what use are they? Does the color\nmake any difference in the warmth of the robe? And, besides, the\ndye rots the stuff, and makes it wear out sooner. A good\nChristian who is pure within ought to be clad in spotless white.\nFlowered and embroidered clothing, cunningly wrought with gold,\nand figures of beasts, and elaborate tracery, \"and that\nsaffron-colored robe dipped in ointment, and these costly and\nmany-colored garments of flaring membranes,\" are not for the\nchildren of the church. Let us weave for ourselves the fleece of\nthe sheep which God created for us, but let us not be as silly as\nsheep. Beauty of character shows itself best when it is not\nenveloped in ostentatious fooleries. When St. Clement comes to\nparticulars, especially in speaking of the dress of women, it\nalmost seems as if he were pointing at the fashions of the\nnineteenth century. The modern fondness for mauve, and the\nvarious other shades of purple, is nothing new. The same colors\nseem to have been \"the style\" in the year 200. \"Would it were\npossible,\" exclaims the saint, \"to abolish purple in dress! The\nwomen will wear nothing else; and in truth, so crazy have they\ngone over these stupid and luxurious purples, that, in the\nlanguage of the poet, _purple_ death has seized them!\" So we\nsee that the good father was not above making a pun. He\nenumerates some of the articles of apparel--tunics, cloaks, and\ngarments, with long and obscure names, about which the fine\nladies of Alexandria were perpetually \"in a flutter;\" and it is\nrather startling to encounter in the list--what think you? Why,\nnothing less than the _peplum_, so dear to the hearts of\nwomen in 1867. Female extravagance in coverings for the feet also\nseems to have been as rife in ancient Egypt as it is in modern\nParis or New-York. He condemns the use of sandals decorated with\ngold, and curiously studded on the soles with \"winding rows\" of\nnails, or ornamented with amorous carvings and jewelled devices.\nAttic and Sicyonian half-boots, and Persian and Tyrrhenian\nbuskins, are also to be avoided. Men had better go barefoot\nunless necessity prevents, but it is not suitable for a woman to\nshow her naked foot; \"besides, woman is a tender thing, easily\nhurt.\" She ought to wear simple white shoes, except on a journey,\nand then her shoes should be greased.\n\nOur saintly censor devotes an indignant chapter to \"the stones\nwhich silly women wear fastened to chains and set in necklaces;\"\nand he compares the eagerness with which they rush after\nglittering jewelry to the senseless attraction which draws\nchildren to a blazing fire. He quotes from Aristophanes a whole\ncatalogue of female ornaments:\n\n  \"Snoods, fillets, natron, and steel;\n   Pumice-stone, band, back-band,\n   Back-veil, paint, necklaces,\n   Paints for the eyes, soft garment, _hair-net_, [Footnote 22]\n   Girdle, shawl, fine purple border,\n   Long robe, tunic, Barathrum, round tunic,\n   Ear-pendants, jewelry, ear-rings,\n   Mallow-colored cluster-shaped anklets,\n   Buckles, clasps, necklets,\n   Fetters, seals, chains, rings, powders,\n   Bosses, bands, Sardian stones,\n   Fans, helicters.\"\n\n    [Footnote 22: Is it possible that _waterfalls_ were worn\n    in those days?]\n\nAnd he cries out, wearied with the enumeration: \"I wonder how\nthose who bear such a burden are not worried to death. O foolish\ntrouble! O silly craze for display!\" And of what use is it all?\nIt is nothing but art contending against nature, falsehood\nstruggling against truth. If a woman is ugly, she only makes her\nugliness more conspicuous by decking herself out with\nmeretricious ornaments.\n{101}\nBesides, the custom of \"applying things unsuitable to the body as\nif they were suitable, begets a practice of lying and a habit of\nfalsehood.\" The sight of an over-dressed woman seems to have\naffected St. Clement very much as a worthless picture in an\nelegant frame. \"The body of one of these ladies,\" he exclaims,\n\"would never fetch more than one hundred and fifty dollars; but\nyou may see her wearing a dress that cost _two hundred and\nfifty thousand._\" We complain of the extravagance of modern\nbelles; but, do they ever spend such enormous sums as that on a\nsingle dress? Alexandria, we imagine, must bear away the palm\nfrom Newport and Saratoga.\n\nThere were particular fashions in jewelry and ornament toward\nwhich the saint had a special dislike. Bracelets in the form of a\nserpent, he calls the manifest badges of the evil one. Golden\nchains and necklaces are nothing better than fetters. Earrings\nand ear-drops he forbids as contrary to nature, and he beseeches\nhis female hearers not to have their ears pierced. If you pierce\nyour ears, he says, why not have rings in your noses also? A\nsignet-ring may be worn on the finger, because it is useful for\nsealing; but no good Christian ought to wear rings for mere\nornament. Yet he makes one curious exception to this rule. If a\nwoman have, unfortunately, a dissipated husband, she may adorn\nherself as much as she can, for the purpose of keeping him at\nhome.\n\nHow bitter is the contempt which the philosopher pours out upon\nthe fashionable ladies of the time, who spend their days in the\nmysterious rites of the toilet, curling their locks, anointing\ntheir cheeks, painting their eyes, \"mangling, racking, and\nplastering themselves over with certain compositions, chilling\nthe skin and furrowing the flesh with poisonous cosmetics;\" and\nthen in the evening \"creeping out to candle-light as out of a\nhole.\" Love of display is not the characteristic of a true lady.\nThe woman who gives herself up to finery is worse than one who is\naddicted to the pleasures of the table and _the bottle_! She\nis a lazy housekeeper, sitting like a painted thing to be looked\nat, not as if made for domestic economy, and she cares a great\ndeal more about getting at her husband's purse-strings than about\nstaying at home with him. And how preposterous is her behavior\nwhen she goes abroad. Is she short? she wears cork-soles. Is she\ntall? she carries her head down on her shoulder. Has she fine\nteeth? she is always laughing. Has she _no flanks? she has\nsomething sewed on to her,_ so that the spectators may exclaim\non her fine shape. A little while ago, a mania for yellow hair\nbroke out in Paris, and fashionable ladies had their locks dyed\nof the popular hue. Well, it appears from St. Clement's\ndiscourses that this folly is over sixteen hundred years old. He\nupbraids the Alexandrian ladies for following the same absurd\ncustom, and asks, in the words of Aristophanes, \"What can women\ndo wise or brilliant who sit with hair dyed yellow?\" Nor is this\nthe only modern fashion about the hair which was known and\ncondemned in his time. Read this, young ladies: \"_Additions of\nother people's hair are entirely to be rejected,_ and it is a\nmost sacrilegious thing for spurious hair to shade the head,\ncovering the skull with dead locks. For on whom does the priest\nlay his hand? Whom does he bless?\n{102}\nNot the woman decked out, but another's hairs, and through them\nanother head.\" Chignons, braids, tresses, and all the other\nwonderful paraphernalia of the hair-dresser's art are condemned\nas no better than lies, and a shameful defamation of the human\nhead, which, says St. Clement, is truly beautiful. Neither is it\nallowable to dye gray hairs, or in any other way to conceal the\napproach of old age. \"It is enough for women to protect their\nlocks and bind up their hair simply along the neck with a plain\nhair-pin, nourishing chaste locks with simple care to true\nbeauty.\" And then he draws a comical picture of a lady with her\nhair so elaborately \"done up,\" that she is afraid to touch her\nhead, and dares not go to sleep for fear of pulling down the\nwhole structure.\n\nA man ought to shave his crown, (unless he has curly hair,) but\nnot his chin, because the beard gives \"dignity and paternal\nterror\" to the face. The mustache, however, \"which is dirtied in\neating, is to be cut round, not by the razor, for that were\nungenteel, but by a pair of cropping scissors.\" The practice of\nshaving was a mark of effeminacy in those days, and it was\nthought disgraceful for a man to rob himself of the \"hairiness\"\nwhich distinguishes his sex, even as the lion is known by his\nshaggy mane. So St. Clement is unsparing in his denunciations of\nthe unmanly creatures who \"comb themselves and shave themselves\nwith a razor for the sake of fine effect, and arrange their hair\nat the looking-glass.\" Manly sports, provided they be pursued for\nhealth's sake and not for vainglory, he warmly approves. A\nsparing use of the gymnasium and an occasional bout at wrestling\nwill do no harm, but rather good; yet, when you wrestle, says the\nsaint, be sure you stand squarely up to your adversary, and try\nto throw him by main strength, not by trickery and\n_finesse_. A game of ball he especially recommends, (who\nknows but there may have been base-ball clubs in Egypt?) and he\nmildly suggests that, if a man were to handle the hoe now and\nthen, the labor would not be \"ungentlemanly.\" Pittacus, King of\nMiletus, set a good example to mankind by grinding at the mill\nwith his own hand; and, if St. Clement were alive now, he might\nadd that Charles V. employed himself in constructing time-pieces,\nand that notorious savage, Theodoras, Emperor of Abyssinia,\npasses most of his days making umbrellas. Fishing is a\ncommendable pastime, for it has the example of the apostles in\nits favor. Another capital exercise for a gentleman is chopping\nwood. This, we may remark, is said to be the favorite athletic\npursuit of the Honorable Horace Greeley.\n\nThe daily occupations of women must not be too sedentary, yet\nneither, on the other hand, ought the gentler sex to be\n\"encouraged in wrestling or running!\" Instead of dawdling about\nthe shops of the silk merchant, the goldsmith, and the perfumer,\nor riding aimlessly about town in litters, just to be admired,\nthe true lady will employ herself in spinning and weaving, and,\nif necessary, will superintend the cooking. She must not be above\nturning the mill, or getting her husband a good dinner. She must\nshake up the beds, reach drink to her husband when he is thirsty,\nset the table as neatly as possible, and when anything is wanted\nfrom the store, let her go for it and fetch it home herself. We\nfear it is not the fashion, even yet, to follow St. Clement's\nadvice. She ought to keep her face clean, and her glances cast\ndown, and to beware of languishing looks, and \"ogling, which is\nto wink with the eyes,\" and of a mincing gait.\n\n{103}\n\nA gentleman in the street should never walk furiously, nor\nswagger, nor try to stare people out of countenance; neither when\ngoing up-hill ought he to be _shoved up by his domestics!_\nHe ought not to waste his time in barbers' shops and taverns,\nbabbling nonsense; nor to watch the women who pass by; nor to\ngamble. He must not kiss his wife in the presence of his\nservants. If he is a merchant, he must not have two prices for\nhis goods. He must be his own valet. He must wash his own feet,\nand put on his own shoes.\n\nAnd so the holy man goes on with much more sage counsel and\nChristian direction, teaching his flock not only how to be\nfaithful children of the church, but how to be true gentlemen and\ngentlewomen. The etiquette which he lays down is not based upon\nthe arbitrary and changeable rules of fashion, but upon the fixed\nprinciples of morality and good fellowship. We have thought it\nnot amiss to give our readers a specimen of them, partly, indeed,\nbecause they show us in such an interesting manner what kind of\nlives people used to lead in his day, but also because they are\nfull of good lessons and wholesome rebukes for ourselves, and\nbecause many of the follies which St. Clement condemned are still\nflourishing, just as they flourished then, or are newly springing\ninto life after they have been for so many centuries forgotten.\nOf course, there are many of his rules which are not applicable\nto us. Many things which he forbade because they were indications\nor accompaniments of certain sinful practices are no longer\nwrong, because they have been completely dissevered from their\nevil associations. But upon the whole, we doubt not that a new\nedition of St. Clement's _Paedagogus_, or as we might\ntranslate it, \"Complete Guide to Politeness,\" would be vastly\nmore beneficial to the public than any of the hand-books of\netiquette which are multiplied by the modern press.\n\n--------\n\n         Ran away to Sea.\n\n  A treacherous spirit came up from the sea,\n  And passing inland found a boy where he\n  Lay underneath the green roof of a tree,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  And to the boy it whispered soft and low--\n  Come! let us leave this weary land, and go\n  Over the seas where the free breezes blow,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n{104}\n\n  I know green isles in far-off sunny seas,\n  Where grow great cocoa-palms and orange-trees,\n  And spicy odors perfume every breeze,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  There, underneath the ever-glowing skies,\n  Gay parrokeets and birds of paradise,\n  Make bright the woods with plumes of gorgeous dyes,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  And in that land a happy people stay:\n  No hateful books perplex them night nor day;\n  No cares of business fret their lives away,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  But all day long they wander where they please,\n  Plucking delicious fruits, that on the trees\n  Hang all the year and never know decrease,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  Or over flower-enamelled vale and slope\n  They chase the silv'ry-footed antelope;\n  Or with the pard in manly conflict cope\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  And in those islands troops of maidens are,\n  Whose lovely shapes no foolish fashions mar;\n  Eyes black as Night, and brighter than her stars\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  Earth hath no maidens like them otherwhere;\n  With teeth like pearls and wreaths of jetty hair,\n  And lips more sweet than tinted syrups are,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  Ah! what a life it were to live with them!\n  'Twould pass by sweetly as a happy dream:\n  The years like days, the days like minutes seem,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  Come! let us go! the wind blows fair and free;\n  The clouds sail seaward, and to-morrow we\n  May see the billows dancing on the sea,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  The heavens were bright, the earth was fair to see,\n  A thousand birds sang round the boy, but he\n  Heard nothing but that spirit from the sea,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n{105}\n\n  All night, as sleepless on his bed he lay,\n  He seemed to hear that treacherous spirit say,\n  Come, let us seek those islands far away,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  So ere the morning in the east grew red,\n  He stole adown the stairs with barefoot tread,\n  Unbarred the door with trembling hands, and fled\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  In the last hour of night the city slept;\n  Upon his beat the drowsy watchman stept;\n  When like a thief along the streets he crept,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  And when the sun brought in the busy day,\n  His father's home afar behind him lay,\n  And he stood 'mongst the sailors on the quay,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  Like sleeping swans, with white wings folded, ride\n  The great ships at their moorings, side by side;\n  Moving but with the pulses of the tide,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  And one is slowly ruffling out her wings\n  For flight, as seaward round her bowsprit swings;\n  Whilst at the capstan-bars the sailor sings\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  He is aboard. The wind blows fresh abeam:\n  The ship drifts slowly seaward with the stream;\n  And soon the land fades from him like a dream,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n  And if he found those islands far away,\n  Or those fair maidens, there is none can say:\n  For ship or boy returned not since that day,\n      In the golden summer weather.\n\n                                E. YOUNG.\n\n--------\n\n{106}\n\n\n          A Royal Nun.\n\n\nAmong the pleasant alleys of Versailles, or under the stately\ngroves of St. Cloud, or in the grand corridors of the Tuileries,\nmight often have been seen, about the year 1773, pacing up and\ndown together in tender and confidential converse, two young\nmaidens in the early bloom of youth, and often by their side\nwould sport a careless, wilful, but engaging child some eight or\nnine years old. These three young girls were all of royal birth,\nand bound together by the ties of close relationship; they were\nthe sisters and cousin of a great king; their lineage one of the\nproudest of the earth; they were all fair to look upon, and all\nendowed with mental gifts of no mean order. How bright looked\ntheir future! Monarchs often sought their hands in marriage, and\nmen speculated on their fate, and wondered which should form the\nmost brilliant alliance. Could the angels who guarded their\nfootsteps have revealed their future, how the wise men of this\nworld would have laughed the prophecy to scorn! Yet above those\nfair young heads hangs a strange destiny. For one the martyr's\npalm; the name of another was to echo within the walls of St.\nPeter, as of her whom the church delighteth to honor; the third\nwas to wear the veil of the religious through dangers and under\nvicissitudes such as seldom fall to the lot of any woman. Those\nof whom we speak were these: Clotilde and Elizabeth of France,\nsisters of Louis XVI., and Louise de Bourbon Cond\u00e9, their cousin.\nLouise and Clotilde, almost of the same age, were bound together\nin close intimacy. We may wonder, now, on what topics their\nconversation would run. Did they speak of the gayeties of the\ncourt; of the round of the giddy dissipation which had, perhaps,\nreached its culminating point about this period? or were they\ntalking of the last sermon of P\u00e8re Beauregard, when, with\nunsparing and apostolic severity, he condemned the fashionable\nvices of the age? or were they speaking of the cases of distress\namong the poor who day by day trooped to the house of\n_Mademoiselle_, as Louise de Cond\u00e9 was called, and were\nthere succored by her own hands? On some such theme as these\nlatter we may be almost sure that their converse ran. The heart\nof Clotilde was never given to the world; from her childhood she\nhad yearned for a cloister, and would fain have found herself at\nthe side of her aunt, Madame Louise, who was then prioress of the\nCarmelites of St. Denis. To the _grille_ of this convent\nClotilde, Louise, and Elizabeth would often go; and no doubt it\nwas partly owing to the conversation and example of the holy\nCarmelite princess that the three girls, placed, as they all\nwere, in most dangerous and difficult positions, not only\nthreaded their way through the maze safely, but became examples\nof eminent piety and virtue.\n\nThe elder of the three friends was Louise, only daughter of Louis\nJoseph de Bourbon Cond\u00e9, great-great-grandson of the Great Cond\u00e9,\nand son of the Duke de Bourbon, for some time prime minister to\nLouis XV. He had early chosen the army as his career, and as\nearly won laurels for himself in the Seven Years' War. On one\noccasion he was entreated by his attendants to withdraw from the\nheat of the battle.\n{107}\n\"I never heard,\" said he, \"of such precautions being taken by the\n_Great Cond\u00e9._\" His admiration for his glorious ancestor\nwas, indeed, intense, and he devoted himself to the task of\nwriting a history of this great man; for, though an ardent\nsoldier, he was well educated. Men of science and genius gathered\nround him in his chateau of Chantilly, whither he would retire in\nthe brief intervals of peace. At a very early age the Prince de\nCond\u00e9 married Charlotte de Rohan Soubise, a maiden as noble in\nher character as her birth. She was merciful to the poor, gentle\nand charitable to all who surrounded her. The marriage was a\nhappy one, but was not destined to last long. The princess died\nin 1760, leaving behind her a son, the Duke de Bourbon, and\nLouise Adelaide, of whom we have been speaking.\n\nThe little girl, thus left motherless at the age of five years,\nwas consigned to the care of her great-aunt, the abbess of\nBeaumont les Tours, about sixty leagues from Paris. All the\nreligious assembled to receive the little princess on the day of\nher arrival, and everything was done to please her. After showing\nher all the interior of the convent, she was asked where she\nwould like to go. \"Oh! take me,\" cried she, \"where there is the\nmost noise.\" Poor child! she was destined to find her after-life\na little too noisy. She next chose to go into the choir while the\nnuns chanted compline; but before the end of the first psalm\nwhispered to her attendant, \"I have had enough.\" In these\npeaceful walls her childhood passed away. She grew fond of the\nconvent, and gave every mark of external piety. She was wont to\ndeclare afterward that the grace of God had made little interior\nprogress in her heart; nevertheless, a solid foundation of good\ninstruction had been laid, which was hereafter to bear fruit. At\ntwelve years of age she made her first communion, and then\nreturned to Paris to finish her education in a convent there, \"to\nprepare her for the world.\"\n\nYears fled on, Louise attained womanhood, her brother married one\nof the Orleans princesses, and a marriage was projected for\nLouise with the Count d'Artois, afterward Charles X., but\npolitical differences caused the match to be broken off. Louise\nwas not destined ever to become Queen of France. The tender\nfriendship which subsisted between her and the Princess Clotilde\nwas now to be broken, in one sense, by their total separation.\nClotilde's heart's desire for the religious life was rudely\ncrossed; the daughters of royal houses had less control over\ntheir fates then (and perhaps even now) than the meanest peasant\nin the land. A marriage was \"arranged\" for Madame Clotilde with\nthe Prince of Piedmont, heir-apparent to the throne of Sardinia.\nShe was but sixteen years of age when she had to leave France and\nall she loved and clung to, and set out to meet her unknown\nhusband; for she was married by proxy only in Paris, and was\nreceived by the Prince of Piedmont at Turin. She was very\nbeautiful, but unfortunately excessively stout, to such a degree\nthat it injured not only her appearance, but her health. At Turin\nshe was welcomed by a vast crowd, but cries of \"_Che\ngrossa!_\" (\"How fat she is!\") struck unpleasantly on her ear.\n\"Be consoled,\" said the Queen of Sardinia; \"when I entered the\ncity, the people cried, _'Che brutta!'_\" (\"How plain she\nis!\") \"You find me very stout?\" questioned Clotilde, anxiously\nlooking into her husband's face. \"I find you adorable,\" was the\ngraceful and affectionate reply.\n\n{108}\n\nYears flew by. _Mademoiselle_, as Louise was now called, had\nher own establishment, and presided at royal _f\u00eates_ given\nby her father at Chantilly. Thither came once to partake of his\nhospitality the heir of the throne of all the Russias,\ntravelling, together with his wife, under the incognito of the\nComte du Nord. A friendship sprang up between them and Louise de\nCond\u00e9, hereafter to be put to the proof in extraordinary and\nunforeseen circumstances. Little did they think as they parted\nwithin the splendid halls of Chantilly where their next meeting\nshould be.\n\nThe license of manners that preceded the Revolution, as the\ngathering clouds foretell a storm, was principally to be observed\nin the grossness of the theatre and the corruption of literature.\nThe theatre was a favorite amusement with Louise de Cond\u00e9, and\nshe took great delight in private theatricals, and frequently\nplayed a part. She heard P\u00e8re Beauregard preach on the subject,\nand her resolution was instantly taken. A comedy was to be acted\nnext day at Chantilly, but the princess renounced her part. It\ncost her not a little thus to throw out the arrangements for the\n_f\u00eate_; but she vanquished all human respect, and thus took\nthe part of God against the world.\n\nIt was a turning-point in her life. It may seem to us that it was\nbut a small sacrifice to make; but one grace corresponded to lead\non to others, and from that resolution to give up theatrical\nentertainments Louise dated the commencement of the great\nspiritual graces and benefits of her after-life. That she was\nendowed with the courage of her race may be known from the fact\nthat, having sustained by a fall a severe fracture of her leg,\nshe sent for her Italian master to give her a lesson while\nwaiting for the surgeon. This broken leg was destined in her\ncase, as in that of St. Ignatius, to become one of her greatest\nblessings. She rose up from her bed determined to give herself\nmore entirely to God's service. Naturally of a deeply\naffectionate disposition, Louise loved her family tenderly, but\nin an especial manner her only nephew, the Duc d'Enghien, then in\nhis early youth. Day by day did Louise bring the name of this\nbeloved boy before the Mother of Good Counsel, begging her, in\nher own simple words, to become his mother and protectress, and\n\"never to suffer his faith to perish.\" We shall see a little\nlater on how this prayer was answered. And now time had passed\non, and the Revolution was at hand, and had even begun. After the\ntaking of the Bastile, the Prince de Cond\u00e9 quitted France with\nall his family, and immediately set himself to organize an army\nfor the defence of Louis XVI. Ordered by the _Directory_ to\nreturn to France, he disobeyed, and was instantly stripped of all\nhis vast property. The prince sold all his jewels, and bore his\naltered fortunes with patience and courage. Meanwhile, the\nPrincess Louise accompanied her father and acted as his\nsecretary. They moved about from place to place, and at Turin she\nwas able to renew the friendship of her youth with Clotilde, who\nwas now Queen of Sardinia, and displayed on her throne a pattern\nof womanly and saintly virtues. Near the Queen of Sardinia\nflattery could not subsist. It is recorded of her that she never\npronounced a doubtful word, far less the smallest falsehood.\nIntercourse with this dear friend strengthened in the heart of\nLouise the earnest desire she had of belonging entirely to God.\n\"I am obliged to take time for prayer from my sleep,\" she writes\nto her director. \"I cannot do without it.\n{109}\nWhen at table, surrounded with officers, all talking, I pray\ninwardly.\" The crime of the 21st of January, 1793, fell like a\nthunderbolt on the army of Cond\u00e9; but, rising from his grief, the\nbrave general instantly proclaimed Louis XVII., although that\nlittle king, whose piteous story history surely can never outdo,\nwas still being tortured by his savage subjects. The Archbishop\nof Turin was deputed to escort the terrible news to Queen\nClotilde. \"Madam,\" said he, \"will your majesty pray for your\nillustrious brother, especially for his soul?\" The terrible truth\nflashed at once upon her, and, falling on her knees, she\nexclaimed: \"Let us do better still--let us pray for his\nmurderers!\" Surely, in the annals of the saints, few words more\ntruly heroic can have been recorded than this impulsive utterance\nof Clotilde de Bourbon. The active operations of the army\ncommanded by the Prince de Cond\u00e9 made it impossible for the\nprincess to remain any longer at her father's side; she\naccordingly repaired to Fribourg, a favorite place of refuge for\nFrench emigrants. No less than three hundred French priests had\nfound a temporary asylum within its walls, and the services of\nthe church were performed with every possible care and frequency.\nAmong these priests the princess met one, supposed to be one of\nthe exiled French bishops, to whom she was able to give her\nentire confidence, and from whom she received wise and spiritual\nadvice. The idea of a religious vocation now began to take firm\nhold of her mind but her director would not let her take any step\nfor two years, wishing in every possible way to test the reality\nof this call from God. No ordinary obstacles stood in the way of\nthe royal postulant. Times had changed since those when the\nentrance of Madame Louise, of France, into the Carmelites had\nbeen hailed as an especial mark of God's providence over a poor\ncommunity. Every convent in Europe was now trembling for its\nsafety, and few were willing to open their doors to one bearing\nthe now unfortunate name of Bourbon. About this time, it would\nseem, the princess was in communication with the P\u00e8re de\nTournely, founder of that Society of the Sacred Heart which was\nafterward absorbed into the Society of Jesus, and who was\nearnestly seeking to found a new order for women, and especially\nat this moment to gather together a community of emigrant French\nladies, some of whom had been driven from their convents. The\nidea naturally presented itself of placing the Princess Louise at\nthe head of such a community, but she shrank from the task. \"I\nshould fear,\" she said, \"from the force of custom, the deference\nthat would be paid to what the world calls my rank. The place\nthat I am ambitious of is the last of all. What are the thrones\nof the universe compared to that last place?\" God had other\ndesigns for her, and for the projected order an humbler\ninstrument was to be chosen for the foundation-stone of the order\nof the Sacred Heart; and at this moment the foundress, all\nunconscious of her fate, was as yet \"playing with her dolls.\"\nLouise de Cond\u00e9, determined to enter a poor, obscure convent of\nCapuchinesses, or religious, following the rule of St. Clare, in\nTurin, a city which it was then hoped was likely to remain in\ntranquillity. Before doing so she had obtained her father's\nconsent, and also that of Louis XVIII, whom the emigrant French\nhad proclaimed as their king when the prison-house of the little\nLouis XVII. had been mercifully opened by death.\n{110}\nThe emigrants were careful to keep up with their exiled monarch\nall the forms and traditions which would have surrounded him had\nhe been peaceably sitting on the throne of his fathers. It is\nworth while to give the princess's own words:\n\n  \"Sire: It is not at the moment when I am about to have the\n  happiness of consecrating myself to God that I could forget for\n  the first time what I owe to my king. I have for long past felt\n  myself called to the religious state, and I have come to Turin,\n  where the kindness and friendship of the Queen of Sardinia has\n  given me the means to execute my design--a design which has\n  been well examined and reflected upon; but, before its final\n  accomplishment, I supplicate your majesty to deign to give your\n  consent to it. I ask it with the more confidence because I am\n  certain it will not be refused, and that your piety, sire, will\n  cause you to find consolation in seeing a princess of your\n  blood invested with the livery of Jesus Christ. May God, whose\n  infinite mercy I have so wonderfully experienced, hear the\n  prayers I shall constantly make for the reestablishment of the\n  altar and the throne in my unfortunate country. They will be as\n  earnest as the efforts of my relatives for the same object. The\n  desire for the personal happiness of your majesty is equally in\n  my heart. I implore him to be persuaded of it. I am, etc.,\n\n    \"Louise Ad\u00e9laide De Bourbon Cond\u00e9.\n    \"Turin, November, 1795.\"\n\nThere could be no doubt of the devotion of Louise's family to the\ncause of Louis XVIII. Her father, brother, and nephew were all\nunder arms for the restoration of his crown, and Delille\ncelebrated the incident in verse:\n\n  \"Trois g\u00e9n\u00e9rations vont ensemble \u00e0 la gloire.\"\n\nThe king wrote back to the royal postulant:\n\n  \"You have deeply reflected, my dear cousin, on the step which\n  you have taken. Your father has given his consent. I give mine\n  also, or rather, I give you up to Providence, who requires this\n  sacrifice from me. I will not conceal from you that it is a\n  great one, and it is with deep regret that I give up the hope\n  of seeing you by your virtues become one day an example to my\n  court, and an edification to all my subjects. I have but one\n  consolation, and it is that of thinking that, while the courage\n  and talents of your nearest relations are aiding me to recover\n  the throne of St. Louis, your prayers will draw down the\n  benedictions of the Most High on my cause, and afterward on all\n  my reign. I recommend it to you, and I pray you, my dear\n  cousin, to be well persuaded of my friendship for you.\n\n    \"Louis.\"\n\nOn the 26th of November, 1798, the Queen of Sardinia took her\ncousin to the convent, and saw her enter on the mode of life she\nhad so ardently desired for herself, but from which she had been\nsevered. And here Louise began to lead at once a life of hardship\nand austerity. Earnest in all things by character, she threw\nherself into the practice of her rule, and became a model to all\nthe novitiates. She counted the months as they passed which\nshould bring her to her profession day; but it was not to be. God\nsaw fit to purify her by many sufferings, by long anxieties,\nbefore she should find rest in his house. She was to be the\ninstrument for a great work for his glory, and by many\nvicissitudes she was to be trained and fitted for it.\n{111}\nThe French Directory had declared war against Piedmont, the\nprincess's presence endangered the whole of her community, and\nshe hastened to quit their roof and take refuge temporarily at\nthe convent of the Annonciades, from whence, as she was only a\nboarder, she could fly at any moment; but before leaving her\nconvent she cut off her hair. As a witness to herself, she wrote\nof the firm resolution she had taken of living for God only. No\none but God, she said long afterward, could tell what her\nsufferings were at having to leave her convent; but she adds:\n\"The graces that God poured upon me in that holy house gave the\nnecessary strength to my soul to bear the long trials which I had\nto pass through for so many years!\" Few recitals are more\ntouching than the sufferings of this poor novice, thus roughly\ntorn away from her beloved convent. Shortly after she took up her\nabode with the Annonciades, a profession of one of their novices\ntook place, and the ceremony made the poor princess feel her\ndisappointment more bitterly. According to the custom of the\norder, the novice wore a crown of flowers, and her cell and her\nbed were both decked with them, and the sight moved Louise de\nCond\u00e9 to tears, and, when the novice pronounced her vows, her\nsobs almost stifled her. She said to herself that _she_ was\nunworthy to become the spouse of Christ, and therefore these\nobstacles had arisen; and, humbling herself at the feet of her\nLord, she bewailed the follies of her life in the world, of which\nshe took a far harsher view than those did who knew how it had\nbeen passed, and she implored him to have mercy on her and\nothers, to attain a perfect resignation to his will.\n\nShe had not left her convent too soon. The rapid approach of the\nFrench army on Turin obliged her to quit the city and direct her\nsteps toward Switzerland. There she hoped to find a convent of\nTrappist nuns who would venture to receive her; but, when she had\npassed Mount St. Bernard, she found that the community had not\nyet been able to find a resting-place in Switzerland. She\ntravelled on to Bavaria, and was told that no French emigrant\ncould remain in the country. Verily, it seemed as if she were\ndestined to have nowhere to lay her head. She did not know where\nto turn; for war was ruling in all directions, and her name was\ndreaded by all who desired to keep a neutral part in the\nconflict. She was driven to seek refuge at Vienna, and went to\nboard with a convent of Visitation nuns; for this order she did\nnot feel any attraction, and she cherished the hope that the\nTrappist nuns, of whom she had heard would be able to find a\nplace of refuge and receive her among their number. While thus\nwaiting, she took, by the advice of her confessor, the three vows\nprivately, thus binding herself as closely as possible to her\ncrucified Lord. Her description of this action of her life gives\na great insight into the beauty of her soul. Deep humility, a\nfervent love of God, and a child-like simplicity were her eminent\ncharacteristics. She made these vows at communion, unknown to all\nsave God, his angels, and her spiritual guide. Then she said the\n_Te Deum_ and _Magnificat_, which would have been sung\nso joyfully by her sisters had she been suffered to remain among\nthem. \"I neglected not in spirit,\" she adds, \"the ceremony of the\nfuneral pall, begging from God the grace to die to all, so as to\nlive only in God and for God.\"\n\nThis private act of consecration was an immense comfort to her;\nbut it by no means prevented her longing and striving to reenter\na convent, and all her hopes continued to be fixed on La Trappe.\n\n{112}\n\nAt this period an affecting meeting took place between her and\nMadame Royale, the only survivor of the royal victims of the\nTemple, the young girl born to one of the highest destinies in\nthis world, and whose youth had been overshadowed by a tragedy so\nprolonged and so frightful that history can scarce furnish a\nparallel case. It is only extraordinary that reason had survived\nsuch awful suffering, falling on one so young and so tenderly\nnurtured. Is it any wonder that a shade was cast over the rest of\nher life, and that she was never among the light-hearted or the\ngay? From Vienna she wrote to Queen Clotilde: \"I have had a great\npleasure here in finding that the virtues of my aunt Elizabeth\nwere well known, and she is spoken of with veneration. I hope\nthat one day the pope will place my relation in the list of\nsaints.\" It was, no doubt, a great comfort to her to speak freely\nwith Louise of the aunt and cousin both had so fondly loved.\nLouise could tell Madame Royale many anecdotes of the youth of\none whose end had been so saintly. We must now say a few words\nabout the convent which the princess wished to enter.\n\nWhen the order of La Trappe was suppressed in France, in common\nwith those of other religious in 1790, the Abb\u00e9 L'Estrange,\ncalled in religion Dom Augustin, was master of novices, and he\nconceived the idea of removing the whole community from France\ninstead of dispersing it.\n\nAfter many difficulties this was accomplished, and the monastery\nwas founded at Val-Sainte, near Fribourg. The abb\u00e9 now conceived\nthe idea of founding a convent of Trappist nuns, to be composed\nchiefly of those religious who had been driven from their own\nconvents, and of fresh novices. The director of Madame Louise had\nmany doubts as to the advisability of her entering this\ncommunity; but her desire for it was so ardent, and continued so\nlong, that he withdrew his opposition; and when the community had\nreally taken root, near that of the Trappist monks, under the\ntitle of the Monastery of the Will of God, Louise de Cond\u00e9 set\nout from Vienna and entered it. None but the superiors knew who\nshe was--such was the simplicity of her dress, so retiring her\nmanners, so humble were all her ways; but instead of a princess\nmany of the religious thought her to be of lowly extraction, and\nwondered that Dom Augustin gave her so much of his time. With\ngreat delight she received the holy habit and began to practise\nthe rule. The life was a hard one; the house was a great deal too\nsmall for the number of religious who occupied it; there was a\ngreat want of fresh air; and the rule and austerities were most\ntrying. In a very few months the torrent of European war was\nabout to pour down on Switzerland, and the whole community were\nobliged to take a hasty departure. Dom Augustin could see no\nother place of refuge for his flock than the shores of Russia,\nand he bade Louise de Cond\u00e9 use her influence with the emperor to\nallow them to take up their abode in his kingdom. The Emperor\nPaul was the same who, as archduke and under the title of Comte\ndu Nord, had sat by the princess's side at the brilliant banquets\nand festivities of Chantilly. Louise wrote to him with all the\ngrace of a French woman: \"I beg the amiable Comte du Nord to\nbecome my interpreter with the Emperor Paul.\" The advance of the\nrepublican army was so rapid that there was no time to wait for a\nreply.\n{113}\nThe community were divided into different bands, and started at\ndifferent times and by different routes, all agreeing to reunite\ntheir forces in Bavaria. The vicissitudes of this one journey\nwould be enough for a good-sized volume could we go into its\ndetails. At one place she is received by the bishop of the\ndiocese as a princess, only to be driven out by the civil\nauthorities; at another she was lodged in a _bake-house_,\nfull of dirt and smoke. She observed only it was quite good\nenough for her, and that she was very happy. At another time the\ncook neglects to cleanse the copper cooking-vessels, and the\nwhole community are all but poisoned. When the answer came from\nthe Emperor Paul, it was found that he consented to receive\nthirty of the religious only, to whom he promised support as well\nas protection. It was necessary, therefore, to find some place\nfor the others, and Louise accompanied some of her sisters and\nthe monks to Vienna, where her former friends, the good\nVisitation nuns, gave a refuge to another band of the Trappists.\nNotwithstanding all these changes, Louise as strictly as possible\nobserved the rule of her order and the exercises of her\nnovitiate. Being desired by her superiors to write down her\nthoughts on the religious life, she instantly complied, though\nshe said afterward it was difficult to do so in the midst of\nfourteen persons, crowded together in a very small room, and all\nat different occupations. It was true they kept silent, but they\nhad to ask necessary questions of the prioress, and among so many\nthis necessity was very frequent.\n\nShe was now desired to set out for Russia, and thus undertake\nanother long journey of discomfort and fatigue. People urged her\nto leave the order, saying that the weakness of her knee, which\nhad never wholly recovered from the fall she had had many years\nbefore, would render it impossible for her to be useful. She\nreplied that, if she were only allowed to keep the lamp burning\nbefore the blessed sacrament, she would be contented. So she set\nout for Orcha, the town named by the emperor for their reception.\nIt proved a really terrible journey; sometimes the religious had\nto sleep under the open sky; they had the roughest food, and more\nthan once were without any for twenty-four hours. But never once\ndid the patience, sweetness, and perfect content of Louise de\nCond\u00e9 fail; her face was always bright, for her whole soul was\nfilled with the one thought--a desire of doing penance. The\narrival in Russia did not put an end to the difficulties of\neither Madame Louise or her order. It was necessary to make some\narrangement for the rest of the community left in Germany. The\nEmperor Paul finally agreed to receive fifty. Dom Augustin\naccordingly went to fetch them. During his absence no\ncommunication could be held with him, while various offers of\nhelp, which had to be accepted or refused, were brought to the\nprincess, embarrassing her greatly.\n\nAfter ten months of this suspense Dom Augustin returned, having\nmade up his mind to go to _America_. This was a severe blow\nto Madame Louise; for, being still a novice, it became a grave\nquestion whether she would, in such circumstances, be right in\naccompanying them, and after much prayer and thought she, by the\ncounsel of her director, decided to leave. Once more was she to\nbe driven out into the cold world; once more her heart's desire\ncrossed, her hopes delayed indefinitely. \"I thought that God\nwilled in his justice to break my heart, and thus arrest its\nimpetuous ardor.\n{114}\nI had once more to strip myself of the livery of the Lord, which\nhad been my glory and my happiness. I did it, and did _not_\ndie, that is all I can say.\" Before her departure she implored\nthe emperor, and all over whom she had any personal influence, to\ncontinue their kindness to the order. In reality, it was a good\nthing for the order that Madame Louise quitted it, as events\nafterward proved. One of the very first communities allowed by\nBonaparte to reenter France was this very one, and he certainly\nwould not have done so had a Bourbon been in its ranks. It is\ntrue his favor was but short-lived, and the Trappists had again\nto fly to America, but their return to France had been in many\nways a benefit; and in 1815 they came back again, and established\nthemselves at Belle Fontaine and at Meillerage. The latter house\nhas long since become celebrated. Dom Augustin reached Rome, and\nreceived many marks of approval from the pope for his long and\nearnest struggle in the cause of his order. He died at Lyons in\n1827.\n\nAnd now where was the exile to go? Where should she rest her\nweary head? Where and how begin life again under a new aspect?\nHer father, brother, and nephew were either engaged in warfare,\nor themselves begging shelter from distant countries; her friends\nwere scattered, her resources scanty. A Benedictine nun who had\njoined the Trappist community quitted it, accompanied her, and\nLouise endeavored to follow under her a kind of novitiate. They\ntook refuge at last in a Benedictine convent in Lithuania, but\nwhere the rule was not kept in its strict observance. Here she\nremained for two years, making all possible inquiries for a\nconvent in which she might be received; but the greater part were\ndestroyed, and obstacles stood in the way of entering any of\nthose she heard of. She wished, of course, to be more than ever\ncareful in this her third choice. Moreover, her means of\nacquiring information were but small; there was little\ncommunication with other countries, and few of the inhabitants\nspoke French. While in Lithuania Louise adopted an orphan of four\nyears old, a child of good family reduced to beggary; she was\nnamed El\u00e9onore Dombrousha. At last she heard of a convent at\nWarsaw, which seemed as if it would fulfil all her desires; and\nnow, indeed, she _had_ reached the place God had destined\nher for. Here she was to lay the foundation of the great work for\nwhich, by many sorrows, by much disappointment, he had been\npreparing her.\n\nA foundation of Benedictines of the Blessed Sacrament had come\nfrom Paris to Warsaw many years before, and were still existing:\nthey kept the Benedictine rule strictly, adding to it the\nadoration of the Blessed Sacrament. Madame Louise asked and\nreceived permission of the King of Prussia to enter his\ndominions. He afterward wrote as follows:\n\n  \"Frederick William, by the Grace Of God King Of Prussia: As we\n  have permitted Madame la Princesse Louise Adelaide de Bourbon\n  Cond\u00e9 and Madame de la Brosi\u00e8ree, who arrived at Warsaw the\n  18th of June, to remain in the convent of the Holy Sacrament,\n  where they seem to wish to end their days, we have in\n  consequence given all necessary orders to the officials.\n    \"Warsaw, 28 August, 1801.\"\n\n{115}\n\nA striking circumstance occurred while on her road to Warsaw, one\nof those many incidents of the time which has made the history of\nthe French Revolution read like a romance. Having to descend from\nher carriage at Thorn, her eyes fell on a woman poorly clad in\nthe street, evidently seeking employment; the expression of her\nface was that of suffering, but of great sanctity. The princess\nwas so struck by it that she went up to her, and said by impulse,\n\"Madam, were you not a religious?\" \"Yes,\" she replied, impelled\nto confidence by the sweet face of her who addressed her. And\nthen Louise learnt that the lady was an exiled member of the\nFrench Sisters of Calvary, driven into exile; that her slender\nmeans had come to an end; and that very day she had come out to\nseek work or to beg, neither dismayed nor yet afraid, but putting\nher full trust in Divine Providence.\n\nHer wants were supplied, and she would have entered the same\nconvent as Madame Louise, but that she hoped to rejoin her own\ncommunity when they should reassemble. This shortly afterward\ntook place, and the generosity of Madame Louise furnished the\nmeans for her journey home, and she lived many years in her\nconvent, leading a holy life, and died there in peace.\n\nAt last Madame Louise commenced her _third_ novitiate, and\nfound in her new order all that could perfectly satisfy her\nheart. She took the habit in September, 1801, and all the royal\nfamily of Prussia were present at the ceremony; the Bishop of\nWarsaw preached the sermon, and bade her glorify her convent for\never, not by the _\u00e9clat_ of her name and of her royal birth,\nbut by her religious virtues. The habit which she had taken,\nadded he, and which she had preferred to all the pomps of the\nworld, was but the exterior mark of a consecration and a\nsacrifice that her heart had long since made. As a novice Madame\nLouise redoubled her fervor and exactness in religious life, with\nmany anxious hopes and prayers that this time the day of her\nprofession would really come. A sorrow came upon her in the news\nof the death of her early and loved friend, Clotilde of Sardinia,\nwhose soul passed to God in March, 1802, while her whole people,\nanticipating only the voice of the church, called her a saint. On\nthe 21st of September, 1802, Louise made her solemn profession.\n\"I pronounced my vows publicly,\" she said, \"but with such\nfeelings that I can truly say my heart pronounced them with a\nthousand times greater strength than my mouth.\" She now retook\nher religious name, which she had chosen twice before, Soeur\nMarie Joseph de la Mis\u00e9ricorde. The life of an ordinary good\nreligious would have seemed sufficiently difficult for a\nprincess, but Louise would do nothing by halves. She practised\nthe highest virtues of her state, bearing undeserved blame\nwithout a word of excuse; she never murmured under labors; she\nwas obedient, gentle, and humble. So anxious was she to prevent\nher rank being an occasion for raising her to offices of\nauthority that she wrote to the pope these words:\n\n  \"Most Holy Father:\n  Louise Ad\u00e9laide de Bourbon Cond\u00e9, now Marie Joseph de la\n  Mis\u00e9ricorde, professed religious of the convent of the\n  Perpetual Adoration of the Most Holy Sacrament, order of Saint\n  Benedict, at Warsaw, supplicates your holiness that you deign,\n  for the repose and tranquillity of the soul of the suppliant,\n  to declare her deprived of active and passive voice, and to\n  dispense her from all the principal offices of the community.\"\n\n{116}\n\nThe holy father saw fit to grant the request, and sent a brief on\nthe subject to her.\n\n  \"The efforts that you make to attain Christian perfection in\n  these unhappy days,\" wrote Pius VII., \"have filled us with joy,\n  and make us hope that the Divine Spouse to whom you have made\n  the laudable sacrifice of yourself will not fail to grant you\n  his grace, in order that, by the exact and religious\n  observation of the rules of the institute which you have\n  chosen, you will attain the end that you proposed to yourself\n  in embracing with so much joy this state of life. ... We send\n  you the letters of dispensation that you say are necessary for\n  the perfect tranquillity of your mind, desiring nothing more\n  than to remove the obstacles which could destroy your peace;\n  and further, we give you with our whole heart the apostolical\n  benediction, as a proof of our paternal friendship.\"\n\nAnd now one of the sharpest sorrows of Louise de Cond\u00e9's life was\nat hand. An event which was, even in that age of cruelties, to\nstrike Europe with horror was to fall with bitterest force on the\nheart of the princess. Religious life does not extinguish the\naffections of the heart; it but regulates, ennobles, and purifies\nthem; and the Duc d'Enghien was as tenderly loved by the aunt who\nhad not seen him for many years, spent in devotion to God, as\nwhen, in the halls of Chantilly, she had watched his childish\ngambols. The prayer she had offered up in his childhood was\ncontinued more fervently, more constantly, as the dangers to his\nbody and soul increased. She followed him in commiseration\nthrough the busy scenes in which his lot was cast, and she saw\nhim brave, loyal, and honorable, a good son and a good husband.\nWhen Louis XVIII. consulted him, in 1803, in common with the\nother French princes, as to the answer he should return to the\nproposal of Bonaparte that he should renounce the throne of\nFrance, the duke wrote: \"Your majesty knows too well the blood\nwhich runs in my veins to have had the least doubt as to the\nanswer which you demand from me. I am a Frenchman, sire; and a\nFrenchman who is faithful to his God, to his king, and to his\nvows of honor.\" We have no space to dwell on the treachery and\nthe cruelty of the capture and death of this young prince, one of\nthe fairest hopes of the house of Bourbon. In vain did he even\nask for a priest; but that ungranted request must have carried\nconsolation to the heart of Madame Louise. As we read of his\ncutting off his hair to send to his \"Charlotte,\" we are forcibly\nreminded of another prince, who was treacherously slain, sending\na last adieu to another unhappy princess of the same name. To the\ndoors of the convent at Warsaw, bearing the news, came the Abb\u00e9\nEdgeworth, whose mission it was to console and help the\nunfortunate house of Bourbon. He had attended the last moments of\nLouis XVI.; he had stood by him on the scaffold, undaunted by the\ncrowd, and bade the \"son of St. Louis ascend to heaven;\" he had\nbeen the director of Madame Elizabeth; he had joined the hands of\nMadame Royale and the Duc d'Angoul\u00eame in marriage; and now he\ncame to break the news of the last great sorrow to Madame Louise.\nThe M\u00e8re Sainte Rose brought a crucifix to the princess, and her\ncountenance told her the rest. Louise fell on her face on the\nearth, crying out, \"Mercy, my God! have mercy on him!\" Then she\nrose, and, going to the chapel, poured out her soul before Him\nwho alone could comfort her.\n{117}\n\"Pardon the faults of his youth, O Lord!\" she cried, \"and\nremember how cruelly his blood has been shed. Glory and\nmisfortune have attended him through life; but what _we_\ncall glory--has it any merit in thy eyes? Mercy, my God! mercy!\"\nBut her prayers did not end here. From that time forward there\nrose up before the throne of God a constant cry for mercy for the\nsoul of Napoleon Bonaparte, from the lips of her whose dearest\nearthly hopes he had destroyed. She never made a retreat\nafterward without devoting much prayer and penance for the\nredemption of the enemy of her name and race. Forgiveness of\ninjuries was an especial characteristic of the Bourbon family,\nand none excelled in it more than Madame Louise.\n\nAnd now another change awaited the poor princess: thick, indeed,\nupon her head came trial after trial. Nothing could, indeed, take\nfrom her now the happiness of being a professed Benedictine; but\nthat she should remain peaceably in one convent for a long time\nwas hardly to be hoped for at this period. The Lutheran Prussian\ngovernment began to interfere with the government of the convent,\nto have a voice in the election of superiors, and, of course, to\ninterfere, at least indirectly, with the rule. Probably the\npresence of Madame Louise made them take more notice of that\nconvent than they would otherwise have done. Before quitting it,\nhowever, as this was a serious step to be taken voluntarily by a\nreligious who has made a vow of enclosure, she wrote for counsel\nto the three French bishops of L\u00e9on, Vannes, and Nantes, who were\nthen all living in London. Their united opinion was, that \"the\nreasons were well grounded and very solid, and that the repose of\nher conscience and her advancement in the perfection of her\nstate, exact this change.\" Having received permission from the\nbishop of the diocese, and the full consent of her prioress, who\nbitterly mourned over the thraldom in which the community were\nheld, Louise de Cond\u00e9 once more went out into exile, and this\ntime directed her steps toward England. She landed at Gravesend,\nand was, we suppose, the first nun since the Reformation who was\nreceived with public honors by the British authorities. In London\nshe met her father and brother, whom she had not seen since the\nyear 1795, and who had since that time endured so much, and who\nwere still suffering so acutely under their recent sorrow in the\nexecution of the Duc d'Enghien. There must have been a strangely\nmingled feeling of pain and pleasure in this sad meeting. After\nremaining a few days in London, her father and brother escorted\nher to a Benedictine convent at Rodney Hall, Norfolk, where a\nrefuge had been offered to her. This community followed the\nmitigated rule of St. Benedict, but Louise was allowed to observe\nthe fasts and other points to which she had bound herself by her\nprofession of the rule in its strict observance.\n\nIn this house there were fifty choir nuns, eight lay sisters, and\na large school of young ladies. Wherever Madame Louise went, she\nwas accompanied by the M\u00e8re Sainte Rose and the little El\u00e9onore\nDombrousha, the child of her adoption. In this community Louise\nwas greatly beloved. There was about her a sweetness and a\nsimplicity, a self-forgetfulness and charity for others which\ngave her an inexpressible charm. She was truly noble in character\nas well as in birth. She gave that example which God intends\nthose highly born (as we call it) to give--that of more closely\nresembling Him whose birth was indeed a royal and noble one.\n{118}\nDuring her stay in Norfolk, the Princess Louise suffered greatly\nfrom bad health. The trials she had undergone, the anxiety of\nmind, her long journeys, and the severity of the observances to\nwhich she had bound herself had their effect upon her frame. More\nthan once there was such cause for serious alarm that the Prince\nde Cond\u00e9 and Duc de Bourbon came to see her. It is probable, too,\nthat the English climate, and especially the part of the country\nin which she was living, might not have agreed with her; the\nconvent, besides, was not sufficiently large, and it was a\nfavorable change in all respects when the community removed to\nHeath. Here Madame Louise met with one whose acquaintance she\nconceived to be one of the greatest blessings of her life.\n\nThe Society of Jesus was not as yet restored to the church; but\nmany of its ancient members were living, and showed by their\nlives what had been the heavenly spirit in which they had been\ntrained. Preeminently among these was the P\u00e8re de la Fontaine,\nand it was to this holy man Louise became known while in England.\nHe often said Mass at the convent, and frequently saw the\nprincess. Under his direction, the soul of Louise made rapid\nprogress toward perfection. He understood what God required from\nher, and taught her how to correspond with God. Among other\nvaluable advice which he gave her, and which she committed to\npaper, the following is remarkable: \"A spouse of Jesus Christ\nought absolutely to avoid all communication with Protestant\nsociety. Their want of delicacy, in general, on those points\nwhich wound a heart consecrated to God in all purity, and their\nunbelief, often amounting to aversion, for the great sacrament of\nthe love of Jesus Christ, are two powerful reasons for keeping at\na distance from them. A truly religious soul has reason to fear\npresumption and all its attendant evils, if she allows herself,\nwithout real necessity, to be drawn into such dangerous\nintercourse.\"\n\nAnd so the years again passed on and other changes were at hand.\nPrayers, penances, and sufferings such as Louise de Cond\u00e9 had\nendured, and sufferings which had been borne also in various\nother ways by so many holy souls among the French emigrants, had\nbrought down mercy from God on their unhappy country and on\nEurope. The long war was at an end, the muskets _had_ fallen\nfrom the soldiers' hands, and Napoleon was a captive. Louis\nXVIII. sat once more on the throne of his father. The _fleur de\nlis_ again floated from the tower of the Louvre. Madame\nRoyale, who had been sent out of France as a prisoner, ransomed\nby treaty, came back to hold the court over which her mother had\nonce presided; the princes of the blood-royal hastened back to\ntheir places, and there was a general wish that Louise de Cond\u00e9\nshould be once more on her native soil. Ah! what a lifetime of\nsorrow had she passed through since she left Chantilly and her\nhouse in the Rue Monsieur, and even now she would not return to\n_them_.\n\nNo, never again could she come back to be the princess. If she\nreturned to France, it must be as the religious to reestablish a\nconvent of her order, and thus aid in bringing back religious\nlife to France. It must be confessed that rarely was a person\nmore fitted for the task. None should rule, says a proverb, but\nthose who have learned to obey, and obedience had been a task\nwhich the princess had well studied.\n{119}\nShe had passed through three novitiates, and she had in her\nlifetime seen the management of eight different convents, and she\nhad known well how to profit by the knowledge she gained.\nAccordingly she quitted the convent at Heath the 16th of August,\n1814, and arrived in Paris just as all were preparing to keep the\n_f\u00eate_ of St. Louis for the first time for many years. She\nresided for a time in the house of her brother, the Duc de\nBourbon; but she never quitted the apartments allotted to her,\nand lived in the utmost retirement, waiting there only till a\nsuitable convent could be assigned to her.\n\nThe papers of the day, after mentioning her arrival in Paris,\nadded: \"It was the _on dit_ that his majesty proposed to\nrevive a royal foundation in her favor, and to establish her with\nher sisters in a magnificent monastery which would be restored to\nits primitive destination. Already it was sad to think that the\nchurch of this abbey had been used for profane purposes, and the\nfriends of religion and of art would joyfully see this edifice\nrestored. It would be purified by establishing there the\nperpetual adoration, and by placing there a shining example of\npiety in the person of a princess devoted in an especial manner\nto God's service.\"\n\nThis edifice was the grand church and monastery of Val du Gr\u00e2ce,\none of the chief monuments of the piety of Anne of Austria. It\nwas then a hospital; but, as the paper went on to remark, the\nsuperb church was not of any especial use to the sick, and would\nbe a noble one for cultured religious. However, the idea of\ngiving Val du Gr\u00e2ce to Madame Louise fell to the ground. It\nremained a military hospital, and so continues to this day; but\nthe sick are attended day and night by the sisters of charity of\nSt. Vincent de Paul. And as their forms flit through the\ncorridors, intent on works of love, and as their earnest prayers\nrise up in the calm morning and close of evening to heaven, the\nfounders and the former possessors of that splendid pile are, we\nthink, contented Madame Louise had been so long absent that she\nknew not a single friend in Paris. She now entered into\ncommunication with the Abb\u00e9 d'Astros, vicar-general of the\ndiocese of Paris. At her very first interview with him she felt\nimpelled to give him her full confidence, and this at once gave\nher a proof that it was really the will of God she should\nestablish a convent in the diocese, since a full accord with\necclesiastical superiors is one of the most valuable helps a new\nfoundation can have. Still, the place for the convent remained\nuncertain, and the privy council to whom it belonged to settle\nthe affair did not deem it of much importance, and put it aside\nfor other matters. A friend of Madame Louise, the Comtesse Marie\nde Courson, proposed to her that they should make a novena to\nLouis XVI. It is unusual to pray to those whom the church has not\ncanonized, but it is not forbidden to do so privately; and it was\nhard to believe that the soul of the monarch upon whom had fallen\nthe long and bitter punishment of the sins of his ancestors was\nnot long since in the enjoyment of perfect happiness. The novena\nwas commenced by a certain number of earnest and fervent souls.\n\nOn the seventh day, at the meeting of the council, although most\npressing business was that day before its consideration, a member\nsuddenly rose, and reminding his colleagues that the request of\nMadame Louise had not been granted, and as if moved by an\nirresistible impulse, proposed that the palace of the\n_Temple_ should be given to her.\n{120}\nA sudden silence fell on the assembly, then came a movement of\nunanimous consent. What better spot for a convent of\n_expiation_ than that consecrated by such memories--that in\nwhich such innocent victims had suffered? The heart of Louis\nXVIII. was deeply touched by the circumstance.\n\nTruly, royal pomp and ceremony, gala and festivity, could never\nagain enter those sorrowful halls. Most fitting would it be to\nconsecrate them to God, and let an unceasing strain of prayer and\npraise ascend to heaven. Some doubted whether the task would not\nbe too painful for the princess herself, and at the first\nannouncement she did, in truth, shrink back. She had known them\nall so well, had loved Elizabeth so tenderly, had wept over their\nfates so bitterly, had prayed for them so earnestly, she missed\nthem, now that she was once more at home; and how, then, could\nshe bear to live for ever within those walls, which would be an\neternal record of their fate.\n\nBut the first emotion passed away, and she began more fully to\nunderstand why she had been tried in the crucible of sufferings,\nwhy her vocation had been so often crossed, so hardly tried. It\nhad been all to bring her to this, to let her found in Paris a\nconvent of expiation. Without those trials, perhaps, she could\nnever have borne the severity of the task, the sacrifice she must\nat once make on entering. She tenderly loved Madame Royale, or\nMadame la Dauphine, as she was now called, and it could not be\nexpected or even wished that she should revisit a spot which must\nrecall to her those terrible days whose memory already\novershadowed her life too much; but this sacrifice Louise was\nready to make, and the convent of the Temple was accepted.\n\nWorkmen were engaged to convert the old palace into a convent;\nthe towers, in one of which the royal family had lived, were\nalready demolished, but it was easy to perceive where they had\nstood. A Beautiful garden surrounded the buildings, partly in the\nFrench, partly in the English style. Water brought up from the\nSeine played in fountains surrounded by artificial rocks, among\nwhich a grotto was formed. This grotto was changed into an\noratory to the Blessed Virgin, and another to St. Benedict and\nSt. Scholastica. The Comte de Courson and the Abb\u00e9 d'Astros\ndirected the alterations, and all possible haste was being made,\nwhen, like wild-fire, the news ran through the world, Bonaparte\nhad escaped from Elba, and was in France. The royal family fled,\nand once more the Princess Louise was to be an exile. She could\nnot at once procure horses, so for a week, which happened to be\nholy week, she was hidden in the house of one of her former\nattendants. The M\u00e8re Sainte Rose was taken very ill, and then\nthere was the serious difficulty of procuring passports. How\nlittle can those who live in London now, and who breakfast at\nhome and sup in Paris, estimate the labor, the pain, the dread,\nwhich a timid person like Madame Louise would feel at having to\ntake the weary journey to England, posting from Paris to Calais,\nand then a long, stormy passage, to say nothing of the dangers of\nbeing stopped on the route and taken to prison. She was obliged\nto set off on Easter-day. At the city gates they were stopped,\nand it was only by a heavy bribe that they were suffered to pass.\nOn the way they found themselves in the midst of a popular\ntumult, and were obliged to leave their carriages and hide till\nit was over.\n{121}\nThey had a very bad passage from Calais, but at Dover Madame\nLouise was received with every mark of respect and esteem.\n\nShe had not the comfort of returning to the convent at Heath, for\nit was thought better that she should await the course of events\nin London, and she went to a hotel. But a serious illness was the\nresult of the sudden shock and journey, and after her recovery\nshe went to the country-house of a friend. All through her\nafter-life Madame Louise had a great affection for the English,\nwho, to do them justice, were certainly generous toward the\nFrench emigrants. She was wont to say that their generosity would\nwin for them the grace of reconciliation with the Catholic\nChurch. Although Napoleon's second reign lasted but a hundred\ndays, Madame Louise did not return to France for fourteen months,\npartly on account of health, partly because she wished to be\nfully convinced of the stability of the Bourbon dynasty before\nshe commenced her arduous undertaking.\n\nWhen she reached Paris, the _Temple_ was not yet ready. She\nresided some time in the Rue St. Dominique with one of her early\nfriends. There she made arrangements with various postulants,\nwith whom she entered the new convent on the second of September,\n1816. The Abb\u00e9 d'Astros blessed the house and said the first Mass\nin the chapel. And now, at last, she had found a home; and though\nafter her many vicissitudes, after the disappointments and the\nrapid changes she had seen, she could never have felt very\nsecure, she never again quitted these walls. She entered most\ndiligently on her duty as superioress and as mistress of novices;\nfor, with the exception of the M\u00e8re Sainte Rose and one other\nBenedictine nun who joined her, (her own community having been\nlost in the Revolution,) she had none but young subjects to\ngovern. Besides this she had to superintend a large school for\nyoung ladies, so that her duties were multiplied and heavy. The\naccount of her religious life is most touching and beautiful.\nKnowing, as we do, how the distinctions of rank cling round our\nhuman nature; how constantly, ever since she had been a nun, she\nhad been _obliged_ to remind others not to make use of that\nvery rank; knowing also the exaggerated prestige paid under the\nold _r\u00e9gime_ to the Bourbon race, it is wonderful to see how\nutterly she forgot her birth or ignored it. She was sixty years\nof age; she was lame and in delicate health; yet she kept the\nrule rigidly; was gentle to others, severe to herself; would join\nin the recreations of her young novices, and could be seen making\nfun with them in cutting the wood for the fires. She would often\ntake recreation with the lay sisters, and also carefully instruct\nthem. In the infirmary she would perform the most menial offices\nfor the sick, and, in short, she was a true mother at the head of\nher house. \"Those who neglect little sacrifices,\" she would say,\n\"are not likely to make great ones.\" At the appointed times she\nwould not exempt herself from the penances which the rule\npermitted the religious to use. The first time that she\nprostrated herself at the refectory door, in order that all the\nreligious should walk over her, many of them could not restrain\ntheir emotion. Afterward the princess reproved them severely,\nshowing them that all distinctions of worldly rank were totally\ncontrary to the religious spirit. If the sisters brought her\nbetter food than the others, they were reproved, and forbidden to\ndo it again; or if they tried to make her straw mattress any\nsofter, they met the same fate. In short, to the end of her days\nshe was _thorough_, earnest, single-hearted in all things.\n\n{122}\n\nSorrows did not fail to follow her into her peaceful retreat. The\nassassination of the Duc de Berri, her near relative, filled her\nwith grief, recalling too vividly the horrors that had darkened\nher younger days. She was comforted, however, by a visit from the\nvenerable P\u00e8re de la Fontaine, who came to console her. \"The Lord\nhas covered him with the mantle of his mercy,\" said the old\nfriend, and those simple words calmed her. Could there not,\nindeed, be hope for the soul of him whose first thought on\nreceiving the death-blow was to say, \"Pardon my murderer\"? The\nP\u00e8re de la Fontaine had returned to Paris after the peace; and\nwhen the Jesuits had been restored to their place in the church,\nand had communities in France, he often visited the Convent du\nTemple, and was by Madame Louise and many others esteemed a\nsaint. The princess told her sisters that, being once in great\nspiritual perplexity and suffering, the father passed by her on\nhis way to the altar, and as his shadow fell on her all her\nintense sufferings disappeared. In 1821, this holy man died, and\nat the request of Madame Louise the Jesuits sent her some account\nof his last hours. The writer described the strong emotion felt\nby all who were present when the old man, on his dying-bed,\nbegged pardon for all his faults, for his breaches of the rule,\nand renewed his vows--vows which he had so faithfully kept in\nexile and solitude, when his beloved order had been suppressed.\nHe had lived on in faith and in prayer, and God had allowed him\nto see the society restored to the church, so that, like Simeon,\nhe could depart in peace.\n\nNext came the illness of the princess's father, the Prince de\nCond\u00e9. She had always been tenderly attached to him, and the\nsorrows they had gone through together had naturally deepened the\naffection. He lay dying at Chantilly, and mutual friends begged\nMadame Louise to go to him. The ecclesiastical superiors would\ngive her dispensation, they said; she was a princess, no ordinary\nnun. She firmly refused. \"If our holy father the pope orders me\nto go, as a child of the church I will obey; but never will I ask\nfor a dispensation which should give a precedent for breaking\nenclosure.\" Outwardly she was calm before her sisters, but her\nstall in the choir was bathed with tears, so deeply did she\nsuffer for and with the father whom she loved. Her prayers went\nup unceasingly, and there is proof that they were heard.\n\nThe Prince de Cond\u00e9 died with dispositions of most humble\npenitence, and, when asked if he forgave his enemies, exclaimed:\n\"I am sure of my salvation, if God will pardon me as freely as I\npardon them.\" The last words on his lips were C_redo in\nDeum_. Perhaps the sacrifice made by his daughter in not\nassisting his dying hours had won for him the grace of a good\ndeath. The fortune which came to the princess on her father's\ndeath was devoted to the erection of a conventual church; the\nfirst stone was laid in May, 1821, in the name of Madame la\nDauphine, by one of her ladies of honor. Mgr. de Guilen, then\ncoadjutor of Paris was present, and Mgr. Trayssinous preached the\nsermon. \"This place is holy ground,\" said he; \"holy because of\nthe extraordinary misfortunes and the heroic virtues which it\nwitnessed in the time of our impious discords. Within these walls\nthere wept and suffered barbarously those who should have been\nmore worthy than all others of veneration and love. Within these\nwalls most noble victims of the popular fury were delivered up to\ninexpressible anguish.\n{123}\nO days of blood and tears! O terrible and cruel scenes! O\nlamentable crime! which I dare not recall, which every heart in\nFrance would fain banish from his memory, and from the pages of\nour history. But no; we are all condemned eternally to bear the\nshame to posterity. Religion, at least, will have the glory of\nhaving done all that it could to expiate it, and to reconcile the\npeople who were so unfortunately guilty with Heaven. Here day and\nnight are crying at the foot of the altar consecrated virgins,\ninnocent and voluntary victims of crimes which are not their own.\nHere prayers, fastings, vigils, and austerities, and the sighs of\ncontrite and humble hearts, are perpetually ascending up to the\nthrone of justice, but also of divine mercy, to draw down on the\nroyal family, and on the whole of France, grace and mercy. Thus\ndoes religion avenge herself of her enemies, by expiating the\npast, sanctifying the present, and preparing the future. ... And\nwho will raise this building? She who, concealing the beautiful\nname of Cond\u00e9 under that of Soeur de la Mis\u00e9ricorde, has buried\nin this cloister all the _\u00e9clat_ and grandeur of the world.\nIn whose name has the first stone been laid? In the name of all\nthat is most touching in suffering, in courage, in goodness, and\ndearest to France--in the name of the royal orphan of the\nTemple.\"\n\nAnother death awoke considerable emotion in the heart of Madame\nLouise. On the barren rock of St. Helena the proud heart of the\ngreat conqueror wore itself out. The hand and the brain that had\nworked such endless woe to her and hers were for ever still. Far\nfrom her all thought of triumph and rejoicing. Instantly she had\nMasses offered for him, and never omitted daily to supplicate in\nher private prayers that he who had given her no rest on earth\nmight now have eternal rest given to him.\n\nAnd now her long and troubled life was hastening to its close.\nShe had been tossed about, indeed, on a troubled sea, seldom in\nport, yet happy and peaceful amid the conflict; and now eternal\npeace was at hand.\n\nThe bells of the new church were blessed in October, 1822, the\nKing and Madame la Dauphine being godfather and godmother. The\nchurch was consecrated, in August, 1823, by the Archbishop of\nParis. Louise, looking round, might have seen her work completed,\nthe community established and flourishing, the church finished in\nwhich the adoration of the altar could be worthily carried out.\nThe next day she made a false step, and fell down. Slight as was\nthe accident, fainting fits constantly followed, and she was\nnever well afterward. She suffered most from her head, but would\nnot give up her ordinary duties, or lie by. Gradually her\nstrength failed. On December 23d, she fainted on the stairs, was\ncarried to bed, and was attacked by fever and sickness. Still she\nstruggled on with her duties. On the last day of the year, she\nwould hold the \"chapter of peace\"--a custom of her order to which\nshe was much attached, when the religious ask mutual pardon of\neach other for any want of charity during the past year, and when\nthe prioress has to address them on this beautiful subject; and\nshe would not let her illness interfere with the feast of Holy\nInnocents, a gala-day in the convent, when the youngest novice\nbecomes prioress for the day, and innocent mirth is in the\nascendant; and she assisted at the clothing of two novices in\nJanuary, 1824.\n{124}\nShe showed by her manner on this last occasion that she believed\nit to be the last ceremony at which she should be present. She\nsaw each of her sisters in private, and took leave of them with\ntender affection. She suddenly became worse, and lost the use of\nspeech, but not consciousness. She received extreme unction from\nthe Archbishop of Paris. The community, all in tears, surrounded\nher bed. The archbishop remarked, it was like the shower of rain\nwhich, at the prayer of St. Scholastica, came down to prevent St.\nBenedict from leaving her too soon. The dying nun understood the\nallusion, and smiled. He bade her bless her children, and her\nhand was raised for her, and placed on the head of one of her\nreligious, for she could not move it herself.\n\nA few days afterward she recovered her speech, and she received\nthe viaticum, and answered the questions of the priest with a\nfirm tone, \"I believe with faith.\" Her death-agony was very long,\nand, when her brother came to see her, she could not speak. The\ndesire of seeing her once more overcame the repugnance that\nMadame la Dauphine had to reenter the Temple, and she was about\nto set out thither when the king, fearing the consequences for\nher, forbade her to go. The last smile of Louise de Cond\u00e9 was\ngiven to a picture held before her of a dove bearing a cross and\nflying to heaven. Perhaps she said inwardly words which would\nhave been very suitable: \"I will flee away and take my rest.\"\nShortly afterward she expired. She was in the sixty-seventh year\nof her age, and the twenty-second of her religious profession.\nAnd thus ended a life of which it may truly be said that it was\n\"stranger than fiction.\"\n\n--------\n\n    Mr. Bashers Sacrifice, and why He made it.\n\n\nSimply because Colonel Dolickem _would_ feed himself with\nhis knife at table. But what could the vulgar habit of the\ncolonel have to do with such a sacrifice on the part of Mr.\nBasher? Nevertheless, it is true, and had it not been for that,\nMr. Basher would never have made it. Colonel Dolickem cut his\nmouth and severed his hopes at one blow, as it were. Fact! And\nthis is the way it came about.\n\nMr. Basher, as you are aware, was not what might be called a\nmarrying man. Certainly not. I have heard him say, over and over\nagain, in what might possibly be considered rather too strong\nlanguage, that he would much prefer cutting his throat. Not that\nhe had any aversion to such a state of life, or that he had made\nany vow of celibacy. By no means. Any young lady who might have\nliked to marry Mr. Basher could have done so any day, if Mr.\nBasher had been the lady, and the lady had been the man. As no\nyoung lady of his acquaintance would assume the masculine\nproprieties, such as popping the question, buying the ring,\nseeking the priest, putting up the banns and the like, to doing\nany or all of which Mr. Basher preferred cutting his throat,\nthere were little expectations cherished by Mr. Basher's\nacquaintances of ever wishing joy to a Mrs. Basher. \"I'd never\ncome through it alive,\" he would say. But he did, as you shall\nhear.\n\n{125}\n\nThere is one thing Mr. Basher could do, and do more perfectly\nthan any man I ever knew, and that was to blush. Blushing Basher\nwas the title we gave him the first evening he was introduced at\nour club. It may be said that blushing was his normal condition.\n\"Do you know,\" said Healy, the great portrait-painter, to me one\nday, speaking of Basher as a subject, \"that I never painted a man\nwhose complexion was so difficult to determine as that of your\nfriend Basher?\" \"He has a warm complexion,\" said I. \"Warm!\"\nrejoined the artist. \"Warm does not express it, say, red-hot.\"\nOld ladies would offer him their fans in the street-cars, and\nmischievous young damsels with cherry-colored ribbons [attached]\nto their hats look first at him, and then toy with the dangling\nends of their ribbons, as much as to say: \"Just this shade.\"\nNewsboys, seeing him pass, hailed one another with the\ninformation that \"your uncle had beets for dinner,\" and wily\npolicemen dogged his steps under the impression that he was\nmaking off with something that lay heavy on his conscience.\n\nBut Mr. Basher's blushing face was nothing to his blushing heart,\nmind, or soul, or whatever it is that blushes inside of a man,\nand causes him to feel weak and faint, to get shaky at the knees,\nand bungling in speech. That he never finished a complete\nsentence is a fact too well known to need confirmation. Even on\nthe day of his sacrifice, the charming Miss Criggles was obliged\nto come to his rescue; for, when he got as far as \"Miss Criggles,\nwill you have--\" if that ready-witted young lady (thirty, if she\nwas a day, you know) had not divined his purpose, and said what\nhe just then lost the power of saying--\"me, for your own,\" I do\nnot think we would have seen a Mrs. Basher to this day.\n\nHe had no better success in his attempts to converse with\nchildren. I remember, as he sat one day in my parlor, twiddling\nhis thumbs, breaking down in his remarks, and his color coming\nand going in rapid succession, my little daughter Dolly climbed\nupon his knee, and covered him with confusion by saying to him:\n\n\"Mi'ter Bashy, does 'oo ever say 'oor p'ayers?\"\n\n\"I--I--I, sometimes; a--\" blundered Mr. Basher in reply, his\nknees beginning to involuntarily dandle the child up and down.\n\n\"What does 'oo say?\" persisted the little fairy, shaking her\ncurls, and giving him an arch look. \"I don't t'ink 'oo do.\"\n\n\"Why--why--do you a--\" Mr. Basher got out.\n\n\"'Cause 'oo never 'members what 'oo's t'inkin' 'bout.\"\n\nPoor Basher could do nothing after that but stare vacantly at the\nwall, and smile a smile that is often seen on board a ship as\nsoon as she reaches rough water. Certainly, in another sense\nlittle Dolly had put Mr. Basher completely at sea.\n\nBut I'm forgetting about the sacrifice. You know what a sensation\nthe cards produced. The receivers whose eyes first fell upon that\nof Miss Rosina Criggles expected, of course, to read \"Col.\nWashington Dolickem\" on the other. That was a conclusion\neverybody had arrived at for more than six months previous; and\nif the bold, heavy card of Col. Dolickem did not accompany the\ndelicately scented, somewhat thinner and smaller one of Miss\nCriggles, it would be, doubtless, the still heavier, manlier,\nbolder card of General Yinweeski, of the Russian Embassy, or\nMajor Thwackemout, of the Ninth Fussyliers, as Tom Wagstaff used\nto call them.\n{126}\nThat same _farceur_ never spoke of the dwelling-place of\nMiss Criggles but as \"Camp Criggles.\"\n\n\"None but your generals and your colonels and your majors ever\nget their feet under the mahogany at Camp Criggles,\" said Tom;\n\"and a pretty mess they make of it.\" This was in allusion to the\neverlasting _on dits_ about the duel, or the cowhiding, or\nsome such other agreeable encounter which was daily expected to\ncome off between the rival combatants for the hand, and, I may\nadd, the five-twenties, of the charming Rosina.\n\nYou should have heard Tom when he heard the news.\n\n\"Has he? What, Basher! Not Blushing Basher! Look again. Some\nother Basher--some general, colonel, major, or\nturkey-cock-in-boots Basher. No? Our Basher? Then draw a pen\nacross that line in the spelling-book, 'Faint heart never won\nfair lady,' for Basher of ours has done the deed, and none so\nfaint as Basher.\"\n\nMr. Basher, you know, was an admirer of Miss Criggles. No, not\nsurprising. It was his nature to admire; only he found it so\ndifficult to give expression to his sentiments that his nature in\nthis respect may be said to have always remained in an inchoate\nstate. He was an exclamation-point minus the dot. How so pure a\ncivilian ever got an invitation to dine at the Criggles\nmess-table is shrouded in mystery; and how he ever dared when\nthere to brave the martial presence of General Yinweeski, of\nColonel Dolickem, or of Major Thwackemout is no less mysterious.\nDining at the Criggles table as he did--and if ever the Criggles\nfamily made a point of anything in this world it was the service\nof their table--he may be said to have gradually eaten his way\ninto the affections of the charming Rosina. As he spoke less, he\nhad more time, you see, than his martial rivals; and what was\nmore to the purpose, he had a better manner than they. Men of war\nwho are not mere \"carpet valiants,\" but have smelt the straw\nabove the mould in a gusty tent, may be pardoned for not having\nstudied my book _On the Bad Habits of Good Society_. I\npardon Colonel Dolickem for not having read it. The tactics of\nthe knife and fork are good tactics to study, and practise too;\nbut as long as your _vis-\u00e0-vis_ at table will keep his knife\nout of the butter-plate, I would advise you to say nothing about\nhis putting it into his mouth occasionally--especially if he\nwears a sword and you do not; for he might retort by putting that\ninto you, and then you would find yourself quite as much at fault\nfor want of the knowledge of a soldier's tactics, as Colonel\nDolickem was in his ignorance of the tactics of a gentlemanly\ndiner-out. Tom Wagstaff, the Beau Brummel of our club, and who,\nby the way, bought up an entire edition of my book for private\ncirculation, heartily despised the colonel for his slovenly\nhabit. \"He had the misfortune to be brought up on a jack-knife,\nsir,\" said Tom, \"as some babies are brought up on a bottle.\"\n\nI said I would advise you not to say anything to a friend who\nmouths his knife, but I don't object to your looking at him when\nhe does it. When he cuts the corners of his mouth, as he surely\nwill, sooner or later, unless he has a practised hand, (and I\n_have_ witnessed feats of dexterity of this kind which would\nsurprise you quite as much as any ever performed by the Japanese\njugglers,) you might call his attention to it, and playfully add:\n\"So much, my dear fellow, for allowing yourself to be so\ndistracted;\" and then you can tell a good story to the company\nabout another friend of yours--clever dog he was, too--to whom\nthe accident which has just happened to your friend opposite\nhappened so often, and from the same unfortunate habit of having\ndistractions at table, that he was frequently seen to rise after\ndinner with both corners of his mouth gashed.\n{127}\nHe was cured, however, not of his distractions, but of putting\nhis knife in his mouth at such times, by telling a joke in his\npresence about another individual to whom a similar accident\nhappened under similar circumstances, and who cut himself so\nseverely that he was obliged to be fed out of a bottle for a\nweek. I have myself tried this friendly ruse several times, and\nhave never known it to fail.\n\nThere is another class of persons besides these who may chance to\ncarry a longer sword than you do, about whom I would advise you,\nas a bit of a philosopher, not to be too meticulous; I mean those\nwho carry a longer head than you. The pen is mightier than the\nsword, (quotation of school-boy memory, but good,) and cuts\ndeeper. The writer who cut up my book so severely in the pages of\n_The Square Table_ was not so far wrong. But he forgot that\nI wrote as a professor, not as a casuist. Literary men, as well\nas soldiers, may do certain things with impunity which some\nothers may not. So that Bullhead, of the _New York Sweeper_,\nmay gnaw on his finger-nails, by way of an appetizer, between the\ncourses, and nobody minds it--in Bullhead. He might put both of\nhis elbows on the table, smell of the fish to find out if it be\nfresh, feed himself with his knife, eat as if he were doing it\nfor a wager, wipe the perspiration from his face with his napkin,\nand indulge in other little eccentricities, and nobody would mind\nhim at all, bless you! Where Bullhead is concerned, I agree with\nmy critic of _The Square Table_. I pretend to lay down only\ngeneral laws: Bullhead is a law to himself.\n\nAs to Basher, he is the soul of politeness and good breeding. He\nhas read my book, and admired it. His commendations were rather\nbungling in the manner of delivery, but unfeigned. I understood\nperfectly what he meant to say, that is enough. Tom Wagstaff, to\nwhom I dedicated it, and who, as I told you, bought up an entire\nedition for private circulation, also admired it. \"Chupper, my\nboy,\" said Tom, drawing on his yellow kids, \"it's grand!\" By the\nway, I quoted a few remarks of his, which were delivered by him\none afternoon to a half-dozen of us as a mock lecture. I think I\ncan recollect some of them. Speaking of soup, Tom remarked: \"If\nyou think the soup particularly good, be sure and say so, and ask\nfor a second or a third plate. You will find that the host will\nbe much affected by such little marks of your esteem--for the\nsoup; and the company will understand that you do not often get\nit.\" Of being helped at table, Tom gave this rule: \"Always point\nat whatever you wish, either with finger, knife, fork, or spoon.\nThey are all equally good for the purpose.\" For the proper eating\nof fruit Tom gave us some laughable advice:\n\n  \"If you are eating fruit, never, by any means, convey the\n  stones or pits upon your plate in a quiet way, but spit them\n  out boldly, and with considerable noise. This not only shows\n  the height of good breeding, but of science also, for it is not\n  every one who can perform it so perfectly as not to spit more\n  than the fruit-stones into the plate.\n{128}\n  A much more elegant way, although it requires considerable\n  dexterity--and I would not advise you to try it without a\n  little private practice--is to insert the blade of your knife\n  into your mouth, and with great care get the stones balanced\n  upon it; then convey them just outside of the edge of your\n  plate upon the table-cloth, where you may amuse yourself by\n  building up a very artistic little heap of any form your fancy\n  may suggest or your good judgment devise. Cherry-stones, it is\n  to be remarked, are _always_ to be swallowed, and take\n  care you let the company know it, as it is a highly suggestive\n  piece of information. Cracking the stones of prunes with your\n  teeth is the proper way of disposing of _them_, especially\n  if you are seated opposite a nervous old gentleman. Use your\n  tooth-pick, of course, at table, and open your mouth wide while\n  operating. The best kind of tooth-pick is a large, stiff\n  goose-quill, which makes a snapping noise and calls attention.\n  The place to keep it is in your pantaloons' pocket. Many\n  prefer, and I am among the number, to pick their teeth with\n  their fork. It is quite a refined practice. You will find that\n  your doing so will cause a marked sensation at the table.\"\n\nTom said a good many other things equally clever. The best of\nthem are in my book. Read that. Tom had different individuals in\nhis eye at the time. The goose-quill toothpick was a favorite one\nof Colonel Dolickem, and went by the name of \"Dolickem's\nbayonet.\" Speaking of Dolickem reminds me of Basher and his\nheroic sacrifice, about which I was speaking, was I not?\n\nIt was the birthday of Miss Rosina Criggles. A large party was\ninvited, and among the guests could be seen the tall, gaunt,\nsavage-featured Colonel Dolickem; General Yinweeski's burly form,\nclothed in garments which fitted him so tightly that it is a\nwonder how he moved without splitting them on all sides; Major\nThwackemout, moving his stiff little body about from right to\nleft, and from left to right, with that mechanical precision\nwhich characterizes the wooden soldier so prized by patriotic\nyouth; and the blushing face of Mr. Basher. You may think it odd,\nbut birthday parties are very ingenious inventions to retard the\nadvancing years of young ladies. When rumor speaks of your\ndaughter as thirty or thereabouts, give her a birthday party, and\nshe will start afresh from twenty-three to twenty-five, as you\nmay please to have it hinted. Everybody believing she is thirty\nat least, no one will presume to say a word about it. Pleased\nwith your entertainment, and flattered by your attention, people\nare disposed to be generous; and then, who among your guests will\never acknowledge that he or she has bowed, courtesied, danced,\nand dined at an old maid's birthday feast! I need not mention the\nnames of all who crushed themselves together in the brilliantly\nlighted parlors of the Criggles mansion. Of course, the Doldrums\nand the Polittles were there, and the Boochers and the Coochers,\nthe Tractors and the Factors, the De Pommes and the De Filets,\nthe Van Bumbergs and the Van Humburgs, and all that set.\n\nMost people believed that it was to be a preparatory rout to give\n_\u00e9clat_ to the expected announcement of an engagement\nbetween Colonel Dolickem and the heiress of the house of\nCriggles. The colonel believed it also. He had waited for a\nsuitable opportunity to ask the hand and five-twenties of Miss\nRosina, and now that opportunity had come.\n{129}\nFew would have had the courage to cross the path of a rival of so\nbelligerent a disposition as the colonel. So thought the colonel\nhimself. He was sure of Miss Criggles. Never be too sure of\nanything. Now it happened that in the course of the evening,\nsomewhere about 12.30 A.M., Mr. Basher, after vainly endeavoring\nto get off one of the many sentences he had prepared beforehand,\nand practised with assiduity in front of his own reflection in\nhis mirror, and in face of his grandfather's portrait as lay\nfigures, and finding it no go, quietly abandoned himself to a\nsweeping current which just then formed in the crowd, and was\nborne along toward the half-open doors of the conservatory.\nFeeling, as everybody else did, pretty warm, and his face\nstanding at the red-hot point of color, as indeed it had been\nsince he rang the bell two hours and a half previous, he\nconcluded to saunter a few minutes in the cool conservatory, and\nrefresh his heated brow and his memory at the same time. Glancing\nfirst on one side and then on another at the flowers, his eye\nfell upon a rose-bush on which bloomed one full-blown rose. The\nsight of it reminded him of a toast he had prepared for this\noccasion, and which he devoutly hoped to be able to give amid the\nenthusiastic applause of the company and the grateful\nacknowledgments of the Being, and the parents of that Being, at\nwhose feet he wished to blushingly throw himself, and be\nblushingly accepted in return. For Mr. John Basher loved Miss\nRosina Criggles. The toast was this:\n\n  \"Miss Rosina, the Rose of the Garden of Criggles, and the\n  Flower of the Conservatory of Fashion and Beauty. Happy the\n  Hand that shall pluck it from the Parent Stem!\"\n\nOnce he repeated it in a low voice, a second time somewhat\nlouder, to be sure of giving the right accent at the right words.\nPerfectly satisfied at his second rehearsal, he added in an\naudible voice:\n\n\"If I dared, I would pluck that rose, (meaning the one on the\nbush before him,) in order to give--\" Mr. Basher never did finish\na sentence yet, but he might have accomplished this one had he\nnot turned his head at a rustling sound, and seen approaching the\nRose of the Garden of Criggles herself. Blushing his deepest, Mr.\nBasher stumbled out:\n\n\"Cool here--ah--just admiring this--ah--\"\n\n\"Rose,\" added Miss Rosina, helping him out. \"Beautiful, is it\nnot, Mr. Basher?--and precious too. It is the only one left in\nthe conservatory.\"\n\n\"The conservatory of fashion, and--\" Mr. Basher stopped short. It\nwould never do to spoil the originality of his toast in that way.\n\n\"What is that you are saying, you flatterer?\" asked the charming\nRosina, shaking her fan at him in a pleasingly threatening\nmanner.\n\n\"I--I--I was saying, no, thinking--ah--of--now, positively, do\nyou know--ah--of plucking--\"\n\n\"What! thinking of plucking the only rose in the house! Would you\nbe _so_ cruel? O you naughty, naughty man!\" And Miss\nCriggles gave a look at Mr. Basher that made his knees knock\ntogether, and his toes tingle in his patent-leather pumps.\n\n\"I mean--ah--if I--ah--dared to--\"\n\n\"Oh! you men are so _very_ daring. We poor ladies are so\ntimid and so trusting, Mr. Basher. When people ask _me_ for\nanything, do you know, I do not even dare to refuse them? Pa is\nalways saying: Rosina, you should be more daring, more repelling.\nBut I cannot, Mr. Basher. It's not in my nature.\"\n\n{130}\n\n\"Then I ask you,\" exclaimed Mr. Basher, making a bold venture,\nand getting ready to drop on his knees at the end of his request,\n\"to give me the--the--Rose of the Garden--\" Mr. Basher stopped to\ntake breath and muster courage.\n\n\"The only rose!\" broke in Miss Criggles. \"Think of it!\" she\ncontinued, in a voice of tender complaint, addressed to the\nlilies and geraniums around, and which made Mr. Basher feel very\nuncomfortable, \"he has the heart to ask me for my one precious\nrose. He knows, cruel man, that I have not the heart, that it is\nnot in my timid, trusting nature to refuse him.\" And with that\nshe broke the flower from its stem and handed it to Mr. Basher,\nwho was a second time preparing to throw himself into an attitude\nand finish the sentence Miss Criggles had so hastily interrupted.\nIt is possible that Mr. Basher would never have been called upon\nto make the sacrifice he did, had not the attention of both been\narrested by a loud \"Ahem!\" Turning suddenly at the sound, they\nbeheld the tall, gaunt figure of Colonel Dolickem standing bolt\nupright, sentry-wise, in the doorway of the conservatory. He had\nwitnessed the plucking of the rose, and his soul was all aflame\nwith anger. His astonishment at what he saw was so great that it\nmade him speechless. Had he not come himself to the conservatory,\nas soon as he could disengage himself from that fat, voluble Mrs.\nBoggles, to meet Miss Criggles, whom he had seen entering there,\nand do what this birthday party was given on purpose for him to\ndo? Of course. Had not Miss Criggles herself entered the\nconservatory for the same purpose, speaking to him, Colonel\nDolickem, in passing, that his attention might be called to that\nfact? Of course, again. Was he brought there on purpose to be a\nwitness to this rose-giving, this toying, and coying, and moying\nwith a--with a--individual such as he now saw before him in the\nperson of a--of a--Basher! Of course, once more. But, choking\nwith rage, the colonel could not utter a word of these\nreflections, and, turning upon his heel, reentered the crowded\nparlor. Just then certain sounds came to the ears of Miss\nCriggles, which that lady rightly interpreted to mean supper.\nThis interpretation being conveyed to the bewildered faculties of\nMr. Basher, he hurriedly fixed the rose in his button-hole, with\nthe words, \"For ever,\" presented his arm, and was soon the object\nof commiseration on the part of the Misses Boocher, and the\nMisses Coocher, and all the rest, who whispered to one another:\n\"How _can_ Rosina Criggles go on so!\"\n\nOne thing seemed a little strange to Mr. Basher when he arrived\nin the grand dining-hall. Miss Criggles had released her hold\nupon his arm, but when or where he could not say. He imagined he\nstill felt the pressure of her light, tapering fingers, even when\nhe stood behind his chair at table, where he found himself, he\ncould hardly tell how. His surprise was not a little augmented to\nhear the loud voice of Papa Criggles crying out, \"Colonel!\ncolonel! this way, colonel, if you please!\" and seeing a chair\npointed out to his wrathful rival, directly opposite his, and\nRosina--_his_ Rosina, as he presumed to say to\nhimself--standing beside him. The colonel cast a look at Mr.\nBasher, as he moved to the place appointed him, which was at once\ntriumphant and defiant.\n{131}\nIn fact, the colonel's hopes began to revive, in spite of the\nblushing rose in the button-hole of the deeper blushing Basher.\n\nNow, I am not going to describe the dinner, or call it supper if\nyou will. You have been to such terribly trying affairs as a\nparty dinner, and it is quite enough to be obliged to go through\nwith the ordeal without going over it again in retrospect.\n\nThe head of the Criggles house was in a glorious humor; General\nYinweeski was jocose and told several of his best stories of the\nbattle-field; Colonel Dolickem devoted himself with ardor to\nentertain the charming Rosina, and was freezingly polite and\npatronizing to Mr. Basher; Major Thwackemout, having been put off\nupon simpering Miss Boggles, lost his tongue, and became morose.\nIn one of those alarming lulls which you have no doubt observed\nwill take place in the tempest of talk common to a large\nassembly, and like sudden lulls in the wind often presage a heavy\nblow, the eye of Miss Boggles accidentally fell upon the rose yet\nblushing in the button-hole of Mr. Basher's waistcoat.\n\n\"Oh! what a beautiful rose, Mr. Basher,\" cried that enthusiastic\nyoung lady.\n\n\"Yes, miss,\" responded Basher, \"it is both beautiful and--ah--\" a\nlook at Rosina--\"and--ah--\"\n\n\"Very red, you would say, Mr. Basher, would you not? True, it\nis,\" said the colonel, showing all his teeth, yet not smiling or\nlaughing a whit.\n\n\"No!\" thundered Basher. \"Precious\n\n\"Oh! I beg a thousand pardons. Precious! You would not part with\nit now, Mr. Basher, would you, even for a lady's smile?\" The\ncolonel was evidently determined to spur Miss Boggles up to ask\nfor it.\n\n\"Not for my heart's blood,\" fervently ejaculated Mr. Basher.\nRosina's glance at him brought out that sentence unbroken, and\nfor a moment left the colonel quite disconcerted. Returning,\nhowever, like a veteran to the charge, he rejoined with snapping\neyes, (snapping _is_ just the word, so don't interrupt me:)\n\n\"_Your_ heart's blood! Nor for mine, perhaps?\"\n\n\"Yours, colonel?--ha--'pon my word--ha--Yes, if you'll engage to\nshed it--ha--\"\n\n\"Out with it, man,\" cried the general.\n\n\"Yourself.\"\n\n\"Capital! By the gods of war, that is a new way of fighting!\"\n\nColonel Dolickem was confused and baffled. There's not a doubt of\nit. How could he say that he was not ready to shed the last drop\nof his blood to obtain possession of that rose, coming, as it\ndid, from the hand of Rosina? Vainly beating his brains for an\nevasive reply, he could do nothing meanwhile but carry two or\nthree mouthfuls from his plate to his mouth, after that ugly\nfashion of his, as you know, upon his knife, and snarl. Now, as a\ngeneral rule, it is not the thing, as I have already said, to\nfeed one's self with one's knife. As a particular and special\nrule, never attempt it when you are nervous or disturbed in mind.\nDon't, you'll cut yourself. That is why the colonel, his hand\ntrembling with suppressed rage, cut himself. In vain he attempted\nto hide it; the blood trickled down upon his chin, and was\nquickly seen by that irrepressible Miss Boggles, who cried out in\nalarm:\n\n\"O Colonel Dolickem! you have cut yourself!\"\n\n\"Done, done!\" cried the general. \"Chivalry, my dear colonel, had\nno knight like you! Blood is shed at the first blast of the\ntrumpet, and, according to the most extraordinary terms of this\nfray, by your own hand. Basher, you're conquered. Sacrifice the\nrose!\"\n\n{132}\n\nPoor Basher did as he was bidden, and slowly, with great\nreluctance, drew the flower from its place, and held it across\nthe table for the colonel's acceptance, saying: \"It is the\ngreatest sacrifice--ha I--ha--ever--\"\n\n\"Mr. Basher,\" said Rosina, with an approving smile, \"you are the\nsoul of honor.\"\n\nBut the colonel heeded not the outstretched arm of Mr. Basher,\nand the rose for which he bled, I am sorry to say, dropped from\nMr. Basher's hand into a dish of tomatoes. What could the colonel\ndo? Nothing, I think, but what he did--rise with a lofty and\nmajestic air, look a black thunder-cloud of wrath at Mr. John\nBasher, say to Papa Criggles, with his handkerchief to his mouth,\n\"Under the circumstances,\" and then get out of the house, and\ninto a towering passion as he drove home. Next day he took the\nfirst train for Washington.\n\nIt was in the conservatory again, at about 2.20 A.M., that Mr.\nJohn Basher tried if the timid and trusting Rosina Criggles could\nrefuse _him_. She couldn't, as I have already told you. He\ngot as far as \"Will you have--\" and she added, \"Me for your own,\"\nand there was an end of it.\n\n\"So the sacrifice of Mr. Basher did not consist in popping the\nquestion?\"\n\n\"By no means. Who ever said it did?\"\n\n--------\n\n\n  A Few Thoughts About Protestants.\n\n\nFaith, though a gift of God, depends for its actuality upon the\nacceptance of it by men, and its continuance upon their careful\nand constant adherence to it. We are at liberty to receive the\nChristian faith or to reject it in the first instance when it is\nproposed to us; and we are equally at liberty to misuse it, to\nchange it, to garble it, and to make it so far of no effect as to\nretain nothing of true Christian religion but the name.\n\nHeresy is possible, all must allow, since it is possible to deny\na part of the whole truth; and, knowing to what extremes men will\npermit their pride and passions to carry them, the fact of\nheresies frequently occurring does not surprise us. The most\nlamentable fact about heresy is, that it does not ordinarily die\nwith the first preachers of it; but succeeding generations rise\nup to an inheritance of falsehood, deprived of the entire truth,\nfancying themselves joined, to the body of Christ's church,\nnourishing a dead branch long separated from the tree of life,\nand prevented, as they too often are, by the pride of intellect\nand the natural stubbornness of the will, from recognizing their\nerrors and amending the sins of their forefathers by a hearty\nreturn to the truth that has been abandoned.\n\nSuch is the condition--unhappy condition, as it appears to us--of\nAmerican Protestant Christians. Deprived of one or another part\nof the truth by the heresy of the several founders of their\nvarious religions, they are called no longer the faithful people,\nno longer the well-beloved children of holy church, and they\nshare not in those unspeakable mercies of predilection which make\nreligion for a Catholic an unfailing treasure of comfort, and his\nchurch a paradise of joy.\n\n{133}\n\nTo abandon the source of truth, or to live separated from it, is\nto cut one's self off from any reasonable hold upon the truth,\nand render the allegiance which one gives to a part of truth a\nmatter rather of sentiment than of deep principle. A branch cut\nfrom the living tree may be indeed a branch, but its life is\ngone, though it seems to live by the suppleness of its twigs, the\ngreenness of its leaves, and the fruit which yet hangs upon it.\nDeath is in it, and it will wither. It will bear no more fruit of\nitself, for the source of the fruit cannot reach it in its\nseparated state.\n\nSo the truths of religious faith, separated from the source of\nfaith, lose their vitality; and to a reflecting man who asks\nhimself why he believes them, they will soon appear no longer\ntrue, because he has no longer any faith in the original\nauthority which is the witness of God for them before the world.\nFor it should be self-evident to every one of the least\nintelligence, that religious truth concerning man's future\ndestiny in an eternity which no man living has ever seen cannot\npossibly depend upon one's experience or study in this world, and\nthat the mysterious doctrines of Christianity can only appear\ntrue to a man on sufficient authority, and that, too, a living,\npresent authority, which is a witness to him as well as to his\nforefathers. Hence the necessity of an ever-present, living\nsource of faith, and the equal necessity of an actual union with\nit, in order to have faith in the doctrines of Christianity at\nall.\n\nBut the present position of our American Protestant brethren\nseems to be at variance with this; for we see them having a good,\nsincere faith in many of the revealed doctrines of Christianity,\nand yet are cut off from the living source of faith, which we\nknow to be the infallible and divine voice of the church. And not\nonly cut off, but they reject that source altogether, deny its\nauthority, and look upon it rather as the source of falsehood\nthan of truth. But, when we examine the matter closely, we shall\nsee that they do not deny that they have a real source of their\nfaith, or that such source is the church of Christ--which they\nsuppose their own to be--only that they are ignorant of the fact\nthat the Catholic Church is the church of Christ, and that she is\nthe true source of their faith, and, if that church was destroyed\nand its authority nullified, they could have no faith at all.\n\nWhen they have lost all faith and obedience to a church which\nthey regard as the church of Christ, and have not returned to\nCatholicity, they have lost at the same time all faith in the\npeculiar doctrines of Christianity.\n\nIt would be hardly worth while to consider the answer made by\nsome that they believe in Christ on no church authority, but on\nthe authority of the Bible alone, because it is plain that one\nmust first know the Bible itself to be true on some authority and\nsurely the authority of the type-setter, the printer, and the\npaper-maker would not be sufficient, and the only authority they\nhave or can have of its truth is that of the Christian church,\nwhich sets its seal upon it, and declares it to be the Word of\nGod.\n\n{134}\n\nThere is no doubt that they are cut off from all real church\nauthority, that their religion is a separated branch from the\nliving tree: and the state of things is such as we would expect\nto happen; the branch will wither, they will lose faith in Christ\nand his doctrines, and they are deprived of all those inestimable\nblessings and privileges which can only be had in union with the\ntrue and living church.\n\nWe who know the history of their religious schism, and the course\nit has taken, know that it is more their misfortune than their\nfault. We know that they remain satisfied with their state of\npoverty, because they are ignorant of the riches of faith; but we\nbless God the day is approaching, and is even now at hand, when\nthat ignorance is fast disappearing, the prejudices and false\nnotions they have had of the Catholic Church are being rapidly\ndispelled. The pope and the priest are no longer bug-bears to\nfrighten children with; the names of monk and nun are no longer\nsynonymous with villainy and crime. Catholics are not generally\nregarded as ignorant idolaters, and even a Jesuit may pass in\nsociety as an honest man, a sincere Christian, and a gentleman.\n\nThree things, then, may give us great hopes that this great and\ngood American people, our brethren, our friends, and our\nfellow-citizens, are not far from the kingdom of heaven, the\nchurch of God--the spread of knowledge concerning her character\nand doctrines, the rapid increase of the church herself in every\npart of the country, and the fact that the separated branch is\nfast withering, and the people look to it no longer for the fruit\nwhich will nourish their souls unto eternal life.\n\nThere is no doubt but that until within a very few years the\nCatholic religion was a hidden faith to the mass of the American\npeople. In the cities, the churches were few and small, and a\nProtestant could hardly get within sight or hearing of a Catholic\npreacher. In the country towns the scattered flock would get\ntogether once in a month to hear Mass in a miserable apology for\na church in some dirty back-lane, or in a shanty in the woods.\nThat is all changed. Our city churches and cathedrals are getting\nto be the largest and grandest buildings in the land, and in many\nplaces the same congregations which once huddled together in the\nshanty are now assembled in churches which rival all others in\nthe same places for size and beauty. And all this has happened in\nso short a space of time that it looks like magic. Those who will\nnot see the true reason imagine that the wealth of old Catholic\ncountries has been lavishly poured out to bring it about. They\ncannot comprehend that this is the work, for the most part, of\nthe faith of the Catholic mechanic and the Catholic servant-girl.\n\nThe time was--and we have seen it--when the priest took the\ndinner-table for an altar, upon which were placed the crucifix\nthat ordinarily hung at the bedside in the corner of the same\nroom, and two kitchen candlesticks for the ornaments. Those same\ncongregations have now their own churches, furnished with\neverything needful for divine service. From what we know of the\nrapid multiplication of church buildings, we can conclude that,\nas far as regards the external appearance of her worship, and the\ncrowds of worshippers who are seen thronging to her sanctuaries,\nthe church is now fairly before the American people. They can no\nlonger plead ignorance of her existence, or fancy her to be a\npetty sect diminishing in numbers and decaying in force. The\nexistence and power of the church in other lands is also forcing\nitself upon their notice.\n{135}\nThey cannot read a newspaper or a book without meeting many\nproofs that the Catholic Church is, as she always has been, the\nmightiest, most reverend Christian church in the world, which\nclaims the homage and admiration of mankind, and holds the\ndestiny of Christianity itself in her hands. Those who from\ninterest are her enemies see this, and on every hand we hear from\ntheir pulpits and read in their religious newspapers the loudest\nlaments over the \"fearful growth of popery,\" as they are pleased\nto style it.\n\nBut the interior workings of the church, her doctrines, her moral\nteaching, are also being presented to them more clearly. In the\ncommon walks of life, in the parlor, in the street, in the halls\nof business, our Protestant brethren meet many who are able to\ngive a reason for the faith that is in them, and whose lives they\nknow. Sincere seekers for truth and souls in earnest about their\nsalvation, hearing of the claims of Catholicity and seeing many\nwhose religious character they have every reason to admire, will\nask questions, and Americans (we say it not to their reproach)\nwill ask questions, if it be only for curiosity's sake. Catholic\nbooks, magazines, newspapers, pamphlets, speeches, sermons, and\nother modes of diffusing a knowledge of Catholic faith and\npractice find many readers and hearers among Protestants who\ncannot fail to be impressed by them, who will be divested of\ntheir old prejudices, and learn our religion not as it has been\ntaught to them by her enemies, but as she is. It would be of no\nuse to tell an intelligent American Protestant now that Catholics\nare poor, ignorant idolaters who worship images, and who never\nheard of the Bible, because they know better; and if you told\nhim, as you might have done twenty years ago and be believed,\nthat the pope and the priests had secret designs against the\nliberties of this country, he would laugh in your face. Books\nwith pictures representing the pope with his tiara on, holding up\nhis hands in horror and turning away his face from an open Bible\nwhich a Protestant minister presents to his gaze, while the\nlightnings from heaven are depicted in the background descending\nin wrath upon St. Peter's, may possibly be found upon the table\nof some ignorant backwoodsman, but an intelligent Protestant\nwould blush to know that such a book was under his roof.\n\nPeople are great travellers nowadays, too, and they see enough in\nCatholic countries to make them at least think well of their\nreligion.\n\nThey go to Rome, perhaps have an interview with the venerable\nhead of the church, and invariably return penetrated with\nsentiments of profound respect, and often of the most attached\naffection for him.\n\nThey go to heathen countries, they see there the work of Catholic\napostles. They find the only Christians there are Catholics,\nliving such perfect lives as might put Christians of more\nenlightened nations to shame. In every corner of the world they\nfind the Catholic Church doing her appointed work for the\nregeneration, civilization, and salvation of men, and numbers of\nthem are not slow to draw the conclusion, \"Truly this is the\nliving church of the living God the pillar and ground of truth.\"\n\nLet us look at the second reason we suggested, namely, the rapid\nincrease of the church, and the character of it.\n\nIn the year 1800 we had only 1 bishop, 100 priests, and about\n50,000 Catholics. Now we have 43 bishops, 2235 priests, and at\nleast 5,000,000 Catholics. That this number is made up\nprincipally by immigration is true; but we do not forget that\nthey bring the true faith in Jesus Christ with them, that the\ntruth is spreading by their example and influence, and the\nAmerican people cannot fail to feel the effects of it.\n{136}\nIf all these immigrants were infidels, Mohammedans, or Mormons,\nthey would naturally affect the religious character of the people\namongst whom they are living. How much more may we look for\nmighty results from the true religion and the grace of God!\n\nCatholicity is leavening the whole mass. Go where you will, you\nwill find a Catholic in almost every family of note in the\ncountry. \"Oh! I respect the Catholic religion very much,\" some\none will say to you. \"I have a father or mother, a sister or\nbrother, an aunt or a cousin, who is a very good and very strict\nCatholic.\" From the very families of American Protestant bishops\nand ministers the church draws to herself one or another of the\nmembers, from whom new American Catholic families spring up, to\ngive the church standing and influence in society, and compel a\nrespectful hearing and a respectful treatment.\n\nThese considerations, encouraging as they are, might still lead\nus to suppose that it will be yet a long while before America\nshall be called, as she undoubtedly will be, one of the brightest\njewels in the crown of the holy church, were it not for the third\nthought we have presented, which is, that their faith and trust\nin the sapless, separated branch of a church is failing. They\nhave planted it anew, have watered it, have nursed it with every\ncare, at boundless expense, with sincere heart's devotion, but\nall to no purpose. It will not grow, but withers in their hands.\nNow and then some have thought that the branch was too much like\nthe old tree, and they cut off a twig, a blossom, or plucked a\nfruit from it, and planted that, and, with many earnest prayers\nand unceasing labors, they hoped their little plant would spring\ninto life, but its untimely decay has disappointed them and\ndisgusted them. Anon they endeavored to graft their withering\nbranch on an older and apparently more healthy stock, such as the\nformer and late attempts of the Episcopalians to form a union\nwith the schismatical Greek Church; but the graft will not take,\nthough they are willing to tie it on with every appliance and\nprune it after every fashion. Again, a few who style themselves\nAnglo-Catholics and high churchmen try to reason themselves into\na belief that their particular little twig of the branch must be\nthe true tree, because it is so much like in size and shape to\nthe young sapling which the apostles first planted in the earth.\n\nSlowly, however, they are beginning to ask themselves the\nquestion which they should have asked in the beginning, \"How\nshall it grow without a root?\" Those who take the trouble to\nexamine the matter at bottom find out that the branch they\ncherish has no root, and now they lose all respect for it. These\ndivide into two parties. Those who are sincere-minded souls,\nlooking for true Christianity, and resting their eternal hopes\nupon it, seek for the living Christian tree, and find sweet\nrepose beneath its grateful shade, and true nourishment of their\nsouls from its never-failing fruit. Others, who are less sincere,\ncast aside the dead branch and all their faith in Christ with it,\nbecome discouraged and disgusted, and fall away into\nindifferentism and infidelity.\n\nThis loss of the old traditional reverence for Christianity,\nwhich a few years back was so strong that men felt it was\nsomething to be ashamed of, and to need apology, when forced to\nsay, \"I am no Christian,\" is now so marked that it is deplored on\nall sides.\n{137}\nReferences are not unfrequently made in the columns of our daily\njournals indicative of the popular temper, which hold up\ncelebrated preachers, and with them often the whole clerical\nprofession, to ridicule and contempt. Still the mass of the\npeople of our country are both sincere and religious-minded, and\nthe character of the conversions that are daily taking place is\nsuch as to make us not only hopeful, but sure of the final\nresult. Surely, it is not to be said that the Catholic Church\nshall prove herself less powerful in a country of nominal\nChristians than she has shown herself to be in any or all the\npagan nations whom she has not only converted, but also civilized\nand enlightened. Very few Protestants nowadays are compelled to\nunlearn their supposed Christianity to become Catholics. The\nfalse element which Calvinism introduced at the Reformation is\nbeing gradually eliminated from their systems, and all that they\nreally adhere to is a part of Catholic truth. Many converts\nexpress themselves surprised to find that to enter the church\nthey are called upon to renounce nothing whatever of what they\nalready hold. They find, to their delight, that the faith as\ntaught by the church is the completion, the realization, and also\nthe explanation of their religious opinions.\n\nThe conversion of our beloved land is a work that should engage\nour most ardent aspirations, and kindle all the zeal of which we\nare capable. Both our hearts and our heads should be in it. We\nfeel like preaching a little on this subject. That we may help it\nand hasten it by many things there is no doubt; by constant and\nearnest prayer, by good example, by instruction, by the\ndistribution of good books and tracts, and such means; but it\nseems to us that when any one is deeply impressed with a\nconviction that a desired end will be accomplished, that it ought\nto be, and, as far as in one lies, it shall be, then the end is\nnot far off. Aside from other things, there is in this matter a\nwide field for the exercise of our theological virtues.\n\nOur faith: an unwavering faith in the power of truth, which must\nprevail. It is God's work; it is what the church is called upon\nto do; the people are fast progressing toward it; the good expect\nit, the wicked fear it; God's grace is never wanting to aid all\nmen in their search after, and their acceptance of, the truth,\nand what, then, can hinder it? The question put to us a few years\nsince, with a smile of mixed incredulity and pity, \"Do _you_\nbelieve that this country will ever become Catholic?\" is now,\n\"How soon do you think it will come to pass?\" \"Soon, very soon,\"\nwe reply, if your own statistics be true; for we see by one of\nyour late writers that the rate of growth of the Catholic\nreligion has been _seventy-five_ per cent greater than the\nratio of increase of population, while the rate of the decrease\nof Protestantism is _eleven_ per cent less.\n\nOur hope: We must have large hope in this, as in all things else,\nto bring about speedily what we desire: such an enthusiastic hope\nas makes us see the end already. It will, moreover, encourage\nthem to do what we wish. Tell a sinner that you give him up and\nhave no hopes of him, and you give him a fatal encouragement to\ngo on in his wickedness. Your want of hope takes hope out of him;\nbut, on the contrary, tell him cheerfully that you look for his\nconversion and amendment as a matter of course, and he will\nconclude at once that he ought to convert himself, and will begin\nto wish himself converted.\n{138}\nThen show him a picture of the happiness and peace of a good\nlife, the joy of the forgiven sinner; his mind is made up, and\nthe grace of God will do the rest. So it will be with our\nProtestant brethren. Let them feel that we are sure of their\nconversion to Catholicity, that we look for it as a certain\nevent, and they will begin to think it very possible, and ask\nwhat it is to be a Catholic. Present them a picture of that\nunspeakable peace which one obtains in a sure and certain faith;\ntell them of the blessings in store for them, show them the\ntreasures of God's house, and give them to understand that they\nare meant expressly for them, and that we are certain they will\nenjoy them; then it will be strange, indeed, if, with the truth\nbefore them, and the grace of God aiding and encouraging them,\nthey should turn away and reject their own happiness. For the\ngreater part of sincere Protestants there is absolutely nothing\nto keep them out of the church but the old worn-out prejudices\nthey have against her. We know that it is thought that they have\nan insuperable fear and distrust of some of our practices--the\nconfessional, for instance; but our experience convinces us that\nthey find no difficulty in overcoming their fears as soon as they\nfirmly believe in its necessity, and perceive its consoling and\nsanctifying influence upon the individual soul and upon society\nat large. Besides, this opinion is, in fact, groundless. As a\ngood old French Jesuit father said to us one day: \"I have noticed\nthat when Americans have made up their mind to do anything, they\nnever ask if it be difficult.\"\n\nOur charity: Souls are won by love. We do not, and cannot, love\nthe Protestant religion. It has little that is lovable in it; and\nbesides, our own holy faith, all beautiful and good as it is,\nabsorbs all the love our hearts can possibly hold. But could our\nProtestant brethren know how we Catholics love them--how we yearn\nover them as a mother yearns over her wayward child--how we long\nto welcome them home again; could they see how the \"charity of\nJesus Christ presseth us\" to labor and pray for them; could they\noverhear us conversing with one another about them and learn our\nwishes and plans, our hopes and our wonderings at their continued\nabsence, then we would win their souls. They could not stand all\nthat. The power of divine charity would draw them sweetly on.\nThen they would ask themselves, What motive can these Catholics\nhave to wish us so fervently to become as they are? Would that\nthey might all be brought to ask that question!\n\nWhen we, who stand upon the firm rock, see them stumbling over\nthe bogs and marshes of a groundless and unstable faith, there is\na strong temptation to laugh at their bewilderment, and mock at\nthem as they go leaping about from one little hillock of opinion\nto another, and at last fall, sprawling, into the mire of\nreligious doubt. Better pity them. Human nature, you know, has\n_such_ a tendency to follow will-o'-the-wisps, even if it be\nonly for the purpose of scientific investigation!\n\nWhatever truth they have, after all, is Catholic truth. Their\npiety, their love of religion, their hatred of sin, their fear of\nhell and hopes of heaven, are all the results of the teachings of\nJesus Christ, in whom they believe as far as they know, and\nthrough whom, in some vague sense, they hope for salvation.\n{139}\nThey have been led away from the true fold, and are wandering\nsheep, who are getting further and further each day out of\nhearing of the voice of the true Shepherd. But the time is not\nfar distant when they will return. God's hand is stretched out\nover this people. His Holy Spirit is moving their hearts, and the\nsigns of the day of peace and unity of faith are already\nappearing.\n\nPreachers usually begin with a text; we take the liberty of\nending with one, very _\u00e0 propos_, we think, to the subject\nof our thoughts: \"I will call them my people, that were not my\npeople: and her beloved, that was not beloved: and her, that had\nnot obtained mercy, one that hath obtained mercy. And it shall\nbe, in the place where it was said to them: you are not my\npeople: there they shall be called the children of the living\nGod.\"\n\n--------\n\n      New Publications.\n\n\n  The Clergy And The Pulpit In Their Relations To The People.\n  By M. l'Abb\u00e9 Mullois, chaplain to the Emperor\n  Napoleon III. and Missionary Apostolic.\n  Translated by George Percy Badger.\n  First American edition.\n  12mo, pp. 308. New York: The Catholic\n  Publication Society, 126 Nassau Street. 1867.\n\nThis work of the learned and pious Abb\u00e9 Mullois has attained an\nimmense popularity in France, where it was issued a few years ago\nunder the title of _Cours d'Eloquence Sacr\u00e9e Populaire; ou,\nEssai sur la Mani\u00e8re de parler au Peuple._ It is the first of\na series of essays which appeared subsequently, designed as hints\nto the clergy in their pastoral ministrations, especially in the\npulpit.\n\nIt is one of the most noticeable books that have been issued by\nthe Catholic press, and cannot fail of receiving as cordial a\nwelcome with us as it has already received in France. Its\nremarkable characteristic is the apostolic simplicity of its\nstyle, and its bold, manly tone. The author's principal object is\nto direct the attention of the clergy to the necessity of\ncultivating a popular style of eloquence in their discourses and\ninstructions to the masses. But, in order that the sermon be\npopular, and reach the hearts of the people, the preacher must\nhimself be popular. He must be a man loved by the people,\nengaging both their admiration and reverence by his manner and\nhis language when addressing them, and above all, by loving them.\nHence, the author wisely treats of the preacher before he treats\nof the sermon. The first chapter is devoted to the elucidation of\nhis great maxim: \"To address men well, they must be loved much.\"\nHave many rules of eloquence if you will, but do not forget the\nfirst and most essential one: Love the people whom you would\ninstruct, convert, reprove, sanctify, and lead to God. \"The end\nof preaching is to reclaim the hearts of men to God, and nothing\nbut love can find out the mysterious avenues which lead to the\nheart. We are always eloquent when we wish to save one whom we\nlove; we are always listened to when we are loved. ... If, then,\nyou do not feel a fervent love and profound pity for\nhumanity--if, in beholding its miseries and errors, you do not\nexperience the throbbings, the holy thrillings of charity, be\nassured that the gift of Christian eloquence has been denied\nyou,\" which is the good abb\u00e9's polite way (so truly French) of\nsaying, \"Don't preach.\"\n\n{140}\n\nHe is not above indulging in a little bit of humor now and then\nwhen he wishes to say something a little severe, so as to take\noff the edge: \"Just look at the young priest on his entrance upon\nthe sacred ministry. He is armed cap-a-pie with arguments; he\nspeaks only by syllogisms. His discourse bristles with _now,\ntherefore, consequently_. He is dogmatic, peremptory. One\nmight fancy him a nephew of one of those old bearded doctors of\nthe middle ages, such as Petit Jean or Courte-Cuisse. He is\ndisposed to transfix by his words every opponent, and give\nquarter to none. He thrusts, cuts, overturns relentlessly. My\nfriend, lay aside a part of your heavy artillery. Take your young\nman's, your young priest's heart, and place it in the van before\nyour audience, and after that you may resort to your batteries,\nif they are needed. Make yourself beloved--be a father. Preach\naffectionately, and your speech, instead of gliding over hearts\nhardened by pride, will pierce _even to the dividing of the\njoints and marrow_; and then that may come to be remarked of\nyou which was said of another priest by a man of genius who had\nrecently been reclaimed to a Christian life: 'I almost regret my\nrestoration, so much would it have gratified me to have been\nconverted by so affectionate a preacher.' ... Apostolical\neloquence is no longer well understood. It is now made to consist\nof I hardly know what; the utterance of truths without any order,\nin a happy-go-lucky fashion, extravagant self-excitement,\nbawling, and thumping on the pulpit. There is a tendency in this\nrespect to follow the injunctions of an old divine of the\nsixteenth century to a young bachelor of arts. '_Percute\ncathedram fortiter; respice Crucifixum torvis oculis; nil dic ad\npropositum, et bene praedicabis._'\"\n\nIt is certainly a great mistake, although a common one, that what\nis called popular preaching is relished only by the poor and\nilliterate, and, indeed, is only fit for them. The author's\nsentiments on this subject are so just and well timed that we\nventure to give them in the following extracts from the preface\nof his second volume.\n\n  \"True popular preaching is not that which is addressed\n  exclusively to the lower orders; but that which is addressed to\n  all, and is understood by all. Such is the import of the word\n  _popular_. When a man is said to be popular, it implies\n  that he meets with sympathy on all sides; from among the upper,\n  the lower, and the middle classes of society. When we say,\n  charity is popular, we mean that it finds an echo in the\n  breasts of all. The Gospel is essentially popular; hence\n  Christian eloquence also should be popular at all times and in\n  all places; as well in large cities as in small towns and\n  country districts: unless an exceptional audience is addressed,\n  and there is only one such in France, namely, that of\n  Notre-Dame at Paris.\n\n  \"This is what a sermon ought to be: A learned academician\n  listening to it on one side, and a poor illiterate woman on the\n  other, both should derive therefrom something to enlighten\n  their minds and improve their hearts.\n\n  \"We, the clergy, are debtors to all. How can we denounce\n  injustice from the pulpit if we exhibit an example of it in our\n  own persons? This is a matter involving a sacred trust, which\n  has not met with adequate consideration; for how can we preach\n  charity when we deprive the poor of that which is their\n  due--the bread of knowledge? We should deem it an atrocity to\n  retain the alms given to us for the needy; and does not our\n  faith tell us that it would be a still greater crime to\n  withhold from them the saving truths of the Gospel? ... It is\n  one of the great glories, one of the great powers of the\n  ordinance of preaching, that the word preached should embrace\n  all without any exception; and we are sadly to blame for having\n  renounced that vantage-ground. Hence it is that our sermons\n  nowadays are dry, meagre, artificial, inefficacious, and no\n  longer exhibit that fulness and life, that broad effusion of\n  thought, those throbbings of the heart and thrilling accents of\n  the soul, which bespeak a double origin; indicating that what\n  we utter is at once the voice of God and the voice of the\n  people.\n\n  \"I am going to speak without any reserve. Painful as the\n  subject may be, it is desirable that the clergy should be made\n  thoroughly aware of it. Go where you will in France, you meet\n  with numbers of excellent and eminently intelligent men who\n  say: 'I really cannot account for it; but I can no longer bear\n  listening to sermons, for they weary me dreadfully. The\n  phraseology generally used is humdrum and threadbare, and the\n  matter consists of an incoherent mixture of rhetoric and\n  philosophy, art and mysticism, of which nobody understands any\n  thing.\n{141}\n  Then, again, their monotonous uniformity throughout is enough\n  to send even those into a doze who have lost the habit of\n  sleeping. I sincerely believe that I should do better by\n  abstaining; but for the sake of example, I resign myself to\n  enduring them.' And be it remembered, that these are the\n  remarks, not of the ill-disposed, but of devoutly religious\n  men; proving the necessity of some large reform, since it would\n  be idle to suppose that such concurrent testimony from all\n  parts of France is unfounded. The same men, be it remarked,\n  after listening to a genial, diversified, popular, and sterling\n  discourse, will readily exclaim: 'That's the thing that I want!\n  That's what does me good! That's what I like!'\n\n  \"We must revert, therefore, to the genuine style of evangelical\n  preaching, which is that of a father addressing his numerous\n  family, and who wishes to be understood by all his children\n  from the eldest to the youngest.\n\n  \"But we must not be deluded into thinking that such popular\n  preaching is easy: on the contrary, it is very difficult of\n  attainment; for it involves no less a task than that of\n  speaking a language which shall be level to the comprehension\n  of the masses, and at the same time adapted to educated minds.\n  Would you master that task? Study much, study every thing:\n  theology, literature, the Holy Scriptures, more especially the\n  Gospel; acquire a deep insight into the human heart; and,\n  withal, cultivate your own mind till it can digest all\n  knowledge. Then write and speak like one who has really drawn\n  what he utters out of the good treasures of the heart, and in\n  such a way that all who hear you may be ready to say: 'Really,\n  what he states is very simple; it is sound sense; it is right.\n  It is just what I would have said myself under similar\n  circumstances.' Let us recall what has already been remarked\n  elsewhere--that a little study withdraws us from the natural,\n  whereas much study leads us to it. Reveal your heart, your\n  soul; for, after all, the soul of man, that masterpiece of\n  God's hand, will always carry more weight than all the\n  embellishments of philosophy or rhetoric.\"\n\nLet this zealous author speak of what he will, he invariably\ncomes back to his first principle: \"Love the people, if you would\nhave any influence with them for good.\" Each chapter reveals the\nfact that this thought is the one which is uppermost in the\nwriter's mind, and, therefore, the one he desires to impress the\nmore deeply upon the minds of his readers. He knows how to tell\nplain, homely truths without offence, and criticise severely the\nfaults of his brethren without acerbity or presumption.\n\nIt is a book that will do good, a great deal of good, and we\ncommend it most heartily to all our readers, who will assuredly\nderive much pleasure and no little profit from its perusal.\n\nThe translation has been made by a finished scholar, and leaves\nnothing to be desired for purity of style or fidelity to the\noriginal. The volume is published in a finished and elegant\nstyle.\n\n----\n\n  Essays On Religion And Literature.\n  By Various Writers.\n  Edited by Archbishop Manning.\n  Second Series. London: Longmans, Green & Co.\n  New York: For sale by The Catholic Publication Society.\n\nThe titles of these essays and the names of their authors will\ngive our readers a good idea of the character and value of this\nvolume:\n\n  _Inaugural Address, Session_ 1866-7,\n  the Most Rev. Archbishop Manning, D.D.;\n\n  _On Intellectual Power and Man's Perfection--Dangers of\n  Uncontrolled Intellect_, W. G. Ward, Ph.D.;\n\n  _On the Mission and Prospects of the Catholic Church in\n  England_, F. Oakley, M.A.;\n\n  _Christianity in Relation to Civil Society_, Edward Lucas;\n\n  _On the Philosophy of Christianity_,\n  Albany J. Christie, M.A., S J.;\n\n  _On some Events Preparatory to the English Reformation_,\n  H. W. Wilberforce, M.A.;\n\n  _On the Inspiration of Scripture_,\n  Most Rev. Archbishop Manning, D.D.;\n\n  _Church and State_, Edmund Sheridan Purcell;\n\n  _Certain Sacrificial Words used by Saint Paul_,\n  Monsignor Patterson, M.A.\n\nIt is impossible for us to enter here into an extended review of\nall these very remarkable essays. They were read at different\nmeetings of the English Catholic Academia, founded six years ago\nby the present Archbishop of Westminster, and which has for its\nobject, as the same illustrious prelate and scholar informs us in\nhis present inaugural address, \"the maintenance and defence of\nthe Catholic religion, both positively and in its relation to all\nother truth, and polemically as against all forms of erroneous\ndoctrines, principles, and thought.\"\n{142}\nThis first address is a short but comprehensive sketch of the\nstate of religion in England, in which the present condition and\nprospects of the faith are contrasted chiefly with what they were\nthirty years ago.\n\nThe second and third papers are designed to uphold the following\nthesis: The perfection of man consists exclusively in the\nperfection of his moral and spiritual nature, intellectual\nexcellence forming no part of it whatever. We cannot help but\nthink the author has taken a great deal of trouble to prove a\ntruism; for his definition of _perfection_ is closely\nrestricted to moral and spiritual perfection. We do not imagine\nthat the antagonists he summons up from the ranks of \"muscular\nChristianity,\" and from the present atheistical school in\nEngland, would contend that pure intellect, in the sense used by\nthe author, would afford more than a subordinate service to man's\nspiritual welfare, such as he himself proves in a second\nproposition. The greater part, if not the whole, of these\nantagonists to Catholic asceticism know nothing of what they are\ndiscussing. They suppose, and falsely so, that the Catholic\nChurch teaches that the soul advances in spiritual perfection\nprecisely at the expense of intellectual excellence; that the\nsaint becomes the more holy as he becomes the more stupid; that\nthe cultivation of the reasoning power is not only useless but a\npositive hindrance to spiritual perfection. It is not surprising\nthat our opponents make the most of intellectual acquirements, of\nphysical health and strength, and exalt the animal above the\nspiritual, because they deny _in toto_ the moral state of\nman as Catholic theology, both moral and ascetic, supposes it to\nbe. They contend that there is nothing wanting in man's moral\nnature, any more than in his purely intellectual nature. Both are\nweak, it is true, and should be strengthened and perfected, but\nthe results of moral weakness, which we call sin and\nimperfection, are to be regarded in the same light as one would\nthe results of ignorance in science. Sin is simply a mistake,\nculpable to the same degree as a false deduction in physics or\nmathematics would be for want of better information and\nscientific knowledge. Hence, it is easy to see how these\nphilosophers neither value nor in fact comprehend the exercises\nof the spiritual life, and look upon all self-abnegation and\nmortification of the senses as degrading. \"Purification of the\nsoul\" would be nonsense, because the soul does not need\npurification. It needs only advancement, enlightenment, and\nnurture, both in its spiritual and intellectual part. That a man\nshould apply himself to the perfection of his spiritual nature\nwithout equal care to advance in worldly science, and keep his\nmuscles well developed, his stomach full, and his body\nfashionably and comfortably clothed, is something which the\nworldly wise cannot understand. How should they when they rate\nthe spiritual no higher than, if not below, the intellectual?\nHuman greatness with them consists in physical and intellectual\npower; and they think the world is far more benefited by a\nregiment of soldiers and a board of trade than by a community of\nmonks and an association of prayer.\n\nBut too much care cannot be taken when we attempt to argue for\nthe thesis proposed in this essay. There is danger of giving our\nadversaries an impression that we are contending for the very\nthings of which they accuse us. The intellect is not something\nevil which is to be crushed, else we should not look for a saint\nin a Chrysostom, an Augustine, a Thomas of Aquinas, a\nBonaventura, or among those thousands of men and women of great\ngenius and surpassing intellectual power, whose works are the\nglory of the world as they are of religion.\n\nBut one of the exercises of asceticism, say our opponents, is to\nmortify the intellect. Yes, just as I mortify my sight by\nrestraining it from resting upon vain or immoral objects, my\nappetite from too full an indulgence, my love for music from\ndangerous display or vain gratification, or, what is at least as\ngood a reason, because I really have not the time to give my\nintellect, my appetite, my love of the beautiful in art, poetry,\nand music all that they demand.\n{143}\nI have a far higher object in life, and that is, to make my soul\npure and agreeable to God. These other and inferior objects are\nworthy in themselves of attention, but as for me I am too busy to\nspend either much thought or time upon them.\n\nThose good people whose God is their belly, or whose highest\naspiration in life is to see their name on the title-page of a\nbook, doubt either the sanity or the sincerity of one who says\nthat he loves to think about God a great deal better than he does\nabout what he is going to have for dinner, and chooses rather to\nmake a meditation than to read the morning newspaper. Such an one\nis perhaps just as hungry as another for both animal and mental\nfood, but he puts away that anxious thought about dinner, he\ndeclines the invitation to hear Parepa, and smashes his violin,\nor consigns his mathematics to oblivion, because it happens that\nsome or all of these things are found to have a tendency to take\naway his thoughts from God; and as to voluntary suffering, my\nphilosopher, I am sure that it cost one of these \"degraded\nascetics\" more pain to smash his violin than all the disciplines\nhe ever took in his life. What need was there to smash it?\nBecause it stood in his way, and because sacrifice is the\nsweetest and most nourishing food the soul can feed upon. And the\nsame for his vanity, too, you say. Possibly. But do you\nacknowledge that there is such a thing as vainglory, which may\narise in the heart and degrade it, thus placing a hindrance to\nits perfection? I know you do, for you are constantly accusing\nthe Catholic saints of it. Well, then you must allow that\nmortification of such a tendency is necessary for man's\nperfection; and having once granted the necessity of\nmortification for one thing, you have given up the question. Let\nus hear no more of \"degrading asceticism,\" or of the \"unmanliness\nand superstition of bodily austerities.\"\n\nThe fault of this essay consists in the fact that the writer says\nhe uses the word \"intellect\" in its popular sense, while his\nargument supposes it to be taken in its abstract, philosophical\nsense. In relation to the question at issue, the popular sense is\nnot the philosophical one. The question of human perfection, as\nput by the enemies of the church and the railers at her ascetic\nprinciples and practices, is: Does not the Catholic Church teach\nthat man perfects himself alone in the spiritual order, and that\nall human science is but vanity and vexation of spirit, and,\ntherefore, better left aside? And is not this as a consequence a\n\"degrading\" standard to set before humanity, and one which tends\nto superstition, ignorance, mean-spiritedness, as well as\ncriminal neglect of health and personal cleanliness? Is not\nintellectual ability a talent, and was not the servant of the\ngospel condemned for returning his to his lord unimproved? This\nquestion the writer of the present essay does not meet, as we had\nhoped he would. For ourselves, we judge, as the writer\nacknowledges in his second essay, if we read him aright, that\nthere is such a thing as intellectual perfection, artistical,\nmechanical, and even muscular perfection, each in their own\norder, but inferior in character, aim, and end to the perfection\nof the spiritual nature, which latter perfection it is not only\nlawful but obligatory to cultivate, even at the expense of either\nof the former.\n\nTo advance in spiritual perfection is the first and highest duty\nof man. \"Seek first the kingdom of God and his justice.\" If one\ncan advance in any other perfection at the same time without\ndetriment to the first, all well and good. There is no danger\nthat the devil's Advocate will object to his canonization on the\nscore of his great intellectual superiority, his wonderful\nmechanical genius, or the firmness and beautiful development of\nhis muscles. But let any of these things prove detrimental to his\nspiritual perfection, as they without doubt frequently do, then\nhe must shut up his books or smash his violin, as the case may\nbe.\n\nThe essay by Mr. Wilberforce, _On some Events Preparatory to\nthe English Reformation_, will be found an exceedingly\ninteresting paper. That _On the Inspiration of Scripture_,\nby Archbishop Manning, presents a concise view of the teaching of\nthe church, and the different opinions of Protestant and Catholic\ntheologians on that subject. All the essays are, in fact,\nliterary productions of a high order, and merit the perusal of\nevery scholar of English Catholic literature.\n\n-------\n{144}\n\n  Lacordaire's Letters To Young Men.\n  Edited by the Count de Montalembert.\n  Translated by the Rev. James Trenor.\n  Baltimore: Kelly & Piet. 1867.\n\nThis volume is composed of letters written to his young friends\nwhilst the author was engaged in the most arduous and responsible\nduties. They are not studied productions of the great Dominican's\nliterary genius, but rather simple outpourings of paternal love\nand solicitude toward those young men for whose spiritual\ndirection he was at once so wise a guide, so zealous a pastor,\nand so warm a friend. They reveal the wealth of affection which\nenriched his own heart, and the consecration of that affection to\nthe highest and noblest purpose of life--the perfection and\nsalvation of souls. These letters have been published that other\nyoung men may also listen to his wise counsels, and receive that\ndirection and encouragement which the writer was so eminently\nqualified to bestow.\n\nThose which refer to the painful steps that fidelity to the truth\nand loyalty to the church led him to take in reference to M. de\nla Mennais will be found exceedingly interesting. There is no\nbook that we could wish to see more extensively circulated among\nand read by the young men of our day than this collection of\nletters. The perusal of them will do much toward strengthening\nthat bond of holy friendship and mutual confidence which exists\nbetween youth and the priesthood, so truly beneficial to the one\nand full of consolation to the other.\n\n--------\n\n  Extracts From The Fathers And Church Historians.\n  W. B. Kelly,\n  8 Grafton Street, Dublin.\n  For sale by the Catholic Publication Society,\n  126 Nassau Street, New-York.\n\nThis volume contains choice selections from the fathers,\nfaithfully translated into English.\n\n---------\n\n  Modern History; from the coming of Christ and change of the\n  Roman Republic into an Empire, to the year of our Lord 1867,\n  with questions for the use of schools.\n  By Peter Fredet, D.D.\n  22d edition, revised, etc.\n  1 vol. 12mo, pp. 566 and 38.\n  Baltimore: John Murphy & Co. 1867.\n\n\n  A Compendium Of Ancient And Modern History--with questions,\n  adapted to the use of schools, with an appendix, etc.--from the\n  Creation to the year 1867.\n  By M. J. Kerney, A.M.\n  1 vol. 12mo, pp. 431.\n  Baltimore: John Murphy & Co. 1867.\n\nThese works are excellent epitomes of history, and are very\npopular in the Catholic schools of the United States and the\nCanadas. The first of them, Fredet's History, is a useful volume,\nand gives the reader a clear and correct idea of modern history,\nespecially if he has not time to read the more voluminous\nhistories of the various countries of the world. The present\nedition of both these volumes is brought down to the year 1867,\nand the account of our late terrible war is written with candor\nand without bias, the bare facts and dates of battles being\ngiven. They are gotten up in good, serviceable style for schools.\n\n---------\n\n  The Bohemians Of The Fifteenth Century.\n  Translated from the French of Henri Guenot,\n  by Mrs. J. Sadlier. New-York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co.\n\nThis is a very correct translation of a beautiful little tale by\nM. Guenot, illustrating the peculiar habits and manner of living\nof that strange people, generally called Gipsies, who appeared in\nEurope about the time selected by the author for his\nillustration. The story is well told in the original, with an\nattention to time and place characteristic of the best French\nwriters of fiction, and in the English version before us it loses\nnothing in accuracy or even in vivacity of style. It is an\nexcellent book for young readers, and will doubtless find a large\ncirculation among that class.\n\n--------------------\n\n{145}\n\n  The Catholic World.\n\n  Vol. VI., No. 32. November, 1867.\n\n\n\n  Unpublished Letters Of General Washington.\n\nTwo years ago, Count Henri de Chastellux gave to the world,\nthrough the pages of _Le Correspondent_ of Paris, a\ntranslation of thirteen letters of Washington's never before\nprinted. They were addressed to the Marquis de Chastellux, that\ngallant and accomplished French nobleman who fought with the\npatriot army during our revolutionary war, serving as\nmajor-general under Rochambeau, and of whose subsequent travels\nin America we gave some account in an early number of THE\nCATHOLIC WORLD. Washington seems to have entertained a sincere\nregard for this distinguished soldier and man of letters, who,\nbesides being in complete harmony with the founder of the\nAmerican republic in his views of philosophy and politics, was a\ngentleman of most amiable private character, agreeable manners,\nand extensive information. After his return to France he kept up\na correspondence with Washington as long as he lived, the last\nletter in the present collection bearing date only six months\nbefore the marquis's death. Although it cannot be said that\nWashington's letters reveal any facts of importance not already\nknown, they are not devoid of historical interest, apart from the\nvalue which all confidential communications from his pen must\npossess in the eyes of patriotic Americans. We are indebted to\nthe efforts of the Abb\u00e9 Cazali in procuring copies of the\noriginal from the Count Henri de Chastellux, who was kind enough\nto copy them himself. To both of these gentlemen we return our\nmost sincere thanks. The first is dated at New-Windsor, January\n28th, 1781. Count de Chastellux had just arrived at Newport,\nwhere the French army was then quartered.\n\n\n       I.\n\n  My Dear Sir: I congratulate you on your safe arrival in good\n  health at Newport, after travelling through so large an extent\n  of the theatre of war in America. Receive my thanks for your\n  courtesy in informing me of the same, and also for making me\n  acquainted with the Comte de Charlus. His prepossessing\n  appearance is a sufficient indication of the amiable qualities\n  of his mind, and fails not to produce at first view a favorable\n  impression upon all who see him.\n\n{146}\n\n  After spending several days with us at headquarters, he has\n  gone to Philadelphia, accompanied by Count Dillon.\n\n  I left them at Ringwood, whither I went to repress a partial\n  revolt at Pompton among the New-Jersey troops, who, after the\n  example of those of Pennsylvania, mutinied and refused to obey\n  their officers. The affair happily ended without bloodshed. Two\n  of the ringleaders were executed on the spot, and order had\n  been completely restored before I left.\n\n  I am at a loss for words to express my appreciation of your\n  approval and friendship, and the value I attach to them. It\n  shall be the desire and happiness of my life to merit their\n  continuance, and to assure you on every occasion of my\n  admiration for your character and virtues. I am, dear sir, your\n  most obedient servant,\n\n       G. Washington.\n\n\n          II.\n\n     New Windsor, May 7, 1781.\n\n  Dear Sir: Permit me, on this occasion of writing to you, to\n  begin my letter with congratulations on your recovered health,\n  and I offer them sincerely.\n\n  Colonel Menoville put into my hands two days since your favor\n  of the 29th ultimo. If my inclination was seconded by the\n  means, I should not fail to meet this gentleman as the friend\n  of my friend; and if it is not in my power to comply with his\n  wishes on the score of provisions, I will deal with him\n  candidly by communicating the causes.\n\n  I am impressed with too high a sense of the abilities and\n  candor of the Chevalier Chastellux to conceive that he is\n  capable of creating false hopes. His communication, therefore,\n  of the West Indies intelligence comes with merited force, and I\n  would to God it were in my power to take the proper advantage\n  of it! But if you can recollect a private conversation which I\n  had with you in the Count de Rochambeau's chamber, you will be\n  persuaded it is not; especially when I add, that the want of\n  which I then complained exists in much greater force than it\n  did at that moment; but such preparations as can be made, I\n  will make for the events you allude to. The candid world and\n  well-informed officer will expect no more.\n\n  May you participate in those blessings you have invoked hereon\n  for me, and may you live to see a happy termination of a\n  struggle which was begun, and has been continued, for the\n  purpose of rescuing America from impending slavery, and\n  securing to its inhabitants their indubitable rights, in which\n  you bear a conspicuous part, is the ardent wish of, dear sir,\n  your most obedient and most affectionate servant,\n             G. Washington.\n\n\n               III.\n\n    New Windsor, June 13, 1781.\n\n  My Dear Chevalier: I fear, from the purport of the letter you\n  did me the honor to write from Newport on the 9th, that my\n  sentiments respecting the council of war held on board the\n  _Duke de Bourgogne_, (the 31st of May,) have been\n  misconceived, and I shall be very unhappy if they receive an\n  interpretation different from the true intent and meaning of\n  them. If this is the case, it can only be attributed to my not\n  understanding the business of the Duke de Lauzun perfectly. I\n  will rely, therefore, on your goodness and candor to explain\n  and rectify the mistake, if any has happened.\n\n{147}\n\n  My wishes perfectly coincided with the determination of the\n  board of war to continue the fleet at Rhode Island, provided it\n  could remain there in safety with the force required, and did\n  not impede the march of the army toward the North river; but,\n  when Duke Lauzun informed me that my opinion of the propriety\n  and safety of this measure was required by the board, and that\n  he came hither at the particular request of the Counts\n  Rochambeau and de Barras to obtain it, I was reduced to the\n  painful necessity of delivering a sentiment different from that\n  of a most respectable board, or of forfeiting all pretensions\n  to candor by the concealment of it.\n\n  Upon this ground it was I wrote to the generals to the effect I\n  did, and not because I was dissatisfied at the alteration of\n  the plan agreed to at Wethersfield. My fears for the safety of\n  the fleet, which I am now persuaded were carried too far, were\n  productive of a belief that the generals, when separated, might\n  feel uneasy at every mysterious preparation of the enemy, and\n  occasion a fresh call for militia. This had some weight in my\n  determination to give Boston (where I was sure no danger could\n  be encountered but that of a blockade) a preference to Newport,\n  where, under some circumstances, though not such as were likely\n  to happen, something might be enterprised.\n\n  The fleet being at Rhode Island is attended certainly with many\n  advantages in the operation proposed, and I entreat that you,\n  and the gentlemen who were of opinion that it ought to be\n  risked there for these purposes, will be assured that I have a\n  high sense of the obligation you mean to confer on America by\n  that resolve, and that your zeal to promote the common cause,\n  and my anxiety for the safety of so valuable a fleet, were the\n  only motives which gave birth to the apparent difference in our\n  opinions.\n\n  I set that value upon your friendship and candor, and have that\n  implicit belief in your attachment to America, that they are\n  only to be equalled by the sincerity with which I have the\n  honor to be, dear sir, your most obedient, and obliged, and\n  faithful servant,\n\n       G. Washington.\n\n\n             IV.\n\n    Philadelphia, January 4, 1782.\n\n  My Dear Chevalier: I cannot suffer your old acquaintance, Mrs.\n  Carter, to proceed to Williamsburg without taking with her a\n  remembrance of my friendship for you.\n\n  I have been detained here by Congress to assist in making the\n  necessary arrangements for next campaign, and am happy to find\n  so favorable a disposition in that body to prepare vigorously\n  for it. They have resolved to keep up the same number of\n  regiments as constituted the army of last year, and have called\n  upon the States in a pressing manner to complete them.\n  Requisitions of money are also made; but how far the abilities\n  and inclinations of the States individually will coincide with\n  the demands is more than I am able, at this early period, to\n  inform you. A further pecuniary aid from your generous nation,\n  and a decisive naval force upon this coast in the latter end of\n  May or beginning of June, unlimited in its stay and operations,\n  would, unless the resources of Great Britain are inexhaustible,\n  or she can form powerful alliances, bid fair to finish the war\n  in the course of next campaign, (if she mean to prosecute it,)\n  with the ruin of that people.\n\n  The first, that is, an aid of money, would enable our financier\n  to support the expenses of the war with ease and credit,\n  without anticipating a change in those funds which Congress are\n  endeavoring to establish, and which will be productive in the\n  operation.\n\n{148}\n\n  The second, a naval superiority, would compel the enemy to draw\n  their whole force to a point, which would not only be a\n  disgrace to their arms by the relinquishment of posts, and the\n  States which they affect to have conquered, but might\n  eventually be fatal to their army, or, by attempting to hold\n  these, be cut off in detail. So that in either case the most\n  important good consequences would result from the measure.\n\n  As you will have received in a more direct channel than from me\n  the news of the surprise and recapture of St. Eustatia by the\n  arms of France, I shall only congratulate you on the event, and\n  add that it marks, in a striking point of view, the genius of\n  the Marquis de Bouill\u00e9 for enterprise, and for intrepidity and\n  resources in difficult circumstances. His conduct upon this\n  occasion does him infinite honor.\n\n  Amid the numerous friends who would rejoice to see you at this\n  place, none (while I stay here) could give you a more sincere\n  and cordial welcome than I should. Shall I entreat you to\n  present me to the circle of your friends in the army around\n  you, with all that warmth and attachment I am sensible of, and\n  to believe that with sentiments of the purest friendship and\n  regard I have the honor to be, etc.,\n                   G. Washington.\n\n\n\n              V.\n\n    Headquarters, Newburg,\n    Aug. 10, 1782.\n\n  My Dear Chevalier: I love and thank you for the sentiments\n  contained in your letter of the 5th. I look forward with\n  pleasure to the epoch which will place us as conveniently in\n  one camp as we are congenial in our sentiments. I shall embrace\n  you when it happens with the warmth of perfect friendship.\n\n  My time, during my winter residence in Philadelphia, was\n  unusually (for me) divided between parties of pleasure and\n  parties of business. The first, nearly of a sameness at all\n  times and places in this infant country, is easily conceived;\n  at least, is too unimportant for description. The second was\n  only diversified by perplexities, and could afford no\n  entertainment. Convinced of these things myself, and knowing\n  that your intelligence with respect to foreign affairs was\n  better and more interesting than mine, I had no subject to\n  address you upon; thus, then, do I account for my silence.\n\n  My time since I joined the army in this quarter has been\n  occupied principally in providing for, disciplining, and\n  preparing, under many embarrassments, the troops for the field.\n  Cramped as we have been and still are for the want of money,\n  everything moves slowly, but, as this is no new case, I am not\n  discouraged by it.\n\n  The enemy talk loudly and very confidently of peace; but\n  whether they are in earnest, or whether it is to amuse and\n  while away the time till they can prepare for a more vigorous\n  prosecution of the war, time will evince. Certain it is, the\n  refugees at New York are violently convulsed by a letter which\n  ere this you will have seen published, from Sir Guy Carleton\n  and Admiral Digby to me, upon the subject of a general\n  pacification and acknowledgment of the independency of this\n  country.\n\n  Adieu, my dear Chevalier. A sincere esteem and regard bids me\n  assure you that, with sentiments of pure affection, etc.,\n                   G. Washington.\n\n{149}\n\n             VI.\n\n    Newburg, Dec. 14, 1782.\n\n  My Dear Chevalier: I felt too much to express anything the day\n  I parted with you. A sense of your public services to this\n  country and gratitude for your private friendship quite\n  overcame me at the moment of our separation. But I should be\n  wanting to the feelings of my heart, and do violence to my\n  inclination, were I to suffer you to leave this country without\n  the warmest assurances of an affectionate regard for your\n  person and character.\n\n  Our good friend, the Marquis de Lafayette, prepared me (long\n  before I had the honor to see you) for those impressions of\n  esteem which opportunities and your own benevolent mind have\n  since improved into a deep and lasting friendship--a friendship\n  which neither time, nor distance can ever eradicate.\n\n  I can truly say that never in my life did I part with a man to\n  whom my soul clave more sincerely than it did to you. My\n  warmest wishes will attend you in your voyage across the\n  Atlantic, to the rewards of a generous prince--the arms of\n  affectionate friends--and be assured that it will be one of my\n  highest gratifications to keep a regular intercourse with you\n  by letter.\n\n  I regret exceedingly that circumstances should withdraw you\n  from this country before the final accomplishment of that\n  independence and peace which the arms of our good ally has\n  assisted in placing before us in such an agreeable point of\n  view. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to accompany you\n  after the war in a tour through the great continent of North\n  America, in search of the natural curiosities with which it\n  abounds, and to view at the same time the foundation of a\n  rising empire. I have the honor, etc.,\n\n                  G. Washington.\n\n  P.S.--Permit me to trouble you with the inclosed letter to the\n  Marquis de Lafayette.\n\n\n               VII.\n\n    Headquarters, Newburg,\n    May 10, 1783.\n\n  My Dear Chevalier: The affectionate expressions in your\n  farewell letter of the 8th of June from Annapolis gave a new\n  spring to the pleasing remembrance of our past intimacy, and\n  your letter of the 4th of March from Paris has convinced me\n  that time nor distance can eradicate the seeds of friendship\n  when they have taken root in a good soil and are nurtured by\n  philanthropy and benevolence. That I value your esteem, and\n  wish to retain a place in your affections, are truths of which\n  I hope you are convinced, as I wish you to be of my sincerity\n  when I assure you that it is among the first wishes of my heart\n  to pay the tribute of respect to your nation, to which I am\n  prompted by motives of public consideration and private\n  friendships; but how far it may be in my power to yield a\n  prompt obedience to my inclination is more than I can decide\n  upon at present.\n\n  You have, my dear Chevalier, placed before my eyes the exposed\n  situation of my seat on the Potomack, and warned me of the\n  danger which is to be apprehended from a surprise; but as I\n  have an entire confidence in it, and an affection for your\n  countrymen, I shall bid defiance to the enterprise, under a\n  full persuasion that, if success should attend it and I cannot\n  make terms for my releasement, I shall be generously treated by\n  my captors, and there is such a thing as a pleasing captivity.\n\n  At present both armies remain in the situation you left them,\n  except that all acts of hostilities have ceased in this quarter\n  and things have put on a more tranquil appearance than\n  heretofore.\n{150}\n  We look forward with anxious expectation for the definitive\n  treaty to remove the doubts and difficulties which prevail at\n  present, and our country of our newly acquired friends in New\n  York, and other places within these States, of whose company we\n  are heartily tired. Sir Guy, with whom I have had a meeting at\n  Dobb's Ferry for the purpose of ascertaining the epoch of this\n  event, could give me no definitive answer, but general\n  assurances that he was taking every preparatory measure for it;\n  one of which was, that, a few days previous to the interview,\n  he had shipped off for Nova Scotia upward of 6000 refugees or\n  loyalists, who, apprehending they would not be received as\n  citizens of these United States, he thought it his duty to\n  remove previous to the evacuation of the city by the king's\n  troops.\n\n  The Indians have recommenced hostilities on the frontiers of\n  Pennsylvania and Virginia, killing and scalping whole families\n  who had just returned to the habitations, from which they had\n  fled, in expectation of enjoying them in peace. These people\n  will be troublesome neighbors to us, unless they can be removed\n  to a much greater distance, and this is only to be done by\n  purchase or conquest. Which of the two will be adopted by\n  Congress, I know not. The first, I believe, would be cheapest\n  and perhaps most consistent with justice. The latter most\n  effectual.\n\n  Mrs. Washington is very sensible of your kind remembrance of\n  her, and presents her best respects to you, in which all the\n  gentleman of my family who are with me cordially and sincerely\n  join. Tilghman, I expect, has before this entered into the\n  matrimonial state with a cousin of his whom you may have seen\n  at Mr. Carroll's near Baltimore. My best wishes attend Baron\n  Montesquieu, and such other gentlemen within your circle as I\n  have the honor to be acquainted with. I can only repeat to you\n  assurances of the most perfect friendship and attachment, etc.\n\n              G. Washington.\n\n\n\n              VIII.\n\n    Princeton, October 12, 1783.\n\n  My Dear Chevalier: I have not had the honor of a letter from\n  you since the 4th of March last, but I will ascribe my\n  disappointment to any cause rather than to a decay of your\n  friendship.\n\n  Having the appearances, and indeed the enjoyment of peace,\n  without the final declaration of it, I, who am only waiting for\n  the ceremonials, or till the British forces shall have taken\n  their leave of New York, am held in an awkward and disagreeable\n  situation; being anxiously desirous to quit the walks of public\n  life, and, under my own vine and my own fig-tree, to seek those\n  enjoyments and that relaxation which a mind that has been\n  constantly upon the stretch for more than eight years stands so\n  much in want of.\n\n  I have fixed this epoch to the arrival of the definitive\n  treaty, or to the evacuation of my country by our newly\n  acquired friends. In the mean while, at the request of\n  Congress, I spend my time with them at this place; where they\n  came in consequence of the riots at Philadelphia, of which,\n  doubtless, you have been fully informed, for it is not a very\n  recent transaction.\n\n  They have lately determined to fix the permanent residence of\n  Congress near the falls of Delaware, but where they will hold\n  their session till they can be properly established at that\n  place is yet undecided.\n\n{151}\n\n  I have lately made a tour through the Lakes George and\n  Champlain as far as Crown Point; then, returning to\n  Schenectady, I proceeded up the Mohawk river to Fort Schuyler,\n  (formerly Fort Stanwix,) crossed over to the Wood creek, which\n  empties into the Oneida Lake and affords the water\n  communication with Ontario; I then traversed the country to the\n  head of the eastern branch of the Susquehanna, and arrived at\n  the Lake Otsego, and the portage between that lake and the\n  Mohawk river at Canajoharie.\n\n  Prompted by these actual observations, I could not help taking\n  a more contemplative and extensive view of the vast inland\n  navigation of these United States from maps, and the\n  information of others, and could not but be struck with the\n  immense diffusion and importance of it, and with the goodness\n  of that Providence which has dealt her favors to us with so\n  profuse a hand. Would to God we may have wisdom enough to make\n  a good use of them. I shall not rest contented till I have\n  explored the western part of this country, and traversed these\n  lines (or great part of them) which have given bounds to a new\n  empire. But when it may, if it ever should, happen, I dare not\n  say, as my first attention must be given to the deranged\n  situation of my private concerns, which are not a little\n  injured by almost nine years absence and total disregard of\n  them.\n\n  With every wish for your health and happiness, and with the\n  most sincere and affectionate regard, etc.,\n\n              G. Washington.\n\n\n               IX.\n\n    Mount Vernon, February 1, 1784.\n\n  My Dear Chevalier: I have had the honor to receive your favor\n  of the 23d of August from L'Orient, and hope this letter will\n  find you in the circle of your friends at Paris, well recovered\n  from the fatigues of your long inspection on the frontiers of\n  the kingdom.\n\n  I am, at length, become a private citizen on the banks of the\n  Potomack, where, under my own vine and my own fig-tree, free\n  from the bustle of a camp and the intrigues of a court, I shall\n  view the busy world with calm indifference, and with that\n  serenity of mind which the soldier in pursuit of glory and the\n  statesman of a name have not leisure to enjoy. I am not only\n  retired from all public employments, but am retiring within\n  myself, and shall lead the private walks of life with heartfelt\n  satisfaction. After seeing New York evacuated by the British\n  forces on the 25th of November, and civil government\n  established in the city, I repaired to Congress and surrendered\n  all my powers, with my commission, into their hands on the 23d\n  of December, and arrived at this cottage the day before\n  Christmas, where I have been close locked in frost and snow\n  ever since. Mrs. Washington thanks you for your kind\n  remembrance of her, and prays you to accept her best wishes in\n  return. With sentiments, etc.,\n\n              G. Washington.\n\n\n             X.\n\n    Mount Vernon, June 2, 1784.\n\n  My Dear Sir: I had the honor to receive a short letter from you\n  by Major l'Enfant. My official letters to the Counts d'Estaing\n  and Rochambeau (which, I expect, will be submitted to the\n  members of the Cincinnatis in France) will inform you of the\n  proceedings of the General Meeting, held at Philadelphia, on\n  the 3d ult., of the reasons which induced a departure from some\n  of the original principles and rules of the society.\n{152}\n  As these have been detailed, I will not repeat them, and as we\n  have no occurrences out of the common course, except the\n  establishment of ten new States in the western territory, and\n  the appointment of Mr. Jefferson (whose talents and worth are\n  well known to you) as one of the commissioners for forming\n  commercial treaties in Europe, I will only repeat to you the\n  assurances of my friendship, and express to you a wish that I\n  could see you in the shade of those trees which my hands have\n  planted, and which by their rapid growth at once indicate a\n  knowledge of my declination and their willingness to spread\n  their mantles over me before I go home to return no more. For\n  this their gratitude I will nurture them while I stay.\n\n  Before I conclude, permit me to recommend Colonel Humphreys,\n  who is appointed secretary to the commission, to your\n  countenance and civilities whilst he remains in France. He\n  possesses an excellent heart and a good understanding. With\n  every, etc.,\n\n                        G. Washington.\n\n\n                 XI.\n\n    Mount Vernon, September 5, 1785.\n\n  My Dear Sir: I am your debtor for two letters, one of the 12th\n  of December, the other of the 8th of April. Since the receipt\n  of the first I have paid my respects to you in a line or two by\n  a Major Swan, but, as it was introductory only of him, it\n  requires an apology rather than entitles me to a credit in our\n  epistolary correspondence.\n\n  If I had as good a knack, my dear Marquis, [Footnote 23] as you\n  have at saying handsome things, I would endeavor to pay you in\n  kind for the many flattering expressions of your letters,\n  having an ample field to work in; but as I am a clumsy laborer\n  in the manufactory of compliments, I must first profess my\n  unworthiness of those which you have bestowed on me, and then,\n  conscious of my inability of meeting you upon that ground,\n  confess that it is better for me not to enter the list, than to\n  retreat from it in disgrace.\n\n    [Footnote 23: By the death of his brother, Philippe Louis of\n    Chastellux, on the 26th January, 1784, the Chevalier had\n    taken this title. ED. C. W.]\n\n  It gives me great pleasure to find by my last letters from\n  France that the dark clouds which overspread your hemisphere\n  are yielding to the sunshine of peace. My first wish is to see\n  the blessings of it diffused through all countries, and among\n  all ranks in every country, and that we should consider\n  ourselves as the children of a common Parent, and be disposed\n  to acts of brotherly kindness toward one another. In that case\n  restrictions of trade would vanish: we should take your wines,\n  your fruits, and surplusage of such articles as our necessities\n  or convenience might require and in return give you our fish,\n  our oil, our tobacco, our naval stores, etc.; and in like\n  manner should exchange produce with other countries, to the\n  reciprocal advantage of each. And as the globe is large, why\n  need we wrangle for a small spot of it? If one country cannot\n  contain us, another should open its arms to us. But these\n  halcyon days (if they ever did exist) are now no more. A wise\n  Providence, I presume, has decreed it otherwise, and we shall\n  be obliged to go on in the old way, disputing and now and then\n  fighting, until the great globe itself dissolves.\n\n  I rarely go from home, but my friends in and out of Congress\n  sometimes inform me of what is on the carpet. To hand it to you\n  afterward would be circuitous and idle, as I am persuaded you\n  have correspondents at New York, who give them to you at first\n  hand, and can relate them with more clearness and precision.\n{153}\n  I give the chief of my time to rural amusements; but I have\n  lately been active in instituting a plan which, if success\n  attends it, and of which I have no doubt, may be productive of\n  great political as well as commercial advantages to the States\n  on the Atlantic, especially the Middle ones. It is the\n  improving and extending the land navigations of the rivers\n  Potomack and James, and communicating them with the western\n  waters by the shortest and easiest portages and good roads.\n  Acts have passed the assemblies of Virginia and Maryland\n  authorizing private adventurers to undertake the work.\n  Companies, in consequence, are incorporated, and that on this\n  river is begun. But when we come to the difficult parts of it,\n  we shall require an engineer of skill and practical knowledge\n  in this branch of business, and from that country where these\n  kinds of improvements have been conducted with the greatest\n  success. With very, etc.,\n\n                  G. Washington.\n\n\n               XI.\n\n    Mount Vernon, August 18, 1786.\n\n  My Dear Marquis: I cannot omit to seize the earliest occasion\n  to acknowledge the receipt of the very affectionate letter you\n  did me the honor of writing to me on the 22d of May, as well as\n  to thank you for the present of your _Travels in America_,\n  and the translation of Colonel Humphreys's poem, all which came\n  safely to hand by the same conveyance.\n\n  Knowing as I did the candor, liberality, and philanthropy of\n  the Marquis de Chastellux, I was prepared to disbelieve any\n  imputations that might militate against those amiable\n  qualities, for characters and habits are not easily taken up or\n  suddenly laid aside. Nor does that mild species of philosophy\n  which aims at promoting human happiness ever belie itself by\n  deviating from the generous and godlike pursuit. Having,\n  notwithstanding, understood that some misrepresentations of the\n  work in question had been circulated, I was happy to learn that\n  you had taken the most effectual method to put a stop to their\n  circulation by publishing a more ample and correct edition.\n  Colonel Humphreys (who spent some weeks at Mount Vernon)\n  confirmed me in the sentiment by giving a most flattering\n  account of the whole performance. He has also put into my hands\n  the translation of that part in which you say such and so many\n  handsome things, that (although no sceptic on ordinary\n  occasions) I may, perhaps, be allowed to doubt whether your\n  friendship and partiality have not, in this one instance,\n  acquired an ascendency over your cooler judgment.\n\n  Having been thus unwarily, and I may be permitted to add,\n  almost unavoidably betrayed into a kind of necessity to speak\n  of myself, and not wishing to resume that subject, I choose to\n  close it for ever by observing, that as, on the one hand, I\n  consider it an indubitable mark of meanspiritedness and pitiful\n  vanity to court applause from the pen or tongue of man, so on\n  the other, I believe it to be a proof of false modesty or an\n  unworthy affectation of humility to appear altogether\n  insensible to the commendations of the virtuous and enlightened\n  part of our species. Perhaps nothing can excite more perfect\n  harmony in the soul than to have this string vibrate in unison\n  with the internal consciousness of rectitude in our intentions\n  and an humble hope of approbation from the supreme Disposer of\n  all things.\n\n{154}\n\n  I have communicated to Colonel Humphreys that paragraph in your\n  letter which announces the very favorable reception his poem\n  has met with in France. Upon the principles indifferent to the\n  applause of so enlightened a nation, nor to the suffrage of the\n  king and queen, who have pleased to honor it with their royal\n  approbation.\n\n  We have no news this side the Atlantic worth the pains of\n  sending across it. The country is recovering rapidly from the\n  ravages of war. The seeds of population are scattered far in\n  the wilderness; agriculture is prosecuted with industry. The\n  works of peace, such as opening rivers, building bridges, are\n  carried on with spirit. Trade is not so successful as we could\n  wish. Our State governments are well administered. Some objects\n  in our federal system might probably be altered for better. I\n  rely much on the good sense of my countrymen, and trust that a\n  superintending Providence will disappoint the hopes of our\n  enemies. With sentiments, etc.,\n\n                 G. Washington.\n\n\n              XIII.\n\n    Mount Vernon, April 25, 1788.\n\n  My Dear Marquis: In reading your very friendly and acceptable\n  letter of the 21st of December, 1787, which came to hand by the\n  last mail, I was, as you may well suppose, not less delighted\n  than surprised to come across that plain American word, my\n  wife! A wife! Well, my dear Marquis, I can hardly refrain from\n  smiling to find you are caught at last. I saw, by the eulogium\n  you often made on the happiness of domestic life in America,\n  that you had swallowed the bait, and that you would as surely\n  be taken (one day or another) as you were a philosopher and a\n  soldier. So your day has at length come. I am glad of it with\n  all my heart and soul. It is quite good enough for you. Now you\n  are well served for coming to fight in favor of the American\n  rebels, all the way across the Atlantic ocean, by catching that\n  terrible contagion, domestic felicity, which, like the\n  small-pox or the plague, a man can have only once in his life,\n  because it commonly lasts him (at least with us in America--I\n  don't know how you manage these matters in France) for his\n  whole lifetime. And yet, after all the maledictions you so\n  richly merit on the subject, the worst wish which I can find it\n  in my heart to make against Madame de Chastellux and yourself\n  is, that you may neither of you ever get the better of this\n  same domestic felicity during the entire course of your mortal\n  existence.\n\n  If so wonderful an event should have occasioned me, my dear\n  Marquis, to have written in a strange style, you will\n  understand me as clearly as if I had said, (the simple truth in\n  plain English,) Do me the justice to believe that I take a\n  heart-felt interest in whatsoever concerns your happiness. And\n  in this view I sincerely congratulate you on your auspicious\n  matrimonial connection. I am happy to find that Madame de\n  Chastellux is so intimately connected with the Duchess of\n  Orleans, as I have always understood this noble lady was an\n  illustrious pattern of connubial love, as well as an excellent\n  model of virtue in general.\n\n  While you have been making love under the banner of Hymen, the\n  great personages of the North have been making war under the\n  inspiration, or rather the infatuation, of Mars.\n{155}\n  Now, for my part, I humbly conceive you have had much the best\n  and wisest of the bargain. For certainly it is more consonant\n  to all the principles of reason and religion (natural and\n  revealed) to replenish the earth with inhabitants, rather than\n  to depopulate it by killing those already in existence.\n  Besides, it is time for the age of knight-errantry and mad\n  heroism to be at an end. Your young military men, who want to\n  reap the harvest of laurels, don't care (I suppose) how many\n  seeds of war are sown. But for the sake of humanity it is\n  devoutly to be wished that the manly employment of agriculture,\n  and the humanizing benefits of commerce, would supersede the\n  waste of war and the rage of conquest. That the swords might be\n  turned into ploughshares, the spears into pruning-hooks, and,\n  as the Scripture expresses it, the nations learn war no more.\n\n  I will now give you a little news from this side of the water,\n  and then finish. As for us, we are plodding on in the dull road\n  of peace and politics. We, who live at these ends of the earth,\n  only hear of the rumors of war, like the roar of distant\n  thunder. It is to be hoped our remote local situation will\n  prevent us from being swept into its vortex.\n\n  The constitution which was proposed by the federal convention\n  has been adopted by the States of Massachusetts, Connecticut,\n  Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Georgia. No State has\n  rejected it. The convention of Maryland is now sitting and will\n  probably adopt it; as that of South Carolina is expected to do\n  in May. The other conventions will assemble early in the\n  summer. Hitherto there has been much greater unanimity in favor\n  of the proposed government than could have been reasonably\n  expected. Should it be adopted, (and I think it will be,)\n  America will lift up her head again, and in a few years become\n  respectable among the nations. It is a flattering and consoling\n  reflection that our rising republic has the good wishes of all\n  the philosophers, patriots, and virtuous men in all nations,\n  and that they look upon it as a kind of asylum for mankind. God\n  grant that we may not disappoint their honest expectations by\n  our folly or perverseness! With sentiments, etc.,\n\n                  G. Washington.\n\n  P.S.--If the Duke de Lauzun is still with you, I beg you will\n  thank him, in my name, for his kind remembrance of me, and make\n  my compliments to him.\n\n  _May 1st_.--Since writing the above, I have been favored\n  with a duplicate of your letter in the handwriting of a lady,\n  and cannot close this without acknowledging my obligations for\n  the flattering postscript of the fair transcriber. In effect,\n  my dear Marquis, the characters of this interpreter of your\n  sentiments are so much fairer than those through which I have\n  been accustomed to decipher them, that I already consider\n  myself as no small gainer by your matrimonial connection.\n  Especially as I hope your amiable amanuensis will not forget at\n  the same time to add a few annotations of her own to your\n  original text.\n\n  I have just received information that the convention of\n  Maryland has ratified the proposed constitution by a majority\n  of 63 to 11.\n\n--------\n\n{156}\n\n     Aim\u00e9e's Sacrifice.\n\n         A Tale.\n\n\n       Chapter I.\n\n\nThe sun was sinking in the horizon, and the sky was overspread\nwith a glorious array of many-colored clouds--those hues which\nartists so vainly try to reproduce on canvas, and which it is\nstill more impossible to describe in words. It was a soft, balmy\nsummer evening, the 14th of August, and nature seemed as if ready\nto join with faithful hearts in keeping the coming feast and to\ngive them a faint shadow of the glories of heaven. Very fair was\nthe landscape which lay outspread before the spectator's eye from\nthe churchyard of the little village of St. Victor, raised as it\nwas on a slight eminence above the rest of the village.\nBeech-woods, softly undulating hills, fertile dales, cottages\nscattered here and there, and the sea shining like silver in the\nfar distance, formed the delightful prospect; and the old cur\u00e9,\nas he traversed the churchyard which alone separated the modest\npresbytery from the church, could never prevent himself from\npausing to admire the wonderful beauty of the scene. On this\nevening particularly, he stood looking up into the gorgeous sky\nwith the earnest, wistful gaze of one who would fain pierce\nthrough \"each tissued fold\" of that marvellous curtain of blue\nand gold.\n\nThe little church of St. Victor did not boast much architectural\nbeauty, and the churchyard was filled with simple green mounds\nand wooden crosses, with here and there a few shrubs and wild\nflowers, showing that it was the resting-place for the poor and\nthe lowly. The village itself was very small, but there were many\noutlying hamlets, so that on Sundays a goodly congregation filled\nthe church. While the cur\u00e9 was still standing absorbed in\nthought, a side-door of the church gently opened, and a young\ngirl, about eighteen, very simply-dressed, but with a grace in\nher appearance and movements which showed her to be above the\npeasant rank, came out. The face which she raised as she\napproached the cur\u00e9 was radiant with beauty and with innocence;\nthe lines of care had not yet marked their furrows on the smooth\nbrow or cheeks; but there was a shade, as if cast by coming\nsorrow, over the countenance, and on the long, dark eyelashes\ntears were still trembling.\n\n\"Well, my child,\" said the cur\u00e9, \"are your labors over?\"\n\n\"Yes, father,\" she replied; \"I have finished everything, and I do\nthink Our Lady's altar looks beautiful. The ferns make such a\ngood background and show all the flowers to advantage. Oh! I\nthink it will look lovely at benediction to-morrow, and we will\ntake such pains with the music! O father!\" she continued, \"if\nmamma could but come and see it and hear Mass! I did so hope she\nwould be well enough. I have prayed so often for it.\" And her\neyes filled with tears.\n\n\"Ah! Aim\u00e9e,\" said the cur\u00e9, \"sometimes our prayers are very blind\nones, and, like the apostles of old, we know not what we ask. I\nhave just been to see your mother--\"\n\n{157}\n\n\"And how did you find her? what do you think of her, father?\"\nsaid Aim\u00e9e eagerly. \"I do think she is a _little_\nbetter--just a trifle, you know!\"\n\nThe priest made no answer for a moment, then he said: \"Aim\u00e9e, I\ndo not think she is better, and she has asked me to speak to you.\nShe would not have sorrow come on you too suddenly. My child, my\npoor child, your mother is going fast where she will no longer\nneed an earthly altar, and where she may gather flowers in the\ngardens of eternal bliss. You have loved her well, my poor Aim\u00e9e;\nwill you not give her up to His keeping who hath loved her best\nof all?\"\n\nAim\u00e9e had clasped her hands tightly together, and the color had\nfaded from her cheek. She raised her eyes to the sky above, still\nradiant with its glorious hues. Within those masses of golden\nclouds she fancied she could see the pathway which should lead to\nthe paradise of God. She turned her eyes to earth again, and,\nbowing her head, she said, \"_Fiat voluntas tua_. Father,\"\nshe continued, \"I have all but known this for weeks past. I have\nseen it in the doctor's face, in yours, but I strove to hide it\nfrom myself.\"\n\n\"I have hesitated to speak sooner,\" said the priest, \"but this\nday a letter has come from your uncle in England for your mother,\nenclosed to me. I took it to her; and its contents are such that\nit made us feel the time has come when you must face the truth\nwith her and listen to her counsels for the future.\"\n\nAim\u00e9e closed her eyes in sudden anguish, while a sharp pain shot\nthrough her heart. \"The future, father,\" she said--\"the future\nwithout _her?_\"\n\n\"Courage, dear child,\" answered he. \"Life is not long. When we\nlook back on the years, they seem but as a day. Even for the\nyoung, who knows what its length maybe?\" And Aim\u00e9e knew from the\ntone of his voice that he was thinking of the fair young sisters,\nof the merry brothers, one week laughing gayly in the old Chateau\nde Clareau and planning their future; the next, standing on the\nscaffold, already wet with the blood of their father and mother.\nThis scene he had witnessed as a young man, escaping by miracle\nfrom a similar fate. And it is not to be wondered that from\nhenceforth life had seemed to him but a troubled and rapidly\npassing dream.\n\n\"I must go to the church, now,\" said the cur\u00e9, after a moment's\npause. Aim\u00e9e followed him, and, entering in, sank on her knees at\nthe foot of Our Lady's altar, so recently decked by her own\nnimble fingers. The church was silent, and the last rays of the\nsetting sun came through the west window, made lines of golden\nlight upon the pavement, and cast a halo around the head of the\nyoung girl who knelt there absorbed in prayer. Never had Aim\u00e9e\nprayed before as she prayed now. It is not till sorrow is fairly\nupon us, till we realize that our individual battle is begun,\nthat the bitterness which only our own heart knows is really at\nour lips--that we pray with intensity. Aim\u00e9e poured out her\nwhole heart, and offered herself to do the will of God in all\nthings. She asked that his will might be done in her and by her;\nshe renounced the happiness of life, if it were necessary for its\naccomplishment.\n\nIn after years, Aim\u00e9e looked back upon that prayer, and felt that\nher offering on the threshold of her life had indeed been\naccepted.\n\nThe sunset had faded; at last twilight had settled on the earth,\nwhen Aim\u00e9e left the church and hastened home.\n\n{158}\n\n            Chapter II.\n\nBefore we follow her footsteps, we must pause for a few instants\nto tell the past history of Aim\u00e9e's mother. Marie Angelique de\nBrissac was, like the cur\u00e9, the sole survivor of a numerous\nfamily, who all perished in the Revolution. She, then a mere\nchild, escaped in the arms of her foster-mother, who conveyed her\nto England, and devoted her whole life to bringing up the little\ngirl and procuring for her a good education. When Marie was about\nseventeen, she insisted on sharing her old nurse's burdens, and\nprocured daily pupils. She taught the children of a surgeon in\nthe small country town where the old French woman had taken up\nher abode. And it so happened that Captain George Morton, of her\nmajesty's ----th cavalry, was thrown from his horse and broke his\nleg at the very door of Mr. Grant's house. His recovery was\ntedious, and he chafed exceedingly at the confinement, and became\nat last so irritable and peevish that poor Mrs. Grant, unable to\nplease him, delegated the task to her young French governess. The\nresult may be easily foreseen. George Morton loved Marie\npassionately, and was beloved in return. They were speedily\nmarried; and as George Morton knew it would be useless to ask his\nfather's consent, he did without it, and then wrote to announce\nhis marriage to the old man, and ask leave to bring his bride to\nthe paternal mansion in Russell Square, London. The spoilt and\nfavorite son of a rich merchant, indulged in every whim he could\nrecollect, George was little prepared for the storm of anger that\nburst upon him for the step he had taken. Mr. Morton had lost his\nwife many years before, and devoted himself--heart and soul,\nbody and mind--to the acquisition of wealth, in which pursuit he\nwas warmly aided by his eldest son, Ralph. But the whole hearts\nof the two silent, cold, apparently sordid-minded men were set on\nGeorge, the handsome, careless, liberal, merry younger son.\nGeorge was to make a great match, to sit in parliament, and in\ntime attain a peerage; and as, according to rumor, Lady Adelaide\nOswald was only too willing to enable him to take the first step\nin the programme, the news of George's marriage to a penniless\nFrench governess was more than the concentrated pride of the two\nnatures could bear. George was forbidden ever to communicate with\nhis family again, and his handsome allowance was cut off. George\nlaughed heartily, told his wife the cloud would soon pass,\nthanked Heaven he was not in debt, and declared it would be an\nagreeable novelty to have to live on his pay and the interest of\nthe few thousands he had inherited from his mother. In less than\ntwo years after his marriage he was again thrown from his horse,\nand met this time with such mortal injuries that he never spoke\nagain, and expired in a few hours. His fellow-officers did all\nthey could for the young, broken-hearted widow and his infant\ndaughter. The commanding officer wrote to Mr. Morton to implore\nhelp, but the appeal was in vain. It was then thought better to\npurchase a small annuity for Mrs. Morton with the little funds\nGeorge had died possessed of; and as she had heard that one of\nthe early friends of her family had been appointed cur\u00e9 to the\nlittle village of St. Victor, she determined upon going there, at\nleast for a time. There her old nurse, who followed her\neverywhere, died, and there she continued to live and educate her\nchild. Time had softened her great sorrows, and her existence had\nbeen for many years a happy and tranquil one.\n{159}\nHer child grew up in beauty and grace, and possessing every\ndisposition of heart and mind a mother could desire. If she had a\nfear, it was that her nature was too gentle, too pliant, too\nready to forget herself for others, to enable her to battle alone\nwith a hard and cruel world. Aim\u00e9e Morton was one of those beings\nwhom nature seems to intend should be always safely sheltered\nfrom the struggles of life. They should lean on some nature\nstronger than their own, like the tendrils which wind themselves\nround a tree. But when Mrs. Morton spoke of this fear of hers to\nthe cur\u00e9, he only smiled, and bade her remember that it is the\nmeek who inherit the earth. When, however, Mrs. Morton perceived\nthat consumption was making rapid strides in her constitution, a\npang of mortal agony shot through her when she thought of what\nwas to be Aim\u00e9e's fate, left alone in a pitiless world. The cur\u00e9\nwas an old man, and she could not, therefore, hope that he could\nlong watch over and protect her darling child. Besides, Mrs.\nMorton's annuity ceased with her life, and there were no means at\nSt. Victor for Aim\u00e9e to earn her bread. She was well educated;\nher mother had taken great pains in teaching her, and the cur\u00e9\nhad made it his delight to increase her stock of knowledge.\nGeorge Morton's father had long since been dead, and Ralph had\nsucceeded to the full enjoyment of the old man's wealth. No sign\nof relenting had come from that death-bed to the unoffending\nwidow and orphan of his once loved son. And now, emboldened by\nthe approach of death, which so levels the distinction of earth\nin the eyes of those just hovering on eternity, Mrs. Morton wrote\nto Ralph, telling him she was on the brink of the grave, and\nimploring his help for the child she would leave behind her. She\nenclosed her letter in one from the cur\u00e9 and doctor confirming\nher statement.\n\nAnd after many days' suspense the answer had come.\n\nAim\u00e9e and her mother lived in a little cottage close by the\npresbytery. It had originally been but a peasant's cottage, and\nit did, in fact, contain but four small rooms; but Mrs. Morton\nhad gradually transformed it into a most graceful little home.\nCreepers twined round the white walls, and roses peeped in at the\nwindow. A pretty garden surrounded the house; while inside, the\nfurniture, though simple, was gracefully arranged; flowers,\nbooks, and pictures adorned the little sitting-room, and an air\nof refinement pervaded the dwelling. In that sitting-room,\nreclining in an easy-chair, propped up with pillows, lay Mrs.\nMorton. A stranger would have been astonished to find that Aim\u00e9e\ncould possibly have been in ignorance as to her mother's state;\nbut the change had come so gradually that it was not to be\nwondered at that the poor child had fondly hoped on even to the\nlast. But to other eyes the emaciated form, the sunken eyes, the\nhectic glow, the short, dry cough, told their own tale. Aim\u00e9e\nhastened to her mother, and was clasped in her arms in a long,\nclose embrace.\n\n\"You know all, my darling?\" said she.\n\n\"Yes, sweet mother, the cur\u00e9 has spoken.\" And Aim\u00e9e resolutely\nsteadied her voice and drove back the rising tears. \"Be at peace\nabout me, mother dear. God has given you to me for a long time: I\nmust not grudge you to him, if he wants you now.\"\n\n{160}\n\n\"My own child!\" said Mrs. Morton. And she fondly kissed the\nbright, soft brown hair of the head lying on her shoulder. \"God\nguard thee ever, and he _will_ guard thee. He is the Father\nof the orphan. Aim\u00e9e, I will trust him about you.\"\n\n\"And may be it won't be very long, you know, mother,\" said Aim\u00e9e.\n\"You are going home before me: you will be waiting for me on the\nother side.\"\n\nA long, silent kiss was Mrs. Morton's answer.\n\n\"And this letter, mother--may I see it?\"\n\n\"Yes, dearest, here it is.\" And a letter in a thick, blue\nenvelope, with a large, red, official-looking seal, was put into\nher hands. Its contents were brief, and might have been supposed\nrather to refer to an assignment of goods than the future fate of\nan orphan niece.\n\nMr. Ralph Morton stated that, in the event of Mrs. George\nMorton's death, he was willing to adopt her daughter Aim\u00e9e, to\nprovide for her during his life, and to leave her a sufficiency\nat his death, provided her conduct was such as he should approve\nof; that before her arrival in England he should require copies\nof his brother's marriage certificate and the child's baptismal\nregister; that he should be willing to pay all expenses of her\njourney to England so soon as he should receive intimation of her\nreadiness for departure; but that he wished it to be distinctly\nunderstood that he would have nothing to do with his niece during\nMrs. Morton's lifetime, nor would he pay any debts contracted by\nthat lady, or hold any further communication with her. The blood\nrushed to Aim\u00e9e's cheek and brow as she read the last sentences.\n\"Even on the threshold of the grave, could not that last insult\nhave been spared?\" thought she. She gave a glance at her mother's\npeaceful face, and realized that it is precisely on that\nthreshold that insult loses its sting. Mr. Morton's taunt had no\npower to move the heart so soon to be done with earth.\n\nFrom this day the mother and daughter often spoke together of the\ntime when they should be separated, and Aim\u00e9e received many a\nwise counsel from her mother's lips, to be treasured up for days\nto come. Mrs. Morton told her all she knew of the character of\nthe uncle who would soon be her only relative. Very early in life\nhe had been disappointed in his affections and treated with great\ntreachery. From that hour he grew hard, morose, and unfeeling,\nand threw himself with all the strength of his iron nature into\nthe acquisition of wealth. Still, however, his strong affection\nfor his brother George had survived the wreck of his better\nnature, and George had always firmly believed that Ralph's anger\nwould in the event of his death be ended, and that he would\nextend protection to his wife and child.\n\n\"And therefore, my child,\" said Mrs. Morton, \"I felt compelled to\nwrite once more to your uncle, believing that in doing so I was\nfulfilling what would have been my husband's will; and it will\ncomfort you to feel, when you are with him, that you are doing\nwhat your father would have wished.\" Mr. Morton was, Mrs. Morton\nbelieved, a man totally without religion. She counselled Aim\u00e9e to\nbear the trials of her lot patiently, to do all she could to\nconciliate her uncle, and to draw him to a better life; but, if\nshe found her life in his house was more than her strength could\nbear, or if any principle were in danger, she was to try and seek\nemployment as a governess. The cur\u00e9 was going to furnish her with\na letter of introduction to a French priest in London, who would\nin that case advise her how to act.\n\n{161}\n\nAnd so the days went on. September, which happened to be that\nyear a warm, radiant summer month, flew by without any\nperceptible change in the invalid; but early in October came cold\nnorth winds, rain, and mists. Mrs. Morton was taken suddenly\nworse, and the last sacraments were administered. After receiving\nthem, she rallied and was able to be lifted from her bed to a\nsofa placed near the window. Aim\u00e9e hardly left her for an\ninstant; she grudged that any one else but herself should render\nany service to the being so soon to leave her. One night Mrs.\nMorton awoke from an uneasy sleep; the day was beginning to\nbreak, and, as the feeling of suffocation which she often\nexperienced in bed came on, Aim\u00e9e assisted her to the sofa, and\nthen kneeling by her side, they both watched the sun arise in his\nglory, just purpling the day above, then making the heavens\nglorious with his presence. Mrs. Morton opened her eyes and took\none long gaze on the earth which looked so fair, and on the\nbeautiful sky. Then she turned to her daughter, and she laid her\nhead on that loving breast.\n\n\"I am going from you, my Aim\u00e9e,\" she said; \"but remember always,\nI am _not gone to a Stranger_.\"\n\nAim\u00e9e pressed her lips softly, and Mrs. Morton seemed to sleep.\nIn that attitude the old servant Marthe found them when she\nentered the room an hour later. And then only did Aim\u00e9e wake to\nthe consciousness that her mother had slept into death, and that\nshe had heard her last words. Those words rang in Aim\u00e9e's ears as\nshe performed the last sacred offices to the dead. Solemnly she\nfulfilled her task; there were no tears in the large, soft eyes\nor on the pale cheek; she compassed those dear limbs in their\nshroud; she crossed the wasted hands upon the breast, and laid\nthe crucifix, so loved in life, between the fingers; then, when\nthe cur\u00e9 entered the room, she turned to him and said: \"Father,\nshe is not gone to a Stranger.\" [Footnote 24]\n\n    [Footnote 24: These words were used by an Irish girl on her\n    mother's death.]\n\n\"No,\" he answered; \"to her Friend and Brother, and who is also\nyours and mine, my child. Leave, then, this poor, earthly\ntabernacle, Aim\u00e9e, for a while, and come and meet her at his\nfeet.\" And Aim\u00e9e went with him to Mass.\n\n\n       Chapter III.\n\nIt was all over: the wasted form of Marie Angelique de Brissac\nMorton was laid in the quiet grave, where the rays of the rising\nsun would play upon the grass; where the shadow of the sanctuary\nwall would shelter it; where wild roses and sweet-brier would\nscent the air; where the cur\u00e9 would come daily to say a _De\nProfundis_; and which the faithful villagers, who had loved\nthe sleeper well, would always reverently tend. There Aim\u00e9e left\nher  there she shed her last tears in the early morning before\nshe began her journey; there she knelt at the cur\u00e9's feet for his\nlast blessing, and the old man's voice faltered as he pronounced\nthe words. Mrs. Morton's death and Aim\u00e9e's departure had robbed\nhis life of the little sunshine that it had possessed; but he\nmurmured not, and rather rejoiced that tie after tie was cut\nwhich should bind him to the love of earth. With far more\ncalmness than could have been expected, Aim\u00e9e bade farewell to\nthe only home and friends she had ever known, and set out to meet\nher new and untried future.\n{162}\nShe had never been further than to the country town nearest her\nvillage, and the journey astonished and bewildered her. More than\none compassionate and admiring glance was cast on the slight,\nlovely girl, attired in such deep mourning, and whose eyes were\nso dim with unshed tears. A trusty farmer of St. Victor, saw her\nto the sea-coast, and put her into the charge of the captain of\nthe vessel in which she was to reach England. He in his turn\nconsigned her to the guard of the train. At length, Aim\u00e9e found\nherself standing in the great wilderness of a London railway\nstation, with people jostling, pushing, vociferating, swearing\naround her, each intent on his own business, and all unmindful of\nothers. A footman at last came up to ask her name, and, finding\nshe was Miss Morton, told her he was sent for her. He showed her\nto a fly, which was waiting, and having found her luggage, she\nwas soon rolling through the streets. At those long, dreary,\ninterminable streets Aim\u00e9e looked with a kind of awe and\noppression. She was thankful when the carriage stopped at the\ndoor of one of the large, gloomy-looking mansions to be found in\nRussell Square. Another footman opened the door, and she entered.\nNo voice welcomed her, no hand was stretched out to meet hers, no\nsmile greeted her. A housemaid appeared to lead her up-stairs.\nShe found herself in possession of a large room, furnished in the\nheavy style in fashion forty years ago. A luxurious four-post\nmahogany bedstead half-filled the apartment, hung with dark-brown\ndamask; the window-curtains were of the same hue. There was a\nmassive wardrobe, chairs which could hardly be moved, and an\nempty fireplace. Aim\u00e9e shuddered, but not with cold; and, when\nthe door closed behind the servant, she threw herself into a\nchair and wept bitterly. Presently she rose, weeping still, but\nit was to cast herself on her knees and press her crucifix to her\nlips. She soon grew calm; the sense of loneliness passed away.\nShe had a Friend who never left her, in whose company the\ndreariest room was bright; and Aim\u00e9e rose comforted and at peace.\nShe went to the window and looked out. Below her was a small\npaved court, and beyond the house a vista of other houses and\nlanes; not a speck of green or a flower met her eye; but she\nlooked higher still, and she saw the sky, very cloudy at that\nmoment certainly; \"but then,\" thought she, \"it will be often\nblue, and I can always look at it.\" And so she tried to enliven\nthe prospect. A knock at the door interrupted her musings, and\nthere entered a cheerful, elderly woman, who courtesied\nrespectfully, and announced she was Mrs. Connell, the\nhousekeeper. As her eyes travelled over Aim\u00e9e's sad, wan face and\ndeep black, an expression of compassion and interest came into\nher countenance. \"Do you want anything, miss?\" she asked. \"Sure,\nit was only this morning that Mr. Morton told me you were coming,\nand so things are hardly straight for you. Will you take some\ntea, ma'am? Dinner won't be served for an hour.\"\n\n\"Is my uncle at home?\"\n\n\"No, miss, and will not be for half an hour; then he goes to\ndress, and then dinner is served. Why, Miss Morton,\" said the\ngood woman, brightening as she saw Aim\u00e9e's crucifix on the table,\n\"you're a Catholic! To be sure, I never thought of that, though I\nknew Mr. George had married a French lady.\"\n\n\"Are you one, Mrs. Connell?\" said Aim\u00e9e, with a smile.\n\n{163}\n\n\"To be sure, miss. I am an Irish woman, as perhaps you may know.\"\nBut as Aim\u00e9e had never heard English save from her mother and the\ncur\u00e9, Mrs. Connell's accent was quite lost upon her. She felt,\nhowever, she had found a friend; and she gladly accepted Mrs.\nConnell's help in unpacking and getting ready for the formidable\ninterview with her uncle. They met in the drawing-room a few\nmoments before dinner. Mr. Morton put out two of his fingers with\nan icy, \"How are you?\" after which he relapsed into silence. When\ndinner was announced, he gave her his arm, and they went into the\ndining-room. Two footmen and a butler waited. The plate was\nmagnificent, the dinner very fine; but not one word was addressed\nto the poor, lonely girl, too terrified to eat. Once or twice she\nmade a desperate effort to break the ice of her own accord, but\nshe found evidently that this was disliked, and she gave it up.\nAnd so day succeeded day, and there was no alteration in her\nuncle's behavior. He might have been deaf and dumb as far as\nintercourse with him was concerned. His orders about her--few,\nbrief, and decisive--were given to Mrs. Council. She was to\nfurnish herself with clothes from certain shops which he named,\nand whose bills were to be sent to him. As soon as possible, she\nwas to leave off her heavy mourning. She was never to go out\nalone; and as for exercise, the Square Gardens would suffice. And\nhaving delivered himself of these sentiments, Mr. Morton\napparently considered his duty to his orphan niece was done. He\nprovided her with neither employment nor amusement; he gave her\nno pocket money; and she had nothing but a small sum which\nremained to her when all the expenses at St. Victor were paid.\nThe young girl, brought up, as she had been, in the open country,\naccustomed to sea and mountain air, to work in her garden, and\ntake long, rambling walks to the hamlets round the village, felt\nlike a caged bird pacing up and down the gravel paths of Russell\nSquare, and watching the London blacks settle on the leafless\ntrees. She enjoyed one comfort, that of the daily walk to Mass\nwith Mrs. Connell; and be the weather what it might, the two\nfigures of the old woman and young girl might be seen flitting\nthrough the dusk to the nearest Catholic church. Still it was\nalmost impossible to avoid losing both health and spirits in such\nan atmosphere. She was very courageous, and she struggled\nresolutely against depression and _ennui_, a word of which\nshe for the first time began to understand the meaning. She wrote\nlong letters to the cur\u00e9, and his answers, containing every scrap\nof village news, were eagerly devoured, as well as some beautiful\nthoughts on higher themes which he never failed to give her. She\npulled down the long disused books in her uncle's library, and,\nguided by a list the cur\u00e9 had given her--for in the days of exile\nhe had attained a good knowledge of English literature--she read\na good deal. She practised on the old, long-disused piano in the\ndrawing-room, much to Mrs. Connell's delight. She tried to teach\nherself Italian; and, as visiting the poor was strictly forbidden\nby her uncle, she spent some of her own money in buying\nmaterials, and made clothes for them. Then, in the Square\nGardens, she made friends with the children who with their\nnurse-maids overspread the place. She soon became their friend,\nfavorite, and slave, was alternately a horse for Master Walter\nand a lady in waiting for Miss Beatrice, or a perpetual fountain\nof story-telling to the whole tribe. Society she saw literally\nnone; one guest only ever sat at Mr. Morton's table, and his\nappearance Aim\u00e9e soon learnt to dread rather than desire.\n{164}\nMr. Hulme was Mr. Morton's partner, a little wiry man with sharp\nferret eyes, and his harsh cynical conversation was far worse to\nAim\u00e9e than her uncle's silence. He took little notice of her; but\nit was deeply painful to the poor girl to have all that she held\nmost sacred treated as a fit subject for scorn and ridicule, to\nhear honor and faith and nobility and truth scoffed at as\nimpossibilities. Many natures might have been warped by hearing\nsuch sentiments; but Aim\u00e9e's childlike faith and innocence were a\nsecure shield, and not one of Mr. Hulme's coarse remarks ever\nclung to her memory.\n\n\n\n           Chapter IV.\n\nEvery now and again Aim\u00e9e understood that _she_, though not\ndirectly named, formed the subject of conversation between the\ntwo partners. She was in some way connected with the return of\n\"Robert,\" though who Robert was, or where he was coming from, she\nhad not the slightest conception, and she felt too weary at heart\nto indulge much curiosity. Christmas came, and poor Aim\u00e9e's heart\nwas sore indeed. At such a period the happiest family has some\nsad memories--there are some vacant places at the board, some\nvoices whose tone we listen for in vain; but with Aim\u00e9e what a\nchange since last year! She could not but think of the midnight\nMass, the gathering of the villagers, the sky radiant with stars,\nher mother's kiss, the cur\u00e9's blessing; how, later in the day,\nshe had waited on the poor and gladdened many a heart, and how\nshe had trimmed the church's arches with holly, and how she had\ndressed the _cr\u00e8che_. Now there were no such delights for\nher; still she drove back her tears. She thought of her mother's\nChristmas in heaven, really singing the angelic song. And in the\ndingy London chapel a few holly-berries were glistening, and upon\nthe altar was the same Lord, the same Friend and Comforter; and\nAim\u00e9e, as she walked home through the streets, when a fog was\nbeginning to turn to rain, and when every object looked a dirty\nbrown color, felt in her heart that she possessed the greatest\nblessing the festival could bring--_peace of heart_.\n\nShe dreaded the dinner because she feared Mr. Hulme would be\npresent; but on entering the drawing-room she found, to her\nsurprise, a gentleman whom she had never seen before. He was\nlying back in one of the easy-chairs, a newspaper in his hand, as\nif quite at home. On her entrance he sprang to his feet, and\nAim\u00e9e saw he was a young man about five-and-twenty, with a fair,\nopen countenance beaming with good humor and cheerfulness.\n\n\"Miss Morton, I presume. Allow me to introduce myself, as there\nis no one at hand to perform the ceremony. I am Robert Claydon,\nat your service, nephew to the redoubtable Mr. Hulme. I am not\nvain enough to suppose he has talked of me in my absence.\"\n\n\"I have heard him speak of some one called Robert,\" said Aim\u00e9e,\nsmiling.\n\n\"I have been in Holland these three months,\" he replied, \"on\nbusiness of the firm, and only returned last night.\"\n\nThe entrance of Mr. Morton and Mr. Hulme put a stop to the\nconversation; but Aim\u00e9e soon found that dinner was a very\ndifferent matter in presence of the new guest.\n\n{165}\n\nMr. Hulme was in the highest good humor, Mr. Morton less icy than\nusual, while Robert's flow of spirits seemed inexhaustible. All\nthe little incidents of an ordinary journey from Hamburg to\nLondon were told in such a manner as to make them amusing; and\nwhen Aim\u00e9e went to bed that night, she felt as if a ray of\nsunshine had suddenly lightened her life. Sunshine, indeed, was\nthe word that could best express the effect produced by Robert\nClaydon's presence. There was sunshine in his laughing blue eyes,\nin his merry smile, in his joyous voice. Having learned the\nsecret of personal happiness, his one desire was to make others\nhappy, and morose indeed were the natures he did not gladden; and\nAim\u00e9e soon found that he was not only bright and genial, but\nnoble in character and heart.\n\nMr. Hulme had long intended to make Robert his heir, and since\nthe arrival of Aim\u00e9e, the partners had formed the scheme of\nmarrying her to Robert, and thus keeping the property of the firm\nintact. Her wishes in the matter the old men little thought of,\nnor were Robert's much considered, except that they each knew too\nwell Robert would not be dictated to in so important a matter as\nthe choice of a wife.\n\nIt was, however, not long after his return to England that the\n\"firm\" intimated the purport of their august will to Robert.\n\n\"The course of true love never did run smooth,\" was his smiling\nanswer. \"This little Aim\u00e9e is, I believe, the very ideal I have\nimagined to myself for a wife, and by all laws of romance, you,\nour respected uncles, ought to forbid the match, or cut us off\nwith a shilling, instead of actually urging us on; but now,\nremember,\" added he, \"a fair field, or I am off the bargain. No\nusing of commands to the poor little maiden. I will win her on my\nown merits and after my own fashion, or not at all.\" And so the\nweeks passed on, and Robert began seriously to doubt whether he\nhad really made progress. Aim\u00e9e was always pleased to see him;\nshe had lost all shyness and embarrassment in his presence. There\nis no self-possession so perfect as that given by simplicity, and\nAim\u00e9e, who rarely thought about herself, was always at her ease.\nShe trusted Robert implicitly, and had learned to tell him about\nher home, her former pursuits, and even of her darling mother.\nShe never tried to analyze her feelings; she only knew that her\nwhole life was changed since that Christmas-day by the constant\nintercourse with this new friend; and Robert, whose whole heart\nwas given to her, feared that she only regarded him with sisterly\naffection, and he feared to speak the words which might, instead\nof crowning his hopes, banish him from her side.\n\nOne evening in the early spring, Aim\u00e9e was sitting at the piano\ntrying some new music Robert had given her. Robert was not far\noff, and Mr. Hulme and Mr. Morton were lingering, according to\ntheir custom, in the dining-room. A servant entered with letters.\n\n\"Are there any for me?\" said Aim\u00e9e, turning round eagerly. \"The\nFrench letters often come by this post, and it is so long since I\nheard from St. Victor.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Robert, bringing the letter to her, \"here it is,\npost-mark, foreign stamp, and all.\"\n\n\"But not his handwriting?\" said Aim\u00e9e in a surprised tone, and\nshe tore the letter open. A sudden paleness overspread her face,\nand the letter fell from her hands, and she looked up into\nRobert's face with an expression of mute agony.\n\n{166}\n\n\"My poor child!\" said Robert, in a tone so gentle, so full of\nsympathy, that Aim\u00e9e broke down.\n\n\"He is gone!\" she sobbed out; \"my last, my only friend.\"\n\n\"Nay, not so,\" cried Robert; \"I would give my life for you, my\nAim\u00e9e--my love--my love! O darling! _can_ you care for me;\ncan you give me your heart for mine?\"\n\nShe gave one look only from her innocent eyes, still full of\ntears, but that one glance sufficed; it removed all doubt from\nRobert's mind. He felt that he was indeed beloved with a woman's\nfirst and ardent attachment; and gathering her into his arms, he\nbade her weep out her sorrows on his breast, henceforth to be her\nrefuge. Henceforth their joys and their sorrows were to be in\ncommon. After a time they read the letter together. It was from\nthe doctor of St. Victor, and told how the old cur\u00e9 had died\nsuddenly while kneeling before the altar in silent prayer--a\nfrequent custom of his throughout the day. He had fallen\nsideways, his head resting on the altar-step, a smile of\nchildlike sweetness on his lips, his rosary twined about his\nhands, his breviary by his side--a soldier with his armor on, he\nhad been called by his Master to join the church triumphant. For\nsuch a loss there could be no bitterness, and Aim\u00e9e's sorrow was\ncalm and gentle. And round her life now there hung a halo such as\nhad never brightened it before. She had been happy with her\nmother, and in her village, with the springtide joy of childhood\nand early youth; but now the rich, full summer of her life was\ncome. True it was, no voice, save poor Mrs. Connell's, wished her\njoy. She had no mother or sister or even friend to tell out the\nmany new thoughts that her position brought to her mind; but, to\nmake up for this, she found she had won a heart such as rarely\nfalls to the lot of mortal.\n\nTo the lonely girl Robert was literally all--mother, and brother,\nand lover in one. Her happiness, not his own gratification, was\nthe pervading thought of his life. She was not only loved, but\nwatched over tenderly and cared for with exceeding\nthoughtfulness. There was, of course, nothing to wait for; and as\nsoon as the settlements were drawn up, Easter would have come,\nand then the marriage would take place. Knowing Aim\u00e9e's love for\nthe country, Robert took a cottage in one of the pretty villages\nthat surround London, and there, as he planned, they could garden\ntogether in the summer evenings and sometimes take a row upon the\nThames.\n\nMeanwhile, Robert took Aim\u00e9e away as much as possible from the\ngloomy atmosphere of Russell Square. They went together to the\nParks and to Kensington Gardens, where the trees were fast\nbeginning to put on their first, fresh green; and they went\ntogether to the different Catholic churches, for the beautiful\nservices which abound in such variety during Lent; and during\ntheir walks to and fro Aim\u00e9e learned more and more of the\nnobility of the mind that was hereafter to guide and govern her\nown. They were no ordinary lovers, these two; their affection was\ntoo pure, too deep, too _real_ to need much outward\ndemonstration, or many expressions of its warmth. They knew each\npossessed the other's heart, and that was enough. Their\nconversation often ran on grave subjects; and often, leaving the\nthings of earth, they mounted to the thoughts of a higher and\nbetter life--and Aim\u00e9e found, to her astonishment, that the young\nmerchant, active in business, the laughing, merry Robert in\nsociety, was in reality leading in secret a life of strict\nChristian holiness, and that the secret of the perpetual sunshine\nof his nature proceeded from his having found out where alone the\nheart of man can find it.\n{167}\nDeep as was his love for her, Aim\u00e9e knew it was second only to\nhis love for his Creator; and at the call of duty he would not\nhesitate to sacrifice the dearest hopes of his life. Here, she\nfelt, she could not follow him; her love for him very nearly\napproached idolatry. The thought was painful, and she banished it\nfrom her mind, and gave herself up to the full enjoyment of her\nfirst perfect dream of bliss.\n\nIt was a late Easter, and the feast came in a glorious burst of\nspring, Only a brief ten days now intervened between Aim\u00e9e's\nmarriage-day. Already the simple bridal attire was ready; \"for,\"\nas Mrs. Connell observed, \"there was nothing like being in time;\"\nand the orange-flowers and the veil were already in the good\nhousekeeper's charge, and she looked forward with no little\npleasure to the novel sight of a wedding from her master's gloomy\nabode. Robert wished Aim\u00e9e to see the house he had taken for\ntheir future home; and early in Easter week Mrs. Connell\naccompanied them thither, to give her sage advice as to the\nfinishing touches of furniture and house-linen. It really was a\nlittle gem of a house, surrounded with fairy-like gardens, with\ntall trees shading it on one side, and the silver Thames shining\nin the foreground; and as Aim\u00e9e stood, silent with delight,\nbefore the open French window of her drawing-room, Robert showed\nher a little steeple peeping through the trees, and told her the\npretty new Catholic church was not five minutes' walk from their\nabode. \"And this tiny room, dearest,\" said he, opening a\nminiature window adjoining the drawing-room, \"I thought we would\nmake into a little oratory, and hang up those pictures and\ncrucifix which belonged to your dead mother.\"\n\nAim\u00e9e's head fell on his shoulder. \"Robert, I feel as if it were\nmuch _too bright_ for earth. The cur\u00e9 always seemed to be\ntrying to prepare me for a life of suffering, for a sad future,\nfor a heavy cross. Long before mamma's death, he used to speak so\nmuch in the confessional of the love of suffering, of\n_enduring_ life--and I always believed he had some strange\ninsight into the future. But where is the suffering in my lot\nnow, Robert, I ask myself sometimes, _where is the cross?_\"\n\n\"It will come, my dear one,\" answered he with his bright smile;\n\"never fear, God gives us sunshine sometimes, and we must be\nready for the clouds when they come, but we need not be looking\nout for them. We may have some great trials together--who knows?\nBut now come and look at the way I am going to lay out my\ngarden.\" Aim\u00e9e followed him without answering, but in her heart\nthere swelled the thought that, _with him_, no trial could\nbe really great.\n\nOn returning to town, Robert took leave of Aim\u00e9e at the station\nand put her and Mrs. Connell into a car, and promised to return\nto Russell Square for dinner. As the car rolled through the\nstreets, now bright and cheerful in the sunlight, Aim\u00e9e thought\nof her first journey through them six months before, and how her\nlife, then so sad, had so strangely brightened; and it was with a\nradiant face that she entered the gloomy portal of her uncle's\nhouse.\n\nThe footman stopped Mrs. Connell as she followed her young\nmistress. \"My master has come home,\" he said, \"and asked for you,\nand precious cross he was because you wasn't in; he seems ill\nlike, for he sent for a cup of tea.\"\n\n{168}\n\n\"Master at home! a cup of tea!\" ejaculated Mrs. Connell in\ndismay, and she hastened to the study to find Mr. Morton\nshivering over the fire, and so testy and irritable it was\ndifficult to know what to do for him. He was evidently ill, but\nwould not hear of sending for a doctor. \"Nonsense, he was never\nill; he should dine as usual,\" he exclaimed sharply; but when\ndinner-time came, he was unable to partake of it, and his illness\nwas so evidently gaining on him that he yielded to Robert's\npersuasion, and Dr. Bruce was summoned. The doctor ordered his\npatient to bed, looked serious, and promised to come again in the\nmorning. By that time Mr. Morton was delirious, and it was with\nno surprise that the household learnt the illness was a low\ntyphus fever. A nurse was sent for to assist Mrs. Connell. Aim\u00e9e\nwas forbidden to approach the bedroom, and the wedding was\npostponed.\n\n\n\n      Chapter V.\n\n\nRobert's first wish had been to send Aim\u00e9e away, but she shrank\nfrom the idea, and as Dr. Bruce considered the risk of infection\nhad already been run, he did not press the point. He was careful\nto take her out as much as possible into the open air, and to\nprevent the silence and gloom of the house from depressing her.\nMr. Morton's life was in the utmost danger, and therefore, do\nwhat they would, they could not be so cheerful as before.\nHitherto the lovers had, by a tacit consent, avoided the mention\nof Aim\u00e9e's uncle; for the six months that had elapsed since she\nhad entered his doors had made no difference apparently in Mr.\nMorton's feelings toward her. He was as icy as ever; and when her\nengagement was announced, he never wished her joy or seemed glad\nof it for her sake. Cold and hard he naturally was, but Aim\u00e9e\ncould not but feel that he had an actual dislike to her; for he\nwould smile now and then at Mr. Hulme's jokes, and his manner to\nRobert often verged on cordiality. With her only he was\ninvariably silent, stern, and freezing; and poor Aim\u00e9e's heart,\nso full of affection, so ready to be grateful for the little he\ndid for her, felt deeply pained. But now Robert and she spoke\nanxiously of that soul which was hanging in the balance between\nlife and death. He had lived without God, in open defiance of his\nlaws, in avowed disbelief of the very existence of his Maker, and\nnow was he, without an hour's consciousness, without any space\nfor repentance, to be hurried into the presence of his Judge?\nThey shrank in horror from the thought; and many were their\nprayers, many were the Masses offered up that God in his mercy\nwould not cut off this man in his sins. Their prayers were\ngranted; he did not die, and after three weeks of intense\nanxiety, the crisis passed, and he began to mend. Mental\nimprovement was not to be perceived with returning health. No\nexpression of gratitude for having escaped death crossed his\nlips--apparently the shadow of death had not terrified him--he\nrose up from his sick-bed as hard, as cynical, as icy as before.\nAnd Aim\u00e9e's fond hope that at last he would thaw to her was\ndisappointed. As soon as Mr. Morton could leave his room, Dr.\nBruce prescribed change of air; and it was arranged that Robert\nand Aim\u00e9e should accompany him. Mrs. Connell was so thoroughly\nused up with nursing that she was to be sent to take a holiday\namong her friends in Ireland.\n\n{169}\n\nIt was hard work to persuade Mr. Morton to go at all, still\nharder to find a place to suit him; he moved from spot to spot,\ntill at last, to his companions' surprise, he seemed to take a\nfancy for a wild spot on the North Devon coast, and there settled\ndown for some weeks. It was a most out-of-the-way spot, and the\nonly place in which they could reside was a homely village inn.\nIt pleased him, however, and day by day he rapidly regained his\nstrength. Robert and Aim\u00e9e were well contented; the beauty and\nquiet of the place were delightful, and not a mile from it was a\nCatholic church, which happened to be served by a priest who had\nknown Robert in his boyhood. Great was Aim\u00e9e's pleasure in\nlistening to their laughing reminiscences of bygone years, and\ngreater still was her happiness when she chanced to be left alone\nwith Father Dunne, and he spoke of Robert, of his innocent\nchildhood, his holy life, the bright example he set in his\nposition, and assured her that few women had won such a prize as\nshe had for life. Then Aim\u00e9e's heart swelled with joy and pride.\nOn one lovely day in June, Aim\u00e9e was specially happy; for her\nuncle's improvement was so marked, Robert had been asking her to\nfix an early day in July for their wedding. Mr. Hulme and Mrs.\nConnell could join them, and they could be married at this little\nchurch, which had become dear to them, and Father Dunne could\npronounce the nuptial benediction. Aim\u00e9e greatly preferred this\nto being married in London, and her heart was very light. That\nmorning she had knelt by Robert's side at communion. She could\nnot help observing the rapt, almost celestial expression of his\nface afterward. It was the Feast of the Sacred Heart, and Father\nDunne had Benediction early in the afternoon.\n\nAs they walked to church together, their conversation turned on\nreligious subjects, and Robert spoke in a more unreserved way\nthan he had ever done before. He spoke of Heaven, the rest it\nwould be after earth's toils, of the sweetness of sacrifice, of\nthe joy of God's service. Aim\u00e9e was silent. He looked down into\nher face.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, smiling, \"is it not true?\"\n\n\"O Robert!\" she cried, \"your love is heaven to me now! Is not,\noh! is not mine so to you?\"\n\n\"No, my Aim\u00e9e,\" he answered, gravely yet sweetly; \"my heart's\ndarling, God first, then you.\"\n\n\"I cannot!\" she answered, in a stifled voice.\n\n\"You will soon, darling, never fear. I prayed this morning that\nour love might be sanctified, might draw us closer to God--and I\nfeel it will be so. Pray with me for it at Benediction.\"\n\nSo they went and knelt before the altar, and their Lord blessed\nthem as they bent before him. Passing out of church, Father Dunne\njoined them, and remarked on the beauty of the evening.\n\n\"We shall go with my uncle on the cliff,\" said Aim\u00e9e, \"and watch\nthe coast.\"\n\n\"And perhaps I shall meet you there,\" answered the priest, \"for I\nhave a sick call from which I can return in that direction.\" So\nsaying, he turned into another road.\n\nMr. Morton was ready when they returned to the inn, and the three\npassed up on the cliff and wandered on far beyond their usual\ndistance. They came to a part where the cliff was one sheer sheet\nof rock descending to the beach, save one large crag which jutted\nout, and on one side obscured the view.\n{170}\nAim\u00e9e had a great horror of looking down any steep place, and\nshrank back from the cliff, while Mr. Morton, who despised her\nweakness, always chose to walk at the very edge.\n\n\"See here, little one,\" said Robert, \"here is a safe place for\nyou.\" An iron stanchion had been thrust into the ground, and a\nthick rope was carelessly coiled round it. \"It must be used for\nthrowing signals to the boats below,\" said Robert, \"but you can\nlean against it, Aim\u00e9e.\"\n\n\"I think I shall step on that crag, Robert,\" said Mr. Morton, \"if\nyou will lend me an arm. I want to catch the whole view at once.\"\n\n\"O uncle!\" said Aim\u00e9e, in a tone of terror.\n\n\"Do you think it is very prudent, sir?\" remarked Robert. \"It is\nnone too wide to stand on.\"\n\n\"Oh! very well,\" said Mr. Morton testily, \"if you are afraid, I\nshall go by myself.\" Robert's merry laugh was the only answer,\nand, giving his arm to Mr. Morton, they both descended.\n\nAim\u00e9e hid her face, sick with terror. She heard their voices for\na minute, then, O horror! what was that? A crash, a rush, a\nsudden shout of pain! She rushed to the edge to see the crag\ndetach itself from the rock, and the two figures falling. She saw\nboth clutching for some support--she saw both catch hold of\ndifferent bits of rock jutting out--she knew, for her senses were\nsharpened by fear, that they could not long sustain their weight.\nShe thought of the rope, rushed for it, uncoiled it, and ran\nback. All was the work of one moment. An unnatural activity\nseemed to possess her. She was like one in a dream. She saw the\nrope would not reach both; she must choose between them; and\nAnother could see her! But on the still evening air, with her\nears quickened unnaturally, she heard oaths from one; from the\nother, \"Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit.\"\n\nAim\u00e9e threw the rope to Mr. Morton, and saw him catch it. The\nnext instant she heard another crash--a dull _thud_, as of\nsomething falling--and nature could bear no more. Aim\u00e9e fell on\nthe ground insensible just as Father Dunne, and some laborers\nalarmed by the shout in the distance, came running to the spot.\n\nWhen Aim\u00e9e woke to consciousness, she was in her own bed at the\ninn. Her first thought was, that she had been dreaming; but she\nstarted back, the landlady was walking by her, and now came\nforward, trying to put on an appearance of composure.\n\n\"My uncle?\" said Aim\u00e9e.\n\n\"Lies in bed, miss, and going on well,\" answered the good woman\nhurriedly.\n\nAim\u00e9e gave one searching look into Mrs. Barton's face, and sank\nback on her pillow. In another moment the door opened, Mrs.\nBarton disappeared, and Father Dunne stood by her side. The\nsilent look at him was all she gave.\n\n\"Yes, my child,\" he said, \"your sacrifice has been accepted, and\nRobert is with those who follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth.\"\nAnd then, sitting down beside her, the priest drew out the truth\nwhich, by a sudden instinct, he had all but guessed. No one but\nhe ever knew it; it was generally believed that Robert had failed\nto catch the rope when thrown to him--he had fallen on the beach,\nand was dashed to pieces. Aim\u00e9e could not look upon his form or\nkiss for the last time the pale, cold face. He had passed in one\nbrief instant from her sight for aye. In the heat of noonday her\nsun had gone down.\n\n{171}\n\nFrom this fresh shock to his constitution Mr. Morton could not\nrally; he was fearfully shaken and bruised, but he lingered many\nweeks, and Aim\u00e9e waited on him with a daughter's care. And at\nlast the stern heart was softened, and Mr. Morton implored mercy\nfrom the God he had so long offended. He died a sincere penitent;\nand the grief for Robert's death caused a salutary change in Mr.\nHulme also. Aim\u00e9e had now become a great heiress, but money\ncannot heal a broken heart. She would fain have remained in the\nlittle village where the tragedy of her life had been worked out,\nand devote herself to the poor; but Father Dunne would not allow\nit, and to him she now looked for guidance and help. He made her\ngo to Italy and Rome in company with some quiet friends of his\nown for two years; and time and the sight of the woes of others\ngradually softened Aim\u00e9e's grief. And by degrees a great peace\nstole over her spirit; a love deeper than hers for Robert took\npossession of her heart; and the hour came when she acknowledged\nthat in sacrifice lay much sweetness. She did not live many\nyears; she distributed her large fortune among various good\nworks. A fair church replaces the humble building in which Robert\nand she for the last time prayed together, and a convent stands\nnear the spot where he breathed out his last sigh to God. And\nwhen her work was done, death came to Aim\u00e9e; and, with a smile on\nher lips, and joy in her eyes, she went to meet again those\nfondly loved, so strangely lost on earth.\n\n--------\n\n    Sayings Of The Fathers Of The Desert.\n\n\nAbbot Pambo once asked Abbot Antony what he should do. The\nvenerable man replied: Do not rely too much upon your own\nsanctity; never have useless regrets for what has passed, and\nalways be watchful over your tongue and your appetite.\n\n\nSaint Gregory used to say: God requires these three things of\nevery man who has been baptized; strong and living faith,\nmoderation in speech, and chastity of body.\n\n\nAbbot Joseph the Theban said: There are three classes of men who\nare pleasing in the sight of the Lord. The first are those who,\nthough weak, accept temptations with a thankful heart. The second\nare those who perform all their actions before God with purity of\nheart and without human motives. The third are those who subject\nthemselves to the commands of their spiritual Father and entirely\nrenounce their own will.\n\n{172}\n\nAbbot Cassian narrates of Abbot John that, when he was on his\ndeathbed and preparing to depart with joyful soul, his brethren\nstood around him and earnestly besought that he would leave them\nas an heritage a compendium, as it were, of sanctity, by means of\nwhich they might rise to that perfection which is in Christ. Then\nhe with sighs replied: I have never done my own will, nor have I\never taught any one anything which I have not previously done\nmyself.\n\n\nAbbot Pastor said: To be watchful, to examine one's self, to be\ndiscreet, are the three great duties of the soul.\n\n\nThey tell of Abbot Pambo that, when about to die, he said to\nthose holy men who stood near: From the time when I first came to\nthis place and built my cell and dwelt therein, I do not remember\nto have eaten bread that I did not gain by the labor of my hands,\nnor have I ever repented of any thing that I have said up to this\nvery hour. And thus I go to the Lord, I who have not even begun\nto serve God.\n\n\nAbbot Sisois said: Be abject and cast pleasures away; be free and\nsecure from the cares of the world, and you shall have rest.\n\n\n\nA brother once asked a father how one may acquire a fear of the\nLord. And he replied: If a man practise humility and poverty, and\njudge not another, he shall surely fear the Lord.\n\n\nA certain father used to say: If thou hate one who speaks ill of\nthee, speak ill of no one; if thou hate him who calumniates thee,\ndo not calumniate anyone; if thou hate him who injures thee or\ntakes away what is thine, or does any thing of a like nature, do\nnone of these things to any one. He who can observe this rule\nshall be saved.\n\n--------\n\n            All Souls' Day.\n\n                1866.\n\n\n  On every cross or slab, a wreath--on some,\n    Two, three, or more--of radiant autumn leaves,\n  Mingled with gold and white chrysanthemum;\n    Even the nameless, unmarked grave receives\n      Some pledge from mortal love\n  Unto peace-parted souls, we trust, with God above.\n\n  The choral chaunt is hushed, the Mass is said:\n    Noon, but already the last pilgrim gone:\n  Brief visits pay the living to the dead,\n    But once a year we meet o'er those we mourn.\n      I wait unwatched, alone,\n  To muse o'er some once loved, o'er many more unknown.\n\n{173}\n\n  That cross of marble, with its sculptured base,\n    Guards the blest ashes of a friend whose form\n  Was half my boyhood; his arch, laughing face--\n    The last you'd take to front a coming storm,\n      Or dare what none else durst:\n  Read how he fell, of all the best and bravest, first!\n\n  Another pastor near him lies asleep,\n    Fresh wreaths, love-woven, mark the newer sod;\n  Each lettered white cross bids me pause to weep\n    Some lost companion or some man of God.\n      Beneath this sacred ground,\n  More friends I number than in all the world around.\n\n  There, side by side, far from the forfeit home\n    For which they vainly bled, three soldiers rest,\n  In sight of the round peak, whose bannered dome\n    Crowns the defiles wherein the fiery crest\n      Of a dead nation paled\n  Before the heights, where erst the great Virginian failed.\n\n  Westward, a little higher up the steep,\n    Rests a young mother--on her cross, a bar\n  Of golden music: since she fell asleep\n    The world she left has somehow seemed ajar;\n      Those patient, peaceful eyes,\n  With which she watched the world, diffused sweet harmonies.\n\n  For she was pure--pure as the snows of Yule\n    That hailed her birth: pure as the autumnal snow\n  That flecked her coffin: she was beautiful,\n    Heroic, gentle: none could ever know\n      That face and then forget:\n  Though vanished years ago, her smile seems living yet.\n\n  And near her, happy in that nearness, lies\n    The world-worn consul by his best-loved child--\n  The first rest of a life of sacrifice:\n    The native stars, that on his labors smiled\n      So rarely, o'er the wave\n  Beckoned him to the peace of home--and of the grave.\n\n  Here, too, a relic of primeval ways\n    And statelier manners, mingled with the grace\n  Of Israel: in the evening of her days,\n    Baptized at fourscore--strongest of her race,\n      Yet twice a child--that rain\n  Supernal leaving all those years without a stain.\n\n{174}\n\n  And thou, young soldier, teach me how to turn\n    From earth to heaven, as in the solemn hour\n  Thy soul was turned. Ah! well for thee to learn\n    So soon that festal board and bridal flower\n      May foil the out-stretched hand:\n  That life's best conquest is the holy afterland.\n\n  Holding the very summit of the slope,\n    A pointed chapel, girt with evergreen\n  And frailer summer foliage--still as hope--\n    Watches the east for morning's earliest sheen:\n      Beneath it slumbers one\n  For whom the tears of unextinguished grief still run.\n\n  A twelve-month mourned, yet deeper now the loss\n    Than when first fell the slowly sudden doom,\n  And on her pale breast lay the unmoving cross:\n    Lone tenant of that solitary tomb,\n      Love's daily widowed prayer\n  Still craves reunion in thy chambered sepulchre.\n\n  The sunset shadow of this chapel falls\n    Upon a classmate's grave: a rare delight\n  Laughed in his youth: but, one by one, the halls\n    Of life were darkened, till, amid the night,\n      A single star remained--\n  Bright herald of the paradise by tears regained.\n\n  High in the bending trees the north wind sings,\n    The shining chestnut to my feet is rolled\n  The shivering mountains, bare as bankrupt kings,\n    Sit beggared of their purple and their gold:\n      The naked plain below\n  Sighs to the clouds, impatient of its robe of snow.\n\n  Death is in all things: yet how small it seems,\n    God's chosen acre on this mountain-side:\n  A speck, a mote: while yonder cornland gleams\n    With hoarded plenty, stretching far and wide.\n      A hundred acres there\n  Content not one: one acre serves a thousand here.\n\n  Ah! we forget them in our changing lot--\n    Forget the past in present weal or woe;\n  But yet, perchance, more angels guard this spot\n    Than wander in the living fields below:\n      And, as I pass the gate,\n  The world without seems strangely void and desolate.\n\n--------\n\n{175}\n\n\n    The Function of the Subjective in Religion. [Footnote 25]\n\n    [Footnote 25: This Paper was read before the Academia of the\n    Catholic Religion, in London, June 11, 1867, by Very Rev. W.\n    H. Anderdon, D.D., M.A. Oxon.]\n\nAny one not a Catholic, but fairly acquainted with the church's\npast and present, if he had to define by a term her prevailing\ncharacter, would use some such word as _unchangeable_. He\nmight use it with admiration, as historians have done; or with\nvexation and anger, as controversialists do. He might regard it\nas a quality that raised the church above, or kept it behind the\nage; made it venerable and noble, or deprived it of all\nprogressive and free spirit. But, with evil report or good\nreport, and in whatever contrast with the communions around it,\nwhich rise and fall, are modified and melt away, he would confess\nthe church to be unchangeable.\n\nThe Catholic accepts this statement, and completes it by adding\nthe cause of the church's preternatural sameness. He calls it\n\"the pillar and ground of the truth;\" the perpetual home and\nimpregnable fortress of the divine revelation. The\ncharacteristics of the one faith, he says, follow those of the\none Lord, as the shadow attends the substance which projects it.\nThe mystical spouse is immutable in faith and morality, because\nwith her divine Lord there is \"no change nor shadow of\nvicissitude.\" The passage of centuries, phases of human society,\nrise, progress, and dissolution of theories and religious\nopinions leave her where they found her; because \"Jesus Christ is\nyesterday and to-day, and the same forever.\" \"_Tempus non\noccurrit Ecclesiae_;\" because He is \"Alpha and Omega, the\nbeginning and the end,\" \"who inhabiteth eternity.\"\n\nThis is but to say that religion is essentially objective.\nReligion, if true, is divine; if divine, above the recipient; if\nabove him, authoritative; if authoritative, over him,\nuninfluenced by him. It is the mould and matrix in which he is to\nbe cast and receive shape; not the material on which his mind is\nto work by process of individual judgment. This objective\ncharacter enters so completely into the idea of revelation, that\nthe wonder is, how the term \"private judgment\" should have found\nplace in the language of professing Christians. When did it\narise? Who was its author? Was it pre-Lutheran? May we not rather\nsay, it was pre-Adamite? He who led our parents astray in\nParadise, by a suggestion of private judgment, had already\ninaugurated what he has since taught men to call the \"right\" of\nexercising it, when he revolted against the foresight given to\nhim of his Maker's future incarnation. And the apostle, more\nclosely to our point, condemns all subjective religious opinions\nwhen he says, \"If thou judge the law, thou art not a doer of the\nlaw, but a judge.\" To judge implies superiority of intelligence,\nbetter means of knowing, and the capacity of a teacher: to learn\nis the acknowledgment of inferiority, and the submission of\ndesiring to receive. But if revelation could be modified by the\nmind of the receiver, that is, if faith could be subjective, the\ndisciple would be exalted into a critic, and private judgment\nwould occupy the position of faith. The \"doer of the law\" and the\n\"judge\" would change places. This breaks up the whole tribunal,\nand implies a revolt against the primary authority of revelation.\n\n{176}\n\nHence, nothing is more common with us than to say, that the\nrevelation which comes from God, and is proposed by the church,\nadmits of no criticism short of absolute rejection. To one,\nindeed, who has never yet received this full revelation, to\ncriticise is a necessary act, and lies on the way toward\naccepting. The case of the Bereans is here in point, and of those\nAthenians who believed when St. Paul preached on Mars' Hill.\nDionysius the Areopagite and Damaris criticised equally with the\nEpicureans and Stoics, to show the apostle was a \"babbler;\"\nthough with a different result. But to one who has inherited the\nfaith, or has been brought by private judgment, guided by the\nnotes of the church, which are _preambula fidei_, up to the\nthreshold, and then by an act of supernatural belief has passed\nwithin, every after-criticism means rejection. True religion must\never refuse to be treated by its disciples as opinion. If faith,\nit is not opinion; if it were opinion, it would cease to be\nfaith. The choice as to revelation is a simple alternative:\naccept the whole and believe; reject the whole and disbelieve.\n_Ou Catholique, ou D\u00e9iste_, as F\u00e9n\u00e9lon said long ago.\n\nNo one, then, can retain his Catholic sense, and speak of\naccommodating faith, or subjective religion. We have lately heard\none voice from out of doors uttering incoherent words about a\n\"maximum\" and a \"minimum,\" which are supposed to have some\nundefined point of junction and cohesion. [Footnote 26] But such\ninvitations and embassies of peace sound to us like the uncouth\nattempts of the Thracian ambassador, in the ancient comedy, to\nexplain in something like Greek a message into which his native\ntongue largely enters. It is hard to make such a foreign dialect\nintelligible to those who are accustomed to the pure Attic of the\nchurch's voice.\n\n    [Footnote 26: Dr. Pusey lately, in a letter to one of the\n    public newspapers, reported a conversation which he had held\n    with a foreign layman, who expressed his opinion that the\n    Anglican _maximum_ and the Catholic _minimum_ might\n    be found to coincide sufficiently to form the basis of some\n    kind of union. In his _Eirenicon_, also, pp. 17, 18, he\n    quotes some words from Du Pin, Dr. Doyle, an another, in\n    proof of what he calls \"the large-hearted statements of Roman\n    Catholics of other days.\"]\n\nSo far we have advanced by negation. There can be nothing\nsubjective in a revelation propounded by omniscience, and through\nan infallible organ. To suppose criticism or modification of\ndogma in the mind of the recipient, is like supposing motion\nduring a process of photography, or of crystallization. It\nimplies free agency indeed; but it destroys the truth and\naccuracy of the whole process. \"Be still, and see that I am God.\"\nIn this stillness, which is passiveness in one sense, and this\nintuitive gaze upon truths revealed, consists the high\nprerogative of faith. This forms its noble attribute, and lifts\nit to a sovereignty over all other acts of the human\nintelligence.\n\nOn the other hand, what place is to be found in true religion for\nthe _subjective_ principle? In what department does or can\nthe Catholic system adapt itself to the manifold diversities\nbetween men, enter into their idiosyncrasies, and speak to them\nindividually? Can it become to each of us the personal and\nintimate thing, which may converse with us as a friend while we\nsubmit to it as an authoritative guide? Does it take account of\nme, with my turn of character and peculiar needs, while it\npromulgates canons and definitions for my acceptance, in common\nwith the two hundred millions who own its sway? Granted that\nCatholicity is objective in its essence, is it subjective in any\nof its qualities or manifestations?\n\n{177}\n\nTo see the breadth of this question, it should be viewed in\nconnection with the acknowledged needs of human nature. The first\nrequisite to a soul is truth; and it may be said, its first act\nis an act of desire after truth, even abstract. But as primary,\ntoo, is man's need of some one above himself to inspire a\nreverential and a personal love. In order to love, indeed, he\nmust first know; for neither will nor affections can go forth\ntoward the utterly unknown. Still, in religious truth, love is\nthe perfection of knowledge. \"The end of the commandment is\ncharity, from a pure heart, and a good conscience, and an\nunfeigned faith.\" We are created, not like the heavenly bodies,\nto move by unerring laws; nor like plants, to receive form and\ntincture undistinguishably, specimen from specimen; nor like the\ninferior orders of animal life, that build, migrate, seek their\nprey, by an instinct inherited and invariable. Man is a creature\nof idiosyncrasies. His thoughts, tastes, and bent, his mode of\napprehending truths recognized and believed, assimilating them\ninto himself, and developing them in action, constitute each\nindividual a being diverse, in all that _can_ be subjective,\nfrom his brother and nearest friend. In all that can be\nsubjective: for the very turn of these remarks will show that I\nwould carefully guard myself within the limits of that\nexpression. Now, the true religion appeals to man as man; and is\nherein distinguished from every other, which addresses a side or\na section only of the human character and needs. The spirit of\ntrue religion is neither the pseudo-enthusiasm of the\nnon-conformist, nor the surface-uniformity of the establishment,\nnor the false mysticism of the Society of Friends. Her appeal,\nlike herself, is Catholic: to the four quarters of the globe, to\nthe race that peoples earth and occupies ages, and for whom\nChrist died.\n\nWhile, therefore, religion exacts the unquestioning assent of\nall, whatever their antecedent systems, modes of thought, or\ntraining, we might expect even beforehand that she would come\nwith some adaptive power that would appeal to each. Objective to\nthe intelligence and faith, we are permitted to desire that she\nshould also manifest herself as subjective to the spiritual\naffections. For her mission is neither to reduce the individual\nto a machine nor to fuse her multitudes into one uniform,\nundistinguishable mass. She claims their unreserved and interior\nassent to _dogma_; for she is the embassadress of the Most\nHigh, sent into all the world, to preach the gospel to every\ncreature. \"There are no speeches nor languages\" where that voice\nis not heard: nor any where it falters or gives an uncertain\nsound. But she wins the objects of her mission, meanwhile, one by\none, to _devotion_, by adapting herself to the characters\nand specialties of her millions and races. The church knows how\nto modulate her authoritative tone, till it sinks into the\nwhisper of a mother teaching her child to lisp its first prayer.\n\nWe seem now to have arrived at the distinction of which we are in\nsearch. It is surely no play of words nor mere subtlety to say\nthat true religion must possess both the characteristics we have\nnamed: it must be objective and subjective together. Man, let us\nrepeat, finds in himself a twofold desire to know and to love.\nHis great desire after truth was the first and prevailing\ntemptation under which he fell: \"You shall be as gods, knowing\ngood and evil.\"\n{178}\nHaving in his fall grasped at the shadow and let go the\nsubstance, he lost his perception of the true light and his hold\nupon the true love. Ignorance and concupiscence came in together.\nBut he retained his yearning after the two-fold inheritance he\nhad thus forfeited: an attraction to truth and a need of love.\nHence the various and contradictory systems of mythology which\noverran the heathen world, under their double aspect (if we may\nso use the terms) of doctrine and devotion. Out of the depths of\ntheir debasement, and amid all their extravagance, they witnessed\nto the agonized desire after truth in which, says the apostle,\nthe whole creation groaned and travailed in pain together.\n\nNow, what was lost in the first Adam has been abundantly restored\nin the second. The \"grace and truth\" which \"came by Jesus Christ\"\nis the divine remedy for this twofold loss by the original fall:\nit restores light to man, the light of revelation; and love, the\nsupernatural love of Divine Goodness. It is \"faith that worketh\nby charity.\" And let us observe, between light and love there is\nan obvious difference: light may be described as objective, love\nas subjective; light is universal, love is personal; light is\nreceived upon the eye, whereas love springs up in the heart; and\nwhile light is diffused indiscriminately, love varies with the\nindividual. In the future perfection of the glorified soul, light\nand love will be commensurate. \"When he shall appear,\" says the\napostle, \"we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is.\"\nHere, in pilgrimage and imperfection, the members of the church\nmilitant possess three gifts in unequal degrees. Light is\nperpetually outstripping love, and we know more than we practise.\nStill, the efforts of the church are ever exerted to preserve to\nher children each of these great gifts, light and love; to\nperpetuate and extend the one, to heighten and intensify the\nother. She is \"the light of the world.\" By her creeds, canons,\ndefinitions of doctrine, by her schools of theology, her\ndoctorate and censorship, by the vigilance of the sacred office,\nby the perpetual exercise of that instinct of truth which is her\nattribute and inheritance, she preserves, whole and undefiled,\n\"the faith once delivered to the saints.\" Her multiplied prayers,\neach enriched with its special indulgence, various, yet blending\nin one harmony and one whole like the chords of a lute or the\nflowers in a parterre, provide abundantly not for the mere and\nabsolute needs of her children's souls, but, moreover, for what\nmay be called their religious tastes and special turn of\ndevotion. For example, the faithful laity are invited, if they\nhave an attraction for it, to unite with her clergy and religious\nin reciting the canonical hours, which form her chief prayer.\nThis is their \"common prayer-book,\" if you will; but common only\nto those who prefer to communicate in it. To others of a\ndifferent attraction, there is still supply for the demand.\n\nWe need only transport ourselves into the heart of some great\nCatholic city, to see with what unrestrained variety our brethren\nof the one communion unite in prayer. Let us go to Rome, \"the\nmother of us all,\" the heart and centre of Christendom. In that\ngreat seat and organ of life, of vital functions and warmth,\nwhose pulsations thrill to the extremities of the mystical body,\nwhat is practically going on? what meets the eye and ear? You\npass under the walls of some monastic choir, from which the deep\nvoices of a score of monks or the slenderer tones of cloistered\nnuns arrest you.\n{179}\nThey have been trained, not by art, but simply by long practice\nof united prayer, to recite the divine office, as if theirs were\nnot several voices blending, nor several intelligences and souls\nwoven, in a devotion, but, like the early church, \"one heart and\none soul.\" You enter; it is not in the retrochoir alone, nor\nbehind the grate, that the work of prayer and praise is going on.\nThe church is more or less filled for vespers; it is a feastday;\nand a certain proportion, with their vesper-books in the ancient\nlanguage or in their own familiar tongue, follow the words. A\nsecular priest has turned in at the open door, on his way to some\navocation, and is whispering another portion of his breviary.\nNear him kneels a child saying the penance for its last\nconfession, or an old woman with her beads. Others examine their\nconsciences and make their acts of contrition, for the\nconfessionals will be occupied when vespers are over. Throughout\nthe nave move three or four, quietly following the stations of\nthe cross. On this side is an altar to the sacred heart; a member\nof the confraternity kneels before it: he is saying some of the\nprayers indulgenced for that devotion. A childless mother with\nslow steps passes on to pray for her dead child at the altar for\nthe souls in purgatory. She does not distract others there, who\nare praying for their parents, or for the poor souls in general,\nor the most abandoned, the most rich in merits, or the nearest to\nits release. Her next neighbor offers up her own sick child to an\nimage of the Mother of Compassion. You make way for a small\ntradesman leaving the church for his evening meal; he will then\nhasten to take his hours of night-watching and prayer in some\nclosed sanctuary, before the Most Holy, exposed day and night for\nthe _Quarant' ore_. By his side, sharing his night-watch,\nwill kneel a nobleman of ancestral name, whose family has\nfurnished popes to the Christian world. These two men are members\ntogether of the association for perpetually adoring the Blessed\nSacrament; and they meet there before the Supreme, in the true\n\"liberty, equality, fraternity\" which the world aims at and the\nchurch alone produces. What is that sound of hymns coming down\nthe street? A procession headed by a cardinal bearing a large and\nrude cross: he is followed by the brothers of another distinct\nconfraternity, \"the lovers of Jesus and Mary,\" and a miscellany\nof devout people. They are on their way to the Colosseum, where\nthey, too, will make the stations of the cross, and chant their\nhearty and almost passionate strophes of contrition in the old\nconsecrated amphitheatre. All is movement, all is affectionate\nliberty, warmth, and ease. You turn into any church that occurs,\nand transport your chair from part to part of the building; for\nyou are free of the whole by the birthright of your baptism into\nthe one body. Go from this altar to that; range, as it were, up\nand down the creed, now in meditation, now in vocal prayer, now\nalone with God, now cheered on and animated by the presence of\nthose who pray with you. Now it is _latria_, now\n_hyperdulia_; now again _dulia_, then back again to\n_latria_; then contemplation, then any of the former\nresumed. Your guardian angel is at your side; you recognize it\nand address him. Your patron saint, the patrons of your friends\nfor whom you are anxious, St. Peter, St. Joseph, our Lady; and\nthe Divine Guest in the tabernacle; all are there, each (if I may\nsay it) awaiting you in turn.\n{180}\nWhatever the feeling of the moment, or your bent of character, or\nspecial needs, there is your yearning met, and your soul's food\nand remedy supplied. \"Thou didst feed thy people with the food of\nangels, and gavest them bread from heaven, prepared without\nlabor; having in it all that is delicious, and _the sweetness\nof every taste_. For thy sustenance showed thy sweetness to\nthy children, and, serving every man's will, it was turned to\nwhat every man liked.\" [Footnote 27] And this unity in variety,\nthis elasticity and freedom, change, and appropriation, and\ntrustful individuality, is it or is it not the  [Greek text]\nwhich the apostle recommends?\n\n    [Footnote 27: Wisd. xvi. 20, 21.]\n\nRising, again, from the manifold devotions pursued by the\nfaithful for themselves to that in which the priest stands for\nthem all in the most holy place, the central devotion round which\nall others revolve, the adorable sacrifice of Mass, we see the\nsame unity in the same variety. There is still a subjective\naction of the individual heart, grounded on an objective dogma\nembraced by all. Faith and love are coincident; we adore in our\nown way what is independent of our adoration, though presented to\nit. The words I am about to quote are put in the lips of one who\nis defending the faith, newly found by him, against the objection\nof some of his former friends that the Mass is a formal,\nunreasonable service.\n\n\"To me,\" he answers, \"nothing is so consoling, so piercing, so\nthrilling, so overcoming, as the Mass, said as it is among us. I\ncould attend Masses for ever and not be tired. It is not a mere\nform of words--it is a great action, the greatest action that can\nbe on earth. It is not the invocation merely, but, if I dare use\nthe word, the evocation of the Eternal. He becomes present on the\naltar in flesh and blood, before whom angels bow and devils\ntremble. This is that awful event which is the scope and the\ninterpretation of every part of the solemnity. Words are\nnecessary, but as means, not as ends. They are not mere addresses\nto the throne of grace; they are instruments of what is far\nhigher, of consecration, of sacrifice. They hurry on, as if\nimpatient to fulfil their mission. Quickly they go: the whole is\nquick; for they are parts of one integral action. Quickly they\ngo; for they are awful words of sacrifice: they are a work too\ngreat to delay upon. Quickly they pass; because, as the lightning\nwhich shineth from one part of the heaven to the other, so is the\ncoming of the Son of Man. ... As Moses on the mountain, so we too\n'make haste and bow our heads to the earth, and adore.' So we,\nall around, each in his place, look out for the great advent,\n'waiting for the moving of the water.' Each in his place, with\nhis own heart, with his own wants, with his own thoughts, with\nhis own intention, with his own prayers, separate but concordant,\nwatching what is going on, watching its progress, uniting in its\nconsummation; not painfully and hopelessly following a hard form\nof prayer from beginning to end, but, like a concert of musical\ninstruments, each different, but concurring in a sweet harmony,\nwe take our part with God's priest, supporting him, and yet\nguided by him. There are little children there, and old men, and\nsimple laborers, and students in seminaries, priests preparing\nfor Mass, priests making their thanksgiving; there are innocent\nmaidens, and there are penitent sinners; but out of these many\nminds rises one eucharistic hymn, and the great action is the\nmeasure and the scope of it.\" [Footnote 28]\n\n    [Footnote 28: Newman's _Loss and Gain_, pp. 265-7.]\n\n{181}\n\nThis union of a changeless creed with an adaptive devotional\nsystem, of dogmatic authority with elasticity and play, and of\nunquestioning submission with the freest choice, has one obvious\nconsequence. It renders the church unintelligible to the world,\nand to all professors of the world's many religions. A casual\nobserver, looking on the Catholic system from without its pale,\nis at a loss to reconcile attributes which to him appear\ninconsistent. Why, he asks, should the church be so unswerving\nunder one aspect, yet so pliant under another? If she will not\nyield one jot or tittle of doctrine, why allow so large an\noscillation in forms of devotion? or, if she aims at\naccommodating and condescending in the latter, why remain\ninflexible in the former? He would perhaps add: The Catholic\nsystem has advantages over others in virtue of this her spirit of\nadaptation, so far as it reaches. But it is partial! The same\neconomy and consultation for individual minds should extend into\nthe sphere of its dogma; then the character of the church would\nbe consistent, its response to the demands of the age would be\nsatisfactory, and its triumph might be complete.\n\nWe are here only concerned with one side of this supposed\ntheorist's difficulty. The answer is surely as follows:\n\n  1. On one hand, the church is objective, or what he would call\n  unaccommodating in her teaching, because she is the guardian\n  and depository of supernatural truth. All truth is objective,\n  because it is the reflection of the mind of God, and the\n  subject-matter of his revelation. Hence, in spite of the\n  infidel's sarcasm that between Homoousion and Homoiousion there\n  is but an iota, and an iota (he adds) that divides the\n  Christian world, the church will neither add to nor take from\n  the \"form of sound words\" committed to her by that one small\n  letter. That jot, that tittle stands against the return and\n  salvation of countless souls till they shall themselves erase\n  it; for the question involved is nothing less than the fulness\n  of the truth and revelation of God. Human statements in\n  religion aim at a compromise; the church, like Job under trial,\n  \"still continues in her simplicity.\" They would avoid extremes;\n  she is zealous for the full and explicit enunciation of the\n  whole deposit of faith. Whatever portions of dogmatic teaching\n  can still be retained, apart from the faith, are in constant\n  process of disintegration and fusion: _diminutae sunt\n  veritates a filiis hominum._ But, on the other hand, if\n  there can be degrees and measures where all is essential truth,\n  the church may be said to become more dogmatic, and so, if\n  possible, more objective, as her life proceeds. This, it is\n  plain, is a simple result from her office of perpetual teacher;\n  it is the fulfilment of the primary commission, \"[Greek text].\"\n  She must expand her teachings to the needs of the day, and meet\n  emergent heresies by fresh definitions. Hence, to take some\n  salient points history presents to us, the objectivity of\n  _Homoousion_ against Arius, of _Theotokos_ against\n  Nestorius, of _Filioque_ against the heresies of the East,\n  of _Transubstantiation_ against Luther and others, of the\n  _Immaculate Conception_ in our own day.\n\n{182}\n\n  2. All this being so, and being one great ground of objection\n  against the church, why is her system so _subjective_, all\n  the while, in other departments? She seems to men to err as\n  much on the other side by overcondescension and adaptation. We\n  need not linger over such charges as that of Macaulay, who,\n  following perhaps in the steps of the _Provincial\n  Letters_, accuses certain theologians of accommodating even\n  the moral law to retain men within the Catholic unity; as\n  thinking, unless I misquote him, \"that, if a man must needs be\n  a libertine, that was no reason for his being a heretic\n  besides.\" An impression less hurtful certainly, and less\n  gratuitous, though equally false, pervades much that we find in\n  other non-Catholic writers. The church seems to them to lay\n  herself out in her devotional functions, to captivate the\n  senses and the imagination. We might adduce a _catena_ of\n  passages to prove this impression of theirs, from\n  controversialists assuming the fact and reasoning upon it, down\n  to tourists recording their personal experiences of the\n  Continent. A leading article in a prominent journal on some\n  recent celebrations at Boulogne, and, with a deeper personal\n  impression, the descriptions of newspaper correspondents on the\n  late centenary and canonizations in Rome, contribute their\n  quota to swell this great tradition or popular belief. The\n  church, according to such theorists, is wide enough to\n  compensate for the inflexibility of her dogma by pliancy,\n  adaptation, and attractiveness in all besides. Like the old\n  Roman tyrants, they would say, whose home and whose spirit she\n  has inherited, she is prodigal to her subjects of the _Panem\n  et Circenses_, that take off their attention from the\n  thraldom in which they are held. There is a story of\n  Bolingbroke being present at high Mass in the Chapel Royal, in\n  Paris. Struck with the majesty of the function, he turns to a\n  friend and whispers, \"If I were king of France, I would allow\n  no one to perform this but myself.\" The anecdote is no unfair\n  sample of the popular impression made by Catholic ceremonies on\n  those who misunderstand them, because they disbelieve the\n  truths which they clothe. They are taken to be the result of a\n  design and deliberation to arrest the imaginative faculty, and\n  thus to maintain supremacy over the will. That the will owns\n  the church's supremacy is a patent fact; the supposed captivity\n  of the imagination through eye and ear is, to such thinkers,\n  one chief _rationale_ of it. She leads captive, they say,\n  the intellect of her votaries, but she has the art to gild\n  their chains by the richness and beauty of her ceremonial.\n\nTo consider this assertion for a moment. May we not advance the\ndirect contrary? May it not be said that, if, apart from\nexperience, we were to speculate on the probable ceremonies with\nwhich the church would surround the adorable sacrifice, and the\nsolemn administration of her sacraments, our anticipations would\noutrun what she actually has decreed? Let us instance the\nceremonies of the Mass. What is here that does more than\n_carry_, so to say, the great mystery round which they\ncluster? Give it as a problem to a political theorist, to a\nBolingbroke, or to a minister of public worship, to invent and\ncombine certain ceremonies, in order to express the highest act\nof a nation's worship. The function is to be one that shall\nsymbolize such a belief as the Catholic belief in the adorable\nsacrifice. I think it may safely be said, the result produced\nwould be something of more outward show, more complicated, and\nmore arresting to the eye and the imagination, than is seen in\nthe ceremonies of solemn high Mass.\n\n{183}\n\nTo meet more broadly the assertion that the devotional system of\nthe church is unduly subjective, that is, overpliant to the\nvarieties of her children. She condescends, she adapts herself,\nshe seems to mere spectators to be one great economy. We accept\nthe charge, not in their sense. Why should the church not be so?\nThe changelessness of the faith being first secured, her problem\nthen is, the greatest devotion of the greatest number. \"I am made\nall things to all men, that I might by all means save some.\" This\nis her mission: to attract souls, to win them, and to save them.\nShe would not attract them, were she not beautiful; nor gather\nthem in, were she not all-sided; nor save the mass of them, were\nshe not elastic. There is no stiffness about the church, or she\nwould not work with breadth and freedom. It is St. Peter's net,\nand is drawn, as the prophet says, \"with cords of Adam.\" She is\nnot antiquarian, or she would only affect the mind of each age as\na venerable record or curious relic of the past. The church is\nnot primitive, mediaeval, or modern; not Celtic, Teutonic,\nsouthern, classical, barbarian, Scythian, bond, or free, in any\nexclusive sense. She is simply Catholic; that one title\ninterprets all. And being the church of the \"great multitude\nwhich no man can number, of all nations, and languages, and\npeoples, and tongues,\" she authorizes their popular devotions by\nsanction and permission.\n\nWhen we grant or assert that the church in her devotional aspect\nis adaptive, elastic, or (to return to our term) subjective, what\nis this but to say that she has _life_? Life as distinct\nfrom machinery, stereotype, or routine. It is saying that she has\na living intelligence, spiritual instinct, a faculty to\ndiscriminate between essentials and non-essentials in her\nworship, and a versatility and a resource to apply, to modify, to\nexpand the non-sacramental and therefore accidental channels of\ngrace to her children. Because she is thus alive with the\nindwelling life of the Paraclete who abides with her for ever,\nand thus animated with a supernatural wisdom and maternal\ncharity, she is prompt to seize occasions, and to extemporize\ncombinations _to the greater glory of God_. Hers is an ever\nquick and energizing power, exerted over man as man, and over all\nmen indifferently. In the inspired words of the wise man: \"Being\nbut one, she can do all things; and remaining in herself the\nsame, she reneweth all things, and through nations conveyeth\nherself into holy souls.\" Wisd. vii. 27. What the philosopher\nclaimed as being man, she claims as being the church of men:\n_Nihil humanum a me alienum puto._ She raises no question on\nthe form of government or previous training, any more than on the\nclime or color of the \"Trojans or Tyrians\" within her realm. She\ntranslates her prayers, and imparts her indulgences in as many\ntongues as were found in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost. In\nthe political sphere she will bless the banners and chant a _Te\nDeum_ on the triumphs of every righteous cause, whether the\ntricolor and stripes of a republic or the blazonings of an\nancient monarchy. And so in her devotional element, finding more\nstability of character in some provinces of her kingdom, more\nversatility and impulse in others, some of her children more\ngiven to contemplation, some to a larger amount of vocal prayer,\nshe accepts these differing conditions without disturbance or\nhesitation. Wise householder and faithful stewardess, as the\ngospel declares her to be, the church brings out from her\ntreasury things new and old.\n{184}\nShe adopts and sanctions every new devotion that has been\ninspired into her saints: the rosary of St. Dominic, the scapular\nof St. Simon Stock, the discipline of St. Peter Damian, the\nmeditations of St. Benedict, the spiritual exercises of St.\nIgnatius and his systematized methods of prayer. Nothing is a\ndangerous novelty, while she has inerrancy of judgment. No\ndubious expression or practice can spread, or even live, while in\nher hand is the sword of the Spirit, [Greek text]. No fervor can\nlead to ill-regulated enthusiasm while she exercises the twofold\noffice, to animate and to control.\n\nIn direct contrast with this divine adjustment and harmony stand\nthe arrangements of that communion in the midst of us which has\nso long claimed the title of a church. England, as represented by\nher rulers, three hundred years ago, breaking from the centre of\nunity, and disowning every link with St. Peter's chair, isolated\nthenceforward and self-contained, had before her a three-fold\ntask. She was to extemporize at once doctrine, discipline, and\ndevotion. The process was in many ways remarkable. But its chief\nfeature for our present purpose is one especial travesty and\nreversal of the due order of things which was then exhibited.\nWhile doctrine, by the necessity of the case, became subjective,\nthe formularies or \"common prayer\" were stereotyped or frozen\ninto a form that was well named _uniformity_, and might in a\nkind of perverse sense be called objective. The Anglican\ncommunion is the reed where the Catholic Church is the oak; but\n_en revanche_, she is stiff and wooden where the church is\npliant and tender. She has bent to every breath of doctrine:\nthen, as if in tribute to the principle of stability, has bound\ndown her children to pray, at least, by rule. She does not pipe\nto them that they may dance, and mourn to them that they may\nlament. There is no modulation in her pastoral reed; no change of\nexpression in her fixed uniformity of demeanor. An exception must\nhere be made for the ritualist exhibitions of these later years;\nbut it is an exception which proves the rule. Ritualism is a\nprotest against the cold negations of the Establishment. It is in\nturn protested against with more energy by the indignant good\nsense of the country, and, so far as they venture, by the\ncountry's bishops. The clergy appear in colored stoles, and are\nmet by a mandate to \"take off those ribbons.\" Decorations must be\nremoved from the communion-table before consecration of the\nchurch can take place. Each opening flower is nipped by the\nbreath of episcopal authority,\n\n                \"'Et mox\n    Bruma recurrit iners.\"\n\nNot to speak, then, of ritualism, but of the genuine spirit of\nthe establishment. This holds the even tenor of its way,\nundisturbed by signs and seasons, and days and years. The\nestablished church does not quench her tapers on Good Friday\nbecause she does not light them on Easter morning; has no rubric\nfor stripping her altars, and gives no encouragement for their\ndecoration. She sprinkles no ashes on Ash-Wednesday, sings no\nalleluias for the Resurrection, lights no candles, says no Mass\non Candelmas. Like something learned by rote and spoken by a\nmachine, her ministers address their flocks in the self-same\nlanguage, whether the morning usher in the annual solemn fast or\nthe queen of festivals. Their form most truly styles itself, \"The\nOrder for Morning and Evening Prayer, daily to be said and used\nthroughout the year.\"\n{185}\nThis is the objectivity of the established church, as \"authorized\nby act of Parliament, holden in the fifth and sixth years of our\nsaid late sovereign lord, King Edward the Sixth, ... with the\nalterations and additions therein added and appointed by this\nstatute,\" \"_Primo Elizabethae._\"\n\nNor was this stereotyped, unelastic method optional with them. It\nwas a necessity of the position of the establishment from its\nbeginning. Having torn down the altar and set up the\nreading-desk, abolished the daily sacrifice, and made the lion\nand unicorn stand in the holy place, converted the priest into a\nminister, and succeeded, under the hydraulic pressure of royal\nmandates, in forcing two sets of doctrines to coexist within the\nspace of one communion, the framers of the new order of things\nhad, as a chief part of it, to invent a form of prayer. This form\nmust be comprehensive as to doctrine, uniform as to expression;\nsubjective in the first, quasi-objective in the latter. It was to\nprovide for Catholics in heart who had not fortitude for\nmartyrdom, and for honest sacramentarians kneeling with them at\nthe same communion-rail. After several alterations, therefore, in\nwhich the presence of the Most High was affirmed or denied, and,\nas far as man could affect it, was restored or taken away, as now\na higher, now a lower school prevailed, the new religion welded\ntogether two forms of administration--the Catholic and the\nZwinglian--and simply left the choice of doctrine to the\nreceiver. It was a process that brings to mind the ancient\npunishment of chaining the living prisoner to the corpse of his\ndead comrade; and the language ever since of those in the\nAnglican communion who have aspired after something nearer to God\nthan a memorial rite has been: \"Unhappy man that I am, who shall\ndeliver me from the body of this death?\"\n\nWant of space prevents our drawing out a contrast which here\nnaturally presents itself. It would be, on one side, the solemn\nand heart-stirring functions of the church during her round of\nfast and festival: the day that ushers in her Lent, the\n_Gloria_ hushed, organ and alleluias silent, the wailing\n_Tenebrae_, the strange, disjointed Mass of the\npre-sanctified on Good Friday, which is Calvary, with the rocks\nrent and the sun hidden; then the burst of Easter morning, when\nall is light and triumph; or again, the three Masses of\nChristmas, symbols of our Lord's triple nativity. These, and much\nthat might be added, would form an epitome of _Durandus_,\nand writers who have followed him, on the symbolism of the\nchurch's functions. What would appear on the other side? Silence\nis perhaps its best description, lest a thing in its own nature\nso fearful to contemplate as man's attempts to create in\nopposition to his Creator should present too forcibly its\nludicrous aspect. It does not appear to have been very\nattractive, even in its cradle, to judge from the act, which sets\nforth that \"all and every person and persons ... shall diligently\nand faithfully ... endeavor themselves to resort to their parish\nchurch, ... where common prayer and such service shall be used,\n... and then and there to abide orderly and soberly during the\ntime of common prayer, preachings, or other service of God there\nto be used and ministered, upon pain of punishment by the\ncensures of the church, and also upon pain that every person so\noffending shall forfeit for every such offence twelve pence, to\nbe levied by the church-wardens of the parish where such offence\nshall be done, ... of the goods, lands, and tenements of such\noffender, by way of distress.\"\n\n{186}\n\nNo wonder they who love the established church should fix their\nspecial admiration on the feature of her simplicity. The act of\nuniformity enforced by Procrustes was as simple a process, and\nwith as simple a result. In both cases, it was a cutting down,\nparing away, shortening, disjointing, dislocating. Only, as they\nwho decreed the form and measurements of the new religion, unlike\nProcrustes, had to reconstruct as well as simply to wrench and\namputate, they added that other process to their labor; and under\ndifficulties which have excited the compassion of their disciples\nin all later time for a system of theology and theological\ndevotion is as complex and delicate, to say the least, as the\nhuman frame: you cannot give back the sinews and organs you have\nremoved, nor restore action to the joints you have sundered. We\nhave lived to see the result of such simplifying as went on in\nthe sixteenth century. After a career which has given time for\nirreconcilable schools to exhibit their full divergence, the\ncommunion so arranged seems likely to fall to pieces on the very\nquestion of ritualism. \"We never, sir,\" says a popular clerical\nwriter to the _Times_ newspaper, \"we never shall have peace\nagain in the church until some plain order of conducting the\nservice is made more or less imperative, confused rubrics relaid\ndown in clear language, and some court established, easy of\naccess, cheap, and speedy in process, by which it may be\nadjudged, as well in the case of clergy as of bishops, whether\nthe parties accused of false teaching or false practice are\nguilty according to a rational, legal interpretation of our\nformularies in the spirit in which for three centuries they have\nbeen conducted.\" [Footnote 29]\n\n    [Footnote 29: \"S.G.O.\" in the London _Times_, June 10, 1867.]\n\nThe simplicity of the church of England has steered too precise a\nmean between the symbolism and suggestive ceremonies of the\nchurch that believes, and the absence of all form on the part of\nthose who do not. Her preamble, \"of ceremonies, why some be\nabolished and some retained,\" like other compromises, aims at\npleasing everybody and ends in pleasing no one. With one party,\nas Milton says in an expressive line,\n\n  \"New Presbyter is but old priest writ large.\"\n\nWith the other, the minister must be a priest, the communion,\nMass, and the Catholic service restored. This comes of inventing\na religion in a hurry, patching up a provisional government by\nrebels who have disowned a time-honored throne. This comes of\narraying one's self in the shreds of what one's self has rent\nfrom the seamless garment. So much for aiming at what a prelate\nof that communion has recently called \"a satisfying amount of\nritual,\" which is to clothe no idea, stand for nothing beyond\nitself, and soothe the senses without appealing to the faith. So\nmuch for the arrogance of deciding that the \"godly and decent\norder of the ancient fathers had been altered, broken, and\nneglected, by planting in uncertain stories and legends, with a\nmultitude of responds, verses, vain repetitions, commemorations,\nand synodals;\" not to speak of the \"hardness of the rules called\nthe _Pie_, and the manifold changings of the service.\"\n\nWe shall wait to see the result of that \"satisfying amount of\nritual\" in which it is proposed to invest a service purely\nProtestant; whereabout on the scale the satisfaction is to be\nplaced, and so, whom it is intended to satisfy. One ritual system\nalone has a gift from heaven to answer and fulfil the yearnings\nof the soul.\n{187}\nOne act of uniformity alone is worthy of a thought to the\nworshipper. The creed rehearses it: \"I profess that there are\ntruly and properly seven sacraments of the new law instituted by\nour Lord, and necessary for the salvation of mankind.\" Then, \"I\nalso receive and admit the received and approved ceremonies of\nthe Catholic Church in the solemn administration of the aforesaid\nsacraments.\" It is to express the invisible, and to fence round\nwhat is all sacred, and to respond by the tribute of man to the\ngift of God, that the church has ordained these details of beauty\nand solemnity. It is essentially as an homage and a reverence to\nher Lord. This does not contradict what has been said above\neither of the variety or of the adaptive character of Catholic\ndevotions. For we are here speaking not of devotions as voices of\nhuman expression toward God, but of sacraments, the channels of\nhis communications with man.\n\nLet me now only mention two other chief instances of the\nsubjectivity of the church's dealings with her children. The\nwhole theory, then, of intentions in prayer is a proof of the\nadaptive character of Catholic devotion. The _Pater, Ave,\nGloria, Credo, the Veni Creator, Miserere, Memorare_, these\nare, as it were, so many notes in the church's scale. Let me here\nadopt, though I should also modify, the words of a great writer\non a kindred subject. They apply, partly at least, to that on\nwhich our thoughts are turned:\n\n  \"There are seven notes in the scale; make them thirteen, yet\n  what a slender outfit for so vast an enterprise! What science\n  brings so much out of so little? Out of what poor elements does\n  some great master in it create his new world! Shall we say that\n  all this exuberant inventiveness is a mere ingenuity or trick\n  of art, like some game or fashion of the day, without reality,\n  without meaning? We may do so; and then, perhaps, we shall also\n  account the science of theology to be a matter of words; yet,\n  as there is a divinity in the theology of the church which\n  those who feel cannot communicate, so is there also in the\n  wonderful creation of sublimity and beauty of which I am\n  speaking. ... Is it possible that that inexhaustible evolution\n  and disposition of notes, so rich yet so simple, so intricate\n  yet so regulated, so various yet so majestic, should be a mere\n  sound, which is gone and perishes? Can it be that those\n  mysterious stirrings of heart, and keen emotions, and strange\n  yearnings after we know not what, and awful impressions from we\n  know not whence, should be wrought in us by what is\n  unsubstantial, and comes and goes, and begins and ends in\n  itself? ... No; they have escaped from some higher sphere; ...\n  they are echoes from our home; they are the voice of angels, or\n  the _Magnificat_ of saints, or the living laws of divine\n  governance, or the divine attributes; something are they\n  besides themselves, which we cannot compass, which we cannot\n  utter.\" [Footnote 30]\n\n    [Footnote 30: Newman's _Sermons before the University of\n    Oxford_. 2d edition, pp. 349, 350.]\n\nThe beauty of this extract, from perhaps one of the greatest\npassages of its eminent author, may be my apology for its length.\nWhat Dr. Newman here says of the evolution of musical harmony\nfrom simple elements may be applied to the vast fabric of\nintentions, reaching to no less than three worlds, the church\nmilitant, triumphant, and purifying, which we are taught to build\nout of such few brief prayers as a child might utter.\n\n{188}\n\nOnce more: the variety of the religious orders, congregations,\ninstitutes, existing in the church, and marked by her approval,\nafford a further proof of her adaptation to the various needs and\ncharacters of men. The system which recognizes the sanctity of\nmarriage by elevating it to the rank of a sacrament proclaims\nalso the superiority of the \"best part\" chosen by Mary, \"which\nshall not be taken from her;\" and, within this first great\nprinciple of classification among the church's children,\nseparating between the secular and the religious life, and\nstrictly subjective in the sense in which the word has here been\nused, we find an almost endless diversity of what are technically\ncalled \"religions.\" The cloistered and the uncloistered; and\namong the former, the eremitic and the conventual, with their\nsubdivisions; among the latter, a devotion special and\nconcentrated upon every malady to which man is heir. Brothers of\nthe hospitals, brothers of Christian doctrine, communities\ndevoted to the leper, the lunatic, the ordinary sick, the\nhopelessly diseased, the poor as such, the young, the orphan, the\nignorant, the upper classes, the middle rank, the homeless\npauper, the pilgrim, the penitent, the convict, the galley-slave,\nthe felon condemned to die.\n\nThis very glory of the King's daughter, her beauty in the variety\nwith which she is surrounded, the subjective provisions she makes\nfor each of her children called to religion, has been made by\nwriters of more than common shallowness an argument against her\nunity. It is difficult to treat with gravity a distortion of the\ntruth so perverse. \"Look,\" says a platform orator--\"look at the\ndivisions of the Church of Rome. She taunts us with our\ndissensions. It is true, we have our high church, and our low,\nand our broad; there are those amongst us who hold the\nsacramental principle, and those who deny it. But Rome, too, has\nher divisions, as deep and as fundamental. Has she not her\nFranciscans and her Dominicans, her Benedictines and her\nSeculars, her Jesuits, and I know not who besides? Have not her\nreligious orders and her secular canons, in times past, carved\ngrotesque caricatures of each other in the gargoyles and\n_misereres_ of their respective churches? And yet, with her\ncharacteristic effrontery, she dares to tell us that she is one!\"\n\nIt was well answered. You might with equal reason argue that an\narmy was not one, not one in its operations and campaign, nor\nmoving at the nod of one commander, because it had its several\nbranches and \"arms\" of the service; its light horse, troops of\nthe line, skirmishers, cavalry for the charge, heavy artillery.\nRather, the essential unity of the whole is all the more\ndemonstrated by the distinct lines and modes of operation\nbelonging to each department. Herodotus is at much pains to\ndetail the different nationalities and customs of warfare in the\narmy of Xerxes before he proceeds to narrate their combined\ndescent upon Greece. And to return to our thesis: the objective\nunity of the religious orders throughout the church's long life,\nin all that ever concerned her faith and essential teaching, has\nbeen enhanced, made conspicuous, and shown to be supernatural, by\ntheir acknowledged subjective diversity in much beside.\n\nBut we are not here in need of a Catholic apologist. A vivid and\npopular writer, if not of history, yet of widely accepted\nhistorical romance, had the intelligence to perceive this very\ncharacteristic of the church.\n{189}\nHe has thrown no little power into developing the truth, that the\nCatholic system is thus universally subjective, has a place for\nevery one, rejects none of earth's children, and can retain them,\nfind them employment, and communicate to them happiness, within\nthe ample breadth of her unity.\n\nHe describes the merely local characters of the Church of\nEngland, and her consequent inability to make way in foreign\nmissions. He has a fling at what he calls the polity of the\nChurch of Rome as the very masterpiece of human wisdom. It is, he\nsays, a system of tactics to be regarded with reluctant\nadmiration. Then more particularly: \"She thoroughly understands,\nwhat no other church has ever understood, how to deal with\nenthusiasts. In some sects, particularly in infant sects,\nenthusiasm is suffered to be rampant. In other sects,\nparticularly in sects long established and richly endowed, it is\nregarded with aversion. The Catholic Church neither submits to\nenthusiasm nor proscribes it, but uses it. She considers it as a\ngreat moving force, which in itself, like the muscular powers of\na fine horse, is neither good nor evil, but which may be so\ndirected as to produce great good or great evil, and she assumes\nthe direction to herself. ... She knows that, where religious\nfeelings have obtained the complete empire of the mind, they\nimpart a strange energy, that they raise man above the dominion\nof pain and pleasure, that obloquy becomes glory. She knows that\na person in this state of enthusiasm is no object of contempt. He\nmay be vulgar, ignorant, visionary, extravagant; but he will do\nand suffer things which it is for her interest that somebody\nshould do and suffer. She accordingly enlists him in her service,\nassigns to him some forlorn hope, and sends him forth with her\nbenedictions and her applause.\"\n\nThen, after showing how the Anglican system expels from itself\nthe enthusiasm it can neither wield nor control, he proceeds to\ndraw his contrast:\n\n  \"Far different is the policy of Rome. The ignorant enthusiast\n  whom the Anglican Church makes an enemy, and, whatever the\n  polite and learned may think, a most dangerous enemy, the\n  Catholic Church makes a champion. She bids him nurse his beard,\n  covers him with a gown and hood of coarse, dark stuff, ties a\n  rope round his waist, and sends him forth to teach in her name.\n  He costs her nothing. He takes not a ducat away from the\n  resources of her beneficed clergy. He lives by the alms of\n  those who respect his spiritual character and are grateful for\n  his instructions. He preaches not exactly in the style of\n  Massillon, but in a way which moves the passions of uneducated\n  hearers; and all his influence is employed to strengthen the\n  church of which he is a minister. To that church he becomes as\n  strongly attached as any of the cardinals whose scarlet\n  carriages and liveries crowd the entrance of the palace on the\n  Quirinal. In this way the Church of Rome unites in herself all\n  the strength of establishment, and all the strength of dissent.\n  With the utmost pomp of a dominant hierarchy above, she has all\n  the energy of the voluntary system below. It would be easy to\n  mention very recent instances in which the hearts of hundreds\n  of thousands, estranged from her by the selfishness, sloth, and\n  cowardice of the beneficed clergy, have been brought back by\n  the zeal of the begging friars. At Rome the Countess of\n  Huntingdon would have a place in the calendar as St. Sabina,\n  and Mrs. Fry would be foundress and first superior of the\n  blessed order of Sisters of the Gaols.\n{190}\n  Place Ignatius Loyola at Oxford: he is certain to become the\n  head of a formidable secession. Place John Wesley at Rome: he\n  is certain to be the first general of a new society devoted to\n  the interests and honor of the church. Place Johanna Southcote\n  at Rome: she founds an order of barefooted Carmelites, every\n  one of whom is ready to suffer martyrdom for the church; a\n  solemn service is consecrated to her memory; and her statue,\n  placed over the holy water, strikes the eye of every stranger\n  who enters St. Peter's.\"\n\nSuch thoughts as I have endeavored to suggest will not be vain,\nif they lead us to recognize the attributes and credentials of\nthe church in her mission to the world, not less in the\ncomparison of part with part among her manifestations, than in\nthe harmony of the whole. She is as divine, as Catholic, as\nfaithful to her trust, and as unerring in her functions, in the\nsubjective character of her devotions, as in the objectivity of\nher teaching. Nothing surely can be more attractive to the\nimagination, more winning to the heart, or more persuasive to the\nwill than the condescension and personal care of that which is\nall the while lofty in its attributes and authoritative in its\nclaims and power. The church is a mother while she is a queen,\nand we her children no less than her subjects and disciples. She\nteaches us to pray while she commands us to believe; and gives a\npersonal experience of her science in the one, while affording\nabundant proof of her embassy and her inerrancy in the other.\nThus, while I am enlightened by her truth, I am fostered by her\ncharity. The need of which I am conscious in myself, _das\nIch_, for something on which to feed the faculty within me for\nsupernatural love and personal devotion, is as completely met and\nfulfilled as any craving for a truth above myself, _das nicht\nIch_, which comes down to me from heaven that it may raise me\nthither. \"Descendit\" says St. Augustine, \"_misericordia, ut\nascendat miseria._\"\n\n--------\n\n           Imogen.\n\n\n  She was all compact of beauty,\n      Like the sunlight and the flowers;\n  One of those radiant beings\n      That prove this world of ours\n  Not utterly forsaken\n      By the angel host of God,\n  Since now and then its valleys\n      By their holy feet are trod.\n  If her hair was black and glossy\n      Or golden-hued and bright,\n  Or if her eyes were azure,\n      Or dark and deep as night,\n  I know not--this truth only\n      Do I know or care to know;\n  Never a lovelier maiden\n      Blest this weary world below.\n  In the castle ruled her father,\n      And his lands stretched miles away\n  _Mine_ toiled down in the hamlet\n      For his daily bread each day;\n  Too far apart were we.\n      Too high wert thou for me,\n          O Lady Imogen!\n\n{191}\n\n  When the meadow was all golden\n      With the cowslips' May-day bells,\n  And the sweet breath of the primrose\n      Came up from fragrant dells;\n  When the blackbird and the throstle\n      Whistled cheerly in the morn,\n  And the skylark, quivering upward,\n      Rose singing from the corn;\n  Then when the blessed spring-time\n      Filled with beauty all the earth,\n  From her father's lordly castle\n      Would this maiden wander forth,\n  Where the violets were blooming\n      In unfrequented dells;\n  O'er the mead where zephyrs pilfered\n      Fragrance from the cowslips' bells.\n  Wheresoever beauty lingered,\n      There this radiant maiden strayed,\n  And beauty by her presence\n      More beautiful was made;\n  The sunshine looked more golden\n      As it gleamed around her head;\n  And the grass more green and living\n      Rose up beneath her tread;\n  And the flowers more bright and fragrant\n      To greet her coming grew;\n  And mad with love and music\n      The birds about her flew.\n  Oh! she was the loveliest maiden\n      That ever eye did see;\n  She was sunshine, she was music,\n      She was all the world to me.\n  But she never knew the passion\n      That set my soul aflame;\n  That hid me by the hedge-row\n      To watch whene'er she came,\n  To see her glorious beauty,\n      Like a star from heaven, go by.\n  Oh! to see her but one moment\n      God knows that I would die,\n          O peerless Imogen!\n\n{192}\n\n  They bore her to the abbey\n      With the pomp of princely woe,\n  With steeds and hearse and snowy pall,\n      And white plumes drooping low:\n  And high, proud heads were bending\n      In her funereal train,\n  And princely eyes were weeping\n      Heavy tears like summer rain.\n  I far off followed slowly,\n      No tears were in mine eye;\n  'Twas not for one so lowly\n      To weep for one so high;\n  But, oh! since she hath vanished,\n      With her have seemed to go\n  All the beauty, all the music,\n      Of this weary world below!\n          Dead, dead, and buried, Imogen!\n\n                                    E. Young.\n\n--------\n\n    The Jesuits In North America. [Footnote 31]\n\n   [Footnote 31:\n    _The Jesuits in North America, in the Seventeenth\n    Century_.\n    By Francis Parkman. Boston:\n    Little, Brown & Co. 1867.\n\n    _History and General Description of New France_,\n    By the Rev. P. F. X. de Charlevoix, S.J.\n    Translated with notes, by John Gilmary\n    Shea. In six vols. Vols. i. and ii.\n    New York: John Gilmary Shea. 1866\n\n    _History of the Catholic Missions among\n    the Indian Tribes of the United States_\n    By John Gilmary Shea.\n    New York: Edward Dunigan & Brother. 1855.]\n\nThe illustrious Society of Jesus, which has sanctified by its\nmartyrs every corner of the earth, has reaped more glory probably\nin North America than any other missionary order, though it was\nnot the first to enter the field. The Franciscans, the\nDominicans, and other devoted soldiers of the cross who followed\nin the footsteps of the Spanish adventurers in the south,\nestablished flourishing missions, some of which have lasted to\nthis day. They labored with a zeal and singleness of purpose\nwhich could not be surpassed, and a large proportion of them gave\nup their lives for the faith; but unfortunately the crimes of\ntheir countrymen have been permitted, by the prejudice of modern\nwriters, to tarnish the renown of these heroic preachers, and the\ncruelties of a Cortez are better remembered than the virtues of\nthe Spanish Dominicans. The Jesuits in the northern parts of the\ncontinent have received more justice in history. About their\ncharacter and achievements there is only one voice. Oppression\nand outrage have fortunately kept away from their path.\n{193}\nIt was, moreover, their practice to live almost wholly aloof from\ntheir own countrymen, and to compose their Christian settlements\nentirely of Indian converts. They may not have surpassed their\nbrethren of other orders in devotedness or in perseverance; but\nthey have a renown in modern Protestant literature which has no\nequal except in the glorious record of the early Christian\npersecutions.\n\nWhen the Jesuits first came to Canada, the Franciscans had been\nbefore them, but there was little trace left of the Christianity\nwhich they had planted. The capture of Quebec by the English, in\n1629, almost wholly obliterated the mission, and it was not until\nthe colony was restored to France, in 1632, that the history of\nmissionary enterprise in that part of America really begins. One\nof the first steps of the French government then was to secure a\nbody of priests, to labor in their recovered possessions. The\nwork was offered to the Capuchins, but they declined it. It was\nthen given to the Jesuits, and on the 18th of April, 1632, two\npriests, Le Jeune and De Nou\u00eb, with a lay-brother named Gilbert,\nset sail from Havre for Quebec. It was but a cheerless home in\nwhich, after a three months' tempestuous voyage, they set about\ninstalling themselves. Their predecessors had left on the\noutskirts of the settlement two wretched wooden buildings,\nthatched with long grass and plastered with mud. One of them had\nbeen half-burned by the English, and was still in ruins. Here the\nthree missionaries fixed their home, and prepared for the\nreception of the brethren who were soon to follow them. One of\nthe buildings was converted into a store-house, stable,\nwork-shop, and bakery. The other contained four principal rooms.\nOne was fitted up as a rude chapel, one as a refectory, one as a\nkitchen, and the fourth as a sleeping-room for workmen. Four\nsmall rooms, the largest eight feet square, opened off the\nrefectory, and here, when the rest of the little band arrived,\nsix priests were lodged, while two lay-brothers found shelter in\nthe garret. The whole establishment was surrounded by a palisade.\nAbout the end of May, Champlain arrived, to resume the command of\nQuebec, and with him came four more Jesuits--Br\u00e9beuf, Masse,\nDaniel, and Davost. The superior of the little community was\nFather Le Jeune. Of the others, Masse, whom by reason of his\nuseful qualities they nicknamed \"Le P\u00e8re Utile,\" had been in\nAmerica before. His special duty was to take care of the pigs and\ncows, upon which the missionaries relied for a great part of\ntheir sustenance. De Nou\u00eb had charge of the eight or ten laborers\nemployed about the \"residence.\" All the fathers, in the intervals\nof leisure left from their duties of preaching, saying mass and\nvespers, hearing confessions at the fort of Quebec, catechising a\nfew Indians, and striving to master the enormous difficulties of\nthe Algonquin and Huron languages, worked with the men, spade in\nhand.\n\nTo learn the language was at first the greatest of all their\ntroubles. There were French interpreters in the colony, fur\ntraders who had spent years among the tribes, and were almost as\nsavage as the Indians themselves. But these men were no friends\nto the Jesuits, and one and all refused their assistance. Father\nLe Jeune gives an amusing description of his perplexity, as he\nsat with an Indian child on one side, and a little negro boy left\nby the English on the other, neither of the three able to\nunderstand the language of the others.\n{194}\nConvinced that there was little to be taught and little to be\nlearned in that way, he set off one morning to visit a band of\nIndians who were fishing on the St. Lawrence. He found their bark\nlodges set up by the brink of the river, and a boy led him into\nthe hut of an old squaw, his grandmother, who hastened to give\nhim four smoked eels on a piece of birch bark. There were several\nother women in the lodge, and while they showed him how to roast\nhis eels on a forked stick, or squatted around the fire, eating\ntheir rude meal, and using their dogs as napkins, the good father\nmade strenuous attempts to talk a little broken Algonquin, eking\nout his defect of words with such pantomime as he could invent.\nAll, however, was in vain. If he trusted to what he could pick up\nfrom straggling fishing parties, it might be years before he\ncould fairly begin to preach the gospel to these poor tribes of\nthe wilderness. In his difficulty he had recourse to the saints.\nIt was not long before what he deemed the direct interposition of\nProvidence came to his aid. Several years before an Indian who\nhad been converted by the Recollects, and baptized by the name of\nPierre, had been taken to France and partially educated. He had\nlately returned to Canada, and not only relapsed into his old\nsavage way of life, but apostatized from the faith. Nothing was\nleft of his French education save a few French vices and a\nknowledge of the French language. He often came to the fort\nbegging drink and tobacco, but he shunned the Jesuits, of whose\nrigid virtue he stood in horror. But one day, about this time,\nPierre incurred the displeasure of the French commandant, and the\nfort was closed against him. Repulsed by a young squaw whom he\nwanted to make his wife, and unfitted by his French education for\nthe hard and precarious life of a hunter, he went to the priests\nfor food and shelter. Le Jeune hailed him as a gift from heaven\nin answer to his prayers. He installed the poor wretch in the\nmission-house, begged for him at the fort a suit of cast-off\nclothes, and set zealously to work to learn from him the\nmysteries of the Algonquin language. \"How thankful I am,\" wrote\nLe Jeune, \"to those who gave me tobacco last year! At every\ndifficulty I give my master a piece of it to make him more\nattentive.\"\n\nThe terribly severe winter was passed in studies such as these,\nin practising with snow-shoes, and teaching Indian children.\nBands of savages often encamped near the mission-house in the\ncourse of their hunting journeys, and Le Jeune, whenever they\nappeared, would take his stand at the door and ring a bell. The\nchildren would gather round him, and leading them into the\nrefectory, which also served as a school-room, he would teach\nthem the Pater, Ave, and Credo, with an Indian prayer which he\nhad composed with the assistance of Pierre, show them how to make\nthe sign of the cross, and explain portions of the catechism. The\nexercises closed with the singing of the Lord's prayer in\nAlgonquin rhymes, and after that each pupil was rewarded with a\nporringer of peas. As spring approached, Pierre began to bethink\nhimself of the fasting and prayers of Lent, and ran off one day\nto a party of Englishmen, at Tadoussac, where he drowned in\nliquor the small remnant of his Christianity. Then he joined his\ntwo brothers, one a famous hunter named Mestigoit, the other the\nmost noted sorcerer or \"medicine-man\" of the tribe.\n\n{195}\n\nThe next autumn Father Le Jeune was invited by the Indians to\njoin a hunting party, in which these three brothers were\nincluded; not that they valued the good missionary's company, but\nthey were shrewd enough to suspect that, if he went with them, he\nwould be well supplied with provisions. Father de Nou\u00eb had gone\non a similar expedition in the winter, and returned nearly dead;\nbut Le Jeune resolved to risk it, and in the latter part of\nOctober, with twenty Indians, embarked in canoes on the St.\nLawrence. Landing after a while, and being joined by two other\nbands, they spent five months trudging through the trackless and\nsnow-covered wilderness; sleeping by night in the stifling huts\nwhich they made by digging holes in the snow and building over\nthem a covering of poles and birch bark; hunting by day the\nbeaver, the moose, and the caribou; often half-starved when game\nfailed, and holding the most disgusting orgies of gluttony when\nit was plenty. Somebody had unfortunately put among the priest's\nstores a small keg of wine. Pierre stole it and got drunk, and\nwhen Mestigoit had sobered him by a liberal application of\nscalding water, which took all the skin off his face and breast,\nthe apostate (as Le Jeune always calls him) vowed to revenge\nhimself by killing the missionary whose strong drink had brought\nhim into trouble. The poor father fled to the woods until\nPierre's frenzy had passed away, and there, he says, \"though my\nbed had not been made up since the creation of the world, it was\nnot hard enough to prevent me from sleeping.\" We have no space to\nfollow the narrative of this hard winter. The days were spent in\nhunger and exhausting toil, the nights in frightful discomfort.\nThe huts, in a space some thirteen feet square, were made to\naccommodate nineteen savages, men, women, and children, not to\nspeak of a number of wild and hungry dogs. A fire of pine-knots\nin the centre filled the place with a blinding, acrid smoke, and\nat times they could breathe only by lying flat on their faces\nwith their mouths to the cold ground. In this horrible den, the\ndogs fought for his food, and the savages, instigated by the\nsorcerer, loaded him with insults and shocked his ears with their\nfilthy conversation. The sorcerer, whose pretensions he\nridiculed, and whose influence he lost no opportunity of\nundermining, hated him with an especially malignant animosity.\nUnder pretence of teaching him Algonquin, he palmed off upon the\npriest the foulest words in the Indian language, so that poor\nFather Le Jeune's attempts to explain the mysteries of the faith\nwere often interrupted by shouts of laughter. On Christmas day\nthere had been a great scarcity of game, and the party were in\ndanger of famishing. The incantations of the medicine man had\nfailed. In despair the savages came to Le Jeune, and begged him\nto try his God. The sorcerer showed some gleam of faith. Even\nPierre gave signs of repentance. The missionary was filled with\nhope. He wrote out two prayers in Algonquin. He hung against the\nside of the hut a crucifix and a reliquary, and bade the Indians\nkneel before them and repeat the prayers, promising to renounce\ntheir superstitions and obey Christ if he would save them from\nperishing of hunger. Then he dismissed the hunters with his\nblessing. At night they came back successful. A feast was\nordered. In the midst of the repast, Le Jeune arose to remind\nthem of their promise; but Pierre, who had killed nothing, was\nsulky and incredulous. He said, with a laugh, that it was not the\ncrucifix and prayers which had brought them luck.\n{196}\nThe sorcerer cried out to the missionary, \"Hold your tongue! you\nhave no sense!\" And the multitude, whose good disposition had\nvanished with their hunger, took their cue from him, as usual.\n\nAll this was discouraging enough, nor was it the worst; and when\nFather Le Jeune, at three o'clock one April morning, knocked at\nthe door of his humble mission-house, and was received in the\narms of his brother apostles, it was with the melancholy\nreflection that his painful and perilous journey had been, except\nas a tour of observation, little more than a failure. An absolute\nfailure, however, it certainly was not. Careful reconnoissances\nmust always precede great campaigns. It was only by pushing out\ninto the heart of the pagan realm which they had come to conquer,\nthat the soldiers of Christ could determine where they might best\nmake their main assault and in what quarter a victory ensured the\nmost glorious results. The missionaries were but a handful; the\nfield before them was immense; they could only cultivate such\nportions of it as promised the richest harvest. They had now\nlearned that the Algonquins were comparatively few in number, and\nof little influence or importance among the North American\ntribes. Wandering to and fro as they did from year's end to\nyear's end, it was impossible to establish among them the sort of\nChristian settlements or missions which the Jesuits proposed\nfounding as centres from which the light of truth might radiate\nthrough the wilderness. But further westward, on the shores of\nthe great lakes, dwelt numerous stationary tribes, among whom\nstrongholds of the faith might be erected. The conversion of any\nconsiderable part of these people would affect many kindred\ntribes, and so it might be possible to found in the heart of the\nforest a great Christian empire. As the first basis for their\noperations, they chose the Hurons, on the lake which bears their\nname. These people, they learned, had populous villages, knew how\nto till the ground, and carried on some trade with neighboring\nnations. Their ferocity exceeded that of the Algonquins. A\nprisoner who bore the torture bravely was cooked and eaten, that\nhis captors might increase their own courage; and the\nmissionaries spoke of the Huron country as the chief fortress and\ndonjon-keep of the demon, \"_une des principales forteresses et\ncomme un donjon des d\u00e9mons_.\" The distance to be traversed, by\nthe only route it was possible to follow, was about nine hundred\nmiles. The way was dangerous and painful. The goal to be reached\nwas possibly martyrdom--certainly continuous suffering of body\nand mind. Three missionaries, Br\u00e9beuf, Daniel, and Davost,\noffered themselves for the enterprise. Le Jeune's duties as\nsuperior obliged him to confine his labors to the neighboring\nAlgonquins. It was not easy, however, for the little band of\napostles to carry their heroic purpose into execution. Every year\na company of several hundred Hurons used to visit Quebec, to\nbarter their furs and tobacco for kettles, hatchets, knives,\ncloth, beads, and other commodities. It was resolved that the\npriests should return with them when they made their next annual\njourney. The Hurons came in July, 1633, six or seven hundred of\nthem, with a hundred and forty canoes. They staid four days,\ntrading, gambling, feasting, and holding a council with the\nFrench officers at the fort. Champlain introduced the three\nmissionaries, and commended them to the care and friendship of\nthe Indians.\n{197}\nThey were received at first with acclamations of delight, and the\nchiefs of different villages disputed for the honor of\nentertaining them. But before the hour of departure came, they\nchanged their minds. The Indians went away and the priests\nreturned to the mission-house. Here they spent a year studying\nthe Huron language. At the end of a twelvemonth, the Indians came\nagain. A second time they were besought to take the Jesuits back\nwith them. They consented, wavered, refused, hesitated, the\nmissionaries begging to be received, as if the hardships they\nwould have to suffer were the greatest of privileges. At last\nFather Br\u00e9beuf made a vow to St. Joseph. At once, he says, the\nIndians became tractable, and the whole party embarked in the\nfrail canoes for the shores of Lake Huron. Their route was up the\nOttawa river, through Lake Nipissing, down French river, and\nalong the shores of the great Georgian Bay of Lake Huron. The\nvoyage occupied thirty days. The three missionaries were in\nseparate canoes, barefoot, lest their shoes should injure the\nvessel, toiling laboriously at the paddle, wading often through\nthe rapids and pushing or pulling up their barks, and doing their\nshare of the burden of transportation at the long and frequent\nportages. They had no food but a little corn crushed between two\nstones and moistened with water. The Indians treated them with\ngreat harshness, stole or threw away a part of their baggage,\nincluding most of their books and writing materials, and finally\ndeserted Father Daniel and Father Davost on the way. When Br\u00e9beuf\nreached the end of the voyage, on the shores of Georgian Bay, his\nIndian companions threw his baggage on the ground, left him to\nhis own resources, and trudged off to their villages, some twenty\nmiles distant. Br\u00e9beuf, however, was not disheartened. He threw\nhimself upon his knees and thanked God who had preserved him so\nfar. Then he proceeded to examine the country. He knew the spot\nwell, for before the suspension of the Canada missions which\nfollowed the capture of Quebec, he had passed three years among\nthe Hurons of this region, at an Indian town which had since been\nburned. Hiding his baggage and the sacred vessels in the woods,\nhe set off in search of the new town, which he knew had been\nbuilt a few miles from the site of the old one. It was evening\nwhen he reached it. A crowd who recognized his tall, soldier-like\nfigure and black robes ran out to meet him, shouting for joy at\nhis return. They took him to the lodge of one Awandoay, the\nrichest and most hospitable of the Hurons. After many days his\ntwo lost brethren rejoined him. Daniel had been picked up by\nanother party of Indians. Davost had been left among the\nAlgonquins on Allumette Island, and now appeared half-dead with\nfamine and fatigue. With them came four French laymen from\nQuebec. Awandoay received them all, and as soon as they had\ndetermined to make this village, which the natives called\nIhonatiria, the headquarters of their mission, all the\ninhabitants of the place, as well as the people of the\nneighboring town of Wenrio, fell to and built them a house. It\nwas a structure of sapling poles and sheets of bark, thirty-six\nfeet long, and about twenty feet wide, built after the Huron\nfashion; but the priests, with the aid of their tools, made\nseveral improvements of the interior, which were to the savages a\nnever-failing source of wonder and admiration. They divided their\ndwelling into three rooms. The first was a store-house; the\nsecond, a sleeping chamber, kitchen, workshop, refectory, and\nschool-room, all in one; the third was the chapel.\n\n{198}\n\nThus the Huron mission, which had been founded several years\npreviously, and broken up before it was thoroughly established,\nwas opened anew. Other priests soon came out from France to join\nit. Garnier, Chaumonot, Chabanel, and the illustrious martyr\nIsaac Jogues were among the Jesuits who gathered around this\nlodge in the wilderness in the course of the next few years. In\nthe summer-time, when most of the Indians were away on their\nhunting or trading excursions, and the villages were quiet, the\nmissionaries renewed their strength for labor and suffering by\nthe exercise of the annual retreat according to the instructions\nof St. Ignatius. It was in winter that their hardships were the\ngreatest. By day they trudged long, weary miles through the snow\nand wet to visit neighboring villages; by night their short rest\nwas disturbed and their ears shocked by the horrible orgies,\nincantations, and superstitious rites in which the Hurons used to\npass their winter leisure. There were the hideous ceremonies by\nwhich their sorcerers pretended to cure the sick; the licentious\npractices by which they sought to propitiate the demons of\npestilence and famine; sometimes the awful tortures of captives\ntaken in war, and their agonizing deaths, in which the good\nfathers, though every nerve shuddered with horror at the dreadful\nsight, sometimes found consolation in making a convert of the\ndying wretch, and washing out his sins at the last moment in the\nsaving waters of baptism. At every opportunity they collected the\nchildren of the village at their house; and Br\u00e9beuf, vested in\nsurplice and cap, led them in chanting the _Pater Noster_,\ntranslated into Indian rhymes, taught them the Hail Mary, the\nCreed, and the Commandments, taught them to make the sign of the\ncross, and gave a few simple instructions. A present of two or\nthree beads, or raisins, or prunes sent them away happy and\nensured their coming again. Once in a while the adults were\ninduced to listen to instruction, and invited to discuss the\nprincipal points of religious doctrine. They grunted \"Good\" or\n\"That is true\" at every proposition, but for a long, long time\nvery few were willing to embrace the faith to which they gave so\nready an assent. Like the fishes who listened to St. Anthony's\nsermon,\n\n    \"Much delighted were they,\n     But preferred the old way.\"\n\nStill, they were ready enough to visit the hut of the\nmissionaries, and examine their marvels of ingenuity and skill,\nthe fame of which had gone abroad throughout the whole Huron\nnation. They would sit on the ground by the hour, watching the\nclock and waiting for it to strike. They thought it was alive,\nand dignified it with the title of \"Captain.\" \"What does the\nCaptain say?\" they would often ask.\n\n\"When he strikes twelve times,\" the Jesuits answered, \"he says,\n'Hang on the kettle;' and when he strikes four times he says,\n'Get up and go home.'\"\n\nSo at noon visitors were never wanting to share the Captain's\nhospitality; but at the stroke of four they all departed, and the\nmissionaries gathered round the fire and discussed the\nintricacies of the Huron language. Among the other wonders of the\nlodge there was a hand-mill which the savages were never tired of\nturning. A magnet proved a great puzzle to them; and there was a\nmagnifying-glass which transformed a flea into a frightful\nmonster, and, we may suppose, filled them with alarm.\n{199}\nThey conceived an overpowering respect for the wisdom and\nsupernatural powers of the black-gowns, and had for them also,\nupon the whole, a genuine good will; but there were moments when\ntheir influence, and even their safety, were endangered by the\nviolence of the Indian superstitions. Once in a season of drought\na \"rain-maker\" persuaded the Hurons that the red color of the\ncross which stood before the Jesuits' dwelling frightened away\nthe bird of thunder. It was about to be cut down. The priests\nbegged them to paint it white, and see if the thunder would come.\nIt was done, but rain still kept aloof.\n\n\"Your spirits cannot help you,\" said the fathers; \"ask the aid of\nhim who made the world, and perhaps he will hear your prayers.\"\n\nThe Indians were induced to promise obedience to the true God.\nNine masses were offered in honor of St. Joseph, and every day\nthere were solemn processions and prayers. In a few days there\nwere heavy falls of rain, and the Hurons conceived an exalted\nidea of the power of French \"medicine.\" But alas for their\npromises! They were soon forgotten.\n\nIn the autumn and winter of 1636, the Huron towns were swept by a\ncontagious fever, accompanied by the small-pox. Three of the\nJesuits--Jogues, Garnier, and Chatelain--were seized with the\nfever, but the protection of Providence raised them up for the\nrelief of their poor red-skinned brethren. In the depth of winter\nthe missionaries went from village to village, visiting every\nhut, tending the sick, bringing them such few delicacies as their\nscanty stores afforded, and pressing their religious instructions\nat every available occasion. But it was hard to make an\nimpression on the stolid hearts of the savages. They comprehended\nthe pains and fires of hell, but they could not understand the\nhappiness of heaven. They had no wish to go after death to a\nplace where there would be neither war nor hunting, and where,\nthey feared, the French would give them nothing to eat. Nor, when\nthe Huron had at last been persuaded that heaven was good for\nIndians as well as Frenchmen, was it easy to produce in him the\nproper dispositions for baptism. He felt no contrition, for he\nbelieved that he had never committed sin. \"Why did you baptize\nthat Iroquois?\" asked a dying neophyte; \"he will get to heaven\nbefore us, and when he sees us coming he will drive us out.\" This\nwas disheartening; but once for a few days there was a gleam of\nconsolation. The whole village of Ossossan\u00e9 resolved to embrace\nthe faith of the black-robes, to give up their superstitions, and\nto reform their manners. One of their principal sorcerers\nproclaimed in a loud voice, through the streets of the town, that\nthe God of the French was henceforth their Master. Nine days\nafterward a noted sorcerer came to Ossossan\u00e9, and the Indians\nheld a grand medicine feast, hoping to secure the aid of God and\nthe devil at once. The superstitious rites were all renewed; the\nnights grew hideous with yells of incantation, and magic figures\nto drive away the demon of pestilence were put up on every house.\nThe danger to the missionaries now became imminent. When they\nleft their hut in the morning, it was with a well-grounded doubt\nwhether they should ever return. The sacrament of baptism, which\nit was a part of their daily labor to administer to dying\nchildren, came to be looked upon as a pestiferous charm.\n{200}\nThey could only give it by stealth, sometimes letting fall a drop\nfrom a spoonful of sugared water, with which they pretended to\ncool the patient's parched lips, or else touching the skin with a\nmoist finger or the corner of a wet handkerchief. The mysterious\nblack-robed magicians were now regarded as the cause of the\npestilence; and had it not been for the awe in which they were\nheld by the savages, their lives would quickly have been at an\nend. As it was, they were everywhere repulsed and insulted.\nChildren pelted them from behind huts, friends looked at them\naskance, and the more violent of their enemies clamored for their\ndeath. The picture of the last judgment which hung in their\nchapel was taken to be a charm of direful power. The litanies\nwhich they chanted together were incantations pregnant with\nplague and famine. The clock was a malignant demon, and the poor\n\"Captain\" had to be stopped. In August, 1637, a great council of\nthe Hurons, including deputations from four nations, was held to\ndeliberate upon the affairs of the confederation. The chief,\nwhose office it was to preside over the feast of the dead, arose,\nand in a set speech accused the Jesuits of being the cause of the\ncalamities that afflicted them. One accuser followed another,\nBr\u00e9beuf replying to their charges with ingenuity and boldness.\nThe debate continued through the night. Many of the Indians fell\nasleep, and others went away. One old chief as he passed out said\nto Br\u00e9beuf, \"If some young man should split your head open, we\nshould have nothing to say.\" \"What sort of men are these?\" cried\nout another impatiently, as the Jesuit went on with his harangue;\n\"they are always saying the same thing, and repeating the same\nwords a hundred times.\" Another council was called to pronounce\nthe sentence of death. The priests appeared before it with such\nunflinching courage that their judges, struck with admiration,\ndeferred the decree. Still it seemed as if their fate could not\nbe long deferred. They wrote a farewell letter to their superior,\nFather Le Jeune, and committed to the care of an Indian convert\nthe most precious properties of the mission, the sacred furniture\nof the altar, and the vocabulary which they had compiled of the\nHuron language. Then they gave a parting feast, after the Indian\ncustom of those who were about to die. The intrepidity manifested\nby this proceeding was not without its effect. The animosity of\nthe savages became less intense, and though the persecution\ncontinued, and the lives of individual members of the little band\nwere more than once attempted, the project of a massacre was for\nthe present abandoned.\n\nBy the end of the year 1638, the mission had seven priests who\nspoke Huron, and three more who were learning it. There were\nabout sixty converts, and at Ossossan\u00e9 a commodious chapel of\nwood had been built by the labor of artisans sent for the purpose\nfrom Quebec. The original intention of the Jesuits was to form\npermanent missions in each of the principal Huron towns. This,\nhowever, proved impracticable, and a spot was chosen on the\nlittle river Wye, near Matchedash Bay of Lake Huron, for a great\ncentral station, to which they gave the name of Sainte Marie. The\nHuron towns were now apportioned into districts, and a certain\nnumber of priests assigned to each. Father Garnier and Father\nJogues made an ineffectual attempt to establish a mission among\nthe Tobacco nation, two days' journey to the south-west.\n{201}\nBut their evil reputation had preceded them. The children cried\nout, when they saw them approach, that famine and pest were\ncoming. Every door was closed against them; and when in despair\nthey left the town, a band of young braves followed them, hatchet\nin hand, to put them to death. Under cover of the darkness they\nmade their escape, and Father Jogues, with Father Raymbault,\nafterward passed around the northern shore of Lake Huron, and\npreached the faith among the Ojibwas, as far as Sault Sainte\nMarie, at the outlet of Lake Superior. In the mean time Br\u00e9beuf\nand Chaumonot went on a mission to the powerful and ferocious\nNeutral nation which inhabited the country between lakes Erie and\nOntario, on both sides of the Niagara river. They visited\neighteen of the Neutral towns. In all they were received with a\nstorm of insults, blows, and maledictions. The Hurons had been\nafraid to kill them, dreading the vengeance of the French at\nQuebec; but they had sent secret emissaries to incite the\nNeutrals against them, and had promised nine French hatchets to\nthe tribe which should be their executioners. Br\u00e9beuf was the\nobject of their special hatred. This glorious man, whom Parkman\ncalls the truest hero and the greatest martyr of the Huron\nmission, was feared with an intensity which none of his\ncompanions inspired. But in the midst of his persecutions God\nconsoled him with heavenly favors. Celestial visions comforted\nhim in his toilsome journeys through the forest. He saw the image\nof a vast and gorgeous palace, and a voice assured him that such\nwas to be the reward of those who dwell in hovels for the cause\nof God. Angels appeared to him, and more than once the Blessed\nVirgin and his dear patron, St. Joseph, were revealed to his\nsight. Now, when the Neutral nation shut him out of their lodges,\nhalf famished and nearly frozen, the apparition of a great\ncross--\"large enough,\" he said to his brethren, \"to crucify us\nall\"--came slowly up from the country of the Iroquois. It seems\nlike a warning of the glorious fate which awaited him, and to\nthose heroic souls who longed for martyrdom as the bright crown\nof their labor, we cannot doubt that it was also a sweet\nconsolation.\n\nThe day of persecution, however, was only dawning. The sufferings\nof the past few years were as nothing in comparison with the\ntorments that were to follow. In the summer of 1642, the mission\nhad been reduced to great destitution, and Father Jogues was sent\nto Quebec to obtain clothing, writing materials, wine for the\naltar, and other necessary stores. He returned with the annual\nfleet of Huron canoes, having with him two young French laymen,\nRen\u00e9 Goupil and Guillaume Couture, who had attached themselves\nwithout pay to the mission, and a few Indian converts. They were\npassing the Lake of St. Peter, in the St. Lawrence river, when\nthey were suddenly attacked by a war-party of Mohawks. The\ngreater part of the Hurons leaped ashore and took to the woods.\nThe French and their converts made fight for a while, but were\nsoon overpowered. Father Jogues sprang into a clump of bulrushes\nand might have escaped, but, seeing Goupil in the hands of the\nsavages, he came forward, resolved to share his fate. Couture,\ntoo, got away, but came back to join his companions. In his\nexcitement he shot dead one of a band of Mohawks who sprang upon\nhim. The others rushed upon him, tore away his finger-nails with\ntheir teeth, gnawed at his fingers like wild beasts, and thrust a\nsword through one of his hands.\n{202}\nThe Jesuit threw his arms about his friend's neck, but the\nIndians dragged him away, beat him till he was senseless, and\nwhen he revived lacerated his fingers as they had done those of\nCouture. Goupil was then treated in the same manner. They set off\nwith their prisoners for the Mohawk towns, rowing across Lake\nChamplain and Lake George. Thirteen days of horrible suffering\nwere passed on the journey. At last they reached a palisaded\nvillage, built upon a hill on the banks of the Mohawk river. At\nthe entrance the prisoners were forced to run the gauntlet. Then\nthey were placed on a high platform, disfigured, livid, and\nstreaming with blood, and the crowd proceeded to \"caress\" them. A\nChristian Algonquin woman, a prisoner among them, was compelled\nto cut off the priest's left thumb with a clam-shell. Goupil was\nmutilated in the same manner. The torture lasted all day. At\nnight the captives were stretched on their backs with limbs\nextended, and their wrists and ankles fastened to stakes. The\nchildren now amused themselves by placing live coals on their\nnaked bodies. For three days more they were exposed on the\nscaffold; then they were led to two other Mohawk towns in turn,\nand at each the tortures were repeated. Once some Huron prisoners\nwere placed on the same platform with them, and Father Jogues\nfound an opportunity to convert them in the midst of the torture,\nand to baptize them with a few rain-drops from an ear of corn\nthat had been thrown to him for food. Couture, having won the\nrespect of the savages by his intrepid bearing, was adopted into\none of their families, and gained in time great influence over\nthem. Goupil was one day detected making the sign of the cross on\nthe forehead of a child, and for this was killed by a blow from a\nhatchet, falling at the feet of Father Jogues, who gave him\nabsolution before he expired. The priest himself, warned every\nhour that his death was near, and hated by his captors, who\nthought he brought bad luck to their hunting parties, was dragged\naround from place to place, now following the hunters through the\nforest, now laboring in the villages to convert the old men and\nsquaws, or baptize dying children. He brought firewood for his\nmasters, did their bidding without a murmur, was silent under\ntheir abuse; but, when they reviled his faith, he rose with a\nmajestic air, and rebuked them as one having authority.\n\nHe had been nearly a year in slavery when the Indians took him\nwith them on a trading visit to the Dutch at Fort Orange,\n(Albany.) We can imagine how his heart must have beat at the\nsight of a white face after his long banishment but he had no\nthought of turning back after his hand had once been put to the\nplough, and no plans of escape entered his mind. While here,\nhowever, he learned that the Indians of the village had at last\nresolved to kill him as soon as he returned. He had found means\nto warn the French at Three Rivers of intended treachery on the\npart of some Mohawk visitors, and the savages had determined to\nbe revenged. To trust himself longer in their hands would not be\nheroism, but foolhardiness. A Dutch settler named Van Curler\noffered him a passage, in a little vessel then lying in the\nHudson, either to Bordeaux or Rochelle. The Jesuit spent a night\nin prayer, and then resolved to accept the proposal. With the\nassistance of his Dutch friends, and after several narrow escapes\nfrom detection, he got away from his savage masters by night,\nrowed to the vessel in a boat which the settlers left for his use\non the shore, and was kindly received by the sailors and stowed\naway in the hold.\n{203}\nThere he remained half-stifled for two days and a half, while the\nenraged Mohawks ransacked the settlement and searched the vessel.\nFor better security until the day of sailing, he was then\nconcealed in the garret of a house on shore, where his host stole\nthe provisions that the kind-hearted Dutchmen sent for his use.\nThe Dutch dominie, Megapolensis, visited him here, and did all he\ncould for his comfort. At last, an order came from Manhattan that\nhe should be sent down to the Director-General Kieft, who\nexchanged his squalid Indian dress for a suit of Dutch cloth, and\ngave him passage in a small vessel to Falmouth. After various\nadventures, having fallen into the hands of robbers in the\nEnglish port, and made his way to France in a coal-vessel, he\npresented himself, on the morning of the 5th of January, 1644,\nclad in tatters, at the door of the Jesuit college in Rennes. He\nasked for the father rector, but was told that he was busy and\ncould not be seen. \"Tell him, if you please,\" said Father Jogues,\n\"that a man from Canada would speak a few words with him.\" The\nCanada mission was an object of deep interest at this time all\nthrough the society, and the father rector, though he was about\nvesting for mass, ordered the man to be admitted. He asked many\nquestions about the affairs of Canada, and at last inquired if\nthe stranger knew Father Jogues.\n\n\"I know him very well,\" was the reply.\n\n\"The Iroquois have taken him,\" continued the reverend Superior.\n\"Is he dead?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered the missionary, \"he is alive and at liberty. I am\nhe.\" Then he fell on his knees and asked the rector's blessing.\n\nHis arrival was celebrated, as we might well suppose, with great\nrejoicing. He was summoned to Paris, where the queen kissed his\nmutilated hands and the whole court strove to honor him. The\nblandishments of the great, however, gave no pleasure to this\nscarred veteran of Christ's army. He longed to be again in the\nfield, and in two or three months he sailed once more for Canada.\n\nIn the mean time the missions had fared ill. Violent warfare\nraged between the Iroquois confederation (of which the Mohawks\nformed a part) and the Hurons and Algonquins. In one respect and\nfor a short time this was of some benefit to the faith, for the\nAlgonquins, threatened with destruction by their more powerful\nenemies, became docile, and listened more readily to the\nexhortations of the French priests. Yet they were rapidly\napproaching extermination. Whole villages were destroyed in the\nperiodical incursions of the Iroquois. The neophytes were\nmassacred. The missionaries were intercepted on their journeys.\nFather Joseph Bressani was captured on his way to the Huron\ncountry in the spring of 1644. One of his Indian companions was\nroasted and eaten before his eyes. The father himself was beaten\nwith sticks until he was covered with blood. His hands were\nfearfully mutilated. His fingers were slit; one day a nail would\nbe burned off; the next, a joint. He was made to walk on hot\ncinders. He was given up to the children to be tortured. He was\nhanged by the feet with chains. He was tied to the ground, and\nfood was placed upon his naked body that the dogs might lacerate\nhim as they ate. Ten weeks afterward he wrote to the\nfather-general at Rome: \"I do not know if your paternity will\nrecognize the handwriting of one whom you once knew very well.\n{204}\nThe letter is soiled and ill-written; because the writer has only\none finger of his right hand left entire, and cannot prevent the\nblood from his wounds, which are still open, from staining the\npaper. His ink is gunpowder mixed with water, and his table is\nthe earth.\" He survived and was carried to Fort Orange, where the\nDutch ransomed him and sent him back to France. The next spring\nhe too returned and succeeded in reaching the Hurons. Father de\nNou\u00eb, whom we have mentioned as one of the first companions of Le\nJeune, perished in the snow in February, 1646, on the way from\nQuebec to a French port at the mouth of the river Richelieu,\nwhere he was to hear confessions. A peace had indeed been\nconcluded with the Mohawks just before Jogues' return, but a\npeace with them could be no better than a precarious truce.\nCouture, who had been with Father Jogues in his captivity, and\nbecome a person of consideration with the tribe, had rendered\ngood service in the negotiation, and would continue to serve his\ncountrymen to the utmost of his power; yet it was felt that to\nkeep the Indians to their engagements an agent of still higher\npersonal character was required, and Father Jogues was assigned\nto the duty. \"I shall go,\" he wrote to a friend, \"but I shall not\nreturn.\"\n\nHis mission was partly political, but mainly, of course,\nreligious. By the advice of an Algonquin convert, he exchanged\nhis cassock for a civilian's doublet, not wishing to irritate the\nsavages by a premature declaration of his heavenly message. He\nheld a council with the head men of the Mohawks, presented the\ngifts of the Canadian government, and then set about founding a\nnew mission, to be called the Mission of the Martyrs. There were\nthree principal clans among the Mohawks--those of the Bear, the\nTortoise, and the Wolf. The first were bitter foes of the French,\nand eager for war; the others stood out resolutely for peace.\nMany were the fierce debates around their council-fires whether\nthe missionary should be killed or not. At last, one day, a band\nof warriors of the Bear clan met the priest and a young lay\ncompanion of his, named Lalande, in the woods, stripped them, and\nled them in triumph to the town. There they were beaten with\nsticks, and strips of flesh were cut from Father Jogues' back and\narms. In the evening, the priest was sitting in one of the\nlodges, when an Indian entered and invited him to a feast. To\nrefuse would have been an insult. He arose and followed the\nmessenger to the cabin of the chief of the Bears. As he bent his\nhead to enter, a savage, concealed within, clove his skull with a\nhatchet, the weapon cutting through the arm of an Indian who\ntried to avert the blow. The martyr sank at the feet of his\nmurderer. His head was instantly cut off, and stuck upon the\npalisade which enclosed the town, and his body was thrown into\nthe river. The next day Lalande was killed, and his remains\nreceived the same treatment.\n\n\nThe murder of Father Jogues was the signal for a reopening of the\nwar with the colonists and their allies, and among the first\nvictims were the Algonquin converts. We have no space to relate\nthe story of the surprise of their villages, the shocking torture\nof the captives, or the massacre of the children, the old, and\nthe infirm. But some of the prisoners escaped, and the adventures\nof one of them were so interesting that we cannot resist the\ntemptation to copy them from the animated narrative of Parkman.\n{205}\nThis was an Algonquin woman named Marie, whose husband had been\nburned with other captives. One night, while the savages were\ndancing and shrieking round the flames in which one of her\ncountrymen was being consumed, she stole away into the forest.\nThe ground was covered with snow, so, lest her footsteps should\nbetray her, she retraced the beaten path in which the Indians had\nalready travelled until she came near a village of the Onondagas.\nThere she hid herself in a thicket, and at night crept forth to\ngrope in the snow for a few grains of corn left from the last\nyear's harvest. She saw many Indians from her lurking-place, and\nonce a tall savage with an axe came directly toward her, but she\nmurmured a prayer and he turned away. Certain of death if\ndiscovered, and disheartened at the prospect of the long and\nterrible journey through the frozen wilderness to Canada, she\ntried to commit suicide by hanging herself with her girdle, but\nit broke twice, and she plucked up heart. With no clothing but a\nthin tunic, she travelled on, directing her course by the sun,\nand living upon roots and the inner bark of trees, and now and\nthen catching tortoises in the brooks. At night she kindled a\nfire by the friction of two sticks in some deep nook of the\nforest, warmed herself, cooked her food, if she had any, and said\nher rosary. Once she discovered a party of Iroquois warriors, but\nshe lay concealed and they passed without observing her.\nFollowing their trail, she found their bark canoe by the bank of\na river. It was too large for her to manage alone, but with a\nhatchet which she had picked up in a deserted camp she reduced it\nto a convenient size, and floated down the stream to the St.\nLawrence. Her journey was now much easier. There were eggs of\nwild fowl to be found along the shore, and fish in the river,\nwhich she speared with a sharp pole. She even killed deer by\ndriving them into the water, chasing them in her canoe, and\nstriking them on the head with her hatchet. At the end of two\nmonths she reached Montreal, after hardships which no woman but\nan Indian could have supported.\n\nThe central mission of Sainte Marie was meanwhile in the flush of\nprosperity. The buildings included a church, a kitchen, a\nrefectory, large rooms for spiritual instruction and the\nexercises of retreat, and lodgings for at least sixty persons.\nAround these principal houses ran a fortified line of palisades\nand masonry, outside which was a hospital and a large bark hut\nfor the reception of wandering Indians. Here every alternate week\nthe converts from all the Huron villages gathered in immense\ncrowds to attend divine service, celebrated with all the pomp\nwhich the resources of the mission allowed, and to partake for\nthree days of the bounteous hospitality of the good fathers. In\ntimes of pestilence and famine they flocked hither for relief,\nand at one time, in a year of scarcity, as many as three thousand\nreceived food and shelter at Sainte Marie. Hither, also, two or\nthree times every year, the Jesuits--now twenty-two in number,\nincluding four lay-brothers--came together from their outlying\nmissions, to refresh their souls by mutual counsel, and gather\nstrength in prayer and meditation for the work of the next twelve\nmonths. To assist in the manual labor of the establishment there\nwere seven hired men and four boys, and as a defence against the\ndreaded Iroquois the commandant of Quebec had sent them a guard\nof eight soldiers.\n{206}\nThey received also much valuable help from the _donn\u00e9s_, or\n\"given men\"--French laymen, who from pure zeal devoted themselves\nto the service of the mission, travelling with the fathers on\ntheir dangerous journeys, and sometimes sharing--like Goupil,\ncalled \"the good R\u00e9n\u00e9\"--in the glories of their martyrdom. These\npious men--\"seculars in garb,\" Father Gamier called them, \"but\nreligious in heart\"--received no pay except a bare maintenance.\nThere were eleven smaller missions dependent upon Sainte Marie,\neight among the Hurons and three among the Algonquins. At several\nof them there was a church where every morning a bell summoned\nthe dusky converts to Mass, and every evening they met again for\nprayer. Despite the enormous difficulties of transportation\nthrough that tangled wilderness, the fathers had found means to\ncarry with them from place to place large colored pictures, gay\ndraperies, and many a showy ornament for the altar or the walls,\nwhich they well knew would invest their rude chapels with an\nalmost irresistible attraction for the savage mind. In many\nvillages the Christians, by the year 1649, outnumbered the\npagans. Sundays and feast-days were almost wholly devoted to\nreligious exercises; and if the Indians had not wholly abandoned\ntheir barbarous and cruel practices, it is certain that the\nferocity even of those who refused to become Christians was\nsensibly tamed.\n\nBut the season of good fortune which followed the martyrdom of\nGoupil and Jogues was destined to be but short. The increasing\nhostility of the Iroquois was to be the destruction at once of\nthe Huron nation and of the high hopes which had been built upon\nthat people. Yet it may be questioned whether the Jesuits would\nhave long been left at peace even had these terrible foes kept\nwithin the range of their own villages. Even among the Hurons the\nmurmurs of suspicion and dislike had begun to be heard again. The\nFrench ceremony of \"prayer,\" said the savages, had blighted the\ncrops, and the mystic rites of the priests had brought famine and\ndesolation upon the nation. There was even a story, widely\nbelieved in the Huron lodges, that an Indian girl, baptized\nbefore her death, had been to the French heaven, and, after\nsuffering horrible torments there from the pale faces, had made\nher escape back to earth to deter her countrymen from rushing to\nthe same fate. A young Frenchman in the service of the mission\nhad been treacherously murdered; and though the missionaries by a\nwise show of resolution had compelled the nation to make\nsatisfaction for the outrage by the ceremonious offering of\nnumerous strings of wampum, and had thus restored their waning\ninfluence, it was clear that their position at the best was\nextremely precarious, and that persecution, if it came not from\nabroad, would pretty surely be commenced at home. The\ncatastrophe, therefore, when it came, found the priests not\nunprepared. For years they had carried their lives in their\nhands, ready to cast them down at any moment. For years they had\nwalked through the valley of the shadow of death, and in the\nmidst of the dark river and in the bitter waters they knew that\nthe almighty Arm was stretched forth to hold them up.\n\nThe final act opened at the village of Teanaustay\u00e9, or St.\nJoseph, on the south-eastern frontier of the Huron country.\n{207}\nOn the 4th of July, 1648, Father Daniel, fresh from his annual\nretreat at Sainte Marie, had just finished Mass, and his\ncongregation were still kneeling in the church, when the Iroquois\nburst upon the town and attacked the palisade which surrounded\nit. The priest, after rallying the warriors to defend their\nhomes, ran from house to house urging unbelievers to repent. A\npanic-stricken crowd fell at his knees and declared themselves\nChristians, and he baptized them with water sprinkled from a wet\nhandkerchief, for there was no time to do more. When the palisade\nwas broken down, he showed his flock how to escape at the other\nend of the town. \"I will stay here,\" said he. \"We shall meet\nagain in heaven.\" He would not fly while there was a soul to be\nsaved in the village. In his priestly vestments he went out to\nthe church-door to meet the Iroquois. For a moment they paused in\namazement. Then, pierced with scores of arrows and a musket-ball\nthrough the heart, he fell, gasping the name of Jesus. The\nsavages hacked his lifeless body, bathed their faces in his blood\nto make them brave, and consumed in one great conflagration the\nvillage, the church, and the sacred remains.\n\nThe following March the missions of St. Louis and St. Ignace were\nburned by the same terrible enemy. At the latter were two of the\nJesuits; Br\u00e9beuf, sturdy offspring of a warrior race, with all\nthe soldierly characteristics of his Norman ancestors; and\nLalemant, delicate in body and in spirit, yet in the glorious\ncause no whit less courageous and resolute than his stronger\ncompanion. They were seized by their captors, and Br\u00e9beuf was\nbound to a stake, and, as he ceased not to exhort and encourage\nthe convert prisoners, the Iroquois scorched him from head to\nfoot to silence him. That failing, they cut away his lower lip,\nand thrust a red-hot iron down his throat, yet still he held\nhimself erect without uttering a groan. Lalemant, led out to be\nburned, with strips of bark smeared with pitch tied about his\nnaked body, broke loose from his guards and cast himself at the\nhero's feet, crying out in a broken voice: \"We are made a\nspectacle to the world, to angels, and to men.\" He was\nimmediately seized and made fast to a post, and as the flames\nenveloped him he threw up his arms to heaven with a shriek of\nagony. Br\u00e9beuf, with a collar of red-hot hatchets round his neck\nand with his hands and nose cut off, had to witness the tortures\nof his friend and could not even utter a word of comfort. An\napostate Indian in the crowd cried out, \"Baptize them! baptize\nthem!\" Instantly kettles were placed upon the fire, the priests'\nscalps were torn away, and scalding water was poured slowly over\ntheir bleeding heads. Br\u00e9beuf's feet were next cut off, strips of\nflesh were sliced from his limbs and eaten before his eyes, and\nat last, when life was nearly extinct, the savages laid open his\nbreast, tore out his heart and devoured it, and thronged around\nthe mangled corpse to drink the blood of so magnificent and\nindomitable a hero. His torments had lasted four hours. Father\nLalemant, though a man of extreme feebleness of constitution,\nsurvived the torture seventeen hours, writhing through the night\nin the most excruciating sufferings, until an Iroquois, surfeited\nwith the long entertainment, killed him with a hatchet.\n\n\nThis massacre was the death-knell of the Huron mission--of the\nmission, that is to say, in the form and extent in which the\nsociety had originally designed it.\n{208}\nOther villages were burned; two other missionaries, Gamier and\nChabanel, were martyred; the entire establishment was withdrawn\nfrom Sainte Marie; and the miserable remnant of the Hurons was\nscattered far and wide. A portion of them, after a winter of\nstarvation, embarked with the surviving missionaries for Quebec,\nand near that city founded a settlement, in which the Christian\nfaith was preserved and is cherished to this day. Others\nvoluntarily abandoned their nationality and were adopted into the\nSeneca tribe of the Iroquois, where eighteen years afterward many\nof them were found to be still good Catholics.\n\n\nThe story which we have briefly traced in its most striking\noutlines is but one chapter in the long history of the labors,\nthe sufferings, and the glorious achievements of the Jesuits in\nNorth America. We would gladly have followed them further in\ntheir journeys through the wilderness, traced them with a Huron\nremnant in the far west, and lingered for a while about their\nheadquarters at Quebec watching the growth of the central\nestablishment which sent forth its apostles to the great lakes on\nthe one hand, and through the forests of Maine to the sea-coast\non the other. But we must bring our story to a close. The record\nof their work has been well preserved in the three books whose\ntitles we have placed at the head of this article. The history by\nMr. John G. Shea, to whom Catholics in general and American\nCatholics especially are under the deepest obligations for his\ncareful and successful researches, is the fullest and, we doubt\nnot, the most correct. The narrative of Mr. Parkman, which we\nhave followed closely, giving in some parts of our article merely\nan abstract of what he has told in picturesque detail, is written\nin a charming style, and is valuable as testimony to the exalted\ncharacter of the missionaries from one who has no sympathy with\ntheir faith and is unable to appreciate their piety.\n\nThe Iroquois, in destroying the Huron nation, and with it the\nAlgonquins, to whom the Hurons had hitherto served as a bulwark,\nhad destroyed the Jesuit scheme of a Christian Indian empire; but\nthe labor of the missionaries had not been in vain. The seed\nwhich they had planted was not allowed to die. The exiles carried\nthe sacred deposit of faith with them in their wanderings, as the\nIsraelites in the wilderness bore the ark of the covenant. Years\nafterward, when Father Grelon, one of those who escaped from the\nIroquois massacre, was travelling in the heart of Tartary, he met\na Huron woman who had learned the truth from him in the little\nchapel at Sainte Marie, and after the final catastrophe had been\nsold from tribe to tribe until she reached the interior of Asia.\nShe knelt at his feet, and in her native tongue, which she had\nnot spoken nor the priest heard for years, she made her\nconfession. Nor was it only in the fidelity of individuals that\nthe missionaries reaped their harvest. When, after the ruin of\ntheir enterprise on the shores of the Georgian Bay, they sent\ntheir undaunted preachers among that terrible people who had\nwrought such havoc, how can we doubt that the blood of Br\u00e9beuf\nand his brethren was permitted to fructify their labors, and that\nthe saintly men who gave their sufferings for the poor savage\nduring so many years pleaded and prevailed in the same great\ncause after they had entered into their reward?\n\n------\n\n{209}\n\n\n    Translated from Le Correspondant.\n\n    Learned Women and Studious Women.\n\n    By Monseigneur Dupanloup.\n\n    (Concluded.)\n\n\n             VII.\n\n\n  Advantages of Intellectual Labor.\n\nI do not recommend self-culture merely for the personal\nsatisfaction of women, or in order that they may have mental\ngratification. Study is evidently useful and important for the\naccomplishment of important duties. Is it not a convenience, in\nse a teacher or governess, for one's daughters to understand what\nis called _le fond du m\u00e9tier_ better than they do, so that\none may superintend and direct them, and even if necessary,\nsupply their place? Should a mother give her children life and\nthen leave the duties of maternity in the hands of mercenaries,\nno matter how conscientious and devoted they may be?\n\nBut it is in relation to sons that maternal ignorance has the\nmost fatal results. Not only is a wife not consulted about her\nboys, but, if she makes any objection to an irreligious school,\nthe husband answers: \"I wish my son to have a career. I shall\nplace him where he will be prepared for it. You do not know even\nthe names of the sciences he must acquire--leave the direction of\nhis education to me.\" And when the little individual leaves\nschool, puffed up with conceit rather than with knowledge, and\nthe mother's Christian heart shows her the sophistry with which\nher son's mind has been filled, she must keep silence for want of\none single fact, one precise _datum_ in her memory to oppose\nto perilous errors.\n\nOften a father, engaged in some especial career, loses sight of\nthe literary or artistic movement which interests his son in\nearly manhood. Then is the time when an intelligent,\nwell-informed mother could initiate him in pursuits which she has\nloved and cultivated all her life. She could point out to him\ngood authors and books worth reading, read with him, teach him to\nreject dangerous writers and bad books, and stimulate his taste\nfor study, by directing it to noble objects.\n\nSurely a mother is bound to cherish the body and the soul of her\nchild. Indeed, her place may be more easily filled with respect\nto the details of physical education, than to those of\nintellectual and moral training. Many persons can assist her in\nthe former; with regard to the latter, she often stands alone,\nand sometimes surrounded by obstacles.\n\nTo follow a young man's mental development and course of study,\nto watch over him and guide him with the authority belonging to a\nrectitude of judgment which carries conviction along with it, and\nto an enlightened understanding which unites with goodness in\ninspiring admiration and confidence--all this presupposes a rare\ncombination of mental qualities.\n{210}\nHow many mothers there are who lose their hold upon a son's soul\nbecause they have not borne, nursed, reared, and nourished his\nunderstanding as well as his physical being. To be a mother, a\nmother in all the elevation, extent, and depth of that great\nname! This aim alone justifies a woman's noblest efforts to\nacquire the highest intellectual culture.\n\nBut if you agree to favor the men development of women, for the\nsake even of domestic usefulness, accept this development in its\ncompleteness; do not impose upon it arbitrary limits. There are\nminds that cannot unfold in mutilation or inaction, which need\nexpansion, as St. Augustine says, to become strong.\n\nA woman who, from a sentiment for art or literature, has\ndeveloped talent, does not lose, by becoming skilful, the\nadvantages that mediocre faculties would have given her. We may\nfeel sure that gifts of this nature answer to duties, and find\nthemselves in harmony with the providential destiny of their\npossessors.\n\nI do not believe, with M. de Maistre, that science in petticoats,\nas he calls it, or talent of any description whatsoever, makes a\nwoman less excellent as a wife or mother.\n\nStudy renders a wife worthy of her husband if he is intelligent.\nUnion can hardly be preserved in a household unless community of\nintellect completes that of affection. As a woman loses her\nyouthful charms, the worth of her mind must increase in her\nhusband's eyes, and esteem perpetuate affection. By that time the\nhusband, if he has ability, is entering upon the period of his\ngreatest activity, while too often the wife, brought up in the\nseverest principles and in habits of empty occupations, bores him\nwith her mechanical piety, her music, and her worsted work. A\ncrowd of engrossing duties gain ever stronger possession of the\nhusband, forming a circle which the unoccupied wife cannot\npenetrate, and thus is brought about between them what one may\ncall a _mental separation_.\n\nOn the other hand, a studious woman shares her husband's\npreoccupation, and sustains him in his labors and struggles. She\nfollows her husband and precedes her son, occupying in the home\ncircle a lofty position that makes her an aid and adviser to its\nmaster. She feels that he is proud of her, and needs her, but\nthis does not make her presumptuous. She leans securely on her\nhappiness, feeling confident that nothing can shake a union\nformed upon a principle of perfect community of two souls and two\nintelligences, feeling sure that her love will last as long as\nthe souls it unites. To a woman who is superior to her husband,\nstudy gives an intellectual aliment without which she would feel\nrebellious, and in such a household there may be great happiness\nand tranquillity. Even in the case of a husband who is unworthy\nof his wife, he is forced to respect her for the superiority of\nher intellect. The standing which she earns for herself in the\nworld by her talent and virtue, wins his regard, and she at least\nholds the honor of her family in her own hands.\n\nWoman, in becoming Christian, has become man's companion,\n_socia_, and moreover an aid, assistant, support, and\nadviser, _adjutorium_. Religion, while elevating her soul\nand heart, has also rendered her mind capable of comprehending,\nsometimes of equalling, but most especially of assisting the\nintelligence of man. While leaving her physically weak, God has\nimplanted in her the germs of every greatness and every moral\npower.\n{211}\nThere has never been a noble work in which women have not\nassisted; as the teachers of men, as their inspirers, and often\nas the companions of their labor, the world has seen women devote\nintellect and life to those whom they loved, dwelling on a level\nwith thoughts which, being confided first to them, had drawn a\nswift and strong development from the double influence. Woman\nowes to education the union of her intellectual life to that of\nman. She has worked for him, she has worked like him for God, and\nman has drawn a subtile growth from the frail creature entrusted\nto his protection.\n\nI know nothing more generous than an intimacy that does not stop\nat a conjugal union of interests or even of affections, but\npasses on to the domain of thought. I have seen such unions. I\nknow too more than one father, who, notwithstanding his rare\nintelligence, must have left the work of a lifetime unfinished\nbut for the aid of a mind placed at the service of his age and\ninfirmity by filial devotion.\n\nI believe that a woman's acquirements help her to fulfil great\nduties toward her husband, and I know many men (no offence to M.\nde Maistre) who could get along better with a _savante_ than\nwith a coquette.\n\nSo far I have spoken of domestic life. Let us now examine the\nquestion with regard to society, taking the following theses to\nargue.\n\nI maintain that, if the world were more indulgent and refrained\nfrom launching stupid anathemas at studious women, those who have\nsuch tastes would indulge them without fancying themselves to be\nextraordinary persons; and that they would infuse a certain life\ninto society, even if their number were limited. Perhaps the\nstandard of conversation, occupations, and ideas would rise, and\nelevated subjects inspire more interest. Who would complain of\nsuch a change?\n\nInstead of ending their education on a certain fixed day, and\nthrowing themselves heart and soul into society, young women\nwould preserve the habits of intellectual training; they would\ncarry on and complete for themselves, their husband and their\nchildren the education already commenced; some cultivating art,\nothers writing or studying, others reading. Thus they would\nbecome acquainted with the interests of religion and society;\nwith opinions and books and ideas in general circulation. Would\nthey not exercise a new and salutary influence at home and in the\nworld?\n\nBut it is especially in the provinces that such aspirations are\nseverely criticised. Those women have small liberty to learn, and\nstill less to make use of their acquirements. The most tolerant\nsay, \"Study on condition that you conceal what you learn. Your\nwhole inner life claims expansion and sympathy? Never mind that!\"\n\nBut if you forbid women to write or speak of the things that\ninterest them, how can you suppose they will have the courage to\nwork for the acquirement of knowledge that is to be buried for\never in their own minds?\n\nAnd I repeat, if the standard of conversation could be raised a\nlittle, drawn out of the monotonous circle in which it moves,\nwhere would be the harm? Instead of seeking in society a sterile\ndistraction, and often finding _ennui_, if some intercourse\nof mind at least, if not of heart and soul, could be established,\nreplacing town-gossip and dissertations on the fashions by\ninteresting and instructive conversations from which one could\nderive the advantage that always results from effort made in\ncommon to arrive at an appreciation of the beautiful, and of\nnoble ideas and interests, would not the change betoken genuine\nprogress?\n\n{212}\n\nThis is to be found in some _salons_. There are homes where\nyoung girls are not excluded from general conversation. They are\nnot, as elsewhere, banished to a corner of the drawing-room to\nenjoy the privilege and habit of discussing together every sort\nof nonsense, but are allowed to listen to anything that interests\nthem, and even to talk agreeably without being thought\nconspicuous. This was the habit at M.----'s, where his two\ndaughters joined the most serious _r\u00e9unions_, mingling in\nvery interesting conversations, or at least listening, and all\nquite naturally, without pretension or pedantry. Those two young\ngirls have become very superior women. How many, on the other\nhand, suffer from _ennui_ or become deteriorated, because\ntheir active minds receive no nourishment!\n\nIs it then so difficult to prove that the intellectual\ndevelopment of women through literature and the fine arts, far\nfrom introducing a foreign element into their lives, or creating\nnecessities and interfering with duty, is, on the contrary, a\nsource of daily advantage to domestic life and to society?\n\nIn the domestic circle, whose moral atmosphere they create as it\nwere, elevating or debasing by their influence, sentiments,\noccupations, and ideas; and in society, where a well-directed\nemployment of their talents and cultivation would substitute\nsolidity for the hollow frivolity of the reunions of the present\nday. \"For three years I have seen society in the provinces,\"\nwrites to me a young woman. \"It differs little from that of other\n(provincial) places, I suppose. Ah me! sometimes at the end of\nthe day I sum up six or seven hours spent, with or against my\nwill, in gossip about my neighbors that, while compromising\ncharity, has exhausted the mind and narrowed the already narrow\nhorizon.\"\n\nIs there no middle course for women between the folly of\ndangerous and frivolous amusements, such as balls and theatres,\nand the insupportable bore of parties where long evening hours\nare spent in the smallest of small talk? Efforts in a different\ndirection meet with success. Last winter, an intelligent and\nreligious woman, who likes society but does not dance, tried the\nexperiment in a provincial town. She conceived the idea of having\nreally good music in her drawing-room. Quartettes of Mozart and\nBeethoven were played. The admiration aroused by these\n_chef-d'oeuvres_ naturally lifted the mind above the level\nof those common preoccupations that find their echo in society.\nConversation felt the influence; every one was delighted, and\nbrought away something from these _soir\u00e9es_, where the sense\nof beauty, while reasserting itself, awoke good thoughts and\nstrengthened noble sentiments.\n\nI think that, if women took thus the initiative, giving an upward\ndirection to that craving for recreation which we seek to satisfy\nin society; if men found other ways of pleasing women, more\nacceptable than insipidity and frivolity; perhaps worthless young\nmen would feel themselves less masters of the world, and clubs\nwould be less generally the refuge of gentlemen who find\nthemselves bored in drawing-rooms.\n\nIf we could conquer the terrible prejudice that forbids a woman\nto be well educated, to talk of or even appear interested in\nserious things, there would be a goodly number who would take a\nnobler aim and find pleasure in something better than dress.\nThen, an intelligent woman would be no greater exception than one\nwho plays on the piano, and would not have those temptations to\npride, which are said to assail her in her position of\nphenomenon.\n\n{213}\n\nWe cannot destroy the world, but we can ameliorate it, by giving\nit other attractions than those of idle or intoxicating pleasure.\nWould not intellectual progress pave the way for moral progress?\nI know _salons_ where, thanks to the dignity and\nintelligence of the thoughtful, amiable hostess, great events,\nnoble ideas, and good works ever find an echo; where solid\nconversation stimulates ardor for study, by opening broader\nintellectual horizons, and where pure artistic emotions develop a\nlove of the beautiful. If a little more artistic and intellectual\nlife were introduced into Christian society, one would not feel\nobliged to go to the theatre to catch a few _reflets_, as I\nhave heard said, even in families where religion was in other\nrespects quite faithfully practised.\n\nNo doubt--and here I sum up the whole matter under discussion--no\ndoubt, intellectual culture may present three perils, but perils\neasily guarded against.\n\n1st. A neglect of practical duties. This danger must be met by\nfortifying practical education, by giving young girls habits of\norder and of regularity, which double time and assign a place in\nlife to every duty; and above all, habits of practical and solid\npiety, which means nothing else than a courageous fulfilment of\nduty.\n\n2d. An exaltation of imagination, leading one to crave\nintellectual enjoyments that cannot always be granted.\n\nHere again piety alone can preserve equilibrium. The important\npoint is, to make education respond to the gifts of God without\noverloading or smothering them, for they usually bring with them\ncounterbalancing perils. Excessive culture is dangerous,\ninsufficient culture perhaps more so.\n\n3d. Pride. This must be prevented by good sense cultivated in a\nChristian manner. It is to be remarked that, if mental culture,\nlike personal charms, can excite pride, study has at least a\ncounterpoise. It gives an enlightened seriousness to the mind,\nwhile successes due to beauty and dress cannot but be frivolous\nand mischievous.\n\nPride, I acknowledge, affords a specious plea for the maintenance\nof systems restricting feminine education. We would preserve to\nthem that modesty which is said to be their brightest ornament. I\nagree that modesty is not only a virtue, but a great charm; but I\nam by no means sure that _ignorance is its best guardian_.\nNay, taken in a certain sense, it is a pagan virtue, that is to\nsay, a false or very imperfect quality. Give to a woman, as you\nwould to a man, all the knowledge, capacity, development of which\nshe is susceptible; give her at the same time Christian humility,\nand she will be adorned with a modest simplicity, truer and more\ncharming than that of the poor Hindoo woman who believes herself\nto be an animal, rather superior to the creatures in her\npoultry-yard, but very inferior in nature to her husband. This\nenlightened humility is a genuine virtue, the mother of many\nother virtues, the inspirer of a high degree of perfection. For\nhumility does not prevent our recognizing the progress we have\nmade. By opening our eyes to the merits of others, it shows us\nour own defects; and if we were to attain the summit of human\nability, it would hold up an ideal superiority that should\nstimulate effort without arousing either pride or discouragement.\n\n{214}\n\nWe may be sure that a cultivated mind is of all others the best\nfitted to a comprehension of duty. It is intelligent humilty,\nthat is to say, true modesty, which preserves us from pedantry.\n\nVanity! That is the great danger, it is said. But the reputation\nthat a woman acquires by literary or artistic talent is not the\nrock most to be dreaded. I say again that self-conscious beauty\nand worldly triumphs fill the heart with a vanity that has no\ncorrective in the cause that produced it.\n\nStudy and art, by elevating the soul, serve as a counterpoise to\nthe sentiments of vanity they may excite. I see no such safeguard\nin successes won by advantages of another sort.\n\nAll is summed up in saying that great gifts bring with them a\ndanger against which the mind must be fortified in advance by\neducation. Education must adapt itself to different natures: it\nmust, while developing the germs planted by God, direct this\ndevelopment with firmness, averting perils and avoiding mistakes.\nIt must make the moral development keep pace with the mental;\npreserving equilibrium between the ideal and the practical life,\nwhich interfere with each other less than is supposed, and\naccordance of which alone constitutes the dignity of existence.\n\nI confess that education is a more difficult and critical affair\nwhen applied to a richly endowed nature; but it is also more\nbeautiful and consoling.\n\n\n              VIII.\n\n         The Third Stage.\n\nI crave pardon of the ladies of the so-called _grand monde_\nfor a truth, a painful truth intended solely for them.\n\nIt is in the fashionable world that studious women are rarely\nfound, and that they are obliged to hide their worth. Strange\ntyranny of fortune! It gives women leisure, and deprives them of\nthe right to use it for the development of intellect. It is to\nyou, fashionable women, that industry must be preached. Women\nless wealthy do not generally need the exhortation. In modest\ncareers, where toil is the necessary condition of domestic\nwell-being, cultivated women are numerous. It is in the homes of\nartists, scholars, physicians, lawyers, judges, professors, that\nwe most frequently find clever and studious women, conversant\nwith matters of art, possessed of real talent, highly educated,\nbut nicknamed by no one _femmes savantes_, because they are\nthe pride and treasure of home, and ensure by their intelligence,\ndomestic ease and comfort, nay, even a certain delicate luxury\nthat has nothing to do with riches, and can be purchased only by\nfeminine taste. The furniture is pretty in form, and gracefully\narranged; engravings recall favorite works of art, and reveal the\ntastes and preferences of the household. Flowers, pictures,\nbooks, music, and pretty work, all show the home to be one much\nlived in, seldom left, where happiness is to be found. These are\nnot empty and magnificent establishments whose masters are always\nabsent, pursuing pleasure with a feverish activity, and flying\nfrom the ennui of their _home_ except when the excitement of\nrefurnishing it attracts them, only to be driven away again when\nthe gilded ottomans are all in place. In these _modest_\nlodgings on the third story the mother is surrounded by her\nchildren. She brings them up herself. Thank God! she must do so,\nand great is her reward. She reigns over her children, and they\nunderstand her merits and sacrifices, and love their mother\ntenderly. They soon know the blessing of being born in a rank of\nlife where mothers cannot afford to pay servants, governesses,\nand tutors to usurp their place.\n{215}\nWhat a difference there is between the two systems of education!\nThe sons rank first at college and at school; the daughters\nreceive superior educations that I would gladly propose as a\nmodel to fashionable young ladies. They wish to equal the mother\nwho studies with them, directing and following their work with\nsympathizing interest. The law of labor weighs more stringently\nupon a mother than upon any other creature; the soul of her\nchildren is the field that she must till by the sweat of her\nbrow; no other persons have received graces to enable them to\ntake her place, and if the most complete educations are to be\nfound in modest households such as I have described, it is owing\nto maternal industry. How many young people acquire a coarse\ntaste for horses and dogs from the mercenaries who educate them!\nA mother, in teaching her children, inculcates other tastes and\nambitions. Sometimes anxiety takes possession of her soul as she\nasks herself whether she can arm their consciences with faith and\nhonor sufficient to give them courage to bear in their turn a\nretired life and never consent to win fortune by a base action.\nThen she redoubles her care of their education, knowing it is to\nbe their only dower, and becomes ever more attentive, virtuous,\ncourageous, in order to transmit to them her own admirable\ndignity of soul, and merit for them this heavenly favor.\n\nAnd children who see their mother work, are secretly anxious to\ncomfort and reward her. A desire to do good is more vivid in\nthese abodes of modest happiness than elsewhere, and the joy of\nduty fulfilled makes each one contented with his lot and at peace\nwith God. The whole day is one of activity; the father is at\nwork, the mother attends to her household duties or takes the\nchildren to school or to catechism; and when evening comes, every\none is tired with the day's work and glad to stay at home. Then\ncomes the time for repose, children's games, talking, reading,\nmusic, intimacy, and gayety; and the day closes peaceably without\nthat worldly bustle and excitement which put to a severe test the\nvirtue of even the most Christian women.\n\nA mother, thus occupied, never thinks of devoting herself to\nmatters connected with her personal interests. She has not the\ntime. Her girlhood, her early womanhood were spent in study. Now\nshe is given up to the service of others. But this disinterested\ndevotion, at once toil and sacrifice, is more elevating to both\nsoul and understanding than any other employment could be. No\ndanger of vanity or pedantry for her! and yet the instruction of\nher children is a great work. One marvels at the physical power\nthat maternal love can give to a mother bent on carrying out her\nduties completely. Never wonder to find her capable, elevated,\nactive, intelligent, indifferent to idle trifling and worldly\ncoquetry.\n\nIn these modest households again, I find model servants. It is a\nsaying, nowadays, that there are no good domestics to be had.\nPeople talk of the servants in old times. Read Moli\u00e8re and the\npolice regulations of the days of Louis XIV., and you will find\nthat the _grands seigneurs_ had worse attendants than we\nhave now. Old-fashioned servants have no more disappeared than\nold-fashioned virtues. The virtues reign in simple, industrious\nhomes, and there too we must look for devoted domestics. Do not\nexpect hard work in the abodes of magnificent idleness. The\nservants of the unoccupied soon become unoccupied themselves;\ninstinctively they imitate from a distance their master's\nexample, catch the tone of the establishment, and assume\nirreproachable manners and lazy habits.\n{216}\nA servant knows very well when he is assisting in an ostentatious\nparade. He is quick to abuse opportunities, and needs often, in\norder to avenge himself for the inferiority of his position,\nmerely imitate his master, even with no intention of ridiculing\nhim. But a devoted and courageous woman who is the first to take\nhold of work, transforms the souls of her domestics and raises\ntheir service to the dignity of devotion. Of course, the\netiquette and perfect discipline that one admires in some\nestablishments are not to be found here. No! Good servants who\nare not held in immeasurable distance from their masters, assume\nanother sort of livery, the livery of the virtues they see and\nstudy closely. They breathe a healthy, strengthening air, and in\nthis atmosphere of industry, honesty, and confidence both masters\nand servants are happy. Ah! I could mention splendid mansions\nthat are inhabited by _ennui_, (not to speak of discord,)\nand I could tell of the happiness and dignity I have often\nwitnessed in the third story.\n\nBut in justice it must be added that I have not always met these\nvirtues in the third story, nor _ennui_ and idleness in\ngrand establishments. There, too, when industry reigns, I have\nseen great virtues. It must be said that all depends upon\neducation and habits.\n\n\n              IX.\n\n      Bad Habits and Prejudices.\n\nBut does education as it is bestowed to-day often accomplish\ngreat things? I answer regretfully, No; too often the education\nof the present day offers no such advantages. It cannot resist\nworldly dissipation or the idle mockery lavished by empty\nignorance on studious women. Connected study and attentive\nreflection are most of all wanting in the training of girls and\nthe mode of life adopted by young women.\n\nAs Ozanam has said, a treatise upon instruction for girls and\nyoung women is still to be written. The subject is in no respect\nrightly understood; no durable fruit has yet appeared.\n\nI know young girls whose education in music and drawing had cost\ntwenty or thirty francs a lesson, cease cultivating these\nexpensive talents on the first day of freedom.\n\nI take a single instance. Most young ladies for seven or eight\nyears of their lives spend two and sometimes three and four hours\na day at the piano. But this study to which so much time is\ngiven, and which opens glorious horizons to mind and soul,\ngenerally ends in one of those _soulless talents_ spoken of\nby Topffer, which borrow life from vanity only, talents useless\nfor any practical purpose, taking no root in the mind, and seldom\ndestined to survive the wedding-day.\n\nThis charming author, rising up in indignation against the use\nmade in educating young people in the fine arts and of what are\npopularly termed _talents d'agr\u00e9ment_, exclaims: \"How much I\nhave seen of these charming talents and how little of their\ncharm! Young girls are interested in nothing, understand little,\nfeel not at all. I believe, however, that they might seek in\nartistic pursuits, instead of mere amusing recreation, exercise\nfor the mind, expansion for the heart, development for the\nimagination, and find in these faculties which are usually\ndestroyed or left idle by feminine occupations, a perfection that\nwould, as it were, clothe and adorn the soul.\"\n\n{217}\n\nBut, as matters stand, music is a study, more or less mechanical,\nthat never reaches the soul, and seldom arrives at the commonest\ncomprehension of art. How many girls who pass their days at the\npiano have neither sense nor appreciation of what they are doing!\n\"We had music,\" says P. Gratry, \"a brilliant tinkling that did\nnot even rest one's nerves.\" Teachers are eager to impart a\nfacile execution, but there are few who seek to form a good\nstyle, to make their pupils understand and appreciate composers,\nor grasp the chain of musical ideas.\n\nPeople play on the piano without any comprehension of what they\nare expressing; as one might recite poems by heart in a language\nthat one did not understand. In Germany, where music claims a\nlarge share in the education of girls, it is treated more\nseriously. Through the study of harmony they rise from mechanism\nto art.\n\nDrawing is often equally misused. I have seen persons who drew\nwith exactitude and even with facility, and yet could not\ndistinguish good pictures from bad, or remember whether Raphael\nwas the master or the pupil of Perugino. Even talent had not\ndeveloped in them a sense of beauty.\n\nThe world leaves the domain of music free to young girls on\ncondition that they shall derive no spiritual elevation from it\nand merely waste a great deal of time. As to the plastic arts,\neven a taste for painting arouses criticism, and M. de Maistre\nshudders to see his daughter painting in oil. In one word, the\narts must be restricted to accomplishments, and sumptuary laws\neven more severe enforced with regard to literary pursuits.\n\nExcepting in music and drawing a girl's education must be\nfinished at a certain age. \"Ever since my eighteenth year,\"\nwrites a young friend, to whom I had recommended study, \"if I\nexpressed a wish to study, I have been asked if my education was\nnot finished.\" Finish one's education! that means throwing aside\nbooks, writing, embroidery, and accomplishments if one has any.\n\nBut, we are told, young ladies learn a great variety of things\nduring the time of education. Quite true, and the very subject of\nmy complaint. They are not destined to pass examination for a\nbachelor's degree, and their whole training tends to give them\ngeneral notions as shallow as they are widely diffused. Nothing\nserious, nothing grave, nothing profound--a little of every\nthing. In the words of an intelligent minister, \"Who does not\nknow that what we gain in surface we lose in depth!\"\n\nBeyond dispute the plan is comprehensive. I see many young girls\nwho, in addition to common studies, geography, history, rhetoric,\nbegin to learn one or two languages, play on the piano, take\nsinging lessons, draw and paint, and learn to do all sorts of\nfancy work, as they succeed each other in the caprice of fashion\npolychromania, leather flowers, etc., etc. Of course, a life of\nefforts so scattered and diffused, can lead to no good result;\nand I have heard wise instructors sigh over the obligation\nimposed upon them of fulfilling such programmes. A little of\neverything is studied and nothing properly learned; not one\ntalent or faculty developed, not one earnest taste acquired for\nanything whatsoever. Such half talents and superficial tastes\nachieve nothing.\n\n{218}\n\nIf there be a danger in the study of art and literature, it is to\nbe found in stopping precisely at the point indicated by M. de\nMaistre; at general notions, not solid acquirements;\naccomplishments, not earnest talents; a lack of something to\nelevate the soul and nourish the mind. Such smattering helps one\nto make a momentary show, but not to accomplish anything or to be\nany one. It indicates that nothing more will be acquired from the\nmoment of leaving the convent.\n\nPrecisely the contrary is needed if one would train earnest and\nassiduous women who may one day prove useful to their husbands\nand children.\n\nIt is difficult to explain why indulgence is shown or exception\ntaken by men of the world. They approve, and very properly, of a\ngirl's speaking two or three living languages. But if, in\naccordance with F\u00e9n\u00e9lon's advice, you learn a little Latin, hide\nit as a sin, or be accounted a blue-stocking. You will hardly\nobtain pardon for a taste for solid reading or historical\nstudies. I have heard of a young woman who drew upon herself that\nsort of admiration that implies blame, from intelligent people,\nbecause she was said to read _Le Correspondent_. The same\npersons, on learning that she reserved the morning hours for\nstudy, testified immense astonishment and treated her as a\n_savante_.\n\nWhat may be called study--making abstracts or taking notes of\nwhat one has read--is not considered proper for women, especially\nin country towns. Reading is hardly permissible and only within\nrestricted limits. A lady of my acquaintance incurred general\ncensure because, during the first year of her married life, she\ndid not receive or make visits before four o'clock, that she\nmight reserve a few hours for study, in accordance, moreover,\nwith her husband's wishes.\n\nYoung girls should regard the close of their first studies as the\ncommencement of a life-long work. Young women should, in the very\nbeginning of married life, establish study as one of the duties\nof existence. Later, they are engrossed with the education of\ntheir children, and can no longer work to please themselves. But\neven then, the precious habit will cling to them as an\ninestimable consolation to be enjoyed in every leisure hour.\nAbove all, it remains to fill the void that becomes so irksome\nwhen children escape from the mother's guidance, and she once\nmore has freedom and leisure without youth, its joys or its\nenergy.\n\nLabor is a faithful friend that adapts itself to the age and\ndisposition of every being who takes it as a companion for life.\n\nThat women may learn to value habits of industry, it is incumbent\non us to convince young girls that their education does not end\nat eighteen, and that their first ball-dress has not, like a\nbachelor's degree, the virtue of giving to learning its perfect\nconsummation. At that age they have barely information enough to\nenable them to study alone. Leading-strings are no longer needed\nin their education, and that is all. They are simply capable of\ncontinuing their studies, and of enjoying the pleasure of\nindividual exertion. If a girl could be made to believe this, a\nserious and earnest future would be secured to her. But the\npresent custom demands that she should study French and history\nuntil she is fifteen, and from fifteen to eighteen, piano-playing\nand drawing. Then comes a pink dress, the crowning glory of her\neducation, the great day so often dreamed of. She goes into\nsociety and marries, determined to leave work behind her in\naccordance with universal practice.\n{219}\nThis is one of the joys of marriage--to do nothing--and so she\nwastes a period most precious in a woman's life, a period when\nshe has leisure, and that flame that youth and happiness alone\ncan kindle; expansion of soul, the illumined eyes of the heart,\n_illuminates oculos cordis_, as St. Paul says, giving to\ntoil facility, impetus, horizon, power. But so it is; all must be\nlost, squandered, sunk in those early years, even happiness!\nStudy would have a secret power to draw this young creature from\nthe whirl of life, and give her the calmness and recollection she\nso much needs, if merely to enjoy her blessings; but no,\neverything must be frittered away and destroyed.\n\nThen follow years when the excitement of youth dies out, a void\nis left, beauty vanishes, _ennui_ comes to take possession,\nand there is nothing to dispute its sway. The children are in the\nmidst of their education, and need no looking after. A mother who\nknows not the value of industry, is ever ready to excuse idleness\nin her children, and notwithstanding this indulgence, her sons\nthink very little of their mother when they grow up, and soon\nregard her as beneath them.\n\n\n\n                 X.\n\n              Practice.\n\nBut to come to practical results, what are the faculties to be\ncultivated in women? The same as in men? Must they study the\nexact sciences, politics, the secret of government, military art?\nAre they to emulate Judith, Joan of Arc, Jeanne Hachette,\nHormengarde, foundress and regent of the second kingdom of\nBurgundy, Marguerite d'Albon, Isabella of Castile, Maria Theresa?\n\nCertainly not. Women are to be enumerated who could be and have\nbeen all this. Providence creates these extraordinary beings. But\nthough we recognize occasional vocations of genius, courage, and\nvirtue, it would be folly to educate women for careers so\nexceptional.\n\nWomen are physically weak, but their intelligence must not be\nundervalued. They often have a great deal of mind and always a\nfund of good sense, demanding nothing but use. Why wonder at all\nI have implied? They acquire with remarkable ease. Who can fail\nto recognize the keenness and delicacy of sensibility bestowed on\nthem by heaven, or the natural bent with which their souls turn\nto the vivifying rays of beauty?\n\nI do not agree with a lady who wrote to me: \"We skim over things\nand seem to know them; we open a book, run through a few pages,\nand are prepared to discuss it, to give praise or blame,\nrecommendation or warning.\" I do not grant this. But beyond\ndispute, they have great facility for everything. It costs them\nlittle to assimilate to themselves required information, to make\nsomething out of nothing, and a great deal out of scant material.\nGod, not destining them to long and abstract studies, has endowed\nthem with marvellous perspicacity and intuition. They rarely\nspeak of business because it fatigues and bores them; yet if\ncircumstances demand their participation, how useful and sensible\nthey almost invariably prove themselves! Generally, the\nrestoration of family property is due to them; when left widows,\nthey rebuild the fortunes of their children.\n\nIt is to be understood that in this vindication, as it were, of\nwoman's right to intellectual culture, I give to study only its\ndue share in the occupations of life. Clearly, household cares\nand home duties have a superior claim; husband, children,\ndomestics, must be the first interest of a woman who understands\nthe hierarchy of her duties.\n{220}\nMy advice, if it must be precisely defined, would be, that she\nreserve at least two hours--if possible, three hours--of each\nday, for life, for intellectual culture.\n\nSo long as women content themselves with reading, looking, and\nlistening, no great opposition is made, and men willingly grant\nthem a place among their auditors. But if the profound emotions\nof the interior life seek a fuller development; if they seek in\nthe absorption of pursuits answering to their spiritual\naspirations an echo that the soul misses in the external world,\nthen society rises up in judgment.\n\nSome women are born artists, that is to say, they are possessed\nby a craving to give form to thought, to a feeling for beauty\nwhich penetrates them, and that too under conditions suitable for\nthe development of this side of their nature. But it is precisely\nthis exercise of the creative faculty which is denied them, and\nwhich I wonder to see withheld, since the gift comes from God\nhimself.\n\nVainly does M. de Maistre maintain that \"women have never\nproduced a masterpiece, and that in wishing to emulate men, they\nbecome apes.\" Vainly does he add with unbecoming impertinence, \"I\nhave always thought them incomparably handsomer, more attractive,\nand more useful than apes. I only say and repeat, that women who\nwould make men of themselves are nothing but apes.\" Or again, \"A\nwoman's _chef d'oeuvre_ in science is to understand the\nworks of men.\"\n\nBut soon M. de Maistre contradicts and refutes himself: \"We must\nexaggerate nothing,\" he says, \"belles lettres, moralists, great\norators, etc., suffice to give women all the culture they need.\"\n\nA little later, he congratulates himself on having a daughter,\nwho reads and appreciates St. Augustine, and who \"passionately\nloves beauty of every kind; recites equally well Racine and\nTasso; draws, plays, sings very prettily; and, as in her voice\nthere are low chords that pass beyond the feminine range of tone,\nso are there in her character certain grave fundamental\nqualities, that belong especially to our sex, and which dominate\nthe rest of her nature.\"\n\nThis is enough; my discussion with M. de Maistre is ended. We\nentertain, in fact, the same views, and I now address myself\nmerely to worldly prejudice.\n\nWe have then, even in M. de Maistre's estimation, as studies\npossible for women:\n\n1st. Belles lettres, literature both light and serious, a wide\nfield and one as attractive as it is extensive. The range of\nhistory alone is immense. There is a philosophy, too, which the\nfeminine mind is fully capable of grasping, and whose essential\nideas are necessary to fix its natural mobility and insure to it\ncorrectness of thought. Teach a woman to reason justly, and\nconsequently to give precedence to duty in all things, and you\nhave secured the essential part of education as it is needed in\nevery class and condition of life.\n\n2d. The arts--so admirably suited to their imagination, to the\ndelicate grace of their nature. And here I must remark that we\nunhesitatingly leave open to female competition the most perilous\nof the fine arts, the one least compatible with their duties and\nvocation, while shutting them out from the pure and lofty regions\nof the intellect. Many detractors of women, who cultivate or\ncriticise art, would on no account suppress public singers or\nactresses.\n\n{221}\n\nBut, you will tell me, that it is precisely because female\n_artistes_ are more or less degraded that virtuous women\nshould not become _artistes_. I think as you do, and more\nstrongly than you, yet I cannot help seeing that you recognize\nthe fact of women's capacity to rise in art, since a few among\nthem have received the gift of inspiration. If they have received\nthis gift, it must be used; honestly and nobly of course, but\nused. The fact you advance brings its own application.\n\n3d. If a woman can express the beautiful, she can do so through\nall the languages of the beautiful. Art is identical in\nprinciple, whatever be the mode of its expression. Painting,\nmusic, poetry, eloquence, the expression of beauty through an\nexquisite style, or through the accent of an inspired voice, is\nalways beauty bound within the limits of a sensible form to\nrender it perceptible to the soul through the medium of the\nsenses. Each one must clothe it in a form not self-chosen. If you\nopen to woman the most dangerous and frivolous of all the arts,\nwhy close to her the others? Because she sinks with the art that\nministers to your pleasure, is it impossible for her to rise with\nnoble, true, serious art? If a woman can be a _cantatrice_,\nshe can be a musician in the elevated sense of the word, a writer\nor a painter.\n\nMany men affirm authoritatively that women cannot and should not\nwrite. It is surprising that a question so easily settled for\nsome persons should be so often discussed. Equal pains have not\nbeen taken to prove that women cannot be generals or ministers,\nyet I am not aware that the example of female warriors has been\noften claimed by their peers.\n\nThe present day is an ill chosen time to contest women's right to\nauthorship, when the three works most generally read are _Le\nR\u00e9cit d'une Soeur_, the writings of Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin, and\nMadame Swetchine's Letters.\n\nIn becoming writers women do not infringe on the rights of men.\n\"They do not seek to emulate man;\" and when all is said, what is\nit, that M. de Maistre calls \"emulating man\"? Is it desiring to\ndo all that he does? Of course not. Certain pursuits exclusively\nbelong to him, and are not to be cultivated by women. But if\nthere are points of separation, there is also a common domain\nwhere all souls may work together. The most natural is that of\nart and literature. Even here it may be that woman's field is\nmore restricted than that of man; but she will find her place,\nand perhaps a place that men could not so well fill.\n\nThere are differences between the masculine and the feminine\nintellect; and it is on this fact that M. de Maistre founds his\nassertion that because one sex can write the other cannot. We may\nfound upon it a different conclusion, that, bringing another kind\nof genius into intellectual regions, women will cultivate them\nafter a fashion of their own, adapting their talents in\npreference to more delicate subjects. In a concert all dissimilar\nvoices must be moulded together: why should not women bear their\npart in the great harmony of human thought expressed through art?\nThere are notes they only can reach. Silvio Pellico says\nsomething similar when, after vainly trying to give women a\npendent to the _Treatise on the Duties of Men_, he exclaims!\n\"Only a woman could write such a book.\" In a woman's writing\nthere is always a certain touch that reveals her sex. A female\nauthor must ever remain a woman. Thus may we reassure the\nsusceptibilities of M. de Maistre and quiet our own fears as to\nthe result of wishing to emulate man.\n\n{222}\n\n\"Woman is a weak creature, ignorant, timid, and indolent,\" says\nMme. de ----; \"possessed of violent passions and petty ideas, a\nbeing full of inconsistency and caprice. ... Capable of\ndisplaying charming defects every day of her life; a treasure of\ncruelty and of hope.\" Then mourning over the almost complete\ndisappearance of this type, she seeks an explanation of the fact:\n\"Women have lost in attractions what they have gained in virtues.\n... Woman was not made to share men's toils, but to afford them\nrecreation.\" And, finally, summing up in one word the errors that\nhave ruined her sex, she exclaims indignantly, \"Woman has aspired\nto be the companion of man.\"\n\nThus, to be a companion instead of a plaything, a Christian\nrather than a pagan, a being to be respected, trusted, relied\nupon, rather than one who holds you by a passing attraction,\namusing you by her frivolity, and distracting you from graver\nthoughts--this is a culpable mistake of judgment, and moreover,\nit is a woman who dares to bring forward such a doctrine.\n\n4th. In my first letters I gave it as my opinion that, in a\nmeasure, a woman could occupy herself with sciences, and even\nwith agriculture. The latter assertion provoked some surprise.\nLet me answer them by a few fragments of a letter written to me\nupon the subject, by a very sensible and distinguished woman:\n\n  \"How wisely, monseigneur, you have advised women to interest\n  themselves in business matters and other serious subjects, even\n  studying agriculture. My own observation confirms your opinion.\n  At present, while my son is in the service, and I am separated\n  from all my family, living in the country, and almost always in\n  _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_, what would become of me if my mother had\n  not given me the habit, from childhood, of interesting myself\n  in every thing about me? Agriculture, with its obstacles and\n  its progress, affords an inexhaustible source of conversation\n  with one's husband, with cures, village notaries, farmers,\n  country neighbors, and _petits bourgeois_. It is a less\n  inflammatory subject than politics, and one that adapts itself\n  to every understanding. My husband does not disdain to discuss\n  crops and manuring with me--I have my own theories upon\n  drainage, beets, [Footnote 32] and cabbages, [Footnote 33] and\n  he finds me very progressive in my ideas, perhaps too much so;\n  he, however, never builds a stable without consulting me, and\n  before a lease is signed, I must hear it read several times. I\n  believe it to be very important to themselves and to their\n  children that women should understand business, the investment\n  of funds, the management of property. They should not\n  _decide_, but listen and advise. Husbands, generally, ask\n  nothing better than to talk openly of these things, because\n  such subjects interest them more than any others; but usually\n  no one listens. When a man meets with yawning inattention, all\n  is over; he has recourse to silence, adopts the habit of\n  managing everything for himself, of following his own bent. In\n  the beginning, a young husband is full of confiding openness;\n  later, he becomes more suspicious of control which wounds him\n  in proportion as it is needed. Capacity and earnestness are\n  indispensable to a woman.\"\n\n    [Footnote 32: La bette rave, the kind of beet from which\n    sugar is made, and therefore an important subject to theorize\n    upon. Berthollet is said to have lost his place by failing to\n    answer satisfactorily a question suddenly put to him by\n    Napoleon, concerning la bette rave.]\n\n    [Footnote 33: Colza, a cabbage used for making oil, and a\n    topic almost as engrossing as beets.]\n\n{223}\n\nI ask that women should be allowed to cultivate any art or\nscience they may choose, and even aim at some eminence in its\nacquirement, without being annoyed in their honorable pursuit by\nthe terrible anathema which the world launches against (for once\nwe will use the coarse expression) _blue-stockings_.\n[Footnote 34] If there are women who, while attending thoroughly\nand seriously to their household affairs, rise above material\nlife by a love and appreciation of the beautiful, seeking therein\na delicate pleasure and pure emotions, enjoying the cultivation\nof the soul, and listening attentively to the claims of truth and\ngoodness, it is a shame to cast reproach upon them.\n\n    [Footnote 34: In the language of unreflecting persons who\n    instinctively love to attack every thing elevated, perhaps in\n    order to drag others down to their own level, the word\n    \"blue-stocking\" signifies a woman who reads, and greatest of\n    all offences converses.]\n\n5th. Above all things should rank the earnest study of religion.\nI dwelt long upon this subject in my \"Letters to Men and Women of\nthe World;\" I will therefore simply say that it is above all in\nthe higher classes, where fortune authorizes a free use of the\nluxury of education, that religious instruction should be pushed\nas far as the individual capacity of man and women allows;\ndoctrine, proofs of religion, explanation of ceremonies, church\nhistory, selected works of the fathers, great pulpit orators,\nlives of the saints, etc., etc. all this I have explained and\ntaught in detail. In a course of education there should be an\nappropriate progressive study of all that concerns religion.\nReligious facts are so intimately connected with those of modern\nhistory, that one can sometimes have a true idea of the latter\nonly by becoming acquainted with the former.\n\nThe objection of want of time, the grand objection so often\nbrought forward, remains to be examined. Have women the time to\ndevote to intellectual pursuits? Let us be honest and confess\nthat there are two obstacles to the leisure required: talking and\ndress.\n\nYes, the great misfortune of women is, that they indulge in long\nhours of conversation among themselves, and about what, if not\ndress, gossip, and housekeeping?\n\nNow, nothing lowers the mind and soul like talking about trifles\nfor hours, and there is but one method of remedying the evil;\nincrease the time devoted to study, thus shortening in an equal\ndegree the hours frittered away in conversation, and supplying\nmental food far superior to the vulgar subjects that now exhaust\nso many minds and souls.\n\nAs for dress, too much cannot be said against it, not only as a\ncause of ruin to women of the world, but as a dissolvent of all\nearnestness even among virtuous Christian women.\n\nDress! That is what wastes the time and exhausts the spirit of\nwomen; that is what takes them from their domestic duties, and\nnot these poor calumniated books. Every attentive observer will\nrecognize, as I do, that it is a taste for the world and for\ndress that detaches them from home interests far more than a\ntaste for study.\n\nFor my own part, I can assert that the truly superior women I\nhave known, those whose superiority was genuine and not a\npretence or an affectation, were models of practical wisdom.\n\nThere are, on the other hand, certain households admirable in\nevery respect but one--that on an average they discuss dress four\nor five hours a day. The mother of the family is a woman of great\nmerit and virtue; she dresses with great simplicity; and yet\nthere are no preoccupations so serious, no anxieties or\nsufferings so pressing, that they cannot be dissipated at least\nfor the moment by the interest of ordering a new gown or bonnet.\n\n{224}\n\nThese affairs are of vast importance; life slips away while the\nmind is wasting itself in their service.\n\nMothers of great merit teach their daughters to consider dress as\none of their interests and principal duties, discussing and\nletting them discuss _toilette_ for hours every day, and\njudging every earthly thing from the standpoint of\n_toilette_. The business of dressing, shopping, choosing\nmaterials, talking with shopkeepers and dressmakers, and the time\npassed by young girls, and even young women, with lady's maids in\nmore confidential intercourse than is becoming; these are in\ntruth the great obstacles to habits of industry.\n\nBut leaving the subject of frivolous persons and unoccupied\nlives, how, you will ask, can a mother who owes all her time to\nher family find leisure to study?\n\nIt is hardly necessary to remark that I am speaking of women in\neasy circumstances, for the reason that they especially have the\nmeans of putting in practice these suggestions. Poor women who\nearn their bread by the sweat of their brow, are not less\nprecious in the eyes of God or in our own than the favorites of\nfortune; but daily toil can hardly leave them opportunity to\ncultivate their minds. And yet even among them there are many not\ncalled upon to support their families who, without being rich,\nkeep one domestic, or do the housework themselves with ease and\nquickness, and thus have nearly as much leisure as women of\nwealth. How many women there are in business, shop-girls, for\ninstance, or bookkeepers, who surely have time for reading, since\nthey do read--and read--what?\n\nIt is well known that a taste for reading is now penetrating even\ninto country villages, affording a means of spending pleasantly\nthe long winter evenings. There are useful directions, an\nelevated impulse to be given to the class of women of whom we\nhave just spoken; but however worthy of interest such a subject\nmay be, it is not our present theme. Perhaps we may enter on it\nat some future day.\n\nWe address ourselves then to women in easy circumstances. Can the\nhead of a grand establishment, a wife, a mother, find time to\nstudy.\n\nBeyond a doubt, yes! To begin with, she can devote to study the\ntime that other women give to worldly entertainments that consume\ntheir nights, and to personal adornments that devour their\nfortunes. They can lay aside all the pursuits that, while\nabsorbing them without offering any advantage, prepare them ill\nfor the duties toward their children that belong to them as\nmothers of immortal souls.\n\nDoes not the secret of living lie in the reconciliation of\napparent difficulties? Do not duties, tastes, affections often\nappear to contradict each other? I have often seen that habits of\norderly activity combined with a simplicity that suppresses\nuseless exactions multiply an industrious woman's hours and make\nit possible to meet every demand. It is a woman's science to\nunderstand how to give herself and yet reserve herself: a science\ncomposed of gentleness and activity, of devotion and firmness,\nwhose first result is the retrenching of idle indulgences, and\nthe keeping within due bounds the tribute to be paid to the\nclaims of society.\n\n{225}\n\nIn preceding writings I have shown in detail that there are more\nempty hours, even in a busy woman's life, than is supposed. When\nonce her children are grown up, she has often too much liberty on\nher hands. I once knew a lady who had six children. Her two elder\nsons were at a boarding-school; her three daughters passed the\nwhole day with their governess; even the youngest had his lesson\nhours. This lonely mother said to me mournfully on one occasion,\n\"I pass the whole day alone with my sewing, and poor company it\nis;\" and she was reduced, poor lady, to seeking outside\ndistractions, innocent but futile. If she had had a taste for\nstudy and habits of industry, she would not have been driven from\nhome. Study makes women love their homes, the attraction of work\ncommenced always drawing them thither. How little need of visits\nand society such persons feel! It is a joy to steal off to one's\nroom and continue one's reading or drawing. It is with a light\nstep that one turns toward home when heart and life are filled\nwith a love of study instead of with an immoderate, ruinous taste\nfor dress and luxury.\n\nMuch firmness, sweetness, and perseverance are necessary to\nsecure one's liberty in a household, to make one's working hours\nrespected, without failing in any other duty; in one word, to\ngive and reserve one's self discreetly. It is a question of\ndegree, like most other questions of conduct. But, in order to\nacquire courage for the struggle, women must be very sure that\nthe right is on their side. They are too apt to mistake for a\nmere personal taste the duty of cultivating their mental\nfaculties.\n\nI have given strong and unanswerable arguments for the necessity\nof a rule of life. But in this, as in every human affair,\ntemperament must be consulted. Though it may easily be made an\nillusion and a convenient pretext to cover self-indulgence, yet\none can easily believe that some women, with the best will in the\nworld, must plead the impossibility of having a rule of life, or\nmust submit to see it violated so often as to become a dead\nletter.\n\nThe mistress of a household rises in the morning, she feels\nunwell, or her husband comes in to discuss plans, business, no\nmatter what; work-people, children little and big, invade her\nroom: the mother of a family has not an hour when she can shut\nherself up and forbid intrusion. There are women and even girls\nwhose lives slip away under the oppression of these absolutely\ntyrannical customs, from which it is the more difficult to escape\nbecause they assert themselves in the name of devotion and\ndomestic virtue.\n\nIf we tell these young people, \"crushed and flattened out,\" as M.\nde Maistre expresses it, \"under the enormous weight of nothing,\"\nto create an individual life for themselves, and seek occasional\nretirement, they answer: \"But I cannot; I have not one moment\nabsolutely my own. If I leave the parlor, my room is invaded;\nsomebody wants to speak to me, and so somebody stands about for a\nquarter of an hour and then sits down. Then some one else comes,\nand so the time is devoured. With all the efforts in the world to\nkeep my patience, I cannot conceal the annoyance this is to me\nskilfully enough to avoid being voted a strong-minded woman,\"\n[Footnote 35] the correlative term of blue-stocking.\n\n    [Footnote 35: Caract\u00e8re roide, femmes affair\u00e9e.]\n\nVery well, I say, for want of regular hours let a woman devote\nodd minutes to study. There are always some in the busiest lives;\nmoments that occur between the various occupations of the day;\nand she must learn to work by fits and starts, in a desultory\nfashion. There is a wide difference between the woman who reads\nsometimes and the woman who never reads.\n\n{226}\n\nIf the desire to reserve a short time for study led to nothing\nmore than the acquisition of the _science of odd minutes_,\nthe result would be very important. _The science of odd\nminutes!_ It multiplies and fertilizes time, but books cannot\nimpart it. It gives habits of order, attention, and precision\nthat react from the external upon the moral life. The most\ncheerful women, the most equable, serviceable, and, I may add,\nthe healthiest women, are those who are intelligent and\nindustrious, and who, through the medium of a well-ordered\nactivity, have discovered the secret of reconciling the duties\nthey owe to God, to their families, and to themselves.\n\nBetween the spiritual and the material life, which answer to two\norders of duty, the intellectual life must have its place; a\nplace at present usurped by frivolity.\n\nThe intellectual life should be the porch of the spiritual life,\nmaterial existence the support and instrument of the other two.\nBut alas! it is far otherwise. Material existence usurps,\nsuffocates, extinguishes the light of mind and soul. Art and\nliterature elevate the heart, excite a distaste for gross\nenjoyments, and spiritualize life. They afford nourishment to\nmental activity, which is now the prey of levity, especially\namong women, seducing them to vain and dangerous pleasures. All\ngrand and beautiful things, so worthy of the human intellect,\nbetray the emptiness of material enjoyments, ennoble the soul and\nlead it to heights that approach heaven.\n\nThe culture of art and letters would occupy the feminine\nimagination profitably. It would create, or rather reveal to\nwomen admirable resources conducive to happiness, virtue, in\nshort to a complete existence; whether in society, where woman's\ninfluence can elevate or debase ideas, occupations, interests,\nand sentiments; or at home, where talents and information, while\nconferring a great charm, would render her more skilful in the\ndirection of children and in the exercise of salutary influence\nas a wife.\n\nThus the intellectual and the spiritual life would be united\nunder the blessing of God; thus we should find in the various\nclasses of society, intelligent Christian women, elevated above\nfrivolity, capable of sustaining and inspiring every noble idea,\nevery useful effort, every productive life; women who at home and\nin the world would be more enlightened, energetic, influential,\nestimable, forceful than the women of the present day.\n\n--------\n\n{227}\n\n              Baby.\n\n\nI've got a baby, you know. There! if you laugh, I'll not tell you\na single word about it. _You won't laugh any more?_ Very\nwell; then don't. My dear old toad--husband, I mean--Dan, who is\nthe born image of baby--oh! yes, a very pretty _ruse_,\nindeed, pretending to blow your nose. Can't I see you laughing\nbehind your handkerchief? _I've got sharp eyes!_ Of course I\nhave. All mothers have. Now, be good, and sit up like a man,\nand--there--don't be putting your hand up that way over your\nface, because I can see clean through it. What do you say?\n_Good gracious!_ That remark is not appropriate. However, I\nforgive you, for it might be if you knew what I'm going to tell\nyou. My dear old toa--husband--is so fond of baby that I don't\nthink I am fonder of him myself; and that is saying all I can\nsay, and all I could wish to say, because baby's me, and I'm\nbaby, as I love to imagine sometimes when I ask myself how much I\nwant Dan to love his foolish little wife and Our Baby. Really,\nplease don't hold your breath in that style; I'm always\ndreadfully frightened when baby does it.\n\nNow, husband loving baby and me as he does, there's not the least\ndoubt in the world that I am the happiest little woman, and the\nmost contented little wife, that the world ever saw. Perhaps I\nmay exaggerate, but ask dear Dan. If his opinion differs from\nmine, I'll modify it; for _I_ think he has the best judgment\nof any man I ever saw. \"Tot,\" he often says, (the dear old toad\nalways calls me Tot, because I'm small,) \"my opinion coincides\nprecisely with yours, and, if I have any amendment to make, I\nfeel sure that you yourself would have made it under the\ncircumstances.\" Of course, I ask if any amendment occurs to\n_his_ mind. Then he tells me, and, in fact, I see that it is\njust such an amendment as I _would_ make under the\ncircumstances. Oh! he has the most perfect judgment, has my\nhusband. He not only knows what is best, but he knows just what I\nwould think best. For instance, about what name baby should be\nchristened. If it was to be a boy, I settled at once in my mind\nthat he should be called Daniel, after his papa, to be sure. To\nthink of any other name would be sheer nonsense. But now see the\njudgment of my old toad. \"I was thinking just the same as you,\nTot,\" said he, \"and your choice of my own name for the little\nstranger is the very one I had hoped you would choose; but,\nknowing how much you and I loved poor brother Alf--who was\ndrowned at sea--I determined to renounce my name in his favor,\nand so dear brother Alf with his sunny face would live again in\nour child. If little Tot thinks of that, she will be sure to\nagree with me.\" _Did I agree with him?_ Of course I did.\nWhat foolish questions you men will ask. I'd no more think of\ncalling him Daniel after that, than of calling him,\nwell--Nebuchodonosor--or some other such heathen name. So the\npriest christened him Alfred.\n\nOh! we had such fun at the party. Old Mr. Pillikins--the old\ngentleman, you recollect, you met here last winter, with the gold\nspectacles and shiny bald head--was so droll.\n{228}\nHe wanted to drink baby's health, but somehow he had not heard\nhis name, so looking over to me he says:\n\n\"And his name is--\"\n\n\"Begins with an A,\" said I.\n\n\"Begins with an A,\" he says after me. \"Good, very good. First\nletter of the alphabet, where all good children ought to begin,\n\n  'A was an apple that hung on a tree:'\n\nand the second letter is--\"\n\n\"Is L, to be sure,\" said I.\n\n\"L! what else could it be?\" Mr. Pillikins accented the word\n_else_, and then, after he had explained it to us, we had\nsuch a good laugh. Wasn't it an excellent pun? Then he thought he\nhad it. So, taking up his glass in his right hand and putting the\nthumb of his left hand in the armhole of his waistcoat, he says;\n\n\"Alexander!\"\n\n\"No, no,\" says I, \"_not_ Alexander.\"\n\n\"_Not_ Alexander! True,\" says he, putting his glass down\nagain. \"I was about to add that Alexander had an A and an L, but\ndid not have an--\"\n\n\"F after it,\" cried Mrs. Gowsky, from the bottom of the table.\n\n\"Madam, you are quite right,\" replied Mr. Pillikins, bowing. \"It\nhas not an F after it, as the baby's name undoubtedly has, and\nthe _ef_fect is certainly, more in_ef_able on account\nof it. Ha, ha! you understand?\" Never was there such a punster as\nthe old gentleman. \"And then follows a--\"\n\n\"All the rest,\" said I, \"is just what you did with your\n_Herald_ this morning, Mr. Pillikins. What was that?\"\n\n\"Madam, I tore it up.\"\n\n\"No, no. What was the first thing you did with it?\"\n\n\"Madam, I dried it before the grate. The newspapers nowadays come\nso damp to one that it is enough to give one the gout in the\nfingers to hold them.\"\n\n\"Think again,\" I continued. \"What did you do with it after having\ndried it?\"\n\n\"Madam, I glanced over its contents, and--\"\n\n\"O you tease!\" said I, \"you didn't do anything of the kind. You\nread it. There!\"\n\n\"Yes, madam. I read it.\"\n\n\"Well, there's the baby's name, then,\" I exclaimed, almost losing\nmy patience. \"Don't you see?\"\n\n\"Positively, madam, I did not. It is not the fashion to record\nbirths nowadays. Only the marriages and deaths.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, after the laugh this raised had somewhat\nsubsided, \"It might have been recorded there, for all I care. It\nwould have been a happy piece of information, and giving a good\nexample--\" Now what are you laughing at?--\"A happy piece of\ninformation,\" says I, \"and that's more than can be said of many\nother items to be found in its columns.\"\n\nHaving got at the name, at last, Mr. Pillikins made a very pretty\nspeech, at which everybody clapped their hands and smiled, and\neverything went off pleasantly, except Mr. Gowsky's son, Peter,\nwho broke his wine-glass by hammering it on the table, and then\nfell backward, sprawling on the floor, from a bad habit he has of\ntilting his chair up. He scared baby so, that, to tell the truth,\nI had no pity for him in his confusion, and rather enjoyed his\nblushes, which never left him all the rest of the evening.\n\n_I am malicious?_ Not I; but a poor, dear baby that cannot\nprotect itself must not be abused with impunity. I was near\nfainting with fright, too, when I heard the sound; for I thought\nit must be the baby that had fallen out of its nurse's arms.\n{229}\n_First thought always about baby?_ To be sure, bless his\nlittle heart, and the last too! You can sit there twiddling your\nthumbs as if you did not agree with me; but I don't mind you; for\nwhat do you know about babies? Dan says, and very truly, that a\nmother whose first and last thought is not about her baby is not\nlikely to give much thought at all, either first or last, to her\nhusband. I can't understand it; but Dan tells me that nowadays\nProtestant wives have a horror of babies. I never thought of it\nbefore; but there is Mrs. Johnson, she has only one child; and\nthere is Mrs. Thompson, who has but two; and Mrs. Simpson, who is\nmarried now six years, and has no children at all. It is so all\nthrough the Protestant community, Dan says; and that there are\nactually more Protestants die than are born. It must be their\nreligion, I suppose, but I cannot imagine how a woman, if she had\nno religion at all--and the Protestants have got some kind of one\nor other--could hate babies.\n\nAs for me, I can hardly tell you how much I love baby, and how\nproud I am of him; and well I may be. Dinah Jenkins, his nurse,\nsays that she has nursed a good many babies, but such a baby as\nOur Baby she never yet saw.\n\n\"Hi, missus,\" said she one day, \"dis colored woman t'ought she\nknowed all kinds o' babies as ever war or ever could _be_.\nG'way, Dinah, says I, soon as I luff my eyes on to _dis_\nchild,\" (that's Our Baby,) \"dis baby ain't no mo' like de babies\nyou's nussed, an' I'se nussed a heap on 'em in my time,\ndan--dan--stick yer head in de fire!\" And as I often say to dear\nDan, she is the most truthful woman I ever met.\n\n_Have I a black woman for a wet-nurse?_ No, I have'nt a\nblack woman for a wet-nurse, nor a white woman either. Oh! you\nare _such_ a stupid!\n\nI am the child's mother, am I not? That's enough. I hope I shall\nnever be reduced to such an extremity as that. I pity poor\nmothers who are. If you were a mother, you would say the same.\n_People have wet-nurses?_ Yes, just as they have the cholera\nor the typhoid fever, I suppose, because they cannot help it. As\nto any woman, any mother, choosing to have one, I should say that\nis the sheerest nonsense ever dreamed of. _Great people have\nthem, queens and empresses, and I needn't be above them?_\nThank Heaven, I am neither a queen nor an empress, but the\ndevoted wife of my dear old toad of a husband, Dan Gaylark, and\nthe mother of Our Baby!\n\nWhat is that you are saying to relieve your mind? _Good\ngracious!_ You have made that remark once before, and equally\nto the point, as it seems to me. I was going to tell you all\nabout the baby, but you are such a tease, Ned, and interrupt one\nso often with your exceedingly strange remarks, that I feel very\nmuch as one might suppose the \"skirmishun\" train feels in being\n\"generally switched off into a sidin'.\" But, when I'm not\nswitched off, I am good as the \"skirmishun\" at any rate. I \"doos\nall as lays in my power\" to get on. I suppose you call yourself\nthe express train that is too proud even to whistle a salute in\npassing a poor, heavy-laden freight train, and utterly despises a\nmodest country station as it goes thundering by, as if that was\nno place fit for its majesty to \"stop at and blow at,\" as\nProfessor Haman says in his _Cavalry Tactics. I study military\ntactics?_ Yes, infantry tactics, you rogue, under Mrs.\nProfessor Dinah Jenkins; but I read that in a book of Dan's one\nday. Dan has a great fancy for horses and dogs. _Which of\ncourse, I'm jealous of?_ Not the least. It only makes me love\nhorses and dogs more than I otherwise would.\n{230}\n_Simply because Dan loves them?_ Simply because Dan loves\nthem; and if that is not good enough reason, I don't know what\nis. Ah! smile away as you please. What do _you_ know about\nit, you wretched old bachelor!\n\nHere! Dixie! Dixie! Dixie! Come here, you good-for-nothing old\nblack ---- There, then, that's enough now. Say \"How d'ye\" to Mr.\nNed. Oh! you needn't be afraid of him. He barks loud, I know, but\nhe won't bite. And he is _so_ knowing. I sometimes wish he\ndid not know quite so much. And so affectionate. He takes a great\nfancy for everything he sees that Dan and I are fond of. I do\nthink he would die for baby any day. Yes, you would, wouldn't\nyou, you dear old fellow? There, you see, he says yes; he always\ngrins and wags his tail that way when he wants to say yes.\n\nIt was about Dixie and baby I was going to tell you. He was so\nfond of baby that he wanted to take him out to walk and play with\nhim on the Palisades. Ah! I shudder when I think of it.\n\nYou recollect that hot Thursday in July? The very air seemed to\nbe holding its own breath. I felt so oppressed with the heat and\nthe closeness of the atmosphere that I could bear the inside of\nthe house no longer, and after taking a look--_and a\nkiss?_--yes, and a kiss of baby, who was sleeping soundly in\nhis cradle, I went out to saunter down the shady lane that leads\nto the Palisades. I noticed that Dinah was asleep in a chair,\ntoo, beside the window, and thought that, if she could sleep in\nsuch weather, it was a mercy, and so I left her undisturbed. As I\nwent out of the room, I left the door open, so that, if any\nlittle breeze might spring up, it would refresh baby in his\nsleep. I'm sorry enough now that I did.\n\nYou know what curious notions presentiments, or whatever you\nchoose to call them, will come into people's heads without their\nbeing able to give any reason for them? So it was with me then. I\nhad no sooner got out of the house than I thought about my\nleaving the door open, and half-determined to go back and close\nit. The same thought came to me again as I was turning the lane;\nand when I was once upon the green sward under the pine-trees,\nlooking down the dizzy height from the top of the Palisades upon\nthe river, I would most assuredly have returned and closed the\ndoor, had it not been for the intense heat, and I may say the\ncool and refreshing appearance the water had at that time. _You\ndon't believe in presentiments?_ Well, I acknowledge that it\nsavors a little of the fanciful and the romantic--reason enough,\nI suppose, for you to reject any such notion, you matter-of-fact\nold stick. But we women cannot take life as you men do, or, at\nleast, as some men do. What! _you are very glad we cannot?_\nPray, what do you mean by that? Oh! I see, you incorrigible old\nbachelor, our different habits, idiosyncrasies, and tastes lead\nus to avoid (not your company, you know better) but your own pet\nschemes and fancies. _I_, for one, don't ask either to\nmeddle with them or to share them. But you are very fond of\ngetting our approbation of them, nevertheless. Dan says that\nthere is not an orator in the country who would not prefer the\nwaving of a lady's handkerchief to all that abominable\nrat-a-tat-tat you men make with your heels and canes. The more\nsilent the sign of one's appreciation is, the better. Sincerity,\nNed, is seldom noisy. True love is dumb as well as blind. But\nthis is hardly _\u00e0 propos_ of Dixie and the baby. Where was\nI? Oh! the Palisades, yes.\n{231}\nIf you were anything of a listener, I might take the trouble to\ngive you a nice little bit of description of the sunny afternoon\nand the beautiful scene which the river presented to my gaze; but\nI won't, because I see you are gaping.\n\nI had been seated on the grass about half an hour, watching the\nboats lolling about in the water as if they were too lazy to move\nin such hot weather, when not a breath of air was stirring, and I\nhad been thinking how happy my life had been, and what a still\nhappier future might yet be in store for me; and, as I looked up\nat the bright, cloudless sky, I said to myself, \"Thus has God\nblessed my life, for not a cloud can I see in the firmament of my\nsoul,\" when my reverie was interrupted by the noise of footsteps\nbehind me. Thinking it was some children, I turned my head,\nsmiling at the same time, that they might see they were welcome.\nImagine my surprise. It was Dixie and baby. He had caught baby up\nin his mouth by the waist, and was bringing him along just as he\nis accustomed to carry cook's basket to market, wagging his tail\nand curveting about in the highest state of delight. My first\nthought was that, the baby was dead--an awful thought that went\nthrough my mind, and felt like an electric shock--either that\nDixie had bitten him to death, or had struck his poor, dear\nlittle head against the trees, or the fences, or the stones, or\nsomething else; but a second glance assured me that he was yet\nunhurt, for he was doubling up his fat little fists, and--will\nyou believe it?--actually pummelling Dixie on his black nose.\n\nInstead of coming up to me as I hoped he would, Dixie no sooner\ncaught sight of me than he dashed off, running round and round on\nthe green grassy bank, stopping suddenly, and looking at me as if\nhe would entice me to chase him.\n\nYou know that pretty spot at the end of the lane, how smooth the\nsward is, and how gently the ground slopes down to the sudden\nbrink of the Palisades? The circles Dixie described in his\ngambols began to grow larger and larger, and to my horror I saw\nhim run nearer and nearer to the edge of the dreadful precipice\neach time he came around. You know the edge there is just as\nsharp as if it had been cut away with a knife, and that, with the\nexception of a narrow line of jagged rocky ledges, the whole\nfront of the Palisades is a smooth, perpendicular height of a\nhundred and fifty feet at least. What if the dog should lose his\nfooting and slip off in one of those rapid courses he made! Now,\nI'm sure you cannot tell me what I did. _I sprang up and ran\nafter him? _I knew you would think so. You are mistaken. I\nnever moved a muscle. I sat as still as a statue, and as silent\ntoo. Dan said that was mother's wisdom, and wished that he had\nnever missed baby out of his cradle when he came home; for, when\nDixie had had his play out, I would have obtained quiet\npossession of baby, and all the fearful consequences of his\nappearance on the bank would have been spared. As it was, he no\nsooner saw the empty cradle and the little white coverlet lying\non the floor all marked with Dixie's dirty paws, than he\nsuspected the truth instantly. Cook told him, besides, that she\nhad seen me going off to walk down the lane, and that she was\nsure I had not carried baby with me. Dinah had fallen so fast\nasleep that she had heard nothing.\n\nI heard his footsteps as he came running down the lane, and knew\nit was he, but did not turn my head to look. By this time Dixie\nseemed to take delight in running straight down the bank, as if\nhe were about to jump over the Palisades with baby in his mouth,\nbut would wheel about sharply as he came to the edge.\n{232}\nIt was horrible. My eyes followed his every movement, and they\nached with pain. I did not dare to close them long enough even to\nwink. You think my heart was beating fast? No. It beat slowly,\nvery slowly. I could feel its dull, heavy strokes like a sexton\nslapping the earth as he heaps it over a newly filled grave. Dan\nsaid I was not only as still and as silent as a statue, but as\nwhite too. I do not think I shall suffer more when I come to die.\n\nNo sooner had Dixie espied my husband running toward him than he\nbounded off to the extremity of the sward, just where that narrow\nline of ragged rocks runs down the front of the Palisades. He saw\nthat his master had anger in his face, and began to slink off to\nescape punishment. It is a wonder he did not drop the baby on the\nground; but, do you know, I fancy that he thought the baby was\ngoing to get whipped too, and wanted to get him to a place of\nsafety. Nothing else will explain why, finding himself nearly\novertaken, he looked first on one side and then on another for a\nway to escape, and not seeing any, he went straight to the dizzy\nedge, and, gathering up his feet, sprang over the precipice. I\nsaw them both disappear, and heard that most heart-rending of\nsounds, a man's cry of anguish; the very ground seemed whirling\naround me and the sky coming down upon me, and crushing me; but I\ndid not faint. \"You are a brave little woman, Tot,\" Dan has said\nto me many a time since, \"and worth a whole regiment of\nsoldiers.\" I rose from the ground, and staggered toward Dan, who\nran to me and threw his arms about me and pressed my head to his\nbreast. O moment of agony untold, and of the supremest comfort!\nHe uttered only one word, speaking the two syllables separately,\nas though he loved to dwell upon every letter, and in a tone of\nmingled horror, grief, tenderest love, and sublime resignation--\n\n\"Ba--by!\"\n\nI thought I had loved dear Dan before that with all the love my\npoor little woman's heart could hold. No. The deepest love is\nonly born of the deepest suffering. There are chords of love\nwhose music joy can never waken. Since then Dan is to me more\nthan he ever was, more than he ever could have been, had not our\nsouls passed together that moment of agony.\n\nI do not know how long we stood thus, neither daring to go to the\nbrink of the precipice and look over. Baby and Dixie must be both\nlying dead on the rocks below. At last Dan mustered up courage\nenough to say to me,\n\n\"It is all over, darling. God is good.\"\n\n\"God is good,\" I repeated; \"but, O Dan, dear! it is a cruel\nblow.\"\n\n\"For us to bear, Tot, for us to bear; but not for him to\ngive--no, not for him to give.\"\n\nHe seemed to wring the words from his noble Christian heart, as\nif he tore away his very life and offered it to God.\n\n\"Stay here, Tot,\" said he, \"I am strong enough now.\" But his\nwhole body trembled from head to foot, and his voice was hoarse\nand broken. \"I will go and look.\"\n\nI feared to let him go. Yet why should I detain him? But I could\nnot watch him. Throwing myself upon the ground, I buried my face\nin my hands, and gave way to floods of bitter, bitter tears.\n\nI had not lain thus a moment, when I heard a sharp, piercing cry.\nRaising my head in alarm, to my unutterable surprise and horror,\nI saw Dan spring over the edge of the Palisades and disappear.\nAgain I heard him cry as before, \"Ba--by!\" but there was now a\ntone of joy mingled with that of fear, which told me that the\nchild was not dead.\n{233}\nIt was a brief instant that I was on my knees, it is true, it was\nnothing more than a look of gratitude I gave to God; but he knows\nthat not all the language ever expressed by man could fully tell\nall that thought of thanksgiving which my soul sent up to him, as\nI raised my clasped hands to the cloudless sky.\n\nIn a moment I was at the edge of the Palisades, just where that\nragged, rocky line runs down its front, jutting out here and\nthere in rough ledges. There was a story of a man who, being\npursued by the officers of justice, had clambered down there and\nescaped. Few people who saw the place believed it. The very first\nrock that jutted out was ten feet from the top, and that did not\npresent more than two or three feet of surface. A little to the\nright of this, and about three feet lower, was another, on which\na man might easily stand, but not for any length of time, as its\nsurface shelved outward, and the rock overhanging it above would\nnot allow him to stand perfectly upright. Any one who had gotten\nthus far must perforce take his chances of clambering down the\nrest or be precipitated head foremost below, to certain death.\n\nOn this second ledge, I saw Dan holding the baby by his mouth,\njust as Dixie had held him before. Dixie himself was crouched up\nbeside him. Poor Dan could not hold his place long there. As it\nwas, he was forced to grasp little, sharp edges of rock with both\nhands to prevent himself falling off. He saw at once that there\nwas no time to send for help from above, and that he must try the\nperilous descent. As he told me afterward, he had not calculated\nupon this when he leapt from above. The first glance he caught of\nthe dog told him that, if he released his hold upon the child's\ndress and opened his mouth, were it but for an instant, baby\nwould roll over the edge and be dashed to pieces. Dan says now\nthat he shall never regret taking one hasty step in his life. He\nmakes that an exception, you see, for he is always saying to me,\n\"Now, darling Tot, let us see the pros and the cons; for it is my\nprinciple never to leap before I think, but to let my mind jump\nbefore my feet.\"\n\nHolding on, as I told you, to baby by his teeth, Dan went\nclambering down the line of rocks. He had managed to wave his\nhand backward to me as he left the ledge where Dixie was. I knew\nwhat that meant--\"Don't look.\" There was little or no hope of\nhis ever reaching the bottom safely, and he wished to spare me\nthe awful sight of his headlong fall, which might take place at\nany step of the way. But I could not stir; my feet were riveted\nto the ground. Besides, could I not help him? It seemed to me\nthat, as he went down, almost falling from one sharp rock to\nanother, I held him up with my eyes. When I told Dan my fancy\nafterward, he laughed and said:\n\n\"Not the least doubt of it, Tot. I have felt the power of those\neyes before.\"\n\nIt did not last long, but it appeared to my mind, wrought up to\nsuch a state of excitement, as if it had been going on and was\ngoing on forever. It is stamped on my mind to-day as a memory of\nyears. As for dear Dan, it cost him, he said, the strength of\nmany days. He was no sooner at the bottom than he turned and\nlifted up the baby in one hand, and, looking up to me, waved the\nother as a sign of safety. Ah! his hands, his poor hands, you\nshould have seen them, all cut and gashed by the rocks. Those\nhands seem to have something sacred about them ever since that\nday.\n{234}\nI saw him on his knees, and then off I scampered to the house to\nget the carriage. It is two miles around by the road to the\nbottom of the Palisades, and it took us a long while to get to\nhim. When we did, he was still so weak that Mike, the coachman,\nand I had to lift him up into the carriage. Dinah went down to\nthe place I had left, to make signs to him that he should remain.\nPoor dear, there was no need of it. So we came home in more joy\nthan I can tell you--Dan, baby, and I. Mike rescued Dixie\nafterward, by getting himself let down from above with a rope, to\nwhere the patient old dog still was, wondering, who knows? how he\never came to be there.\n\nWhat is that you say? _Good gracious?_ Well, I don't mind\nyour saying it now, after what I have told you. But don't you\nthink, now, Mr. Ned, that I ought to be very proud of Our Baby\nafter that? What? _Ought to be very careful of him?_ The\nidea! An old bachelor telling a mother to be careful of her baby!\n\n--------\n\n  The Cartesian Doubt. [Footnote 36]\n\n    [Footnote 36: _The Churchman,_\n    Hartford, Ct., August 31, 1867.]\n\n\n_The Churchman_, an Episcopalian weekly periodical, contains\nan article of no little philosophic pretension, entitled\n_Science and God_, which we propose to make the occasion of\na brief discussion of what is known in the philosophic world as\nthe Cartesian Doubt, or Method of Philosophizing. _The\nChurchman_ begins by saying:\n\n  \"A distinction is frequently and very justly taken between\n  philosophic and religious scepticism. When Descartes, in order\n  to find firm ground for his philosophical system, declared that\n  he doubted the truth of every thing, even of the existence of\n  the sensible world and the being of God, he did it in the\n  interest of science. He wished to stand upon a principle which\n  could not be denied, to find a first truth which no one could\n  question. And this philosophic scepticism is an essential\n  element in all investigations of truth. It says to every\n  accredited opinion, Have you any right to exist? are you a\n  reality or a sham? By thus exploring the foundation of current\n  beliefs, we come to distinguish those which have real vitality\n  in them, and stand on the rock and not on the sand; and by\n  gathering up the living (true) and casting away the dead,\n  (false,) science goes step by step toward its goal.\"\n\nWhether Descartes recommended a real or only a feigned doubt, as\nthe first step in the scientific process he defended, has been\nand still is a disputed point. If it is only a feigned or\npretended doubt, it is no real doubt at all, and he who affects\nit is a real believer all the time. It is a sham doubt, and we\nhave never seen any good in science or in anything else come from\nshams or shamming. If the doubt is real, and is extended to all\nthings, even to the being of God and our own existence, as\nDescartes recommends, we are at a loss to understand any process\nby which it can be scientifically removed. To him who really\ndoubts of everything, even for a moment, nothing can be proved,\nfor he doubts the proofs as well as the propositions to be\nproved. All proofs must be drawn either from facts or from\nprinciples, and none can avail anything with one who holds all\nfacts and principles doubtful. The man who really doubts\neverything is out of the condition of ever knowing or believing\nanything. There is no way of refuting a sceptic but by directing\nhis attention to something which he does not and cannot doubt;\nand if there is nothing of the sort, his refutation is\nimpossible.\n\n{235}\n\nDescartes, according to _The Churchman,_ when he declared he\ndoubted the truth of everything, even of the existence of the\nsensible world and the being of God, did it in the interest of\nscience, in order to find firm ground for his philosophical\nsystem. Doubt is ignorance, for no man doubts where he knows. So\nDescartes sought a firm ground for his philosophical system in\nuniversal ignorance! \"He wished to stand upon (on) a principle\nwhich could not be denied, a first truth which no one could\nquestion.\" If he held there is such a principle, such a first\ntruth, or anything which cannot be denied, he certainly did not\nand could not doubt of everything. If he doubted the being of\nGod, how could he expect to find such a principle or such a first\ntruth? _The Churchman_ seems to approve of the Cartesian\ndoubt, and says, \"This philosophical scepticism is an essential\nelement in all investigations of truth.\" If this real or feigned\nscepticism were possible, no investigations could end in anything\nbut doubt, for it would always be possible, whatever the\nconclusions arrived at, to doubt them. But why can I not\ninvestigate the truth I do not doubt or deny?\n\nMoreover, is it lawful, even provisionally, in the interest of\nscience, to doubt, that is, to deny, the being of God? No man has\nthe right to make himself an atheist even for a moment. The\nobligation to believe in God, to love, serve, and obey him, is a\nuniversal moral obligation, and binds every one from the first\ndawn of reason. To doubt the being of God is to doubt the whole\nmoral order, all the mysteries of faith, the entire Christian\nreligion. And does _The Churchman_ pretend that any man in\nthe interest of science or any other interest has the right\nvoluntarily to do that?\n\nUndoubtedly, every man has the right to interrogate \"every\naccredited _opinion_\" and to demand of it, \"Have you any\nright to exist? are you a reality or a sham?\" But the right to\nquestion \"accredited opinions\" is one thing, and the right to\nquestion the first principles either of science or of faith is\nanother. A man has no more right voluntarily to deny the truth\nthan he has to lie or steal. _The Churchman_ will not deny\nthis. Then either it holds that all science as all faith is\nsimply opinion, or it deceives itself in supposing that it\naccepts the Cartesian doubt or adopts his philosophical\nscepticism. Doubt in the region of simple opinion is very proper.\nIt would be perfectly right for _The Churchman_ to doubt the\nopinion accredited among Protestants that Rome is a despotism,\nthe papacy a usurpation, the Catholic religion a superstition, or\nthat the church has lost, falsified, corrupted, or overlaid the\npure Christian faith, and demand of that opinion, \"Have you any\nright to exist? are you a reality or a sham?\" And we have little\ndoubt, if it would do so, that it would find itself exchanging\nits present opinion for the faith \"once delivered to the saints.\"\nIt is clear enough from the extract we have made that _The\nChurchman_ means to justify scepticism only in matters of\nopinion, and that it is far enough from doubting of everything,\nor supposing that there is nothing real which no man can doubt.\n\nBut, if we examine a little more closely this Cartesian method\nwhich bids us doubt of everything till we have proved it, we\nshall find more than one reason for rejecting it. The doubt must\nbe either real or feigned. If the doubt is only feigned for the\npurpose of investigation, it amounts to nothing, serves no\npurpose whatever; for every man carries himself with him wherever\nhe goes, and enters into his thought as he is, with all the faith\nor science he really has.\n{236}\nNo man ever does or can divest himself of himself. Hence the\ndifficulty we find even in imagining ourselves dead, for even in\nimagination we think, and in all thinking we think ourselves\nliving, are conscious that we are not dead. In every thought,\nwhatever else we affirm, we affirm our own existence, and this\naffirmation of our own existence is an essential and inseparable\nelement of every thought. When I attempt to think myself dead, I\nnecessarily think myself as surviving my own death, and as\nhovering over my own grave. No one ever thinks his own death as\nthe total extinction of his existence, and hence we always think\nof the grave as dark, lonely, cold, as if something of life or\nfeeling remained in the body buried in it. Men ask for proofs\nthat the soul survives the dissolution of the body, but what they\nreally need is proof that the soul dies. Life we know; but death,\nin the sense of total extinction of life, we know not; it is no\nfact of our experience. Life we can conceive, death we cannot. I\nam always living in my conceptions, and that I die with my body I\nam utterly unable to think, because I can think myself only as\nliving.\n\nThe thinker, then, enters as an indestructible element into every\none of his thoughts. Then he must enter as he is and for what he\nis. His real faith or science enters with him, and no doubt can\nenter that is not a real doubt. A feigned or factitious doubt,\nbeing unreal, does not and cannot enter with him. He is always\nconscious that he does not entertain it, and therefore can never\nthink as he would if he did. The Christian, firm in his Christian\nfaith, whose soul is clothed with Christian habits, cannot think\nas an infidel, or even in thought put himself in the infidel's\nposition. Hence one reason why so many defences of Christianity,\nperfectly conclusive to the believer, fail of their purpose with\nthe unbeliever. Even the unbeliever trained in a Christian\ncommunity or bred and born under Christian civilization cannot\nthink as one bred and born under paganism. What we assert is,\nthat every man thinks as he is, and cannot think otherwise;\nsimply what all the world means when it says of a writer,\n\"Whatever else he writes, he always writes himself.\" Men may\nmimic one another, but always each in his own way. The same words\nfrom different writers produce not the same impression upon the\nreader. Something of himself enters into whatever a man thinks or\ndoes, and no translator has ever yet been able to translate an\nauthor from one language to another without giving something of\nhimself in his translation. The Cartesian doubt, then, if\nfeigned, factitious, or merely methodical, is impracticable, is\nunreal, and counts for nothing; for all along the investigator\nthinks with whatever faith and knowledge he really has; or\nsimply, we cannot feign a doubt we do not feel.\n\nIt will be no better if we assume that the doubt recommended is\nreal. No man really doubts what he does not doubt, and no man\ndoes or can doubt of everything; for even in doubt the existence\nof the doubter is affirmed. But suppose a man really does doubt\nof everything, the Cartesian method will never help him to\nresolve his doubts. From doubt you can get only doubt. To propose\ndoubt as a method of philosophizing is simply absurd, as absurd\nas it would be to call scepticism philosophy, faith, or science.\nThe mind that doubts of everything, if such a mind can be\nsupposed, is a perfect blank, and, when the mind is a perfect\nblank, is totally ignorant of everything, how is it to\nunderstand, discover, or know that anything is or exists?\n{237}\nThere have indeed been men, sometimes men called philosophers,\nwho tell us that the mind is at first a _tabula rasa_, or\nblank sheet, and exists without a single character written on it.\nIf so, if it can exist in a state of blank ignorance, how can it,\nwe should like to know, ever become an intelligent mind, or ever\nknow anything more than the sheet of paper on which we are now\nwriting? Intelligence can speak only to intelligence, and no mind\nabsolutely unintelligent can ever be taught or ever come to know\nanything? But if we assume that the mind is in any degree\nintelligent, we deny that it can doubt of everything; for there\nis no intelligence where nothing is known, and what the mind\nknows it does not and cannot doubt. Either, then, this blank\nignorance is impossible, or no intelligence is possible.\n\nBut, as we have already said, no man does or can doubt of\neverything, and hence the Cartesian method is an impossible\nmethod. Descartes most likely meant that we should doubt of\neverything, the external world, and even the being of God, and\naccept nothing till we have found a principle that cannot be\ndenied, or a first truth that cannot be doubted, from which all\nthat is true or real may be deduced after the manner of the\ngeometricians. He did not mean to deny that there is such first\ntruth or principle, but to maintain that the philosopher should\ndoubt till he has found or obtained it. His error is in taking up\nthe question of method before that of principles or first\ntruths--an error common to nearly all philosophers who have\nsucceeded him, but which we never encounter in the great Gentile\nphilosophers, far less in the great fathers and mediaeval doctors\nof the church. These always begin with principles, and their\nprinciples determine their method. Descartes begins with method,\nand, as Cousin has justly said, all his philosophy is in his\nmethod. But, unhappily, his method, based on doubt, recognizes\nand conducts to no principles, therefore to no philosophy, to no\nscience, and necessarily leaves the mind in the doubt in which it\nis held to begin. The discussion of method before discussing\nprinciples assumes that the mind is at the outset without\nprinciples, or, at least, totally ignorant of principles; and\nthat, being without principles or totally ignorant of them, it is\nobliged to go forth and seek them, and, if possible, find or\nobtain them by its own active efforts. But here comes the\ndifficulty, too often overlooked by our modern philosophers. The\nmind can neither exist nor operate without principles, or what\nsome philosophers call first truths. The mind is constituted mind\nby the principles, and without them it is nothing and can do\nnothing. The supposed _tabula rasa_ is simply no mind at\nall. Principles must be given, not found or obtained. We cannot\neven doubt without them, for doubt itself is a mental act, and\ntherefore the principles themselves, without which no doubt or\ndenial is possible, are not and cannot be denied or doubted; for\neven in denying or doubting the mind affirms them. Principles,\nagain, cannot be given the mind without its possessing them, and\nfor the mind to possess a thing is to know it. As the principles\ncreate or constitute the mind, the mind always knows them, and\nwhat it knows it does not and cannot doubt. The philosopher, as\ndistinguished from the sophist, does not start from doubt, and\ndoubt of everything till he has found something which he cannot\ndoubt; but he starts from the principles themselves, which, being\ngiven, are _nota per se_, or self-evident, and therefore\nneed no proof--in fact, are provable only from the absurd\nconsequences which would follow their denial.\n\n{238}\n\nHaving begun with a false method, Descartes fails in regard to\nprinciples, and takes as the first truth which cannot be doubted\nwhat, either in the order of being or knowing, is no first truth\nor ultimate principle at all. He takes as a principle what is\nsimply a fact--the fact of his own personal existence, or of an\ninternal personal sentiment: _Cogito, ergo sum_, I think,\ntherefore I exist. Regarded as an argument to prove his\nexistence, as Descartes evidently at first regarded it, this\nenthymem is a sheer paralogism, and proves nothing; for the\nconsequence only repeats the antecedent; _sum_ is already in\n_cogito_. I affirm that I exist in affirming that I think.\nBut pass over this, and give Descartes the benefit of an\nexplanation, which he gives in one of his letters when hard\npressed by his acute Jesuit opponent, that he does not pretend to\noffer it as an argument to prove that he exists, but presents it\nsimply as the fact in which he finds or becomes conscious of his\nexistence. There is no doubt that in the act of thinking I become\nconscious that I exist; for, as we have already shown, the\nsubject enters into every thought as one of its integral and\nindestructible elements; but this does not relieve him. He\n\"wished,\" as says _The Churchman_, \"to stand upon (on) a\nprinciple which could not be denied, to find a first truth which\nno one could question.\" This principle or first truth he pretends\nis his own personal existence, expressed in the sophism, I think,\ntherefore I exist, _Cogito, ergo sum_. We agree, indeed have\nalready proved, that no one can deny or doubt his own personal\nexistence, although it is possible for a man to set forth\npropositions which, in their logical development, would deny it.\nBut the method Descartes defends permits him to assert nothing\nwhich cannot be deduced, after the manner of the geometricians,\nfrom the principle or first truth on which he takes his stand;\nand unless he can so deduce God and the universe, he must deny\nthem.\n\nBut from the fact that I exist, that is, from my own personal\nexistence, nothing but myself and what is in me and dependent on\nme can be deduced. Geometrical or mathematical deduction is\nnothing but analysis, and analysis can give nothing but the\nsubject analyzed. Now, it so happens that I do not contain God\nand the external universe in myself. Following the Cartesian\nmethod, I can attain, then, to no existence but myself, my own\npersonal phenomena. I can deduce no existence but my own, and am\nforced, if logical, to doubt or deny all other existence, that\nis, all existence but my personal existence, and my own interior\nsentiments and affections. I am the only existence; I am all that\nis or exists, and hence either I am God or God is not. What is\nthis but the absolute egoism of Fichte?\n\nDescartes himself seems to have felt the difficulty, and to have\nseen that God cannot, after all, be deduced from the fact of\npersonal existence; he therefore asserts God as an innate idea,\nand concludes his real and independent being from the idea innate\nin his own mind. Analysis of his own mind discloses the idea, and\nfrom the idea he concludes, after the manner of St. Anselm, that\nGod is. But when I am given as the principle or first truth, how\nconclude from my idea, which is simply a fact of my interior\nlife, that there is anything independent of me to correspond to it?\n{239}\nHere Descartes was forced to depart from his own method, and make\nwhat on his system is a most unwarrantable assumption, namely,\nthat the idea, being innate, is deposited by God in the mind,\nand, as God cannot lie, the idea must be true, and therefore God\nis. That is, he takes the idea to prove the being of God, and the\nveracity of God to prove the trustworthiness of the idea! But he\nwas to doubt the being of God till he had geometrically\ndemonstrated it; he therefore must prove that God is before he\ncan appeal to his veracity. His method involved him in a maze of\nsophistries from which he was never able to escape. God concluded\nfrom my idea, innate or otherwise, is only my idea, without any\nreality independent of me. The argument of St. Anselm is valid\nonly when _idea_ is taken objectively, not subjectively, as\nDescartes takes it.\n\nWhat Descartes really meant by innate ideas we do not know, and\nwe are not certain that he knew himself; but he says, somewhere\nin his correspondence, that, when he calls the idea of God\ninnate, he only means that we have the innate faculty of thinking\nGod. His argument is, \"I think God, and therefore God is.\" Still\nthe difficulty according to his own method remains unsolved.\n\nGiven my own personal existence alone as the principle or first\ntruth, it follows that, at least in science, I am sufficient for\nmyself. Then nothing distinguishable from myself is necessary to\nmy thought, and there is no need of my going out of myself to\nthink. How, then, conclude that what in thought seems to be\nobject is really anything distinguishable from myself? I think\nGod, but how conclude from this that God is distinct from and\nindependent of me, or that he is anything but a mode or affection\nof my own personal existence? The fact is, when we take our own\npersonal existence alone as the principle from which all objects\nof faith or science are to be deduced, we can never attain to any\nreality not contained in our existence as the part in the whole,\nthe effect in the cause, or the property in the essence.\nExclusive psychology, as has been shown over and over again, can\ngive us only the subjectivism of Kant, or the egoism of Fichte,\nresulting necessarily in the nihilism, or identity of being and\nnot-being, of Hegel.\n\nThe psychologists generally do not, we are aware, concede this;\nbut they are not in fact, whatever they are in theory, exclusive\npsychologists, and their inductions of God and an external\nuniverse are made from ontological as well as from psychological\n_data_. They begin their process, indeed, by analyzing the\nmind, what they call the facts of consciousness, but they always\ninclude in their premises non-psychological elements. Their\ninductions all suppose man and the universe are contingent\nexistences, and as the contingent is inconceivable as contingent\nwithout the necessary, they conclude, since the contingent\nexists, very logically, that there really is also the necessary,\nor necessary being, which is God. But the necessary, without\nwhich their conclusion would and could have no validity, is not a\npsychological fact or element; otherwise the soul itself would be\nnecessary being, would be itself God. The mistake arises from\nregarding what philosophers call necessary ideas, such as the\nidea of the necessary, the universal, the immutable, the eternal,\netc., because held by the mind, as psychological, instead of\nbeing, as they really are, ontological. Being ontological, real\nbeing, the inductions of the psychologists, as they call\nthemselves, do really carry us out of the psychological order,\nout of the subjective into the objective.\n{240}\nBut, if their inductions were, as they pretend, from exclusively\npsychological data, they would have no value beyond the soul\nitself, and the God concluded would be only a psychological\nabstraction. Indeed, most psychologists assert more truth than\ntheir method allows, are better than their systems. Especially is\nthis the case with Descartes. On his own system, logically\ndeveloped, he could assert no reality but his own individual soul\nor personal existence; yet, in point of fact, he asserts nearly\nall that the Catholic theologian asserts, but he does it\ninconsistently, illogically, unscientifically, and thus leads his\nfollowers to deny everything not assertable by his method.\n\nBut, as we have said, Descartes does not attain by his method to\na first principle. Not only cannot the being of God and the\nexistence of the external universe be deduced from our own\npersonal existence, but, by his method, our personal existence\nitself cannot be logically asserted. It is not ultimate, a first\nprinciple, or a first truth. Our personal existence cannot stand\nby itself alone. It is true Descartes says, _Cogito, ergo_\nSUM; but I cannot even think by myself alone, and even he does\nnot venture to take _sum_ in the absolute sense of\n_am_, as in the incommunicable name by which God reveals\nhimself to Moses, I AM WHO AM, or I AM THAT AM. Even he takes it\nin the sense of _exist, Cogito, ergo sum_, I think,\ntherefore I exist. He never dared assert his own personal\nexistence as absolute, underived, eternal, and necessary being;\nit remained for a Fichte, adopting the Cartesian method, to do\nthat. Between being and existence, _essentia_ and\n_existentia_, there is a difference which our philosophers\nare not always careful to note. Existence is from _exstare_,\nand strictly taken, means standing from another, or a derivative\nand dependent, therefore a contingent existence, or creature,\nwhose being is in another, not in itself. We speak, indeed, of\nhuman beings, but men are beings only in a derivative sense, not\nin the primary or absolute sense. Hence the apostle to the\nGentiles says, \"In him (God) we live, and move, and are,\" or have\nour being. In ourselves we have no being, and are something only\nas created and upheld by Him who is being itself, or, to speak\n_\u00e0 la_ Plato, being in himself. Evidently, then, our\npersonal existence is not ultimate, therefore not the first\nprinciple, nor the first truth. The ultimate, at least in the\norder of being, is not the soul, a contingent existence, but,\nreal being, that is, God himself.\n\nBut as we have and can have no personal existence except from\nGod, it is evident that we cannot assert our personal existence\nby itself alone; and to be able to assert it at all, we must be\nable to assert the being of God. Now, Descartes tells us that we\nmust doubt the being of God till we can prove it after the manner\nof the geometricians. But how are we to do this? We cannot, as we\nhave seen, deduce his being from our own personal existence; and\nwhat is still more to the purpose, while we deny or doubt his\nbeing, we cannot assert or even conceive of our own, because our\nexistence, being derivative, dependent, having not its being in\nitself, is not intelligible or conceivable in or by itself alone.\nThe contingent is not conceivable without the necessary. They are\ncorrelatives, and correlatives connote each other. Now, if we\ndeny or doubt the being of God, we necessarily deny or doubt our\nown personal existence, impossible and inconceivable without God.\n{241}\nWith God disappears the existence of the external universe and\nour own. If, then, it were possible to doubt of the being of God,\nwe should doubt of all things, and should have nothing left with\nwhich to prove that God is. God is the first principle in being\nand in knowing, and if he is denied, all is denied. Atheism is\nnihilism.\n\nDescartes evidently assumes that it is both possible and lawful\nto doubt the being of God, nay, that we ought to do so, till we\nhave geometrically demonstrated that he is, and _The\nChurchman_ tells us that this \"scepticism is an essential\nelement in the investigation of truth.\" We cannot bring ourselves\nto believe it. God, the theologians tell us, is real and\nnecessary being, the contrary of which cannot be thought, and it\nis the fool, the Scriptures tell us, that says \"in his heart, God\nis not.\" The evidence of this is in the fact that we do in every\nthought think our own existence, and cannot deny it if we would;\nand in the farther fact that we always do think our own existence\nas contingent, not as necessary being; and that we cannot think\nthe contingent without at the same time thinking the necessary,\nas was sufficiently shown in the papers on _The Problems of the\nAge_, published sometime since in this Magazine. As there can\nwithout God be nothing to be known, we must dissent from _The\nChurchman_, as from Descartes himself, that a philosophical\nscepticism which extends even to the being of God \"is an\nessential element in the investigation of truth.\" It seems to us\nthe worst way possible to truth, that of beginning by denying all\ntruth, and even the possibility of truth. The man who does so,\nhumanly speaking, puts himself out of the condition of\ndiscovering or receiving truth of any sort. He who seeks for the\ntruth should do so with an open mind and heart, and with the\nconviction that it is. We must open our eyes to the light, if we\nwould behold it, and our hearts to the entrance of truth, if we\nwould have it warm and vivify us. Those men who shut their eyes,\ncompress their lips, and close the aperture of their minds are\nthe last men in the world to discover or to receive the truth,\nand they must expect to walk in darkness and doubt all their\nlives. Scepticism is a worse preparation for investigating truth\nthan even credulity, though scepticism and credulity are blood\nrelations, and usually walk hand in hand.\n\nIf it were possible to doubt the being of God, or to think a\nsingle thought without thinking him, we should prove ourselves\nindependent of him, and therefore deprive ourselves of all\npossible means of proving that he is. If, for instance, we could\nthink our own existence, as is assumed in the Cartesian enthymem,\n_Cogito, ergo sum_, without in the same indissoluble thought\nthinking God, there would be no necessity of asserting God, and\nno possible argument by which we could prove his being, or data\nfrom which he could be concluded. Man can no more exist and act\nin the intellectual order, without God, than in the physical\norder. If you suppose men capable of thinking and reasoning\nwithout the intellectual apprehension of the Divine Being, as\nmust be the man who really doubts the being of God, there is no\npossible reason for asserting God, and it is a matter of no\npractical moment in the conduct of life whether we believe in God\nor not. The fact is, no man can doubt the being of God any more\nthan he can his own personal existence. The Cartesian method, if\nfollowed strictly, would lead logically to universal nihilism;\nfor he who doubts the being of God must, if logical, doubt of\neverything, and he who doubts of everything can be convinced of\nnothing.\n\n{242}\n\nWe say not only that atheism is absurd, but that it is\nimpossible; and they who with the fool say there is no God, if\nsincere, deceive themselves, or are deceived by the false methods\nand theories of philosophers, or sophists rather. No man can\nthink a single thought without thinking both God and himself. The\nman may not advert, as St. Augustine says, to the fact that he\nthinks God, but he certainly thinks, as we showed in our article\nlast May, on _An Old Quarrel_, that which is God. No man\never thinks the imperfect without thinking the perfect, the\nparticular without the universal, the mutable without the\nimmutable, the temporal without the eternal, the contingent\nwithout the necessary. The perfect, the universal, the immutable,\nthe eternal, the necessary are not abstract ideas, for there are\nno abstractions in nature. Abstractions are nullities, and cannot\nbe thought. The ideas must be real, and therefore being; and what\nis perfect, universal, immutable, eternal, real and necessary\nbeing but God? That which is God enters into every one of our\nthoughts, and can no more be denied or doubted than our own\nexistence. Those poor people who regard themselves as atheists so\nregard themselves because they do not understand that the\nso-called abstract or necessary ideas are not simply ideas in the\nmind or psychological phenomena, but are objective, real being,\nthe eternal, immutable, self-existent God, in whom we live, and\nmove, and have our being. No doubt we need instruction and\nreflection to understand this, but this instruction is within the\nreach of all men, and every mind of ordinary capacity is adequate\nto the necessary reflection. In point of fact, it is the\nphilosophers that make atheists, and the atheism is always\ntheoretical, never real.\n\nThere is no doubt that a little ingenuity may deduce something\nlike this doctrine from Descartes's assertion of innate ideas,\nbut not in the sense Descartes himself understood the word\n_idea_. With Descartes the word _idea_ never means the\nobjective reality, but its image in the mind; never being itself,\nbut its mental representation, leaving it necessary, after having\nascertained that we have the idea, to prove that it represents an\nobjective reality--a thing which no man has ever done or ever can\ndo. His subsequent explanation that he meant, by asserting that\nthe idea of God is innate, simply the innate faculty of thinking\nGod, was a nearer approach to the truth perhaps, but did not\nreach it, because it assumed that the intuition of that which\nreally is God follows the exercise of the faculty of thinking,\ninstead of preceding and constituting it, and is not an _\u00e0\npriori_ but an empirical intuition. If we could suppose the\nfaculty constituted, existing, and operative, without the\nintuition of real and necessary being, and that the idea is\nobtained by our thinking, there would still remain the question\nas to the objective validity of the thought. If Descartes had\nidentified the idea with being regarded as intelligible to us,\nand represented it as creating or constituting the faculty of\nthinking, he would have reached the truth; but this he could not\ndo by his method, which required him to recognize as his\nprinciple only his own personal existence, and to deduce from it,\nafter the manner of the geometricians, whatever he recognized as\ntrue. God, or what is God, could be obtained or presented only by\nthe exercise of our faculty of thinking, and not by the creative\nact of God affirming himself as the first principle alike of\nthought and the faculty of thinking.\n\n{243}\n\nIf Descartes had properly analyzed thought and ascertained its\nessential and indestructible elements, he would have avoided the\nerror of resolving the thinker into thought, _la pens\u00e9e_,\nwhich denied the substantive character of the soul and made it\npurely phenomenal, and have ascertained that, beside the subject\nor our personal existence, but simultaneously with it, there is\naffirmed what in the order of reality precedes it,--God himself,\nunder the form, if I may so speak, of real, necessary, universal,\neternal, and independent idea or being. There is given in every\nthought, as its primary and essential element, a real ontological\nelement, without which no thought is possible. This, not our\npersonal existence, is the first truth or principle which every\nphilosopher must recognize, if he would build on a solid\nfoundation and not in the air, and this principle can no more be\ndenied or doubted than our personal existence itself, for without\nit we could not think our personal existence, nay, could not\nexist at all, as capable of thought.\n\nBut even if, by a just analysis, Descartes had found that this\nontological element is a necessary and indestructible element of\nthought, he would have still greatly, fatally erred if he had\ntaken it as his first principle and refused to admit any\nexistence not logically deducible from it, that is, deducible\nfrom it \"after the manner of the geometricians,\" as required by\nhis method. Father Rothenflue, Father Fournier, and the Louvain\nprofessors reject the Cartesian psychology, and assume Ens, or\nbeing, which they very properly identify with God, as the first\nprinciple in science. This is proper. But how do they pass from\nbeing to existences, from the necessary to the contingent, from\nGod to creation? We cannot deduce logically existences from\nbeing, because logic can deduce from being only what is\nnecessarily contained in being, that is, only being. If we say,\ngiven being existences logically follow, we assume with Cousin\nthat God cannot but create, that creation is a necessity of his\nown nature, and therefore necessary, as necessary as God himself,\nwhich denies the contingency of creatures, and identifies them\nwith necessary being. This is precisely what Descartes himself\ndoes after he has once got possession, as he supposes, of the\nidea of God, or proved that God is. Creation on his system is the\nnecessary, not the free act of the Creator.\n\nThere are, as has often been remarked, two systems in Descartes,\nthe one psychological and the other ontological; as there are in\nhis great admirer and follower, Victor Cousin. The two systems\nare found in juxtaposition indeed, but without any logical or\ngenetic relation. Descartes proceeds from his personal existence\nas his principle, which gives him nothing but his personal\nexistence; then finding that he has the idea of God, for we\npresume he had been taught his catechism, he takes the idea as\nhis principle, and erects on it a system of ontology. In this\nlast he was followed by Malebranche, a far greater man than\nhimself. Malebranche perceived, what we have shown, that we have\ndirect and immediate intelligence of God, that he, as idea, is\nthe immediate object of the understanding, and that we see all\nthings in him. Hence his well-known _Visio in Deo_, or\nVision in God, which would be true enough if we had the vision of\nthe blest, and could see God as he is in himself; for God sees or\nknows all things in himself, and has no need to go out of himself\nto know anything he has made.\n{244}\nBut this is not the case with us. We do not see things themselves\nin God, but only their idea or possibility. From the idea of God\nwe may deduce his ability to create, and that the type of all\ncreatable things must be in him; but as creation is on his part a\nfree, not a necessary act, we can, as Malebranche was told at the\ntime, see a possible, but not an actual universe in God; hence,\nby his vision in God, he attained only to a pure idealism, in\nwhich nothing actually distinguishable from God was apprehended\nor asserted.\n\nSpinoza, greater still than Malebranche, followed also Descartes\nin his ontological system, and took being, which he calls\nsubstance, as his principle. Substance, he said, is one and\nultimate, and nothing is to be admitted not obtainable from it by\nway of logical deduction. Spinoza was too good a logician to\nsuppose that the idea of creation is deducible from the idea of\nGod, for a necessary creation is no creation at all, but the\nsimple evolution of necessary being or substance. Hence nothing\nis or exists except the one only substance and its modes and\nattributes. His attributes are infinite, since he is infinite\nsubstance; but we know only two, thought and extension. The\nso-called German ontologists in the main follow Spinoza, and like\nhim admit only being or substance, or its attributes or modes.\nThis system makes what are called creatures, men and things,\nmodes of the Divine Being, in which he manifests his attributes,\nthought and extension; hence it is justly called pantheism,\nwhich, under some of its forms, no one can escape who admits\nnothing not logically deducible from the idea of substance,\nbeing, or God; for deduction, we have said, is simply analysis,\nand analysis can give only the subject analyzed. As the analysis\nof my personal existence or the soul can give only me and my\nattributes, modes, and affections, and therefore the egoism of\nFichte, which underlies every purely psychological system, so the\nanalysis of the idea of being can give only being and its modes\nor attributes, or the pantheism of Spinoza, which underlies the\nontology of Descartes, and every system of exclusive ontology.\n\nNo philosopher is ever able to develop his whole system, and\npresent it in all its parts, or foresee all its logical\nconsequences. It is only time that can do this, and the vices of\na method or a system can be collected fully only from its\nhistorical developments. The disciples of Descartes, who in\nFrance started with his psychological principle, ended in the\npure sensism, or sensation transformed, of Condillac, and those\nwho in Germany started with the same principle, ended in the\nabsolute egoism of Fichte, who completed the subjectivism of\nKant, and reached the point where egoism and pantheism become\nidentical. Those, again, who in any country have started with the\nontological principle of Descartes and followed his method, have,\nhowever they may have attempted to disguise their conclusions,\nended in denying creation and asserting some form of pantheism.\nThe materialism which prevailed in the last century, and obtains\nto a great extent even in the present, is not a historical\ndevelopment of Cartesianism, so much as of the English school\nfounded by Bacon, and developed by Hobbes and Locke, and\ncompleted by the French idealogists of Autueil, who were noted\nfor their Anglomania.\n{245}\nCartesianism led rather to what is improperly termed idealism, to\nthe denial of the material universe, or its resolution into pure\nsensation.\n\nYet it is instructive to observe that the historical development\nof the psychological principle represented by Fichte and that of\nthe ontological principle represented by Spinoza terminate in\nidentity. Fichte saw he could not make the soul the first\nprinciple without taking it as ultimate and denying its\ncontingency, or that he could not make the soul that from which\nall that exists proceeds without assuming that the soul, the ego,\nis God. Hence his twofold ego, the one absolute and the other\nphenomenal or modal. He thus identifies the soul with God, and\nconcludes that nothing except me and my phenomen, or attributes\nand modes, is or exists: I am all. Spinoza, starting from the\nopposite pole, the ontological, finds that he can logically\ndeduce from being only being; and calling being substance, and\nsubstance God, he concludes with an invincible logic nothing is\nor exists, except God and his modes or attributes. The form may\ndiffer, but the conclusion is identical with the last conclusion\nof egoism, and it is noteworthy that even Fichte, in the last\ntransformation of his doctrine, substituted God for the soul, and\nmade God the absolute, and the soul relative and phenomenal, or a\nmode of the Divine Being.\n\nWhether, then, we start with the soul as first principle or with\nGod, we can never by logical deduction arrive at creation, or be\nable to assert any existence as distinguishable from the Divine\nBeing. Neither can be taken exclusively as the _primum\nphilosophicum_, and exclusive ontology is as faulty and as\nfatal in its consequences as exclusive psychology. The fact is,\nwe can neither doubt the being of God nor our own personal\nexistence; for both are equally essential and indestructible\nelements of thought, given in the primitive intuition, though\nbeing is logically prior to existence, and our _primum\nphilosophicum_ must include both.\n\nBut the soul is given in the intuition as contingent, and being\nis given as necessary. The contingent cannot exist any more than\nit can be thought without the necessary. It then depends on the\nnecessary, and can exist only as created and upheld by it. The\nreal principle, or _primum philosophicum,_ is then, as has\nbeen amply shown in the essays on _The Problems of the Age_,\nthe ideal formula, _Ens creat existentias_, or Being creates\nexistences. This presents the ontological principle and the\npsychological not in juxtaposition merely, but in their real and\ntrue relation. This formula enables us to avoid alike pantheism,\natheism, idealism, and materialism, and to conform in principle\nour philosophy to the real order of things and the Catholic\nfaith. But it is only in principle, for Gioberti himself calls\nthe formula _ideal_. It does not, after all, give us any\nscience of actual existences, or itself furnish its own\nscientific explication and application. Apply to it the method of\nDescartes, and lay it down that everything is to be doubted till\nproved, and we are not much in advance of Cartesianism. We know\nGod is, we know things exist, and God has created or creates\nthem; but we do not know by knowing the formula what God is, what\nthings do or do not exist. It gives us the principles of science,\nbut not the sciences; the law which governs the explication of\nfacts, not the facts themselves. We cannot deduce, after the\nmanner of the geometricians, any actual existence or fact from\nthe formula, nor any of the sciences.\n{246}\nThere is an empirical element in all the sciences, and none of\nthem can be constructed by logical deduction even from a true\nideal formula, and to deny everything not logically deducible\nfrom it would leave us in the purely ideal, and practically very\nlittle better off than Descartes himself left us. The Cartesian\nmethod based on doubt, then, whether we start with an incomplete\nor a complete ideal formula, can never answer the purpose of the\nphilosopher, or enable us to construct a concrete philosophy that\nincludes the whole body of truth and all the scientific facts of\nthe universe.\n\nWe do not pretend that philosophy must embrace all the knowable,\n_omne scibile_, in detail; it suffices that it does so in\nprinciple. No doubt the ideal formula does this, as in fact\nalways has done the philosophy that has obtained in the Catholic\nschools. But though the ideas expressed in the ideal formula are\nintuitive, the constitution of the mind, and basis of all\nintelligence, and are really asserted in every thought, we very\nmuch doubt if they could ever have been reduced to the formula\ngiven by Gioberti if men had never received a divine revelation\nfrom God, or if they had been left without any positive\ninstruction from their Creator. We are as far as any one can be\nfrom building science on faith; but we so far agree with the\ntraditionalists as to hold that revelation is necessary to the\nfull development of reason and its perfect mastery of itself. One\ngreat objection to the Cartesian doubt or method is, that it\ndetaches philosophy from theology, and assumes that it can be\nerected into an independent science sufficient for itself without\nany aid from supernatural revelation, and free from all\nallegiance to it. This had never been done nor attempted by any\nChristian school or even non-Christian school prior to Descartes,\nunless the pretension of Pomponatius and some others, that things\nmay be theologically true yet philosophically false, and who were\npromptly condemned by Leo X., be understood as an attempt in that\ndirection. The great fathers of the church and the mediaeval\ndoctors always recognized the synthesis of reason and revelation;\nand, while they gave to each its part, they seem never to have\ndreamed of separating them, and of cultivating either as\nindependent of the other; yet they have given us a philosophy\nwhich, if not free from all defects, is superior, under the point\nof view of reason alone, to anything that has elsewhere ever been\ngiven under that name. He who would construct a philosophy that\ncan stand the test even of reason must borrow largely from St.\nAthanasius, St. Augustine, St. Gregory the Great, St. Thomas, St.\nBuonaventura, and the later scholastics.\n\nIt is also an objection to the Cartesian doubt that it is not\nonly a complete rupture with revealed theology, but also with\ntradition, and is an attempt to break the continuity of the life\nof the race, and to sever the future of humanity from its past.\nWe are among those who regard the catholic beliefs and traditions\nof mankind as integral elements in the life of the race itself,\nand indispensable to its continuous progress. The future always\nhas its germ in the past, and a beginning _de novo_ for the\nindividual as for society is alike impossible and undesirable.\nThe Cartesian doubt overlooks this, and requires the individual\nto disgarnish his mind of every relic and memorial of the past,\nof everything furnished by his parents and teachers, or the\nwisdom of ages, and after having become absolutely naked and\nempty, and made himself as ignorant and impotent as the new-born\nbabe, to receive nothing till he, without experience, without\ninstruction, has by his own unaided powers tested its truth.\n{247}\nAs reasonable would it be for the new-born infant to refuse the\nmilk from its mother's breast, till it had by the exercise of its\nfaculties settled the question of its wholesomeness.\n\nWe object, finally, that it tends to destroy all respect for\nauthority, all reverence for tradition, all regard for the\nlearning and science of other ages and other men, and to puff up\nthe individual with an overweening self-conceit, and sense of his\nown sufficiency for himself. It renders all education and\ninstruction useless and an impertinence. It tends to crush the\nsocial element of our nature, and to create a pure individualism,\nno less repugnant to government and society than to religion and\nthe divine order, according to which all men are made mutually\ndependent, one on another. Doubtless, Descartes only developed\nand gave expression to tendencies which were in his time\nbeginning to be active and strong; but the experience of the\ncivilized world only historically verifies their destructive,\nanti-philosophical, anti-religious, and anti-social character.\nYet his method is still, in substance if not in form, very\nextensively accepted and followed, as the example of _The\nChurchman_ itself proves.\n\nWe do not by any means believe that Descartes had any suspicion\nof the real character of his philosophic enterprise. We are far\nfrom agreeing with Gioberti that he was a disguised Protestant\ndesignedly laboring to complete the work undertaken by Luther. We\ndoubt not that he really accepted the church, as he always\nprofessed to do, though most likely he was far enough from being\na fervent Catholic; but he was bred a soldier, not a philosopher\nor a theologian; and though he may have been, and we believe he\nwas for his time, a great mathematician and a respectable\nphysicist, he was always a poor theologian, and a still poorer\nmetaphysician. His natural ability was no doubt worthy of\nadmiration, but he had no genius for metaphysics, and his\nignorance of the profounder philosophy of antiquity and of the\nmediaeval doctors was almost marvellous. He owed in his own day\nhis popularity to the fact that he discoursed on philosophy in\nthe language of the world, free from the stiff formulas, the\nbarbarous locutions, and the dry technicalities of the schools.\nHe owed much to the merits of his style, but still more to the\nfact that he wrote in the vernacular instead of the Latin tongue,\nthen unusual with writers of philosophical treatises, and\nnon-professional men and court-bred ladies could read him and\nfancy they understood philosophy. His works were\n\"philosophy-made-easy,\" and he soon became the vogue in France,\nand France gives the fashion to the world. But it would be\ndifficult to name a writer who has exerted in almost every\ndirection an equally disastrous influence on modern thought and\ncivilization; not that his intentions were bad, but that his\nignorance and presumption were great.\n\nThe Cartesian method has no doubt favored that lawless and\nindependent spirit which we see throughout modern society, and\nwhich is manifested in those Jacobin revolutions which have\nstruck alike at ecclesiastical and political authority, and at\ntimes threatened the civilized world with a new barbarian\ninvasion; but the evil resulting from that method which is now\nthe most to be deplored is the arrogant and independent tone\nassumed by modern science, and its insolence toward the sacred\ndogmas of faith. Descartes detached philosophy, and with it all\nthe sciences, from faith, and declared them independent of\nrevelation.\n{248}\nIt is especially for this that Cousin praises him. But modern\nso-called science is not contented even with independence; it\naspires to dominate and subject faith to itself, or to set up its\nown conclusions as the infallible test of truth. It makes certain\ninductions from a very partial survey of facts, concocts certain\ngeological, physiological, ethnological, and philological\ntheories at war with the dogmas of faith, and says with sublime\ninsolence that therefore faith must give way, for science has\ndemonstrated its falsity! If the church condemns its unsupported\nconclusions, there is forthwith a deafening clamor raised that\nthe church is hostile to science, and denies the freedom of\nthought and the inalienable rights of the mind! _The\nChurchman_ sees this, and has written the very article from\nwhich we have made our extract to show its injustice; but with\nwhat success can it hope to do it, after beginning by approving\nthe Cartesian method and conceding modern science, in principle,\nall it asks?\n\nWe have said and shown over and over again that the church does\nnot condemn science. Facts, no matter of what order, if facts,\nnever do and never can come in collision with her teaching, nor\ncan their real scientific explanations ever conflict with\nrevelation or her dogmas. The church interferes not with the\nspeculations or the theories of the so-called _savans_,\nhowever crude, extravagant, or absurd they may be, unless they\nput forth conclusions under the name of science which militate\nagainst the Christian faith. If they do that, she condemns their\nconclusions so far as repugnant to that faith. This supervision\nof the labors of _savans_ she claims and exercises for the\nprotection of her children, and it is as much in the interest of\nscience as of faith that she should do so. If we were to believe\nwhat men counted eminent in science tell us, there is not a\nsingle Christian dogma which science has not exploded; yet,\nthough modern investigations and discoveries may have exploded\nseveral scientific theories once taught in the schools and\naccepted by Catholics, we speak advisedly when we say science has\nnot exploded a single dogma of the church, or a single\nproposition of faith she has ever taught. No doubt, many\npretendedly scientific conclusions have been drawn and are drawn\ndaily that impugn the faith; but science has not yet confirmed\none of them, and we want no better proof that it never will\nconfirm them than the bare fact that they contradict the faith\nthe church believes and teaches. They can all be scientifically\nrefuted, and probably one day will be, but not by the people at\nlarge, the simple and unlettered; and therefore it is necessary\nthat the church from time to time should exert her authority to\ncondemn them, and put the faithful on their guard against them.\nThis is no assumption to the injury of science, for in condemning\nthem she seeks only to save the revealed truth which they impugn.\nIt is necessary, also, that men should understand that in science\nas well as in faith they are not independent of God, and are\nbound by his word wherever or whatever it speaks. Descartes\ntaught the world to deny this and even God himself till\nscientifically proved, and hence the pains we have taken to\nrefute his method, to show its unscientific character, and to\nindicate some of the fatal consequences of adopting it.\n\nWe know very well that Bossuet and Fd\u00e9n\u00e9lon are frequently\nclassed with the disciples of Descartes, but these men were\nlearned men and great theologians, and they followed Descartes\nonly where he coincided with the general current of Catholic\nphilosophy.\n{249}\nEither was a far profounder philosopher than Descartes ever could\nhave been, and neither adopted his method. The same may be said\nof other eminent men, sometimes called Cartesians. The French\nplace a certain national pride in upholding Descartes, and pardon\nmuch to the sophist in consideration of the Frenchman; but this\nconsideration cannot weigh with us any more than it did with the\nItalian Jesuit, the eminent Father Tapparelli, we believe, who a\nfew years since, in some remarkable papers in _La Civilt\u00e1\nCattolica_, gave a most masterly refutation of Descartes's\npsychological method. Truth is of no nation, and a national\nphilosophy is no more commendable than a national theology, or a\nnational church. It is no doubt to the credit of a nation to have\nproduced a really great philosopher, but it adds nothing to its\nglory to attempt to make pass for a great philosopher a man who\nwas in reality only a shallow sophist. It was one of the\nobjectionable features in the late M. Cousin that he sought to\navail himself of the national prejudices of his countrymen, and\nto make his system pass for French or the product of French\ngenius. The English are in this respect not less national than\nthe French, and Bacon owes his principal credit with them to the\nfact that he was a true Englishman. All real philosophy, like all\ntruth, is catholic, not national.\n\nIn regard to the scepticism _The Churchman_ deems so\nessential in the investigation of truth, we have already remarked\nthat a sceptical disposition is the worst possible preparation\nfor that investigation. He who would find truth must open his\nheart to it, as the sunflower opens her bosom to the sun, and\nturns her face toward it in whatever quarter of the heavens it\nmay be. Those who, like _The Churchman_, know not the truth\nin its unity and catholicity, and substitute opinion for faith,\nwill do well so far to doubt their opinions as to be able\nthoroughly to investigate them, and ascertain if they have any\nsolid foundation. There are reasons enough why they should\ndistrust their own opinions, and see if the truth is not really\nwhere the great majority of the civilized world for ages has told\nthem it is to be found. They ought to doubt, for they have reason\nto doubt, not of every thing, not of God, not of truth, but of\ntheir own opinions, which they know are not science nor faith,\nand therefore may be false. Scientific men should doubt not\nscience, nor the possibility of science, but their theories,\nhypotheses, and conjectures till they have proved them; and this\nall the same whether their theories, hypotheses, and conjectures\nare taken from the schools or are of their own concoction. But\nthis is something very different from presenting to the world or\nto one's self the being of God, the creation, the immortality of\nthe soul, and the mysteries of faith as opinions or as theories\nto be doubted till proven after the manner of geometricians.\nThese are great truths which cannot be reasonably doubted; and,\nif we find people doubting them, we must, in the best way we can,\nconvince them that their doubts are unreasonable. The believer\nneed not doubt or deny them in order to investigate the grounds\nof his faith, and to be able to give a reason for the hope that\nis in him. We advance in the knowledge of truth by means of the\ntruth we have; and the believer is much better fitted for the\ninvestigation of truth than the unbeliever, for he knows much\nbetter the points that need to be proved, and has his mind and\nheart in a more normal condition, more in harmony with the real\norder of things, and is more able to see and recognize truth.\n{250}\nBut this investigation is not necessary to justify faith in the\nbeliever. It is necessary only that the believer may the better\ncomprehend faith in its relations with the general system of\nthings, of which he forms a part, and the more readily meet the\nobjections, doubts, and difficulties of unbelievers. But all\ncannot enter into this investigation, and master the whole field\nof theology, philosophy, and the sciences, and those who have not\nthe leisure, the opportunity, and ability to do it, ought not to\nattempt it. The worst possible service we can render mankind is\nto teach them that their faith is unreasonable, or that they\nshould hold themselves in suspense till they have done it, each\nfor himself. They who can make the investigation for themselves\nare comparatively few; and shall no man venture to believe in God\nand immortality till he has made it? What, then, would become of\nthe great body of the people, the poorer and more numerous\nclasses, who must be almost wholly occupied with procuring the\nmeans of subsistence? If the tender mercies of God were no\ngreater than those of the Cartesian philosophers and our\nEpiscopalian _Churchman_, the poor, the unlettered, the\nsimple, the feeble of intellect would be obliged to live without\nany rule of duty, without God in the world, or hope in the world\nto come. For them the guidance and consolations of religion would\nalike be wanting.\n\nWe may see here why the church visits with her censures whatever\ntends to unsettle or disturb the faith of the people, for which\nan unbelieving and unreasoning world charges her with denying\nreason, and being hostile to freedom of thought and scientific\ninvestigation. We do not hope to convince the world that it is\nunjust. The church is willing that every man who can and will\nthink for himself should do so; but the difficulty is, that only\nhere and there one, even at best, does or can so think. It is not\nthat she is unwilling that men should reason, if they will really\nreason, on the grounds of faith, but that most persons who\nattempt to do so only reason a little way, just far enough to\nraise doubts in their minds, doubts which a little more knowledge\nwould solve, and then stop, and refuse or are unable to reason\nany farther. It is the half-reason, the half-learning, the\nhalf-science that does the mischief; as Pope sings:\n\n  \"A little learning is a dangerous thing:\n   Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring;\n   There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,\n   But drinking largely sobers us again.\"\n\nMany may take \"shallow draughts,\" but very few can \"drink deep,\"\nand those shallow draughts, which are all that except the very\nfew can take, are more hurtful to both intellectual and moral\nhealth than none at all. The church certainly does not encourage\nthose to reason on sacred subjects who can or will reason only\nfar enough to doubt, and to puff themselves up with pride and\nconceit She, however, teaches all the faith, and gives to every\none who will listen to her voice as solid reasons for it as the\nwisest and most learned and scientific have or can have. In this,\nhowever the world may blame or vituperate her, she only pursues\nthe course which experience and common sense approve and\npronounce wise and just.\n\nThe attempt to educate the mass of the people up to the point of\nmaking each individual able to understand and solve all the\ndifficulties in the way of faith has never succeeded, and can\nnever succeed.\n{251}\nThe mass of the people need and always will have teachers of some\nsort whom they do and must trust. We see it in politics. In the\nmost democratic state the mass of the people follow like sheep a\nfew leaders, wise and prudent men sometimes, perhaps oftener\nignorant but cunning and unscrupulous demagogues. All may be made\nto understand that in matters of faith the teachers are\ncommissioned by the church, and that the church is commissioned\nby God himself, who teaches in and through her, and no one has or\ncan have any better reason for believing anything, for none\nbetter is conceivable. It is the assumption that the people are\nto judge for themselves without instructors or instruction that\ncauses so much unbelief in the modern world; but as they have\nbeen very extensively told that it is their right to do so, and\nmade to believe it, the church, of course, must meet their\nfactitious wants the best way she can, and educate them up to the\nhighest point possible, and give them all the instruction, not\nonly in the faith, but on its grounds and reasons, they are or\ncan be made capable of receiving. She must do this, not because\nthe people believe or are already enlightened, but because they\nhave learned only just enough to doubt and rebel.\n\n--------\n\n        Abridged from the German.\n\n        The Composer's Difficulty.\n\n\nThe good old custom in London, in 1741, was for the members of\nthe ---- Club to assemble in the parlor of a noted tavern in\nFleet street, kept by Master Farren, who had a sharp-tongued wife\nand a young and lovely daughter. This young girl had been setting\nthe large room in order, and putting fresh flowers in the vase,\nin preparation for the expected guests, when the door opened\nsoftly, and a young man came in. Ellen did not look up till he\nwas close to her, then she started and blushed crimson, while he\ntook her hand and kissed it with the air of a cavalier.\n\n\"I did not know it was you, Joseph,\" faltered the maiden.\n\n\"I can stay but a moment,\" said the young student of music, \"for\nthey will all be here presently. I came to tell you to come to\nthe garden without fail this evening; I want to give you a first\nlesson, in a new part.\"\n\nEllen's face brightened. Just then a shrill voice called her\nname, and she knew her mother would be angry if she saw her with\nthe German, Joseph Wach.\n\n\"I will come!\" she answered quickly. \"Now I must leave you.\" And\nshe ran out at a repetition of the shrewish call. Joseph did not\nattempt to detain her; though the two loved each other well he\nknew that Dame Farren regarded him with good will no longer, now\nthat Master Handel, his teacher and patron, no longer stood high\nin the king's favor, and went no more to Carlton House. The\nfather, old John Farren, was still the friend of the young man.\n\n{252}\n\nAn hour later, and the round table, on which stood mugs of porter\nand glasses, was surrounded by men, members of the musical club,\nconversing on a subject deeply interesting to them all. One of\nthem--a very tall man, with large, flashing eyes and a noble and\nexpressive countenance--was addressed as \"Master Handel;\"\nanother, simple in his dress and plain in his exterior, with a\nworld of shrewdness and waggery in his laughing eyes, was William\nHogarth, the painter.\n\nThey were talking about the composer's great work, _The\nMessiah_, which Handel had not as yet been able to get\nproperly represented. Hogarth was urging an application to the\nDuke of Bedford. Handel, disgusted at his want of success\nhitherto, was reluctant to sue for the favor of any patron to\nhave his best work brought before the public.\n\n\"If his grace only comprehended a note of it!\" he exclaimed\npetulantly; \"but he knows no more of music than that lout of a\nlinen-weaver in Yorkshire.\"\n\n\"Whom you corrected with your fist, when he blundered with your\n_Saul_!\" cried the painter. \"You should have learned better\npolicy, my good master, from your eight-and-twenty years in\nEngland! A stupid, great nobleman can do no harm to a work of\nart! If I dealt only with those who understood my work, my wife\nand children might starve.\"\n\nHandel was leaning on the table, his face buried in his hands.\nHis thoughts were wandering toward Germany. When he spoke, it was\nto express his bitter regret that he had left his fatherland just\nas new life in art began to be stirring. While the Germans\nachieved greatness in music, he had been tormenting himself in\nvain with dolts of singers and musicians in England, whose hard\nheads could not take in a notion of music! \"I will return to\nGermany!\" he concluded. \"Better a cowherd there than here\ndirector of the Haymarket Theatre, or chapelmaster to his\nmajesty, who, with his court rabble, takes such delight in the\nwarblings of that foppish Italian--Farinelli.\"\n\nSome other members came in to join them, among them the young\nGerman, Joseph Wach. Handel nodded kindly to him, and asked how\nhe was getting on with his part.\n\n\"I am very industrious, Master Handel, and will do my best,\"\nreplied Joseph. \"You shall hear me soon.\"\n\nThe conversation about the new work was resumed. The Abb\u00e9 Dubos\ndescribed how the chorus, \"The glory of the Lord shall be\nrevealed,\" had sounded all night in his ears. \"Your glory, Master\nHandel, will be revealed through your _Messiah_ when once\nyou can get it brought out. I understand the lord archbishop is\nagainst it!\"\n\nThe flush of anger rushed to Handel's brow. \"The lord\narchbishop!\" he repeated scornfully. \"He offered to compose me a\ntext for the _Messiah_, and when I asked if he thought I\nknew nothing of the Bible, or if he expected to improve the Holy\nScriptures, he turned his back on me, and represented me to the\ncourt as a rude, thankless boor.\"\n\nMaster Tyers, the lessee of Vauxhall, remarked that it was not\npolitic to speak one's mind too openly, especially with the\ngreat. Dr. Hualdy tried to soothe the irritated composer by\nspeaking of the admiration he had already won, after a long\nstruggle with ignorance and intrigue.\n\n{253}\n\n\"What care I,\" interrupted Handel, \"for the admiration of fools\nand knaves!\"\n\nThere were many to give the \"soft answer\" which \"turneth away\nwrath,\" and to deprecate too severe a judgment of the English\npeople because they had accomplished little in the glorious art\nand failed at once to recognize the best. \"Admitting,\" added the\nabb\u00e9, \"that the court and nobles have done you injustice; that we\nhave no such musicians and singers as in Germany; that we cannot\ngrasp all the grand spirit of your works, are you not,\nnevertheless, idolized by the people of Britain? Lives not the\nname of Handel in the mouth of honest John Bull, cherished as the\nnames of his proudest statesmen! Give him, then, a little\nindulgence! Let us have a chance to hear your _Messiah_;\ncondescend to ask the aid you need in bringing it out; your honor\nwill not suffer, and the good you will do will be your reward!\"\n\n\"That is just what I have told him!\" exclaimed Hogarth. And the\nothers chimed in their eager assent. Even the burly host coaxed\nhim, and, by way of argument, said: \"You know, Master Handel, how\noften I have to bend to my good woman; yet it is no detriment to\nmy authority as master of the house.\"\n\nHandel sat silent for a time, looking gloomily around the circle.\nThen suddenly he burst into a laugh. \"By my halidome, old\nfellow,\" he cried, \"you are right! To-morrow I _will_ go to\nthe Duke of Bedford. You _shall_ hear the _Messiah_,\nwere all the rascals in the three kingdoms against it!\"\n\nThere was a burst of delighted applause from all the company. The\nfat landlord gave a leap of joy, and Joseph clasped his hands;\nfor he knew Handel's success would be the making of his own and\nEllen's fortune.\n\nHandel waited on the Duke of Bedford, who happened to be giving a\ngrand breakfast. The duke prized the reputation of a patron of\nthe arts, and knew well that Handel's absence from court and the\ncircles of the nobility was owing more to his disregard of the\nforms and ceremonies held indispensable than to any want of\nesteem for the composer. His oratorio of _Saul_ had won him\nproud distinction. When informed that Handel had called on him,\nthe duke himself came out to welcome him and lead him into the\ndrawing-rooms. But the composer drew back, saying he had come to\nsolicit a favor. The duke then took him into his cabinet, and\nlistened graciously to his petition that he \"would be pleased to\nset right the heads of the Lord Mayor and the Archbishop of\nLondon, so that they should cease laying hindrances in the way of\nthe representation of the _Messiah_.\"\n\nThe duke not only listened, but promised to use all his means and\ninfluence to remove the obstacles. Handel knew he could depend on\nthe promise. He accepted the invitation to join the company with\njoy, when he heard that his celebrated countryman, Kellermann,\nwas there and engaged in the duke's service.\n\nHis grace led in and introduced his distinguished guest. The\nsight of the great composer produced a sensation. Handel cared\nnothing for the noble company, but greeted his old friend\nKellermann with all the warmth of his nature. They had a cordial\ntalk together, while the idol of the London fashionables, Signor\nFarinelli, hemmed and cleared his throat over the piano, in token\nthat he was about to sing, and wanted Kellermann to accompany\nhim.\n{254}\nThe musician at length noticed his uneasiness, pressed his\nfriend's hand, returned to his place, and took up his flute,\nwhile Farinelli began a melting air in his sweet, clear voice.\n\nHandel, a powerful man, austere and vigorous in nature, abhorred\nthe singing of such effeminate creatures, and despised the\nluxurious ornamentation of the Italian's style. Farinelli's soft\ntrilling was accompanied by Kellermann on the flute with\ndexterous imitation. Handel laughed inwardly to see the effect on\nthe company. The ladies were in raptures; and, when Farinelli\nceased, the most eager applause rewarded him.\n\nThe duke introduced the Italian to Handel. Farinelli complimented\nhim in broken English, said he had heard that \"Signor AEndel had\ncomposed una opera--il _Messia_,\" and begged to know, with a\ncomplacent smile, if there would be a part in the opera for \"il\nfamous musico Farinelli?\"\n\nHandel surveyed the ornamented little figure from head to foot,\nand answered in his deepest bass tone, \"No, signora.\"\n\nThere was suppressed laughter, and the ladies covered their\nfaces. Not long afterward Handel took his leave, with his friend\nHogarth, who was a guest.\n\n  ----\n\nThe _Messiah_ was announced for representation. But an\nunexpected difficulty presented itself. The lady who had been\nengaged to sing the first soprano part sent word that she was ill\nand could not sing; and the oratorio had to be postponed.\n\nHandel knew it was mere caprice on the part of the spoiled\nprima-donna, and was excessively indignant. When he heard from\nthe leader of the orchestra that a second postponement might be\nnecessary, he roundly declared it should not be. \"It _shall_\ntake place!\" he exclaimed, and set off to call upon the signora\nhimself.\n\nSignora Lucia, the Italian vocalist, that morning held a\n_lev\u00e9e_ of her admirers. Their conversation, as she reclined\non a couch in a graceful _d\u00e9shabill\u00e9_, was of \"il barbaro\nTedesco,\" his unreasonable expectations, and the pleasure the\nbeautiful singer took in disappointing him. \"He dared to order me\nabout at rehearsal!\" she cried. \"For that, he shall not have his\ntroublesome oratorio performed at all!\" The gentlemen applauded\nher spirit. Then it was related how the fair singer Cuzzoni had\nrefused to sing some music in Handel's opera, and he had gone to\nher room, seized her, and, rushing to the open window, had held\nher out at arms' length, threatening to drop her unless she\npromised to sustain her part.\n\n\"He shall find me harder to deal with,\" said the beauty\nlanguidly. Just then the name of the great composer was\nannounced, and Handel's heavy step was heard in the hall. The\ngentlemen visitors huddled themselves off in such confusion, they\ncould only retreat behind the couch, drawing the damask curtain\nover the recess so as to conceal them.\n\nLucia was uneasy, but maintained her composure. Handel, however,\nhad not come, as she expected, to entreat her to sing. He stood\nnear the door, and, vouchsafing no salutation, haughtily demanded\nher _part_.\n\nThe singer made no answer, and Handel strode forward. Lucia\nsprang up, seized the bell, and rang it violently, but not one of\nher admirers answered the call. Handel advanced, and coolly\nlifted the curtain behind the sofa, revealing the group of\nterrified Italians. He laughed scornfully, and again demanded her\npart of the signora.\n\n{255}\n\nIn unutterable passion, she snatched up a roll of music from the\ntable and flung it at the composer. He picked it up, bowed\nironically, and walked out of the room. The anger of Lucia with\nher cowardly friends who had not interfered to avenge this\ninsult, and their confusion, may be imagined.\n\nHandel had punished the capricious singer, but he could find no\none to take her place. His friends sympathized in his distress,\nbut could offer no aid nor consolation. Hogarth thought he\nunderrated the Italians, and was too conceited. \"You remember,\"\nhe said, \"when Correggio's Leda was sold in London at auction for\nten thousand guineas, I said, 'I will paint something as good for\nsuch a sum.' Lord Grosvenor took me at my word, I painted my\npicture, and he called his friends together to look at it. They\nall laughed at me, and I had to take back my picture.\"\n\nHandel replied that the old Italian painters were worthy of all\nrespect, and so were the old Italian church composers. The modern\nones he thought, in their way, more or less like Signor\nFarinelli.\n\nThe day before the oratorio was to be produced Handel sat in his\nstudy reviewing the work. Now he would smile over a passage, now\npause over something that did not satisfy him, pondering,\nstriking out, and altering to suit his judgment. At length his\neyes rested on the last \"Amen,\" long, long, till a tear fell on\nthe leaf.\n\n\"This work,\" he said solemnly, and looking upwards, \"is my best!\nReceive my best thanks, O benevolent Father! Thou, Lord! hast\ngiven it me; and what comes forth from thee, that endureth,\nthough all things earthly perish. Amen.\"\n\nHe laid aside the notes, and walked a few times up and down the\nroom, then seated himself in his easy-chair. His pupil, Joseph,\nopened the door softly and came in. Handel started from his\nreverie, and asked what he wanted. The young man, with an air of\nmystery, begged the master to come with him.\n\nIn a few moments they were in a room in the upper story of Master\nFarren's tavern, a room where Joseph practised his music. There,\nto Handel's no small astonishment, he saw the host's pretty\ndaughter, Ellen.\n\n\"What may all this mean?\" he asked, while his brow darkened.\n\"What do you here, Miss Ellen, in this young man's study?\"\n\n\"He may tell you that himself, Master Handel,\" answered the\ndamsel, turning away her blushing face.\n\nJoseph hastened to say, \"I am ready to answer, dear master, for\nwhat we do.\"\n\n\"Open your mouth, and speak, then,\" said Handel sternly.\n\n\"You have done much for me, dear master,\" said Joseph with\nemotion. \"When I came a stranger and penniless, you put me in the\nway of earning a support. You gave me instruction in music and\nsinging, spending hours you might have given to doing something\ngreat.\"\n\n\"And does the fool think making a good singer was not doing\nsomething great--eh?\"\n\n\"And I have tried to make a singer for you!\" said the young man.\n\"Will you hear her?\" And he pointed to Ellen.\n\nHandel, in his surprise, opened his eyes wide as he looked at the\ndamsel.\n\n\"Yes--Ellen!\" she repeated, coming close to him, and lifting her\nclear, hazel eyes to his face. \"Now you know, Master Handel, what\nJoseph and I have been about, and for what I am here in his\nstudy.\"\n\n{256}\n\n\"We wanted to be of service in your dilemma,\" said Joseph. \"Shall\nEllen sing before you, Master Handel?\"\n\nHandel seated himself: \"I am curious to see how your teaching has\nsucceeded,\" he said. \"Come, let her begin.\"\n\nJoseph went to the piano, and Ellen stood beside him.\n\nThe part she took was that of the first soprano, the one taken\nfrom Signora Lucia. Handel started as the young girl's voice\nrose, clear, silvery, floating--a voice of the purest quality!\nHow he listened when he heard the most splendid portion of his\nforthcoming work--the glorious air, \"I know that my Redeemer\nliveth\"--and how Ellen sang it may be conjectured when, after she\nhad ceased, the composer sat motionless, a happy smile on his\nlips, his eyes full of tears. At length he drew a deep breath,\narose, kissed the maiden's forehead, kissed her eyes, in which\nalso bright drops were glancing, and said with profound feeling:\n\"Ellen, my good--good child--you will sing this part to-morrow at\nthe representation?\"\n\n\"Master Handel! _Father_ Handel cried the maiden, and threw\nherself, sobbing, on his neck. Joseph rattled off a jovial air to\ncover his emotion.\n\n    ------\n\n\"Amen!\" resounded through the arches of the church, and died away\nin whispered melody in its remotest aisles. \"Amen!\" responded\nHandel, while he slowly let fall the staff with which he had kept\ntime. His immortal masterpiece had produced an immense\nimpression: his fame was established for all time.\n\nWhen the great composer descended the church steps, he was\ninformed that his majesty had sent for him, and that a carriage\nwas waiting, by the royal command, to convey him to Carlton\nHouse.\n\nGeorge the Second received the artist with a gracious welcome,\nand he read his triumph in the faces of the court nobles.\n\n\"You have made us a noble present in your _Messiah_, Master\nHandel,\" said the monarch. \"It is a brave piece of work!\"\n\n\"_Is it?_\" asked the composer, looking in the king's face,\nand well pleased.\n\n\"It is, indeed,\" replied George. \"And now, tell me what I can do\nfor you.\"\n\n\"If your majesty,\" answered Handel, \"will give a place to the\nyoung man who sang the tenor solo part, I shall be grateful.\nJoseph Wach is my pupil, and _he_ has a pupil too, Master\nFarren's daughter; but they cannot marry till Joseph finds a\nplace. The old dame will not consent, and your majesty knows the\nwomen bear rule.\"\n\nThe king's smile was a forced one, for a sore point in his\nexperience was touched. \"I know nothing of the sort,\" he said.\n\"But your pupil shall have a place as first tenor in our chapel.\"\n\nHandel thanked his majesty with sincere pleasure. The king seemed\nto expect him to ask more.\n\n\"Have you nothing,\" at length he said, \"to ask for yourself? We\nwould thank you, in your own person, for the fair entertainment\nprovided in your _Messiah_.\"\n\nHandel crimsoned as he heard this, and he answered in a tone of\ndisappointment: \"Sire, I have endeavored not to _entertain_\nyou, but to make you better.\"\n\nAll the courtly company looked their astonishment. Even King\nGeorge was surprised. Then, bursting into a hearty fit of\nlaughter, he walked up to the composer and slapped him\ngood-naturedly on the shoulder. \"You are, and ever will be, a\nrough old fellow, Handel,\" said he; \"but a good fellow withal! Do\nas you will, we shall always be the best friends in the world!\"\n\n{257}\n\nHandel retired from the audience, and was glad to escape to his\nfavorite haunt, Master Farren's tavern. Joseph and Ellen were\nthere, awaiting his return. His news brought them great joy.\n\nIn the last years of Handel's life, when his sight failed him, it\nwas Ellen who nursed him faithfully as if she had been his own\nchild, while her husband wrote down his last compositions.\n\n\n  ------\n\n  Translated from Les \u00c9tudes Religieuses, etc.\n\n  The Title Of The Kings Of England\n\n\n  Defensor Fidei:\n  Its Signification And Its Origin.\n\n\nIf an Englishman will take a pound sterling of the present year,\nhe will find around the effigy of Queen Victoria the words,\n_Defensor Fidei_, a title which the sovereigns of Great\nBritain have been proud to bear for more than three centuries.\n\nFrom whom did they receive it? Why was it given to them? What did\nit originally mean, and what does it mean now?\n\nHenry VIII. received this title from the pope as a personal\nprivilege, and one that he had ardently desired and solicited for\na long time. It was conferred by a bull of Leo X., confirmed by\nClement VII. No one is ignorant on what occasion. Luther had left\nthe church. He was sowing his heresy in Germany, declaring that\nthe pope was Antichrist, and declaiming with furious rage against\nRome in his impious work, _The Captivity of Babylon_. Henry\nVIII., indignant at the effort to mislead the people, replied in\na book called _Assertio septem sacramentorum adversus Martinum\nLutherum_. We regret that the space to which we are limited\nprevents us making copious citations from it; for our readers\nwould then see that it would be impossible for any one to\nproclaim a more devoted attachment to the holy see than did Henry\nVIII. at that time. These pages are more than three centuries\nold; but to-day, when war against the papacy is more bitter than\never, we know of none among the contemporary works which defend\nthe church more filially and more warmly.\n\n{258}\n\nIf at the time when Henry VIII., full of joy, received the bull\nof Leo X., amid the hearty congratulations of his people, a man\nhad stood before him and said: Sire, in less than fourteen years\nyou will belie all your protestations of filial devotedness and\nsubmission to the Vicar of Jesus Christ; you will rebel against\nthe Roman Church in just as striking a way as Martin Luther has\ndone; you will proclaim yourself the head of the Church of\nEngland; you will be the author of a schism which will make blood\nflow in torrents and will desolate England, Scotland, and Ireland\nfor more than three centuries; you, the victorious Henry VIII.,\nwho would be the delight of your people if you were the master of\nyour passions instead of being their slave; you will become the\nNero of England: had such words been spoken, their author would\nhave been looked upon as insane. The proud and passionate Tudor\nwould have exhausted his ingenuity in inventing means to torture\na traitor like this. But, at the end of 1534, he who would\nventure to print this book, which had purchased for Henry VIII.\nthe title which the sovereigns of England are so proud to use\neven to-day, would have been declared guilty of high treason.\n\nThus, God has wished that the very coins of his country shall\nbecome for the Englishman who reflects and studies a precious and\nlasting historical monument of the ancient faith of the country,\nthe Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman faith, the faith of France, of\nSpain, of Italy, of Austria, and of all Christianity. The title\n_Defensor Fidei_ signified at that time defender of the\nRoman Faith. What does it mean now? After 1534, Henry VIII.\npretended to defend the Catholic faith, by refusing obedience to\nthe pope and submitting to his own spiritual supremacy, a new\nstar in the firmament of the church.\n\nUnder the reign of Edward VI., or rather under that of the two\nsuccessive protectors, the Dukes of Somerset and Northumberland,\nthe faith was defended in the shape of the Forty-two Articles. It\nwas no longer the Catholic faith in its purity.\n\nUnder the reign of Elizabeth, the governess of the Church of\nEngland, the creed of Edward VI. was modified, and the faith was\nnow declared to consist in the Thirty-nine Articles.\n\nSince Elizabeth these Thirty-Nine Articles have continued to be\nthe official creed of the established church. In a country where\ncustom holds such sway, all the members of the Anglican clergy\nare obliged to profess their faith in these articles under oath;\nbut do we see that the queen and her privy council exact the\nperformance of this oath? It would be answered that such a thing\nhas become impracticable, and that no one is held to the\nperformance of the impossible. We cheerfully agree to this, for\nwe are not in the habit of contesting what is plainly evident.\n\nThe striking and multiplied facts of contemporaneous history will\nat last compel every serious-minded man to ask himself this\nquestion: Is not the title _Defensor Fidei_ very much like\nthat of _King of France_ which the sovereign of England\nrenounced in the beginning of this century, without really losing\nanything? To tell the truth, they are \"defenders of the faith\" in\nmuch the same manner as Victor Emmanuel is King of Cyprus and\nJerusalem.\n\nIf we were English, we would delight in publishing a truly\napostolic book, which would contain little of our own\nintellectual labor, except, perhaps, the choice of materials and\nthe manner of arranging them; nor would it be a controversial\nwork, for controversy only embitters an opponent; and, if our\nreaders will permit a playful but striking comparison, we would\nmake our adversaries appear like two inimical squirrels, who will\ncontinually run about in a circle, with fiery looks and lively\nmotions, yet never getting one step nearer to each other.\n{259}\nWe should make the calm and impartial voice of history speak, and\nour publication would be called _Historical Documents on the\nTitle of the Kings of England, Defensor Fidei._\n\nLarge books find few readers nowadays, and so we would make ours\nvery brief; its contents these: The affirmation of the seven\nsacraments against Martin Luther by Henry VIII., with the defence\nof his book by John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester; the bull of Leo\nX., which gave Henry VIII. the title of _Defensor Fidei_;\nthe act of parliament which declared Henry VIII. supreme head of\nthe Church of England; the Forty-two Articles of Anglican faith\nunder the reign of Elizabeth and her successors; the profession\nof faith in the Thirty-nine Articles exacted officially of the\nAnglican clergy; and, finally, the profession of faith of Pius\nIV., which contains the whole doctrine of the Holy Council of\nTrent. We would give the Latin text of all those documents and a\ngood English translation, so that the exactness of the\ntranslation could be verified. We would crown our work with a\nlittle complementary appendix, which would give our readers an\ninsight of the privy council of the queen in ecclesiastical\nmatters--_Optima legum interpres consuetudo_. Showing on one\nside an abstract of the condemnations inflicted upon the\nPuseyites for having professed Catholic doctrines denied by the\nAnglican Church; and, on the other, the recapitulation of the\nprincipal acts, which have favored so-called evangelical and even\nrationalistic tendencies in the very heart of the establishment,\nand which are recalled by the names, now become so famous, of\nGorham, Hampden, and Colenso. Nor should we omit the nomination\nof a bishop of Jerusalem, made with such touching concord by\nEngland and her Protestant sister, Prussia. This characteristic\nfact impresses the seal of worldly policy on the forehead of the\nAnglican Church.\n\nWhat can make a book more attractive than fine engravings? And so\nour manual would contain the portraits of all the kings and\nqueens of England who have born the title of _Defensor\nFidei_; and, in this gallery of sovereigns, would figure in\nhis place the sombre protector Cromwell, who was a defender of\nthe faith in a manner peculiarly his own. Facing the rulers of\nEngland, we would place the popes of Rome. We should strictly\ndeny ourselves the pleasure of making any commentaries. We should\ncontent ourselves with a single exposition of authentic facts,\nand look for the fruit of our book from the grace of God, who\nenlightens the mind and touches the heart in his own good time,\nand from the good sense, the integrity, and well-known\nstraightforward spirit of the English nation.\n\nOur reader has no need for us to tell him what the subject of\nthis work would be. He sees clearly that this book of Henry VIII.\nagainst Luther, and its defence by John Fisher, Bishop of\nRochester--a book now extremely rare, buried, as it were, in the\ndust of a few libraries as an archaeological curiosity, or at\nmost only quoted to show the monstrous self-contradictions that\nHenry VIII. exhibited--that this book, we say, is the most\nauthentic and precious monument of the ancient and Catholic faith\nin England, and, at the same time, a refutation in advance of the\nAnglican schism, of all the Anglican heresies, and of the\nLutheran diatribes of Anglicanism against the pope as Antichrist,\nand Rome as a new Babylon.\n\n{260}\n\nIs there not a sign in this very work of wondrous divine\npredilection for England, and a distant preparation for a future,\nsuch as we see with so much joy, springing from the seed sown\nthen, centuries ago?\n\nIn religious and wise England many souls are eagerly seeking the\nunity and antiquity of the Christian faith; like others, who have\npreceded them in finding the fold of Christ, they are ready to\nmake the most heroic sacrifices as soon as they have discovered\nthe pearl without price. These brothers are already Catholic by\nthe aspirations of their hearts. Perhaps many belong already,\nwithout their own knowledge and without ours, to the soul of the\nonly true church, because they have validly received holy\nbaptism, which has made them members of Jesus Christ and children\nof the church; because they are only material heretics; and\nbecause they walk in humility in the way that he who is the only\nMediator attracts them by his grace. They always take a step in\nthe true faith at each new light that they receive from heaven.\nThese Christians whom we respect and love, and who love us, honor\ntheir country more than we can readily express. We cannot think\nof them without the deepest interest and sympathetic veneration.\n\nWith the exception of the trials of Pius IX., the father of the\nChristian universe, the most venerable and the most magnanimous\nof all the oppressed, except this holy, old man, this pontiff\nking, surrounded by his legion of Machabees, crowned with his\ngray locks, his virtues, and his misfortunes, we know of nothing\nso beautiful as the devotion of our Catholic brothers of England,\nScotland, and Ireland to God and his church, and the divine\nassistance which continually rallies new neophytes about them\nwhen God calls them. It is a flood destined to overspread the\nland. \"Wonderful are the surges of the sea.\" [Footnote 37]\n\n    [Footnote 37: Psalm xc. 4.]\n\nA religious of one of the missionary orders recently wrote from\nIndia concerning a Protestant lady whom he had met, and said,\n\"Her conversation made me think that she was only a Protestant by\nmistake.\" How many Englishmen to-day are only Anglicans by\nmistake!\n\nWhile the Episcopal Church is falling to pieces under the\ndisintegrating influence of Protestantism, which is its essence,\nand of rationalism, which has invaded it, as the lamented Robert\nWilberforce has clearly shown, [Footnote 38] many Christians born\nwithin its communion, but animated by a different spirit which\nurges them to the divine centre of Catholicity, are no longer\nwilling to build their faith on the shifting sand of human\nopinions, and cement a religious society by the dissolving\nprinciple of private judgment. For them the authority and the\ncommon faith of the universal church are necessary: they demand\nthe integrity of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the sacred\nguardian of apostolic traditions. For such as these, the book of\nHenry VIII. and John Fisher is a most striking monument of the\nunity and antiquity of the faith, a sort of beacon to show all in\nthe great impending shipwreck of religion in England what\ndirection they must take in order to find safety.\n\n    [Footnote 38: The principle of authority in the church.]\n\nYou who seek the unity of the faith, then, \"one heart and one\nsoul,\" [Footnote 39] see in what splendor she shines here.\n\n    [Footnote 39: Acts iv. 32.]\n\n{261}\n\nIt is the King of England, and with him the most pious and\nlearned English bishop of the sixteenth century, who makes his\nprofession of faith, who glories in his submission to the\nauthority of the pope, who defends the seven sacraments. Does a\nsingle bishop protest? Are Oxford and Cambridge silent? Do the\nsecular and regular clergy, the parliament, the laymen of every\ncondition of life, all acquiesce? Does not a single Englishman\npresent this respectful remonstrance: \"Sire, you are sacrificing\nthe rights and prerogatives of your crown! A King of England\nsubmit to the pope! Is not one king the supreme head of the\nchurch? You defend seven sacraments: how so when there are only\ntwo?\"\n\nIt was, then, evidently the faith of England that Henry VIII. and\nJohn Fisher defended; and this monument, reared before the schism\nand different creeds that it has created, shows us that those who\nwould dare to deny the doctrines there put forth would be\nconsidered innovators, which, in the church of Jesus Christ, has\nalways been considered synonymous with heretics.\n\nBut if this book is the monument of the faith of England in the\nsixteenth century, before 1534, it is at the same time a monument\nof the Roman faith, that is to say, of the faith of the Catholic\nChurch. At that time, when the pontiffs were more than usually\nvigilant on account of the heresies which were springing up in\nthe various countries of Europe, two popes, Leo X. and Clement\nVII., were not content with sanctioning the work of Henry VIII.,\nbut gave and confirmed to him the title of the \"Defender of the\nFaith.\" England declared her belief; Rome, and through her the\nCatholic Church, answered: \"Your faith is ours; we congratulate\nyou on your able defence of it.\" Here was indeed unity and\nunanimity.\n\nIs this all the light that we can gather from this source? This\nmonument was erected in the midst of the religious life of\nEngland, between its Roman Catholic past, of more than a thousand\nyears from the birth of the Anglo-Saxon Church, and its\nschismatic future, which would count more than three hundred\nyears. Nowhere can one better stand to see the different policies\nand course travelled by England than here: once as the cherished\ndaughter of the Roman Church, the sister of Catholic nations; and\nthen how she has changed since she rebelled against Rome, and has\ngone on in her isolation, sufficient for herself, Christian in\nher own way, even while an oecumenical council was assembled.\n\nThe Roman Catholic past of England is known by the certain\nevidence of history; and from the monument of Henry VIII., which\ncan well be considered its terminus, we propose to cast a hasty\nglance at its most distant events; and of these by far the most\ninteresting are the glorious acts of the pontificate of Pope St.\nGregory the Great, who sent missionaries to convert his dear\nEnglish, although yet idolaters, and who chose their first bishop\nfrom the Benedictine monks of his convent at Rome. What unity,\nwhat unanimity between Rome and England in the time of the monk\nSt. Augustine! It was the union of a daughter and mother: it was\nprecisely the same union, the same faith, in the sixth as in the\nsixteenth century, until 1534.\n\nThe sixth century makes us go far back in the history of the\nchurch; but, in admiring the apostolic works of St. Augustine and\nhis companion, we find about them precious and striking witnesses\nof a past yet more distant.\n{262}\nSt. Augustine convokes the bishops of the Britons to beg them to\naid him in converting the Saxons to Christianity. He\nacknowledged, then, that the Britons were in the same communion,\nand professed the same Roman Catholic faith. Indeed, if the\nBritons were wrong in refusing their help, it was only because of\ntheir hatred against their oppressors, for the ancient British\nChurch was never separated from the communion of the Roman\nChurch, never lost the purity of the Catholic faith. [Footnote\n40]\n\n    [Footnote 40: See _The Monks of the West_,\n    by M. le Comte de Montalembert.]\n\nPelagius, it is true, was a Briton, and his heresy, which he\nfirst sowed at Rome, was not long in reaching Great Britain, yet\nit never took deep root there. The British Catholics sent a\ndeputation to the bishops of Gaul, urging them to send a number\nof missionaries to them. Pope Celestine, warned of the danger to\nthe faith, sent St. Germain of Auxerre; the bishops of Gaul,\nassembled for this purpose, added St. Loup of Troyes. These two\ngreat bishops left their peaceful flocks in all haste to come to\nthe rescue of the invaded folds; and while they were working so\nfaithfully for the glory of God and of his holy church, all\nCatholic Gaul was praying most fervently for its sister, Great\nBritain. Pelagianism was vanquished and found no home in the land\nof Pelagius; it was in another land that it made its most\ndeplorable ravages.\n\nThus it was in Great Britain that the bishops, who are\nestablished by the Holy Spirit to govern the church, [Footnote\n41] triumphed over this sad and insidious heresy, when they were\nfree to exercise their divine mission in that country, and when\nthey were closely united to the centre of unity.\n\n    [Footnote 41: Acts xx. 28.]\n\nThere was something like it in the fourteenth century, when the\nheresy of Wickliff arose. He was condemned by the council of\nLondon, (1382,) although an Englishman, and one who had studied\nat Oxford, and who had been the principal of the College of\nCanterbury, at once the flatterer and the favorite of his\nsovereigns. His doctrine, which contained the germ of all the\nAnglicanism of the time of Elizabeth, caused considerable trouble\nin England; but, thanks to the firmness of the episcopate, these\ntroubles are not to be compared with those from which Bohemia\nsuffered, where John Huss taught the same heresy.\n\nBefore the Anglican \"reform,\" which has created a system before\nunheard of, and which unites calumny with historical delusions,\nevery Englishman was proud to claim for his country the honor of\nhaving preserved the faith always in its purity from the time\nthat the gospel had first been preached there. [Footnote 42]\n\n    [Footnote 42: According to the Venerable Bede, Catholic\n    missionaries were sent there in the second century of our\n    era, by Pope Eleutherius.]\n\nWas England, then, in error? If so, she has deceived herself and\nall Christendom; and this universal error has lasted from the\npontificate of Pope St. Eleutherius, to that of Pope Clement\nVII., a period of more than thirteen hundred and fifty years! We\nmust say that anyone who looks upon this fact as of slight\nimportance would greatly astonish us. Where do they think that\nthe true church of Jesus Christ was during these long centuries,\nthat church against which the gates of hell shall not prevail?\n[Footnote 43] Did it disappear, this city of God, which was to be\nplaced on the mountain and seen by all people? [Footnote 44]\nSurely the spirit of delusion and darkness must be very potent\nwhen it can make a pious Englishman declare that the glory of the\nEnglish Church was reduced to nothing before the sixteenth\ncentury, and that then Henry VIII. and Cranmer, an infamous\nlibertine and his servile courtier, were raised up to open a new\ncareer to her.\n\n    [Footnote 43: St. Mark xvi. 18.]\n\n    [Footnote 44: St. Matthew v. 14.]\n\n{263}\n\nYet England, notwithstanding its modern religious state, is not\nrevolutionary. She loves order as warmly as she does liberty.\nEven in religion, she desires by subordination the only means of\npreserving it.\n\nHow much light for Anglicans of good faith (and they are\nnumerous) shines in the violent and even indecent attacks made by\ntheir preachers and historians upon the greatest names of\nCatholic England--names that England revered in former times with\nthe whole Christian world--names still dear to the Catholic\nChurch, albeit they are now almost unknown in England. To efface\nso much glory, it was needful that a new kind of glory should\nappear and dazzle by its very contrast.\n\nAt the end of 1534, and still more definitively in 1559, at the\ncommencement of the reign of Elizabeth, the Roman Catholic Church\nand the Anglican Church were violently separated; they no more\nprofess the same creed, they have no longer the same worship,\ntheir hierarchies are strangers, they mutually reproach each with\nnot being the true church of Jesus Christ. It is from the\nmonument of Henry VIII. and John Fisher that we can see the\ndifferent paths they followed and the daily increasing difference\nwhich has separated them.\n\nFor the Roman Church this epoch was one of those glorious\nepiphanies which our Lord Jesus Christ prepares for it in\ndifferent times, and of which the joys are sown in tears. After a\nsterile and desolate winter a spring appeared for the divine\ntree, full of sap, and perfumed with celestial blossoms, followed\nby a summer and autumn, rich in precious fruits of sanctity, of\nknowledge, and charity. The Council of Trent was convoked in 1542\nby Paul III. for the spread and exaltation of the Christian\nfaith, for the extirpation of heresies, the peace and union of\nthe church, _for the reformation of the clergy and the\nChristian people_, for the repression and extinction of the\nenemies of the Christian name. The evils that existed were\nfearful. The holy council, with the divine assistance, acquitted\nitself of its task in a manner which would bring a speedy and\ncertain remedy to all the prevalent abuses. God, the supreme King\nof kings, recompensed so many generous efforts on the part of his\nfaithful people by according to them, before the end of the\nsixteenth century, under the glorious pontificate of St. Pius V.,\nthat memorable victory of Lepanto, which crowned the work of the\ncrusades and shattered for ever the power of the Mussulman.\n\nBut what avail the laws the most salutary in the bosom of nations\nprofoundly ignorant and deeply corrupt, if there do not rise in\ntheir midst men powerful in word and work to instruct them, and,\nabove all, to regenerate them by the irresistible attraction of\nthe most heroic virtue? It was then God raised up in Italy, in\nFrance, in Spain, in Germany, _true reformers_, who, after\nthe example of their divine Master, began to act before they\nbegan to teach. Their names are too well known to need mention\nhere. They compelled men to acknowledge the divine tree by its\nfruits. They professed the faith proclaimed by the Council of\nTrent, which was nothing else than the faith of Nice in its\nlegitimate development. The faith of Nice was the faith of the\napostles. This faith of the apostles, of Nice, of all the\noecumenical councils, is the faith to-day of the Roman Church in\nthe solemn profession of faith of Pius. IV., which is a\n_r\u00e9sum\u00e9_ of all the doctrine of the holy Council of Trent.\n\n{264}\n\nAs for England, in separating from the Roman Church she commenced\nthe history of her variations: she entered upon that downward\npath of religious decline which naturally ends in a sudden\ndescent into the gulf of scepticism. With a creed subject to the\nchanging will of man, she was Anglican after one fashion under\nHenry VIII., after another fashion under Edward VI., after a\nthird under Elizabeth, and now, to the inexpressible confusion\nand grief of those pious Christians born and nurtured in the\nbosom of the established church, she has arrived, step by step,\nat a point where she offers the spectacle of a chaos of\nincoherent doctrines, some true, some false, some orthodox,\nothers heretical, some pious, others monstrously wicked, but all\ntolerated out of respect for the genius of the individuals who\ntook the pains to invent them; all publicly and peaceably taught\nbeneath the standard of the Thirty-nine Articles. _Le pavilion\ncouvre la marchandise_.\n\nWhile so many great servants of God and his poor, venerated and\nblessed throughout the rest of Christendom, adorned the Roman\nChurch, unfortunate England, shut up in its island and still\ncloser imprisoned by an atrocious religious persecution, saw\ngenerations of her children grow up in hate, contempt, and horror\nof popery and papists. Every source of education, all the pulpits\nof the Anglican Church, all books allowed to be published, helped\nto keep up this spirit of ignorant and bigoted hate against the\nchurch of God.\n\nWhile St. Vincent de Paul, that great reformer of the clergy and\nsaintly founder of world-wide works of charity, prepared,\ntogether with so many other apostolic men, the glory and\nprosperity of our present great age; in sanctifying the family,\ndivinely instituted as the practical school of social virtues; in\narousing a spirit of generous devotion and sacrifice which led\nmen to comfort all forms of misery and reconcile rich and\npoor--those brethren so easily made enemies--England was\ndeprived of all her religious orders, consecrated in former times\nto the service of the poor and the sick, to the education of\nyouth, to the stubborn labors of science, to the contemplation of\ndivine things, to the crucified life, the life of prayer, the\nlife of the soul, against which the world blasphemes because it\ncannot comprehend it. She lost the blessings of a celibate\nclergy: she was despoiled of the sacred patrimony of the poor by\nher king and lords, who distributed it among themselves, together\nwith the greater part of the wealth of the church, as the enemy's\nspoils are divided and shared after a victory. (We intend to be\npolite.) England beheld the wound of pauperism open wider each\nday, and found herself forced to have recourse to the poor-tax,\nunheard of in old Catholic times. Within her boundaries will be\nfound to-day an excessive wealth in face of poverty unknown\nelsewhere. By the constant progress of science and industry,\nmachine labor tends to replace the labor of the individual, and\nself-aggrandizement diminishes wages in proportion as it augments\nthe daily task of the workman. What a harvest would be offered to\nthe works of Catholic charity if her divine activity were only\nthere to replace the horrible workhouses where souls are\nwithering and dying! We yet have in France and elsewhere the\nmoney of St. Vincent de Paul in an innumerable number of works of\ncharity truly Christian, and that enables us to live without\ntaxing the poor.\n\n{265}\n\nSuch are the different paths which the Roman and Anglican Church\nhave followed since the deplorable schism of Henry VIII., renewed\nand aggravated under Elizabeth. If before his death Henry VIII.\nhad repented of his wicked attack upon the church, what would he\nhave been obliged to do to reconcile himself with Rome? He would\nhave needed only to return to that profession of faith which he\nmade in his book against Luther. Since the beginning of the\nAnglican schism, and at any point of its successive variations,\nany Englishman, to return to the bosom of the Catholic Church,\nwould have nothing to do but to return to that same profession,\nconformable in every point to the profession of faith of Pius IV.\nThis is what has been done in our own day by Father Spencer,\nArchbishop Manning, Fathers Newman and Faber, Palmer and\nWilberforce, and a host of others, eminent for their virtues,\ntheir knowledge, their public and private character, whom no\nEnglishman capable of appreciating the merit of sacrifices made\nfor God and in fidelity to conscience can name without respect\nand pride.\n\nBut possibly some of our readers may be astonished that we insist\nso strongly upon the book written by Henry VIII., for it might\nseem that the shameful life of the author reflects discredit upon\nthe work. Let us not be mistaken. In the first place, when Henry\nVIII. wrote against Luther, he was very far from being the\nmonster of iniquity which he became afterward, and whose history\nI leave to the severe judgment of a Christian Tacitus. Again, it\nis important to understand that Henry VIII. was not the sole\nauthor of this monument of his former faith reared by his hand\nfourteen years before his apostasy. The universal judgment of\ncritics has always attributed the more solid part of the work, at\nleast, to John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, who assumed\nostensibly all the responsibility of it in the public defence he\nmade of it.\n\nThus we see, on the one hand, Henry VIII., who, after putting\nforth his work with so much ostentation, belied it without shame\nand strove to mutilate it; and, on the other, John Fisher, who\nplants it upon the immovable rock where he had taken his place,\nand with glorious magnanimity sacrifices his life to defend it\nThis is the choice offered. He who returns to the ancient faith\nof Henry VIII. separates himself from the tyrant and the\nmurderer, and joins himself to the company of his victim. He\nranks himself beside the glorious martyr who, during the second\nhalf of King Henry's reign, was, of all the episcopate of\nEngland, the only guardian left of English honor, and the last\nchampion of the liberty of conscience.\n\nAn unwelcome truth, but a hard fact. In 1521, at the time of the\npublication of the king's book against Luther, the whole English\nepiscopate most undoubtedly believed in the primacy of the pope\nwith Fisher, with Henry VIII., with all the Catholic Church, and\nin no sense believed in the spiritual supremacy of the king. Then\nthere was unity and unanimity, and the present and past of\nEngland were in harmony. But in 1534 the king changes his\ndoctrine, and with him the whole episcopate and parliament. One\nEnglish bishop only was found to display the firmness of a Basil,\na Hilary, an Athanasius, an Ambrose, a Chrysostom, a Lanfranc, an\nAnselm, an Edward, a Thomas of Canterbury. The number of the\ncowards does but make the immortal beauty of the contrast shine\nout with the greater splendor. How many rough stones are not\nthrown together pell-mell in their shapelessness and obscurity,\nto form the foundation of the pedestal of one chosen stone,\ncarved with the sublime inspiration of genius by the chisel of a\nMichael Angelo, to become the statue of a great man!\n\n{266}\n\nIf John Fisher, like the heroic Thomas More, had not the support\nof his own nation, he had that of all Christendom. Yes, the\nmonument of John Fisher is worthy to become the rallying point of\nevery generous-hearted Christian Englishman, who ardently looks\nfor the realization of the promise and dearest wish of our common\nRedeemer and Saviour, Jesus Christ--There shall be one flock and\none Shepherd.\n\nWith what indescribable emotion the heart of an Englishman must\nbeat when, after a long interior combat with so many prejudices\nin which he has been nurtured, he at last breaks the chains of\nhis slavery, and when, feeling himself free with that liberty\nwhich only a Catholic can feel, he cries out: \"I'll do it: I\nabjure the schism of Henry VIII., the creed of Cranmer and\nParker; I will go back to the faith of John Fisher!\"\n\nSuch, doubtless, were the sentiments of the pious and learned\nRobert Wilberforce when he returned to the bosom of the holy\nCatholic Church. His words, so serious, so marked by the ardent\nlove of truth, so touching in their tone of respect and fraternal\ncharity for his adversaries, fall upon our ears in accents of\nmajestic solemnity as they echo back to us from the depths of the\ntomb. This is what his hand has written whose memory is enshrined\nin the noblest hearts:\n\n  \"When national distinctions cease to exist, and mankind, small\n  and great, are assembled before God, it will be seen whether it\n  was wiser, like Henry VIII. and his minion Cromwell, to break\n  up the Church Catholic for the sake of ruling it, or, like More\n  and Fisher, to die for its unity.\"\n\n\n--------\n\n\n    Seventy-three.\n\n  Be merry as May,\n    If you want to be\n  As merry and gay,\n    At seventy-three.\n\n  To be merry and gay\n    Though, at seventy-three,\n  Argues Life's primal May\n    Spent virtuously.\n\n      T. K.\n\n\n--------\n\n\n\n\n\n{267}\n\n    A Winged Word.\n\n    \"O power of life and death\n     In the tongue! as the preacher saith.\"\n\n\nMr. Basil Andrew paused in writing and held his pen suspended,\nhis breath also slightly in suspense, as he contemplated his\nsubject anew. He had been reviewing a theological work just\npublished; but his thoughts had developed as he dwelt on them,\nand were no longer a plan, but the torso of a plan.\n\nHe sat like one in a trance while the new idea grew; grew slowly,\nalmost painfully, seeming to find scant room in his brain, albeit\nhis brows were wide. Touches from the utmost limits of his nature\nand his experience shaped and modified it: the swell of feeling\nwith the ray of intellect that ruled its tide; vague emotions and\nvaguer speculations, in whose mists sparks of truth were\ndissipated, from whose sudden meeting had sometimes sprung the\nelectric flash of intelligence; aspirations that had climbed\ntheir Jacob's ladder, reason fixing the rounds till the climbers\ntook wings, and dazzled her with their transfigured faces;\nfragments of knowledge hard and sharp-edged; stray conclusions\nfinding their premises, and stray premises their\nconclusions--mallet and handle for blows--all working the shape\ntill there it stood in his brain, the perfect form of a truth.\n\nOne instant he contemplated it with rapture, while it glowed\nalive under his gaze; the next, he looked outward and perceived\nits relations with the world. As he did so, a wave of color swept\nover his face; and, heart failing, that form was no longer to him\na living truth, but the statue of a truth.\n\n\"I might have known,\" he muttered, flinging his pen aside, \"for\nme, at least, 'all roads lead to Rome.' I believe I am\nbewitched.\"\n\nWith that flush still upon his face, he rolled up the unfinished\nmanuscript, and deliberately laid it on the coals that burned\nredly in the grate, where it quivered like a sentient thing. One\nmight fancy that the thoughts just warm from his brain still\nretained some clinging sensation, telling where their rest had\nbeen, as, stepping ashore, for a while we continue to feel the\nmotion of the sea on which we have been tossing. Then the edges\nof the leaves blackened, slender fingers of flame stole over\nthem, opened them out, drew rustling leaf from leaf, scorching\nthem, till one sentence started out vivid as lightning on a\ncloud, that sentence on which he had paused, finding it not a\nconclusion, but an indication. Then a strong draught caught the\nyet quivering cinders and carried them up the chimney.\n\n\"There they go in a swirl, like Dante's ghosts,\" he thought; and\nturned away to look out into the north-eastern storm that, having\nbrushed the bloom from a crimson sunrising, was now, at\nafternoon, rushing in power over the city. The air was thick with\nsnow, through which, far aloft, dark objects occasionally sailed\nwith the wind-witches, probably. Passers struggled in wind and\ndrift, and the houses seemed not sure of their footing, and had a\nforlorn and smothered aspect. But Mr. Andrew perceived with\nsatisfaction that the mansion in which he dwelt maintained its\ndignified dowager port, and that, if ever a feathery drift\npresumed to alight on the doorsteps, an obsequious little flirt\nof wind darted round a corner of the house and whisked it off.\n\n{268}\n\nWhile the gentleman stood there, the door of the room opened for\nthe first time in three hours, and Miss Madeleine, Mrs. Hayward's\nniece, came in with a book in her hand. He watched her as she\ncrossed the room without noticing him, and, when she had seated\nherself at another window, he breathed out, \"How sweet is\nsolitude!\" speaking in one of those cloudy, golden voices, such a\nvoice as might have swept over the chords of David's harp when\nDavid sang.\n\nThe lady looked up, brightening for an instant as though shone\nupon. Then she opened her book, and Mr. Andrew returned to his\ntable and read also. And there was silence for another hour.\n\nMr. Basil Andrew was in person rather superb, tall till he bent\nslightly with a languid grace, which also hung about his motions\nand his speech. But when he was excited, these mists were\nscorched up. Then he grew erect as a palm-tree, the not large but\nbeautifully shaped eyes flashed out their crystalline blue, and\ndelicate lines trembled or hardened in mouth and nostril. Then,\ntoo, it appeared that those tones of his could ring as well as\nmelt. If it be true that \"soul is the form, and doth the body\nmake,\" the philosophical reader may be able to guess the shape of\nhis nose and chin. Lavater would have pronounced favorably\nconcerning his intellect from seeing only that significant inch\nacross the brows. In color he was white and flaxen-haired, but\nhad some indefinable glow about him, like a pale object seen in a\nwarm light.\n\nMr. Andrew at thirty-five years of age found himself in that\npause of life which, in natures too well poised for violent\nreaction, comes between the disgust of unsatisfying pursuit and\nthe adoption of higher aims, or the disdainful and\nhalf-despairing resumption of the former life. He awaited the\ninspiring circumstance which should waft him hither or thither,\nor perhaps for his soul to gather itself and make its own will\nthe wind's will, whichever might be more potential. Pending this\nafflatus, interior or exterior, he rested upon life\n\n  \"As idle as a painted ship\n   Upon a painted ocean.\"\n\nMiss Madeleine was a well enough young woman, baptized into the\nchurch, but from an early age subjected to Protestant influences;\noscillating between the two, never very conspicuously Catholic\nexcept when the faith was assailed, then _plus Arabe que\nl'Arabie;_ at other times following out Protestantism to its\nultimate pantheism. She had a dimly remembered father and mother\nsomewhere in church suffering or triumphant, and occasionally,\nwhen life seemed to her unstable, she sent out a little prayer\nfor or to them, a prayer too weak to find olive-leaves. This\nyoung woman was not without power, but it escaped in reverie and\ndreaming; what she meant to do so vividly imagined that she\nrested there as on accomplished work. Too impetuous and flimsily\nambitious to think with profit, her mind was encumbered with\nfragments of thought, often with a sparkle in them, like the\nbroken snow-crystals she now dropped her book to watch. In fine,\nher outer life was a purposeless stupor, her inner life one of\nCarlyle's \"enchanted nightmares\" in miniature.\n\n{269}\n\nAs the clock struck four, Mr. Andrew closed his book and\napproached his companion.\n\n\"I have been reading Thoreau's description of autumn woods,\" she\nsaid, \"and I feel all colored. I am steeped in crimson, and\npurple, and amber, and rich tawny browns. My eyes are violet, and\nmy hair is golden.\"\n\n\"Your hair is brown, and your eyes are gray,\" was the\nmatter-of-fact reply, it being Mr. Andrew's opinion that the\ngirl's mind needed ballast.\n\n\"What book have you there?\" she asked, settling into place.\n\n\"Oh!\" just aware he still held it, \"it is Father de Ravignan's\n_Society and Institute of the Jesuits_--very good if one\ndesires information on the subject. Moreover, one is charmed to\nlearn that P\u00e8re de Ravignan, though himself a Jesuit, has been a\nmagistrate and a man of his time; also that he is still a man,\nand, _par excellence_, a Frenchman. The good father becomes\na little Hugoish and staccato when he refers to himself.\"\n\nSince she still waited, watching him with eager, imperative eyes,\nhe went on. \"You know the story of the Florentine and Genoese who\nwished to compliment each other: 'If I were not a Genoese, I\nshould wish to be a Florentine,' said one. 'And I,' said the\nother, 'if I were not a Florentine, should wish to be--' 'A\nGenoese!' suggested the other. 'No, a Florentine!' So I, if I\nwere not a free-thinker, would wish to be--\"\n\n\"A Catholic!\" the girl broke in. \"Don't deny. You already tire of\nyour Theodore Parker, whose intellect was to him what astronomers\ncall a crown of aberration. You have but to look at the church,\nand faith is easy! How beautiful are thy steps, O prince's\ndaughter!\"\n\n\"Very pretty, but not very conclusive,\" was the cool comment.\n\"You once said to me, 'Epithets are not arguments.' Allow me to\nretort that apostrophes are not arguments. By the way, how\nimpossible it is to calculate on where you may be found, except\nthat it is sure to be 'in _issimo_.' The arc of your motion\ntakes in both poles.\"\n\nMiss Madeleine relapsed again immediately, and with a somewhat\nweary expression.\n\nAt the same moment the door opened wide, and Mrs. Hayward\nentered, producing the effect of being preceded by a band of\nmusic. This lady of fifty was ample, rustling, and complacent,\nand, being lymphatic, was called dignified. If, on being left a\nwidow in straitened circumstances, and finding herself obliged to\ntake a few boarders, Mrs. Hayward had felt any sense of\ndiminished social lustre, no one had perceived it. \"They pay my\nhousekeeping expenses,\" she said serenely; and immediately that\nseemed the end of their being.\n\nThere is something imposing in the suave conceit of such persons.\nPossessing themselves so completely, they also possess those who\napproach them, abashing larger and more slowly ripening natures.\nNames respectfully pronounced by them become at once names of\nconsequence, and trivial incidents by them related swell into\nsignificant events. If they are something, then I am nothing, is\nthe thought with which we approach them; and the fact that they\nare something seems so clear that the mortifying conclusion is\ninevitable.\n\nAfter this lady followed Mrs. Blake, obviously the wife of Mr.\nBlake, also the mother of an uproarious boy of six years who\naccompanied her, and who was at this moment quieted by the\npossession of an enormous cake which he was devouring.\n\n{270}\n\n\"O the cherub!\" cried Miss Madeleine wickedly. \"That child has\ngenius. See, he eats his cake in the epical manner, beginning in\nthe middle. Little pocket edition of his papa! Only,\" in an aside\nto her aunt, \"I hope they haven't stereotyped him. And here comes\nhis papa now.\"\n\nA bang of the street-door, and enter Mr. Blake, rubbing his\nhands, and quoting,\n\n  'It is not that my lot is low,\n  That bids the silent tear to flow;'\n\nit is the cold. No, my son; no kiss now. Sydney Smith says that\nthere is no affection beyond seventy or below twenty degrees\nFahrenheit. Wait till I rise to the paternal temperature.\"\n\nMr. Blake was assistant editor of a second-class magazine,\nconsidered himself literary, and had a way of saying \"we\nscribblers\" to Mr. Andrew, which made that gentleman stiffen\nslightly. While the one entertained the ladies with an account of\nthe immense amount of literary labor performed by him since\nbreakfast, the other looked from the window and absently watched\nthe wild wind curl itself to edge off the crest of a drift,\ncurling it over like the petal of a tuberose, but more thinly,\nhanging, wavering, flake to flake, daintily and airily touching\nthe frail crystals.\n\n\"Oh! there's to be a great Christmas at your cathedral\nto-morrow,\" Mr. Blake said to Madeleine, as they went out to\ndinner. \"Bassoon's going to sing, and Kohn's orchestra to play.\nIt will be worth seeing and hearing, especially at five o'clock.\nI mean to go if I can wake. And you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Madeleine said, glancing at Mr. Andrews, who flushed a\nlittle as he nodded acquiescence.\n\n\"'Similia similibus curantur,'\" he thought. \"I'll go and get\ncured.\"\n\n\"They really do things of that sort well at the cathedral,\" said\nMrs. Hayward patronizingly, seeming to pat a personified\ncathedral on the head as she softly touched the table with her\nplump white hand.\n\nMadeleine groaned inwardly.\n\n\"Mr. Andrew,\" she said, \"what should put me in mind of the frog\nthat tried to swell to the size of an ox?\"\n\nMr. Andrew found himself unable to guess.\n\n\"But wouldn't it have been odd,\" she pursued, with the air of a\nphilosophical child, \"if the frog had succeeded, and had swelled\nto the size of an ox?\"\n\nMr. Andrew admitted that it would have been a phenomenon.\n\n\"But,\" she concluded, with an air of infantile _naivet\u00e9_,\n\"it wouldn't have been anything but a great frog, would it?\"\n\n\"My dear, what are you talking about?\" said her aunt. \"Pray eat\nyour dinner.\"\n\n\"Christmas-eve is a fast-day of obligation,\" says Madeleine.\n\nA little raising of three pairs of eyebrows fanned the flame.\nThis young woman had a tongue of her own, and while the others\ndined she entertained them with a theological discourse, which,\nif not always logical, had some telling points, and which\ncertainly did not assist the digestion of her hearers. They sat\nwith very red faces, choking a little, but trying to appear\nindifferent.\n\n\"Do people take bitters with their dinner?\" asked Mr. Andrew, at\nlength. \"I should think it would spoil the taste.\"\n\n\"I must say, Madeleine,\" Mrs. Hayward interposed, \"that,\nconsidering you address Protestants, and that we are all friends\nof yours, you show very little regard for our feelings.\"\n\n{271}\n\nThe best thing that could have been said. Madeleine melted at\nonce.\n\n\"O auntie!\" she cried penitently, \"'it is not that I love Caesar\nless, but Rome more.' I own that it is you who have shown the\nChristian spirit, and reminded me that centuries ago to-night the\nangels sang 'Peace on earth.' I'm going to banish myself in\ndisgrace to the parlor. Rest you merry.\"\n\nGoing, into the parlor, she saw all out-doors suffused with a\nsoft rose-color, a blush so tender and evanescent that it seemed\neverywhere but where the eye rested. \"The sky side of this storm\nis all a sea of fire,\" she thought, throwing up the window, and\ndrawing in a delicious breath of mingled sunshine, west wind, and\nfrost. \"How the clouds melt! And the winds and sunbeams, with\ntheir convex gleams, build up the blue dome of the air.\"\n\nComing in later, the others found her sitting at the piano in the\namethystine twilight, and singing a faint and far-away sounding\nGloria.\n\n\"Hush!\" said Mr. Blake, pausing on the threshold, \"the evening\nstars have begun, that the morning stars may know. See them all\nof a tremor on that sky!\"\n\nListening to those strains of threaded silver, Mr. Andrew sat\nlooking into the twilight through which the grander\nconstellations burned with outlines unblurred by the lesser\nstars. There was Orion, erect, with his girdle of worlds; Taurus,\nwith starred horns lowered; the Dogs, witnessed to by the liquid\nbrilliance of Sirius, matchless in shifting hues; the Lion, just\ncoming out of the East, his great paw resting on the ecliptic;\nall those hieroglyphs of fire in which God has written his\nautograph upon the heavens.\n\n\"What a pretty myth it was,\" he thought, \"that of the\nmorning-stars singing together. And that other of the star of\nBethlehem!\" He half-wished he could believe those things, they\nsaved so much weary thought, so much maddening speculation.\nSometimes, while straining to grasp at extraordinary knowledge,\nhe had felt as though falling from a giddy height into an outer\ndarkness, and had drawn back shuddering, eager to catch at some\nhomely fact for support. He smiled now mockingly to himself.\n\"Perhaps the stars did sing. Like a child, I'm going to make\nbelieve they did, and that one 'handmaid lamp' did attend the\nbirth of Jesus.\" It was easier to believe anything while he\nlistened to that Gloria. For, disregarded as Miss Madeleine might\nbe at other times, when she sang she was regnant. Her voice was\nmagnetic enough to draw the links from any man's logic.\n\nCeasing, she called Mr. and Mrs. Blake to the piano, and the\nthree voices sang Milton's Hymn on the Nativity.\n\nIt is astonishing how magnificently some small-souled persons do\ncontrive to sing, expressing sentiments which they must be\ntotally incapable of experiencing. Mrs. Blake sang a superb\ncontralto, and the three perfect voices struck fire from one\nlistener's heart as they beat the emphatic rhythm of that\nmajestical measure.\n\nAll but Miss Madeleine went to bed early. She kept vigil, and was\nto call them. They seemed scarcely to have slept when they heard\nher voice ring up the stairs in the muezzin which she\nchristianized for the occasion, being in no mood to call Mohammed\na prophet:\n\n  \"Great is the Lord! Great is the Lord!\n   I bear witness that there is no God but the Lord!\n   I bear witness that Jesus is the Son of God!\n   Come unto prayer--come unto happiness--\n   Great is the Lord! Great is the Lord!\n   There is no God but the Lord!\n   Prayer is better than sleep--prayer is better than sleep!\"\n\n{272}\n\nAs the last word died upon the air, every foot touched the floor,\nand in half an hour the party had gathered as wild as witches.\n\nMr. Andrew came down late and grumbling. \"Cannot we hear music\nand see candles without getting out of bed for the purpose at\nsuch unearthly hours? I had just gone to sleep, and was in\nElysium. Miss Madeleine, why should you say that prayer is better\nthan sleep? We are not going to pray; we are going to hear\ndemi-semi-quavers, and Mr. Bassoon's C in the deeps. I'll go to\nbed again.\"\n\n\"Possibly we may pray, Mr. Andrew,\" she said in a low tone. \"I\nhave been thinking to-night, and it seems to me that God had a\nSon, and that he will come down this morning and stand in the\nmidst of the candles.\"\n\nA Catholic, unless a convert, can scarcely understand the\nemotions of a stranger who enters a church for the first time on\none of our great festivals. That \"cool, silver shock\" must be\ntaken from another element. Our party stepped from the dim and\nfrosty starlight into an illumination more dazzling than\ndaylight, into a warmth that was fragrant with flowers, into a\ncrowd where every face had a smile dissolved in it. And over all\nwaved a sparkling tissue of violin music from the orchestra.\n\n\"By George!\" was Mr. Blake's only audible comment.\n\n\"It is like the Arabian Nights!\" exclaimed his wife.\n\n\"Turns up the mastodon strata in them,\" whispered Mr. Andrew to\nthe lady on his arm.\n\nThey were shown to seats, and sat watching the steadily\nincreasing crowd, and the altar that was a pyramid of fire. The\nworshippers were, of course, various: ragged Irish women, whose\nfaith invested them with better than cloth of gold; rich ladies,\nsweeping in velvets and sables, but with thoughts of better\nthings in their faces; ambitious working-girls, finer than their\nmistresses. A pretty young woman came into the slip in front of\nour party, her face beautifully arranged to represent modesty and\nsweetness. She cast a glance behind at her audience, then sank\nupon her knees and beat her breast with one hand, while she\narranged her bonnet-strings with the other. This performance at\nan end, she faced about and closely scanned the gallery, turning\nagain and again till those behind her began to feel annoyed.\n\n\"I do wish he'd come!\" said Madeleine impatiently.\n\n\"He has come,\" whispered Mr. Andrew, as the young woman suddenly\nreturned toward the altar, and began a series of languishing\nattitudes and prostrations, all her _repertoire_ of\ntheatrical devotion.\n\nA grand-looking man next attracted their attention, walking past\nwith the unmistakable sailor roll. His head was erect, and his\nmassive shoulders looked fit for Atlas burdens; but the clear,\nblue eyes were gentle, and his face was full of a beautiful\nsolemnity and reverence. As he walked, the long, tawny beard\nflowing down his breast waved slightly.\n\nMadeleine gave Mr. Andrew's arm a delighted squeeze, and\nwhispered,\n\n  'With many a tempest had his beard been shaken.'\n\nFancy him on the ship's deck, in mid-ocean, in darkness and\nstorm, beaten by the wind, drenched with spray, the lightnings\nblazing and the thunders crashing about him, shouting to the men\nto cut the mast away!\"\n\n{273}\n\nHere the organ and choir broke forth in glad acclaim, and the\nprocession came winding in from the sacristy. Cloth of gold and\ncloth of silver, lace and fine linen, and crimson and purple, all\ncombined, gave the effect of a many-jewelled band coiled about\nthe sanctuary.\n\nAttending alternately to the altar and the choir, Mr. Andrew\ntried to believe it all a vain pageant; but thoughts will enter,\nthough the doors be shut. What a stupendous thing, he thought, if\nthe Real Presence were true; if, as this girl said, God had a\nSon, and he should come down this morning and stand in the midst\nof the candles!\n\nFor one instant he was dazzled and confounded by the possibility;\nthe next, he recoiled from it.\n\n\"Gloria in excelsis\" sang the choir with organ and orchestra in\nmany an involved and thrilling strain, a pure melody springing up\nhere and there from the midst, voice and instrument meeting and\nparting, catching the tone from each other, swelling till the\nvaulted roof of the cathedral rang, fading again, dropping away\none after another, till there was left but a many-toned sigh of\ninstruments, and one voice hanging far aloft, with a silvery\nflutter, upon a trill, like a humming-bird sucking the sweetness\nfrom that flower of sound. A pause of palpitating silence, then\nan amen that set swinging the myrtle vines hanging over the St.\nCecilia in front of the organ, and made the pennons of blue and\nscarlet that hung about the altar wave on their standards.\n\nContrary to custom, there was to be a sermon at that Mass, and,\nas the preacher ascended the pulpit, Mr. Andrew said to himself:\n\"If Christ was the Son of God, he is on that altar; and if there,\nI wish he would speak to me by this man.\"\n\nHe hoped to hear an argument to prove the divinity of Christ, not\naware that his reason had already been pampered with such until\nit had grown insolent. The speaker, however, handled his subject\nquite otherwise. Assuming that divinity, he took for his theme,\n\"what thoughts should fill the mind, what sentiments dilate the\nheart,\" on the feast of the Nativity. Calling up before them\nthen, in a few words, a picture of that scene at once so humble\nand so marvellous, and pointing to the mysterious babe, he boldly\nannounced on the threshold of his discourse the difficulties\nconnected with the dogma for which he demanded their homage:\n\n\"This babe is a creature as you and I: this babe is the Creator\nof all contingent being. This babe is just born; this babe is\nfrom all eternity. This babe is contained in the manger; this\nbabe pervades all space. It suffers: hear its cries! It enjoys\nbliss beyond power of augmentation. It is poor: see the\nswaddling-clothes! To it belong the treasures of the universe.\nHere present are husband and wife; yet I am required to believe\nthat her the Holy Spirit overshadowed, a virgin conceived, a\nvirgin bore a Son.\"\n\nNot Ulysses' arrow flew through the rings with surer, swifter aim\nthan these words through the winding doubts that had bound that\nlistener's heart. It was too sublime not to be true! Almost the\ntriumphant paradox--I believe, because it is impossible--broke\nfrom his lips. The human mind was incapable of inventing a\nfalsity so glorious.\n\nIn that tumult of feeling he lost what came next; but, listening\nagain, heard: \"If I must bow down and worship, I elect him as the\nobject of my adoration whose dwelling is in light inaccessible,\nwho is inscrutable in his nature, and incomprehensible in his\nworks.\"\n\n\"Amen!\" said Basil Andrew.\n\n{274}\n\n\"A virgin conceived, a virgin bore a Son,\" repeated itself again\nand again in his thought. All the singing of voices and the\nplaying of instruments were because of that; all the splendor of\nthe festival, the gathering of the crowd in the midst of the\nwinter night, were for that. \"O sweetest and most glorious mother\nin all the universe!\" he thought, bowing where it is, perhaps,\nmost difficult for a convert to render homage.\n\nClouds are unsubstantial things for anything but rainbows to\nstand on, and even they find but vanishing foothold. Had that\ndelight in Basil Andrews's heart warmed only his imagination, it\nwould have faded with the moment; but thought and study had done\ntheir part, and that uprising of the heart was Pygmalion's kiss\nto his statue. The feeling with which he turned to leave the\ncathedral was one of thankful content with perfected work.\n\nPausing in the vestibule for the crowd to pass, he looked back\nwith a tender fear toward the altar.\n\nPoor Madeleine's religion was iris and the cloud. She had known\nwell what was going on in her companion's mind, and, as she stood\nwaiting with him, a text went sighing through her memory like a\nsighing wind. \"_I say unto you that the kingdom of God shall be\ntaken from you, and shall be given to a nation yielding the\nfruits thereof._\" While she, a child of the church, had given\nit a fitful obedience more insulting than a consistent disregard,\nthis man had toiled every step of the way from a far-off heresy,\nand, passing by her as she loitered outside, had walked into the\nvery penetralia.\n\nShe stood looking gloomily out into the morning that was one\ncloudless glow of pale gold.\n\n\"The air has crystallized since we came in,\" she said, \"and we\nare shut inside a great gem, like flies in amber. We will have to\nstay here for ever.\"\n\nHe bent a smiling face toward her as they went out into the\nmorning, and said softly: \"How beautiful are thy steps, O\nPrince's daughter! You were right, Madeleine!\"\n\nA fortnight from that day Madeleine Hayward stood on the steps of\nher aunt's house, saying good-by to its inmates. A Southern girl,\nthe cold skies of the North froze her. She wanted to get into a\nwarmer sunshine, and, being prompt and determined, obstacles\nvanished before her.\n\n\"Mr. Andrew,\" she said, as he gave her his arm to the carriage,\n\"I am sorry I can't stay to be your god-mother.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't have you,\" he said. \"I'm going to have my old nurse.\"\n\nMadeleine took her seat in the carriage, gave a smiling nod\ntoward the group in the door, then held a cold hand out to her\ncompanion.\n\n\"When you are a priest, and when you hear that I am dead, say a\nMass for me,\" she said faintly, then turned her face resolutely\naway.\n\nThe violent color that had risen to the gentleman's face at her\nwords faded into a paleness as he went up the steps. By what\npower did that girl sometimes divine the thoughts which he had\nnot yet owned to himself?\n\nBut she was a prophetess.\n\n--------\n\n{275}\n\n\n    Translated from the French of L. Vitet.\n\n    The Present Condition of Christianity in France\n\n\nSome time ago M. Guizot published the second series of his\n_Meditations on the Christian Religion_. He is now\nprosecuting right valiantly, and will ere long have completed,\nthe noble task that won for him two years since so novel a\ntriumph among his many victories, and crowned his illustrious\nlife with what may be considered its brightest glory. That\ncalmest and most serene of creeds, a lucid definition and summary\nof the fundamental dogmas of Christianity, viewed from the\nhighest stand-point, in all their native simplicity and grandeur,\nwas greeted, it will be remembered, with gratitude by some who\nlooked upon it as furnishing most timely aid, and with respect\nand partial embarrassment by others; and so marked was its effect\nthat the most exciting religious polemics were for the time being\nquieted. The first series referred to the very essence of the\nChristian religion; what is the subject of the second?\n\nThe author, in his preface, had thus drawn the general plan of\nthe work: First, the essence of Christianity, next its history,\nthen its present condition, and, finally, its future. Thus a\ncomplete history of Christianity was really promised us. The plan\ndetermined upon had, perhaps, some advantages. The history of\nChristianity is nowadays the point that anti-christian critics\nwould show to be vulnerable, and the portion of the armor they\nseek to penetrate. The public, however, after a moment's\nsurprise, has of itself meted out partial justice to this manner\nof attack; or at all events, new attempts, as skilfully devised\nas the first, have been received with a coolness of good augury\nthat weakens vastly the importance of previously achieved\nsuccesses. Was it not most opportune, then, to enlighten still\nmore and at once a public whose _furore_ had but just died\naway? was it not most important not to adjourn, even by a brief\ndelay, a decisive refutation? As for ourselves, we yearned to\nbehold, striving with the new-comers of criticism and\nhistory--who claim to be their masters and almost their\ninventors--him who, nearly half a century since, founded in our\nland modern historical criticism. By setting face to face with\ntheir rash assertions the true and severe laws of historic\ncertainty; by taking down, piece by piece, their most cleverly\ncontrived scaffolding; by reducing to naught their credit, was\nnot the writer rendering to Christianity a most great and needed\nservice?\n\nM. Guizot has thought that there was something still more urgent\nto be accomplished; without abandoning his original idea,\ninvolving the four series, he has inverted their order of\nsequence; he now dwells upon the present state of Christian\nbeliefs. At a later day he proposes to resume the discussion of\nhistorical questions, dilate upon the authority of holy books,\ncontinue his commentary on the concord of the Scriptures, and his\narguments concerning technicalities and minor details;\nsubsequently he will try to look into the future.\n{276}\nAt present, he has but one care, one thought: he wishes to know\nwhat is occurring, or rather what men are believing, around him.\nTo place in the strongest light the present state of\nChristianity; to enumerate its armies and those of its opponents,\nand establish a comparison between the strength of both; thus to\nsummon all Christians to awaken to a sense of the events\nconcerning the common safety; to teach them not to be deceived\neither as to their might or as to the magnitude of the perils\nbesetting them, and to guard against a feeling of treacherous\nsecurity as against cowardly discouragement; this it is that\nengrosses his attention, and, forming the subject of all his\nthoughts, indicates to him that which he is to consider his first\nduty. As he says himself, he supplies the most pressing\nemergency, and, hurrying to the spot where the struggle is\ncommencing, rushes into the thick of the fight.\n\nWe can readily understand his impatience. All other questions\nbecome unimportant when compared with such a problem. No\neagerness can be more legitimate than that of M. Guizot, and the\ninvestigation which it is necessary to make is surely the most\nserious and interesting that could be prosecuted. Let us add that\nfew inquiries are as intricate and as difficult.\n\nIt is not, in fact, the mere exterior and apparent state of\nChristianity that it is necessary to depict; but its life, its\naction, its power, which simple statistics can by no means\ndescribe. Figures may set forth how many churches there are in\nFrance; how many priests, congregations, and convents; how many\nchildren are baptized, and couples married; how many dying\nmortals receive spiritual succor; but after these computations\nare completed, are they of any genuine value? Though the civil\ncode is not compulsory as to the choice of a religion, and though\neach one be free to elect his own belief, does it follow that the\nconclusion arrived at is always the result of proper reflection?\nAre all those who, either from early childhood, through the\nmedium of their parents, or in after life and by their own free\nwill, on certain solemn days, publicly proclaim their adherence\nto Christianity, real and true Christians? How many can you\ndesignate who knew what they were doing, who did not simply\nconform with a custom, and for whom the sacred contract did not\nbecome at once a dead letter? To arrive at a correct estimate as\nto the actual strength of Christianity, we must not consult\nregisters, but make researches in the bosoms of families, and\ndescend into the depths of consciences. Thus should we make our\nsoundings to ascertain the state of Christian belief. We admit\nthat such a mode of investigation would be impracticable; we must\nbe content, therefore, with less precise data, and pass judgment\nupon apparent events. Draw a parallel, then, between Christianity\nas it was in the early part of the century and Christianity as it\nis, criticise the two periods in accordance with the same rules,\nmake allowances for deceptive appearances on both sides, and\nexclude from your calculation the apocryphal believers who are\nonly Christians in name; however numerous the false men and\nthings at present, you will, nevertheless, be compelled to\nconcede that in our country, during the past sixty years,\nChristianity has at least taken root again in the soil, that it\nhas recovered its life, and that its progress has been\nundeniable.\n\n{277}\n\nM. Guizot describes the phases of the resurrection or rather the\nawakening of Christianity; the comprehensiveness of his views and\nthe choiceness of his expressions render this largely developed\nportion of his work of absorbing interest. We have, however, no\nintention to attempt its analysis. In these later meditations, as\nin those that precede them, one would in vain seek to follow the\nauthor step by step. His work alone can speak for its contents; a\nperson must peruse it, or abandon the idea of becoming acquainted\nwith it. Let us only point out the plan the writer has drawn, and\nnotice the succession of his thoughts. From its commencement, by\na natural division, the volume to which we allude forms two\nparts: one relates to Christianity, the other to its adversaries.\nWhat do we see in the first? The narrative of the Christian\nawakening, or rather an _expos\u00e9_ of the religious beliefs in\nFrance since the year 1800. This is a composition in which the\nincidents follow each other in natural sequence, an historical\npainting as well as a picture-gallery, comprising none but\nportraits from nature, such as M. Guizot, with that firmness and\nconcision that characterize in few words ideas as well as men,\ncan produce; portraits full of expression and life, though always\nof a sober coloring and subdued effect. M. Guizot had abundant\nopportunities for word-painting, for sitters were not scarce.\nEvidently Providence was resolved, from the beginning of the\ncentury, to repair by almost perceptible progress the effects of\nthe great disaster of Christianity, and the damage caused by the\ncataclysm into which it seemed to have sunken. How numerous the\nmen who suddenly came into existence, each worthy of the mission\nto be entrusted to him! How marked the contrast with the days\ngone by, when there was none to shiver a lance for that ancient\nreligion still replete with honors, wealth, and apparent life,\nbut without credit, without influence upon souls, without new\nadepts, and gradually forsaken, like unto those tottering\nedifices whose abandonment ere their fall is decreed by a\nprophetic instinct! The scaffold was needed to restore it to\nlife. The first symptom of regeneration was observed when humble\npriests and monks, who, a day previous, were heedless of their\nduty, arose as intrepid and as ready for martyrdom as if theirs\nhad been austere lives, passed in the desert or in the darkness\nof the catacombs. Then a brighter signal and one more easily\nunderstood was to be given by two men, who, each in his sphere\nand within the limits of his power, were really the earliest\npromoters of the Christian awakening. We refer to a great\npolitician and to a great writer--to the First Consul and to M.\nde Chateaubriand, to the Concordat and to the _Genius of\nChristianity_. There is nothing artificial nor strained in\nthis connection; for these two men and these two works, at the\ncommencement of this century, played the most important part in\nthe work of resurrecting the traditions of Christianity. M.\nGuizot speaks of Bonaparte and Chateaubriand in a rare spirit of\njustice and impartiality. Though possessed of little sympathy for\nthem, and aware that their works have become antiquated and, so\nto say, somewhat out of fashion, he asserts quite warmly that the\n_Genius of Christianity_, despite its imperfections, is a\ngreat and powerful work, such as only appears at long\nintervals--one of those productions that, having deeply moved\nmen's souls, leave behind them traces never to be effaced. And as\nfor the Concordat, albeit the sincerest friends of Christian\nbeliefs point out nowadays with sadness, if not with bitterness,\nits defects and dangers, M. Guizot concedes that, in 1802, its\npromulgation was, on the part of the First Consul, an act of\nsuperior intelligence rather than of despotism, and, for the sake\nof religion, the most opportune and necessary of events, the\n_sine qua non_ condition of the existence of Christianity.\n{278}\nHe thinks that, after ten years of revolutionary orgies, a solemn\nrecognition of religion by the state was needed to endow it with\nthat influence, dignity, and stability which it had totally lost.\n\nIn this respect, we share M. Guizot's opinion, certain\nreservations, however, being made. The Concordat was a welcome\ngift; neither its timely advent nor the necessity for it can be\ndisputed. Why? Because two years previous the national movement\nof 1789 was suddenly transformed into an abdication, by which one\nman benefited. If, instead of submitting to this saviour, half\nout of lassitude and half out of enthusiasm, France had had the\nenergy, by making a supreme effort, and, perhaps, at the cost of\nnew calamities, to see to her own safety and remain mistress of\nher fate, the Concordat would have been an unneeded blessing.\nChristianity would have had more labor and expended more time in\nregaining the lost ground; it would not have obtained possession\nat once, by the scratch of a pen, and between sunrise and sunset,\nof all its presbyteries and churches; it would have recovered\nthem little by little, after having conquered men's souls. Had it\nhad no other staff of support but its flock, it would have\nneglected nothing to strengthen it and increase its numbers; it\nwould have won the confidence of the people and obtained their\nacceptance of it as a counsellor, a father, a friend, and would\nnot have been looked upon as an emigrant, amnestied and recalled\nby tolerance, favor, and an act of authority, and thus placed\nunder obligations to one man, and made the vassal of his power.\nIt is not sufficient that one should be cured of a fatal disease;\nthe remedy, in destroying the evil, must not leave the patient\nwith an altered constitution or impaired vitality. The Concordat\nundoubtedly delivered us from a great affliction for a nation,\nand saved us from a complete divorce from God; it restored\nChristianity to France, but restored it less robust and less\nprepared for the strife, less life-like and less popular, and in\na less fit condition to face the danger than if the old beliefs\nhad been compelled, when born anew, to clear their own pathways.\nIn religion, as in politics, France still feels, and will\nprobably ever experience, the effects of having been saved by the\nevents of the 18th of _Brumaire_.\n\nThat which we must admit with M. Guizot is that, when, in these\nlater days, we criticise the work of our fathers, written upward\nof sixty years ago, we can speak of them with wondrous facility.\nTheir doubts are at hand to enlighten us. But we must carry\nourselves back to 1802, and behold flocks without shepherds,\ntombs without prayers, and cradles without baptismal fonts! Where\nis the proud and far-seeing Christian who would then have\nrefused, as a destructive present, in the name of his belief and\nfor the sake of his faith, a _r\u00e9gime_ that did the work of\nChristian restoration, and by the touch of a magic wand repaired\nall the evils that bore it down? No one then would have even\ndreamed of such a paradox. Let us, therefore, blame with\nindulgence, and to a certain degree only, the men who invented\nthe compromise, although the consequential events subsist, and\nwhen we examine the present state of Christian belief, we cannot\navoid meeting at every step the still evident traces of defective\norigin, and its resurrection by process of law.\n{279}\nEven as the government of the Restoration, despite its sincerest\nefforts and never-failing good-will, was never absolved by France\nfrom the reproach that attached to its self-commitment by\nfriendship with the Emperor Alexander and Lord Wellington, even\nso Christianity in this land, during the past sixty years, is\npartly indebted for its weakness, and for the prejudices that\nmaintain it in a state of excitement, to the honor of having had\nfor a godfather the Emperor Napoleon. Sheltered and warmed under\nthe purple, and having become an imperial pensioner, Christianity\nacquired, against its will, a certain need of protection and\ncertain habits of submission and almost of complaisance, which\nhaving rendered it under some _r\u00e9gimes_ a party to the acts\nof the government, has caused it to be called upon to share the\nresponsibility of many errors, and exposed it to the perils of\nunpopularity.\n\nWithin the sixty years gone by, have we not seen by a transient\nexample how much religion would have gained by remaining on less\ncompromising terms with the heads of the nation and boldly\ndispensing with their favors? There was once a government whose\nmembers were imbued with profound respect for the religious\ninterests of the country, and who were always ready to render\nunto its ministers the most kindly offices; this same government,\nhowever, from its earliest days, was viewed with coldness and\nhostility by a certain number of Catholics and a great portion of\nthe clergy; is it not known how favorable that attitude proved to\nCatholicism itself? For eighteen years it was looked upon as\npossessed of no credit, and, for that very reason, each day\nacquired more and more power, not, indeed, in public places and\nin ante-chambers, but in men's consciences. It may be boldly\nasserted that the greatest and most definite progress which the\nChristian religion can justly claim for itself since the\ncommencement of the present century was made during that period.\nWe do not deduce from this fact that systematic hostility to the\nruling powers is necessary for the propagation of religious\nideas, for intestine strifes are evils and not to be fomented;\nbut that the sacred ministry, to have influence upon rulers, must\npossess a degree of independence carried even to the extent of\npride, and bringing into prominence its abandonment of all things\nearthly, and its absolute indifference to worldly interests.\n\nFrom 1830 to 1851, whatever may have been the true motives of its\nestrangement and indifference, the Catholic clergy was benefited\nby the situation. It had prospered and increased in numbers, it\nhad won for itself, to the great advantage of Christian belief,\nthe esteem, the respect, and even the minds of persons who, until\nthen, had been rebellious and inclined to disparage it. Was it\naware of the cause of this unusual kindliness of feeling? Did it\ncomprehend how much this was to be preferred, for the cause of\nreligion and for its own sake, to former courtly favors? Has it\nsince guarded against the temptations which have surrounded it?\nHas it persevered in burning incense before God only, in adoring\nnone but him? Have not more earthly and apparently less\ndisinterested bursts of enthusiasm caused it to lose a goodly\nportion of the conquered ground? These are questions which it may\nbe well not to look into too deeply; but enough is known\nconcerning them to enable us to understand how it came that,\nduring the fifteen years that have just elapsed, the radical vice\nof the Concordat, the spirit in which it was framed, the danger\nof establishing between Christianity and the absolute power a\nso-called natural alliance, a kind of necessary complicity, have\nawakened in the hearts of some Christians objections, fears, and\nantipathies now more active and potent than ever.\n\n{280}\n\nWe next behold one of the great incidents of the Christian\nawakening whose history M. Guizot recounts. The First Consul, by\nraising the altar from the dust, partly obeying the great views\nof his genius, and partly yielding to his despotic instincts; M.\nde Chateaubriand, by moving and delighting French society by the\nrevelation of the treasures of Christian poetry, of the existence\nof which it was unaware; M. de Bonald, by honoring the\ngovernmental traditions of the old _r\u00e9gime_ by translating\nthem into metaphysical theories; M. de Maistre, by outpouring, in\nfloods of fiery eloquence, overwhelming invective against the\nrevolutionary spirit; all these but paid homage to noble ruins,\nand, hurling indignation at the destroyers, made a generous\nattempt to rehabilitate the past, to glorify it, and to give it\nrenewed life. The important questions, the questions of the\nfuture, are not yet propounded. It is not sufficient that\nChristianity should be restored; it must be given health, and\ntaught to live in peace and friendship with a power henceforward\nbeyond all estimate, with an irresistible force--that of modern\ncivilization. How could the Christian, and more especially the\nCatholic Church, be led to acknowledge the liberty of civil\nsociety as constituted by the French revolution? How could that\nsociety be brought to respect the just rights of the church? Such\nwas the problem that could not fail to speedily appear.\n\nUntil the year 1830, the question was only foreshadowed; its\nsolution was by no means urgent. As Catholicism had recovered\nunder the government of the Restoration its former privilege as a\nstate religion, reconciliation, or a reciprocal tolerance between\nitself and society, was no longer in discussion. It was\nunderstood that its portion was to be secured by an actual\nstruggle, and the secular power was at its disposal--without\nviolence, with due moderation, but not without injury to its\nauthority and detriment to its influence upon men's souls. The\nCatholic religion had to assume the responsibility as well as\naccept the profits of its privileged situation. Subsequent to\n1830, circumstances changed. Inasmuch as the words \"state\nreligion\" had been erased from the constitutional compact, no one\nreligion could lay claim to special immunities or occupy an\nexceptionally exalted position. All enjoyed equal rights.\nWhatever the number of their adherents, as soon as they were\nrecognized by and receiving a subsidy from the state, the law\nheld them to be equally sacred and deserving of respect. The\nneutral attitude of the government excited the anger of some\nCatholics. In their opinion, privilege was the very essence, the\nnormal and vital condition of their belief. The powers of the\nday, by reducing them to the slender diet of equality and common\nrights, was guilty not only of indifference and culpable\nabandonment, but of spoliation and persecution. Their complaints\nwere loudest because their adversaries feigned to have won a most\nbrilliant triumph. Extremes meet: on both sides a firm belief\nprevailed that, without special support, without the favors of\nthe magistracy and the soldiery, Catholicism had no chance of\nlife, and that, both armies being provided with equally effective\nweapons, it could never withstand the onslaughts of the foe.\n{281}\nThe conduct of the persons interested, however, differed; for\nsome wished to be regarded as martyrs, and cursed the atheism of\nthe government, charging it with bringing about the inevitable\nruin of the faith; whilst others reproached the same government\nfor its supposed weakness toward the once privileged religion,\nand accused it of prolonging its existence by secretly favoring\nit.\n\nDuring the progress of this conflict there was gradually formed a\ngroup of Catholics who contemplated events in an entirely new\nlight. They were all young in years and men of the age; their\nhearts throbbed with the noble thoughts of liberty and\nindependence that were maddening France for the second time, and,\nseemingly, carrying the nation back to the dawn of 1789. What did\nthese fervent and sincere Christians, animated by a firm resolve,\npropose to do? Were they to sacrifice to their religious faith\nthat political faith just born within them? To what end? What was\nto prevent them from being both Catholic and liberals? In what\nrespect were the principles of the evangels and those of a free\ngovernment incompatible with each other? Was not the government\nof the church, in the early ages, the result of the free choice\nof the faithful? Were not respect for human liberty, love of\njustice, and opposition to tyranny and barbarity, the glory and\nactual essence of Christian belief? Had not they who for three\ncenturies had linked religion to the fortunes and precepts of the\nold monarchy, and identified it with them, really deformed\nCatholicism?\n\nWhen these men had become thoroughly convinced not only that\ntheir views and their faith were, by no means irreconcilable, but\nalso that it was their duty as Christians to render the church\nthe greatest of all services by checking its retrogressive\ntendency and reconciling it with the world and with modern ideas,\nthey inaugurated the campaign, unfurled their flag, organized a\ncommittee, and commenced the publication of a journal, neglecting\nnone of the means by which to disseminate their ideas and gain\naccessions to their ranks. Had they been so fortunate as to\nchoose, not a more eloquent, but a less rash and more\nunimpassioned chief than the Abb\u00e9 de Lamennais; had the noble\nminds, the brave hearts, the wondrous talent centred in those\ngrouped around him belonged to men of riper years; had his\nadherents been less fiery and impatient, and less prejudiced\nagainst a new power which was still insecure on its foundation,\nbut was imbued with the spirit of true liberty to such a degree\nthat it imperilled its own existence every day to avoid attacking\nthe rights of its adversaries, and thus overstep the limits of\nthe law; had they understood what service their cause could have\nexpected of that government on the sole condition of not\ndemanding impossibilities, of not harassing and chiding it on all\noccasions, and of not aiding and abetting its destroyers; in a\nword, had the same talent, ardor, sincerity, and devotedness been\ncoupled with greater experience, prudence, and practicability,\nperhaps, after thirty years had gone by, the great work of\neffecting a reconciliation between the church and the spirit of\nthe age would be more thoroughly comprehended and approved than\nit is at present. The boldness of the opinions professed from the\ncommencement by liberal Catholics increased the difficulty and\nrendered the problem more complicated.\n{282}\nTheir enterprise would certainly not have been one of easy\nachievement had it even been reduced to the simplest form. Was it\nnot enough to ensure the acceptance, by a majority of the clergy\nand of the faithful, of the definite results of the revolution,\nthe for ever acquired rights of civil society the blessings of\nliberty as understood by the July government and by all truly\nfree governments; of liberty based upon the sovereignty of the\nlaw, a respect for the rights of all, for the rights of the power\nas for those of the poorest citizen? By preaching to Catholics\nextreme liberalism, without either limits or guarantee, Utopian,\nabsolute, aggressive, and revolutionary liberalism, such as was\nadvocated by _l'Avenir_, the organ of the Abb\u00e9 de Lamennais\nand his young friends, they compromised everything, put an end to\nall attempts at encouragement, terrified those whom they sought\nto convert, and furnished a pretext to the faithful, in the event\nof an opportunity being offered them, to throw themselves, out of\nprudential considerations, into the arms of the absolute power.\n\nThe same ardor that carried them, in politics, even to the\npractice of liberty unrestrained, led them, in religion, to the\nrecognition of the principles of excessive obedience. They never\ndared dispense with the explicit approval of Rome; her silent\nconsent was deemed insufficient. They ever sought to elicit a\nreply, notwithstanding the expectant reserve usually and most\nprudently maintained by the Holy See previous to passing judgment\nupon any new enterprise. They required a notice or a formal\ndecision. With this object in view, they never hesitated to risk\ntheir all; they ceased not their endeavors until the Holy Father\nhad sanctioned or disapproved their action. Then, after the\nsentence had gone forth, after such words of censure, as might\nhave been anticipated, had been uttered, they were compelled,\nunder pain of rendering themselves amenable to a charge of\nrevolt, to submit, to bow their heads and abandon the field, to\nthe great detriment of the cause in which they labored. Not only\nhad they lost their authority over the minds of a certain portion\nof the faithful, as was seen when, a few years later, weary of\ninaction, they reentered the arena, but they had brought about\nanother and greater misfortune: they had made the court of Rome\nenter, before the time had come, and without the slightest\nnecessity for such a proceeding, upon the course that she now\nfollows, kept to it by her own words. Is it not possible that,\nhad she been questioned at a later day, in other terms and under\nother circumstances, her reply might have been different?\n\nBut it happens that we cannot but admit that, though since the\nbeginning of this century Christianity has achieved in France\ngreat and true progress; though valiant adherents and illustrious\nchampions have arisen; though it has recovered little by little a\nportion of its domains; though it has in certain respects\nextended the field of its conquests, one success is wanting, one\nvictory has not been achieved, the work commenced in 1830 is\nstill unfinished, the question is no nearer its solution, the\n_entente cordiale_ is not yet established, and the treaty of\npeace between Christianity and the spirit of the times has not\nyet been concluded.\n\nSome persons find consolation for this state of affairs: the\nattempt to remedy it has borne in their eyes a chimerical\nappearance, and they look upon the discord which most men would\nquell as most natural.\n{283}\nHas not this manner of war, they say, ever raged between the lay\nspirit and the religious spirit? Has not Christianity, since its\ninfancy, been destined to blame and combat, century after\ncentury, the prevailing ideas and tastes; has not this been its\npart, its mission, and, it may be said, its glory? Why seek to\nchange that which has always been? Christian faith is now, as\never, quite intolerant toward the age in which it thrives: do not\ninterfere with events; it must be so. To these arguments we would\nanswer by stating that, not to discriminate between two objects\nas distinct from each other as the spirit of the age which, to\nspeak in general terms, is the worldly spirit, that train of\nnever-changing passions and vices reappearing at all periods\nunder slightly different forms--and the spirit of each age taken\nseparately--that is to say, the uniformity of ideas, manners, and\ninstitutions which give to the society of each century its\npeculiar traits--is to quibble as to the significance of words\nand deal in mere equivocation. That Christianity is the natural,\npermanent, and necessary adversary of the worldly spirit and of\nthe vices and passions of men; that it is such at all times, in\nall places, in the present as in the past; to assert that to give\nits followers a word of advice as to the adoption of innovations\nunder any of these heads would be to mistake and forget its real\nreason to exist, is incontestable: but to affirm that its very\ncharacter renders it incapable of adaptation to the spirit of\nsuch and such an epoch, and that it can only blame and oppose the\nideas, tendencies, and laws of the days in which it lives, is to\ngive to the testimony of history, to the most self-evident and\nauthentic facts, a singular denial. Compare the latter centuries\nof the empire of the West and the first of the feudal ages: was\nthe state of society, were the manners, customs, and institutions\nof those days the same? Could aught have been more dissimilar and\ncontradictory? Yet, did not Christianity first uphold the empire\nuntil it crumbled into the dust, and subsequently aid most\ncheerfully and efficaciously in the establishment of the feudal\npower? Again, when the monarchical system gradually regained the\nascendency and triumphed over feudal anarchy, did Christianity\nprove an obstacle to the movement? Did it offer any opposition to\nthe change? Did it not submit to it with a good will? Did it not\nshare the ideas, principles, and even the good fortune and\ngreatness of royalty? What we now demand of it is, to do once\nmore that which it has always done, to recognize without regret\nand without hostility a necessary and irrevocable change--a\nchange in conformity with the nature of circumstances, and\ntherefore legitimate; in a word, we call upon it to treat the\nmodern spirit of the day as it has treated all other modern\nspirits that have successively appeared.\n\nWhy should a reconciliation be at present peculiarly difficult\nand embarrassing? Are thoughts of liberty foreign and unknown to\nChristianity? Has Christianity never acted in accordance with\nthem? Have not those thoughts watched, rather, over the cradle of\nreligion? Has not that system of elections, discussion, and\ncensure which honors our modern spirit come forth from the very\nwomb of the church? To make peace with liberty, to become suited\nto its rule, to understand and bless its gifts, does not imply\nthe necessity of absolving it from its errors, approving its\ncrimes, or making the slightest concession to disorder and\nanarchy.\n{284}\nNever mind, it will be said, do not mingle religion and party\nquestions, do not inspire it with any interest in wrangles of\nsuch a kind. The more persistently Christianity stands aloof from\nthe affairs of this world, the more solid will be the foundation\nof its power. With these views we cordially agree, and but\nrecently dwelt upon their importance; but of however little\nmoment politics or worldly affairs be to them, however deeply\nengrossed by prayer and good works, can the most religious mind\nand the clergy itself live on this earth in utter ignorance of\nevents? To attack the vices, meannesses, and misdeeds of the\ntime, must they not know them, and by their own knowledge? We ask\nof those pious souls who are most terrified by the coupling of\nthe words liberalism and religion, do _they_ complain\nbecause eloquent speakers denounce and stigmatize from the pulpit\nthe wanderings of the spirit of modern times and the\nrevolutionary delirium, those impious doctrines, the curse of\nfamilies and society? If religion is to wage war upon civil\nliberty, ought it not to be authorized to allude to beneficial\nfreedom? Ought it not to be encouraged to speak of it in kindly\nterms, to place it in the brightest light, to make us understand\nand cherish it? If not, what is Christianity, and what fate have\nyou in store for it? Would you make of it but a puny doctrine, a\nprivilege to be enjoyed by a few chosen ones only, the tardy and\nsolitary consolation of those whom old age and grief separate\nfrom the world? If you seek nothing else of it, if it be\nsufficient for you to have it live just enough to prevent the\nrecording of its death, like a ruin guarded by archaeology, and\npreserved and respected in its tottering condition, then keep it\napart from the rising generation, from the flood of democracy;\nlet it be isolated and grow old; let it seek a place of\nconcealment, and there, contenting itself with the praises of the\npast, dwell in disdain of the present, lacking indulgence for all\npersons and things--chagrin, morose, and unpopular. But if, with\na better understanding of its true destiny, you desire it to\nexercise a salutary influence not only upon yourselves and your\nfriends, but upon all humanity; if you wish it to enter into the\nhearts of all your brothers, young and old, small and great--to\ninspire men with the spirit of justice and truth--to transform,\npurify, and regenerate them, let it speak to them in their own\nlanguage; let it become interested in their ideas; let it suit\nitself to their peculiarities--not like a weak flatterer, but as\na loving father, who takes unto himself his children and becomes\na child for their sake, by sharing their tastes while correcting\ntheir errors, guarding them from the perils of life, and pointing\nout to them the narrow and straight paths of wisdom and truth.\n\n\n    To Be Concluded In Next Number.\n\n--------\n\n{285}\n\n        New Publications.\n\n\n  Kathrina, Her Life And Mine, In A Poem.\n  By J. G. Holland. New York:\n  Charles Scribner & Co. 1867.\n\nThere can be little doubt that this is more than a commonplace\npoem. The narrative has a charming simplicity about it, and is\nhappily told; the rhythm is smooth and graceful; and the\nlanguage, with the exception of a rather too free use of words\ntortured into English from the Latin and German, both choice and\nappropriate. In a first perusal of it, which will not be our\nlast, (for it is a book which will bear more than one reading,)\ntwo points in the narrative impressed us disagreeably--the\nrevelation of his future career to the hero when but a child\nrambling over the mountains, and the suicide of his mother. These\nincidents were a part of the author's plan, and had to be told;\nbut they are both forced and unnatural, the more apparently so\nbecause all other threads of romance which run through the story\nare closely woven in harmony with real life. Very many passages\nare marked by the truest pathos, with here and there touches of\nquiet humor worthy of a Dickens. There is a deeper moral lesson\ninculcated in this poem than we think will be appreciated or even\nperceived by the mass of Dr. Holland's readers; and we venture to\npredict that it will be either entirely overlooked, or made the\nsubject of ridicule by the majority of the Protestant or\nrationalistic journals and reviews which may notice the volume.\nWe say this boldly, because we know that it elucidates a doctrine\nentirely foreign to their experience, and is based upon\nprinciples of life asserted only by the Catholic religion. What\nthe author has endeavored to bring out is nothing new in Catholic\nascetic theology. It is the old cry of St. Augustine:\n\"_Inquietum est cor nostrum, Deus, donec requiescat in te._\"\nGod is the supreme illumination of the soul, and the object of\nits highest aspirations. Life without God is a life of\ndisquietude, of disgust, and disappointment. The hero is made to\nlearn this truth through years of self-worship, of\ncreature-worship, and of world-worship. His mind passes from\nignorance to indifference, from that to scepticism, infidelity,\ndespair. A true and sad picture of many noble souls who, in our\nage and country, grow up under the sterile influence of the\nspirit of naturalism, the revolt of reason without the guidance\nof faith against Protestantism. There is more than one who will\nread the story of his own life depicted in Dr. Holland's poem.\nSuch will read it with more than an ordinary interest, and find,\nwe trust, some glimpses of that hidden truth whose clear\nstatement can only be found in the teachings of that religion\nwhich shows man his true destiny and has the mission to guide him\nto it.\n\nWe do not think the author is himself wholly aware of the\nultimate logical consequences of the principles of life he has\nhere developed. A study of Catholic ascetic theology, the perusal\nof a few books like the _Imitation of Christ_, Henry Suso's\n_Eternal Wisdom_, or Father Baker's _Sancta Sophia_\nwould be, if we mistake not, a revelation to him. In conclusion,\nwe cannot refrain from quoting one of those passages which\nconfirm the truth of the impressions we have received and the\nreflections we have made. The hero, chagrined with the\ndisappointments of his career, finding the idols he has\nworshipped turned to clay, deprived of all human consolation,\ndisgusted with the hollowness and unreality of his sceptical\nlife, at last turns to Him whom he had shunned, and yields his\nsoul to that higher will whose inspirations he had all his life\nlong so vainly rebelled against.\n\n{286}\n\n        \"Then the impulse came,\n  And I poured out like water all my heart.\n  'O God!' I said, 'be merciful to me\n  A reprobate! I have blasphemed thy name,\n  Abused thy patient love, and held from thee\n  My heart and life; and now, in my extreme\n  Of need and of despair, I come to thee.\n  Oh! cast me not away, for here, at last,\n  After a life of selfishness and sin,\n  I yield my will to thine, and pledge my soul--\n  All that I am, all I can ever be--\n  Supremely to thy service. I renounce\n  All worldly aims, all selfish enterprise,\n  And dedicate the remnant of my power\n  To thee and those thou lovest. Comfort me!\n  Oh! come and comfort me, for I despair!\n  Give me thy peace, for I am rent and tossed!\n  Feed me with love, else I shall die of want!\n  Behold! I empty out my worthlessness,\n  And beg thee to come in, and fill my soul\n  With thy rich presence. I adore thy love;\n  I seek for thy approval; I bow down\n  And worship thee, the Excellence Supreme.\n  I've tasted of the sweetest that the world\n  Can give to me; and human love and praise,\n  And all of excellence within the scope\n  Of my conception, and my power to reach\n  And realize in highest forms of art,\n  Have left me hungry, thirsty for thyself.\n  Oh! feed and fire me! Fill and furnish me!\n  And, if thou hast for me some humble task--\n  Some service for thyself, or for thy own--\n  Reveal it to thy sad, repentant child,\n  Or use him as thy willing instrument.\n  I ask it for the sake of Jesus Christ,\n  Henceforth my Master!'\"\n\nThis beautiful prayer is the true climax of the poem. There is\nnot a word in it we could wish to see suppressed or a sentiment\naltered. There are deep truths written in those few lines, well\nput and timely uttered in a worldly-minded age like ours.\n\nWe observe the work placarded about the city as \"Timothy\nTitcomb's last poem.\" We are glad to see that this paltry _nom\nde plume_ does not deface the title-page of the publication.\n\n----\n\n  The Votary. A Narrative Poem.\n  By James D. Hewett.\n  New York: G. W. Carleton & Co. 1867.\n\n\"Great wits jump.\" This poem of Mr. Hewett is like Dr. Holland's\n_Kathrina_--the story of a false and disappointed ambition.\nThe hero, Rudiger, loves Sybilla, goes forth to seek a famous\nname, sacrifices his honor to the greed of ambition by forgetting\nhis first vows, and espousing Adelaide, the daughter of an\ninfluential and rich politician. His wife, discovering his\ninfidelity to Sybilla and his subsequent remorse, becomes\njealous, charges him with having buried his heart in the grave,\n(for Sybilla died of grief,) but offers to receive him back to\nher affections if he can say his love is now wholly hers. This,\nunfortunately, he cannot honestly do, and flies from his home for\never, betaking himself to some religious brotherhood, there to do\npenance, and labor, preach, and pray for a purpose which, to\njudge from the sensual character of the entire poem, is too\nvaguely described to allow us to be quite sure what is meant:\n\n  \"He fathomed now the mighty truth that Love--\n   Love, the sole axis on which earth is swung--\n   Is the prime essence of the Deity,\n   And Intellect subservient to Love:\n   And that true glory is to serve, and bleed,\n   If need be, in Love's blessed cause.\"\n\nAnd so he becomes a missionary to foreign parts:\n\n  \"To teach all men the everlasting truth,\n   The blest, eternal truth of perfect Love,\n   I will go forth. I'll preach it far and wide.\n   To earth's last threshold will I pierce my way,\n   And speak to all the dwellers there of Love.\"\n\nAnd again:\n\n  \"Henceforth to Love my life I dedicate--\n   God's love, including every human phase.\"\n\nThis would do if we were not so painfully impressed by the\nperusal of the whole poem, that the author's highest idea of love\nis a sort of deification of the sensual. Being false to his troth\nto Sybilla he calls \"losing love's divine repast,\" in the very\nline preceding our last quotation above. We do not like the book.\nIts moral tone is not healthy. The poem is, however, full of rich\nimagery, and evidences no little dramatic power; but the rhythm\nis not always faultless, such words as \"of\" and \"the\" frequently\nforming the last syllable of the verse, and couplets like the\nfollowing are not uncommon:\n\n  \"With fitful step, across a verdurous lawn\n   Close venueing a dwelling, paced a youth.\"\n\nHappily, we think, for the strength of our language, we are\nbecoming every day less and less tolerant of these attempts to\nfoist foreign words upon it.\n\n----\n\n{287}\n\n  Uberto; or, The Errors of the Heart.\n  A Drama in Five Acts.\n  By Frank Middleton. New York. 1867.\n\n\nThe writing of a drama is reckoned a bold project, for there is\nscarce any sort of literary production apt to meet with severer\ntreatment at the hands of critics. The present one, however,\npossesses merit enough to command their respect, if it does not\nwin their praise. The plot is well conceived, and the characters\nsustained and combined with more than ordinary ability. The\nspeeches are, however, rather too lengthy, and become in many\nplaces prosy. The little comedy introduced, of the loves of\nBellamori and Bonita, detracts considerably from the merit of the\ntragedy, and is forced upon our notice, most unseasonably, in the\npreparation for the final tableau.\n\n------\n\n  History Of Blessed Margaret Mary,\n  a Religious of the Visitation of St. Mary;\n  and of the Origin of Devotion to the Heart of Jesus.\n\n  By Father Ch. Daniel, SJ.\n  Translated by the authoress of the\n  _Life of Catharine McAuley._\n  New York: P. O'Shea.\n\n\nThe subject of this memoir is celebrated in church history and in\nCatholic theology. In church history she was the instrument\nchosen by God to introduce a new feast, to render public and\nobligatory in worship what had been merely a matter of private\nand voluntary devotion, and against which for years all the\nlearning and determination of Jansenism unsuccessfully battled.\nIn Catholic theology she was the means developing another branch\nof divine truth and asceticism. She popularized the Devotion to\nthe Sacred Heart of Jesus, made devotion to it the characteristic\nof one religious order of women; and its name become the title of\nanother. Margaret Mary Alacoque is the apostle of the Sacred\nHeart of Jesus.\n\nShe was a young girl, who, led by the power of grace, entered the\nVisitation Order, sanctified her soul, fulfilled the mission\nappointed for her by God, died a saint, and after death was\nbeatified by the church.\n\nThe history before us tells admirably the story of her life. It\nis an agreeable narrative, full of edification, of pleasant\nanecdotes, and interesting details.\n\nThe best biographies in the world are those of the saints. They\nnot only give us information, but they make us better It is\nimpossible to read the life of one devoted to God's service, full\nof the spirit of Christian love and sacrifice, without being\nstirred up to imitate, in some degree, the example set before us.\nThe world has its heroes, it is true, and makes the most of them;\nbut religion has hers also, and it is not surprising if she does\nthe same; the less so, as those whom she exalts and honors are in\nevery respect so much the more worthy of our admiration and\nreverence.\n\nHe does a positive good to humanity, therefore, who calls\nattention to the life and deeds of the Christian hero. That was a\ngood answer of the holy father. \"I am complained of,\" said he,\n\"for canonizing so many saints; but it is a fault I cannot\npromise to amend. Have we not more need than ever of intercessors\nin heaven, and models of religious virtue in the world?\"\n\nThe style of the translation of the present memoir does not\nplease us. It bears signs of haste and literary carelessness.\nWhatever may be the character of the original French of Father\nDaniel, the English of this is verbose, weak, and tiresome. It\nmakes the book larger, it is true, to use twice as many words as\nare needful, and to select the longest words of the dictionary to\nsay what one wants to say; and we may add, it makes it heavier,\ntoo. It is a common fault of religious biographies. Neither is\nthe style of the publication praiseworthy. Its typography is\nclose and heavy, and presents anything but an inviting page. If\nthis book were read to us, we should go to sleep; and if we were\nto read it through ourselves without giving our eyes frequent\nrepose, we should seriously damage our eye-sight.\n\nNevertheless, it is a good book; it is written on a good subject,\nand will do good; and as such our thanks are due to both\ntranslator and publisher, whose efforts toward the formation of a\nCatholic literature and the fostering of Catholic piety in the\nreproduction of works like the present will not fail of earning a\nhigher reward than any amount of commendation on our part is\nworth.\n\n--------\n\n{288}\n\n\n  The Battle-fields of Ireland, From 1688 to 1691,\n  including Limerick and Athlone, Aughrim, and the Boyne.\n  Being an outline of the History of the Jacobite\n  Wars in Ireland and the Causes which led to it.\n  1 vol. 12mo, pp. 323. New York: Robert Coddington. 1867.\n\n\nThose who wish to read that portion of the sad record of\nIreland's checkered history which led to its subjugation to the\nPrince of Orange will find this volume sadly interesting. Like\nall of Ireland's history since the advent of Strongbow and his\nrobbers, it presents the usual amount of blunders, mistakes,\njealousies, and treachery on the part of those who should have\nbeen faithful to their country. This epoch in Ireland's history\nhas been familiar to us since boyhood, and we think the author\nhas done his part of the work faithfully and honestly. His\ndescription of the battles of the Boyne and of Aughrim are\nconcise and in the main correct; but we think he overestimates\nWilliam's army in the first-mentioned battle. His assertion, in a\nnote on page 304, that the doggerel, known as the \"Battle of\nAughrim,\" was written by Garrick, is an error. It was the\nproduction of Richard Ashton, an Englishman.\n\nThe book is handsomely printed, and makes a very\nrespectable-looking volume.\n\n------\n\n  The Life Of St. Aloysius Gonzaga, of the Company of Jesus.\n  Philadelphia: Peter F. Cunningham. 1867.\n\nThe republication of the English edition of this life will meet,\nwe are sure, with universal and hearty commendation. Such a book\nas this is one for all Catholic parents to present to their\nchildren, that they may learn how one may become a saint even in\nyouth. Reading the lives of such holy young men as a St. Aloysius\nor a St. Stanislaus Kostka, our memory goes back to the friends\nof our own youth, when they with ourself thought it necessary to\nwait until we grew to be men before we could \"get religion.\" We\nadvise our readers to do what we would wish to do ourself--give a\ncopy of this book to every Protestant young man of their\nacquaintance. The perusal of it will show them how a Catholic boy\ngets religion when he is baptized a Christian, and may possess\nreligion in its perfection and be a saint at an age when a\nProtestant boy is not expected to have any religion at all.\n\n------\n\n  Little Pet Books.\n  By Aunt Fanny.\n  Containing Books 1, 2, and 3.\n  New York: James O'Kane, 484 Broadway.\n\nThese little books are the best ones with which we are acquainted\nfor children. They contain pleasing stories, written in plain,\nsmall words, not more than five letters to each word--a difficult\ntask, but one which the gifted authoress has accomplished in a\nmost satisfactory manner. The illustrations are good, and the\nbooks are printed on good paper, bound in good style, and put up\nin a neat box, making the set one of the best presents that one\ncould give, of this kind of books, to a child.\n\n------\n\nFrom P. O'Shea,\n\n  _Life of Lafayette_, written for children,\n  by E. Cecil, 218 pages, 12mo.\n\n  _The Bears of Angustenburg,_ an Episode in Saxon History,\n  by Gustave Nieritz;\n  translated by Trauermantel;\n  251 pages, 12mo.\n\n  _Hurrah for the Holidays_,\n  or The Pleasures and Pains of Freedom;\n  translated from the German;\n  220 pages, 12mo.\n\n  _Nannie's Jewel Case_, or True Stories and False;\n  Tales translated from the German by Trauermantel;\n  223 pages, 12mo.\n\n  _Well Begun is Half Done_,\n  or The Young Painter and Fiddlehanns;\n  Tales translated from the German of\n  Richard Baron and Dr. C. Deutsch;\n  246 pages, 12mo. Price, $1.25 each.\n\n------\n\nFrom D. & J. Sadlier & Co., New York,\n\n  _The Book of Oratory_, compiled for the use of Colleges,\n  Academies, and the High Classes of Select Schools.\n  By a member of the Order of the Holy Cross,\n  1 vol. 12mo, pp. 648.\n\n------\n\nFrom Fowler & Wells, New York,\n\n  _An Essay on Man_, by Alexander Pope,\n  and _The Gospel among the Animals_,\n  by Samuel Osgood, D.D. Paper.\n\n--------\n\n{289}\n\n\n    The Catholic World.\n\n\n    Vol. VI., No. 33. December, 1867.\n\n------\n\n  The Third Catholic Congress Of Malines.\n\n\nThe ancient city of Malines, which has once more been the seat of\none of those remarkable Catholic congresses already described in\nour pages, is well worthy of the distinguished honor conferred\nupon it by these illustrious assemblages. A few words of\ndescription will not, therefore, be amiss, as introductory to our\nsketch of the proceedings of the congress of last September.\n\nThe province of South Brabant, in which the city of Malines, or,\nas it is called in Flemish, Mechelen, is situated, has had a most\nvaried and eventful history. Having originally formed a part of\nthe province of Belgic Gaul, under the Roman empire, it was\nsuccessively included in the domains of the Frankish and\nAustrasian kingdoms, and of the duchy of Lorraine. In the year\n1005, Brabant, including North Brabant which is now a province of\nHolland as well as the Belgian province of South Brabant, was\nerected into a duchy. Godfrey of Bouillon was one of its dukes.\nIts independence ceased in 1429, when it was annexed to Burgundy.\nIn 1484 it passed under the dominion of the emperor of Germany,\nat the death of Charles V. was transferred to Spain, again\nreverted to Germany at the beginning of the eighteenth century,\nwas annexed by conquest to France in 1794, taken from France and\nannexed to Holland by the Congress of Vienna, and finally, by the\nrevolution of 1830, became a portion of the new kingdom of\nBelgium, to which we wish perpetuity and prosperity with our\nwhole heart.\n\nSouth Brabant covers an area of 1269 square miles, containing a\npopulation of about 750,000. It is a flat, well-wooded country,\ncrowded with beautiful towns and villages, intersected by several\nrivers and canals, cultivated throughout like a garden, and alive\nwith thrift and industry. The city of Malines is at the point of\nintersection of the principal Belgian railways, about fifteen\nmiles from Brussels, and at the same distance from Antwerp and\nLouvain. The river Dyle partly encircles and partly intersects\nthe city, affording pleasant walks, well shaded, on the\noutskirts, and creating some most picturesque scenes within the\ntown, by winding among some of the streets, whose residences and\nwarehouses front upon the river.\n{290}\nThe railway depots have been kept, by the city authorities, on a\nremote outskirt of the town, so that its quiet and antique\nstreets are not disturbed by the noise and bustle of the trains.\nNor are they disturbed by any other kind of noise or bustle.\nWhatever business is done there seems to be out of sight and\nhearing. It is the most quiet, tranquil, and clean city that can\npossibly be imagined. In the centre is a great public square,\nupon which are situated the cathedral, the headquarters of\nadministration, the military barracks, located in a very antique\nand picturesque building, the museum, and two hotels, as well as\nnumerous shops and houses. In the centre of the square stands a\nstatue of Margaret of Austria. The city contains a population of\n33,000. The streets are wide and regular, but winding. Nearly all\nthe buildings are white, being either constructed of white stone,\nor covered with a very fine and durable white stucco. Among them\nare numerous residences of great comfort and elegance, some of\nthem really palatial, although their exterior surface is\nperfectly plain and simple, without porches, balconies, or grand\nentrances, to relieve their monotonous smoothness, or break up\nthe continuity of white wall which gives Malines the appearance\nof a city of mural monuments. The great metropolitan cathedral of\nSt. Rumbold, in the Grand Place, presents, however, a striking\ncontrast to this general effect of uniform and brilliant\nwhiteness, by its vast mass of dark stone and its immense\nunfinished tower, 340 feet high, which domineers in dark, sombre\ngrandeur over the city. Returning on the Saturday night before\nthe congress to Malines, from Ostend, in company with a friend\nwho has travelled throughout all Europe and seen all its finest\nchurches, we were particularly impressed by the great beauty of\nthe picture presented by the Grand Place and the cathedral in a\nvery clear moonlight and our friend remarked that he never saw\nanything more grand than the view of the vast, dark cathedral,\novershadowing the white walls of the adjacent buildings, and\ntowering above them in strong relief against their moon-bright\nsurfaces. Notwithstanding the sneers of M. Baedeker, the\ncathedral of Malines is a truly grand and imposing church. It was\ncommenced in the twelfth and completed in the fifteenth century;\nthe tower, which is slowly growing upward toward its proposed\nheight of 480 feet, was commenced in 1452, with the aid of\ncontributions from the pilgrims who resorted there to gain the\nindulgences of the crusade, granted by Nicholas V. The patron\nsaint of the cathedral, called in French St. Rombaut, in Flemish\nSt. Rumbold, and in English St. Rumold, was the first apostle of\nBrabant. He is supposed by many writers to have been an Irishman,\nalthough others think that he was an Englishman. Not being able\nto form any opinion of our own on this point, we will take leave\nto quote what Alban Butler says on the subject:\n\n  \"The place of St. Rumold's birth is contested. According to\n  certain Belgic and other martyrologies, he was of the blood\n  royal of Scotland (as Ireland was then called) and Bishop of\n  Dublin. This opinion is ably supported by F. Hugh Ward, an\n  Irish Franciscan, a man well skilled in the antiquities of his\n  country, in a work entitled _Dissertatio Historica de vit\u00e2 et\n  patri\u00e2, S. Rumoldi, Archiepiscopi Dubliniensis_, published\n  at Louvain, in 1662, in 4to. The learned Pope Benedict XIV.\n  seems to adjudge St. Rumold to Ireland, in his letters to the\n  prelates of that kingdom, dated the 1st of August, 1741,\n  wherein are the following words: 'If we were disposed to\n  recount those most holy men, Columbanus, Kilianus, Virgilius,\n  _Rumoldus_, Gallus, and many others who brought the\n  Catholic faith out of Ireland into other provinces, or\n  illustrated by shedding the blood of martyrdom.' (_Hib. Dom.\n  Suppl_. p. 831.) On the other hand, Janning, the Bollandist,\n  undertakes to prove that St. Rumold was an English Saxon.\"\n  [Footnote 45]\n\n    [Footnote 45: Butler's _Lives of the Saints_, July 1.\n    Note.]\n\n{291}\n\nWhether St. Rumold was Irish or English, at all events his\nreputation as an Irish saint obtained for us the pleasure of\nhaving two very agreeable priests from Ireland to dine with us\none Sunday afternoon, who had stopped _en route_ for\nAix-la-Chapelle in order to visit the cathedral.\n\nSt. Rumold, after spending the earlier part of his life in a\nmonastery, went to Rome in order to receive the apostolic\nblessing of the pope and authority to preach the faith in the\nthen heathen country of Lower Germany. He was consecrated bishop\nat some period of his missionary life, when we are not informed,\nand converted a great number of the people of Brabant. He was\nassassinated by some wicked men whose crimes he had reproved, on\nthe 24th of June, 775, and is therefore honored as a martyr. A\nchurch was built to honor his memory and receive his relics at\nMalines, and these are still preserved and venerated in the\npresent cathedral, the successor of the original church of St.\nRumbold. The church of Malines was made a metropolitan see by\nPaul IV., and is now the primatial see of Belgium, including\nBrussels within its diocesan limits. In more recent times, the\narchbishops have usually been raised to the dignity of cardinals.\nThe Cardinal de Frankenberg, who governed the see in the reign of\nJoseph II., distinguished himself by his firm opposition to the\nanti-catholic policy of that emperor. Cardinal de Mean, who died\nin 1831, and has a beautiful monument in the cathedral, has left\nbehind him the reputation of an intrepid and valiant defender of\nthe rights of the church in most difficult and dangerous times.\nCardinal de Sterckx is the present Archbishop of Malines, a\nprelate advanced in years, but still retaining the full vigor of\nmind and body, and universally beloved for his patriarchal\nbenignity and mildness of character, as was evident by the\ngenuine and heartfelt warmth of the expressions of attachment\nwhich greeted his presence at the congress.\n\nThe chapter consists of twenty-two resident canons, who chant the\nentire office with great solemnity every day. The interior of the\ncathedral is imposing, and contains some fine pictures,\nespecially a Crucifixion by Vandyke, a Last Supper by Wouters,\nand other paintings by Flemish masters. The chimes of the\ncathedral tower, which are unusually melodious and joyous in\ntheir tone, ring at the striking of the hours and half-hours, and\non many other occasions, especially on festivals and their eves,\nwhen they are rung almost without cessation during the greater\npart of the day, with a very festive and enlivening effect.\n\nThere are eight or ten other churches, some of them very large\nand of imposing architecture, the most remarkable of which is the\nchurch of Notre Dame d'Hanswyck, on the outskirts of the city,\ncontaining a picture by Rubens of the miraculous draught of\nfishes. St. John's church has a picture of the Adoration of the\nMagi, and several smaller pictures, all by Rubens, forming an\naltar-piece with wings on the high altar.\n{292}\nSt. Peter's was formerly the Jesuits' church, and some adjacent\nbuildings were once used as a novitiate. Here the B. John\nBerchmans, whose picture is in the church, lived for a time; and\nhere are still memorials of the noble order so unjustly expelled\nfrom their peaceful home, in a beautiful marble statue of St.\nFrancis Xavier placed in a recumbent position under the high\naltar, and in a series of large paintings on the side walls\nrepresenting scenes in the life of the saint. The carved work of\nthe pulpit and the confessionals in this church is remarkably\nfine, and in general this is the case throughout Belgium.\n\nThere is a large and commodious grand seminary at Malines, a\nlittle seminary, which is on a corresponding scale of\ncompleteness and extent, and a college. There are several\nreligious communities of men and women, and, under the care of\none of the latter, a very extensive and well-built hospital of\nrecent construction.\n\nThe motto of the city, _In fide constans_, was conferred\nupon it two centuries and a half ago by one of the emperors of\nGermany, and is still appropriate, notwithstanding the strenuous\nand in part successful efforts of the anti-catholic party to\nseduce the population from their fidelity to the church. Malines\nis still one of the most thoroughly and openly Catholic cities of\nEurope. It would be impossible to find more intelligent,\ncourageous, warm-hearted, or devout Catholics than are found in\ngreat numbers among the nobility and higher classes. A large\nproportion of the people are also, as indeed throughout Belgium,\nespecially in the country places, sincerely attached to their\nreligion and in the habit of complying with its duties.\nNevertheless, even in Malines that infidel clique calling itself\nthe liberal party, which has the control of the administration,\nis able to influence a sufficiently large number of the voters to\ncarry all the elections. We were informed by intelligent\ngentlemen of Malines that this is due in great measure to the\nofficial patronage in connection with the railway system, which\nis a state affair, and places a great number of appointments in\nthe hands of the government. A large class are also excluded from\nvoting in Belgium by the peculiar law of property qualification.\nThe keepers of estaminets, as the drinking-shops are called, are\nalso there as here a very numerous class, and possessed of great\ninfluence in politics, all of which is on the side of the\npseudo-liberals.\n\nThe liberal party is undoubtedly thoroughly anti-catholic and\ninfidel in its principles and aims. Nevertheless, as the devil\nknows better than to send up his carte-de-visite with his name\nand likeness on it, the leaders of that party are adroit and\nplausible enough to carry with them not only the portion of the\npeople which is corrupt, but also a number of good and\nwell-meaning Catholics, as well as a large number of those who\nare apathetic and indifferent. All the bad Catholics are\nliberals, we were told, but not all the liberals are bad\nCatholics. It is a great disgrace, however, to such an ancient\nand Catholic city as Malines, that the anti-catholic party should\nrule it, and we hope the stain on its escutcheon may ere long be\nwiped off.\n\nOn the Sunday morning before the opening of the congress, it was\ndifficult to imagine that anything of the sort was at hand.\nEverything looked as quiet as usual, and there were no visible\nsigns of any great influx of strangers. All at once, however, the\ncongress came, like the sun bursting suddenly in its full\nsplendor out of a cloud.\n{293}\nThe preparations had been made quietly but efficiently, and\nduring the latter part of Sunday afternoon one became aware all\nat once of something going on. The city appeared to become full\nat once, as if by magic, of a thousand or more of clergymen and\nlay gentlemen from various parts of Belgium, France, and other\ncountries of the world, and even a few adventurous ladies made\ntheir appearance at the _tables d' h\u00f4te_ of the hotels. The\ncentral bureau of the congress held its preliminary session on\nSunday afternoon, and during the ceremony of tea, at our hotel on\nthe Grand Place, M. Ducpetiaux, the founder, the prime mover, and\nthe secretary-general of the congress, made his appearance, with\nvarious red and blue tickets and printed programmes in his\npockets, which indicated that the ball was about to open.\n\nUnder the guidance of this experienced pilot, we put out into the\nhitherto unknown sea of congressional life, by crossing the Grand\nPlace toward the cathedral, to take part in a reunion given by an\nassociation of young men, called \"The Circle of Loyalty.\" As we\napproached the place of meeting, the first object which greeted\nour eyes was a brilliant, semicircular jet of gas over the arched\nentrance to a garden enclosed by a high wall, forming the words,\n\"_Cercle Catholique._\" A crowd of juvenile Flamanders with\ntheir broad backs and good-humored countenances, watched, and\nchatted, and peeped about the outside, as is always the case with\nthe boys of all countries whenever there are great doings going\non from which they are excluded. Inside the gate, which was\nvigilantly guarded by well-dressed young men clothed with the\nusual badges of office, we found ourselves in the midst of a\ngarden filled with a gay and talkative crowd of priests in\nvarious sorts of ecclesiastical costumes, and of gentlemen of all\nages and many countries, all making themselves as social and\nhappy as possible. Passing through the garden, we were ushered\ninto the large and commodious building which forms the hall of\nthe association, and which was also filled with the members of\nthe circle and of the congress from top to bottom. In the first\nroom we entered, we found the president of the circle, M. Cannart\nd'Hamalle, one of the principal gentlemen of Malines, and a\nmember of the Belgian senate, in full evening dress, receiving\nthe members as they arrived, with that courtly and at the same\ntime cordial politeness in which the Belgians excel all others.\nFrom the lower apartments of the hall we were soon summoned to\nthe audience-room above, where speeches were made and applauded\n_con amore_, and a musical entertainment given by a choir\nand orchestra, consisting of Belgian national hymns, the hymn of\nPius IX., and concluding with an exquisite _morceau_ on the\nvioloncello by a young artist of merit, which was vehemently\napplauded. These social reunions were continued without the\nformalities every evening during the week.\n\nThe congress was opened on the next morning. The place of meeting\nwas the little seminary, situated on the outskirts of the city,\nnear the boulevard which skirts the banks of the river Dyle. The\ngrounds and buildings of the seminary are extremely convenient\nfor the purpose. The buildings are extensive, and, together with\nthe high wall connecting them, enclose a large, quadrangular\nspace. Within this space the members of the congress assembled at\nan early hour on Monday.\n{294}\nThe entrances were guarded by young men of the Circle of Loyalty,\nwho formed a body of volunteer police and commissariat during the\nsessions of the congress, performing their duties in such a\nmanner as to receive well-merited eulogiums approved by the\nentire assembly, the most eloquent and delicate of which came\nfrom the lips of the Count de Falloux. The illustrious statesman\nand orator, with that felicity and charming grace of manner and\nexpression which are his peculiar characteristics, uttered the\nsentiment, during one of his speeches, that the array of Catholic\nyouth in attendance upon the congress was its most beautiful and\nattractive feature, and seemed, as it were, like a little legion\nof Stanislas Kostkas.\n\nIn the enclosure of the seminary, everything was arranged which\ncould facilitate the business of the congress or promote the\ncomfort and convenience of its members. A post-office, booths for\nthe sale of newspapers and for writing letters, a restaurant\nwhere refreshments could be obtained at all hours, and where a\ndinner was provided every day, with other similar conveniences,\nwere established on the premises. The assembly-room was a large\nexhibition hall, tastefully decorated with the busts of the pope\nand king, the flags of various nations, and appropriate mottoes.\nAll the members of the congress were furnished with a ticket of\nmembership; no other persons being admitted within the enclosure,\nexcept a few ladies, for whom seats were reserved. Special\ntickets for reserved places and the platform were given to the\nforeign members and others specially privileged. The number of\nmembers in attendance during the week was about three thousand, a\nlarge proportion of whom were assembled at the place of\nrendezvous on Monday morning, the majority being clergymen\ndressed in the various ecclesiastical costumes of Belgium,\nFrance, and Germany, with a sprinkling of the picturesque habits\nof the old religious orders. At the appointed hour, all moved in\na procession, not remarkably well ordered, but very dignified and\nrespectable in appearance, to the cathedral, through a double\nhedge of citizens lining the streets, by a pretty long route,\nalong which many of the houses and shops were decorated with\nbanners, armorial bearings, and other ornaments of a festal and\nwelcoming nature. After the arrival of the procession, pontifical\nMass was celebrated by the cardinal, a number of Belgian and\nforeign bishops and prelates assisting, and the procession\nreturned once more to the seminary, where the opening session was\nheld.\n\nThe cardinal, who is always the honorary president of the\ncongress, on his arrival at the hall of assemblage, assumed the\nchair amid loud cheers and vivas, and, after pronouncing a short\nprayer, delivered a brief and paternal allocution. At the close\nof his allocution, he descended from the platform to a chair in\nfront of it, near which were placed chairs for the prelates.\nAmong the foreign bishops assisting at the congress were the\nPatriarch of Antioch, the Archbishop of Bosra, Vicar-Apostolic of\nBengal, the Vicar-Apostolic of Alexandria, the Archbishop of Rio\nGrande in Brazil, the Bishop of Vancouver, the Bishops of Natchez\nand Charleston, U. S., and Chatham, N. S.; Mgr. de Merode was\nalso present during the early part of the session. Mgr.\nDupanloup, P\u00e8re Hyacinthe, and the Count de Falloux came by\nspecial invitation as the great orators of the congress. A few\nclergymen and gentlemen from Germany, Italy, Poland, Spain,\nHolland, and America, a moderately large number from France, and\nsome scattering individuals from almost everywhere, representing,\nit was said, eighteen different nations, made up the foreign\nelement of the congress.\n{295}\nAmong the more distinguished foreign members of the congress,\nwere Mgr. Kubinski, rector of the seminary of Pesth, in Hungary;\nMgr. Woodlock, rector of the Catholic university of Dublin; F.\nFormby, of England; Mgr. Sacr\u00e9, rector of the Belgian College in\nRome; Baron de Bach, formerly Austrian ambassador at Rome;\nChevalier Alberi of Florence; Viscount de la Fuente, professor of\ncanon law in the University of Madrid; Don Man\u00e8 y Flaquer, an\neminent Spanish publicist; Count Cieszkowski, of Poland; the Abb\u00e9\nBrouwers, editor of the _Tyd_, of Amsterdam, etc. The\nstrangers were treated with marked distinction and the most\ncordial kindness by their Belgian _confr\u00e8res_. Nevertheless,\napart from the brilliant orators from abroad, whose eloquence was\nchiefly directed to an object identical with the special and\nlocal purposes of the active members of the congress, the\ninternational character of the assembly was much less marked than\nin former years. England had but one representative, F. Formby,\nand other European countries were not strongly represented, with\nthe single exception of France. Germany had its own congress a\nweek after the one at Malines; and it appears probable that the\nCatholic congresses will become hereafter more and more\nexclusively national, occupied with local affairs of practical\nnecessity, and having less of the character of international\n_r\u00e9unions_. The Baron della Faille, in an article published\nin _La Revue Generale,_ seems, however, to regret this\ntendency, and to desire that the congress should become more of\nan international reunion. The late congress was especially marked\nby this practical and business-like character, and, if it fell\nbehind the former ones somewhat in numbers and _\u00e9clat_, was\nprobably increased in practical utility by this very\ncircumstance. This is precisely the view taken in the\n_Compte-Rendu_ of the congress published in _Le\nCatholique_ of Brussels:\n\n  \"Its labors went more directly to their object, had something\n  about them stronger and better developed, and a more practical\n  character. The accessory aspects occupied a smaller space.\n  Eloquence, even--we speak of the eloquence of words, not of\n  realities--played a lesser _r\u00f4le_. We may say that\n  rhetorical display scarcely appeared at all, and that there was\n  a decided preference for the reality of ideas and facts. Read\n  the details of the general sessions and of the sections. You\n  will see there fewer speeches for effect, but more that give\n  information and instruction. The congress meddled little with\n  speculations, properly so-called; it did not set forth any\n  religious or political metaphysics; it proceeded to its end by\n  the shortest and surest routes. The rights of the church, its\n  necessities, the liberty which it needs, its perils and trials\n  in various countries, the organization and results of pious\n  undertakings, the means of propagating them, the precise and\n  urgent duties of Catholics in respect to religion, such were\n  the matters principally discussed.\"\n\nIt may be well to state also, in this connection, that purely\npolitical discussions were prohibited in the congress, and\nstrictly excluded from its deliberations.\n\nThe Cardinal Archbishop of Malines, as we have said, is always\nthe honorary president of the congress, and it is by him that the\nsessions are solemnly opened and closed. The active presidency is\nconfided to some distinguished Belgian nobleman, and this high\noffice has been hitherto filled by the Baron de Gerlache, a\nstatesman and patriot of one of the most illustrious families of\nthe kingdom, who was the president of the national congress by\nwhich the constitution was established, and until of late the\nchief judge of the court of cassation.\n{296}\nThe Baron de Gerlache having resigned the office of president of\nthe Catholic congress on account of his advanced age and\ninfirmities, he was associated with the cardinal as honorary\npresident, in order to testify the gratitude and veneration of\nthe Catholics of Belgium for his illustrious career of public\nservice; and the office of active president was left vacant. Its\nduties were performed with great dignity and ability by the first\nvice-president, Baron Hippolyte della Faille, a senator and\nleading Catholic statesman. The other vice-presidents were\nViscount Kerckhove, Mgr. Laforet, rector magnificus of the\nUniversity of Louvain, Viscount Dubus de Gisignies, senator, and\nCount de Theux, honorary vice-president, to whom were added as\nhonorary vice-presidents the Count de Falloux and a number of the\nother foreigners present. The central bureau, which is a supreme\ncouncil of management, was composed of the active\nvice-presidents, M. Ducpetiaux, secretary-general, with four\nother secretaries and a treasurer, and ten other gentlemen of\ndistinguished rank and character, three of whom are clergymen and\nseven laymen. The presidents of the sections were Count Legrelle,\nCanon de Haerne, Mgr. Laforet, Viscount Dubus de Gisignies, and\nM. Dechamps, with a number of vice-presidents and secretaries.\nAbout fifty or sixty clergymen and lay-gentlemen of rank are thus\nplaced at the head of the congress as members of the central and\nsubordinate bureaux, constituting really the working congress.\nThe great mass of the members, the majority of whom are clergymen\nof Belgium, constitute the audience, and cooperate chiefly by\ntheir presence and sympathy, although any member is at liberty to\nattend any section and gain a hearing for himself, if he has\nanything to propose to the attention of his colleagues. The\nmeasures to be proposed are initiated by the central bureau, sent\ndown to the appropriate section for discussion and preparation,\nand, after approbation by the central bureau, laid before the\ncongress for their ratification, which is usually given without\nfurther discussion, either by acclamation or by a formal vote.\nThe real business meetings are consequently those of the bureaux\nand sections, the general sessions being devoted to hearing\nspeeches, addresses, and reports. The sections meet during the\nmorning, the members attending any of them they may choose. They\nare five in number. The first section is occupied with works of\nCatholic piety, the second with social science and works of\ngeneral public improvement, the third with education, the fourth\nwith Christian art, and the fifth with the Catholic press.\n\nThe general sessions are held during the afternoon, and at the\nlast congress one of the evenings was devoted to a musical\nentertainment; another to a _f\u00eate_, given by the city, in\nthe Botanical Garden; and the others were spent, by many of the\nmembers, in social conversation at the Catholic circle.\n\nBefore we give a _r\u00e9sum\u00e9_ of the proceedings of these\nsectional and general sessions of the late congress, it may be\nwell to state the reasons, objects, and guiding principles in\nview of which the assemblage of these congresses at Malines has\nbeen inaugurated and carried on. A great deal has been already\npublished in our former numbers upon this topic; but as our\nreaders may have forgotten it, and not care to look it up afresh,\nwe think it will enable them to appreciate the proceedings of the\ncongress we are describing more thoroughly, if we furnish them\nthe substance anew in a brief and summary manner.\n{297}\nIn making this explanation, we shall be guided by the published\nand official statements of His Eminence the Cardinal de Sterckx,\nthe Baron de Gerlache, and M. Ducpetiaux, which are to be found\nin the authentic documents of the first congress.\n\nThe necessity of the times which induced the leading Catholics of\nBelgium to conceive and execute the plan of convoking a general\nassembly of the clergy and laity of the kingdom, under the\nauspices of their primate and bishops, was the peculiar condition\nof the Catholic Church in relation to the civil administration of\nthe state. The revolution of 1830, which severed Belgium from\nHolland and made it an independent kingdom, was accomplished by\nthe concurrence of the Catholic majority of the nobility and\npeople with the smaller but more active and enterprising liberal\nparty who were the originators of the movement. By a similar\nconcurrence and compromise between these two totally different\nelements, a constitution was formed on principles of very\nenlarged civil and religious liberty, and a Protestant prince,\nLeopold I., was called to the throne. The late king is usually\nspoken of by Catholics as a monarch of honorable and upright\ncharacter, who endeavored to fulfil the duties entrusted to him\nin a just and impartial manner. Nevertheless, it is quite true\nthat the position of affairs with a Protestant sovereign at the\nhead of a Catholic people was an anomalous one, most unfavorable\nto the interests of the church and affording the greatest\nfacilities to the so-called liberals to obtain a predominant\ninfluence in the state. The Catholic nobility and gentry, whose\nposition, intelligence, and wealth made them the most capable of\ntaking the principal part in directing political affairs, seem to\nhave been too apathetic, and to have confided too much in the\nsincerity, loyalty, and good faith of the opposite party. The\nconsequence was, that this party was allowed to get the control\ninto its own hands, and enabled to secure an amount of influence\nover the people, who are fundamentally good, but too apathetic to\ntheir own highest interests, which has proved very dangerous, and\nhas threatened to prove very disastrous, to religion. The\naccusation publicly made against this party by the gravest and\nmost high-minded statesmen of Belgium is, that it has pursued an\nunremittingly perfidious policy in direct violation of the\nconstitution, the end of which is to deprive the Catholic Church\nof that liberty and those rights solemnly guaranteed to it by the\nfundamental law of the realm, and, as far as possible, to\ndecatholicize and unchristianize the people. The Catholic\ncongress was called together and organized in order to unite the\nmost influential laymen of the kingdom with the leading members\nof the clerical order, to take counsel together and adopt\nmeasures for counteracting this anti-catholic, infidel policy of\nthe pseudo-liberal party. The honor of originating this glorious\nand happy enterprise, and of doing more than any other individual\nto promote its success, is ascribed by unanimous consent to M.\nEdouard Ducpetiaux, of Brussels, a gentleman whose name deserves\nto be enrolled with those of the most illustrious benefactors of\nhis country.\n{298}\nM. Ducpetiaux is a gentleman of wealth and high education, the\nauthor of some valuable works on social science, a corresponding\nmember of the French Institute, and was formerly\ninspector-general of the prisons and public charitable\ninstitutions of Belgium. It is impossible to find in the world a\nman more genial, kind-hearted, unassuming, and energetic in\nprosecuting every benevolent work or one more enthusiastically\nbeloved by those who are associated with him in the noble cause\nof promoting the Catholic faith in Belgium and Europe. Happily\nfor the interests of religion in this ancient Catholic country, a\nnumber of other gentlemen of the highest standing and the most\nthorough Catholic loyalty cooperated with him in his great\nundertaking. The wise, generous, and unfaltering patronage and\nsupport of the venerable primate of Belgium, the Cardinal\nArchbishop of Malines, crowned it with that sanction and imparted\nto it that spirit of union with the Holy Roman Church and the\nhierarchy, which are the guarantee of its genuine Catholicity and\nthe vital principle of its activity. The congress was intended to\nserve as an instrument for thwarting the destructive policy of\nthe infidel party by combining together those zealous and loyal\nCatholics who, in their isolation and separation, were in danger\nof losing courage; revealing to them their real strength,\nanimating their faith and ardor by able and eloquent addresses\nfrom the most illustrious champions of the church, concerting and\ntaking means to carry out all kinds of measures for preserving\nand extending a Catholic spirit among the people. The more\nprecise and definite objects to be aimed at were, to win for the\nchurch the full and perfect possession of her liberty and other\ndivine rights, to promote the cause of Catholic education, to\nmake known and give new impetus to all kinds of religious and\ncharitable works and associations already existing, as well as to\nfound new ones; to provide for the publication of books, tracts,\nmagazines, and newspapers devoted to the sound and wholesome\ninstruction of the people; to preserve, restore, and augment the\ntreasures of religious art; and to work for social reform by\nalleviating the burdens, miseries, and privations of the laboring\nclasses. The special reason for calling a congress for these\npurposes was, in order that the nobility and other influential\nclasses of the laity might be brought into direct and immediate\ncooperation with the clergy for promoting and defending the\nsacred cause of religion. The words of the Most Eminent Cardinal\nde Sterckx carry with them such a weight of authority and wisdom\non this head, not only on account of his position as primate of\nthe Belgian hierarchy, but also from the still higher rank which\nhe holds as a prince of the Roman Church, and from the fact that\nhe has spoken and acted throughout after seeking counsel and\ndirection from the Holy Father, as well as from his own high\npersonal character, that we will make a citation of them from his\nallocution at the opening of the first congress:\n\n  \"It is true, gentlemen, that the government of the church\n  belongs to the clergy; it is true that it is to the sovereign\n  pontiff, to the bishops, and to the priests that the deposit of\n  faith and the care of souls has been confided. It is to them\n  that the divine Founder of the church has said: _'Go, teach\n  all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of\n  the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.'_ It is to them that He has\n  said: _'You are the light of the world, you are the salt of\n  the earth.'_ Nevertheless, the Christian laity are also\n  called to contribute to the propagation of the gospel, to\n  sustain and defend the church of God.\n{299}\n  By baptism they have become the children of the church, and\n  they are bound to take to heart the interests of their mother;\n  by confirmation they have become soldiers of the church, and\n  they are bound to defend her against the attacks of her\n  enemies. It is, moreover, by the practice of good works that we\n  are all obliged, both ecclesiastics and laymen, to secure our\n  salvation. '_Strive_,' says the prince of apostles to all\n  Christians without distinction, '_strive to secure your\n  vocation and election by the practice of good works_.'\n\n  \"But, if such is the duty of the laity, they ought to concert\n  together in order to fulfil it with zeal and perseverance; they\n  ought to combine and form associations; they ought to confer\n  together, in order to plan the means of doing with more\n  certainty and success that which they could only do in a very\n  incomplete manner if they were abandoned to their own\n  individual capacities.\"\n\nWe add one more sentence from the same allocution, which\nmanifests the genuine and large-minded liberality of sentiment so\nconspicuous in this wise and venerable prelate and in the body of\neminent men who have had the principal direction of the congress:\n\n  \"All honest opinions may be expressed, all measures proper for\n  promoting that which is good may be proposed. Both the one and\n  the other may be defended, discussed, and combated with the\n  greatest liberty; but you will also be all ready to abandon, if\n  necessary, your sentiments and your projects, in order to rally\n  to the support of those measures which shall be judged to be\n  the best. In this way you will arrive at that perfect union\n  which the Saviour demanded for his disciples: You will all have\n  but one heart and one soul, and the success of your labors will\n  be secured.\"\n\nThere can be no doubt that the congress of Malines has\naccomplished a great deal of the good contemplated by its eminent\nand excellent promoters. The mere assemblage of so many fervent\nCatholics together, and the enunciation of their common\nsentiments, wishes, and purposes, have had a great influence in\ngiving increased courage, confidence, and zeal to the faithful\nadherents of the church in Belgium. Moreover, many works of great\npractical utility have either been inaugurated or have received\nadditional extent and vigor. Among them may be mentioned the\nsupport given to the Catholic University of Louvain, the\nformation of a society among the alumni of the university, the\nestablishment of Catholic circles of young men in the towns, the\nformation of libraries, the establishment of lectures and\nconferences, the formation of charitable and religious\nassociations, the foundation of a Catholic publication house, the\nmultiplication of books, tracts, and newspapers, the care given\nto the preservation, repair, and increase of churches, the\ncultivation of the fine arts in connection with religion, the\nefforts made for the sanctification of the Sunday and for the\namelioration of the condition of the laboring classes. It is\nimpossible to enumerate all that has been done, and would require\na more minute knowledge of the state of things in Belgium than we\npossess--such a knowledge as is possessed only by those who have\nbeen engaged permanently in the work of the congress from the\nbeginning.\n\n{300}\n\nIn regard to the work of the congress lately held, our\ninformation is also much restricted and very general, as we are\nobliged to rely on the succinct reports already published. The\nmeetings of the sections being held simultaneously in different\nrooms, and their proceedings being a continuation of those of\npreceding congresses as well as of a great number of various\nbranches of active effort carried on perpetually by those engaged\nin them, we cannot pretend to give any complete and detailed\nstatement of practical results, but merely an indication of the\ngeneral topics discussed and the general objects had in view in\nthe measures adopted.\n\nIn the first section, the topics discussed related to the\nChristian burial of the poor, the sanctification of the Sunday,\nthe work of St. Francis Xavier for the instruction of laboring\nmen, which has forty thousand members from this class in the\ncities of Belgium, the work of St. Francis Regis for legitimating\nillicit unions and facilitating marriages among the poor, and the\ncontribution in aid of the pope called St. Peter's pence.\n\nThe second section was exclusively occupied with considering the\ninterest of the laboring class and the relation of capital to\nlabor, the terrible and at present insoluble European _question\nouvri\u00e8re_. The discussions in this section were more lively\nand the interest excited more general than in any other section.\n\nThe third section discussed three questions:\n\n1. The attitude which Catholics ought to take in view of the war\ndeclared against the law of 1842, and in the eventuality of its\nabrogation.\n\n2. The means of protecting the schools of the middle class\nagainst the incursions of official bureaucracy.\n\n3. The improvement to be introduced in the Catholic system of\ninstruction, under which head the improvement of historical\ntext-books was especially considered.\n\nThe fourth section discussed the subject of instruction and\nimprovement in religious art, the permanent exposition of fine\npaintings and statuary in churches, the means of developing and\npropagating religious art, and literary works imbued with a\nChristian spirit. M. Bordeaux, an eminent French archaeologist,\nwas present, and spoke with ability in this section, giving\ninteresting details of the progress of sacred archaeology in\nFrance. Among other recommendations, we were happy to find one\nrelative to the removal of the ridiculous images which disfigure\nsome fine churches, and the abolition of the unpleasant custom of\npaying a franc to the sacristan for removing the curtains before\ncertain pictures. Desires were expressed for the publication of a\nmanual of sacred archaeology and architecture as a guide to\npriests and architects.\n\nThe fifth section had a great number of important questions\nbefore it relating to the Catholic press, Catholic circles,\npopular lectures, secret societies, judicial oaths, etc., which\nit appears were not so well prepared beforehand or dealt with in\nso thorough a manner as the questions laid before the other\nsections. The most important resolution arrived at by this\nsection was that of effecting a union of the Catholic circles for\nyoung men by means of a central organization. The formation of\nsimilar circles for the benefit of the industrial classes, and\nthe giving of popular lectures on a more extensive scale, were\nalso recommended.\n\nSuch is an imperfect and meagre outline of the work accomplished\nin the morning sessions of the several congressional sections.\nThese sessions were opened at eight or nine o'clock, and\ncontinued until twelve or later.\n{301}\nAt three o'clock the general sessions of the congress were\nopened, continuing until six or seven in the evening; and we will\nnow attempt to give a sketch of their proceedings.\n\nThe opening of the congress by the cardinal has already been\nnoticed. After His Eminence had left the president's chair, the\nnominations of the central and sectional bureaux made by the\ncommittee of delegates were proposed and ratified by the\nassembly, and the chair was taken by the Baron della Faille, who\nimmediately pronounced a long, elaborately written, and extremely\nable opening discourse. The baron is a gentleman of plain but\nimpressive dignity, whose entire bearing and language bear the\nstamp of solid sense, elevated principles, thorough\nconscientiousness, and quiet but indomitable courage. A tone of\nprofound and deeply meditative Christian thought and fervent\nCatholic piety predominates in his discourses, with a little\nshadow of sadness, as if he felt the great interests of the\nchurch and society to be in great danger; together with an\nundercurrent of suppressed emotion, as of a just and high-minded\nman indignant at the baseness of those who are faithless to their\nduty toward God and their fellow-men; as well as deeply resolved\nto be faithful to the death himself, at whatever cost of selfish\ninterests.\n\nAt the outset of his discourse, the distinguished vice-president\nlaid down the proposition that a state of conflict is the\nperpetual condition of the church, and proceeded to develop his\nviews concerning the radical causes of the hostility which\nChristianity perpetually excites in the human bosom against its\nprinciples, its precepts, and its claim of authority over reason,\nconscience, and human activity. This part of his discourse was\nprofoundly theological, the views and reasonings presented being\nall derived from the doctrine that man, in consequence of the\noriginal sin into which he fell from his primitive state of\nintegrity, finds a perpetual repugnance and struggle in his own\nbosom of selfish passion against the supernatural law. This\nrepugnance and resistance tends to produce itself in society even\nafter it has been christianized and civilized, in the form of a\nretrograde movement toward irreligion and barbarism.\n\nThe orator proceeded then to examine the question whether this\nconflict could be terminated, so far as its disturbing influence\non political tranquillity and the peace of society is concerned,\nby a reformation or reconstruction of the relations between the\ntwo orders, spiritual and temporal, religion and society, the\nchurch and the state. To this question he addressed himself to\ngive a historical solution, arguing from the facts of the past as\nto what might be expected in the future. \"When the irreconcilable\nadversaries of the truth,\" said the orator, with energy and\nemotion, \"tear the state away from the church, reject Christ, ah!\ngentlemen, it is not in order to create for us a more peaceful\ncondition; it is, on the contrary, in order to attack us more\nfreely. If the civil power forces itself to be impartial, guided\nby reason alone, it is not secure from error; it will often be\ndeceived, and the Catholic religion, being incapable of\nsubmitting to the manipulations of the temporal authority, will\nalways be the first thing menaced. But what if this same power is\nmalevolent? what if it has fallen into the hands of our enemies?\"\nThe orator then went on to sustain the position thus laid down by\na reference to the actual policy of the so-called liberal\ngovernments of Europe toward the Catholic Church.\n{302}\nHe demanded that a single European state should be indicated,\nwhere liberalism is in power, which has not persecuted the\nchurch. After reproaching the blindness and apathy of a great\nnumber of Catholics who hang loose from an active part in the\nconflict against infidelity, he set forth, in very forcible\nlanguage, the common duty of all to maintain, or rather to make a\nconquest of, the liberties of the church. This, he said, could\nonly be accomplished by an obstinate conflict with the enemies of\nthe church, in which there could be _ni paix ni tr\u00eave_.\nTouching then upon Belgium in particular, the country which\nliberty has made so famous, he asked the question, What is the\ncondition of things there now? Without disparaging the amount of\nliberty still left to them, he declared that they had already\nlost enough to awaken just regret in their own minds, and to\nsuggest the caution to their too confident friends: \"Do not\nexaggerate the authority of this example, and take care for\nyourselves.\" He then went on to affirm that the church in Belgium\nis combated in its religious and charitable works--in the\nexercise of worship, where it has new assaults to expect, without\nany respect for the conditions which have been affixed to\ncharitable institutions, or to the solemn engagements of the\nstate. Such, he exclaimed, is our situation, in spite of our\nlegislation which was favorable to us, in spite of promises the\nmost formal, compacts the most solemn. Elsewhere, he asked, is\nthe situation more favorable? The orator then deduced the\nconclusion which was the final object aimed at throughout his\nclosely reasoned discourse, that the Catholics of Europe must\nrely on themselves alone, and prepare for a combat which must be\nsustained with courage, constancy, and union. In this part of his\ndiscourse, the baron proved how legitimate is the title he has\nreceived from his warlike ancestors, and we were reminded of the\nold days and old scenes of the chivalrous, warlike Netherlands,\nwhen the fathers of the peaceable gentlemen in the costume of\ncivilians, who sat upon the platform or on the floor of the\ncongress, rode forth with their pennons flying, clad in steel\narmor and coat of mail, to fight against the paynim for the cross\nand sepulchre. \"We are the children of the Crusaders!\" he\nexclaimed. \"To a threatening infidelity let us oppose a new\ncrusade, and let us each one bring his own arms with him.\"\n\nOn the conclusion of the discourse, which had been frequently\ninterrupted by applause, the assembly gave loud and\nlong-continued expression to the universal sentiment of\nadmiration with which this introductory discourse of the\nillustrious Belgian statesman was received.\n\nAn address to the Holy Father was then voted by the assembly; the\naddress was intrusted to Mgr. de Merode, to be presented by him\nto His Holiness on his return to Rome. Information of the vote\nwas transmitted to Rome by telegraph, and in response to it the\nHoly Father sent his benediction on the opening of the congress,\nand subsequently another benediction on its close. After some\ncommunications from the secretary, the first public session of\nthe congress was adjourned.\n\nAt the second session, on Tuesday afternoon, the hall was still\nmore crowded than on the day previous. A few moments before it\nwas opened, the Count de Falloux entered, leaning on the arm of\nMgr. Laforet, amid prolonged and enthusiastic acclamations.\n\n{303}\n\nAt the opening of the session an address to the cardinal was\nproposed and voted. M. de Falloux was nominated honorary\nvice-president, and a large number of the foreign members were\nhonored with the same mark of distinction.\n\nThe favorite demonstration of cheering accompanied all these\ncourteous formalities, and no sooner had it subsided than it was\nawakened to new and increased vigor by the arrival of the\ncardinal with the accompanying prelates, conducting the\nillustrious Bishop of Orleans, Mgr. Dupanloup, together with the\ncelebrated orator of the Carmelite order, Father Hyacinthe. Long,\nloud, and often renewed were the acclamations with which the\nassembly greeted the heroic, veteran champion of the Catholic\ncause, \"the Lamorici\u00e8re of the episcopate,\" as he was happily\ndesignated by one of the orators of the congress. The president\nsucceeded in silencing the thunders of congratulation long enough\nto allow him to address a few words of salutation to Mgr.\nDupanloup in the name of the assembly, when they again burst\nforth with irrepressible energy, and could not be appeased until\nthe illustrious orator, reluctantly yielding to the irresistible\ndemand of three thousand voices, ascended the tribune to\npronounce a short but fervid allocution.\n\nMgr. Dupanloup presents much more the exterior aspect of a\nhard-working apostolic missionary, or of an austere and\nself-denying religious, than of a stately dignitary of the\nchurch; and his style of address is in accordance with his\npersonal appearance, having more of the unstudied energy, the\nspontaneous fire, of an earnest, popular preacher, than of the\npolished, artistic eloquence of a French academician.\n\nHis dress was a simple black cassock, with the slightest possible\namount of purple trimming, and a cloak of the same color, just\nenough to indicate his episcopal rank, but still more significant\nof his profound indifference for its decorations. Everything else\nabout his person and manner wore the same air of unstudied\n_neglig\u00e9_ and inattention to the ceremonial of exterior\nelegance and polish. As he appeared in full view of the audience\nupon the platform, an expression used by Rufus Choate of Napoleon\nthe First could be applied to him, as giving with terse\ncompleteness a designation to the impression we received of the\nphysical, intellectual, and moral _tout ensemble_ of the\nman--\"the worn child of a thousand battles.\" The same idea is\nconveyed by the title given him by general acclamation at the\ncongress, \"the Lamorici\u00e8re of the episcopate.\" The bishop is\nsomewhat over sixty years of age, his hair is gray, his movements\nsomewhat indicative of failing bodily strength, his countenance\nvivid, lighting up as if from the flame of an internal,\never-burning furnace which is consuming his physical frame, his\nmanner natural, easy, familiar, yet kindling at intervals into a\nstartling, vibrating eloquence that thrills through the nerves\nlike an electric shock. Mgr. Dupanloup had not preached in his\ndiocese for the last two years on account of weakness in the\nthroat, and, on taking the tribune at Malines, he apologized for\nhimself on the ground that his voice was weakened by long and\nlaborious use. In point of fact, his excuses seemed to be\nwell-grounded; yet, as he caught the expression of the eyes and\nfaces of his sympathetic audience, the electrical influence of\nthe atmosphere of the place, surcharged with the enthusiasm of\nthe Catholic faith, seemed to reanimate all his ancient fire, and\nhe sent forth, like a flash of lightning, with a tone that\nvibrated through every heart in that august assembly, the\neloquent exclamation, \"_Nous savions que le feu sacr\u00e9 est\nimmortel dans l'Eglise; mais_ ICI ON EN VOIT LA FLAMME!\"\n{304}\nThe bishop spoke but a few minutes, seizing the opportunity of\nthe renewed applause which broke out on his uttering these words\nto descend hastily from the tribune, having produced an effect by\nthis sudden _coup de main_ of eloquence which it would be\nimpossible to describe in any language we have at command.\n\nThe acclamations caused by Mgr. Dupanloup's _d\u00e9but_ in the\nassembly having subsided, a short and amusing conflict arose\nbetween the amiable pertinacity of M. Ducpetiaux in insisting\nupon an immediate address from the Count de Falloux, and the\nreluctance of that gentleman to yield to the demand; in which the\nlatter was obliged to succumb. Indeed, the audience came at once\nto the support of their secretary in such overwhelming force that\nresistance was impossible, and the illustrious French statesman\nwas borne up to the tribune just vacated by the illustrious\nFrench bishop, as it were by a great wave of applause.\n\nThe Count de Falloux is a finished specimen of the most graceful\nand polished type of French gentlemen, orators, and men of polite\nletters. The paleness of his countenance, together with an\nexpression of subdued languor in his eye and movements, bore\nwitness to the truth of his avowal, that a pitiable state of\nhealth had prevented him from making any preparation for\naddressing the congress. In consequence of this, the count made\nno long or elaborate discourses. In his discourse of Tuesday,\nwhich was the longest, he spoke but half an hour. Nevertheless,\nthis brief discourse, although apparently an unstudied, impromptu\nutterance of thoughts and sentiments occurring at the moment;\ndelivered, without any effort at oratory, in a simple, almost\nconversational manner; was a specimen of the most consummate,\ncaptivating, and classical eloquence; as our readers will see for\nthemselves, we hope, so far as a translation can enable them to\ndo so, when the text of the discourse is published in full in our\npages, as we intend it shall be; together with those of Mgr.\nDupanloup and Father Hyacinthe. The expression of M. de Falloux's\ncountenance, the tones of his voice, and his entire manner of\naddress bear an impress of gentleness, of graceful, charming\npersuasiveness, through which he wins the hearts of his audience\nat once, and gains an easy, almost imperceptible dominion over\ntheir minds. With exquisite grace and delicacy, he complimented\nall the most distinguished persons present, the congress, and the\nBelgian nation; thanking the latter especially for the honor and\nkindness shown to his illustrious and suffering friend\nMontalembert, then confined to his chamber by sickness at his\nvilla of Brixensart, near Brussels. The genuine, affectionate\ntenderness and emotion with which he spoke of Montalembert\ncommunicated itself at once to his sympathetic audience, and\ncalled out the most energetic, enthusiastic acclamations of the\nname so dear to the Belgian Catholics. \"It is to you,\" said the\norator, \"that Montalembert owes the motto expressive of that\nsacred cause to which his life has been devoted, _Liberty as in\nBelgium_.\" The theme thus introduced with such consummate\nskill and effect occupied the remainder of the discourse, which\nwas in its drift and aim a modest, reserved, courteous, but not\nthe less powerful apology and defence of the nineteenth century\nand the cause of liberty against the charge of being essentially\nanti-catholic and irreligious.\n\n{305}\n\nThe name of Montalembert was, in every instance when it was\nmentioned, greeted with the same hearty applause during all the\nsessions of the congress; a circumstance which elicited from him\na letter of thanks and sympathy, afterward publicly read by the\nCount de Falloux, and received with acclamations of the most\nenergetic character by the assembly.\n\nWe do not feel ourselves competent to express an opinion on the\nquestion how far the applause given by the congress to these two\nillustrious Catholic statesmen of France indicated an approbation\nof the principles in regard to the alliance of religion and\nliberty which they advocate. There is, no doubt, a great\ndifference regarding this very important, delicate, and\ncomplicated question, in Belgium as well as throughout Europe; a\ndifference existing, consequently, among the members of the\nCongress of Malines. The Count de Falloux's speech has been\ncourteously but searchingly criticised by some of the most\nprominent writers for the Catholic press in Belgium, and still\nmore severely by another writer in one of the English papers;\nwhile, as is natural, it is sustained with equal courtesy as well\nas with equal decision by _Le Correspondant_ of France. All\nthe members of the congress, as well as all other firm adherents\nof the Catholic cause in Europe and the world, are of one mind\nand one heart, in filial devotion to the Pope, loyalty to the\nHoly See and the Catholic Church, determination to fight against\nanti-catholic, infidel pseudo-liberalism in both its phases of\ndespotism and radical demagogueism for the perfect liberation,\nthe complete liberty of the Catholic Church from the tyranny,\nboth of governments and of revolutions. In regard to the basis of\nsettlement between the church and civil, political society, or\nthe state, through which this liberty can be most effectually\ngained, most durably established, there is a divergence which\nsometimes threatens to become a sharp contest, involving in its\nissues other questions more directly ecclesiastical or\ntheological. The most admirable feature of the Congress of\nMalines was, that this difference of opinion was neither\nviolently smothered nor permitted to burst into a flame of\ndiscord, but subdued by the dominant power of mutual charity,\nrespect, and courtesy. The Catholics of Belgium, we may also add\nthose of France also, give a good example in this respect worthy\nto be imitated by all, but especially _needing to be\nimitated_ by the Catholics of England and our own country. The\nBelgian Catholics are too deeply sensible of the imminent duties\nand perils of the Catholic cause in front of the deadly enemy of\nall religion, to tolerate the excesses of party spirit or\ninternal dissension among themselves, to allow the tyranny of\ntheological opinion the right of branding all dissidents as\ndisloyal to the church, to tolerate the secret undermining or\nopen detraction of the reputation of eminent, meritorious\nadvocates of the Catholic cause, much less to permit the\nviolation of the rules of Christian charity and courtesy by those\nwho write for the press. They have felt the necessity of shunning\npersonal or party disputes, rising above the spirit of clique or\nsectional interest, throwing off indifference and apathy toward\nmeasures or enterprises set on foot by men of zeal and courage\nfor the common good, and combining together in a spirit of\ndisinterested, self-sacrificing effort, strong enough to sweep\naway and drown all petty interests, for the common, the sacred,\nthe glorious, but deeply endangered cause of God, religion, and\ntrue philanthropy.\n{306}\nIf we are so fortunate as to have a Catholic congress in the\nUnited States, we trust it will be animated by the same spirit\nwhich prevailed in the Congress of Malines, and that its\ninfluence will promote powerfully this truly Catholic spirit\nwherever it is felt.\n\nTo return from this digression; when the Count de Falloux had\nfinished his speech, a very pleasing interlude occurred in the\npresentation of a magnificent vase of gold, on the part of the\ncentral bureau, to M. Ducpetiaux, by the Viscount Kerckhove, who\nmade a graceful and appropriate speech on the occasion, embracing\naffectionately the amiable secretary at its conclusion, to the\nunbounded delight of the audience. Several other addresses were\nthen read, some compliments were passed between the congress and\nthe representatives of the city of Malines, an excellent report\nwas read by Mgr. Nameche, vice-rector of the University of\nLouvain, from a committee appointed to give a premium to the best\ntreatise on the education of young ladies, an animated speech was\nmade by one of the juvenile members of the congress, and the\nsession was adjourned.\n\nThe general session of Wednesday was addressed, after a few\npreliminary proceedings, by Lieutenant-General de Lannoy, a\nveteran warrior of the Belgian army, in a brief but exceedingly\neloquent speech, commending the charitable heroism of the\npontifical Zouaves during the visitation of Rome and Albano by\nthe cholera. It was resolved to send an expression of the\nsentiment of the assembly to the secretary of war at Rome, and\ntwo young Belgian Zouaves present in the audience were invited to\na seat on the platform. Father Tondini, an _Italian_\nBarnabite, then read a paper relating to a work in which he is\nengaged, for promoting the return of Russia to the unity of the\nchurch. He was followed by the celebrated Mgr. Dechamps, formerly\na Redemptorist missionary, now the Bishop of Namur, who\npronounced an able and eloquent discourse on the subject of\nCatholic unity. After this eloquent prelate had left the tribune,\nit was taken by the Bishop of Charleston, who employed the\nremaining time of the session, the hour of adjournment having\nbeen fixed at five P.M., on account of the oratorio in the\nevening, in a discourse on the state of the Catholic religion in\nthe United States, but principally in his own diocese. The\nlearned bishop, whose presence did so much honor to the hierarchy\nand the Catholic body of our own country at the Congress of\nMalines, exposed the sad state of the Catholic people of South\nCarolina, as well as of the whole population, but more especially\nof the colored race, in consequence of the late war. He\ncommunicated a project of his own for establishing a community of\nmonks upon an island on the coast of South Carolina, as the\nnucleus of a great work for converting and civilizing the colored\npopulation. The address of Bishop Lynch produced a most profound\nimpression upon the assembly; and we are happy to state that some\nof the wealthy members of the congress gave handsome\ncontributions toward his benevolent undertaking.\n\nOn Thursday the great event of the session was the discourse of\nMgr. Dupanloup, of which we give no analysis here, as the text of\nthe discourse is to appear in our pages. It was throughout a\nscathing denunciation of the principle of the pseudo-liberals,\nthe _liber\u00e2tres_, as he designated them, the\n_liberticides_, as we would propose to call them in English.\n{307}\nNear the close of his discourse he gave utterance to a sentence\nwhich has aroused the attention of all Europe, and bids fair to\nmake its echo heard for a long time to come. It was _\u00e0\npropos_ of a plan, proposed, we believe, by the editor of the\nParis _Si\u00e8de_, for erecting a statue to Voltaire.\n\n  \"Shall I remind you of Voltaire, the inventor of the title\n  _The Infamous_, by which he designated the church? And he,\n  what name did he give himself? He called himself philosopher.\n  Ah! well, gentlemen, no one shall ever bring me to give the\n  name of philosophers to a d'Holbach, to a Lamettrie, or the\n  rest of the impious men who conspired with their master to\n  crush the Infamous. But what do I hear? People say that they\n  desire to erect a statue to the man who gave this name to\n  Christianity. Indeed! and I, on my part, say that they will\n  have raised a statue to INFAMY PERSONIFIED. (Prolonged bravos.)\n  I should like to encounter here a man who would contradict me!\n  I would promise to give him, as soon as he pleased, proofs with\n  which all Europe would resound. This violence done to good\n  sense, to rectitude, to French honor, revolts me. I repeat it,\n  they will raise a statue to INFAMY PERSONIFIED. The Bishop of\n  the Orleans of Joan of Arc could not have or express a more\n  worthy sentiment.\" (Prolonged acclamations.)\n\nThe editor of the _Si\u00e8de_ has offered to take up the glove\nthus thrown at him, and a short but spicy correspondence has been\ninterchanged between himself and the bishop, who is preparing to\nredeem his pledge in a pamphlet containing the proofs of his\nassertion.\n\nWe cannot refrain from noticing one more passage in this\nremarkable discourse, one which came like a flash of lightning\nfrom the bishop's mouth, striking the assembly with an\nirresistible force, but especially kindling every heart of a\nBelgian there present into aflame of patriotic enthusiasm. The\neffect was indeed indescribable. We add our fervent hope that it\nmay be _ineffaceable_, especially upon the hearts of the\nBelgian youth there present, to whom their country looks with\nsuch fond hope for the future.\n\n\"O patriotism! it is not to you that I have to preach it; but I\nsay to you simply, You HAVE A COUNTRY, KNOW HOW TO KEEP IT!\"\nWords apparently simple and commonplace as written down on paper\nto be read by those who are remote from the scene of their\nutterance, strangers to the memories, the associations, the hopes\nand fears whose key-note they struck, and unable to represent to\nthemselves the attitude, the tone, the expression of the orator\nwho gave them utterance. But words which, as Dupanloup uttered\nthem, with a sudden _\u00e9lan_, in which his whole soul of fire\nseemed to blaze forth before the eyes of his audience, \"VOUS AVEZ\nUNE PATRIE, SACHEZ LA CARDER!\" Were sufficient to set a whole\nnation on fire.\n\nThe castigation given to infidelity by the intrepid Bishop of\nOrleans caused the party suffering from his well-applied lash to\ngive utterance to its smarting sensations by an outcry in the\n_Independence Belge_, repeated by the London Times, and\nechoed by some of its feeble imitators in America. The burden of\nthe complaint against Mgr. Dupanloup is, that he did not treat\nthe _soi-disant_ liberal party with sufficient courtesy or\nrespect. For our own part, we did not find anything in his\ndiscourse, nor have we ever seen anything in any of his writings,\nin the slightest decree contrary to the charity of a Christian or\nthe dignity of a bishop.\n{308}\nIn speaking of the party called by the extremely vague, general\nname of liberal, we must distinguish. We assent to the opinion of\nthe amiable writer who furnished the sketch of the late congress\nin _Le Correspondant_, that it is incumbent on the champion\nof the Catholic cause to combat for it with _courteous\narms_. We allow that a very large proportion of those who\nwould class themselves under the general head of liberals,\nwhether they call themselves liberal Christians or liberal\nphilosophers, are entitled to courtesy. But, when it is question\nof such men as Voltaire and his modern disciples, who are engaged\nin the nefarious work of destroying all Christian faith in the\nhearts of the Catholic people, as well as poisoning the very\nwell-spring of all political and social life, we deny that, apart\nfrom courtesies of private life, and in the public arena of\ndiscussion, they are entitled to any courtesy at the hands of a\nloyal defender of Christian faith and civilization, beyond that\nwhich his own self-respect and Christian charity require him to\nshow to the deadliest enemies of the human race. We trust the\ntime has not yet come in England or America when the name of\nVoltaire must be mentioned with respect. Whatever courtesy any\nman of that class deserves can only be given on the same\nprinciple that the poor woman addressed the executioner during\nthe French reign of terror, with a plea to spare the lives of\nherself and her children, in the words, \"_Ayez pitie, M. le\nBourreau_.\" We hope it is through ignorance only that so many\nin England and America, calling themselves by the Christian name,\nextend their sympathy to a class of men who are laboring for the\ndestruction of all religion and all social order; if it be\nthrough ignorance, their eyes will be opened in due time, perhaps\nin a somewhat startling manner.\n\nWhen the thunders of acclamation, in the midst of which the\nBishop of Orleans descended from the tribune, had subsided, the\naudience felt as if they had been swept up, by the hurricane of\nhis eloquence, to a height from which it was difficult as well as\nunpleasant to descend on _terra firma_. His discourse was\nwell styled in the _Bulletin_ of the next morning, \"_ce\ndiscours monument_\" and, in our own mind, it is like some of\nthese _chefs d'oeuvre_ of Raffaelle in the Louvre, whose\nexcellence is more vividly appreciated in the reminiscence than\nin the actual moment of viewing them.\n\nThe remainder of the session was occupied by an interesting\nmemoir on the state of Italy, by the Chevalier Alberi of\nFlorence, and an address on North American missions, by the\nBishop of Vancouver.\n\nThe great speech of the Friday session was that of Father\nHyacinthe. It was preceded by a short though brilliant address\nfrom the eminent statesman M. Adrian Dechamps, and another short\naddress from the Count de Falloux, who read a letter from M. de\nMontalembert, which will be published hereafter.\n\nFather Hyacinthe, dressed in the picturesque, impressive habit of\nthe Carmelites, presented a striking contrast in appearance, as\nwell as in the style of his eloquence, to the two great French\norators who had preceded him. He is still in the full vigor of\nthe prime of manhood, untouched by any token of decline; on the\ncontrary, hardly more than just arrived at the full efflorescence\nof physical and intellectual maturity. The poetic sentiment seems\nto predominate in him, with an exuberance of the tender and\nexpansive emotions of the heart, the pleasing, radiant creations\nof the imagination, yet not without the power of descending to\nthe deeper region of tragic sentiment, or striking out more bold\nand sublime conceptions.\n{309}\nHis ordinary manner and expression are gentle and winning, his\neye and countenance full of benevolence, his voice sweet,\nmusical, somewhat feminine. When the spirit of oratorical\ninspiration carries him away, his countenance changes to a more\nearnest, impassioned expression, his gestures are rapid and\nvehement, his voice alternately sinks to a deep, low, organ-like\ntone, or rings out clearly like a trumpet, and the whole mind and\nbody are roused into an action in which every cord and nerve has\nthe tension of a ship's cordage under full sail. After the\ndiscourse, which was two hours long, and held the audience in a\nbreathless attention interrupted only by their applauses, the\neloquent father was completely exhausted and obliged to return\nhome to his lodgings at once for a period of perfect quiet and\nrepose. Of the discourse, which was on the _question\nouvri\u00e8re_, we will not speak, leaving our readers to peruse it\nin the translation which will be given in our pages hereafter.\n\nA short address was made by Mgr. Rogers, Bishop of Chatham, N.\nS., thanking the Catholics of Europe for their charitable\nassistance to the missions of America, and giving some naive\ndetails of the primitive manners of the Acadians. Canon Rousseau\nthen gave an analysis of the memoir presented by Father Hecker in\na French translation for publication among the congressional\ndocuments, relating to the progress of the Catholic religion in\nthe United States. Finally, M. l'Abb\u00e9 Brouwers, a young priest of\nAmsterdam, succeeded in gaining the attention of the audience,\nalready fatigued and impatient, to an address on the religious\ncondition of Holland. This young priest exhibited proofs in his\nspeech, of possessing the gift of sacred eloquence in no common\ndegree. Another thing about him that pleased every one was, that\nhe gave a bright, cheerful picture of the state of things in his\nown country. Everything was going on well, and promised to go on\nstill better in the future--a circumstance quite creditable to\nthe contented disposition of the compatriots of our first\nsettlers in New York.\n\nThe closing service on Saturday morning was devoted to the\nreading of the reports of the sections and voting their\nconclusions. This work had been commenced at an extraordinary\ngeneral session on Friday morning. The president gave a short\nconcluding discourse, and after some usual formalities the\nmembers of the congress repaired to the cathedral, where a sermon\nwas preached by Father Hyacinthe, the _Te Deum_ was chanted,\nand the cardinal gave his benediction on the close of the\ncongress. A general communion of the Society of St. Vincent de\nPaul had already been made on Friday morning in the church of\nNotre Dame d'Hanswyck. We may add here that a bulletin of the\nacts of the congress was published every morning, and also that\nthere is an association called the Catholic Union, which is a\nsort of permanent standing committee of the congress during the\nintervals of its assemblages.\n\nAn elegant and _recherch\u00e9_ banquet, at which about three\nhundred gentlemen were present, concluded the Catholic\n_r\u00e9union_ at Malines in a very pleasant manner, and before\nnightfall we had bidden adieu to Malines and were on our way to\nBrussels, preparatory to a return to Paris, and thence to\nAmerica.\n\n{310}\n\nIn conclusion, we beg leave to thank, in the name of the entire\nAmerican delegation, the Cardinal Archbishop of Malines, and the\nother distinguished gentlemen of Belgium who are the chief\ndirectors of the congress, especially the noble-hearted and\namiable secretary, M. Ducpetiaux, for the hospitality and\nconsideration so kindly extended by them during our stay at\nMalines; and we trust that it may be in our power at a future day\nto return this hospitality in an equally cordial manner to some\nof their number as guests of the Catholics of the United States\nof America. _Vive la Belgique! Vive le Congr\u00e8s Catholique de\nMalines!_\n\n--------\n\n       Translated From The French.\n\n        The Story Of A Conscript.\n\n\n                 I.\n\nThose who have not seen the glory of the Emperor Napoleon, during\nthe years 1810, 1811, and 1812, can never conceive what a pitch\nof power one man may reach.\n\nWhen he passed through Champagne, or Lorraine, or Alsace, people\ngathering the harvest or the vintage would leave everything to\nrun and see him; women, children, and old men would come a\ndistance of eight or ten leagues to line his route, and cheer and\ncry, \"_Vive l'Empereur! Vive l'Empereur!_\" One would think\nthat he was a god, that mankind owed its life to him, and that,\nif he died, the world would crumble and be no more. A few old\nrepublicans might shake their heads and mutter over their wine\nthat the emperor might yet fall, but they passed for fools.\n\nI was in my apprenticeship since 1804, with an old watchmaker,\nMelchior Goulden, at Phalsbourg. As I seemed weak and was a\nlittle lame, my mother wished me to learn an easier trade than\nthose of our village, for at Dagsberg there were only\nwood-cutters and charcoal-burners. Monsieur Goulden liked me very\nmuch. We lived on the first story of a large house opposite the\n\"Red Ox\" inn, and near the French gate.\n\nThat was the place to see princes, ambassadors, and generals come\nand go, some on foot, and some in carriages drawn by two or four\nhorses; there they passed in embroidered uniforms, with waving\nplumes and decorations from every country under the sun. And in\nthe highway what couriers, what baggage-wagons, what\npowder-trains, cannon, caissons, cavalry, and infantry did we\nsee! Those were stirring times!\n\nIn five or six years the innkeeper, George, had made a fortune.\nHe had fields, orchards, houses, and money in abundance; for all\nthese people, coming from Germany, Switzerland, Russia, Poland,\nor elsewhere, cared little for a few handfuls of gold scattered\nupon their road; they were all nobles who took a pride in showing\ntheir prodigality.\n\nFrom morning until night, and even during the night, the \"Red Ox\"\nkept its tables in readiness. Through the long windows on the\nfirst story nothing was to be seen but great white table-cloths,\nglittering with silver and covered with game, fish, and other\nrare viands, around which the travellers sat side by side.\n{311}\nIn the yard behind, horses neighed, postilions shouted,\nmaid-servants laughed, coaches rattled.\n\nSometimes, too, people of the city stopped there, who in other\ntimes were known to gather sticks in the forest or work on the\nhighway. But now they were commandants, colonels, generals, and\nhad won their grades by fighting in every land on earth.\n\nOld Melchior, with his black silk cap pulled over his ears, his\nweak eyelids, his nose pinched between great horn spectacles, and\nhis lips tightly pressed together, could not sometimes avoid\nputting his magnifying-glass and punch upon the work-bench, and\nthrowing a glance toward the inn, especially when the cracking of\nthe whips of the postilions awoke the echoes of the ramparts and\nannounced a new arrival. Then he became all attention, and from\ntime to time would exclaim:\n\n\"Hold! It is the son of Jacob, the slater,\" or of \"the old scold,\nMary Ann,\" or of \"the cooper, Franz L\u00e9pel! He has made his way in\nthe world; there he is, colonel and baron of the empire into the\nbargain. Why don't he stop at the house of his father who lives\nyonder in the _Rue des Capucins?_\"\n\nBut, when he saw them shaking hands right and left in the street\nwith those who recognized them, his tone changed; he wiped his\neyes with his great spotted handkerchief, and murmured:\n\n\"How pleased poor old Annette will be! Good! good! _He_ is\nnot proud; he is a man. God preserve him from cannon-balls!\"\n\nOthers passed as if ashamed to recognize their birthplace; others\nwent gayly to see their sisters or cousins, and everybody spoke\nof them. One would imagine that all Phalsbourg wore their crosses\nand their epaulettes; while the arrogant were despised even more\nthan when they swept the roads.\n\nNearly every month _Te Deums_ were chanted, and the cannon\nat the arsenal fired their salutes of twenty-one rounds for some\nnew victory. During the week following every family was uneasy;\npoor mothers especially waited for letters, and the first that\ncame all the city knew of; the rumor spread like wildfire that\nsuch an one had received a letter from Jacques or Claude, and all\nran to see if it spoke of their Joseph or their Jean-Baptiste. I\ndo not speak of promotions or the official reports of deaths; as\nfor the first, every one knew that the killed must be replaced;\nand as for the reports of deaths, parents awaited them weeping,\nfor they did not come immediately; sometimes they never came, and\nthe poor father and mother hoped on, saying, \"Perhaps our boy is\na prisoner. When they make peace, he will return. How many have\nreturned whom we thought dead!\"\n\nBut they never made peace. When one war was finished, another was\nbegun. We always needed something, either from Russia or from\nSpain, or some other country. The emperor was never satisfied.\n\nOften when regiments passed through the city, with their\ngreat-coats pulled back, their knapsacks on their backs, their\ngreat gaiters reaching to the knee, and muskets carried at will;\noften when they passed covered with mud or white with dust, would\nFather Melchior, after gazing upon them, ask me dreamily:\n\n\"How many, Joseph, think you we have seen pass since 1804?\"\n\n\"I cannot say, Monsieur Goulden,\" I would reply', \"at least four\nor five hundred thousand.\"\n\n{312}\n\n\"Yes, at least!\" he said, \"and how many have returned?\"\n\nThen I understood his meaning, and answered: \"Perhaps they return\nby Mayence or some other route. It cannot be possible otherwise!\"\n\nBut he only shook his head, and said: \"Those whom you have not\nseen return are dead, as hundreds and hundreds of thousands more\nwill die, if the good God does not take pity on us, for the\nemperor loves only war. He has already spilt more blood to give\nhis brothers crowns than our Revolution cost to win the rights of\nman.\"\n\nThen we set about our work again; but the reflections of Monsieur\nGoulden gave me some terrible subjects for thought.\n\nIt was true that I was a little lame in the left leg; but how\nmany others with defects of body had received their orders to\nmarch notwithstanding!\n\nThese ideas kept running through my head, and when I thought long\nover them, I grew very melancholy. They seemed terrible to me,\nnot only because I had no love for war, but because I was going\nto marry Catharine of Quatre-Vents. We had been in some sort\nreared together. Nowhere could be found a girl so fresh and\nlaughing. She was fair-haired, with beautiful blue eyes, rosy\ncheeks, and teeth white as milk. She was approaching eighteen; I\nwas nineteen, and Aunt Margr\u00e9del seemed pleased to see me coming\nearly every Sunday morning to breakfast and dine with them.\n\nIt was I who took her to high Mass and vespers; and on holidays\nshe never left my arm, and refused to dance with the other youths\nof the village. Everybody knew that we would some day be married;\nbut, if I should be so unfortunate as to be drawn in the\nconscription, there was an end of matters. I wished that I was a\nthousand times more lame; for at the time of which I speak they\nhad first taken the unmarried men, then the married men who had\nno children, then those with one child; and I constantly asked\nmyself, \"Are lame fellows of more consequence than fathers of\nfamilies? Could they not put me in the cavalry?\" The idea made me\nso unhappy that I already thought of fleeing.\n\nBut in 1812, at the beginning of the Russian war, my fear\nincreased. From February until the end of May, every day we saw\npass regiments after regiments--dragoons, cuirassiers,\ncarbineers, hussars, lancers of all colors, artillery, caissons,\nambulances, wagons, provisions, rolling on for ever, like the\nwaters of a river. All flowed through the French gate, crossed\nthe Place d'Armes, and streamed out at the German gate.\n\nAt last, on the 10th of May, in the year 1812, in the early\nmorning, the guns of the arsenal announced the coming of the\nmaster of all. I was yet sleeping when the first shot shook the\nlittle panes of my window till they rattled like a drum, and\nMonsieur Goulden, with a lighted candle, opened my door, saying,\n\"Rise up, he is here!\"\n\nWe opened the window. Through the night I saw a hundred dragoons,\nof whom many bore torches, entering at a gallop; they shook the\nearth as they passed; their lights glanced along the house-fronts\nlike dancing flames, and from every window we heard the shouts of\n\"_Vive l'Empereur!_\"\n\n{313}\n\nI was gazing at the carriage, when a horse crashed against the\npost to which the butcher Klein was accustomed to fasten his\ncattle. The dragoon was thrown to the pavement, his helmet rolled\nin the gutter, and a head leaned out of the carriage to see what\nhad happened--a large head, pale and fat, with a tuft of hair on\nthe forehead: it was Napoleon; he held his hand up as if about\ntaking a pinch of snuff, and said a few words roughly. The\nofficer galloping by the side of the coach bent down to reply;\nand his master took his snuff and turned the corner, while the\nshouts redoubled and the cannons roared louder than ever.\n\nThis was all that I saw.\n\nThe emperor did not stop at Phalsbourg, and, when he was on the\nroad to Saverne, the guns fired their last shot, and silence\nreigned once more. The guards at the French gate raised the\ndrawbridge, and the old watchmaker said:\n\n\"You have seen him?\"\n\n\"I have, Monsieur Goulden.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he continued, \"that man holds all our lives in his hand;\nhe need but breathe upon us and we are gone. Let us bless Heaven\nthat he is not evil-minded; for if he were, the world would see\nagain the horrors of the days of the barbarian kings and the\nTurks.\"\n\nHe seemed lost in thought, but in a moment he added:\n\n\"You can go to bed again. The clock is striking three.\"\n\nHe returned to his room, and I to my bed. The deep silence\nwithout seemed strange after such a tumult, and until daybreak I\nnever ceased dreaming of the emperor. I dreamed, too, of the\ndragoon, and wanted to know if he were killed. The next day we\nlearned that he was carried to the hospital and would recover.\n\nFrom that day until the month of September they often sang the\n_Te Deum_, and fired twenty-one guns for new victories. It\nwas nearly always in the morning, and Monsieur Goulden cried:\n\n\"Eh, Joseph! Another battle won! Fifty thousand men lost!\nTwenty-five standards, a hundred guns won. All goes well, all\ngoes well. It only remains now to order a new levy to replace the\ndead!\"\n\nHe pushed open my door, and I saw him bald, in his shirt-sleeves,\nwith his neck bare, washing his face in the wash-bowl.\n\n\"Do you think, Monsieur Goulden,\" I asked, in great trouble,\n\"that they will take the lame?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" he said kindly; \"fear nothing, my child, you could not\nserve. We will fix that. Only work well, and never mind the\nrest.\"\n\nHe saw my anxiety, and it pained him. I never met a better man.\nThen he dressed himself to go to wind up the city clocks--those\nof Monsieur the Commandant of the place, of Monsieur the Mayor,\nand other notable personages. I remained at home. Monsieur\nGoulden did not return until after the _Te Deum_. He took\noff his great brown coat, put his peruke back in its box, and\nagain pulling his silk cap over his ears, said:\n\n\"The army is at Wilna or at Smolensk, as I learn from Monsieur\nthe Commandant. God grant that we may succeed this time and make\npeace, and the sooner the better, for war is a terrible thing.\"\n\nI thought, too, that, if we had peace, so many men would not be\nneeded, and that I could marry Catharine. Any one can imagine the\nwishes I formed for the emperor's glory.\n\n\n                   II.\n\nIt was on the 15th of September, 1812, that the news came of the\ngreat victory of the Moskowa. Every one was full of joy, and all\ncried, \"Now we will have peace! now the war is ended!\"\n\n{314}\n\nSome discontented folks might say that China yet remained to be\nconquered; such mar-joys are always to be found.\n\nA week after, we learned that our forces were in Moscow, the\nlargest and richest city in Russia, and then everybody figured to\nhimself the booty we would capture, and the reduction it would\nmake in the taxes. But soon came the rumor that the Russians had\nset fire to their capital, and that it was necessary to retreat\non Poland or to die of hunger. Nothing else was spoken of in the\ninns, the breweries, or the market; no one could meet his\nneighbor without saying, \"Well, well, things go badly; the\nretreat has commenced.\"\n\nPeople grew pale, and hundreds of peasants waited morning and\nnight at the post-office, but no letters came now. I passed and\nrepassed through the crowd without paying much attention to it,\nfor I had seen so much of the same thing. And besides, I had a\nthought in my mind which gladdened my heart, and made everything\nseem rosy to me.\n\nYou must know that for six months past I had wished to make\nCatharine a magnificent present for her _f\u00eate_ day, which\nfell on the 18th of December. Among the watches which hung in\nMonsieur Goulden's window was one little one, of the prettiest\nkind, with a silver case full of little circles, which made it\nshine like a star. Around the face, under the glass, was a thread\nof copper, and on the face were painted two lovers, the youth\nevidently declaring his love, and giving to his sweetheart a\nlarge bouquet of roses, while she modestly lowered her eyes and\nheld out her hand.\n\nThe first time I saw the watch, I said to myself: \"You will not\nlet that escape; that watch is for Catharine, and, although you\nmust work every day till midnight for it, she must have it.\"\nMonsieur Goulden, after seven in the evening, allowed me to work\non my own account. He had old watches to clean and regulate; and,\nas this work was often very troublesome, old father Melchior paid\nme reasonably for it. But the little watch was thirty-five\nfrancs, and one can imagine how many hours at night I would have\nto work for it. I am sure that, if Monsieur Goulden knew that I\nwanted it, he would have given it me for a present, but I would\nnot have let him take a farthing less for it; I would have\nregarded doing so something shameful. I kept saying, \"You must\nearn it; no one else must have any claim upon it.\" Only for fear\nsomebody else might take a fancy to buy it, I put it aside in a\nbox, telling father Melchior that I knew a purchaser.\n\nUnder these circumstances, every one can readily understand how\nit was that all these stories of war went in at one ear and out\nat the other with me. While I worked I imagined Catharine's joy,\nand for five months that was all I had before my eyes. I thought\nhow pleased she would look, and asked myself what she would say.\nSometimes I imagined she would cry out, \"O Joseph what are you\nthinking of? It is much too beautiful for me. No, no; I cannot\ntake so fine a watch from you!\" Then I thought I would force it\nupon her; I would slip it into her apron-pocket, saying, \"Come,\ncome, Catharine! Do you wish to give me pain?\" I could see how\nshe wanted it, and that she spoke so only to seem to refuse it.\nThen I imagined her blushing, with her hands raised, saying,\n\"Joseph, now I know indeed that you love me!\" And she would\nembrace me with tears in her eyes. I felt very happy. Aunt Gr\u00e9del\napproved of all.\n{315}\nIn a word, a thousand such scenes passed through my mind, and\nwhen I retired at night I said: \"There is no one as happy as you,\nJoseph. See what a present you can make Catharine by your toil;\nand she surely is preparing something for your _f\u00eate_, for\nshe thinks only of you; you are both very happy, and, when you\nare married, all will go well.\"\n\nWhile I was thus working on, thinking only of happiness, the\nwinter began, earlier than usual, toward the commencement of\nNovember. It did not begin with snow, but with dry, cold weather\nand strong frosts. In a few days all the leaves had fallen and\nthe earth was hard as ice and all covered with hoar-frost; tiles,\npavement, and window-panes glittered with it. Fires had to be\nmade to keep the cold out, and, when the doors were opened for a\nmoment, the heat seemed to disappear at once. The wood crackled\nin the stoves and burnt away like straw in the fierce draught of\nthe chimneys.\n\nEvery morning I hastened to wash the panes of the shop-window\nwith warm water, and I scarcely closed it when a frosty sheen\ncovered it. Without, people ran puffing with their coat-collars\nover their ears and their hands in their pockets. No one stood\nstill, and, when doors opened, they soon closed.\n\nI don't know what became of the sparrows, whether they were dead\nor living, but not one twittered in the chimneys, and, save the\nreveille and retreat sounded in the barracks, no sound broke the\nsilence.\n\nOften when the fire crackled merrily did Monsieur Goulden stop\nhis work, and, gazing on the frost-covered panes, exclaim:\n\n\"Our poor soldiers! our poor soldiers!\"\n\nHe said this so mournfully that I felt a choking in my throat as\nI replied:\n\n\"But, Monsieur Goulden, they ought now to be in Poland in good\nbarracks; for to suppose that human beings could endure a cold\nlike this, it is impossible.\"\n\n\"Such a cold as this,\" he said; \"yes, here it is cold, very cold,\nfrom the winds from the mountains; but what is this frost to that\nof the north, of Russia and of Poland? God grant that they\nstarted early enough. My God! my God! the leaders of men have a\nheavy weight to bear.\"\n\nAfter the frosts so much snow fell that the couriers were stopped\non the road toward Quatre-Vents. I feared that I could not go to\nsee Catharine on her _f\u00eate_ day; but two companies of\ninfantry set out with pickaxes, and dug through the frozen snow a\nway for carriages, and that road remained open until the\ncommencement of the month of April, 1813.\n\nNevertheless, Catharine's _f\u00eate_ approached day by day, and\nmy happiness increased in proportion. I had already the\nthirty-five francs, but I did not know how to tell Monsieur\nGoulden that I wished to buy the watch; I wanted to keep the\nwhole matter secret; and it annoyed me greatly to talk about it.\n\nAt length, on the eve of the eventful day, between six and seven\nin the evening, while we were working in silence, the lamp\nbetween us, suddenly I took my resolution, and said:\n\n\"You know, Monsieur Goulden, that I spoke to you of a purchaser\nfor the little silver watch.\"\n\n\"Yes, Joseph,\" said he, without raising his head, \"but he has not\ncome yet.\"\n\n\"It is I who am the purchaser, Monsieur Goulden.\"\n\nThen he looked up in astonishment. I took out the thirty-five\nfrancs and laid them on the work-bench. He stared at me.\n\n{316}\n\n\"But,\" he said, \"it is not such a watch as that you want, Joseph;\nyou want one that will fill your pocket and mark the seconds.\nThose little watches are only for women.\"\n\nI knew not what to say.\n\nMonsieur Goulden, after meditating a few moments, began to smile.\n\n\"Ah!\" he exclaimed; \"good! good! I understand now; to-morrow is\nCatharine's _f\u00eate_. Now I know why you worked day and night.\nHold! take back this money; I do not want it.\"\n\nI was all confusion.\n\n\"Monsieur Goulden, I thank you,\" I replied; \"but this watch is\nfor Catharine, and I wish to have earned it. You will pain me if\nyou refuse the money; I would as lief not take the watch.\"\n\nHe said nothing more, but took the thirty-five francs; then he\nopened his drawer, and chose a pretty steel chain, with two\nlittle keys of silver-gilt, which he fastened to the watch. Then\nhe put all together in a box with a rose-colored favor. He did\nall this slowly, as if affected; then he gave me the box.\n\n\"It is a pretty present, Joseph,\" said he. \"Catharine ought to\ndeem herself happy in having such a lover as you. She is a good\ngirl. Now we can take our supper. Set the table.\"\n\nThe table was arranged, and then Monsieur Goulden took from a\ncloset a bottle of his Metz wine, which he kept for great\noccasions, and we supped like old friends rather than as master\nand apprentice; all the evening he never stopped speaking of the\nmerry days of his youth; telling me how he once had a sweetheart,\nbut that, in 1792, he left home in the _lev\u00e9e en masse_ at\nthe time of the Prussian invasion, and that on his return to\nF\u00e9n\u00e9trange, he found her married--a very natural thing, since he\nhad never mustered courage enough to declare his love. However,\nthis did not prevent his remaining faithful to the tender\nremembrance, and when he spoke of it he seemed sad indeed. I\nrecounted all this in imagination to Catharine, and it was not\nuntil the stroke of ten, at the passage of the rounds, which\nrelieved the sentries on post every twenty minutes on account of\nthe great cold, that we put two good logs in the fire, and at\nlength went to bed.\n\n\n                  III.\n\nThe next day, the 18th of December, I arose about six in the\nmorning. It was terribly cold; my little window was covered with\na sheet of frost.\n\nI had taken care the night before to lay out on the back of a\nchair my sky-blue coat, my trousers, my goat-skin vest, and my\nfine black silk cravat. Everything was ready; my well-polished\nshoes lay at the foot of the bed; I had only to dress myself; but\nthe cold I felt upon my face, the sight of those window-panes,\nand the deep silence without made me shiver in advance. If it\nwere not Catharine's _f\u00eate_, I would have remained in bed\nuntil midday; but suddenly that recollection made me rush to the\ngreat delf stove, where some embers of the preceding night almost\nalways remained among the cinders. I found two or three, and\nhastened to collect and put them under some split wood and two\nlarge logs, after which I ran back to my bed.\n\nMonsieur Goulden, under the huge curtains, with the coverings\npulled up to his nose and his cotton night-cap over his eyes,\nwoke up, and cried out:\n\n\"Joseph, we have not had such cold for forty years. I never felt\nit so. What a winter we shall have!\"\n\n{317}\n\nI did not answer, but looked out to see if the fire was lighting;\nthe embers burnt well; I heard the chimney draw, and at once all\nblazed up. The sound of the flames was merry enough, but it\nrequired a good half-hour to feel the air any warmer.\n\nAt last I arose and dressed myself. Monsieur Goulden kept on\nchatting, but I thought only of Catharine, and when at length,\ntoward eight o'clock, I started out, he exclaimed:\n\n\"Joseph, what are you thinking of? Are you going to Quatre-Vents\nin that little coat? You would be dead before you accomplished\nhalf the journey. Go into my closet, and take my great cloak, and\nthe mittens, and the double-soled shoes lined with flannel.\"\n\nI was so smart in my fine clothes that I reflected whether it\nwould be better to follow his advice, and he, seeing my\nhesitation, said:\n\n\"Listen! a man was found frozen yesterday on the way to Wecham.\nDoctor Steinbrenner said that he sounded like a piece of dry wood\nwhen they tapped him. He was a soldier, and had left the village\nbetween six and seven o'clock, and at eight they found him; so\nthat the frost did not take long to do its work. If you want your\nnose and ears frozen, you have only to go out as you are.\"\n\nI knew, then, that he was right; so I put on the thick shoes, and\npassed the cord of the mittens over my shoulders, and put the\ncloak over all. Thus accoutred, I sallied forth, after thanking\nMonsieur Goulden, who warned me not to stay too late, for the\ncold increased toward night, and great numbers of wolves were\ncrossing the Rhine on the ice.\n\nI had not gone as far as the church when I turned up the fox-skin\ncollar of the cloak to shield my ears. The cold was so keen that\nit seemed as though the air were filled with needles, and one's\nbody shrank involuntarily from head to foot.\n\nUnder the German gate, I saw the soldier on guard, in his great\ngray mantle, standing back in his box like a saint in his niche;\nhe had his sleeve wrapped about his musket where he held it, to\nkeep his fingers from the iron, and two long icicles hung from\nhis mustaches. No one was on the bridge, but, a little further\non, I saw three carts in the middle of the road with their\ncanvas-tops all covered with frost; they were unharnessed and\nabandoned. Everything in the distance seemed dead; all living\nthings had hidden themselves from the cold; and I could hear\nnothing but the snow crunching under my feet. On each side were\nwalls of ice, as I ran along the trench the soldiers had dug in\nthe snow; in some places swept by the wind, I could see the oak\nforest and the bluish mountain, both seeming much nearer than\nthey were, on account of the clearness of the air. Not a dog\nbarked in a farm-yard; it was even too cold for that.\n\nBut the thought of Catharine warmed my heart, and soon I descried\nthe first houses of Quatre-Vents. The chimneys and the thatched\nroofs, to the right and left of the road, were scarcely higher\nthan the mountains of snow, and the villagers had dug trenches\nalong the walls, so that they could pass to each other's houses.\nBut that day every family kept around its hearth, and the little\nround window-panes seemed painted red, from the great fires\nburning within. Before each door was a truss of straw to keep the\ncold from entering beneath it.\n\n{318}\n\nAt the fifth door to the right I stopped to take off my mittens;\nthen I opened and closed it very quickly. I was at the house of\nGr\u00e9del Bauer, the widow of Matthias Bauer and Catharine's mother.\n\nAs I entered, and while Aunt Gr\u00e9del, astonished at my fox-skin\ncollar, was yet turning her gray head, Catharine, in her Sunday\ndress--a pretty striped petticoat, a kerchief with long fringe\nfolded across her bosom, a red apron fastened around her slender\nwaist, a pretty cap of blue silk with black velvet bands setting\noff her rosy and white face, soft eyes, and slightly\n_retrouss\u00e9_ nose--Catharine, I say, exclaimed:\n\n\"It is Joseph!\"\n\nAnd she ran to greet me, saying:\n\n\"I knew the cold would not keep you from coming.\"\n\nI was so happy that I could not speak. I took off my cloak, which\nI hung upon a nail on the wall, with my mittens; I took off\nMonsieur Goulden's great shoes, and felt myself pale with joy.\n\nI would have said something agreeable, but could not; suddenly I\nexclaimed:\n\n\"See here, Catharine; here is something for your _f\u00eate_.\"\n\nShe ran to the table. Aunt Gr\u00e9del also came to see the present.\nCatharine untied the cord and opened the box. I was behind them,\nmy heart bounding--I feared that the watch was not pretty enough.\nBut in an instant, Catharine, clasping her hands, said in a low\nvoice:\n\n\"How beautiful! It is a watch!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Aunt Gr\u00e9del; \"it is beautiful; I never saw so fine a\none. One would think it was silver.\"\n\n\"But it _is_ silver,\" returned Catharine, turning toward me\ninquiringly.\n\nThen I said:\n\n\"Do you think, Aunt Gr\u00e9del, that I would be capable of giving a\ngilt watch to one whom I love better than my own life? If I could\ndo such a thing, I would despise myself more than the dirt of my\nshoes.\"\n\nAunt Gr\u00e9del asked:\n\n\"But what is this painted upon the face?\"\n\n\"That painting, Aunt Gr\u00e9del,\" said I, \"represents two lovers who\nlove each other more than they can tell: Joseph Bertha and\nCatharine Bauer; Joseph is offering a bouquet of roses to his\nsweetheart, who is stretching out her hand to take them.\"\n\nWhen Aunt Gr\u00e9del had sufficiently admired the watch, she said:\n\n\"Come until I kiss you, Joseph. I see very well that you must\nhave economized very much and worked hard for this watch, and I\nthink it is very pretty, and that you are a good workman, and\nwill do us no discredit.\"\n\nFrom then until midday we were happy as birds. Aunt Gr\u00e9del\nbustled about to prepare a large pancake with dried prunes, and\nwine, and cinnamon and other good things in it; but we paid no\nattention to her, and it was only when she put on her red jacket\nand black sabots, and called, \"Come, my children; to table!\" that\nwe saw the fine table-cloth, the great porringer, the pitcher of\nwine, and the large round, golden pancake on a plate in the\nmiddle. The sight rejoiced us not a little, and Catharine said:\n\n\"Sit there, Joseph, opposite the window, that I may look at you.\nBut you must fix my watch, for I do not know where to put it.\"\n\nI passed the chain around her neck, and then, seating ourselves,\nwe ate gayly. Without, not a sound was heard; within the fire\ncrackled merrily upon the hearth. It was very pleasant in the\nlarge kitchen, and the gray cat, a little wild, gazed at us\nthrough the balusters of the stairs without daring to come down.\n\n{319}\n\nCatharine, after dinner, sang _Der liebe Gott_. She had a\nsweet, clear voice, and it seemed to float to heaven. I sang low,\nmerely to sustain her. Aunt Gr\u00e9del, who could never rest doing\nnothing, began spinning; the hum of her wheel filled up the\nsilences, and we all felt happy. When one air was ended, we began\nanother. At three o'clock, Aunt Gr\u00e9del served up the pancake, and\nas we ate it, laughing, she would exclaim:\n\n\"Come, come, now, you are children in reality.\"\n\nShe pretended to be angry, but we could see in her eyes that she\nwas happy from the bottom of her heart. This lasted until four\no'clock, when night began to come on apace; the darkness seemed\nto enter by the little windows, and, knowing that we must soon\npart, we sat sadly around the hearth on which the red flames were\ndancing. I would almost have given my life to remain longer.\nAnother half-hour passed, when Aunt Gr\u00e9del cried:\n\n\"Listen, Joseph! It is time for you to go; the moon does not rise\ntill after midnight, and it will soon be dark as a kiln outside,\nand an accident happens so easily in these great frosts.\"\n\nThese words seemed to fall like a bolt of ice, and I felt\nCatharine's clasp tighten on my hand. But Aunt Gr\u00e9del was right.\n\n\"Come,\" said she, rising and taking down the cloak from the wall;\n\"you will come again Sunday.\"\n\nI had to put on the heavy shoes, the mittens, and the cloak of\nMonsieur Goulden, and would have wished that I were a hundred\nyears doing so, but, unfortunately, Aunt Gr\u00e9del assisted me. When\nI had the great collar drawn up to my ears, she said:\n\n\"Now, Joseph, you must go!\"\n\nCatharine remained silent. I opened the door, and the terrible\ncold, entering, admonished me not to wait.\n\n\"Hasten, Joseph,\" said my aunt.\n\n\"Good-night, Joseph, good-night!\" cried Catharine, \"and do not\nforget to come Sunday.\"\n\nI turned around to wave my hand; then I ran on without raising my\nhead, for the cold was so intense that it brought tears to my\neyes even behind the great collar.\n\nI ran on thus some twenty minutes, scarcely daring to breathe,\nwhen a drunken voice called out:\n\n\"Who goes there?\"\n\nI looked through the dim night, and saw, fifty paces before me,\nPinacle, the pedler, with his huge basket, his otter-skin cap,\nwoollen gloves, and iron-pointed staff. The lantern, hanging from\nthe strap of his basket lit up his debauched face, his chin\nbristling with yellow beard, and his great nose shaped like an\nextinguisher. He glared with his little eyes like a wolf, and\nrepeated, \"Who goes there?\"\n\nThis Pinacle was the greatest rogue in the country. He had, the\nyear before, a difficulty with Monsieur Goulden, who demanded of\nhim the price of a watch which he undertook to deliver to\nMonsieur Anstett, the curate of Homert, and the money for which\nhe put into his pocket, saying he had paid it to me. But,\nalthough the villain made oath before the justice of the peace,\nMonsieur Goulden knew the contrary, for on the day in question\nneither he nor I had left the house. Besides, Pinacle wanted to\ndance with Catharine at a festival at Quatre-Vents, and she\nrefused because she knew the story of the watch, and was,\nbesides, unwilling to leave me.\n\n{320}\n\nThe sight, then, of this rogue with his iron-shod stick in the\nmiddle of the road did not tend to rejoice my heart. Happily a\nlittle path which wound around the cemetery was at my left, and,\nwithout replying, I dashed through it, although the snow reached\nmy waist.\n\nThen he, guessing who I was, cried furiously:\n\n\"Aha! it is the little lame fellow! Halt! halt! I want to bid you\ngood-evening. You came from Catharine's, you watch-stealer.\"\n\nBut I sprang like a hare through the heaps of snow; he at first\ntried to follow me, but his pack hindered him, and, when I gained\nthe ground again, he put his hands around his mouth, and\nshrieked:\n\n\"Never mind, cripple, never mind! Your reckoning is coming all\nthe same; the conscription is coming--the grand conscription of\nthe one-eyed, the lame, and the hunch-backed. You will have to\ngo, and you will find a place under ground like the others.\"\n\nHe continued his way, laughing like the sot he was, and I,\nscarcely able to breathe, kept on, thanking Heaven that the\nlittle alley was so near me; for Pinacle, who was known always to\ndraw his knife in a fight, might have done me an ill turn.\n\nIn spite of my exertion, my feet, even in the thick shoes, were\nintensely cold, and I again began running.\n\nThat night the water froze in the cisterns of Phalsbourg and the\nwines in the cellars--things that had not happened before for\nsixty years.\n\nOn the bridge and under the German gate the silence seemed yet\ndeeper than in the morning, and the night made it seem terrible.\nA few stars shone between the masses of white cloud that hung\nover the city. All along the street I met not a soul, and when I\nreached home, after shutting the door of our lower passage, it\nseemed warm to me, although the little stream that ran from the\nyard along the wall was frozen. I stopped a moment to take\nbreath; then I ascended in the dark, my hand on the baluster.\n\nWhen I opened the door of my room, the cheerful warmth of the\nstove was grateful indeed. Monsieur Goulden was seated in his\narm-chair before the fire, his cap of black silk pulled over his\nears, and his hands resting upon his knees.\n\n\"Is that you, Joseph?\" he asked without turning round.\n\n\"It is,\" I answered. \"How pleasant it is here, and how cold out\nof doors! We never had such a winter.\"\n\n\"No,\" said he gravely. \"It is a winter that will long be\nremembered.\"\n\nI went into the closet and hung the cloak and mittens in their\nplaces, and was about relating my adventure with Pinacle, when he\nresumed:\n\n\"You had a pleasant day of it, Joseph,\"\n\n\"I have had, indeed. Aunt Gr\u00e9del and Catharine wished me to make\nyou their compliments.\"\n\n\"Very good, very good,\" said he; \"the young are right to amuse\nthemselves, for when we grow old, and suffer, and see so much of\ninjustice, selfishness, and misfortune, everything is spoiled in\nadvance.\"\n\nHe spoke as if talking to himself, gazing at the fire. I had\nnever seen him so sad, and I asked:\n\n\"Are you not well, Monsieur Goulden?\"\n\nBut he, without replying, murmured:\n\n\"Yes, yes; this is to be a great military nation; this is glory!\"\n\nHe shook his head and bent over gloomily, his heavy gray brows\ncontracted in a frown.\n\n{321}\n\nI knew not what to think of all this, when, raising his head\nagain, he said:\n\n\"At this moment, Joseph, there are four hundred thousand families\nweeping in France; the grand army has perished in the snows off\nRussia; all those stout young men whom for two months we saw\npassing our gates are buried beneath them. The news came this\nafternoon. Oh! it is horrible! horrible!\"\n\nI was silent. Now I saw clearly that we must have another\nconscription, as after all campaigns, and this time the lame\nwould most probably be called. I grew pale, and Pinacle's\nprophecy made my hair stand on end.\n\n\"Go to bed, Joseph; rest easy,\" said Monsieur Goulden. \"I am not\nsleepy; I will stay here; all this upsets me. Did you remark\nanything in the city?\"\n\n\"No, Monsieur Goulden.\"\n\nI went to my room and to bed. For a long time I could not close\nmy eyes, thinking of the conscription, of Catharine, and of so\nmany thousands of men buried in the snow, and then I plotted\nflight to Switzerland.\n\nAbout three o'clock Monsieur Goulden retired, and a few minutes\nafter, through God's grace, I fell asleep.\n\n\n\n\n                   IV.\n\n\nWhen I arose in the morning, about seven, I went to Monsieur\nGoulden's room to begin work; but he was still in bed, looking\nweary and sick.\n\n\"Joseph,\" said he, \"I am not well. This horrible news has made me\nsick, and I have not slept at all. I will get up by and by. But\nthis is the day to regulate the city clocks; I cannot go; for to\nsee so many good people--people I have known for thirty\nyears--in misery, would kill me. Listen, Joseph; take those keys\nhanging behind the door, and go. I will try to sleep a little. If\nI could sleep an hour or two, it would do me good.\"\n\n\"Very well, Monsieur Goulden,\" I replied; \"I will go at once.\"\n\nAfter putting more wood in the stove, I took the cloak and\nmittens, drew Monsieur Goulden's bed-curtains, and went out, the\nbunch of keys in my pocket. The illness of Father Melchior\ngrieved me very much for a while, but a thought came to console\nme, and I said to myself: \"You can climb up the city clock-tower,\nand see the house of Catharine and Aunt Gr\u00e9del.\" Thinking thus, I\narrived at the house of Brainstein, the bell-ringer, who lived at\nthe corner of the little court, in an old, tumble-down barrack.\nHis two sons were weavers, and in their old home the noise of the\nloom and the whistle of the shuttle was heard from morning till\nnight. The grand-mother, old and blind, slept in an arm-chair, on\nthe back of which perched a magpie. Father Brainstein, when he\ndid not have to ring the bells for a christening, a funeral, or a\nmarriage, kept reading his almanac behind the small round panes\nof his window.\n\nThe old man, when he saw me, rose up, saying:\n\n\"It is you, Monsieur Joseph.\"\n\n\"Yes, Father Brainstein; I come in place of Monsieur Goulden, who\nis not well.\"\n\n\"Very well; it is all the same.\"\n\nHe took up his staff and put on his woollen cap, driving away the\ncat that was sleeping upon it; then he took the great key of the\nsteeple from a drawer, and we went out together, I [was] glad to\nfind myself again in the open air, despite the cold; for their\nmiserable room was gray with vapor, and as hard to breathe in as\na kettle; I could never understand how people could live in such\na way.\n\n{322}\n\nAt last we gained the street, and Father Brainstein said:\n\n\"You have heard of the great Russian disaster, Monsieur Joseph?\"\n\n\"Yes, Father Brainstein; it is fearful\n\n\"Ah!\" said he, \"there will be many a Mass said in the churches;\nevery one will weep and pray for their children, the more that\nthey are dead in a heathen land.\"\n\nWe crossed the court, and in front of the tower-hall, opposite\nthe guard-house, many peasants and city people were already\nstanding, reading a placard. We went up the steps and entered the\nchurch, where more than twenty women, young and old, were\nkneeling on the pavement, in spite of the terrible cold.\n\n\"Is it not as I said?\" said Brainstein. \"They are coming already\nto pray, and half of them have been here since five o'clock.\"\n\nHe opened the little door of the steeple leading to the organ,\nand we began climbing up in the dark. Once in the organ-loft, we\nturned to the left of the bellows, and went up to the bells.\n\nI was glad to see the blue sky and breathe the free air again,\nfor the bad odor of the bats which inhabited the tower almost\nsuffocated me, But how terrible the cold was in that cage, open\nto every wind, and how dazzlingly the snow shone over twenty\nleagues of country! All the little city of Phalsbourg, with its\nsix bastions, three _demilunes_, two advanced works; its\nbarracks, magazines, bridges, _glacis_, ramparts; its great\nparade-ground, and little, well-aligned houses, were beneath me,\nas if drawn on white paper. I was not yet accustomed to the\nheight, and I held fast on the middle of the platform for fear I\nmight jump off, for I had read of people having their heads\nturned by great heights. I did not dare go to the clock, and, if\nBrainstein had not set me the example, I would have remained\nthere, pressed against the beam from which the bells hung; but he\nsaid:\n\n\"Come, Monsieur Joseph, and see if it is right.\"\n\nThen I took out Monsieur Goulden's large watch which marked\nseconds, and I saw that the clock was considerably slow.\nBrainstein helped me to wind it up, and we regulated it.\n\n\"The clock is always slow in winter,\" said he, \"because of the\niron working.\"\n\nAfter becoming somewhat accustomed to the elevation, I began to\nlook around. There were the oak-wood barracks, the upper\nbarracks, Bigelberg, and lastly, opposite me, Quatre-Vents, and\nthe house of Aunt Gr\u00e9del, from the chimney of which a thread of\nblue smoke rose toward the sky. And I saw the kitchen, and\nimagined Catharine, in sabots and woollen skirt, spinning at the\ncorner of the hearth and thinking of me. I no longer felt the\ncold; I could not take my eyes from their cottage.\n\nFather Brainstein, who did not know what I was looking at, said:\n\"Yes, yes, Monsieur Joseph; now all the roads are covered with\npeople in spite of the snow. The news has already spread, and\nevery one wants to know the extent of his loss.\"\n\nHe was right; every road and path was covered with people coming\nto the city; and, looking in the court, I saw the crowd\nincreasing every moment before the guard-house, and the mairie,\nand the post-office. A deep horror arose from the mass.\n\nAt length, after a last, long look at Catharine's house, I had to\ndescend, and we went down the dark, winding stairs, as if\ndescending into a well. Once in the organ-loft, we saw that the\ncrowd had greatly increased in the church; all the mothers, the\nsisters, the old grandmothers, the rich, and the poor, were\nkneeling on the benches in the midst of the deepest silence; they\nprayed for the absent, offering all only to see them once\nagain.\n\n{323}\n\nAt first I did not realize all this; but suddenly the thought\nthat, if I had gone the year before, Catharine would be there\npraying and asking me of God, fell like a bolt on my heart, and I\nfelt all my body tremble.\n\n\"Let us go! let us go!\" I exclaimed, \"this is terrible.\"\n\n\"What is?\" he asked.\n\n\"War.\"\n\nWe descended the stairs under the great gate, and I went across\nthe court to the house of Monsieur the Commandant Meunier, while\nBrainstein took the way to his house.\n\nAt the corner of the Hotel de Ville, I saw a sight which I shall\nremember all my life. There, around a placard, were more than\nfive hundred people, men and women crowded against each other,\nall pale and with necks outstretched, gazing at it as at some\nhorrible apparition. They could not read it, and from time to\ntime one would say in German or French:\n\n\"But they are not all dead! Some will return.\"\n\nOthers cried out:\n\n\"Let us see it! let us get near it.\"\n\nA poor old woman in the rear lifted up her arms, and cried:\n\n\"Christopher! my poor Christopher!\"\n\nOthers, angry at her clamor, called out to silence her.\n\nBehind, the crowd continued to pour through the German gate.\n\nAt length, Harmautier, the _sergent-de-ville_, came out of\nthe guard-house, and stood at the top of the steps, with another\nplacard like the first; a few soldiers followed him. Then a rush\nwas made toward him, but the soldiers kept off the crowd, and old\nHarmautier began to read the placard, which he called the\ntwenty-ninth bulletin, and in which the emperor informed them\nthat during the retreat the horses perished every night by\nthousands. He said nothing of the men!\n\nThe _sergent-de-ville_ read slowly; not a breath was heard\nin the crowd; even the old woman, who did not understand French,\nlistened like the others. The buzz of a fly could have been\nheard. But when he came to this passage, \"Our cavalry was\ndismounted to such an extent that we were forced to collect the\nofficers who yet owned horses to form four companies of one\nhundred and fifty men each. Generals rated as captains, and\ncolonels as under-officers\"--when he read this passage, which\ntold more of the misery of the grand army than all the rest,\ncries and groans arose on all sides; two or three women fell and\nwere carried away.\n\nIt is true that the bulletin added, \"The health of his majesty\nwas never better,\" and that was a great consolation.\nUnfortunately it could not restore life to three hundred thousand\nmen buried in the snow; and so the people went away very sad.\nOthers came by dozens who had not heard the news read, and from\ntime to time Harmautier came out to read the bulletin.\n\nThis lasted until night; still the same scene over again.\n\nI ran from the place; I wanted to know nothing about it.\n\nI went to Monsieur the Commandant's. Entering a parlor, I saw him\nat breakfast. He was an old man, but hale, with a red face and\ngood appetite.\n\n\"Ah! it is you!\" said he, \"Monsieur Goulden is not coming, then?\"\n\n\"No, Monsieur the Commandant, the bad news has made him ill.\"\n\n{324}\n\n\"Ah! I understand,\" he said, emptying his glass, \"yes, it is\nunfortunate.\"\n\nAnd while I was regulating the clock, he added:\n\n\"Bah! tell Monsieur Goulden that we will have our revenge. We\ncannot always have the upper hand. For fifteen years we have kept\nthe drums beating over them, and it is only right to let them\nhave this little morsel of consolation. And then our honor is\nsafe; we were not beaten fighting; without the cold and the snow,\nthose poor Cossacks would have had a hard time of it. But\npatience; the skeletons of our regiments will soon be filled, and\nthen let them beware.\"\n\nI wound up the clock; he rose and came to look at it, for he was\na great amateur in clock-making. He pinched my ear in a merry\nmood; and then, as I was going away, he cried as he buttoned up\nhis overcoat, which he had opened before beginning breakfast:\n\n\"Tell Father Goulden to rest easy, the dance will begin again in\nthe spring; the Kalmucks will not always have winter fighting for\nthem. Tell him that.\"\n\n\"Yes, Monsieur the Commandant,\" I answered, shutting the door.\n\nHis burly figure and air of good humor comforted me a little; but\nin all the other houses I went to, at the Horwiches, the\nFrantz-Tonis, the Durlachs, everywhere I heard only lamentations.\nThe women especially were in misery; the men said nothing, but\nwalked about with heads hanging down, and without even looking to\nsee what I was doing.\n\nToward ten o'clock there only remained two persons for me to see:\nMonsieur de la Vablerie-Chamberlin, one of the ancient nobility,\nwho lived at the end of the main street, with Madame\nChamberlin-d'Ecof and Mademoiselle Jeanne, their daughter, They\nwere _\u00e9migr\u00e9s_, and had returned about three or four years\nbefore. They saw no one in the city, and only three or four old\npriests in the environs. Monsieur de la Vablerie-Chamberlin\nloved only the chase. He had six dogs at the end of the yard, and\na two-horse carriage; Father Robert, of the Rue des Capucins,\nserved them as coachman, groom, footman, and huntsman. Monsieur\nde la Vablerie-Chamberlin always wore a hunting vest, a leathern\ncap, and boots and spurs. All the town called him the hunter, but\nthey said nothing of Madame nor of Mademoiselle de Chamberlin.\n\nI was very sad when I pushed open the heavy door, which closed\nwith a pulley whose creaking echoed through the vestibule. What\nwas then my surprise to hear, in the midst of general mourning,\nthe tones of a song and harpsichord! Monsieur de la Vablerie was\nsinging, and Mademoiselle Jeanne accompanying him. I knew not, in\nthose days, that the misfortune of one was often the joy of\nothers, and I said to myself, with my hand on the latch: \"They\nhave not heard the news from Russia.\"\n\nBut while I stood thus, the door of the kitchen opened, and\nMademoiselle Louise, their servant, putting out her head, asked:\n\n\"Who is there?\"\n\n\"It is I, Mademoiselle Louise.\"\n\n\"Ah! it is you, Monsieur Joseph. Come this way.\"\n\nThey had their clock in a large parlor which they rarely entered;\nthe high windows, with blinds, remained closed; but there was\nlight enough for what I had to do. I passed then through the\nkitchen and regulated the antique clock, which was a magnificent\npiece of work of white marble. Mademoiselle Louise looked on.\n\n\"You have company, Mademoiselle Louise?\" I asked.\n\n{325}\n\n\"No, but monsieur ordered me to let no one in.\"\n\n\"You are very cheerful here.\"\n\n\"Ah! yes,\" she said; \"and it is for the first time in years; I\ndon't know what is the matter.\"\n\nMy work done, I left the house, meditating on these occurrences,\nwhich seemed to me strange. The idea never entered my mind that\nthey were rejoicing at our defeat.\n\nThen I turned the corner of the street to go to Father F\u00e9ral's,\nwho was called the \"Standard-Bearer,\" because, at the age of\nforty-five, he, a blacksmith, and for many years the father of a\nfamily, had carried the colors of the volunteers of Phalsbourg in\n'92, and only returned after the Zurich campaign. He had his\nthree sons in the army of Russia, Jean, Louis, and George F\u00e9ral.\nGeorge was commandant of dragoons; the two others, officers of\ninfantry.\n\nI imagined the grief of Father F\u00e9ral while I was going, but it\nwas nothing to what I saw when I entered his room. The poor old\nman, blind and bald, was sitting in an arm-chair behind the\nstove, his head bowed upon his breast, and his sightless eyes\nopen, and staring as if he saw his three sons stretched at his\nfeet. He did not speak, but great drops of sweat rolled down his\nforehead on his long, thin cheeks, while his face was pale as\nthat of a corpse. Four or five of his old comrades of the times\nof the republic--Father Demarets, Father Nivoi, old Paradis, and\ntall old Froissard--had come to console him. They sat around him\nin silence, smoking their pipes, and looking as if they\nthemselves needed comfort.\n\nFrom time to time one or the other would say:\n\n\"Come, come, F\u00e9ral! are we no longer veterans of the army of the\nSambre and Meuse?\"\n\nOr,\n\n\"Courage, Standard-Bearer! courage! Did we not carry the battery\nat Fleuries?\"\n\nBut he did not reply; every minute he sighed, and the old friends\nmade signs to each other, shaking their heads, as if to say:\n\n\"This looks bad.\"\n\nI hastened to regulate the clock and depart, for to see the poor\nold man in such a plight made my heart bleed.\n\nWhen I arrived at home, I found Monsieur Goulden at his\nwork-bench.\n\n\"You are returned, Joseph,\" said he. \"Well?\"\n\n\"Well, Monsieur Goulden, you had reason to stay away; it is\nterrible.\"\n\nAnd I told him all in detail.\n\nHe arose. I set the table, and, whilst we were dining in silence,\nthe bells of the steeples began to ring.\n\n\"Some one is dead in the city,\" said Monsieur Goulden.\n\n\"Indeed? I did not hear of it.\"\n\nTen minutes after, the Rabbi Rose came in to have a glass put in\nhis watch.\n\n\"Who is dead?\" asked Monsieur Goulden.\n\n\"Poor old Standard-Bearer.\"\n\n\"What! Father F\u00e9ral?\"\n\n\"Yes, near an hour ago. Father Demarets and several others tried\nto comfort him; at last, he asked them to read to him the last\nletter of his son George, the commandant of dragoons, in which he\nsays that next spring he hoped to embrace his father with a\ncolonel's epaulettes. As the old man heard this, he tried to\nrise, but fell back with his head upon his knees. That letter had\nbroken his heart.\"\n\nMonsieur Goulden made no remark on the news.\n\n\"Here is your watch, Monsieur Rose,\" said he, handing it back to\nthe rabbi; \"it is twelve sous.\"\n\n{326}\n\nMonsieur Rose departed, and we finished our dinner in silence.\n\n\n                   V.\n\nOn the eighth of January, a huge placard was posted on the\ntown-hall, stating that the emperor would levy, after a\n_senatus-consultus_, as they said in those days, in the\nfirst place, one hundred and fifty thousand conscripts of 1813;\nthen one hundred _cohortes_ of the first call of 1812, who\nthought they had already escaped; then one hundred thousand\nconscripts of from 1809 to 1812, and so on to the end; so that\nevery loophole was closed, and we would have a larger army than\nbefore the Russian expedition.\n\nWhen Father Fouze, the glazier, came to us with this news, one\nmorning, I almost fell through faintness, for I thought:\n\n\"Now they will take all, even fathers of families. I am lost!\"\n\nMonsieur Goulden poured some water on my neck; my arms hung\nuseless by my side; I was pale as a corpse.\n\nBut I was not the only one upon whom the placard had such an\neffect: that year many young men refused to go; some broke their\nteeth off, so as not to be able to tear the cartridge; others\nblew off their thumbs with pistols, so as not to be able to hold\na musket; others, again, fled to the woods; they proclaimed them\n\"refractories,\" but they had not _gens d'armes_ enough to\ncapture them.\n\nThe mothers of families took courage to revolt after a manner,\nand to encourage their sons not to obey the _gens d'armes_.\nThey aided them in every way; they cried out against the emperor,\nand the clergy of all denominations sustained them in so doing.\nThe cup was at last full!\n\nThe very day of the proclamation I went to Quatre-Vents; but it\nwas not now in the joy of my heart; it was as the most miserable\nof unhappy wretches, about to be bereft of love and life. I could\nscarcely walk, and when I reached there I did not know how to\nannounce the evil tidings; but I saw at a glance that they knew\nall, for Catharine was weeping bitterly, and Aunt Gr\u00e9del was pale\nwith indignation.\n\n\"You shall not go,\" she cried. \"What have we to do with wars? The\npriest himself told us it was at last too much, and that we ought\nto have peace! You shall not go! Do not cry, Catharine; I say he\nshall not go!\"\n\n\"This carnage,\" she continued, \"has lasted long enough. Our two\npoor cousins, Kasper and Yokel, are already going to lose their\nlives in Spain for this emperor, and now he comes to ask us for\nthe younger ones. He is not satisfied to have slain three hundred\nthousand in Russia. Instead of thinking of peace, like a man of\nsense, he thinks only of massacring the few who remain. We will\nsee! We will see!\"\n\n\"In the name of Heaven! Aunt Gr\u00e9del, be quiet; speak lower,\" said\nI, looking at the window. \"If they hear you, we are lost.\"\n\n\"I speak for them to hear me,\" she replied. \"Your Napoleon does\nnot frighten me. He commenced by closing our mouths, so that he\nmight do as he pleased; but the end approaches. Four young women\nare losing their husbands in our village alone, and ten poor\nyoung men are forced to abandon everything, despite father,\nmother, religion, justice, God! Is not this horrible?\"\n\nThen Aunt Gr\u00e9del became silent. Instead of giving us an ordinary\ndinner, she gave us a better one than on Catharine's _f\u00eate_\nday, and said, with the air of one who has taken a resolution:\n\n\"Eat, my children, and fear not; there will soon be a change!\"\n\n{327}\n\nI returned about four in the evening to Phalsbourg, somewhat more\ncalm than when I set out. But as I went up the Rue de la\nMunitionnaire, I heard at the corner of the college the drum of\nthe _sergent-de-ville_, Harmautier, and I saw a throng\ngathered around him. I ran to hear what was going on, and I\narrived just as he began reading a proclamation.\n\nHarmautier read that, by the _senatus-consultus_ of the 3d,\nthe drawing for the conscription would take place on the 15th.\n\nIt was already the 8th, and only seven days remained. This upset\nme completely.\n\nThe crowd dispersed in the deepest silence. I went home sad\nenough, and said to Monsieur Goulden:\n\n\"The drawing takes place next Thursday.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" he exclaimed, \"they are losing no time; things are\npressing.\"\n\nIt is easy to imagine my grief that day and the days following. I\ncould scarcely stand; I constantly saw myself on the point of\nleaving home. I saw myself flying to the woods, the _gens\nd'armes_ at my heels, crying, \"Halt! halt!\" Then I thought of\nthe misery of Catharine, of Aunt Gr\u00e9del, of Monsieur Goulden.\nThen I imagined myself marching in the ranks with a number of\nother wretches, to whom they were crying out, \"Forward! charge\nbayonets!\" while whole files were being swept away. I heard\nbullets whistle and shells shriek; in a word, I was in a pitiable\nstate.\n\n\"Be calm, Joseph,\" said Monsieur Goulden; \"do not torment\nyourself thus. I think that of all who may be drawn there are\nprobably not ten who can give as good reasons as you for staying\nat home. The surgeon must be blind to receive you. Besides, I\nwill see Monsieur the Commandant. Calm yourself.\"\n\nBut these kind words could not reassure me.\n\nThus I passed an entire week almost in a trance, and when the day\nof the drawing arrived, Thursday morning, I was so pale, so\nsick-looking, that the parents of conscripts envied, so to speak,\nmy appearance for their sons. \"That fellow,\" they said, \"has a\nchance; he would drop the first mile. Some people are born under\na lucky star!\"\n\n  To Be Continued.\n\n--------\n\n{328}\n\n    \"Per Liquidum AEthera Vates.\"\n\n\n  Oh! to chant the grander story,\n    And to muse the melting tale!\n  Oh! to rouse the soul of glory,\n    And to charm the happy vale!\n\n  I should love to make the nations\n    Bow before my lofty song,\n  While my fancy's fair creations\n    Endless pleasures should prolong.\n\n  I should love to have my pages\n    Eager sought by wise and old,\n  While throughout the countless ages\n    Fair and young my numbers told.\n\n\n              II.\n\n  Ever thus gay Hope will wander\n    Up the shining mount of fame;\n  Ere you follow, pause and ponder,\n    While she waves her luring flame.\n\n  Souls are blest that dwell more lowly,\n    Braving not the gaze of earth,\n  Where they lead a life all holy,\n    And the gentler joys have birth.\n\n  You may guide your kindred kindly\n    Through the rosy ways of life,\n  While the world shall trample blindly\n    Down the thorny paths of strife.\n\n  You may seek the 'feast of reason,'\n    And enjoy the 'flow of soul,'\n  Dearest friends in every season,\n    Peaceful age the blessed goal.\n\n  Nature spreads her rich attractions\n    On the earth, and sea, and sky;\n  Art, religion, man's great actions\n    Food for mind and soul supply.\n\n  God in heaven giveth vision\n    Of the better land beyond:\n  Good on earth, and joys elysian,\n    These shall sate thy yearnings fond.\n\n\n{329}\n\n              III.\n\n  But to wake the hills and valleys\n    With the poet's sounding lyre!\n  Glory yet my spirit rallies,\n    I would breathe the sacred fire.\n\n  Nature, art, and holy friendship,\n    Books and men shall give me aid;\n  Even Heaven will grant me kinship,\n    I would tell what God hath made.\n\n  I will dwell apart with heroes,\n    I will mate with saintly men;\n  God and nature ever near us,\n    I shall be more blessed then.\n\n  Humbled, chaste, my soul shall listen\n    To the chiming of the spheres,\n  Where, on high, His glories glisten,\n    As His throne the spirit nears.\n\n\n              IV.\n\n  Yes, ye bands of bright immortals,\n    Free throughout all earth and time,\n  I would ope the grand old portals\n    Leading to your realms sublime;\n\n  Suns and starry worlds beneath you,\n    Lords of wisdom, light, and air,\n  I would sip rare nectar with you,\n    I would taste ambrosia there;\n\n  There to feel exultant powers\n    Lift me up the ethereal tide,\n  O'er your bright and airy towers,\n    Where the boldest plume is tried.\n\n\n              V.\n\n  Holiest helpers, lend assistance,\n    That I fail not in the flight!\n  Pride, away! in that grand distance\n    Thou art black as shades of night.\n\n  Faithful, pure, and single-hearted,\n    I may soar on tireless wing,\n  Till the folds of light are parted\n    Where the heavenly muses sing.\n\n\n                            Whitmore.\n\n--------\n\n{330}\n\n\n        Faith and the Sciences.\n\n\nIn the last half of the seventeenth century and the first half of\nthe eighteenth, the so-called free-thinkers defended their\nrejection of the Christian mysteries on the alleged ground that\nthe mathematicians had exploded them. Thus Dr. Garth, in his last\nillness, resisted the efforts of Addison to persuade him to die\nas a Christian, by saying, \"Surely, Mr. Addison, I have good\nreason not to believe those trifles, since my friend, Dr. Halley,\nwho has dealt much in demonstration, has assured me that the\ndoctrines of Christianity are incomprehensible, and the religion\nitself an imposture.\"\n\nIn this assurance of Dr. Halley, we see a trace of Cartesianism\nwhich places certainty in clearness of ideas, and assumes that\nwhat is incomprehensible, or what cannot be clearly apprehended\nby the mind, is false; as if the human mind were the measure of\nthe true, and as if there were not truths too large for it to\ncomprehend! But since Berkeley, the Protestant Bishop of Cloyne,\nexposed in his _Analyst_, and Letters in its defence, the\nconfused and false reasoning of mathematicians, especially in\nfluxions or the differential calculus, in which, though their\nconclusions are true, they are not obtained from their premises,\nthe free-thinkers have abandoned the authority of mathematicians,\nand now seek to justify their infidelity by that of the so-called\nphysicists. They appeal now to the natural sciences, chiefly to\ngeology, zoology, and philology, and tell us that the progress\nmade in these sciences has destroyed the authority of the Holy\nScriptures and exploded the Christian dogmas. Geology, we are\ntold, has disproved the chronology of the Bible, zoology has\ndisproved the dogma of creation, and ethnology and philology have\ndisproved the unity of the species; consequently the dogma of\noriginal sin, and all the dogmas that presuppose it. Hence our\nscientific chiefs, whom the age delights to honor, look down on\nus, poor, benighted Christian believers, with deep pity or\nsupreme contempt, and despatch our faith by pronouncing the word\n\"credulity\" or \"superstition\" with an air that anticipates or\nadmits no contradiction. It is true, here and there a man, not\nwithout scientific distinction, utters a feeble protest, and\ntimidly attempts to show that there is no discrepancy between the\nChristian faith and the facts really discovered and classified by\nthe sciences; but there is no denying that the predominant\ntendency of the modern scientific world is decidedly unchristian,\neven when not decidedly anti-christian.\n\nThe most learned men and profoundest thinkers of our age, as of\nevery age, are, no doubt, believers, sincere and earnest\nChristians; but they are not the men who represent the age, and\ngive tone to its literature and science. They are not the\n_popular_ men of their times, and their voice is drowned in\nthe din of the multitude. There is nothing novel or\n_sensational_ in what they have to tell us, and there is no\nevidence of originality or independence of thought or character\nin following them. In following them we have no opportunity of\nseparating ourselves from the past, breaking with tradition, and\nboldly defying both heaven and earth.\n{331}\nThere is no chance for war against authority, of creating a\nrevolution, or enjoying the excitement of a battle; so the\nmultitude of little men go not with them. And they who would deem\nit gross intellectual weakness to rely on the authority of St.\nPaul, or even of our Lord himself, have followed blindly and with\nfull confidence an Agassiz, a Huxley, a Lyell, or any other\nsecond or third-rate physicist, who is understood to defend\ntheories that undermine the authority of the church and the\nBible.\n\nWe are not, we frankly confess, learned in the sciences. They\nhave changed so rapidly and so essentially since our younger\ndays, when we did take some pains to master them, that we do not\nknow what they are to-day any more than we do what they will be\nto-morrow. We have not, in our slowness, been able to keep pace\nwith them, and we only know enough of them now to know that they\nare continually changing under the very eye of the spectator.\nBut, if we do not know all the achievements of the sciences, we\nclaim to know something of the science of sciences, the science\nwhich gives the law to them, and to which they must conform or\ncease to pretend to have any scientific character. If we know not\nwhat they have done, we know something which they have not done.\n\nWe said, in our article on the _Cartesian Doubt_, that the\nideal formula does not give us the sciences; but we add now, what\nit did not comport with our purpose to add then, that, though it\ndoes not give them, it gives them their law and controls them. We\ndo not deduce our physics from our metaphysics; but our\nmetaphysics or philosophy gives the law to the inductive or\nempirical sciences, and prescribes the bounds beyond which they\ncannot pass without ceasing to be sciences. Knowing the ideal\nformula, we do not know all the sciences, but we do know what is\nnot and cannot be science.\n\nThe ideal formula, being creates existences, which is only the\nfirst article of the creed, is indisputable, certain, and the\nprinciple alike of all the real and all the knowable, of all\nexistence and of all science. This formula expresses the\nprimitive intuition, and it is given us by God himself in\ncreating us intelligent creatures, because without it our minds\ncannot exist, and, if it had not been given us in the very\nconstitution of the mind, we never could have obtained it. It is\nthe essential basis of the mind, the necessary condition of all\nthought, and we cannot even in thought deny it, or think at all\nwithout affirming it This we have heretofore amply shown; and we\nmay add here that no one ever thinks without thinking something\nthe contrary of which cannot be thought, as St. Anselm asserts.\n\nAs Berkeley says to the mathematicians, \"Logic is logic, and the\nsame to whatever subject it is applied.\" When, therefore, the\ncultivators of the inductive sciences allege a theory or\nhypothesis which contradicts in any respect the ideal formula,\nhowever firmly persuaded they may be that it is warranted by the\nfacts observed and analyzed, we tell them at once, without any\nexamination of their proofs or reasonings, that their hypothesis\nis unfounded, and their theory false, because it contradicts the\nfirst principle alike of the real and the knowable, and therefore\ncannot possibly be true. We deny no facts well ascertained to be\nfacts, but no induction from any facts can be of as high\nauthority as the ideal formula, for without it no induction is\npossible. Hence we have no need to examine details any more than\nwe have to enter into proofs of the innocence or guilt of a man\nwho confesses that he has openly, knowingly, and intentionally\nviolated the law.\n{332}\nThe case is one in which judgment _\u00e0 priori_ may be safely\npronounced. No induction that denies all science and the\nconditions of science can be scientific.\n\nThe ideal formula does not put any one in possession of the\nsciences, but it enables us to control them. We can entertain no\ndoctrine, even for examination, that denies any one of the three\nterms of the formula. If existences are denied, there are no\nfacts or materials of science; if the creative act is denied,\nthere are no facts or existences; and finally, if God is denied,\nthe creative act itself is denied. God and creature are all that\nis or exists, and creatures can exist only by the creative act of\nGod. Do you come and tell me that you are no creature? What are\nyou, then? Between God and creature there is no middle term. If,\nthen, you are not creature, you must be God or nothing. Well, are\nyou God? God, if God at all, is independent, necessary,\nself-existent, immutable, and eternal being. Are you that, you\nwho depend on other than yourself for every breath you draw, for\nevery motion you make, for every morsel of food you eat, whom the\ncold chills, the fire burns, the water drenches? No? do you say\nyou are not God? What are you, then, I ask once more? If you are\nneither God nor creature, then you are nothing. But nothing you\nare not, for you live, think, speak, and act, and even reason,\nthough not always wisely or well. If something and not God, then\nyou are creature, and are a living assertion of the ideal\nformula. Do you deny it, and say there is no God? Then still\nagain, what are you who make the denial? If there is no God,\nthere is no real, necessary, and eternal being--no being at all;\nif no being, then no existence, for all existence is from being,\nand if no existence, then what are _you_ who deny God?\nNothing? Then your denial is nothing, and worth nothing.\n\nIt is impossible to deny any one of the three terms of the\nformula, for every man, though he may believe himself an atheist\nor a pantheist, is a living assertion of each one of them, and in\nits real relation to the other two. We have the right, then, to\nassert the formula as the first principle in science, and oppose\nit as conclusive against any and every theory that denies\ncreation, and asserts either atheism or pantheism. Do not think\nto divert attention from the intrinsic fallacy of such a theory\nby babbling about natural laws. Nature, no doubt, has her laws,\naccording to which, or, if you please, by virtue of which, all\nnatural phenomena or natural effects are produced, and it is the\nknowledge of these laws that constitutes natural science or the\nsciences. But these laws, whence come they? Are they superior to\nnature, or inferior? If inferior, how can they govern her\noperations? If superior, then they must have their origin in the\nsupernatural, and a reality above nature must be admitted.\nNature, then, is not the highest, is not ultimate, is not herself\nbeing, or has not her being in herself; is, therefore, contingent\nexistence, and consequently creature, existing only by virtue of\nthe creative act of real and necessary being, which brings us\ndirectly back to the ideal formula. God denied, nature and the\nlaws of nature are denied.\n\nThe present tendency among naturalists is to deny creation and to\nassert development--to say with Topsy, in _Uncle Tom's\nCabin_, only generalizing her doctrine, \"Things didn't come;\nthey _growed_.\" Things are not created; they are developed\nby virtue of natural laws. Developed from what? From nothing?\n_Ex nihilo nihil fit_.\n{333}\nFrom nothing nothing can be developed. A universe self-developed\nfrom nothing is somewhat more difficult to comprehend than the\ncreation of the universe from nothing through the word of his\npower by One able to create and sustain it. You can develop a\ngerm, but you cannot develop where there is nothing to be\ndeveloped. Then the universe is not developed from nothing: then\nfrom something. What is that something? Whatever you assume it to\nbe, it cannot be something created, for you deny all creation.\nThen it is eternal, self-existent being, being in itself,\ntherefore being in its plenitude, independent, immutable,\ncomplete, perfect in itself, and therefore incapable of\ndevelopment. Development is possible only in that which is\nimperfect, incomplete, for it is simply the reduction of what in\nthe thing developed is potential to act.\n\nThere is great lack of sound philosophy with our modern\ntheorists. They seem not to be aware that the real must precede\nthe possible, and that the possible is only the ability of the\nreal. They assume the contrary, and place possible being before\nreal being. Even Leibnitz says that St. Anselm's argument to\nprove the existence of God, drawn from the idea of the most\nperfect being, the contrary of which cannot be thought, is\nconclusive only on condition that most perfect being is first\nproved to be possible. Hegel makes the starting-point of all\nreality and all science to be naked being in the sense in which\nit and not-being are identical; that is, not real, but possible\nbeing, the _abyssus_ of the Gnostics, and the _void_ of\nthe Buddhists, which Pierre Leroux labors hard, in his\n_L'Humanit\u00e9_ and in the article _Le Ciel_ in his\n_Encyclop\u00e9die Nouvelle_, to prove is not nothing, though\nconceding it to be not something, as if there could be any medium\nbetween something and nothing. In itself, or as abstracted from\nthe real, the possible is sheer nullity; nothing at all. The\npossibility of the universe is the ability of God to create it.\nIf God were not himself real, no universe would be possible. The\npossibility of a creature may be understood either in relation to\nits creability on the part of God, or in relation to its own\nperfectibility. In relation to God every creature is complete the\nmoment the Divine Mind has decreed its creation, and, therefore,\nincapable of development; but, in relation to itself, it has\nunrealized possibilities which can be only progressively\nfulfilled. Creatures, in this latter sense, can be developed\nbecause there are in them unrealized possibilities or capacities\nfor becoming, by aid of the real, more than they actually are,\nthat is, because they are created, in relation to themselves, not\nperfect, but perfectible. Hence, creatures, not the Creator, are\nprogressive, or capable, each after its kind, of being\nprogressively developed and completed according to the original\ndesign of the Creator.\n\nAristotle, whom it is the fashion just now to sneer at, avoided\nthe error of our modern sophists; he did not place the possible\nbefore the real, for he knew that without the real there is no\npossible. The _principium_, or beginning, must be real\nbeing, and, therefore, he asserted God, not as possible, but\nreal, most real, and called him _actus purissimus_, most\npure act, which excludes all unactualized potentialities or\nunrealized possibilities, and implies that he is most pure, that\nis, most perfect being, being in its plenitude. God being\neternally being in himself, being in its plenitude, as he must be\nif self-existent, and self-existent he must be if not created, he\nis incapable of development, because in him there are no\npossibilities not reduced to act.\n{334}\nThe developmentists must, then, either admit the fact of\ncreation, or deny the development they assert and attempt to\nmaintain; for, if there is no creation, nothing distinguishable\nfrom the uncreated, nothing exists to be developed, and the\nuncreated, being either nothing, and therefore incapable of\ndevelopment, or self-existent, eternal, and immutable being,\nbeing in its plenitude, and therefore from the very fulness and\nperfection of its being also incapable of development. If the\ndevelopmentists had a little philosophy or a little logic, they\nwould see that, so far from being able to substitute development\nfor creation, they must assert creation in order to be able to\nassert even the possibility of development. Is it on the\nauthority of such sciolists, sophists, and sad blunderers as\nthese developmentists that we are expected to reject the Holy\nScriptures, and to abandon our faith in Christianity? We have a\nprofound reverence for the sciences, and for all really\nscientific men; but really it is too much to expect us to listen,\nwith the slightest respect, to such absurdities as most of our\n_savans_ are in the habit of venting, when they leave their\nown proper sphere and attempt to enter the domain of philosophy\nor theology. In the investigation of the laws of nature and the\nobservation and accumulation of facts they are respectable, and\noften render valuable service to mankind; but, when they\nundertake to determine by their inductions from facts of a\nsecondary order what is true or false in philosophy or theology,\nthey mistake their vocation and their aptitudes, and, if they do\nnot render themselves ridiculous, it is because their\nspeculations are too gravely injurious to permit us to feel\ntoward them anything but grief or indignation.\n\nNone of the sciences are apodictic; they are all as special\nsciences empirical, and are simply formed by inductions from\nfacts observed and classified. To their absolute certainty two\nthings are necessary: First, that the observation of the facts of\nthe natural world should be complete, leaving no class or order\nof facts unobserved and unanalyzed; and, second, that the\ninductions from them should be infallible, excluding all error,\nand all possibility of error. But we say only what every one\nknows, when we say that neither of these conditions is possible\nto any mortal man. Even Newton, it is said, compared himself to a\nchild picking up shells on the beach; and after all the\nexplorations that have been made it is but a small part of nature\nthat is known. The inductive method, ignorantly supposed to be an\ninvention of my Lord Bacon, but which is as old as the human mind\nitself, and was always adopted by philosophers in their\ninvestigations of nature, is the proper method in the sciences,\nand all we need to advance them is to follow it honestly and\nstrictly. But, every day, facts not before analyzed or observed\ncome under the observation of the investigator, and force new\ninductions, which necessarily modify more or less those\npreviously made. Hence it is that the natural sciences are\ncontinually undergoing more or less important changes. Certain\nprinciples, indeed, remain the same; but set aside, if we must\nset aside, mathematics and mechanics, there is not a single one\nof the sciences that is now what it was in the youth of men not\nyet old. Some of them are almost the creations of yesterday.\n{335}\nTake chemistry, electricity, magnetism, geology, zoology,\nbiology, physiology, philology, ethnology, to mention no more;\nthey are no longer what they were in our own youth, and the\ntreatises in which we studied them are now obsolete.\n\nIt is not likely that these sciences have even as yet reached\nperfection, that no new facts will be discovered, and no further\nchanges and modifications be called for. We by no means complain\nof this, and are far from asking that investigation in any field\nshould be arrested, and these sciences remain unchanged, as they\nnow are. No: let the investigations go on, let all be discovered\nthat is discoverable, and the sciences be rendered as complete as\npossible. But, then, is it not a little presumptuous, illogical\neven, to set up any one of these incomplete, inchoate sciences\nagainst the primitive intuitions of reason or the profound\nmysteries of the Christian faith? Your inductions to-day militate\nagainst the ideal formula and the Christian creed; but how know\nyou that your inductions of to-morrow will not be essentially\nmodified by a fuller or closer observation of facts? Your\nconclusions must be certain before we can on their authority\nreject any received dogma of faith or any alleged dictamen of\nreason.\n\nWe know _\u00e1 priori_ that investigation can disclose no fact\nor facts that can be incompatible with the ideal formula. No\npossible induction can overthrow any one of its three terms. It\nis madness to pretend that from the study of nature one can\ndisprove the reality of necessary and eternal being, the fact of\ncreation, or of contingent existences. The most that any one, not\nmad, does or can pretend is, that they cannot be proved by way of\ndeduction or induction from facts of the natural world. The\natheist Lalande went no further than to say, \"I have never seen\nGod at the end of my telescope.\" Be it so, what then? Because you\nhave never seen God at the end of your telescope, can you\nlogically conclude that there is no God? For ourselves, we do not\npretend that God is, or can be asserted by way of deduction or\ninduction from the facts of nature, though we hold that what he\nis, even his eternal power and divinity, may be clearly seen from\nthem; but the fact that God cannot be proved in one way to be\ndoes not warrant the conclusion that he cannot in some other way\nbe proved, far less that there is no God.\n\nWe do not deduce the dogmas of faith from the ideal formula, for\nthat is in the domain of science; but they all accord with it,\nand presuppose it as the necessary preamble to faith. We have not\nthe same kind of certainty for faith that we have for the\nscientific formula; but we have a certainty equally high and\nequally infallible. Consequently, the inductions or theories of\nnaturalists are as impotent against it as against the formula\nitself. The authority of faith is superior, we say not to\nscience, but to any logical inductions drawn from the facts of\nthe natural world, or theories framed by natural philosophers,\nand those then, however plausible, can never override it. No\ndoubt the evidences of our faith are drawn in part from history,\nand therefore from inductive science; but even as to that part\nthe certainty is of the same kind with that of any of the\nsciences, rests on the analysis of facts and induction from them,\nand is at the very lowest equal to theirs at the highest.\n\n{336}\n\nBut let us descend to matters of fact. We will take geology,\nwhich seems just now to be regarded as the most formidable weapon\nagainst the Christian religion. Well, what has geology done? It\nhas by its researches proved an antiquity of the earth and of man\non the earth which is far greater than is admissible by the\nchronology of the Holy Scriptures. It has thus disproved the\nchronology of the Bible; therefore it has disproved the divine\ninspiration of the Bible, and therefore, again, the truth of the\nChristian dogmas, which have no other authority than that\ninspiration. But have you, geologists, really proved what you\npretend? You have discovered certain facts, fossils, etc., which,\nif some half a dozen possible suppositions are true, not one of\nwhich you have proved or in the nature of the case can prove,\nrender it highly probable that the earth is somewhat more than\nsix thousand years old, and that it is more than five thousand\neight hundred and sixty-seven years since the creation of man. As\nto the antiquity of man, at least, you have not proved what you\npretend. Your proofs, to be worth anything, must destroy all\npossible suppositions except the one you adopt, which they do not\ndo, for we can suppose many other explanations of the undisputed\nfacts besides the one you insist on our accepting. Moreover, the\nfacts on which you rely, if fairly given by Sir Charles Lyell in\nhis _Antiquity of Man_, by no means warrant his inductions.\nSuppose there is no mistake as to facts, which is more than we\nare willing to concede, especially as to the stone axes and\nknives, which, according to the drawings given of them, are\nexactly similar to hundreds which we have seen when a boy\nstrewing the surface of the ground, the logic, by which the\nconclusion is obtained is puerile, and discreditable to any man\nwho has had the slightest intellectual training.\n\nBut suppose you have proved the antiquity of the earth and of man\non it to be as you pretend, what then? In the first place, you\nhave not proved that the earth and man on it were not created,\nthat God did not in the beginning create the heavens and the\nearth, and all things therein. You leave, then, intact both the\nformula and the dogma which presupposes and reasserts it as a\ntruth of revelation as well as of science. But we have disproved\nthe chronology of the Bible. Is it the chronology of the Bible or\nchronology as arranged by learned men that you have disproved?\nSay the chronology as it actually is in the Bible, though all\nlearned men know that that chronology is exceedingly difficult if\nnot impossible to make out, and we for ourselves have never been\nable to settle it at all to our entire satisfaction, is it\ncertain that the Scriptures themselves even pretend that the date\nassigned to the creation of the world is given by divine\nrevelation and is to be received as an article of faith? There is\nan important difference between the chronology given in the\nHebrew Bible and that given in the Septuagint used by the\napostles and Greek fathers, and still used by the united as well\nas by the non-united Greeks, and we are not aware that there has\never been an authoritative decision as to which or either of the\ntwo chronologies must be followed. The commonly received\nchronology certainly ought not to be departed from without strong\nand urgent reasons; but, if such reasons are adduced, we do not\nunderstand that it cannot be departed from without impairing the\nauthority of either the Scriptures or the church. We know no\nChristian doctrine or dogma that could be affected by carrying\nthe date of the creation of the world a few or even many\ncenturies further back, if we recognize the fact of creation\nitself.\n{337}\nOur faith does not depend on a question of arithmetic, as seems\nto have been assumed by the Anglican Bishop Colenso. Numbers are\neasily changed in transcription, and no commentator has yet been\nable to reconcile all the numbers as we now have them in our\nHebrew Bibles, or even in the Greek translation of the Seventy.\n\nSupposing, then, that geologists and historians of civilization\nhave found facts, not to be denied, which seem to require for the\nexistence of the globe, and man on its face, a longer period than\nis allowed by the commonly received chronology, we do not see\nthat this warrants any induction against any point of Christian\nfaith or doctrine. We could, we confess, more easily explain some\nof the facts which we meet in the study of history, the political\nand social changes which have evidently taken place, if more time\nwere allowed us between Noah and Moses than is admitted by\nUsher's chronology; it would enable us to account for many things\nwhich now embarrass our historical science; yet whether we are\nallowed more time or not, or whether we can account for the\nhistorical facts or not, our faith remains the same; for we have\nlong since learned that, in the subjects with which science\nproposes to deal, as well as in revelation itself, there are many\nthings which will be inexplicable even to the greatest, wisest,\nand holiest of men, and that the greatest folly which any man can\nentertain is that of expecting to explain everything, unless\nconcluding a thing must needs be false because we know not its\nexplanation is a still greater folly. True science as well as\ntrue virtue is modest, humble indeed, and always more depressed\nby what it sees that it cannot do than elated by what it may have\ndone.\n\nScience, it is further said, has exploded the Christian doctrine\nof the unity and the Adamic origin of the species, and therefore\nthe doctrines of Original Sin, the Incarnation, the Redemption,\nindeed the whole of Christianity so far as it is a supernatural\nsystem, and not a system of bald and meagre rationalism. Some\npeople perhaps believe it. But science is knowledge, either\nintuitive or discursive; and who dares say that he _knows_\nthe dogma of the unity of the human species is false, or that all\nthe kindreds and nations of men have _not_ sprung from one\nand the same original pair? The most that can be said is that the\nsciences have not as yet proved it, and it must be taken, if at\nall, from, revelation.\n\nTake the unity of the species. The naturalists have undoubtedly\nproved the existence of races or varieties of men, like the\nCaucasian, the Mongolian, the Malayan, the American, and the\nAfrican, more or less distinctly marked, and separated from one\nanother by greater or less distances; but have they proved that\nthese several races or varieties are distinct species, or that\nthey could not all have sprung from the same original pair?\nPhysiologists, we are told, detect some structural differences\nbetween the negro and the white man. The black differs from the\nwhite in the greater length of the spine, in the shape of the\nhead, leg, and foot and heel, in the facial angles, the size and\nconvolutions of the brain. Be it so; but do these differences\nprove diversity of species, or, at most, only a distinct variety\nin the same species? May they not all be owing to accidental\ncauses? The type of the physical structure of the African is\nundeniably the same with that of the Caucasian, and all that can\nbe said is, that in the negro it is less perfectly realized,\nconstituting a difference in degree, indeed, but not in kind.\n\n{338}\n\nBut before settling the question whether the several races of men\nbelong to one and the same species or not, and have or have not\nhad the same origin, it is necessary to determine the\ncharacteristic or _differentia_ of man. Naturalists treat\nman as simply an animal standing at the head of the class or\norder mammalia, and are therefore obliged to seek his\n_differentia_ or characteristic in his physical structure;\nbut if it be true, as some naturalists tell us, that the same\ntype runs through the physical structure of all animals, unless\ninsects, reptiles, and crustacea form an exception, it is\ndifficult to find in man's physical structure his\n_differentia_. The schoolmen generally define man, a\nrational animal, _animal rationale_, and make the genus\nanimal, and the _differentia_ reason. The characteristic of\nthe species, that which constitutes it, is reason or the rational\nmind, and certainly science can prove nothing to the contrary.\nSome animals may have a degree of intelligence, but none of them\nhave reason, free will, moral perceptions, or are capable of\nacting from considerations of right and wrong. We assume, then,\nthat the _differentia_ of the species _homo_, or man,\nis reason, or the rational soul. If our naturalists had\nunderstood this, they might have spared the pains they have taken\nto assimilate man to the brute, and to prove that he is a monkey\ndeveloped.\n\nThis point settled, the question of unity of the species is\nsettled. There may be differences among individuals and races as\nto the degree of reason, but all have reason in some degree.\nReason may be weaker in the African than in the European, whether\nowing to the lack of cultivation or to other accidental causes,\nbut it is essentially the same in the one as in the other, and\nthere is no difference except in degree; and even as to degree,\nit is not rare to find negroes that are, in point of reason, far\nsuperior to many white men. Negroes, supposed to stand lowest in\nthe scale, have the same moral perception and the same capacity\nof distinguishing between right and wrong and of acting from free\nwill, that white men have; and if there is any difference, it is\nsimply a difference of degree, not a difference of kind or\nspecies.\n\nBut conceding the unity of the species, science has, at least,\nproved that the several races or varieties in the same species\ncould not have all sprung from one and the same original pair.\nWhere has science done this? It can do it only by way of\ninduction from facts scientifically observed and analyzed. What\nfacts has it observed and analyzed that warrant this conclusion\nagainst the Adamic origin of all men? There are, as we have just\nsaid, no anatomical, physiological, intellectual, or moral facts\nthat warrant such conclusion, and no other facts are possible.\nWherever men are found, they all have the essential\ncharacteristic of men as distinguished from the mere animal; they\nall have substantially the same physical structure; all have\nthought, speech, and reason, and, though some may be inferior to\nothers, nothing proves that all may not have sprung from the same\nAdam and Eve. Do you say ethnology cannot trace all the kindreds\nand nations of men back to a common origin? That is nothing to\nthe purpose; can it say they cannot have had a common origin? But\nmen are found everywhere, and could they have reached from the\nplains of Shinar continents separated from Asia by a wide expanse\nof water, and been distributed over America, New Holland, and the\nremotest islands of the ocean, when they had no ships or were\nignorant of navigation?\n{339}\nDo you know that they had, in what are to us antehistorical\ntimes, no ships and no knowledge of navigation, as we know they\nhave had them both ever since the first dawn of history? No? Then\nyou allege not your _science_ against the Christian dogma,\nbut your _ignorance_, which we submit is not sufficient to\noverride faith. You must prove that men could not have been\ndistributed from a common centre as we now find them before you\ncan assert that they could not have had a common origin. Besides,\nare you able to say what changes of land and water have taken\nplace since men first appeared on the face of the earth? Many\nchanges, geologists assure us, have taken place, and more than\nthey know may have occurred, and have left men where they are now\nfound, and where they may have gone without crossing large bodies\nof water. So long as any other hypothesis is possible, you cannot\nassert your own as certain.\n\nBut the difference of complexion, language, and usage which we\nnote between the several races of men proves that they could not\nhave sprung from one and the same pair. Do you know they could\nnot? Know it? No; not absolutely, perhaps; but how can you prove\nthey could and have? That is not the question. Christianity is in\npossession, and must be held to be rightfully in possession till\nreal science shows the contrary. I may not be able to explain the\norigin of the differences noted in accordance with the assertion\nof the common origin of all men in a single primitive pair; but\nmy ignorance can avail you no more than your own. My nescience is\nnot your science. Your business is by science to disprove faith;\nif your science does not do that, it does nothing, and you are\nsilenced. We do not pretend to be able to account for the\ndifferences of the several races, any more than we pretend to be\nable to account for the well-known fact that children born of the\nsame parents have different facial angles, different sized\nbrains, different shaped mouths and noses, different\ntemperaments, different intellectual powers, and different moral\ntendencies. We may have conjectures on the subject, but\nconjectures are not science. If necessary to the argument, we\nmight, perhaps, suggest a not improbable hypothesis for\nexplaining the difference of complexion between the white and the\ncolored races. The colored races, the yellow, the olive, the red,\nthe copper-colored, and the black, are inferior to the Caucasian,\nhave departed farther from the norma of the species, and\napproached nearer to the animal, and therefore, like animals,\nhave become more or less subject to the action of the elements.\nExternal nature, acting for ages on a race, enfeebled by\nover-civilization and refinement, and therefore having in a great\nmeasure lost the moral and intellectual power of resisting the\nelemental action of nature, may, perhaps, sufficiently explain\nthe differences we note in the complexion of the several races.\nIf the Europeans and their American descendants were to lose all\ntradition of the Christian religion, as they are rapidly doing,\nand to take up with spiritism or some other degrading\nsuperstition, as they seem disposed to do, and to devote\nthemselves solely to the luxuries and refinements of the material\ncivilization of which they are now so proud, and boast so much,\nit is by no means improbable that in time they would become as\ndark, as deformed, as imbecile as the despised African or the\nnative New Hollander.\n{340}\nWe might give very plausible reasons for regarding the negro as\nthe degraded remnant of a once over-civilized and corrupted race;\nand perhaps, if recovered, Christianized, civilized, and restored\nto communication with the great central current of human life, he\nmay in time lose his negro hue and features, and become once more\na white man, a Caucasian. But be this as it may, we rest, as is\nour right, on the fact that the unity of the human species and\nits Adamic origin are in possession, and it is for those who deny\neither point to make good their denial.\n\nBut the Scriptures say mankind were originally of one speech, and\nwe find that every species of animals has its peculiar song or\ncry, which is the same in every individual of the same species;\nyet this is not the case with the different kindred and nations\nof men; they speak different tongues, which the philologist is\nutterly unable to refer to a common original. Therefore there\ncannot be in men unity of species, and the assertion of the\nScriptures of all being of one speech is untrue. If the song of\nthe same species of birds or the cry of the same species of\nanimals is the same in all the individuals of that species, it\nstill requires no very nice ear to distinguish the song or the\ncry of one individual from that of another; and therefore the\nanalogy relied on, even if admissible, which it is not, would not\nsustain the conclusion. Conceding, if you insist on it, that\nunity of species demands unity of speech, the facts adduced\nwarrant no conclusion against the Scriptural assertion; for the\nlanguage of all men is even now one and the same, and all really\nhave one and the same speech. Take the elements of language as\nthe sensible sign by which men communicate with one another, and\nthere is even now, at least as far as known or conceivable, only\none language. The essential elements of all dialects are the\nsame. You have in all the subject, the predicate, and the copula,\nor the noun, adjective, and verb, to which all the other parts of\nspeech are reducible. Hence the philologist speaks of universal\ngrammar, and constructs a grammar applicable alike to all\ndialects. Some philologists also contend that the signs adopted\nby all dialects are radically the same, and that the differences\nencountered are only accidental. This has been actually proved in\nthe case of what are called the Aryan or Indo-European dialects.\nThat the Sanskrit, the Pehlvi or old Persic, the Keltic, the\nTeutonic, the Slavonic, the Greek, and the Latin, from which are\nderived the modern dialects of Europe, as Italian, French,\nSpanish, Portuguese, English, Dutch, German, Scanian, Turk,\nPolish, Russian, Welsh, Gaelic, and Irish, all except the Basque\nand Lettish or Finnish, have had a common origin, no philologist\ndoubts. That the group of dialects called Semitic, including the\nHebrew, Chaldaic, Syriac, Coptic, and Ethiopic, have had an\norigin identical with that of the Aryan group is, we believe, now\nhardly denied. All that can be said is, that philologists have\nnot proved it, nor the same fact with regard to the so-called\nTuranian group, as the Chinese, the Turkish, the Basque, the\nLettish or Finnish, the Tataric or Mongolian, etc., the dialects\nof the aboriginal tribes or nations of America and of Africa. But\nwhat conclusion is to be drawn from the fact that philology, a\nscience confessedly in its infancy, and hardly a science at all,\nhas not as yet established an identity of origin with these for\nthe most part barbarous dialects? From the fact that philology\nhas not ascertained it, we cannot conclude that the identity does\nnot exist, or even that philology may not one day discover and\nestablish it.\n\n{341}\n\nPhilology may have also proceeded on false assumptions, which\nhave retarded its progress and led it to false conclusions. It\nhas proceeded on the assumption that the savage is the primitive\nman, and that his agglutinated dialect represents a primitive\nstate of language instead of a degenerate state. A broader view\nof history and a juster induction from its facts would, perhaps,\nupset this assumption. The savage is the degenerate, not the\nprimeval man; man in his second childhood, not in his first; and\nhence the reason why he has no growth, no inherent progressive\npower, and why, as Niebuhr asserts, there is no instance on\nrecord of a savage people having by its own indigenous efforts\npassed from the savage to the civilized state. The thing is as\nimpossible as for the old man, decrepit by age, to renew the\nvigor and elasticity of his youth or early manhood. Instead of\nstudying the dialects of savage tribes to obtain specimens of the\nprimitive forms of speech, philologists should study them only to\nobtain specimens of worn-out or used up forms, or of language in\nits dotage. In all the savage dialects that we have any knowledge\nof, we detect or seem to detect traces of a culture, a\ncivilization, of which they who now speak them have lost all\nmemory and are no longer capable. This seems to us to bear\nwitness to a fall, a loss. Perhaps, when the American and African\ndialects are better known, and are studied with reference to this\nview of the savage state, and we have better ascertained the\ninfluence of climate and habits of life on the organs of speech\nand therefore on pronunciation, especially of the consonants, we\nshall be able to discover indications of an identity of origin\nwhere now we can detect only traces of diversity. As long as\nphilology has only partially explored the field of observation,\nit is idle to pretend that _science_ has established\nanything against the scriptural doctrine of the unity of speech.\nThe fact that philologists have not traced all the various\ndialects now spoken or extinct to a common original amounts to\nnothing against faith, unless it can be proved that no such\noriginal ever existed. It may have been lost and only the\ndistinctions retained.\n\nNaturalists point to the various species of plants and animals\ndistributed over the whole surface of the globe, and ask us if we\nmean to say that each of these has also sprung from one original\npair, or male and female, and if we maintain that the\nprimogenitors of each species of animal were in the garden of\nEden with Adam and Eve, or in the Ark with Noah. If so, how have\nthey become distributed over the several continents of the earth\nand the islands of the ocean? _Argumentum a specie ad speciem,\nnon valet_, as say the books on logic. And even if it were\nproved that in case of plants and animals God duplicates,\ntriplicates, or quadriplicates the parents by direct creation, or\nthat he creates anew the pair in each remote locality where the\nsame species is found, as prominent naturalists maintain or are\ninclined to maintain, it would prove nothing in the case of man.\nFor we cannot reason from animals to man, or from flora to fauna.\nNearly all the arguments adduced from so-called science against\nthe faith are drawn from supposed analogies of men and animals,\nand rest for their validity on the assumption that man is not\nonly generically, but specifically, an animal, which is simply a\nbegging the question.\n\n{342}\n\nSpecies again, it is said, may be developed by way of selection,\nas the florist proves in regard to flowers, and the shepherd or\nherdsman in regard to sheep and cattle. That new varieties in the\nlower orders of creation may be attained by some sort of\ndevelopment is not denied, but as yet it is not proved that any\nnew species is ever so obtained. Moreover, facts would seem to\nestablish that, at least in the case of domestic animals, horses,\ncattle, and sheep, the new varieties do not become species and\nare not self-perpetuating. Experiments in what is called crossing\nthe breed have proved that, unless the crossing is frequently\nrenewed, the variety in a very few generations runs out. There is\na perpetual tendency of each original type to gain the\nascendency, and of the stronger to eliminate the others.\nCattle-breeders now do not rely on crossing, but seek to improve\ntheir stock by selecting the best breed they know, and improving\nit by improved care and nourishment. The different varieties of\nmen may be, perhaps, improved in their physique by selection, as\nwas attempted in the institutions of Lycurgus; but, as the moral\nand intellectual nature predominates in man and is his\ncharacteristic, all conclusions as to him drawn from the lower\norders of creation, even in his physical constitution, are\nsuspicious and always to be accepted with extreme caution. The\nchurch has defined what no physiologist has disproved, that\n_anima est forma corporis_. The soul is the informing or\nvital principle of the body, which modifies all its actions, and\nenables it to resist, at least to some extent, the chemical and\nother natural laws which act on animals, plants, and unorganized\nmatter. The physiological and medical theories based on\nchemistry, which were for a time in vogue and are not yet wholly\nabandoned, contain at best only a modicum of truth, and can never\nbe safely followed, for in the life of man there is at work a\nsubtiler power than a chemical or any other physical agent. We do\nnot deny that man is through his body related to the material\nworld, or that many of the laws of that world, mineral,\nvegetable, and animal, are in some degree applicable to him; but,\nas far as science has yet proceeded, they are so only with many\nlimitations and modifications which the physician--we use the\nword in its etymological as well as in its conventional\nsense--can seldom determine. The _morale_ every physician\nknows has an immense power over the _physique_. The higher\nthe morale, the greater the power of the physical system to\nresist physical laws, to endure fatigue, to bear up against and\neven to throw off disease. Physical disease is often generated by\nmoral depression, and not seldom thrown off by moral\nexhilaration. What is called strength of will at times seems not\nonly to subject disease to its control, but to hold death itself\nat bay. In armies the officer, with more care, more labor, more\nhardship, and less food and sleep, will survive the common\nsoldier, vastly his superior as to his mere physical\nconstitution. These facts and innumerable others like them\njustify a strong protest against the too common practice of\napplying to man without any reservation the laws which we observe\nin the lower orders of creation, and arguing from what is true of\nthem what must be true of him. Tear off the claw of a lobster,\nand a new one will be pushed out; cut the polypus in pieces, and\neach piece becomes a perfect polypus, at least so we are told,\nfor we have not ourselves made or seen the experiment. But\nnothing of the sort is true of man, nor even of the higher\nclasses of animals in which organic life is more complex.\n{343}\nWe place little confidence in conclusions drawn from the assumed\nanalogies between man and animals, and even the development of\nspecies in them by selection or otherwise, if proved, would not\nprove to us the possibility of a like development in him. We must\nsee a monkey by development grow into a man before we can believe\nit.\n\nBut why, even in the case of animals that can be propagated only\nby the union of male and female, we should suppose the necessity\nof duplicating the parents of the species is more than we are\nable to understand. The individuals of the species could go where\nman could go. Suppose we find a species of fish in a North\nAmerican lake, and the same species in a European or Asiatic lake\nwhich has no water communication with it, can you say the two\nlakes have never been in communication, you who claim that the\nearth has existed for millions of ages? Much of what is now land\nwas once covered with water, and much now covered with water it\nis probable was once land inhabited by plants, animals, and men.\nFacts even indicate that the part of the earth now under the\nArctic and Antarctic circles once lay nearer to the Equator, if\nnot under it, and that what are now mountains were once islands\ndotting the surface of the ocean. No inductions which exclude\nthese probabilities or indications are scientific, or can be\naccepted as conclusive.\n\nTake, then, all the facts on which the naturalists support their\nhypotheses, they establish nothing against faith. The facts\nreally established either favor faith or are perfectly compatible\nwith it; and if any are alleged that seem to militate against it,\nthey are either not proved to be facts, or their true character\nis not fully ascertained, and no conclusion from them can be\ntaken as really scientific. We do not pretend that the natural\nsciences, as such, tend to establish the truth of revelation, and\nwe think some over-zealous apologists of the faith go further in\nthis respect than they should. The sciences deal with facts and\ncauses of the secondary order; and it is very certain that one\nmay determine the quality of an acorn as food for swine without\nconsidering the first cause of the oak that bore it. A man may\nascertain the properties of steam and apply it to impel various\nkinds of machinery, without giving any direct argument in favor\nof the unity and Adamic origin of the race. The atheist may be a\ngood geometrician; but, if there were no God, there could be\nneither geometry nor an atheist to study it. All we contend is,\nthat the facts with which science deals are none of them shown to\ncontradict faith or to warrant any conclusions incompatible with\nit.\n\nHence it may be assumed that, while the sciences remain in their\nown order of facts, they neither aid faith nor impugn it, for\nfaith deals with a higher order of facts, and moves in a superior\nplane. The order of facts with which the sciences deal no doubt\ndepends on the order revealed by faith; and no doubt the\nparticular sciences should be connected with science or the\nexplanation and application of the ideal formula or first\nprinciples, what we call philosophy, as this formula in turn is\nconnected with the faith; but it does not lie within the province\nof the particular sciences as such to show this dependence or\nthis connection, and our _savans_ invariably blunder\nwhenever they attempt to do it, or to rise from the special to\nthe general, the particular to the universal, or from the\nsciences to faith. Here is where they err.\n{344}\nWhat they allege that transcends the particular order of facts\nwith which the sciences deal is only theory, hypothesis,\nconjecture, imagination, or fancy, and has not the slightest\nscientific value, and can warrant no conclusions either for or\nagainst faith. There is no logical ascent from the particular to\nthe universal, unless there has been first a descent from the\nuniversal to the particular. Jacob saw, on the ladder reaching\nfrom heaven to earth, the angels of God descending and ascending,\nnot ascending and descending. There must be a descent from the\nhighest to the lowest before there can be an ascent from the\nlowest to the highest. God becomes man that man may become God.\nThe sciences all deal with particulars and cannot of themselves\nrise above particulars, and from them universal science is not\nobtainable.\n\nHe who starts from revelation, which includes the principles of\nuniversal science, can, no doubt, find all nature harmonizing\nwith faith, and all the sciences bearing witness to its truth,\nfor he has the key to their real and higher sense; but he who\nstarts with the particular only can never rise above the\nparticular, and hence he finds in the particulars, or the nature\nto which he is restricted, no immaterial and immortal soul, and\nno God, creator, and upholder of the universe. His\ngeneralizations are only classifications of facts, with no\nintuition of their relation to an order above themselves; his\nuniversal is the particular, and he sees in the plane of his\nvision no steps by which to ascend to science, far less to faith.\nSaint-Simon and Auguste Comte both understood well the necessity\nof subordinating all the sciences to a general principle or law,\nand of integrating them in a universal science; but starting with\nthe special sciences themselves, they could never attain to a\nuniversal science, or a science that accepted, generalized, and\nexplained them all, and hence each ended in atheism, or, what is\nthe same thing, the divinization of humanity. The positivists\nreally recognize only particulars, and only particulars in the\nmaterial order, the only order the sciences, distinguished from\nphilosophy and revelation, do or can deal with. Alexander von\nHumboldt had, probably, no superior in the sciences, and he has\ngiven their _r\u00e9sum\u00e9_ in his _Cosmos_; but, if we\nrecollect aright, the word God does not once appear in that work,\nand yet, except when he ventures to theorize beyond the order of\nfacts on which the sciences immediately rest, there is little in\nthat work that an orthodox Christian need deny. Herbert Spencer,\nreally a man of ability, who disclaims being a follower of\nAuguste Comte or a positivist, excludes from the _knowable_,\nprinciples and causes, all except sensible phenomena; and\nalthough wrong in view of a higher philosophy than can be\nobtained by induction from the sensible or particular facts, yet\nhe is not wrong in contending that the sciences cannot of\nthemselves rise above the particular and the phenomenal.\n\nHence we do not agree with those Christian apologists who tell us\nthat the tendency of the sciences is to corroborate the doctrines\nof revelation. They no more tend of themselves to corroborate\nrevelation than they do to impair it. They who press them into\nthe cause of infidelity, and hence conclude that science explodes\nfaith, mistake their reach, for we can no more conclude from them\nagainst faith than we can in favor of faith. The fact is, the\nsciences are not science, and lie quite below the sphere of both\nscience and faith. When arrayed against either, their authority\nis null.\n{345}\nHence we conclude, _\u00e1 priori_, against them when they\npresume to impugn the principles of science as expressed in the\nideal formula, or against faith which is, considered in itself\nobjectively, no less certain than the formula itself; and we have\nshown, _\u00e0 posteriori_, by descending to the particulars,\nthat the sciences present no facts that impugn revelation or\ncontradict the teachings of faith. The conclusions of the\n_savans_ against the Christian dogmas are no logical\ndeductions or inductions from any facts or particulars in their\npossession, and therefore, however they may carry away sciolists,\nor the half-learned, or little minds, greedy of novelties, they\nare really of no scientific account.\n\nAll that faith demands of the sciences as such is their silence.\nShe does not demand their support, she only demands that they\nkeep in their own order, that the cobbler should stick to his\nlast, _ne sutor ultra crepidam_. Faith herself is in the\nsupernatural order, and proceeds from the same source as nature\nherself; it presupposes science indeed, and elevates and confirms\nit, but no more depends upon it than the creator depends on the\ncreature. The highest science needs faith to complete it, and in\nall probability never could have been attained to without\nrevelation; but neither science nor the sciences, however they\nmay need revelation, could ever, without revelation, have risen\nto the conception of a divine and supernatural revelation. It is\nidle, then, to suppose that without revelation we could find by\nthe sciences the demonstration or evidence of revelation. Lalande\nwas right when he said he had never seen God at the end of his\ntelescope, and his assertion should weigh with all natural\ntheologians, so-called, who attempt to prove the existence of God\nby way of induction from the facts which naturalists observe and\nanalyze; but he was wrong and grossly illogical when he concluded\nfrom that fact, with the fool of the Bible, there is no God, as\nwrong as those chemists are who conclude against the real\npresence in holy eucharist, because by their profane analysis of\nthe consecrated host they find in it the properties of bread. The\nmost searching chemical analysis cannot go beyond the visible or\nsensible properties of the subject analyzed, and the sensible\nproperties of the bread and wine nobody pretends are changed in\ntransubstantiation. None of the revealed dogmas are either\nprovable or disprovable by any empirical science, for they all\nlie in the supernatural order, above the reach of natural\nscience, and while they control all the empirical sciences they\ncan be controlled by none.\n\nBut when we have revelation and with it, consciously or\nunconsciously, the ideal formula, which gives us the principles\nof all science and of all things, and descend from the higher to\nthe lower, the case is essentially different. We then find all\nthe sciences so far as based on facts, and all the observable\nfacts or phenomena of nature, moral, intellectual, or physical,\nboth illustrating and confirming the truths of revelation and the\nmysteries of faith. We then approach nature from the point of\nview of the Creator, read nature by the divine light of\nrevelation, and study it from above, not from below; we then\nfollow the real order of things, proceed from principles to\nfacts, from the cause to the effect, from the universal to the\nparticular, and are, after having thus descended from heaven to\nearth, able to reascend from earth to heaven. In this way we can\nsee all nature joining in one to show forth the being and glory\nof God, and to hymn his praise.\n{346}\nThis method of studying nature from high to low by the light of\nfirst principles and of divine revelation enables us to press all\nthe sciences into the service of faith, to unite them in a common\nprinciple, and do what the Saint-Simonians and positivists cannot\ndo, integrate them in a general or universal science, bring the\nwhole intellectual life of man, as we showed in our article on\nRome or Reason, into unison with faith and the real life and\norder of things, leaving to rend our bosoms only that moral\nstruggle symbolized by Rome and the World, of which we have\nheretofore treated at length.\n\nBut this can never be done by induction from the facts observed\nand analyzed by the several empirical or inductive sciences. We\nthink we have shown that the pretension, that these sciences have\nset aside any of the doctrines of Christianity, or impaired the\nfaith, except in feeble and uninstructed minds, is unfounded; we\nthink we have also shown that they not only have not, but cannot\ndo it, because they lie in a region too low to establish anything\nagainst revelation. Yet as the sciences are insufficient, while\nrestricted to their proper sphere, to satisfy the demand of\nreason for apodictic principles, for unity and universality,\nthere is a perpetual tendency in the men devoted exclusively to\ntheir culture to draw from them conclusions which are\nunwarranted, illogical, and antagonistic both to philosophy and\nto faith. Against this tendency, perhaps never more strongly\nmanifested than at this moment, there is in natural science alone\nno sufficient safeguard, and consequently we need the\nsupernatural light of revelation to protect both faith and\nscience itself. With the loss of the light of revelation we lose,\nin fact, the ideal formula, or the light of philosophy; and with\nthe light of philosophy, we lose both science and the sciences,\nand retain only dry facts which signify nothing, or baseless\ntheories and wild conjectures, which, when substituted for real\nscience, are far worse than nothing.\n\n--------\n\n\n    My Meadowbrook Adventure.\n\n\n\"No, no, Tom; that is out of the question. I can't afford to go\naway just now. I am getting into a fine practice; the courts open\nin ten days; and besides, I am in the midst of an essay on the\nLaw of Contracts which I promised for the next number of a\ncertain law magazine. Your prescription is a very pleasant one;\nbut really I can't take it. You must give me a good dose of\nmedicine instead.\"\n\n\"I tell you what it is, Franklin, I don't let my patients dictate\nto me in that style. You have been fool enough to throw yourself\ninto a nervous fever by working in this nasty den all summer,\ninstead of taking a vacation-run to the country as you ought to\nhave done; and now, if you don't follow my directions, I swear I\nwon't cure you! Go off to some quiet farm-house for a week or\ntwo, and, if your essay on contracts weighs upon your mind, take\nthe stupid stuff with you. I'll risk your working much at it\nafter you get within scent of the fields.\"\n\n{347}\n\nI could not stand out very long against the bluff orders of my\nfriend and physician Tom Bowlder. I knew, too, that he was right.\nI had overtasked myself. I had been dangerously ill; and, eager\nas I was to get on with my work, I could not help feeling that\nrest and change were absolutely necessary for me. So I packed my\nportmanteau, not forgetting my precious essay and a liberal\nsupply of writing-paper, and the next morning saw me on the way\nto Meadowbrook.\n\nIt was a quiet, sleepy little village, nestling at the foot of a\nbeautifully wooded ridge, and looking out from its shelter,\nacross a slope of green fields, to a little stream which ran\npurling over the stones a quarter of a mile distant. Majestic old\nelm-trees shaded the grassy roads and swung their branches over\nthe roofs of the trim little cottages. There was only one house\nin the place which pretended to be anything better than a\ncottage, and that was a rather stately villa, a good hundred\nyears old at least, which stood a little way out of the village,\nsurrounded with trees, and shut in from the public gaze by an\nenormous hawthorn hedge which ran around the extensive grounds.\nMeadowbrook House, or \"the house,\" as it was generally called by\nthe villagers, was the property of an old maiden lady named\nForsythe, the daughter of a retired merchant who long years ago\nhad chosen this quiet spot as a retreat for his old age. Mr.\nForsythe was a Catholic, and one of his first actions after\nremoving to Meadowbrook was to build the pretty stone church in\nthe main street of the village, and to pledge a certain sum\nannually from his ample income for the support of the priest.\nWhen, after a long life of usefulness, he died and was buried by\nthe side of his wife, leaving all his property to his daughter,\nwho had already long passed the period of youth, the generosity\nof Miss Forsythe continued to supply what the poor little\nCatholic congregation was unable to give, and the excellent\nspinster was still the mainstay of the church. Poor Father James,\nan old man now of nearly seventy, would have fared ill but for\nher assistance.\n\nSo much I learned in an after-supper chat with my landlady on the\nnight of my arrival. I cannot say that I was much engrossed at\nthe time by the good woman's garrulous narrative, but\nafter-events were to give me a deep interest in Meadowbrook House\nand in everything connected with it. I had taken lodgings in the\nvillage inn, a neat, quiet, respectable establishment, where\nthere were few guests except the villagers who used to drop in of\nan evening to enjoy a little gossip and a pipe, and with whom,\nafter a days' ramble, I used often to sit and smoke my cigar. I\nled an idle but most delicious life during my ten day's holiday.\nI ranged through the woods, with my gun on my shoulder, bringing\nhome now and then a bird or so, but caring in reality more for\nthe walk than the shooting. I whipped the brook for trout. I\nsearched the fields for botanical specimens. I wandered about\nwith a volume of Tennyson or Buchanan in my pocket, stopping at\ntimes to lie down and read under the trees. I did almost\neverything, in fact, except work at my essay, which remained in\nthe portfolio where I had originally packed it.\n\nOne sunny afternoon I was dozing on my back in the shade of an\napple orchard, when a strain of music was borne to my ears,\nbeginning like the distant hum of bees, and gradually swelling on\nthe air with slow and majestic cadences. I had never heard such\nmusic in Meadowbrook before.\n{348}\nCurious to know whence it came, I followed the sound, and was not\nlong in discovering that some practised hand was touching the\nwheezy little organ in the village church. Not the same hand\nwhich was accustomed painfully to struggle with the keys there on\nSunday, and wring from them broken and doleful sounds to the\ndistress of all nervous listeners. The person who was playing now\nhad the touch of a master; and as the plaintive phrases of the\n_Agnus Dei_ from Mozart's First Mass broke upon the solitude\nof the church, the rickety organ seemed infused with a new\nspirit. I could not have believed that so much pathos and such\nexquisite delicacy of tone could be drawn from the wretched\ninstrument whose laborious whistling and puffing had set my teeth\non edge the previous Sunday. I sat down in a pew under the\ngallery, and listened. It was not until twilight approached that\nthe playing ceased. I heard the organ closed; the player was\nsilent for a few moments; \"He is saying a prayer,\" thought I; and\nthen a soft step began to descend the stairs. Thinking it\npossible the performer might feel annoyed at perceiving a\nstranger in the church, I sat quietly in my place, confident that\nthe growing darkness and the shelter of one of the pillars would\nscreen me from observation. I could see very well, however,\nthough I could not be seen, and my surprise was great when a\nslender female figure issued from the gallery staircase, and came\nwithin the light of the open street door. She was young--not more\nthan eighteen, I should think--with a face of rare beauty, a\npretty form, a light and graceful carriage, and the unmistakable\nair of a gentlewoman. Small, regular features, light brown eyes,\ncheeks like a peach, blooming with health, a profusion of dark\nhair, and an expression of remarkable simplicity and sweetness\nmade up a picture of loveliness such as I had never seen before.\nShe wore a fascinating little round hat, and when I first caught\nsight of her was just drawing on her gloves, and I could see that\nher hands were small and shapely. She bent her knee as she passed\nbefore the altar, and when she went out into the street the\nchurch seemed suddenly to have grown darker. My first impulse was\nto follow her; but I stopped, feeling that it would be an\nintrusion, and trusting that she would return the next day, if\nshe supposed herself to be unobserved. So I kept still until she\nhad been gone several minutes, and when I left the church she was\nnowhere to be seen.\n\nI determined to ask my landlady about the fair musician, and that\nevening, when worthy Mrs. Brown brought me my supper, I detained\nher a few minutes in conversation--an amusement to which she was\nin noway adverse.\n\n\"It's been an elegant day, hasn't it, now, Mr. Franklin?\" said\nthe old woman, as she placed on the table the smoking rasher of\nham and the pile of buttered toast; \"and it's plain to see what a\nworld of good this tramping about the country is doing you. I\nwouldn't say you were over-strong yet; but, Lord bless me! when\nyou first came here, you were little better than a ghost. Well,\nwell, sir, and I hope you won't find our little village too dull\nfor you!\"\n\n\"Dull! Mrs. Brown. Not a bit of it. I wish I could stay here a\nyear. By the way, who is it plays the organ so beautifully in\nMeadowbrook church? I heard the music, and stopped awhile to\nlisten.\"\n\n\"Plays the organ, sir? Well, you know there's Mr. Thrasher, the\nschoolmaster; he's the organist on Sundays, and very like you\nheard him practising--though why he should be out of school\nto-day, and this not a holiday--\"\n\n{349}\n\n\"Mr. Thrasher, Mrs. Brown, thumps on the organ as if he was\nthumping his pupils, and his singers scream as if they felt the\nblows. This was not Mr. Thrasher. It was a young lady!\"\n\n\"Well, sir, I never knowed of no young lady playing the organ\nexcept it was Betty Cox, the butcher's daughter. They do say she\nhas a wonderful talent for music, and Mr. Thrasher, he has been\ngiving her lessons this last month, and I wouldn't wonder if it\nwas her!\"\n\nNow, it had been my privilege to hear Miss Betty Cox finger the\nkeys one day after Mass, and a more doleful performance I never\nhad listened to. Even if I had not seen the performer, I should\nhave been sure it was not Miss Betty; but, quite apart from her\nmusical proficiency, I felt a little bit indignant that the\nbeautiful girl who had made such an impression upon me should be\nmistaken for a Betty Cox. No, she was not one of the village\ndamsels; that was clear. And unfortunately it was equally clear\nthat Mrs. Brown knew no more about her than I did myself.\n\nI fell asleep that night humming the _Agnus Dei_, and\ndreamed of angels with round hats and brown kid gloves, playing\non rickety organs, and hurling legions of musty school-masters\nout of the clouds.\n\nThe next day I took my book to the church-yard, and chose a shady\nspot where I could hear the first notes of the organ. I waited a\nlong while, reading little, for I could not fix my attention on\nthe page. At last she came, as I had hoped. For more than an hour\nI listened to the exquisite tones which seemed to flow from her\nagile fingers. Then she went away without perceiving me.\n\nI need hardly say that I made many another visit to the church,\nfor the pursuit of the fair organist had now become a genuine\npassion with me. Sometimes I waited all the afternoon without\nseeing or hearing her. Then I used to go to my room and be moody\nand miserable all the evening. A rainy day would throw me into\ndespair, and I watched the clouds with the eagerness of a\nschoolboy on a holiday. My readers will not need to be told that\nI was falling desperately in love. Once or twice I met her\nwalking, and had an opportunity to notice more particularly the\nsingular beauty of her form and countenance, and the refined and\nquiet air which pervaded her whole person. Once I met her by\naccident at the crossing of a brook. I gave her my hand to help\nher over, and she took it with the modest frankness of a true\nlady, saying, \"Thank you, sir,\" in a voice which seemed to me as\nsweet as her face. Yes, I was certainly in love.\n\nI might easily have found out all about her by asking a few\nquestions in the village, where the shopkeepers, at all events,\nwould hardly be as ill informed as my landlady; but since my\nconversation with Mrs. Brown I had become, I know not why,\nunwilling to speak of her. I had grown to look upon her as _my\nsecret_, which I was disposed to guard pretty jealously. A bit\nof mystery, be it ever so little and unnecessary, is one of the\nmost charming things in the world to a young lover, and I have\nalways thought that Sheridan displayed great knowledge of human\nnature when he made Lydia Languish refuse to be married without\nan elopement. At some time in our lives almost all of us give way\nto more or less of the same sort of nonsense.\n\n{350}\n\nThere came a sudden end at last to my mooning and dreaming, and\nit came in a way with which even Lydia Languish herself could not\nhave quarrelled. I had been off one day on a long ramble among\nthe hills, and, missing my way, did not get back to Meadowbrook\nuntil close upon evening. As I came near the village, I was made\naware of some extraordinary commotion in the place. Men and women\nwere hurrying through the streets, and voices were shouting in\nexcited tones. I ran after the crowd, and as I turned into the\nmain street a glance in the direction of the church revealed the\ncause of the disturbance. Flames were bursting through the\ngallery windows, and a dense smoke poured through the open door.\nNearly the whole population of Meadowbrook had gathered around\nthe scene of disaster. The men, and some of the women with them,\nhad formed lines leading to one or two of the nearest wells, and\nwere passing buckets with all the speed they could; but it was\ntoo evident with but little prospect of subduing the\nconflagration. I have already mentioned that the building was of\nstone, so there was little fear of the walls falling; but the\nwoodwork of the interior was old, and burned almost like tinder.\nThe organ-gallery was, of course, of wood, and inside the tower,\nwhich stood at the front of the edifice, there was a wooden\nstaircase, forming the only means of access to the gallery. It\nwas in the tower, I saw at once, that the flames were burning\nmost fiercely. The rear of the church was as yet untouched. I\nneed hardly tell what my first thought was when I saw the cruel\nglare that lighted up the approaching twilight. A sickening\nsensation crept over me. If the fair musician was in the gallery\nwhen the fire broke out, her escape seemed effectually cut off. I\nran forward but there was little need to ask questions. The\ndistressed expression on every face, the eager eyes fixed upon\nthe windows of the gallery, the frantic but vain efforts of one\nor two of the boldest of the crowd to penetrate the doorway, out\nof which the smoke was rolling in great black clouds, told me\nthat my worst fears were true.\n\n\"Ah! sir,\" said one of the men \"it's a dreadful thing to see a\npretty young creature like that burned to death before our very\neyes. But we can't get to her!\"\n\nA cold perspiration broke out upon my forehead, and for a moment\nI reeled like a drunkard. \"Good heavens!\" I cried; \"have you no\nladders?\"\n\n\"Yes, we have two; but look at the tower, sir. There's no window\nexcept in the belfry, and both the ladders together would not\nreach that.\"\n\n\"Take the ladders into the church by the back way,\" I cried, \"and\nget up the front of the gallery! Here,\" I added, pulling out my\npurse, \"this for the first man who reaches her.\"\n\n\"We wouldn't want your money, sir, if we could get at the young\nlady,\" answered one or two voices together; \"but there's little\nuse in trying. Three men have gone into the church already.\"\n\nThey were still speaking when there was a stir among the crowd at\nthe side of the building, and the three men reappeared. Their\nclothes were scorched, and even their hair was slightly singed.\n\n\"Can't do it,\" said one; \"the gallery front is burning like a\nfurnace. We got the ladders up, but we could not climb them and\nhardly got them away again.\"\n\n\"Did you see anything of her?\"\n\n\"No, and didn't hear a sound. If she has not been choked already\nby the smoke, she must have gone up\ninto the tower.\"\n\n{351}\n\nIt was a slight hope, yet there was something in it after all.\nBehind the organ there was, as I knew, a door opening into a sort\nof lumber-room in the tower, from which a rude flight of steps,\nterminating in a ladder, led up to the bell. It was possible that\nwhen she found the gallery staircase in flames, (I afterward\nlearned that it was here the fire broke out; it was supposed to\nhave been caused by a coal dropped on the stairs by a tinker who\nhad been repairing the roof that afternoon)--it was just\npossible, I say, that she might have retreated up these steps in\nthe hope of being rescued through the belfry window. For a moment\nor two after the failure to reach her through the interior, there\nwas a pause of awful suspense. Whatever was to be done, however,\nmust be done at once. The flames were making rapid headway, and\nin ten minutes nothing would be left of the tower but the bare\nstone shell. Already it was doubtful if any one could survive\neven in the upper portion of it. The men were still throwing\nbucketfuls of water into the burning porch with frantic speed;\nbut this, of course, did little good, for the fire was spreading\nhigh above their reach. Others were running helplessly about with\ncoils of rope. Suddenly a thought seized me. Just in front of the\nchurch, but on the opposite side of the road, stood an enormous\nelm-tree. Some of its upper branches reached within fifty feet of\nthe top of the tower. Was it not possible to bridge across that\nchasm?\n\n\"Is there any opening,\" I cried, \"in the tower roof?\"\n\n\"No, sir; none at all.\"\n\n\"Give me an axe and some rope.\"\n\nTwo or three axes were thrust at me. I took one, and tied it\nround my waist with a long coil of rope. Then I chose out another\ncoil, and, throwing it over one of the lower limbs of the\nelm-tree, clambered with some difficulty into the branches. It\nwould have been very hard climbing without the rope; but as I\ncould throw it from limb to limb where I could not reach, and as\nI was a sufficiently expert gymnast to pull myself up by it, a\nfew seconds saw me on one of the upper branches which had caught\nmy eye from below. There was a battlement around the top of the\ntower, and I thought if I could secure one end of the rope to one\nof the projections of this battlement, I might contrive, by tying\nthe other to the tree, to work my way across. I made a large\nslip-noose, gathered up the line like a lasso, and cast it with\nall my strength. The first attempt failed. The crowd below saw my\nobject now, and gave a tremendous cheer. I tried again, and this\ntime the noose caught upon the battlement. I drew up the rope as\ntight as I could, tied it fast to the tree, and, clasping it with\nmy legs and hands, began the most dangerous and difficult part of\nmy enterprise. There was a breathless silence below as I pulled\nmyself across the awful chasm. I could hear the roar and\ncrackling of the flames, and the hot air and acrid smoke were\ndriven into my face until I thought I should have fainted and\nfallen to the ground. At last I reached the battlement. With much\ntrouble I clambered upon the roof, and while the excited\nvillagers were screaming themselves hoarse and hurrahing like\nmadmen--I hardly heard their cries at the time, but, with other\nincidents of that memorable afternoon, they came to me\nafterward--I plied my axe so vigorously that in a few minutes I\nhad stripped off a section of the roofing, and made an opening\ntwo or three feet square. It was too dark now to distinguish\nanything in the interior, but I knew that the platform on which\nthe bell rested must be some twelve or fifteen feet below me.\n{352}\nFastening the second coil of rope to the battlement, I let myself\ndown through the hole until I felt the solid planking under my\nfeet. There was a suffocating odor of fire, but the air was still\npure enough to be breathed without serious inconvenience, groped\nabout in the dark until I found the ladder leading below, and,\ntrembling with apprehension, hurried down as fast as I was able.\nI shouted, but there was no answer. I reached the landing-stage\nwhere the ladder stopped and the rough steps, already mentioned,\nbegan, and at this moment some barrier which had kept the flames\nconfined below seemed to give way, and a flood of light streamed\nup the staircase. I hurried on with the energy of desperation.\nWhen I reached the lumber-room, the door-way leading into the\ngallery was wrapped in fire. Through it I could see the old organ\nblazing, the planks dropping off one by one, and the metal pipes\nmelting under the intense heat. The lower staircase was nearly\nconsumed, and the floor of the room itself had caught in several\nplaces. The dreadful glow reflected upon the rough stone walls\nand rugged beams showed me in a moment what I had come to seek.\nThere, in a remote corner which the fire had not yet reached, was\na female form stretched senseless on the floor. A round hat was\nlying beside her, and her rich brown hair fell in graceful waves\nover her neck. Her white arms, from which the sleeves had fallen\nback, were stretched out before her, and her fingers clasped a\nrosary, as if her last conscious act had been a prayer. I seized\nher by the waist, and, with a strength at which I even now\nwonder, rushed with my burden toward the steps which I had just\ndescended. She was still living. I could feel the beating of her\nheart and the heaving of her breast, and my joy at this discovery\ngave me fresh energy. How I got her up the steps I never clearly\nknew; but in a short space of time I had reached the top of the\nladder and burst open the single window which looked out from the\nbell-chamber. The cool air revived her almost instantly. I held\nher up for a moment by the window, and, as she opened her eyes\nwith a bewildered stare, I tried to say a word to calm her. She\ngazed at me an instant and then burst into tears, and her head\nfell forward on my shoulder.\n\n\"Fear nothing, dear lady,\" said I, \"you are safe now. Collect\nyour strength as much as you can. I am going to let you down\nthrough this window.\"\n\n\"And yourself!\" she asked, staggering to her feet.\n\n\"Oh! make yourself easy about me. I shall follow you by the same\nway. You have only to keep calm, and there is little real\ndanger.\"\n\nThe rope by which I had descended from the roof was still hanging\nthere. I whipped out my knife, and cut it off as high as I could,\nthere was still enough left to reach within fifteen feet of the\nground. I tied it around her waist, wrapping my coat about it, so\nthat it might chafe her as little as possible, gave it two turns\naround the windlass of the bell to strengthen my hold, and then\nshouted to the crowd below to put up their longest ladder under\nthe window. A cheer told me that I was understood, and, before\nthe preparations for the descent were quite finished, I saw a\nladder raised against the wall, and two or three stout fellows\nstanding ready to receive my burden.\n\n{353}\n\n\"Now,\" said I, \"you have only to be careful to keep yourself\nclear of the stones with your feet; grasp the rope by this knot\nto diminish the strain on your waist, and trust me for the rest.\"\n\nThe window was so near the floor that there was little difficulty\nin her getting out. I braced my feet firmly against the windlass,\nand lowered away carefully, but as fast as I dared, for the\nincreased roaring of the flames below warned me that I had not a\nsecond to lose. The openings I had made in the roof and window\nhad, of course, created a strong draught in the tower, and the\nfire was now burning in it like a furnace. Her feet touched the\ntopmost round of the ladder just as I had got within a yard of\nthe end of the rope. A pair of brawny arms received her, and at\nthat moment the floor of the lumber room and gallery fell in with\nan awful crash; there was a lull for an instant; then a dense\nmass of smoke, flame, and cinders burst forth, as if belched from\na volcano, and in less than a minute the _outside_ as well\nas the interior of the tower was wrapped in flame. Not soon\nenough, however, to touch what I had fought so hard to save. I\nthank God I had the presence of mind, when I heard the crash, to\nknow what was coming; and, that no precious moments might be lost\nin unfastening the rope from her waist, I threw the other end out\nthe window the instant I saw her foothold was secure, and the men\nhurried her down the ladder just in time. I heard her utter a cry\nof horror as I sacrificed my own means of escape, and, looking\nout, I saw her carried senseless away. Terrible as my danger was,\nI could not help noticing the awful grandeur of the scene.\nTwilight had given way to night, but the red glare illuminated\nthe surrounding objects, and threw a flickering, unearthly light\nupon the upturned faces of the crowd. I saw women running to and\nfro, wringing their hands in despair, and men looking up at the\nwindow where I stood, with an expression of mingled fright and\npity. But, if I had had a mile of rope, it would have been of\nlittle use to me now. The burning timbers had fallen outside the\ndoor of the tower, and I could not have let myself down without\nfalling into the midst of them. I thought of the bell-rope; if I\ncould get back to the roof with that, I might let myself down at\nthe side. It would not be long enough to reach near the ground,\nbut, if I escaped with a broken leg, that would be better anyhow\nthan being burnt to death. I seized the rope where it was\nattached to the bell, and began to pull it up through the hole in\nthe floor; a few feet of it only came away in my hand; the rest\nhad been consumed. The smoke by this time was pouring through\nevery crack, and the heat of the small chamber in which I stood\nwas so intense that I knew that, too, must soon fall in. The roof\nwas about twelve feet above me. My last hope was to reach it, and\nreturn by the same frightful bridge by which I had worked my way\nover. I shuddered to think of trusting myself again upon that\ndizzy crossing, with my hands already torn and bleeding, my brain\nreeling, and my eyes half-blinded. I sprang, however, upon the\nwindlass, and made one desperate leap for the hole in the roof. I\njust grasped the rafters, and as I did so the planks upon which I\nhad been standing gave way, and the bell and its platform sank\ninto the ruins. I never can forget the horror of that moment\nwhen, as I made my leap, I felt the timbers crack and fall under\nmy foot into the blazing abyss. For the present, however, I was\nsafe. I had got a firm hold, and with much exertion, nerved by\nthe strength of desperation, I succeeded in drawing myself up and\ngetting upon the roof. The rope-bridge was still there.\n{354}\nI staggered toward it, and as I showed myself over the\nbattlements a hearty cheer went up from the crowd, who had given\nme up for lost when the belfry fell in. I heard, yet hardly\nheeded them. In the act of climbing over the parapet, my eye fell\nupon the fragment of the second rope which I had cut away.\nScarcely reflecting upon what I did, yet with a sort of\nprovidential instinct, I loosened it from the wall, tied one end\naround my body, and passed the other around the rope which had to\nsupport me across the dreadful chasm, making it fast with a noose\nwhich would slip easily as I pulled myself along. Thus the whole\nweight of my body would not have to be borne by my disabled\nhands. This precaution, I believe, was all that saved me. I made\nthe crossing with great pain, dizzy from excitement and\nover-exertion, and suffering intensely from the smoke and flames\nwhich the wind was now driving upon me. Ten or twenty yards of\nthe distance were yet to be passed, when I was dimly conscious of\na sudden swaying of the crowd, a suppressed groan from many\nvoices at once, then a quick slackening of the rope, a thundering\ncrash as of falling walls, and a quick rush of air that took away\nmy breath. Mechanically I tightened my grasp. Without seeing, I\nknew what had happened. The tower had fallen in. It has often\nbeen mentioned how in a moment of deadly peril the memories of\nyears will rush across the mind with the speed of lightning. Now,\nin the instant while I was falling through the air, I had time to\nnotice the excitement of the people, to comprehend what had taken\nplace, to breathe a short prayer, and to calculate my chances of\nbeing dashed to pieces against either the trunk of the tree or\nsome of the lower branches. But the same good Lord who had saved\nme before was again on my side. The rope swung free of\nobstructions; I was jerked once or twice back and forth; I lost\nmy hold; there was a sharp pain as if some one had struck me a\ntremendous blow, and I knew no more.\n\nWhen I came to my senses again, it was with a feeling of\nbewilderment inexpressibly painful. I recognized nothing about\nme; I remembered nothing that had happened. I was lying in bed in\na large, cheerful room, so bright and pretty that it was comfort\neven to look at it. The sun was struggling through the closed\nblinds, two or three logs of wood blazed in the capacious\nfire-place, and two luxurious, great, chintz-covered armchairs\nstood before the hearth. The walls were hung with a neat flowered\npaper, and the mantel-shelf was decorated with curious old china\nvases and various knick-knacks. Everything was the perfection of\ncleanliness and order, yet nothing looked prim. The coverlid on\nthe bed was of warm, harmonious tints; the linen was, beautifully\nsoft and white; there was a table in the middle of the room,\ncovered with a bright cloth, and bearing a number of books and a\ndish of luscious-looking fruit; and on a little stand by the\nbedside was a bouquet of rare hot-house flowers. Here was a\npleasant scene to open one's eyes upon; but where was I? I threw\nmyself back upon the pillow, and gradually the events I have\nnarrated in the preceding pages shaped themselves in my memory. I\nfelt very weak, but I was not long in satisfying myself that I\nhad broken no bones. I looked at my wounded hands. They were\ncovered with scars, but the wounds were healed. I knew then that\nI must have been lying there a pretty long time. I was still\nwondering, when the door opened softly, and a tidy-looking\nelderly woman, whose dress indicated that she was some sort of an\nupper servant, came into the room.\n{355}\nShe uttered an exclamation of pleasure when she caught my eye,\nand came up to the bedside.\n\n\"Well, sir,\" said she, \"it does my heart good to see you looking\nso much better. You've had a hard time of it, that's the truth;\nbut we'll soon have you up, now.\"\n\n\"You're very kind,\" I answered; \"anybody might get well in this\nroom; but please tell me where I am.\"\n\n\"O sir! you're at Meadowbrook House. Miss Forsythe had you\nfetched here right after the fire.\" \"How long ago was that?\"\n\"About two weeks.\" \"So long! I must have been very sick. You are\nvery good.\"\n\nI thought she seemed a little surprised at the fervor of my\ngratitude; but I took no notice of it, and was going on to ask\nher further questions when she very peremptorily shut me up.\n\n\"Now, that will do,\" said she; \"don't say another word. You must\nkeep quiet for a while; if you talk, I'll go away and not come\nnear you again.\"\n\n\"Just one thing more. Who brought those flowers?\"\n\n\"Well, if you must know, Miss Forsythe herself. She brings them\nevery day. I suppose she'd scold if she knew I told you. But now,\nkeep quiet till the doctor comes, and, if he is willing, I'll\nchat with you as much as you please.\"\n\nSo saying, the good-natured nurse to ensure my silence, left the\nroom. But, indeed, I felt little desire to talk any more just\nthen. I had asked about the flowers with a vague hope that they\nmight have been culled by the hand which I had learned to prize\nso dear, and I am ashamed to say that, when the name of the\nexcellent old lady, whose hospitality I was receiving was\nmentioned, I turned my head with a sigh of disappointment. I fell\nto worrying about the fair organist; wondering whether she had\nsuffered any harm from the perilous occurrences of that memorable\nnight; whether I should ever meet her again, and _how_ we\nshould meet; how I could approach her without seeming to presume\nupon the service I had rendered; and, finally, why Miss Forsythe\nshould have lavished so much care and kindness on a total\nstranger. I was in the midst of such reveries when my nurse\nreturned and ushered in the doctor.\n\n\"Well, Franklin, old fellow! Got your wits again, have you?\"\nexclaimed a cheery and familiar voice. \"That's right; now we'll\nsoon get you on your legs.\"\n\nThe doctor was no other than my old friend Tom Bowlder. He had\nheard of my accident, hurried down to Meadowbrook, taken entire\ncontrol of me, established a close friendship with the lady of\nthe mansion, put himself on the best of terms with the\nhousekeeper, Mrs. Benson, and installed her as nurse, and, thanks\nto his skill and tenderness, I had passed safely through a\ndangerous crisis. After putting a few professional questions, he\nsat down by the bedside, and indulged me with a little\nconversation.\n\n\"Well, old boy,\" said he, \"I suppose you want to be told first\nabout yourself.\" (I did not; but I let him go on.) \"You've had an\nugly time of it--brain fever and that sort of thing, you\nknow--and it's a wonder you weren't killed outright. But you are\nall right now, and you can have the satisfaction of knowing that\nyou saved one of the prettiest girls that ever breathed, and I do\nbelieve one of the best.\"\n\n{356}\n\n\"She is not hurt, then?\"\n\n\"Not a bit.\"\n\n\"And you have seen her? Is she still in Meadowbrook?\"\n\n\"Seen her! Why, of course I have. How could I help it? I see her\nevery day.\"\n\nIn spite of my previous perplexity how I should conduct myself if\nI ever met her again, I was now so eager for the meeting that,\nweak as I was, I wanted to get up at once. But to this, of\ncourse, Doctor Tom would not listen.\n\n\"Yes; but, Tom, you mustn't keep me here for ever. I want to--to\nsee\"--I stammered and broke down--\"to see Miss Forsythe, you\nknow, and thank her for taking care of me.\"\n\n\"All in good time, Franklin. I don't mean to keep you in bed much\nlonger; and the moment you are able to leave the room, I promise\nyou shall see her, and make as many acknowledgments as you want\nto. For the rest of the afternoon, however, you must keep quiet.\nThere, now, you have talked enough for one day. Good-by.\" And so\nsaying, Tom left me to myself.\n\nMrs. Benson soon came back, bringing a tray covered with a\nsnow-white napkin, a bowl of gruel, and a glass of wine. Tom had\nevidently given her instructions; for I could not draw her into\nconversation, and, as soon as she had seen me comfortably fixed,\nshe went away again.\n\nThe next morning, Tom paid me an early visit, and doled out a few\nmore scraps of information. I learned that Miss Forsythe had\ncaused all my luggage to be brought from the inn, and that, as\nlong as I could be persuaded to remain in Meadowbrook, I was to\nmake her house my home. \"You need not look surprised,\" added\nBowlder. \"I satisfied her that you were a very respectable\nperson; and, indeed, I believe the old lady knows some of your\nfamily.\"\n\n\"Well, see here, Tom; when I was out of my head, did I talk\nmuch?\"\n\n\"Talk! I should think you did! Chattered like a magpie; raved\nabout round hats and little brown gloves, talked a good deal of\nlovers' nonsense, and sometimes hummed a few bars of music--Miss\nForsythe said it was a bit out of one of Mozart's Masses. One day\nyou grabbed a hold of me, and asked if I knew you had been\nlistening under the gallery, and 'if she knew about your loving\nher.' Miss Forsythe blushed like a rose, and went out of the\nroom.\"\n\n\"Did she?\" said I, blushing now in my turn. \"I don't see what\ndifference that ought to make to her.\"\n\nTom opened his eyes at this remark in a very curious way.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"_I_ thought it might make a good deal of\ndifference; but I suppose you two know best. Now I must be off.\nOld Doctor Jalap, who physics the villagers, has fallen sick\nhimself, and I have to take care of him and his patients, too. I\nmean to let you get up tomorrow, though I would not advise you to\ngo into the streets till you have got all your old strength, and\nsome to spare. The people down here have got the preposterous\nidea that you're a sort of a hero, and whenever you show\nyourself, they'll shake you to death with congratulations.\"\n\nWhen Tom had gone, I thought a great deal over his remark about\nMiss Forsythe, but I could not comprehend it. The old lady had\ncertainly been very kind to me; but, even if she did know my\nfamily, it was unreasonable to suppose that she should take a\nvery warm interest in my love affairs. And what did Tom mean by\nsaying that \"we two knew best?\"\n{357}\nThe more I reflected, the more I got puzzled. Possibly, said I,\nMiss Forsythe knows this young lady. At any rate, I'll lose no\ntime in seeing her. I can't lie here, muddling my brains, any\nlonger. So I got up, found my clothes, dressed, and made my way\ndown-stairs. Mrs. Benson met me in the hall, and, of course,\nbegan to scold; but she had to admit that I seemed stronger,\nafter all, than anybody suspected me to be, and, now that the\nmischief was done, I might as well see Miss Forsythe. \"You'll\nfind her in the parlor, sir; she's just come in from the garden.\"\n\nThere was no one in the parlor when I entered it, but at the\nfurther end of the room was an open door leading to a\nconservatory, and there I caught a glimpse of somebody moving\namong the flowers. I went forward, and saw a lady, whose back was\ntoward me, in the act of plucking a flower to add to a bunch in\nher hand. She did not hear me until I spoke:\n\n\"Miss Forsythe, I don't know how to thank you properly for--\"\n\nI stopped in amazement, for, as she turned, I beheld not the good\nold spinster, but that sweet, innocent young face which had so\nlong haunted me. She started at my voice. A deep blush suffused\nher features. She hesitated a moment; she cast down her eyes; and\nthen, with a frankness which was even more charming than her\nmaiden modesty, she sprang forward to meet me, and placed both\nher little hands in mine.\n\nI have no purpose of repeating all the foolish things we said in\nthe next half hour. _This_ was the Miss Forsythe who had\nwatched over my sick-room, and had run away when I raved about\nher in my delirium. It never occurred to me, when Tom Bowlder\nmade his last puzzling remarks, that there could be any other\nMiss Forsythe than the mistress of Meadowbrook House. My Miss\nForsythe was the niece of that good lady, and, when I first met\nher, had just arrived in Meadowbrook on a visit for the first\ntime in her life. The aunt came into the room, after a while, and\nI then had an opportunity of making my interrupted\nacknowledgments in the right quarter, and beginning a friendship\nwith her which I look upon as one of the blessings of my life.\nTom came back, too, before long, and, though he pretended, at\nfirst, to scold me for breaking out of bounds before I had been\nregularly discharged by my physician, he must have seen, by the\nsparkle in my eyes and the elasticity which happiness imparted to\nmy whole frame, that my rashness had been of a vast deal of\nservice to me.\n\n\"Doctor,\" said the old lady, \"I think you and I must let him\nalone. Mr. Franklin seems to have changed his physician, and I\ndare say Mary, there, will do him more good now than all the\nmedicines in the world.\"\n\n\"Upon my word, Miss Forsythe, I believe you're right; and, if\nMiss Mary will take care not to lead her patient through any more\nfiery furnaces, I'll trust the case to her hands.\"\n\nI have only to add to my story that the essay on the Law of\nContracts was never finished, business of a very engrossing\nnature (including a contract of a peculiarly interesting kind)\nabsorbing all my spare moments during the next few months. By the\nliberality of the elder Miss Forsythe the little church was soon\nrestored, and the asthmatic organ which had played such a\nmemorable part in my life was replaced by a new and excellent\ninstrument.\n{358}\nThe flames, fortunately, had spared the sanctuary and all the\nrear portion of the building. As soon as the repairs were\nfinished, there was a merry wedding at Meadowbrook, and Father\nJames gave us his blessing as we knelt together in the sacred\nplace where we had so narrowly escaped together from a horrible\ndeath. The little side-altar, which has since been put up in the\nchurch, was built by my wife and me to commemorate our\ndeliverance. Once or twice a year we make a visit of a week or so\nto dear Aunt Forsythe at Meadowbrook. Mary and I never fail at\nsuch times to say a prayer of thanksgiving in the church. Then we\nstray together into the organ gallery, and, while the old\nfamiliar strains flow from her touch, I sit by her side, and\nthank God in my heart for blessing me with so sweet a wife.\n\n--------\n\n          Joy In Grief.\n\n    From The French Of Marie Jenna.\n\n\n   \"Blessed are they that mourn:\n    for they shall be comforted.\"\n\n\n  Friend! in vain thy bosom hides the sharp and cruel sword that wounds it.\n  I have understood thy silence, and my prayer hath still been for thee.\n  Cast away the foolish pride that shuts thy heart against my friendship;\n      Come, and weep before me.\n\n  Well I know that there are days of heavy grief and lonely suffering,\n  When the soul doth find in solitude a grim and bitter pleasure;\n  And the thoughtless world beholds its shrouded majesty pass by it\n      Pale, and wrapped in silence.\n\n  Then the friendly hand, uncertain, stops and hesitates before it,\n  Fearing lest too rudely it may draw aside the veil of mourning:\n  There are griefs so great and sacred that all human thought and language\n      Dies upon the threshold.\n\n  Now, however, days are past; and it is time I came and sought thee.\n  Oh! permit a friend to share the heavy burden of thy sorrow.\n  Put thy hand in mine, thy weary head upon my heart, and rest thee:\n      I have suffered also.\n\n  I will not approach thee with those vain and heartless words of fashion,\n  Words which grief receives and spurns as mocking echoes of its wailing;\n  No, I have a word to whisper that will bring a holy comfort:\n      'Tis a heavenly secret.\n\n{359}\n\n  If I might, as from an urn, before thy feet pour out my treasures,\n  Hope and peace would fill thy soul now groping in despairing darkness.\n  Light would shine upon thy pathway; sweet repose would mark thy slumbers,\n      Dreams of happy moments.\n\n  There are pure and lofty summits where the soul of man reposes.\n  'Tis the sword which cleaves our hearts asunder opens up the pathway.\n  Friend of mine, believe me that the loss of all things counts as nothing\n      If those heights be mastered.\n\n  Silly bees, we flit from flower to flower in this world's pleasure-garden;\n  Drinking in their rich perfumes and tasting of their honeyed sweetness.\n  Resting there, and living on its passing charms as if its beauty\n      Were enough for ever.\n\n  There we dream away our life, and precious moments pass unheeded;\n  Placing all our joys in pleasures fleeting as the summer sunshine,\n  Joys that vanish when the evening casts its shadows o'er the garden\n      Gone before the moonlight.\n\n  'Tis when robbed of human love; when seated desolate and lonely\n  On the wide and arid desert, with no kindly eye to greet us;\n  When the howling tempest rages, and the frightful darkness thickens,\n      Comfort has a meaning.\n\n  Then the brow defeat has humbled, and the heart grown sick with sorrow,\n  Find an arm and hand divine to lean upon and bear its burden:\n  And the spirit wrung with anguish, crushed by cruel disappointment,\n      Sings a hymn unspoken.\n\n  When before the lost one's footsteps opens an abyss of horror,\n  Then appears a bridge of safety stretching o'er the gulf's dark passage:\n  There, where danger threatens most, and death menaces, God is standing\n      Open-armed to meet him.\n\n  When the fitful joys of human passion are consumed within us,\n  Other joys begin their reign of which the soul as yet knew nothing.\n  Ah! what matter, when a brilliant star appears in heaven above us,\n      If the lamp burn dimly?\n\n  O thou mystery of suffering, deep abyss for human wonder!\n  Since that day when on a shameful cross love gained its greatest triumph,\n  We begin to sound thy awful depths, and catch at least faint glimpses\n      Of thy hidden meaning!\n\n  Come, for there the lesson may be learned which only He, the Master, teaches\n  From his throne of truth and wisdom. At the feet of Jesus seated,\n  Words will fall upon our ears that human lips have never spoken\n      Words of heaven's language.\n\n{360}\n\n  Sword of sorrow, minister of peace, I bless thee for thy wounding!\n  Pleasing is the pain of sacrifice, and sweet the tears of martyrs\n  Shed for too much joy when from the eyes all earthly sights are fading\n      In the light of heaven.\n\n  Of those melodies divine, those flames of love and joy celestial,\n  Of those floods of rapture springing from the lonely plains of sorrow,\n  Ye, poor, thoughtless souls, know nothing, nor have ever dreamed their presence,\n      Ye who ne'er have suffered.\n\n  Man of sorrows! he who never trod the road of desolation,\n  He who hath not borne a cross and followed thee to crucifixion,\n  He who hath not passed through death unto the day of resurrection--\n      He hath never known thee.\n\n  Blessed are the mourners! From the mouth of Truth these words have fallen.\n  Blessed! Yes, it must be true indeed, my God, when thou hast spoken.\n  Welcome, then, be suffering, welcome! Happy they above all measure\n      Who in thee find comfort!\n\n--------\n\n    Translated from the French of L. Vitet.\n\n\n    The Present Condition Of Christianity In France.\n\n\nThat the men for whom the Christian faith is but an ordinary\nbelief, a purely human work, and therefore mortal and perishable,\nshould consider that their object is to be best attained by\nseparating it from the living portion of our society and keeping\nit sequestered, so to speak, within the circle of retrogressive\nideas; that such should be sarcastic at the expense of liberal\nCatholicism, and, looking upon its plans as chimerical, should\ntriumph on learning of its defeats, nothing can be more natural:\nin so doing, they but carry out their policy and sustain their\ncause. But that true Christians and sincere believers should form\nan alliance with them or follow the same rut; that they should\nstrive to attain the same end by opposing harmony and\nreconciliation with the spirit of the age, jesting at\npeace-makers, and objecting to their endeavors, not only on the\nplea of the impracticability of the schemes, but on the ground\nthat the attempts made are culpable, impious, and sacrilegious;\nthis is worse than an error, worse than blindness, and\nconstitutes for the future of Christian beliefs a grave and\nalarming symptom.\n\nThere would be little cause for anxiety if a small portion of the\nfaithful, a few chagrined beings, a few morose old men were the\nonly obstinate adherents to these views, for time would be the\nbest remedy in such a case; but do not be deceived, the masses\nare inclined to the adoption of similar opinions.\n{361}\nConciliatory ideas are as yet only within the reach of a certain\n_\u00e9lite_. The group in whose midst they were born upward of\nthirty years since is scarcely more numerous now than then, and\nis, perhaps, less favorably thought of and less sustained by the\npublic. Yet how many reasons are there for its more general\nrecognition! Is not the party under a better guidance than in\nearlier days? Whom can it terrify by its temerity? In politics it\nonly aspires to the possession of the most harmless liberty; in\nreligion its tendencies are ultramontane only to the extent\nprescribed by faith. What, then, does it lack? Is its cause\nobscure, badly defined, ill-defended? Never were its traits given\nmore brilliant prominence. God has bestowed upon it defenders of\nwondrous might. When an idea is fathered by the indefatigable\nenergy and overwhelming eloquence of the Bishop of Orleans, by\nsuch masters of speech as M. de Montalembert and Father\nLacordaire, by writers such as M. Albert de Broglie and Father\nGratry; when young and valiant champions, such as Charles\nLenormant, Fr\u00e9d\u00e9ric Ozanam, and Henri Perreyve have died in its\nservice; if it attract not; if it make not great and speedy\nconquests; if it secure not at once the approval of the\ncompetent, and obtain from the people naught but sterile\napplause, there can be no misunderstanding, its time is not come,\nand men's minds are not prepared for its reception. But does it\nfollow that opinion has espoused the opposing cause, and that\nhostility and warfare against modern laws and ideas are generally\nfavored? that all other Christians accept unreservedly the\ndoctrines of certain violently retrogressive journals that do\nreligion the injury of being regarded as its confidants? No; the\nmasses, by their own instinct, escape the contagion of\nextremists' opinions; but, without breaking off entirely from\nmodern ideas, the great majority of the faithful hold them to be\ndangerous and avoid their contact. Between civil and religious\nsociety there is a marked coldness and restraint; there is a want\nof confidence and sympathy; the least that can be said is, that\nthey live in two separate camps.\n\nThis should not be. We cannot calculate upon a new uprising or\nupon a complete awakening of Christian belief, unless sincere\nconcord between the church and society be reestablished. The\npresent disagreement, if prolonged, would seem to indicate a\ndecline of Christianity; it might be said that religion was\nlosing, for the first time, the knowledge of the needs of the\nepoch, as well as that power of rejuvenation that for eighteen\ncenturies has endowed it with such unexampled longevity. That the\nprediction that preceded its birth may be realized, that it may\nlive as long as this earth, upon which nothing lives and endures\nwithout change or modification, must it not submit to the common\nlaw, and, while remaining fundamentally the same, be transformed\nand renewed, superficially at least? To sentence it to\nimmovability lest some change take place in its elements; to\npetrify it that its purity may be greater, is to proclaim its\nruin and announce its death. A cessation of life and a life of\nlethargy are about the same.\n\nHow comes it, then, that, despite so many causes of alarm, in the\ndepth of our soul we are calm, and our fears are mingled with so\nmuch hope? Do faith without reasoning and pure instinct comfort\nus? No; it is Christianity itself, and Christianity of today,\nthat reassures us by its acts.\n{362}\nNotwithstanding the disagreement with the age that hinders its\nprogress, notwithstanding the wounds from which it suffers, the\ncoldness with which it is treated, the hearts that are closed to\nit, whithersoever it penetrates it is still so brimming with life\nand light, so lavish of compassion and love, it still causes one\nto shed freely such soothing tears, and gives birth to so many\ndeeds of self-devotion, that it is most evident that its vigor is\nunsubdued. The tree about to die does not put forth such boughs\nand fruits. The sap flows, the roots spread; an eternal youth\nbetrays itself by unmistakable signs. Seek not these consoling\nsymptoms elsewhere but by the domestic fireside, or under the\nshadow of the altar, in the retirement of the house of God. Ask\nnot for an official and public explanation; neither institutions,\nnor laws, no monuments, nor outward indices would assert it. In\nthis respect, the contrast between the days we live in and the\ncenturies gone by is most striking. Eighty years since, while\nChristians, isolated and apart from each other, estranged\nthemselves more and more from God, whilst the belief in Voltaire\nreigned at the bottom of all hearts, society remained outwardly\nChristian, religion presided over all the acts of every-day life,\nand hallowed them by its presence and its blessings; everything\nwas done in its name, and its sovereign authority was proclaimed\neverywhere. Now, it is only at distant intervals and in certain\nceremonies in which, out of mere force of habit and for purposes\nof adornment, it is made to figure, that some shadow of its\nformer _prestige_ is allowed it; for the remainder of the\ntime no allusion is made to it, it is set aside as a superfluity\nand avoided as a hinderance to action. Judging by this, you would\nthink, perhaps, that it has fallen into oblivion, that it is\nforsaken, lifeless, and unhonored. But it is only dead in\nappearance: look more closely, uplift the veil, and you will\nbehold a wholly different condition of Christianity. While the\nouter world escapes its dominion, the world of men's consciences\nis being regained. That which institutions refuse to yield to it,\nsouls commence to accord. How numerous the rebellious or\nperplexed spirits that gradually bow to it and bravely summon its\naid! How many tired hearts are indebted to it for rest! Do you\nnot see whole families, hitherto all but ignorant of the\nblessings of faith, almost transformed by a new baptism? It is\nmost generally to the influence of children that these\nmetamorphoses are due. The Christian education which through\ntheir medium obtains access to the fireside instills itself into\nthe minds of their parents. The mother learns the truths that are\nexplained to her daughters, and becomes attached to them in\nunderstanding them more thoroughly and acting in accordance with\ntheir precepts, the better to inculcate them; even the father\nfeels the necessity of not interfering with the belief of his\nsons by the contradiction of his own example, and, having become\na Christian from a sense of duty, remains a Christian out of\naffection.\n\nThus, without noise or _\u00e9clat_, by a latent process whose\nresults alone are discernible, faith diffuses and propagates\nitself. Certain it must be that its ranks are swelling, and that\nthe rising generations, in furnishing their respective\ncontingents, more than fill the vacancies caused by death, for\nalmost all churches in large cities are becoming too small for\nthe assembled worshippers. Without speaking of the holydays, of\nthe solemn occasions, the spectacular character of which attracts\nperhaps as many idlers as they do believers, and confining\nourselves to the consideration of the gatherings at ordinary\nservices, can you deny that year after year the attendances are\nlarger and that the attention paid is more zealous?\n{363}\nDo you not observe, also, how many men mingle with the women? At\nthe commencement of this century the appearance of a man in\nchurch was an event. Now it is not even a subject of\nastonishment; and certainly we note no mediocre triumph of faith\nover human respect when we record the return of men to the asylum\nof prayer. Many other novel incidents of similar purport seem no\nless extraordinary, such as students in our schools and soldiers\nin our camps publicly asserting their faith; practical Christians\nhaving a majority in the councils of large cities and in\nfaculties of physicians, this latter instance being a most\nexceptional occurrence. If there were aught to be gained nowadays\nby passing for a Christian, if men were living in the age of the\nRestoration and had some chance of bringing themselves into\nnotice, and being of good service to their family by proclaiming\ntheir piety, we might not take into account either this increase\nof apparent fervor, or the crowded houses of worship, or the\nnumerous communions. Such, however, is not the case; and is it\nnot now a better policy, if one wish to obtain advancement, to\nbecome a Free-Mason, in preference to committing one's self by\nfiguring in some conference of a St. Vincent de Paul's Society?\nThat there are still hypocrites and false devotees, we all are\nagreed. Such there always will be; but hypocrisy and feigned\npiety are not fashionable vices. In our time, to enter a church\none must really experience a desire to pray. We challenge the\nmost sceptical, giving them the privilege of broadly criticising\nand pruning as they please, not to recognize as genuine the\nprogress, limited no doubt, but, nevertheless, incontrovertible,\nof modern Christianity. Besides, there can be applied a test that\nwill dispel all doubts on the subject: of the three divine\nvirtues, the most difficult of imitation is that which depletes\nour purse and compels us to be generous. Inquire of the clergy,\nthe treasurers of the poor, what charity is at present; ask if it\nslumber or decay; or rather, if day after day it gain not new\npowers of existence in proportion as, in certain classes of\nsociety, Christian sentiments are awakening. Ask of the clergy if\nthese tokens of _largesse_ are only entrusted to it for\nreasons of vanity, and if the most modest are not those who give\nmost liberally, an evident sign that the source whence the gifts\ncome is a Christian one. No doubt, men can bestow much in charity\nwithout believing--the former act is easier of performance than\nthe latter; but true charity is, as it were, inseparable from the\ntwo virtues whose sister it is: he who gives liberally, hopes and\nbelieves.\n\nBe ye, then, reassured, for Christian faith still endures. It\nlives, labors, and wins over souls; it has not forgotten its old\nsecrets, and can once again become youthful and associate itself\nwith the destinies of the world. All that is needed is to give it\ntime. If there be hesitation on its part to accept modern ideas,\nit is not owing to lack or indolence of spirit. The fault is\nfirst to be ascribed to the age itself, whose explanations are so\nobscure and whose aspirations are so unintelligibly expressed.\n\"The principles of 1789\" are most elastic words. What sense can\nbe given them? How can they be applied? Does the century intend\nto belong to liberty and its severe duties, to the caprices of\ndemagogues, or would it be fired by the military spirit? The\nsecond day of December, that period of inaction in our\napprenticeship to free institutions, complicated events and added\nto the perplexity and uncertainty of religious minds.\n{364}\nWhat were the intentions of the new empire? Was it to follow the\nexample set by its predecessor, and was the world to behold for\nthe second time the papacy closely guarded by _gens\nd'armes_? Was it not rather the traditions of Charlemagne it\nproposed to conform with, and was it not to prove a veritable\nEldorado for Christian beliefs? This latter intention had been so\ndefinitely announced, that most men were deceived by the promise.\nBut the horizon is now becoming clearer; there is neither hope\nnor gratitude to burden the faithful and render them incredulous\nas to the blessings of liberty. Awhile longer and there will be\nlight. If, as we must believe, the true destiny of the age, made\napparent to all, be conciliated with the great principles\nconstituting Christianity; if it mark new progress in the advance\nof humanity, fear not. Christianity will not rebel, but will\npromote the movement. If it still live, and otherwise but\nnominally--and we have had proof that life was not wanting--it\nwill not lack intelligence.\n\nKnow you the true cause of alarm, the true peril? It is that\nChristianity does not progress alone. It certainly marches on and\nlabors; its advance is apparent; and more apparent, perhaps, are\nthe conquests, the ardor, and the faith of those who struggle. By\na strange contradiction, visible in the case of the two opposing\nforces, when one should gain what the other loses, the strength\nof neither is affected. On both sides the numbers increase and\nthe armies proceed onward. Which shall win the victory? whose\ngains are the most genuine? Despite this seeming equality, we do\nnot entertain the slightest doubt but that the Christians, if\nthey will, are the masters of the future. But how are they to\nsecure their triumph? Concerning that we must speak candidly.\n\nEre we come to this, however, let us, with M. Guizot, enter the\nanti-christian camp, estimate the forces of the enemy, and\nexamine the formidable host we are called upon to defeat.\n\nThe distinctive trait nowadays of the war waged against\nChristianity is the number and the diversity of the opposing\ndoctrines. Formerly its adversaries confined themselves to\nseeking to destroy it: now they are more ambitious; they attempt\nto provide for it a substitute. Hence the multitude of systems,\neach of which, in more or less vague or contradictory terms, is\nintended to elucidate the great natural problems that humanity,\nsince its birth, has evolved, and that Christianity has explained\nwith such simplicity, completeness, and clearness. These systems\ndo not claim to be religious; they merely flatter themselves that\nthey will become satisfactory guides for man; that they will read\nto him the enigma of this world, and supply all the wants of his\nheart and mind. As they exact neither sanction, practice, nor\nresponsibility, as they are indulgent in the matter of human\nweaknesses, their popularity can be easily understood. They have\nbelievers, adepts, and, we may say, devotees of their own. One of\nthe characteristics of modern incredulity is that it denies and\naffirms simultaneously. Nothing is rarer in these times than a\ntrue unbeliever, placing credence in literally nothing, combating\nthe faith of others, and wholly devoid of faith himself. The\nunbelievers of the age all believe something: besides the\nantipathy they have sworn to entertain for Christianity--an\nantipathy constituting a common faith--each has a belief of his\nown; some acknowledge pantheism, others rationalism, positivism,\nmaterialism, or the countless ramifications of these principal\ndoctrines, each of which has its faithful adherents.\n{365}\nWe do not mean to advance that all antichristians have espoused\nthe doctrines of philosophy, that each has a sect, a banner, or a\n_cred_o of his own. We shall even be convinced very shortly\nthat the most dangerous opponents are those who do not dabble in\nphilosophy, and who stand up against the progress of holy truths\nby indifference and indolence; but the simultaneous birth of all\nthese antichristian systems is nevertheless a strange fact, and\none deserving of attention. Taken apart, they can pass by\nunheeded their fundamental principles are neither novel nor\nconsistent! When seen together, however, theirs is a battle array\nof a rather imposing magnitude. We understand, therefore, all the\nmore readily, that M. Guizot, wishing to estimate the strength of\nthe antichristian forces, should have taken these systems one by\none, and submitted each to a careful examination. We would,\nhowever, misconstrue, we apprehend, his most obvious intention,\nif we were to look upon his sketches as regular refutations and\n_ex professo_ treatises. He has only proposed to give the\nmeasurement of their different systems by comparison with the\nmeasuring-rod of common sense. To enter into more thorough\ndiscussions would have been unnecessary; better work was left\nundone, and M. Guizot's preface has clearly expressed his views\non that point. It matters little, after all, how these systems\nare criticised; the result is the same, whether one examine them\nsuperficially, master their secrets, or fathom their scientific\nmysteries. There can be little difference of opinion in regard to\ntheir value. It is to their advantage if they be only glanced at.\nThe more searching the investigation, the more conclusive the\nproof as to the frailty of their formations and deficiencies,\npettiness, impotence, and vanity. We repeat what we said, that we\nhave little to dread on this score. A few minds may be won over,\nbut the contagion, in this country, cannot spread. The darkness\nof pantheism, the dreams of idealism, the dryness of positivism,\nor the coarseness of materialism will never seduce the mass of\nFrench minds. The alarm is greater than the real danger; yet,\nwhen gathered together, these systems, however discordant among\nthemselves, however much opposed to each other, constitute, from\nthe very fact that all are equally hostile to Christianity, a\npower which must be taken into account. They form a\n_fasces_; theirs is a coalition, a league that belongs only\nto our age.\n\nIs it to be supposed that we assert that Christianity has ever\nlacked enemies, and enemies acting in concert in their attacks?\nWithout looking far back into its history, was not the\nconcentration of all the wits of the age clustered under the\nleadership of Voltaire for the purpose of freeing the world from\nreligious superstition, an anti-christian league, if ever there\nwas one? Perhaps even the movement of the eighteenth century\nseemed, at first, more violently antichristian than that\nundertaken in our days. Its determination was more evident; it\nproceeded direct to the objective point. Its weapons were light,\nbut they were ever in use, and there was no truce to the warfare.\nIt was a sharp fire of irony, a shower of sarcasm; nothing could\nwithstand it, no one could retort; the dread of ridicule silenced\nthe boldest; the panic was followed by a general rout, and terror\nwas engendered by laughter. And what sad results! what a\ndisaster!\n{366}\nThe altars were overthrown, religion was annihilated, the clergy\nscattered, hunted down, or put to death, a whole nation left\nwithout temples, without pastors, without any perceptible\nconnecting link with heaven! Was not this enough? What more was\ndesired?\n\nThere can certainly be extant no wish to do better; but it is\nintended that the work shall endure, that the invalid shall be\nfinally disposed of, and that any chance of cure or resurrection\nshall be done away with. Even as after 1848 the fiery demagogues,\nwho had thought an excellent opportunity had arrived to demolish\nsociety, found consolation for their failure by proclaiming aloud\nthat, should a similar series of events ever occur, they would\nknow better how to act, and would not again be unsuccessful in\nthe accomplishment of their purpose, so the destroyers of\nreligion take great care not to imitate the example of their\nfathers, whose work, they say, was only half done. Mockery and\nirony are worn-out weapons that wound but do not kill; they are\nuseful in commencing a war, but other and more destructive\nengines are needed to end it. Besides, within the past sixty\nyears the character and habits of the public have undergone a\ndecided change. The community has become, by lessons taught it at\nits own expense, of a more reflective and sober turn of mind; it\nis less easy to provoke its laughter, and it does not always\nconsider a jest an argument. Moreover, deriding all things\nexcites its suspicion, and, in lieu of being won over, it often\ncomes near being shocked. Its new mood must be complied with, the\npublic's foibles must be consulted, and its present foible is,\nthat it shall be treated as a man, and not as a child.\n\nScience is the great agency! Science is the only guide, the only\nauthority whose aid modern minds willingly accept. This can be\nreadily comprehended; each day science works so many miracles,\nlavishes upon humanity such genuine gifts, opens to mankind so\nvast a future, and confirms in so incontestable a manner its\nright of sovereignty over this world, that men, in return, must\nbow to its decrees, and do it all honor without blushing at the\nhomage rendered it. But, in the hands of those who would keep\nmankind separate from any other belief, who would prevent the\nrecognition of any higher authority and of the invisible might of\nthe Creator, how terrible a weapon is a faith in science!\nTherefore it is that nowadays to rank honorably with the\nadversaries of Christian belief, to play an important part, to\nact upon the minds and disturb consciences, it is not sufficient\nmerely to possess some talent and a graceful and caustic style.\nIt is necessary to be erudite, or, at least, to be held as such,\nthe latter alternative being less difficult to achieve, less\nrare, and for that very reason, much more dangerous. For, if\nChristianity had to deal with truly learned and truly great men\nonly, she and science would never be in absolute opposition to\neach other. The so-called contradictions, the irreconcilable\nfacts 'disappear, when the disputants attain a certain height, as\nsoon as words being no longer taken in their literal sense, their\nspirit is understood, and when analysis is brought to bear upon\nthe starting-point of the misunderstanding. Science, when applied\nto such ends, is not only inoffensive to Christianity and the\nScriptures, but comes to their aid and proffers testimony in\ntheir favor, sometimes giving to certain facts of fabulous\nappearance an almost historical character.\n{367}\nThus it came that Cuvier confirmed by a most rigorous process of\ninductive reasoning based upon irrefutable facts, some Biblical\nnarratives which believers only had, until then, accepted out of\nmotives of pure obedience, and which indifferent persons viewed\nwith suspicion, and the great doctors of the eighteenth century\nlaughed to scorn. Evil fortune, however, wills it, that for every\none of these conciliatory, because clairvoyant minds, for a\nCuvier, a Kepler, a Leibnitz, and a Newton, there are thousands\nof men who see the outward semblance only, who stumble over\ninconsistencies, and who, often without ill-will, make use of\ntheir small share of knowledge in accomplishing the ruin of the\nholy truths. Indeed, they enjoy the credit of the masses as much\nas, and perhaps more than, the real masters; the public is\ncontinually brought into contact with them; they are numerous,\nubiquitous, and have associates in all professions; the race of\nhalf-learned men is the foundation of humanity, without taking\ninto account the more skilful persons who, seeking to win success\nat any cost, and even at the risk of scandal, borrow from science\nthe varnish required to give popularity to their productions.\nThese stratagems constitute a new fashion of checkmating\nChristianity, a method rejuvenating the traditions of Voltaire.\nThose whose intentions are worthiest are deceived by it; the lure\nthrown out is that which they need, a sensible lure; their reason\nalone is appealed to, and they fancy that they are surrendering\nto proven evidence. What would you have them do? They are not\nentertained with mere stories and epigrams, they are not made the\nobjects of jests or hoaxes; the facts submitted to them are\npalpable. So much the worse for Christian beliefs if these facts\nannihilate them! Can the laws of science be denounced as\nforgeries? Is not science truth?\n\nSuch are modern tactics; neither mockery nor impatience, and\ngreat apparent impartiality; it is no longer a skirmish, a sudden\nattack, but a siege in accordance with all the rules of war; the\ncitadel is surrounded, the enemy advances, with the authority and\nunder the protection of science. This is not all. The experience\nof the past century has suggested other precautionary measures,\nother strategic movements. It is now recognized that our poor\nhuman nature has not made sufficient progress, not even in\nFrance, to feel happy and proud because of a belief in absolutely\nnothing. This is a weakness for which time will work a cure, but\none which must be taken into due consideration. For instance, can\nit be brought about that most women's hearts will not yield to\nthe necessity of praying and believing? Does not man himself,\nwhen bowed down by great affliction, feel that a woman's heart is\nbeing born and awakening within him? When death separates him\nfrom those he loves, when he survives and suffers, can it be that\nhe will not seek, with eyes upturned to heaven, a little strength\nin hope? These inclinations and instincts may seem strange and\nabsurd, if you will; but they are indestructible, and to think of\ndoing away with them is a sheer loss of time. This is known in\nour age, and the skilful profit by their knowledge. To make havoc\nfor a second time, to tear down the altars, and persecute the\npriests, would be to enact the parts and do the work of dupes!\nSuch a course would prepare an inevitable reaction, and a certain\nresurrection of all it was proposed to destroy. There are none\nbut a few madmen, a few lost children who would resort to such\nsuperannuated measures.\n{368}\nInstead of attacking openly the need for belief, better to\nconquer it by flattery and the tender of fascinating compromises.\nWhy these onslaughts on Christianity? Why overtly batter its\nwalls? To please the libertines? Is it not quite certain that\nthey will side with the antichristians? It is urgent to please\nthe simple-hearted Christians only.\n\nInstead of exhibiting the slightest after-thought of opposition\nto Christianity, better to dwell upon its beauties, to draw an\nadmirable portrait of its Founder, to recognize him as the model\nof all the virtues, as the type of all perfection, to speak of\nhim in impassioned and eloquent tones, and in exchange for these\ngentle concessions to ask--what? A trifling sacrifice, a modest\n_erratum_ to the text of the Evangels, a simple change of\nthe value of a word, or rather the politic and reasonable\nyielding up of a valueless title, a worn-out parchment, a purely\nnominal letter of nobility, the so-called divinity of that\nadmirable man? Why cling to that fiction? Renounce it, and we\nshall all be agreed. Reason will have nothing more to say on the\nsubject. With yourselves we will do homage to that wonderful\nmortal, and, if you will, call him divine without attaching too\nmuch importance to the condescension. We will overlook the\nepithet if you concede us the dogma.\n\nThus, with skill and a certain commingling of philosophic\nscepticism, mystic reveries, and a feigned zeal for Christian\nideas, men hope nowadays to undermine Christianity. The plan of\naction is by no means novel. In that very year during which\nConstantine, by his omnipotence, seemed to have ensured the peace\nand security of the church, in that very year one single man,\nwith a few words, threw the church into far greater perils than\nwere indicated by the lictors and executioners of its fiercest\npersecutors. He, too, pretended he only waged war against Jesus\nChrist out of love for his doctrine, and despoiled him of his\ndivinity to guarantee his triumph, propagate his blessings, and,\nwhile rendering faith less difficult to acquire, to satisfy\nreason. The compromise was the same as that which is now put\nforward. And such is the power of these enervating doctrines\nthat, even in the days when faith was still young and full of\nlife, the world fell a victim to the deception. Scarcely half a\ncentury had gone by since the death of Arius and the contagion\nhad extended throughout the Orient, spread over a part of the\nwest, and reached, beyond the limits of the Roman empire of old,\nall the recently converted barbarian nations. Look back to that\nhour of crisis when the destiny of the world was at stake; seek\nto guess what was to happen. After a consultation of human laws,\nafter a calculation of probabilities, did not Christianity appear\ndoomed? Its adversary had won for himself Constantine's favor,\nthe ardent adhesion of the emperor's son, the support of all the\nforces of the empire, all the powers that still governed the\nworld. To preserve faith, to save from shipwreck the divinity of\nJesus Christ, a miracle, a new revelation, another preaching of\nSt. Paul were needed. The miracle was performed; what a man had\ndone a man undid; Athanasius conquered Arius. But Christianity\nhad, nevertheless, seemed about to perish, and modern Arianism\ncan well flatter itself that it will now have better fortune, and\nthat an Athanasius, a Basil, a Gregory, or a Jerome will not ever\nbe at hand to crush its arguments and conquer the world for the\nbenefit of truth. Its threats, its sinister predictions are not,\nthen, mere boasts; the danger is genuine; modern heresy has\nauxiliary aids that double its might.\n{369}\nIt no longer stands in the arena, face to face with orthodoxy,\nand uses purely theological weapons; the struggle is general;\neverybody participates in it; all weapons are effective. A\nformidable coalition attacks faith most persistently; the natural\nsciences when half understood, the metaphysical sciences\nconducted with pride, historic criticism skilfully romanticized,\nare forces that unite for the benefit of the new Arianism. Can it\nnot be readily seen that the league is far more powerful and\ninflicts more serious wounds than the ironical frivolities\nbrought into play in the last century? The progress made is not\nonly evidenced in the tactics and armament; the ground of the\nstruggle itself has changed, to the enemy's advantage. From a\nChristian stand-point, it may be said that Christianity is now\ndismantled. Of all the places of shelter, of all the positions\nwhich belonged to Christianity a hundred years ago, in the state,\nin the institutions and customs, of all the means of credit,\ninfluence, and legitimate resistance won for it by a right of\nages, and of which its adversaries, while deriding its belief,\nhad no thought of robbing it, nothing remains. The levelling\npower of the times has passed over them. The attack must now be\nwithstood in an open field. If under such circumstances and in\npresence of such perils Christians opened not their eyes, if an\ninstinct of self-preservation did not induce them to come to an\nunderstanding upon the essential points of their faith, if they\nsought to oppose so many joint efforts while divided and\ndisagreeing, we say, without hyperbole, that we would have to bow\nour heads and consider this world at an end, and civilization,\ndespite its apparent triumphs and proud hopes, stricken to the\nheart and menaced with a prompt decline. But have we reached that\npoint? No, a hundred times no, if our will be against it, and if\nwe understand the magnitude of the danger, its real novelty, and\nthe novelty and youth needed to conquer it.\n\nAnd at the outset let there be no misunderstanding between\nChristians. Do not believe that Catholicism is alone involved,\nand the sole excitant of anger and object of the warfare. It is\nChristianity itself, Christian faith in its entirety, and in\nevery shape, that it is intended to annihilate. Any Protestant\nsect that accepts the Evangels, without reserve or restrictions,\nis at least as open to suspicion as pure Catholicism. Tolerance\nand amnesty are withheld, save from that Christianity which\nbelieves not in Jesus Christ, and in which certain pastors, from\nevangelical pulpits, now profess a belief. Enlightened and\nsincere Protestants entertain no longer any doubts on that point.\nThey have progressed since the sixteenth century: without being\nless zealous or less ardent in their belief, they no longer\nproclaim that Antichrist and the Catholic Church are one and the\nsame thing. In our age the Antichrist is the common foe; if you\nwould resist its onslaughts, close up the ranks; this is no time\nfor discord among brethren. The Protestants who are friendly to\nthe Evangels, however numerous they may be in certain states of\nEurope, know what they lack as regards cohesion and unity; they\nfeel that that powerful church so persistently attacked nowadays,\nwill ever be the true rampart. While all the blows dealt fall\nupon her, they breathe freely, for she protects them; if her\nwalls were overthrown, they would be left defenceless.\n{370}\nHence arises among the more farseeing that solicitude which is\nfelt for all Christian interests without distinction, and that\ndefensive alliance which seems to be suggested in the minds of\nthose whose convictions as to the essence of things are\nidentical. Unfortunately, this wholly modern blessing, one of the\nfew conquests which, in the moral order of affairs, might do\nhonor to our age, is not yet very widely disseminated. Even in\nthe opinion of the persons who are horror-stricken at the\nantichristian coalition, the idea of helping each other, of\nforming an alliance, of postponing intestine strife and lending a\nhelping hand to each other, wakes but little headway. Habit,\nprejudices, and a sectarian spirit are so powerful! If some men\ncast off their yoke, if a chosen few who see events from a higher\nstand-point take delight in putting into practice these tolerant\nideas, do the masses follow an their footsteps? and do the chosen\nfew themselves always set generous examples only? If it were only\namong Catholics that the tendency to exclusion, the aversion to\nschism carried to a forgetfulness of the actual interests of\nfaith, were observable, many persons would confess that they were\nless surprised than grieved; for excuse can ever be found for the\nCatholic, in whose defence it can be argued that, if he went too\nfar in that direction, it was because he may have believed that,\nby holding aloof and avoiding the contact of error, he exhibited\nhis obedience and rendered himself more acceptable unto God! But\nfor the Protestant, what apology can be offered? He who asserts\nso boldly his right to believe what he thinks cannot take offence\nbecause his neighbor does likewise. The same intolerance that, in\nthe one case saddens us without causing astonishment, shocks us\nin the other. Can you understand how it is that an educated, an\nerudite Protestant, good-hearted, endowed with sound sense,\nglorying in generous principles, and carrying to very energy his\nlove and respect for right, as soon as it is suggested that he\nconcede to Catholics that which he believes to be just and true\nfor all humanity, the privilege to worship with the liberty and\nthe surroundings their mode of worship requires, cries out in\ndismay, appeals to brute force, admits unhesitatingly that it\ndecides all similar questions, and sanctions and renders\nlegitimate in advance all sentences which maybe passed? Though\nhis views are sensible on all other points, on this subject they\nare devoid of reason, and the man speaks of the Catholic Church\nin the nineteenth century as an inquisitor of the sixteenth would\nhave spoken of heresy! What a strange spectacle, and how\nhumiliating a lesson! Does there exist a more overwhelming proof\nof the poverty of our intellect?\n\nYet the part to be taken by a modern Protestant, who would serve\nChristianity and combat its true enemies, is a glorious one! All\nthings unite to give him influence; everything is in readiness to\nbestow upon his words an increase, as it were, of authority. He\nwould ignore and forget all petty passions and jealousy. He would\nseek to bring about the triumph of the divine word, to\ndemonstrate its eternal truth, its transmission through\ncenturies. Why attempt to wrest from the Catholic Church the\nrights to which she lays claim? Why beset her with invidious\nquestions and excite captious quarrels? Instead of giving\nvitality to these endless suits, would it not be better to seek\nto ascertain on what points an agreement subsists, what dogmas\nhave escaped all controversy and survived all strife? He would\nbecome attached to these same dogmas; in his eyes they would be\nthe heart, the basis of a Christianity of peace and concord,\nwhich no true Christian can avoid defending, since necessarily he\nmust profess allegiance to its doctrines.\n{371}\nBecause there was alarm for the existence of the Reformation\nthree centuries ago, because the Reformation was the spur which,\nto save faith, was to rouse the church from slumber, does it\nfollow that now, the times having changed, actions should be the\nsame? Must it be that, to preserve in the present that same\nChristian faith, a Christian, because he chances to be a\nProtestant, must espouse his fathers' hates, fight only against\nthe men and ideas with which they strove, and remain idle when\nbeholding the outbreak of the conflagration which threatens\nChristianity, for the sole reason that Catholicism appears to be\nespecially imperilled by the flames? Let him repudiate that\nabsurd inheritance, let him break with such routine views. Not\nonly must he abstain from attacking, even indirectly, the\nCatholic Church, and feel no bitterness toward her, for the\nsimple reason that he undertakes a campaign in cooperation with\nher, and because we must not fire upon one's allies; he owes her\nstill more, more than respect, more than mere courtesies; he must\ndo her full justice. His duty be it to give prominence with\nfrankness and loyalty to the great features, the beauties, the\nsplendor of the traditions from which he stands apart. Strictures\nand reservations will be mingled with his praises; better still,\nfor his testimony will be all the more valuable. Whether he\nrecall the services rendered or refute vigorously all calumny, by\ntelling the unalloyed truth, even if it be attenuated, he will do\nmore for Catholicism than a professional panegyrist.\n\nThis is not all: to keep the false philosopher spirit at bay, no\nposition could be better than that which he holds. He has not to\nstruggle against the antipathy engendered by a supposed obedience\nto the principle of authority; and when he confesses unreservedly\nhis belief in supernatural facts, his words are fraught with far\nmore importance than if he who uttered them were not trammelled\nin the matter of free investigation. How different, too, the case\nwhen to this superiority are added personal advantages, when the\nProtestant is a man of powerful mind, accustomed to deal with the\nmost weighty matters, and retaining, in the autumn of life,\nbesides the treasures garnered by experience and learning, the\nfecund ardor of youth. This explains the characteristic trait of\nM. Guizot's _Meditations_; it is not a religious work like\nso many others. The best priests, the most eloquent preachers,\nthe profoundest theologians are afflicted with a disability for\nwhich there is no remedy; they are professional defenders of\nreligion; the truths they affirm seem to constitute their\npatrimony, and, while pleading the holiest of suits, they seem to\nargue in their own behalf; while a historian, a philosopher, a\nstatesman, and, above all, a free and independent mind, who,\nafter ripe examination and prolonged reflection, and not without\na struggle and an effort, has become a Christian, and who proves\nin broad daylight that neither his intellect nor his reasoning\npowers have suffered in the least, and that the thinker and\nChristian live within him in perfect concord, by his testimony\ngives courage to many men, dispels many doubts, and inspires the\nfaltering with firmness; his example is the best of sermons and\nthe most reliable mode of propagating faith.\n\n{372}\n\nBe assured, nevertheless, that remarks of disapproval will be\nheard amid the kindly greetings. There will be opposition\nmanifested from the very first, and principally by the reformed\nworshippers. The broad views and extreme tolerance of the author\nwill not be acceptable to all. The writer will be told, You\nforsake us; you are a Catholic in spirit and intention, why not\nbe wholly a Catholic? A poor quarrel, indeed, a singular fashion\nof returning thanks for the most faithful devotedness and the\nmost signal services! In the matter of ingratitude, the sectarian\nspirit stands in the foremost rank. There is, therefore, no cause\nfor surprise that the Protestants of Paris, when occasionally\ngathered about the ballot-box, should not always care to express\nto M. Guizot, by a unanimous vote, their just and respectful\npride at numbering him among their forces. But then, let us not\nforget that, if in the opinion of a few Protestants these\n_Meditations_ are a trifle too Catholic, certain Catholics\nwould have them still less Protestant. We do not assert that the\nCatholics, even the most exclusive, are not at heart filled with\nesteem and gratitude for a work of such evident usefulness to the\ncause of Christianity; the esteem and gratitude exhibited are,\nhowever, wrested from them. They praise aloud the intentions and\ncourage of the author; as for the work itself, they do not\nrestrict themselves to prudently leaving in obscurity the points\nin discussion, but involuntarily allow inopportune objections to\narise. We venture to state that in doing this they do not\nappreciate the circumstances surrounding us, and the greatness of\nthe need of alliance and concord forced upon Christianity by the\nformidable war waged against it. That in ordinary times, when the\nonly struggle in progress concerns the form and not the\nfoundation of things, believers should resolve only to accept and\nextol the productions resonant with the pure and faithful echo of\ntheir faith, nothing can be better; in such times each citizen of\nthe Christian republic may be permitted to be watchful of the\ninterests of his province rather than of those of his country;\nbut, when an invasion is imminent, other emergencies are to be\nlooked to: the common safety is the first law. Then is the time\nto welcome recruits, whoever they are, provided their\nreinforcement will be productive of good results. Do not deceive\nyourselves; the Christian community, even if united and agreed on\nall points, will only just be equal to the task: for its members\nmust not only repel the assailants a merely defensive attitude\nwould be equivalent to a partial defeat but must advance and\ninvade, and subjugate souls. The world is to be reconquered, and\na more giddy, frivolous, and somniferous world, perhaps, than the\nworld of nineteen centuries ago. Again, we say that we have not\nto be alarmed at the antichristian war. Its horde of systems, its\ndreams and chimeras, its wily contrivances and philosophic\ndisorder do not frighten us. The spectacle is a sad one, but it\nis not a state of slumber. Upon feverish activity you can bring\nto bear a healthful action; your very adversaries favor your\ncause and deaden the weight of the blows they would deal you.\nWhat timidity underlies their audacity! How they retreat before\nthe most direct and inevitable consequences of their doctrines!\nHow they complain of misrepresentation when shown a mirror\nreflecting the deformity of their doctrines! Let them continue to\nspeak and write, they but call forth overwhelming replies; let\nthem alter history and the Scriptures, for they but alter their\nown authority and credentials: they fall into the pit themselves\nhave digged.\n{373}\nAll things that agitate and startle men's minds, and awaken even\nin irritating them, aid the triumph of truth; indifference,\ntorpor, the numbness of souls only are profitable to error, and\nconstitute the true malady of the age. Let us not seek to conceal\nit, its ravages are too plainly discernible. While impiety,\nproperly speaking, despite its apparent progress and the brazen\nboasts of its cynicism, makes but few proselytes in our midst,\nindifference increases, extends, and becomes acclimatized. It is\na contagion; whosoever is affected leads a mere earthly life, and\nis engrossed by nothing save mundane cares, business, and\npleasure; the great problems of our destiny, the wondrous\nmysteries constituting our torment and our honor, exist not for\nhim; he only recognizes and cultivates his coarse and frivolous\ninstincts; the divine portion of his being is in a state of utter\nlethargy. Here and there, among the indifferent, you meet a few\nagitated hearts and perplexed spirits. Perplexity is to\nindifference as twilight to darkness, an uncertain light that\nstruggles with the gloom, sometimes conquering and sometimes\nconquered. Nothing can be less decisive than a victory won over\nsuch a spirit. The escape of perplexed minds is effected as\nquickly as was accomplished their capture. Never mind; would to\nGod that even such a condition of souls were the greater evil! It\nis toward indifference, that is to say, toward nothingness and\ndeath, that all things incline our footsteps.\n\nInquiry was made, a short time since, as to the present condition\nof Christianity in France. Number those who occupy the two\nhostile camps in which a remnant of life still asserts itself, in\none camp for the purpose of attacking, in the other for the\npurpose of defending, Christian faith; then, beyond the limits of\nthe two, behold, what remains? There, are gathered crowds\nunnumbered, inert, inanimate, forming, as it were, a great\ndesert, a Dead Sea uninhabited by any living thing. There lies\nthe world to be reconquered; such are the men who are to be\nreclaimed. How act upon them? how move their hearts? how gain\nmastery over them? In these questions lies the secret of the\nfuture.\n\nSeek, then, and try to ascertain the most reliable means of\nacting upon these thoughtless mortals. Is the work to be\naccomplished by practices of high piety and by productions\nintended for the edification of skilled believers? Think you that\nat once you will change them into thoroughly faithful Christians?\nthat you will instantly inspire them with a holy fervor? Only to\nspeak the language of pure devoutness, to keep in unison with the\nutterances of the vestry-room, is to waste time. Climb the\nheights, display the brilliancy of those universal truths in\nwhose presence every being gifted with reason and accessible to\nreflection feels compelled to bend the knee. It is by exhibiting\nin all their grandeur, in all their primitive beauty, the bases\nof our faith, that souls can be attracted to seek them for\nshelter. The work to which we allude excels in this respect. M.\nGuizot's _Meditations_ throw light upon the mysterious\nsummits which, in the eyes of the torpid, appear overhung by\nthick and impenetrable fogs. They give these men a desire to\nexamine them more closely. In a word, though the work may not\nsatisfy simultaneously, in each communion, all who are possessed\nof a definite belief, it is endowed with a more precious virtue\nupon the excellence of which we can dwell the more\nconscientiously, as having viewed its effects: it moves the\nindifferent.\n\n{374}\n\nMore than this, however, must be done. However powerful in style\nand thought a book may be, it can only, in the present crisis,\nclear the road. To make greater headway, to effect a more\ndecisive advance, to act upon the masses and rouse them from\ntheir slumber, other agencies than books are necessary, and\ndeeds, examples, striking evidence, and incontestable proofs of\nabnegation, devotedness, charity, and sacrifices are required.\nThese are the sermons that awaken souls; these the weapons that\ntriumph over the world, however careless, frivolous, and hardened\nit may be. In days by-gone, they conquered the men who wore the\nRoman toga and the rough habits of the barbarians; in this\ncentury, they are still the only means of conquest.--What do we\nask? What are we thinking of? Preaching by deeds! The apostleship\nof the early ages! Real apostles, heroic confessors, if needed,\nmartyrs! In our times! Is it possible?--Why not? What\ncontradiction and surprise but can be looked for nowadays? Is it\nnot the destiny of the age to carry everything to extremes, to be\nzealous for evil and even for good, to be swayed in turn or\nsimultaneously by all currents, and to subscribe to the most\nirreconcilable principles? Just because the world appears to have\nfallen almost to the lowest degree of depression, just because it\nsinks more deeply from day to day, there is a chance that a\nsublime and immediate reaction may occur. Was imperial Rome less\ncorrupt, less effeminate, less docile while the avengers and\nrestorers of human dignity, the future masters of the world, were\nat work beneath her foundations? Be reassured, even in these days\nof doubt and egotism, a true and great resurrection of\nChristianity in France is not a Utopian vision. Not only is such\na miracle possible, but we may declare it necessary.\n\nEither we must suppose that we are nearing the last phase of the\ndevelopment of humanity; that the now commencing decadence will\nbe the last; that, unlike so many declines that have preceded it,\nthis latest decline will have no place of stoppage, no new birth;\nthat an unbroken slope is leading irresistibly to the ruin and\ndebasement of our race, or we must without delay find means of\nrestituting to the masses religious faith. What has democracy\ngained by triumphing and being about to become the sovereign\nmistress of the whole world, if it cannot maintain and hold sway\nover its conquest simply because it cannot rule and govern\nitself? Democracy, without the brake of religion, without other\nprotection than that afforded by independent morality, is a\nswollen torrent, anarchy, despotism, and a return to barbarism.\nBut when the brake is old and shattered, how replace it? No one\ncan create a religious faith, it were folly to attempt it. Such\nchimerically created things could never be aught but impotent\nparodies. But why seek so far that which is near at hand? The new\nfaith whose advent is awaited, and hoped, and called for with\nsuch eagerness is here; we possess it; it is Christianity itself,\never novel if we but know how to comprehend its eternal light,\nand if we know ourselves how to be novel. It is not the object of\nthe belief that is to be remodelled, but the routine of\nbelievers. Christianity, in itself, is as youthful as at its\nbirth; that which is superannuated is that which does not belong\nto it, that earthly rust with which it has been incrusted by its\ninterpreters, its ministers, and its servants in all ages. Of\nthis it must be rid; its original appearance and power must be\nrestored. By what process? By using for its reestablishment the\nmeans which were formerly employed with success to lay its\nfoundation.\n{375}\nThe determination is a violent one, yet there must be no half\nmeasures; an attempt in any other direction would be illusory and\nvain. To proceed halfway, to spare abuses, flatter habit, and\nimprove the surface of things only, would be to make Christianity\none of those edifices which are kept standing by props and by\ncementing the cracks in the walls: it would be as well to let it\ntotter and fall to the ground at once. To give it back true\npower, true stability, that it may defy the shocks of a long\nseries of years, there is but one course to adopt: to begin the\nwork anew.\n\nLet the church, then, be courageous; let her begin again, even as\nshe commenced, and with the same modesty and holiness; let her be\nchaste, austere, laborious, learned, intelligent, and free;\nwithout taste for honors, without care for wealth; lavish of her\npains, her blood, and her tears; as independent toward the mighty\nas she is indulgent and tender for the weak. Let her advance,\nthus armed, step by step, approaching souls, and souls only, and\nthe world will again be hers. There is no miscalculation to be\nfeared, the same causes will have identical effects; but hasten,\nlose not an hour, the moment is a solemn one. Let the cry, \"The\nchurch is beginning anew,\" be not a vain word, and let not its\nresults be tardy. Think not of honoring God by raising to the\nheavens proud cupolas, and making for him a dwelling in palaces\nglittering with gold and marble; it is around the manger, in the\ngrotto of Bethlehem, that the pastors should be convoked. Let all\ntrue Christians, all sons of the church, know and proclaim it: on\nthem everything depends, through them all things are possible,\nupon them all things rest; in their hands lies not only the fate\nof their beloved and venerated belief, but the future of the\ncivilized world.\n\n--------\n\n    Ritualism And Its True Meaning.\n\n\nWe have had the pleasure of reading an article on the subject of\nritualism by the Rev. Dr. Dix, rector of Trinity church in this\ncity. This article, which appeared in the July number of the\n_Galaxy_, suggested to our minds some very interesting and\npractical reflections. It is understood that the respected doctor\nwho holds so important a position in his own church is one of the\nprincipal supporters of the movement in regard to which he\nwrites. Although he does not yet introduce into Trinity church\nand its chapels the external observances of the ritualists which\nhe commends, still it is his desire to do so at the first\npracticable moment. The weight of his character and influence is\ngiven to the restoration of those rites and ceremonies which were\ndropped at the Protestant Reformation through the undue force of\nCalvinism and what he calls religious radicalism. Whether he will\nsucceed is a question which the ministers and influential laymen\nof his own church can better answer than we can. In examining his\narticle carefully, we think there is a slight want of candor on\none or two points, and some misunderstanding upon others.\n{376}\nFor example, he disclaims the popular use of the word\n\"ritualism,\" and says, \"It has lost its respectability, and has\nbecome a slang expression. The unlucky word is bandied about till\nit must have lost all perception of its own identity. Hence, we\nrespectfully decline the attempt to say what the word 'ritualism'\nmeans, as now lost and merged in the category of cant and slang.\"\nNow, as far as we are able to judge, we really believe that the\nmajority of people call things by their right names, and that the\npublic can have no end to gain by any other course. It may be\nthat the Episcopalians are not forbearing enough toward those of\ntheir brethren who would innovate upon their established forms of\nworship; but they cannot be found fault with if they are\nsurprised and offended at changes which are so radical. If they\nuse harsh language in the controversy, they are not to be\nexcused, for no good ever arises from acrimony, or the\nforgetfulness of the decencies of life. Yet can any honest man\nsay that he does not know what they mean to attack, or that he\ncannot explain what \"ritualism\" is? The definition which the\nreverend doctor gives is hardly adequate, because it includes all\nmankind, since, according to his terms, there is no one who is\nnot a ritualist. There is no necessity of proving that all\nreligions have had their rites and ceremonies, for there is no\none who will deny so well received a fact. We must take the word\nin its popular acceptation; and it simply refers to those who are\nnow endeavoring to introduce great changes in the worship of the\nProtestant Episcopal Church, who are using vestments never known\nin their communion for at least three centuries, and who, in\ndoctrine and outward observance, are approaching as nearly as\npossible the time-hallowed ceremonial of the Catholic Church.\nWhether they are in the right or in the wrong is another\nquestion; the name by which they are called may be appropriate or\nnot, but it has a plain signification. Every one can understand\nit, and we do not see in it anything abusive or uncharitable.\n\nAfter objecting to the term \"ritualist,\" Dr. Dix proceeds to\ndefend at some length the course of those who bear this name, and\nhis view is easily summed up, and we hear it now for about the\nthousandth time in our life:\n\n  \"The Christian dispensation is bounded, on the one side, by the\n  magnificent ritualism of Israel, and, on the other, by the\n  analogous and not less glowing ritualism of heaven. For fifteen\n  hundred years (after Christ) there was no ritualistic\n  controversy deserving the name. In general features, divine\n  worship was the same throughout the world. But errors and\n  abuses crept into the church, and these became symbolized in\n  novel rites and practices, by which ritual became, in some\n  respects, defiled and corrupted. Then came the Reformation in\n  the sixteenth century. That movement did not affect the Eastern\n  portions of Christendom; in Greece and Russia the old\n  traditions may be traced, although under a load of useless\n  ceremonies, back to the commencement of the Christian era. ...\n  Looking about the world, we see, in the Eastern part of\n  Christendom, an ancient ritual in use, very ornate, very\n  symbolical, and full of reminiscences of the old church of\n  Israel; the mitre, the iconastasis, the veil, the lamps, the\n  incense, are direct heirlooms from that venerable past. In the\n  West, the Roman Catholic Christians exhibit in their ritual a\n  system essentially modified by later ideas, and expressing the\n  dogmas which by degrees have accumulated around their once pure\n  creed.\"\n\nHere the reverend doctor seems to labor under a strange\nmisunderstanding, and evidently has taken no pains to examine for\nhimself the oriental liturgies. There is no substantial\ndifference whatever between the liturgies of the East and those\nof the West. All contain the same essential parts, and are\nprobably of apostolic origin.\n{377}\nWhatever corruption belongs to the Roman rite, in the Protestant\nsense of the term, belongs likewise to the Eastern rites. As for\nthe ceremonies now in use in regard to the sacraments and popular\ndevotions, there may be some difference, but it is in favor of\nthe West, even from the Protestant point of view. The Eastern\nchurches pay as much honor to the Blessed Mother of God and to\nthe saints as we do, and in their expressions are fully as\nfervent. The attempt, therefore, to make a distinction between\nthe East and West, as if the oriental churches were more in\nsympathy with the reformed doctrines than the Catholic Church, is\nsingularly futile, because not supported by the least shadow of\nfact. Besides, as we shall see in this article, the ritualists\ndraw all their own rites and ceremonies from us, and recommend\nfor the use of their own church the very words of the Roman\nMissal. If in their view we had become so corrupt, why have they\ntaken for themselves the ritual which the doctor says is\nessentially modified by later ideas? We are convinced that the\nassertions we have quoted will never stand the test of\nexamination or of honest common sense.\n\nAgain, Dr. Dix says that there was a perceptible variance of\nopinion between the English reformers and the Lutheran and\nCalvinistic communities. To use his own words: \"The movement of\nthe Reformation in England was in the most cautiously\nconservative channel. What they aimed at was, to retain all that\nwas truly Catholic, and to reject only what was distinctively\nRoman.\" We do not believe that these assertions can be made good\nby the most ingenious interpretation of history. The English\nleaders of the reform were certainly in close connection with the\ncontinental teachers, and drew their inspiration from them. That\nin England more of the exterior of the ancient church was\nretained was, we think, owing to the pertinacity of the court,\nmore than to the conservative views of Cranmer and his\nco-laborers. Henry VIII. was inexorable on many points during his\nsingularly _exemplary_ life. Edward VI. was pliant enough,\nbut the church and parliament were not sufficiently advanced to\nfollow all lengths in the wake of Luther and Calvin; and the\ntruth, is that the English Church had nothing to do with the\nReformation but to bear it, and by it to lose all its liberties.\nIt is a patent fact that the voice of convocation, the only one\nwhich could speak for the ecclesiastical body, was hushed by\nHenry VIII., and that the reform was carried on by the king and\nhis parliament. If the first prayer-book of Edward VI. was so\nperfect, why did not the \"cautiously conservative\" movement stop\nwith \"that most perfect specimen of a _reformed_ Catholic\nliturgy\"? why are the poor Calvinists to be blamed for following\ntheir own consciences, and for asking for a revision of the\nliturgy? That they were successful is a proof, at least, that\nthey had great influence in the English Church, and that the\nReformation was not so cautiously conservative.\n\nAs for the Protestant Episcopal Church, the doctor tells us that\nit is in an inchoate state, where all its component elements are\nin fusion. \"Only eighty-two years have elapsed since the first\nAmerican bishop was consecrated; these years have been\n_formative_; usages and customs have been undergoing\ncontinual changes, and men have been feeling their way, under\ncircumstances in which, since the time of Constantine, no\nnational _branch_ of the Catholic Church has been placed.\"\nIs this really the case? Have Episcopalians no settled forms of\nworship, and no fixed creed?\n{378}\nWe always were led to suppose that that conservative body of\nChristians were decidedly fixed in their hostility of heart to\nRomanism, and what may be called extreme Protestantism. Is it not\nso? Is the Book of Common Prayer no established rule for the\norder of divine worship? Are the Thirty-nine Articles, to which\nevery minister effectually subscribes, no rule of faith whatever?\nAre all Episcopalians feeling their way to something settled in\nfaith and worship? If such is the case, we have been strangely\nmisinformed, and have singularly misinterpreted the decisions of\nbishops and conventions. The Episcopalian clergy and laity can\nsettle this matter better than we can, and therefore we leave its\nsolution to them. But, to Catholic eyes, these \"formative years\"\nseem only like the constant changes which are ever passing over\nall Protestant bodies, and which inhere in every merely human\norganization. And we must say that, as far as we know, though the\nfaith of Episcopalians may differ very much, their external\nworship is plainly enough fixed by rubrics and canons whose\nmeaning can hardly be misunderstood. We pay the highest tribute\nof respect to Rev. Dr. Dix and his friends, and we give thanks to\nGod for the light and grace he has given them; but truth obliges\nus to say that their whole movement (if it be sincere, as we are\nbound to believe) is away from their own church with its rites\nand ceremonies, and toward the old faith and the old home of\nChristians. May the divine mercy perfect that which has been\nbegun, and which gives such promise of conversion to the truth.\nWe deeply sympathize with the ritualists, and pray for them\ncontinually, that they may not falter on the path they have begun\nto tread, that they may persevere amid all discouragements and\ntemptations until they reach their Father's house, where the\nlight of faith shines without a shadow.\n\nHaving made these preliminary remarks, we proceed to the object\nof this short essay, and shall endeavor to make manifest what\nritualism is and what is its true meaning. We believe it to be a\nmost important movement, which by God's grace will lead many\nsouls to the full possession of the truth. We consider it as\nsimply an honest and sincere attempt to introduce into the\nEnglish Church and the Protestant Episcopal Church, the most\nessential doctrines of the Catholic religion, and to restore the\nworship which passed away at the Reformation with the rejection\nof the ancient faith. It does not seem to us that any candid\nperson can long be a ritualist without becoming Catholic. Our\npurpose is, then, to make this evident to the public by the\nsimple presentation of facts. It will be very interesting both to\nCatholics and Protestants to know the real doctrine and practices\nof the upholders of one of the most striking movements of our\nday. We will, for the sake of order and clearness, speak in\ndetail of the sacrifice of the Mass and the blessed Eucharist, of\nauricular confession, of other sacramental observances, and of\nreligious communities. Before proceeding to these subjects,\nhowever, we reproduce and affirm the five points of Rev. Dr. Dix,\nwhich we shall have in view as fixed principles:\n\n  \"First. There must be ritual of some kind where there is\n  religion.\n\n  \"Second. There is the clearest argument from Holy Scripture and\n  ecclesiastical history in favor of a beautiful and impressive\n  ritualism, as a powerful agency on men for their good.\n\n  \"Third. Such ritualism must be a teacher; it must symbolize\n  something, and express as forcibly as possible what it\n  symbolizes; a ritualism without a meaning, and representing no\n  truth which the intellect can grasp, is but a piece of trifling\n  and a sham.\n\n{379}\n\n  \"Fourth. Ritual must teach truth, pure and unadulterated truth;\n  God's truth, which he has revealed to man.\n\n  \"Fifth. People should try to discuss the subject with calmness.\n  They should not look at it in a party light; they had better\n  keep clear of the agitators, whose aim it is to excite vague\n  fears, and affright the uninstructed with awful disclosures of\n  conspiracy against the simplicity of their faith and the purity\n  of their worship; and especially should they remember that\n  there is superstition in defect as well as in excess.\"\n\n\n1. Ritualists are believers in the sacrifice of the Mass and the\nreal presence of our Lord in the holy Eucharist. The Communion\nservice, instead, therefore, of being simply an affecting\nmemorial of Christ's death, is transformed into a true and proper\nsacrifice, in which he is really present under the forms of bread\nand wine, and is offered for the living and the dead. The\nadaptation of the old forms of the prayer-book to a view so\nCatholic as this requires many alterations in rubrics and in the\nintroduction of new matter. We shall quote from a book called the\n_Notitia Liturgica_, which is the received order of service,\nand contains, according to its title, \"brief directions for the\nadministration of the sacraments, and the celebration of the\ndivine service according to the present use of the Church of\nEngland.\" The introductory note explains that the book was drawn\nup \"in order to provide the clergy, sacristans, and others with a\nsmall pocket-manual, by which such accuracy, care, and reverence\nmay be attained by those ministering at, or serving the altar, as\nhas been so constantly recommended by such eminent standard\ndivines of our national church, as the _Venerable Bede_,\nArchbishop Peckham, Bishop Wainflete, _Cardinal Pole_,\nBishop Cosin, and Archbishop Laud.\" The _Directorium\nAnglicanum_ contains more ample directions; but the present\nwork, being briefer, is more suited for our purpose at this\nmoment. It commences with the remark that, \"in the\ninterpretations of the Book of Common Prayer, the following\ncardinal maxim should never be lost sight of, namely, that what\nwas not legally and formally abandoned at the Reformation by\nexpress law is now in full force, and should be carefully,\njudiciously, and firmly restored. This key unlocks many\ndifficulties which would be otherwise both theoretically and\npractically insurmountable.\" Then follow the directions for the\nbuilding and dressing of the altar, and for a \"Low and High\nCelebration.\" We cannot do better than give them at length:\n\n  \"The greatest care should be invariably bestowed upon the altar\n  of the church. It should be well raised, of proper proportions,\n  and of costly materials. In size it should never be less than\n  seven feet long, and three feet and a half in height. It should\n  always be raised on a substantial and solid platform of at\n  least three steps. Behind it there should be a reredos of wood\n  or stone, either carved or decorated, or else a hanging of\n  cloth, velvet, satin, damask, or embroidery. Green is the best\n  color for a hanging--unless the church is dedicated in honor of\n  Our Lady, when blue may be used--which can be changed on high\n  festivals for white. The carpet upon the sanctuary floor should\n  invariably be green, as it is a good contrast to the altar\n  vestments. The altar vestments should fit accurately, and not\n  be allowed to hang loosely. On a shelf or ledge behind the\n  altar--sometimes called a retable, and sometimes, but\n  inaccurately, a super-altar--should be placed a metal cross or\n  crucifix; or a painting of the crucifixion should be fixed over\n  the centre of the altar, against the east wall. At least two\n  large and handsome candlesticks for the Eucharistic celebration\n  should be placed one on either side of the cross. Other branch\n  candlesticks for tapers may be affixed to the east wall on each\n  side of the altar, and standards for the same may be added on\n  festivals. Flower vases may be also used for the adornment of\n  the retable of the altar, and pots of flowers and shrubs for\n  the sanctuary floor, which should be carefully but closely\n  grouped against the north and south ends of the altar.\n\n{380}\n\n  \"The following order should be observed both in the use of the\n  vestments of the clergy and of the altar:\n\n    \"_White_.--From the evening of Christmas Eve to the\n    Octave of Epiphany inclusive, (except on the two feasts of\n    St. Stephen and the Holy Innocents;) at the celebration on\n    Maunday Thursday, and on Easter Eve, from the evening of\n    Easter Eve to the Vigil of Pentecost, on Trinity Sunday, on\n    _Corpus Christi Day_ and its Octave, on the feasts of\n    the Purification, Conversion of St. Paul, Annunciation, St.\n    John Baptist, St. Michael, All Saints, on all feasts of Our\n    Lady, and of Saints and Virgins, not Martyrs, at weddings,\n    and on the Anniversary Feast of the dedication of the church.\n\n    \"_Red_. Vigil of Pentecost to the next Saturday, Holy\n    Innocents, (if on a Sunday,) and all other feasts.\n\n    \"_Violet_. From Septuagesima Sunday to Easter Eve, from\n    Advent to Christmas Eve, Ember week in September, all vigils\n    that are fasted, Holy Innocents, (unless on Sunday.)\n\n    \"_Black_. Good Friday and funerals.\n\n    \"_Green_. All ferial days.\n\n\n    \"PLAIN DIRECTIONS FOR A LOW CELEBRATION.\n\n    (BY A PRIEST WITH ONE SERVER.)\n\n    _Vestments for the Celebrant_--Cassock, amice, alb, and\n    girdle, with maniple, stole, and chasuble, of the color of\n    the day.\n\n    _Vestments for the Server_--Cassock and surplice.\n\n  \"The altar candles being lighted, and the cruets of wine and\n  water being on their stand upon the credence, as well as the\n  altar breads, basin, and towel, the priest, bearing the sacred\n  vessels, duly arranged and covered, preceded by the server,\n  proceeds from the sacristy to the altar.\n\n  \"Having bowed to the cross, and then spread the corporal and\n  placed the chalice on the centre of the altar, he steps back to\n  the foot of the altar, and begins by saying privately: '+ In\n  the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.\n  Amen.'\n\n  \"He then recites Psalm xliii., (which should be learned by\n  heart.)\n\n  \"Then, going up to the altar, according to the Rubric, he says\n  the 'Our Father' and collect at the 'north side' or gospel\n  corner; after which, turning to the people, and standing in the\n  middle of the altar, he recites the Ten Commandments, the\n  server making the appointed responses.\n\n  \"Then he turns to the gospel corner, as the Rubric directs, and\n  says the prayer for the Queen, and the collect for the day.\n\n  \"Then the server moves the book-rest to the epistle corner,\n  where the priest reads the epistle; and then the server\n  replaces it, as before, at the gospel corner, where the priest\n  reads the gospel, at the commencement of which all present\n  cross themselves on the forehead, mouth, and breast.\n\n  \"Custom sanctions the responses, _'Glory be to Thee, O\n  Lord,'_ and _'Praise be to Thee, O Christ,'_ before and\n  after the Gospel: both of which are said by the server.\n\n  \"The creed is said by the priest _junctis manibus_ in the\n  middle of the altar facing the cross. The server, therefore,\n  should move the book toward the priest. From the words _'and\n  was incarnate'_ to _'was made man,'_ the celebrant bows\n  profoundly; and at the words _'life everlasting'_ makes\n  the sign of the cross on his breast.\n\n  \"The offertory sentence is read in the same position. The alms\n  (if any) are presented standing. At the offering of the bread,\n  the priest should use privately the following prayer from the\n  Salisbury Missal:\n\n    \"_'Suscipe, Sancta Trinitas, hanc oblationem quam ego\n    indignus offero in honore tuo et Beatae Mariae, et omnium\n    sanctorum tuorum, pro peccatis et offensionibus meis; pro\n    salute vivorum et requie omnium fidelium defunctorum. In\n    nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.'_\n\n    \"And at the offering of the chalice:\n\n    \"_Offerimus tibi, Domine, calicem salutaris, tuam\n    deprecantes clementiam, ut in conspectu divina majestatis\n    tuae, pro nostra et totius mundi salute, cum odore suavitatis\n    ascendat. Amen._'\n\n  \"Here the server should bring from the credence-ewer, water,\n  and towel for the priest to wash his hands. During this\n  symbolical ceremony, the celebrant will say Psalm xxvi., which\n  may be learnt by heart.\n\n  \"At the _'Ye that do truly,'_ which should also be learnt\n  by heart, and said without the service-book, the priest turns\n  to the people, still standing in the midst of the altar.\n\n  \"The server, or 'minister,' as the Rubric terms him, says the\n  confession in the name of the people, the priest standing\n  facing eastward. At its conclusion, he turns round _junctis\n  manibus_, and gives the absolution, which should also be\n  said without the book, making the sign of the cross with his\n  right hand at the words, _'pardon and deliver you,'_ etc.\n\n  \"The _'Comfortable Words'_ are said in the same position.\n\n  \"The preface, _'Lift up your hearts,'_ with its response,\n  is said with hands extended and eyes uplifted. At the words,\n  _'Let us give thanks,'_ etc., the priest joins his hands,\n  and at _'It is very meet, right,'_ etc., he turns to the\n  altar, bending down at the words, _'Holy, holy, holy.'_\n\n{381}\n\n  \"The celebrant kneels in the midst of the altar at the prayer\n  of humble access, _'We do not presume.'_\n\n  \"In the prayer of consecration, the priest reverently\n  genuflects after the consecration of the bread, to worship\n  Jesus Christ, truly present under a sacramental veil, and again\n  after the consecration of the chalice.\n\n  \"Here the following extract from the ancient Sarum Canon, to be\n  said privately, may, according to the suggestion of Bishop\n  Wilson, be profitably introduced:\n\n    \"_'Unde et me mores, Domine nos servi tui, sed et plebs tua\n    sancta, ejusdem Christi Filii tui Domini Dei nostri tam\n    beatae Passionis, necnon et ab inferis Resurrectionis, sed et\n    in caelos gloriosae Ascensionis, offerimus praeclarae\n    Majestati tuae de tuis donis ac datis Hostiam + puram,\n    Hostiam sanctam + Hostiam, + immaculatam: Panem sanctum +\n    vitae aeternae, et + caliccem salutis perpetuae._\n\n    _\"'Supra qua propitio ac sereno vultu respicere digneris:\n    et accepta habere, siculi accepta habere dignatus es munera\n    pueri tui justi Abel, et sacrificium patriarchs nostri\n    Abrahae: et quod tibi obtulit summus sacerdos tuus\n    Melchisedech, sanctum sacrificium, immaculatam Hostiam._\n\n    _\"'Supplices te rogamus omnipotens Deus; jube hac perferri\n    per manus sancti angeli tui in sublime altre tuum, in\n    conspectu Divinae Majestatis Tua: et quotquot ex hac altaris\n    participatione, sacrosanctum Filii tui, + Corpus et +\n    Sanguinem sumpserimus: omni + benedictione coelesti et gratia\n    repleamur. Per eundem Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen._\n\n    _\"'Memento etiam, Domine animarum famulorum famularumque\n    tuarum (N. et N.) qui nos praecesserunt cum signo fidei, et\n    dormiunt in somno pacis. Ipsis Domine et omnibus in Christo\n    quiescentibus, locum refrigerii, lucis et pacis, ut\n    indulgeas, deprecamur. Per eundem Christum Dominum nostrum.\n    Amen._\n\n    _\"'Nobis quoque peccatoribus famulis tuis de multitudine\n    miserationum tuarum sperantibus, partem aliquam et societatem\n    donare digneris cum tuis sanctis apostolis et martyribus; cum\n    Joanne, Stephano, Matthia, Barnaba, Ignatio, Alexandro,\n    Marcellino, Petro, Felicitate, Perpetua, Agatha. Lucia,\n    Agnete, Caecilia, Anastasia, et cum omnibus sanctis tuis:\n    intra quorum nos consortium, non estimator meriti, sed\n    veniae, quaesumus, largitor admitte. Per Christum Dominum\n    nostrum._\n\n    _\"'Per quem hac omnia Domine, semper bona creas, +\n    sanctificas, + vivaficas, + benedicis, et praestas nobis. Per\n    + ipsum et cum + ipso in + ipso est tibi Deo Patri +\n    Omnipotenti, in unitate Spiritus Sancti omnis honor et\n    gloria. Per omnia saecula saeculorum. Amen.'_\n\n    [Transcriber's note: Some of these words are illegible and\n    are guesses. The plus sign (+) indicates the sign of the\n    cross is to be made.]\n\n  \"The priest communicates himself standing. Genuflecting before\n  receiving our Lord's Body, he may say:\n\n    _\"'Ave in aeternum sanctissima Caro Christi; mihi ante\n    omnia et super omnia summa dulcede. Corpus Domini nostri Jesu\n    Christi sit mihi peccatori via et vita + In nomine Patris, et\n    Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.'_\n\n  \"Genuflecting before receiving Christ's Most Precious Blood:\n\n    _\"'Ave in aeternum Caelestis Potus, mihi ante omnis et\n    super omnia summa dulcedo. Corpus et Sanguis Domini nostri\n    Jesu Christi prosint mihi peccatori ad remedium sempiternum\n    in vitam aeternam. Amen. + In nomine Patris,' etc._\n\n  \"After all have communicated, the contents of the paten may be\n  carefully placed into the chalice, the paten placed on the\n  chalice, and the veil put over it.\n\n  \"The _'Our Father'_ and the following prayer are said with\n  hands extended, in the centre of the altar, facing eastward, as\n  also the intonation of the _'Gloria in Excelsis.'_ At the\n  words, _'we worship thee,'_ the celebrant will bow\n  profoundly; at the words, _'To the glory of God the\n  Father,'_ he signs himself with the sign of the cross.\n\n  \"In giving the benediction, in which the sign of the cross\n  should always be made with the right hand, care should be taken\n  by the priest not to turn his back upon the blessed sacrament.\n  The server will here kneel in the centre of the lower step.\n\n  \"Immediately after this--before the priest uses any private\n  devotions whatsoever and before the people attempt to go away--\n  the consecrated species should be reverently consumed; and the\n  ablutions (1) of wine, (2) of wine and water mixed, and (3) of\n  water alone should be given to the priest by the server.\n\n  \"The greatest possible care should be taken that no single\n  particle remains on the paten; and it is always better that the\n  priest himself should consume all that remains of both kinds.\n  The officials of the church and members of the choir should be\n  expressly taught never to rise from their knees until the\n  ablutions have been taken and the priest is about to leave the\n  altar.\n\n  \"After the cleansing of the vessels, the corporal, purificator,\n  chalice-cover, etc., should be carefully put in their places;\n  and then, bowing to the cross, the priest should return to the\n  sacristy, preceded by the server, and say, according to the\n  Sarum rite, St. John's Gospel, cap. i. 1-14.\n\n  \"The priest, having taken off his vestments, says his\n  thanksgiving.\n\n    PLAIN DIRECTIONS FOR A HIGH CELEBRATION.\n\n  (BY A PRIEST WITH DEACON AND SUB-DEACON.)\n\n  _Vestments for the Celebrant_--Cassock, amice, alb, and\n  girdle, with maniple, stole, and chasuble of the color of the\n  day.\n\n  _Vestments for the Deacon_--Cassock, amice, alb, and\n  girdle, with maniple, stole, and dalmatic of the color of the\n  day.\n\n  _Vestments for the Sub-Deacon_--Cassock, amice, alb, and\n  girdle, with maniple and tunicle of the color of the day.\n\n  _Vestments for the Acolytes_ Cassocks, (black on ordinary\n  days, but purple or scarlet on great festivals,) with either\n  short surplices, girded albs, or rochets.\n\n{382}\n\n  \"The directions which have already been given in the case of a\n  'Low Celebration' are equally appropriate here, as far as\n  regards the actual ceremonies of the Eucharist. Several\n  additional points, however, need to be particularly insisted\n  on:\n\n  \"(_a_) The normal position of the deacon will be on the\n  right hand side of the priest, standing on the first step from\n  the footpace; and that of the sub-deacon on his left hand,\n  standing on the second step.\n\n  \"(_b_) Both deacon and sub-deacon stand when the celebrant\n  stands, genuflect when he genuflects, and kneel when he kneels.\n\n  \"(_c_) At the epistle, the deacon and subdeacon change\n  places, the latter chanting the epistle on his own, the second\n  step from the footpace, from a good-sized book, held by one of\n  the acolytes on the epistle side, so that the sub-deacon may\n  face the east.\n\n  \"(_d_) At the gospel, the deacon chants the gospel from\n  his step, near the gospel corner of the altar--the book of the\n  Gospels being held by the sub-deacon, so that the deacon may\n  face the north.\n\n  \"(_e_) After the gospel, the celebrant, in the midst of\n  the altar--with the deacon behind him on his own step, and the\n  sub-deacon on his step, again behind the deacon--intones the\n  first sentence of the Nicene Creed. When the choir take up the\n  words, 'the Father Almighty,' the deacon and sub-deacon go up\n  to the altar footpace, respectively to the right and left of\n  the priest.\n\n  \"(_f_) During the sermon, the priest, deacon, and\n  sub-deacon occupy the sedilia, or seats placed for them on the\n  south side of the sanctuary, facing the north.\n\n  \"(_g_) At the offertory they return to the altar, and the\n  sub-deacon brings the sacred vessels from the credence. The\n  deacon, taking the corporal out of the burse, spreads the\n  corporal, and arranges the sacred vessels. The chalice should\n  be placed immediately behind the paten, in the centre of the\n  corporal and of the altar.\n\n  \"(_h_) The plate or box with the altar breads should be\n  handed to the deacon by the sub-deacon, who will receive it\n  from one of the acolytes, in order that the priest may be\n  supplied with the elements required. The same will be observed\n  as regards the cruets of wine and water, and also for the\n  ceremony of washing the priest's fingers. The priest-celebrant\n  should not leave his place at the altar, but should be\n  carefully served by his assistant clergy and the acolytes.\n\n  \"(_i_) The confession may be said in monotone, or with\n  suitable inflections, by either the deacon or sub-deacon.\n  During the preface and sanctus, the deacon and sub-deacon stand\n  behind the priest, respectively a little to his right and left.\n\n  \"(_k_) At the consecration, the deacon and sub-deacon,\n  standing respectively at his right and left, will reverently\n  genuflect when the priest genuflects, and bend themselves low\n  during the communion of the celebrant.\n\n  \"(_l_) At the _Gloria in Excelsis_, the celebrant--in\n  the midst of the altar, with the deacon behind him on his own\n  step, and the sub-deacon on his step, again behind the\n  deacon--intones the first sentence. When the choir take up the\n  words, 'And in earth peace,' the deacon and sub-deacon ascend\n  to the altar footpace, respectively to the right and left of\n  the priest.\n\n  \"(_m_) After the _Gloria in Excelsis_, one, two, or\n  three of the collects at the end of the communion service may\n  be said--according to the number of the actual collects of the\n  day--as a post-communion.\n\n  \"(_n_) In giving the 'pax' and blessing, the celebrant\n  should turn toward the people, being careful not to stand\n  before the blessed sacrament, and, stretching out his arms\n  during the first part of it--from the opening words to 'His Son\n  Jesus Christ our Lord'--will kiss the pax which is presented\n  to him by the deacon; and then, placing his left hand open on\n  his breast, will raise his right hand and bless the people with\n  the sacred sign of the cross.\n\n  \"(_o_) The deacon and sub-deacon will immediately serve\n  wine and water for the ablutions, and having rearranged the\n  sacred vessels and their coverings, will place them on the\n  credence, together with the pax and the service-book.\n\nSuch is the external rite recommended and practised as far as\npossible by the ritualists in what they do not hesitate to call\nthe celebration of Mass. That it is conformed, as far as can be,\nto the Liturgy of the Catholic Church will be evident at first\nsight to any one acquainted with the Missal. The ceremonies and\nmany of the integral parts are adopted without change from the\nWestern rite, and not from the Eastern, which Dr. Dix thinks more\npure. The vestments may be of the Greek pattern, but this is not\na material matter.\n{383}\nThe priest, having placed the chalice on the altar, steps back to\nthe foot of the altar, and begins, according to the Catholic\norder, by making the sign of the cross, and saying the Psalm,\n\"Judica me Deus.\" The epistle and gospel are read precisely as we\nread them; then the creed is said, \"junctis manibus,\" in the\nmiddle of the altar, facing the cross. It is also said with the\nsame reverences as our service prescribes, and ends with the sign\nof the cross. The offering of the bread is made in a Latin form,\nsaid to be taken from the Salisbury Missal. The oblation is made\nin the honor of the Holy Trinity and the Blessed Mary, for the\nsalvation of the living and the rest of the faithful departed. At\nthe offering of the chalice, the priest is directed to say the\nidentical prayer used in our Liturgy. Then follows the washing of\nthe hands, with the recitation of Psalm xxv., \"Lavabo manus\nmeas,\" as in the Catholic rite; and the extracts in Latin from\nour Missal are directed to be \"written out, printed, or\nilluminated, and then framed and placed against the super-altar\nas altar cards.\" At the consecration, the priest reverently\ngenuflects to worship Jesus Christ truly present, after which he\nis recommended to use privately the exact words of our canon in\nLatin. It seems that they coincide with the Sarum Canon, and that\nsome years ago Bishop Wilson had the good thought to suggest\ntheir use. The remainder of the service will speak for itself;\nand we think any Episcopalian will find himself strangely puzzled\nshould he undertake to follow with the rubrics of his Book of\nCommon Prayer. He would, it seems to us, be as much at home in a\nCatholic church. The directions for a \"high celebration\" are all\ntaken from our rubrics for a solemn Mass, with deacon and\nsub-deacon, and are conformed to them as much as possible. The\nsaddest reflection which strikes us, is the thought that those\nwho go through with such real and meaning ceremonies have no\npriestly character, and therefore no power to consecrate Christ's\nBody and Blood. Such is not only the verdict of the Catholic\nChurch in regard to Anglican orders, but the opinion of every\nEastern church which has retained the traditions of the apostolic\nsuccession. It is a fearful responsibility for any man to take,\nto make himself a priest on his own private judgment; for, after\nall, if the Catholic Church is good for rites and doctrines, she\nis good for everything.\n\nSo far the external observance of the ritualists is in favor of\nthe sacrifice of the Mass, and the real presence of our Lord in\nthe blessed Eucharist. We shall find that they do not hesitate to\nteach the doctrine which their ritual symbolizes, according to\nthe principles of Dr. Dix. which exact that \"ritual must teach\ntruth, pure and unadulterated truth.\" We have before us several\nbooks which are recommended, and, as far as we have been able to\nlearn, in constant use. The books for devotion before hearing\nMass and receiving Holy Communion, such as _The Altar Book, The\nLittle Sacrament Book, The Supper of the Lord,_ contain the\nplainest expressions of belief in the real and true corporeal\npresence of Jesus Christ in the sacrament. We could quote many\npages, but we shall only give a few passages from _The\nChurchman's Guide to Faith and Piety_, a work which is quite\ncomprehensive, and is published with directions for all\ndevotions, both in and out of the church. It bears a dedication,\nby permission, to the Rt. Rev. H. Potter, D.D., LL.D., D.C.L.,\nthe Bishop of New York, thus receiving the sanction of the\nhighest Episcopalian authority.\n{384}\nThe \"Instruction on the Holy Eucharist\" contains very plainly the\ndoctrine of the Mass: \"In this sacrament he (Jesus Christ) has\nbequeathed to us his Body and Blood under the _forms_ of\nbread and wine, not only to be received by us for the food and\nnourishment of our souls, but as a means whereby the same\noblation of himself which he offers before the Father in heaven\nmight be offered also by his ministers on earth. They thus\ncommemorate his one atoning sacrifice by a perpetual memorial,\nrepresenting his death and passion before the Father. ... In this\nsacrifice Christ himself is the real offerer, though he acts\nthrough his priests, whom he appointed as his representatives\nwhen he commanded his apostles, saying, 'Do this in remembrance\nof me.' ... When, therefore, the priests of his church, in his\nname and according to his commands, rehearse the words of\ninstitution in the prayer of consecration, God the Holy Ghost\ncomes down upon the creatures of bread and wine, and _they\nbecome_ the Body and Blood of Christ. The priest offers,\ntherefore, on God's altar a sacrifice commemorative of that\nperfect and sufficient sacrifice once offered on the cross, and\nat the same time Jesus Christ presents it before the Father,\npleading his wounds, and the merits of his passion for the pardon\nand salvation of his people.\" During the communion many beautiful\ndevotions are given, all of which speak fervently of Christ's\nreal presence, and the Catholic hymn, \"Ave Verum Corpus,\" is\ntranslated for use at that great moment:\n\n  \"Hail! Christ's body, true and real, of the Virgin Mary born,\n  Truly suffering, truly offered on the hill of scorn. Hail! for\n  man's salvation pierced, gaping wounds and riven side, Whence\n  outflowed with love unstinting, Blood and Water, mingled tide;\n  Now upon that body feed we, now of that sweet fountain drink,\n  Lest, when death relentless seize us, 'neath the Judge's search\n  we sink.\"\n\nThe beautiful hymn of St. Thomas, \"Adoro Te devot\u00e8,\" is added:\n\n  \"Devoutly I adore thee, Deity unseen, Why thy glory hidest\n  'neath these shadows mean? Taste and touch and vision in thee\n  are deceived, But the hearing only, well may be believed.\"\n\nThe prayer \"Anima Christi\" is then recommended to be said with\nthe inmost affections and desires of the soul. The manner of\nreceiving is also worthy of notice: \"Kneel reverently at the\naltar, with the body upright and the head slightly bowed.\" Say to\nyourself, 'Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under\nmy roof.' Make thy left hand a throne for the right, which is on\nthe eve of receiving the King, and, having hollowed thy palm,\nreceive the Body of Christ, and convey it carefully to thy\nmouth.\" The book called _The Supper of the Lord_ gives the\nlike directions: \"When the priest gives you the sacrament,\nreceive it in the open palm of the right hand, and so raise it\nreverently, lest any portion should fall to the ground; for St.\nCyril observes, 'Whosoever loses any part of it had better lose\npart of himself.'\" It is not necessary to quote any further\npassages, although the same doctrine is contained in the entire\nbook. On page 86, vol. ii., there is the remark, \"that the bread\nand wine are unchanged in their substance;\" but we are inclined\nto think that this comes from inadvertence, prejudice, or bad\nphilosophy. Two substances cannot coexist in the same space; and\ntherefore, if the bread and wine become the Body and Blood of\nChrist, they cannot still be simple bread and wine. And if the\npresence of Christ is only in them without changing them, it is a\nsin to adore them, since they are only creatures still.\n{385}\nTo lose any part of them would, then, be no crime, as\nEpiscopalians have always believed. The language of the hymns\nheretofore quoted would be strangely out of place. Lutherans have\ntried their theories of consubstantiation, and eminent\nProtestants have defended a kind of impanation; but all these\nmatters may safely be left to the criterions of good common\nsense. We feel satisfied that any one who desires to hold\nconsistently the doctrine of a real presence of Jesus Christ in\nthe blessed Eucharist must approach the Catholic dogma, and admit\na _substantial_ change in the bread and wine.\n\n2. Auricular confession is taught and practised by the\nritualists. We say, auricular confession, because the term has\nbeen used by Protestants, though it may be considered expletive,\nsince a confession heard by no one is hardly a confession in any\nproper sense. The books of devotion put forth by the ritualists,\nboth in this country and in England, give the most plain and\nexplicit directions for confession. The ministers who follow\ntheir views are always ready to hear their penitents, and, on\naccount of the spiritual relation they hold to their children,\ncall themselves, and love to be called, by the title of \"Father,\"\nas is customary in the Catholic Church. The Chapter IV. of _The\nChurchman's Guide_, vol. ii., is entitled \"Of\n_Sacramental_ Confession.\" It gives the prayers and\nquestions for self-examination such as may be found in our\nmanuals. The form of confession is thus recommended:\n\n  \"As soon as the priest is ready, begin your confession after\n  this manner: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of\n  the Holy Ghost, Amen. I confess to God the Father Almighty, to\n  His only-begotten Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, and to God the\n  Holy Ghost, before the whole company of heaven, and to you, my\n  father, that I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and\n  deed, by my fault, my own fault, my own grievous fault. Then\n  confess the sins you have noted down as the result of your\n  self-examination, taking them in the order of the commandments,\n  or beginning with your besetting sins, and then proceeding to\n  the lesser sins. Do so simply, sincerely, earnestly,\n  unreservedly, in as plain a manner as possible, remembering\n  that no sin which you have discovered should be held back, that\n  any conscious omission will render the confession nothing\n  worth, and the absolution null and void. In accusing yourself,\n  be very careful not to mention another, unless it is necessary\n  to the completeness of your confession. Answer any questions\n  that the confessor may feel it necessary to ask truthfully and\n  unhesitatingly. When you have completed your confession, say as\n  follows: For these and all my other sins which I cannot at\n  present remember, I humbly beg pardon of Almighty God, and of\n  you, my spiritual father, penance, counsel, and absolution.\n  Wherefore I pray God the Father Almighty, His only-begotten\n  Son, Jesus Christ, and God the Holy Ghost to pity me and have\n  mercy upon me, and you, my father, to pray for me. The priest\n  will then remark upon the confession as he deems most fitting,\n  giving such ghostly counsel as to dispose the soul for the\n  receiving of the great gift. Listen to him with all reverence\n  and care, receiving the advice which he gives you as the\n  message of God to your soul, and determine punctually and\n  exactly to fulfil the penance which he may assign to you. After\n  such exhortation, the priest will pray with you and for you,\n  and then lay his hands upon your head, and pronounce the words\n  of absolution. Doubt not, but earnestly believe that, according\n  to God's sure promise, the sins that are so loosed upon earth\n  are loosed in heaven. After confession, spend, if possible, a\n  quarter of an hour in church, or in private, using one or more\n  of the following acts of devotion.\"\n\nThen follow some beautiful and fervent prayers and thanksgivings.\nCatholics will see very little difference between this form and\nthat to which they have been accustomed from their childhood. We\nhave no means of judging how extensive is the practice of\nconfession among Episcopalians in New-York, but we earnestly hope\nit will increase and become general.\n{386}\nAlthough there is no priestly character, no jurisdiction, and no\nabsolution, still the habit of confessing leads to\nself-examination and strictness of life, and will in God's good\ntime open the heart to the light of the true faith. We are not\naware that confessionals have been erected in any Episcopal\nchurch in this country, and do not know whether confessions are\nheard in the church or at the houses of the ministers. English\nritualists are far beyond their American brethren, and therefore\nwe presume that everything will follow in due time.\n\n3. The ritualists are also approaching to the doctrine of the\nchurch in regard to the sacraments, and certainly admit more than\ntwo sacraments. A sacrament is, according to our catechism, \"an\noutward sign of inward grace, or a sacred and mysterious sign by\nwhich grace is communicated to our souls.\" We need not speak of\nbaptism, in which regeneration is fully admitted, nor allude to\nthe holy Eucharist, already sufficiently spoken of, but will\nsimply mention penance, confirmation, and matrimony, which the\nEpiscopal Church denies to be sacraments. What we have quoted in\nregard to \"sacramental confession\" will show that, to all intents\nand purposes, they believe in penance very much as we do.\nConfirmation is regarded as a rite having an external sign, and\nconveying the gift of the Holy Ghost. Special preparation for so\ngreat a gift is deemed necessary, and confession is recommended.\n\"White is the color of the vestments of both clergy and altar at\nconfirmation. At confession, the stole should be violet.\"\n\nThe _Notitia Liturgica_ gives the following directions for\nholy matrimony: \"The service for holy matrimony consists of three\nparts, namely, the address to the congregation, the betrothal,\n(both of which are to take place in the nave or body of the\nchurch) and the more _sacramental_ part, imploring the\ngraces needful for the married state, which is said at the altar.\nThe ring is evidently ordered to be laid on the service-book for\nthe purpose of being blessed. The following is a common form of\nbenediction. (It is the Catholic form.) 'Sanctify, + O Lord, this\nring which we bless + in thy name, that she who shall wear it,\nkeeping inviolable fidelity to her spouse, may ever remain in\npeace and love; and live according to Thy law, through Christ,\nour Lord, Amen.' In pronouncing the first benediction, the priest\nshould lay his hands upon the heads of the man and woman.\n_White_ is the color for the vestments of both clergy and\naltar at the celebration of holy matrimony. The priest should\nwear cassock, surplice, and stole; and the assistants, clerks, or\nministers, cassock and surplices. If the holy communion be\ncelebrated, of course the clergyman will retire to the vestry to\nassume the proper vestments. Only the bride and bridegroom and\ntheir immediate friends should communicate.\" There can be very\nlittle doubt that in all this there is the open profession of\nbelief in an inward sanctifying grace attached to the external\nrite.\n\nIn regard to holy orders, we have no direct evidence before us,\nbecause we have only seen books of devotion for the people; but\nwe are quite persuaded that the ritualists believe in the\nsacramental character of ordination, and that a special grace\nattends the imposition of the bishop's hands when ministers and\npriests are solemnly set apart to their office. As for the\nsacrament of extreme unction, we are not aware that it is\npractised in England or among the Episcopalians in this country.\nBut from all the advances they have made during the last few\nyears, we have reason to think that it will ere long be\nintroduced.\n{387}\nIt was in use in the early days of the Reformation, and is very\nplainly taught in Holy Scripture. (St. James v. 14.)\n\n4. The vast progress in Catholic ideas which has been made has\nalso led to the establishment of religious communities. In\nEngland, there are, we are informed, quite a number of sisters,\nwho live by rule and devote themselves to the works of charity.\nThe Rev. Dr. Neale devoted his life and all his zeal to this most\nimportant movement. We have seen some beautiful sermons which\nwere preached by him to the sisterhood of St. Margaret's, in East\nGrinsted. In them will be found not only the belief of the\nprincipal Catholic verities, but the most fervent descriptions of\nthe religious life, and the plainest directions for maintaining\nits strictness. The movement has gone so far in England that it\ncan afford to defy public prejudice. In the United States there\nhas been a corresponding movement among Episcopalians, though\nsomewhat behind the footsteps of their brethren in the mother\ncountry. The Rev. Dr. Muhlenberg was among the first in our city\nto establish a community of sisters; but we believe that his idea\nembraced more the relief of the sick and poor than the\nconsecration to God of those who should devote themselves to this\ncharity. Latterly, however, there has been established here a\nsisterhood on more Catholic principles, under the auspices of\nRev. Dr. Dix, which contains now nine members, not counting\npostulants, who bear the title of \"Sisters of St. Mary.\" This\ncommunity was instituted three or four years ago, and placed\nunder rules similar to those of the Catholic convents. Postulants\nto the community have a trial of six months, when they are\n_received_ by the pastor. One year and a half from this\ntime, that is, after two years of probation, they are set apart\nto their work by the bishop. The public will recollect the\naccount, which appeared in the journals, of a consecration of\nsisters by Rt. Rev. Dr. Potter in one of the Episcopal churches.\nAt this service, though we believe they take no vows, the sisters\nconsider themselves set apart _for life_, and bound to the\ncommunity, except in special exigencies, when dispensation can be\nobtained from the pastor or bishop. They have a religious dress\nof black, with a large black cape, a large white collar, and a\nwhite cap. They also wear a cross made of black work, with a\nwhite lily in silver set in it, which is hung around the neck.\nThey live strictly, rise early, and work laboriously. They\nobserve several of the canonical hours, and for this purpose use\nthe book prepared and published by Dr. Dix. They have their hours\nof silence, of recreation, and of community observances. They\nseldom visit any one, but can go to their homes occasionally, by\nspecial permission. They are expected to go to confession and\ncommunion monthly, unless they obtain the privilege of going\noftener. Rev. Dr. Dix is their spiritual director, although some\nare permitted to confess to one of the \"fathers\" at St. Alban's,\nor to any other Episcopal minister.\n\nThese sisters have charge of two houses, the \"Sheltering Arms,\"\nat One Hundredth street, on the Bloomingdale road, and the \"House\nof Mercy,\" in Eighty-sixth street, near the Hudson river. St.\nBarnabas's House, in Mulberry street, near Houston, was at one\ntime under their care, but, as the managers were not sufficiently\nCatholic in their ideas, they were constrained to leave it. On\nSundays and holydays, when there is no service in these private\nchapels, they attend the neighboring Episcopal churches.\n{388}\nOnce a month they have an especial service in one of their\nhouses, when their pastor is present, and the holy communion is\ncelebrated. After this service the sisters hold a meeting, which\nis called a \"chapter,\" in which the affairs of the community are\ndiscussed and arranged. They often attend St. Alban's church,\nwhere the holy communion is celebrated every Sunday, on all the\nsaints' days, and each day on the octaves of Christmas, Easter,\nand Ascension. Here there is a \"low celebration\" on the week-days\nabove mentioned, or \"Low Mass,\" as it is sometimes called by\nthem.\n\n5. In regard to other practical devotions of Catholics, the\nritualists have also made great progress. The \"Way of the Cross\"\nis used and recommended by them. A beautiful form of this\ndevotion will be found in the book entitled _The Supper of the\nLord, and Holy Communion_. The _Churchman's Guide_\ncontains some pious litanies, and some devotions to the sacred\nwounds of our Lord, which are conceived entirely in the tone of\nCatholic piety. The \"Lenten Fast\" is also recommended to be\nstrictly observed by abstinence from flesh meat, and even the\nrules of our own diocese are quoted with favor. We have seen a\nlittle book, called _The Rosary of the Holy Name of Jesus_,\nto which is added the \"Rosary of the Passion of our Lord,\" set\nforth for the use of the faithful members of the English Church,\nwith an introduction by Charles Walker, author of _Three Months\nin an English Monastery_. In the introduction, _beads_,\nadapted to these rosaries, are approved, but how far they are in\nuse we have no means of knowing.\n\nThe invocation of the saints certainly is not very prominent in\ntheir books of devotion, but they have begun the good work. The\nfirst part of the \"Hail, Mary\" is used in the rosaries, and this\nis, at least, a step in the right direction. We have been\ninformed that private prayers to the Blessed Virgin and the\nsaints are in use by some; and, as this invocation is founded on\nthe simple principle of intercession, it will undoubtedly, ere\nlong, be generally practised. No objection can be found against\nit which does not exist against asking each other's prayers in\nthis life. The work entitled _Prayers for Children_, by Rev.\nF. G. Lee, gives Faber's beautiful hymn to Our Lady, to be said\non feasts of the Blessed Virgin Mary:\n\n  \"Mother of Mercy, day by day\n    My love for thee grows more and more;\n  Thy gifts are strewn upon my way,\n    Like sands upon the great sea-shore.\n\n  \"Get me the grace to love thee more;\n    Jesus will give if thou wilt plead;\n  And, mother, when life's cares are o'er,\n    Oh! I shall love thee then indeed.\"\n\nThe hymn to the guardian angel is also given from the same\nauthor:\n\n  \"Yes, when I pray, thou prayest too;\n    Thy prayer is all for me;\n  But when I sleep, thou sleepest not,\n    But watchest patiently.\"\n\nPrayer for the faithful departed may be found in nearly all the\nprayer-books of the ritualists, and the burial service is\nanimated with that tender devotion which forms such a\ncharacteristic of the Catholic rite. The holy Eucharist is\nrecommended to be celebrated at funerals, and directions for so\ndoing are given in the _Notitia Liturgica_. The\n_Introit_ is, \"Grant them eternal rest, and let light\nperpetual shine upon them.\" The _Dies Ires_ is to be divided\nand sung at different parts of the service, before the gospel, at\nthe offertory, during the communion, and after the blessing.\n\nThe _Book of Hours_, by Rev. Dr. Dix, has a prayer for the\nfaithful departed, and the \"low celebration,\" already quoted, has\nthe \"Memento for the Dead,\" extracted from our Canon.\n{389}\nWe give the following prayer from _The Supper of the Lord_.\n\"O God! by whose mercy the souls of the faithful find rest, grant\nto all thy servants who have gone before us with the sign of\nfaith, and who now slumber in the sleep of peace, a place of\nrefreshment, light, and peace, through the same Jesus Christ our\nLord.\" At a funeral the following is recommended: \"O Lord, look\ngraciously, we beseech thee, upon this sacrifice (the holy\nEucharist) which we offer thee for the perfecting of the soul of\nthy servant N----, and grant that this medicine which Thou hast\nvouchsafed to provide for the healing of all the living may avail\nalso for the departed, through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.\"\n\nThe sacred sign of the cross, as has been observed, is used\ncommonly, in the same manner as Catholics use it, both in private\nand in public.\n\nThe introduction of altar-boys took place some time ago, in this\ncity, when it was said that it was according to the use of the\nEnglish cathedrals and for the purpose of chanting the service.\nIt appears, however, that they are only a part of an attempt to\nrevive the \"minor orders,\" as we have them in the Catholic\nChurch. At the \"high celebration\" the priest is attended by a\ndeacon and _sub-deacon_ and by _acolytes_. We do not\nknow if there be any form of ordaining sub-deacons and acolytes,\nbut it seems that there is a form for the admission of\n_choristers_. How many of the boys serving in the Episcopal\nchurches here have been received by this form, we have no means\nof ascertaining. It will be interesting, however, to Catholics,\nto see the progress which has been made, and therefore we give\nthe whole form.\n\n\n  \"A Form For The Admission Of A Chorister.\n\n  \"\u00b6 _At a convenient time before morning or evening prayer,\n  all the members of the choir assemble in the vestry, robed in\n  their proper ecclesiastical habits: and range themselves on\n  their respective sides, 'Decani' and 'Cantores,' except that\n  the position of the officiating priest is at the upper end of\n  the room and facing the choir. The boy to be admitted remains\n  outside; all present kneeling down, the priest shall say:_\n\n  \"Prevent us, O Lord, in all our doings with thy most gracious\n  favor, and further us with thy continual help; that in all our\n  works begun, continued, and ended in thee, we may glorify thy\n  holy name, and finally, by thy mercy, obtain everlasting life;\n  through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.\n\n  \"Our Father, etc.\n\n  \"\u00b6 _Then, as previously instructed, the two senior choristers\n  go out, and bring in the probationer, who, vested in cassock,\n  coming in, and guided by them, stands in front of the priest\n  officiating._\n\n  \"\u00b6 _Then there shall be read the Lesson._\n\n  \"I Samuel iii. 1-10; and ii. 18, 19.\n\n  \"\u00b6 _The Lesson being ended, the priest shall proceed thus,\n  saying:_\n\n  \"V. Our help is in the name of the Lord:\n\n  R. Who hath made heaven and earth.\n\n  V. Blessed be the name of the Lord:\n\n  R. Henceforth, world without end.\n\n  \"\u00b6 _And then, taking the boy by the right hand, the priest\n  shall admit him, using this form, the boy kneeling:_\n\n  \"N. I admit thee to sing as a chorister in ------ In the name\n  of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.\n\n  \"\u00b6 _Then shall he pronounce this admonition, at the same time\n  presenting him with the Prayer-Book, Psalter, and Hymnal he\n  will use in the choir:_\n\n  \"See what thou singest with thy mouth thou believe in thine\n  heart, and what thou believest in thine heart thou prove by thy\n  works.\n\n  \"\u00b6 _Then, putting the surplice on the new chorister, he shall\n  say:_\n\n  \"I clothe thee in the white garment of the surplice, and see\n  that thou so serve God, and sing his praises, that thou mayest\n  hereafter be admitted into the ranks of those who have washed\n  their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb, and\n  are before the throne of God, and serve him day and night\n  continually.\n\n  \"\u00b6 _Then, laying his hand upon the new chorister's head, the\n  priest shall pronounce the benediction, the boy still\n  kneeling:_\n\n{390}\n\n  \"The Lord bless thee, and keep thee, and make his face to shine\n  upon thee, and be gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up his\n  countenance upon thee, and give thee peace now and for ever.\n  Amen.\"\n\nWe have thus completed the task proposed to ourselves, and have\nshown from the clearest testimonies what the true meaning of\nritualism is. No honest mind will, it seems to us, reject the\nassertion which we made, when we defined it as a great and most\nimportant movement from the doctrines and worship of Protestants\ntoward the ancient and unchangeable faith of the Catholic Church.\nIn other words, it is a return to the dogmas and ceremonies which\nwere cast away by the unsparing radicalism of the Reformation. As\nsuch a movement, we look upon it with the greatest interest, and\nearnestly pray God to bless it to the conversion of many souls.\nAnd we say to our ritualistic brethren, be firm and fervent in\nthe profession and practice of what you believe to be true;\nshrink not from the consequences of any doctrine you hold, and\nfollow on by prayer and perseverance until you reach the portals\nof that temple which the God-Man erected on earth, wherein there\nare no shadows. Catholics are your only friends; and when you\nfind that you believe almost every truth which we hold, and that\nyour own church repudiates nearly everything which is to you most\nsacred, then come home to your Father's house, and take the Bread\nof life for which your souls are famishing. May the infinite\nmercy which has done so much for you perfect and accomplish its\ngracious work. Here is all that you desire in its full\nproportions, the length and breadth of divine love, in that one\nmystical body which is the church of God, the fulness of him who\nfilleth all and in all.\n\nWe have only one more remark to make. The view of ritualism which\nwe have given is, without doubt, the view of every disinterested\nmind. The world is oftentimes harsh and sometimes unjust, but in\nthe end it calls things by their right names. Why, then, try to\nstultify the common sense of mankind by talking of the\ncorruptions of Romanism, when all the time you admit every\nsubstantial part of its creed? Why be so dishonest to yourselves\nas to refuse to see that which is quite evident to every one\nelse? Why talk enigmas and profess devotion to the Eastern\nchurches, as if there were anything there more palatable to\nProtestants than the undisguised creed of Rome? In this country,\nthe ritualists have endeavored to enlist some of their bishops on\ntheir side. Would to God they could gain them all; but even this\nwould not remove Calvinism, Lutheranism, and what Dr. Dix calls\nRadicalism from the prayer-book. Yet have they gained any? The\napprobation of _The Churchman's Guide_, by Right Rev. Dr.\nPotter, is the only quasi-Episcopal sanction which they have, and\nthis is very cautiously given, and no one can say how far it\ngoes. Several ministers some time ago addressed a letter to Right\nRev. Dr. Hopkins, presiding bishop of the Protestant Episcopal\nChurch, asking for his opinions on the subject in question. We\nfancy the dismay of the advanced ritualists when he gives his\nopinion in favor of changes in vestments, the introduction of\nincense and other things of this kind, and then, with an\nunsparing bitterness, attacks their much cherished doctrines, the\nsacrifice of the Mass, and the real presence of our Lord in the\nblessed Eucharist.\n{391}\nWhile this has been done on one side, a large majority of the\nEpiscopalian bishops on the other have delivered themselves of an\nopen protest against the whole movement, condemning it as nothing\nless than an attempt to _Romanize_ the Protestant Church of\nEngland. Is it really so, that the voice of the bishops is of no\nweight, that it neither declares the sense nor speaks the\nauthority of the Episcopal Church? What thinks the world of the\nhigh Anglican position at the present day? The world has said\nharsh things enough of the Catholic Church, but yet has ever\ngiven us the credit of consistency. If it condemn us, it does not\ndeclare that we are illogical. On the contrary, there is not one\nhonest writer, disinterested in the question, who does not say\nthat the Anglican position is wholly untenable, that it is\nneither Protestantism nor Catholicity, and that it can never\nstand either the test of time or that of reason.\n\n--------\n\n  Translated From The Historisch-Politische Blaetter.\n\n  Peter Cornelius, The Master Of German Painting.\n\n\nPeter Cornelius was born on the 24th of September, 1783, in\nart-renowned D\u00fcsseldorf. Here had been collected for some time,\nthrough the artistic taste of the nobles of the Palatinate, those\npaintings and copies of antique sculpture known by the name of\nthe D\u00fcsseldorf Gallery, which was afterward transferred to the\nRoyal Palace of Munich. In the last century a school of art was\nalso connected with this gallery.\n\nAloysius Cornelius, father of Peter, was inspector of the\ngallery, and drawing-master in the art school. Thus the boy was\nborn in an atmosphere of art. It is said that, when little Peter\nwas attacked by fits of childish ill-humor and uneasiness, his\nmother could quiet him by carrying him in her arms into the hall\nof antique statuary, where the stern and striking forms of the\nheathen divinities calmed his cries and dried his tears. If it be\nnot historically true, it is nevertheless a poetic fact recorded\nin verse by his uncle, Peter Cornelius, a distinguished musician,\nstill in Munich, that the boy, on one occasion being offered his\nchoice of a piece of gold and a crayon, took the latter from his\nmother's hand, and ran immediately to make figures on the wall.\nThis is a characteristic anecdote, though it may not be true; for\nduring his whole life the painter despised money. Mammon had no\ncharms for him; while his pencil, the instrument of his art, and\nthe art itself had for him irresistible attractions. Peter grew\nup in the pious, stern Catholic family of his parents, and\npreserved to the end of his life a simple, childlike belief in\nhis religion. Little was then known among the families of\nRhineland of opposition to the faith, or of the doubts and\nobjections of the philosophers against it. Cornelius himself,\nlater in life, confessed that he had never read a book of\nphilosophy. Such works were distasteful to him on account of\ntheir abstract and unideal character.\n\n{392}\n\nHis school education was short and simple. Peter Cornelius went\nonly four years to the primary school of his native city, as his\nschool-fellow, Clement Zimmerman, can still attest. He made\nlittle progress; he never learned to spell correctly. Singular\nphenomenon! Cornelius, who thought so profoundly, and wrote so\nsublimely, and spoke so eloquently without preparation, like\nNapoleon I., could never write without blunders! But perhaps\nfreedom from school restraint only made the genius of the artist\nto take a wider scope. The very fact that he did not spend many\nyears of his life on the school-bench, filling his mind with\nuseless items of knowledge, allowed his nature to expand, and\ngave him that sound freshness of mind and body, that purity of\nimagination, that directness and rectitude of feeling and\ncharacter which are the causes of the beautiful creations of his\ngenius.\n\nOf the mathematics, the favorite science of modern times, he knew\nalmost nothing. He used to say, in his curt manner, of an\nartistic dunce, \"The booby knows as much of art as I do of\nalgebra!\" His peculiar talent displayed itself even in the\nprimary school. When the professor of Scripture history described\nthe scenes and persons of the Old Testament, they became real to\nthe eyes of the boy, and on arriving home he was wont to cut\ntheir forms out of black paper with a dexterity that astonished\nevery one. He was much in the studio of his father, who painted\naltar-pieces and portraits; he cleaned the pencils, brought him\nthe colors, and performed other minor services. Soon he became a\npupil in his father's drawing academy. Here he rapidly acquired\nthe principles of art, and his father gave him Volpato's\nengravings of Raphael's masterpieces as models. Hand and eye of\nthe young artist were thus early accustomed to the immortal works\nof the prince artist of Urbino. At the same time, he visited\nfrequently the gallery of paintings, where the expressive and\nlively colored pictures of Rubens captivated his fancy. Cornelius\ncopied at a later period several of these. In the year 1805,\nbefore the transfer of the collection to Munich, besides others\nhe made a copy of \"Diana and the Nymphs in the Chase,\" which was\nso well executed that it was very difficult to distinguish it\nfrom the original.\n\nYoung Peter now passed to the Academy of Art. The Greek classic\nstyle ruled in it at that time; and a distinguished artist, Peter\nLanger, was its director. Here Cornelius prosecuted his studies\nwith the greatest diligence. He made a special study of the\n_antiques_ which were extant in the collection. Still it\nappears that even then he had more inclination for the awakening\nnational Christian and romantic school of Germany than for the\ncold imitations of ancient art.\n\nBut this very circumstance threatened to give an unlucky turn to\nhis life. His father, Aloysius Cornelius, died in the year 1809,\nleaving a wife, five daughters, and two sons, with little\nresources. The good mother despaired of being able to provide for\nthe support and education of her large family. The director,\nPeter Langer, misunderstanding the genius of Peter, then advised\nher to apprentice him to a goldsmith, saying that he would earn\nhis bread more quickly at a trade, for there were too many\npainters. Cornelius thus experienced the same misjudgment of his\nsuperiors as Carstens in Copenhagen, and Schwanthaler in Munich.\n\n{393}\n\nBut the maternal eye was sharper than that of the learned\ndirector. The mother recognized the decided vocation of her son,\nand her maternal affection triumphed. She could not determine\nfrom worldly motives to tear her son away from his high call and\nso Cornelius was for ever wedded to his art. How grateful was the\nyouth of eighteen years for this determination of his mother!\nCornelius himself writes of it in his celebrated report to Count\nRaczynski, in which he quotes a saying of his father Aloysius,\nthat, \"if we try to make perfect everything that we do, we may\nlearn a lesson from things the most trivial.\" This expression is\nlike Raphael's: \"No one becomes great in art who despises the\nsmallest detail.\"\n\nIn this year, (1809,) Peter Cornelius was introduced into a new\nsociety, which exercised great influence on his development and\nhistory. He went frequently to the neighboring city of Cologne,\nthe splendidly artistic and Christian mediaeval city of the\nRhine. Here he became acquainted with the noble Canon Wallraf and\nthe two brothers Boisser\u00e9e, who, at this period of Vandalic\nravage and destruction, saved all that was to be saved of ancient\nart, and formed those precious collections which render Cologne\nand Munich famous. By these means Cornelius obtained a knowledge\nof the world of old German works of art hitherto unknown to him.\nThey appeared to him in all the simplicity, religiosity, and\nfreshness of the German middle ages, and he found himself drawn\ntoward them by a kindred feeling. He studied and copied them\nzealously, and with greater affection than he had shown toward\nthe gorgeous masterpieces of Italy. His study of these German\nworks obtained for him his first appointment of any consequence.\n\nWallraf, who was called by the mayor of Nyon to consult regarding\nthe restoration of the interesting church in that town,\nrecognized in Peter Cornelius, whom he loved, the man for\nmonumental painting. He was commissioned, therefore, to ornament\nthe cupola and choir of the church of Nyon with frescoes.\nWallraf, the theologian, who, as practical painter, also\npossessed wondrous gifts, determined on the character of this\ncircle of paintings.\n\nCornelius executed these pictures in 1806-1808 on a yellow\nground, with water colors. They represented the choirs of angels\nin the semi-circle; then Moses and David of the Old Testament,\nPeter and Paul of the New Testament, in the cupola; pictures well\nexpressed, living and characteristic, reminding one more of the\nItalian than of the German school. Unfortunately these paintings,\nspoiled by dampness, have been retouched by modern artists, so\nthat they may be considered as entirely lost to view.\n\nBesides the study of the old German masters, Cornelius missed no\noccasion of making himself familiar with the\n_chefs-d'oeuvre_ of classic antiquity. He read with avidity\nHomer and Virgil, and endeavored to make use of the materials of\nart supplied from these sources. He contended for the prize at\nWeimar with works from ancient mythology, but without success. He\nwas not fitted to paint the smooth, external attributes of the\nancient forms. Hence came this criticism on his works. Through\nthe influence of Goethe he received the following note:\n\"Valuable, good talent, and excellent essays!\"\n\nWe pass over those episodes in the lives of all men--the first\nlove of Cornelius for Miss Linder, which was unsuccessful, and\nmade him vow never to wed any other than the muse of his art--a\nvow which he did not keep; his friendship with the eldest son of\nthe merchant Flemming at Nyon, pledged under a linden-tree, and\nlasting until death with a loyalty like that of David and\nJonathan, Orestes and Pylades, Don Carlos and Posa.\n\n{394}\n\nIn 1809, we find him in Frankfort, after Napoleon had annexed the\nRhine provinces to France and the paintings at D\u00fcsseldorf had\nbeen removed to Munich. In this centre of Germany, Cornelius\nhaving read the _Faust_ of Goethe, and, penetrated with its\nspirit, represented the creation of the poet's brain on the\ncanvas, Goethe wrote him a letter, thanking him and full of\nappreciative compliments to his genius. The bookseller, Wenner,\nin Frankfort, undertook to publish the painter's sketches; and\nthus enabled him to realize a long-cherished desire of going to\nItaly, the land of the fine arts.\n\nAt this period, in Rome, there was a colony of German artists,\nlike an oasis of peace in a desert of trouble, who devoted\nthemselves to the unshackling of art from the chains of mannerism\nand French insipidity. Karstens, the Dane, enthusiastically\npartial to ancient art, may be considered the leader and pioneer\nof this effort. Thorwaldsen, Koch, Schick, W\u00e4chter, and Reinhard\nfollowed in his footsteps. Many an artist's noble heart was then\nalso possessed with the love of the romantic school, and inspired\nwith its spirit. Frederic Schlegel, Tieck, Novalis, and\nWackenroder aided the movement by proclaiming and teaching that\nall Christian art was a symbol of the heavenly; that in it all\nwas mysterious and ideal, whilst ancient art merely represented\nthe external and real. They taught that severity, strength, and\nmodesty were to be sought, for in the works of pre-Raphaelite\nmasters, who alone were the true models of Christian art. In the\nyear 1801, the standard of this school was borne by Frederic\nOverbeck, of L\u00fcbeck, who was joined by the two Schadows, Pforr,\nLouis Vogel, and later by Philip Veit, Wach, Charles Vogel of\nVogelstein, I. Schnorr, both Eberhards of Munich, Rambour of\nCologne, and others. The artist world of Rome was then divided\ninto two groups, one of which absolutely followed the ancients,\nand the other revived the Christian and national ideal with the\nspirit of the Romantic school.\n\nWhen Cornelius went to Rome, he was immediately introduced to his\nfellow-countrymen; and he became naturally attached to their\nschool as the illustrator of _Faust_ and Shakespeare. He\nformed a friendship for Overbeck which lasted unbroken till\ndeath, through a period of fifty years! Cornelius always\nexpressed his gratitude to Overbeck, and loved him as a brother.\nKing Louis I., of Bavaria, with his customary wit, likened the\npair of artists to two of the apostles: Overbeck, the pious and\nsentimental, to John; Cornelius, the fervent conqueror of the\nworld of art, to Paul. Overbeck with several companions had\nrented the old monastery of St. Isidore, behind Monte Pincio, and\nlived there like a recluse. Cornelius, who boarded near him, was\na frequent visitor. They studied and worked together. They made\ndrawings of nature and from the antique, sat side by side at the\ncanvas, and communicated their future plans to each other. They\ncopied and imitated the old Italian masters Giotto, Masaccio,\nGhirlandajo, Lippo Lippi, Peter Perugino, and Fiesole. They made\nexcursions to the neighboring mountains, and relieved their\nlabors by many a pleasant evening or innocent conversation.\n\n{395}\n\nCornelius, writing about this time of his life to Count\nRaczynski, says: \"It is impossible for me to tell you in a short\nnotice all the incidents of my happy sojourn in Rome. But I must\nsay we wandered over the paths of ages; I speak not only for\nmyself, but for our association of talent and character, who drew\nfrom everything that was holy, great, and beautiful in Germany or\nItaly the inspiration to oppose French tyranny and frivolity.\"\n\nThe noble band had their battles and their sufferings. Their\nmeans of sustenance, on the one hand, were limited. \"For,\" said\nOverbeck, \"the fire of the enthusiasm of art does not kindle a\nfire on the hearth.\" On the other hand, the Greco-German school\nnever failed to treat them with contempt and haughtiness. They\nreceived the nickname of \"Nazarenes,\" which has remained attached\nto them ever since. The name was given partly because of their\ninnocent life, and partly because their pictures of saints after\nthe old Italian models had a mortified and spiritual look, as the\nsect of the rigorous Nazarenes are represented among the Jews.\n\nWhen the war of freedom had again been renewed in Germany, the\nartists in Rome were fully possessed with its spirit. Since all\ncould not take part in it, they sent substitutes to fight for\nfatherland. Those who remained in Rome, or were too old to wield\nthe sword, used pencil and brush in aid of the national cause.\n\nInflamed by patriotism, Cornelius painted in Rome his celebrated\nillustrations of the _Niebelungen_, which had just been\npublished, and the reading of which did so much toward awakening\nGerman self-consciousness. He painted the great heroes of those\nGermans who for so many years had shamefully borne the yoke of\nthe French; and represented those natural giants of the German\nrace without fear or reproach, full of power, loyalty, modesty,\nsimplicity, and honor, all aglow with passion, irresistible in\nlove and hatred! Cornelius had, in his paintings for the\n_Niebelungen_, which was henceforth seldom printed without\nthem, given personality to the heroes of the poem. His two\nqueens, Hagen the fierce, Sigfried, and King G\u00fcnther will live\namong Germans as long as the _Niebelungen_ will continue to\nbe read. Though the faces are harsh, rough, and ungracious, like\nthe German heroes of that time, they are nevertheless thoroughly\ntrue, sound, and characteristic.\n\nThe whole work was dedicated to the new Prussian ambassador in\nRome, the celebrated historian Niebuhr. For, after the fall of\nNapoleon, Pius VII. returned in triumph to Rome, March 14th,\n1814; the masterpieces of art taken away by the French were being\ngradually restored; and the ambassadors of the European courts\ntook their stations as usual. Niebuhr came to Rome in 1816. No\nsooner had he, who had such a love for art and science,\nrecognized the geniality, freshness, and imaginative power of\nCornelius, his fellow-countryman from Rhineland, than he became\nwarmly attached to the artist. Niebuhr often visited him and his\ncompanions, called him friend, and divided his wonderful learning\nwith Cornelius.\n\nSo far Cornelius had executed in Rome only a few drawings and oil\npaintings. Among the latter may be named the picture of \"The\nThree Marys at the Sepulchre,\" \"The Flight into Egypt,\" and \"The\nWise and Foolish Virgins.\" But, in spite of their expressiveness\nand excellence, these works show that the artist had not yet\nfound the special field for the display of his genius. His\npowerful imagination was confined in these subjects, and could\nonly feel at home on the broad, high walls of fresco-painting.\n\n{396}\n\nThrough a singular accident, he had soon a chance for his art.\nThe Prussian consul-general, Solomon Bartholdy, had rented the\nold house belonging to the family of the painter Zucheri, near\nTrinita di Monti, and wanted to ornament it with frescoes.\nCornelius was asked to undertake the task. Aided by his friends,\nhe agreed to paint the two rooms with frescoes. They asked no\nfees, only scaffolding, mason work, colors, and support. The\nnoble offer of the poor artists--rich, however, in their love of\nart--was accepted; and this was the origin of those renowned\nfrescoes almost universally known by copies and descriptions of\nthem. Cornelius, Overbeck, Philip Veit, and W. Schadow were\nengaged in the work. On account of the Jewish religion of\nBartholdy, the artists chose the interesting story of Joseph in\nEgypt as the subject of their art. Cornelius painted the\nexplanation of the dreams of Pharao and the meeting of Joseph and\nhis brethren; Veit painted the temptation of Potiphar's wife and\nthe seven years of plenty; Schadow, the complaint of Jacob and\nJoseph in prison; and Overbeck, the seven years of famine. They\nare beautiful, imaginative, expressive, graceful pictures, and\nnot surpassed in coloring by the later creations of the master.\nAll Rome, which had seen no frescoes for fifty years and was\ntaken with the Raphael taste, was astonished at the works of the\nyoung German painter, and even yet the amateur turns with\nreverence to this cradle of German monumental painting in Rome,\nand the rooms so adorned are still rented by strangers for a high\nprice.\n\nThus for the first time had Cornelius found the means of letting\nout the flood of his genial thoughts. He had found his vocation\nin fresco-painting, to which he remained attached thenceforth to\nthe end of his life. Soon he received a new commission for his\nart. The rich Marquis Massimi, who had seen the frescoes in\nBartholdy's house, wished to have his villa at St. John Lateran's\nsimilarly ornamented by scenes from the great classic poets of\nItaly. Overbeck should select his subjects from Tasso, J. Schnorr\nfrom Ariosto, Cornelius out of Dante's _Divine Comedy_, a\npoem which, on account of its depth, grandeur, and mysteries, had\nbeen a life-study of our artist. Cornelius undertook the work\nwith delight. He executed nine illustrations to the Paradise,\nwhich show a profound knowledge of the poet and history; faces of\nsaints breathing piety and strikingly expressive. Unfortunately\nthese projects were not executed. Koch obtained the substitution\nof his own rather coarse Dante pictures, in the stead of those of\nCornelius; and the latter received two calls from his own German\nhome.\n\nThe Crown-Prince Louis, of Bavaria, who had conceived generous\nplans for the spread of art in his own country, came to Rome in\nJanuary, 1818. Informed by his attendant physician, Ringseis, who\nhad seen the _Niebelungen_ pictures of Cornelius in Berlin,\nthe prince sought out the gifted artist. Louis saw the paintings\nat Bartholdy's, and immediately perceived that Cornelius was the\nman to make art flourish in Bavaria. The prince gave him two\ngalleries of the museum of statuary in Munich, to ornament with\nfrescoes taken from Greek mythology. A cry of joy passed through\nthe circle of artists; they looked on the Crown-Prince Louis as\nthe restorer of true art and the creator of a new era. When their\nhigh patron left Rome, they celebrated his departure by a\nglorious feast on the evening of April 29th, 1818.\n{397}\nCornelius had ornamented the walls of the festival hall with\nsymbols of the artistic calling of the prince. There were\nrepresentations of Hercules cleaning out the Augean stable, and\nof Samson putting the Philistines to flight. R\u00fcckert, in the name\nof art and the artists, made the poetical address to the\ncrown-prince. He, full of delight and gratitude, offered a toast\nto the German artists, and ended it, amidst loud applause, with\nthe words, \"That we may meet again in Germany!\"\n\nCornelius now left everything else aside and devoted himself to\nthe study of Homer and Hesiod, and continually made sketches from\nthem. In order to have perfect leisure for this work, he spent\nthe summer in Ariccia. In the fall, he travelled with Passavanti,\nthe biographer of Raphael, to Naples, where he made several\ncopies, among others the bust of a woman after Perugino, which is\nsupposed to represent the mother of Raphael.\n\nThe time for his departure for Munich approached. Niebuhr, who\nbecame embittered against the artists and against everything\nRoman, endeavored to get him to remain in Prussia and to live in\nD\u00fcsseldorf. When Cornelius announced his departure for Munich, in\norder to paint the frescoes of the museum, Niebuhr wept in anger,\nand said, \"Cornelius, why do you do this to me?\" He conversed\nwith him for a long time, and received the artist's promise to\naccept a call to D\u00fcsseldorf after the erection of the Academy of\nArts in that town. The heart of Cornelius throbbed for Germany.\nHe often felt homesick, and thought that, when a German artist\nforgets his fatherland, he loses more in character than he can\ngain in other respects.\n\nSome have doubted the faith and piety of Cornelius. But they are\nwrong. Divisions sprang up among the German artists of Rome, and\nevery day party spirit increased in violence. Whilst many of the\nromantic school in Germany looked on Christian truth, the life of\nthe church and Catholicism, as things merely to influence the\nimagination and as helps to poetry, the majority of the Roman\nartists called \"Nazarenes\" were carried away by the grandeur and\nbeauty of faith, and became fervent members of the Catholic\nChurch. Several of those born Protestants became converts; as,\nfor instance, Overbeck, the two Schadows, Veit, Vogel of\nVogelstein, and others. A cry was immediately raised against\nthem. Niebuhr became enraged, and sent for the works of Luther\nagainst the papacy, in order to counteract the Catholic\ntendencies of the artists.\n\nThe question now arises, what part Cornelius took in these\nquarrels. Some have called him a \"free-thinker\" and an enemy of\nChristianity. They were induced to do so from certain things that\nhappened about this time. But it is certain that he was a firm\nbeliever in revelation and a fervent Catholic. All his friends\nattest the fact that he never failed to go to confession and make\nhis Easter Communion. He had, indeed, a large heart, was very\ntolerant toward those who professed a different religion from his\nown. He never aimed at a high degree of perfection or a complete\nknowledge of theology. There are many degrees of the Christian\nlife, as there are in nature. Every baptized person who simply\nbelieves the doctrines of the church and keeps the commandments\nis a member of the Catholic Church. But he must take a low place\namong her children if he does not aim at perfection, while other\nsouls avoid the smallest sins, mortify themselves, follow the\nevangelical counsels, and perform acts of heroism. Cornelius\nbelonged to the former class of Catholics.\n{398}\nHe acknowledged himself that he had never attained to a high\ndegree of perfection, and consoled himself by saying: \"In God's\nheaven there are many dwellings; there will be one there for a\npoor artist.\"\n\nCornelius, like mostly all artists, was an idealist in politics\nas in his judgment of Christian life. As he saw in the actual\ncondition of Rome and the church many things which he could not\nreconcile with his ideal of the church, he spoke his opinions\ncandidly and openly, like a true Rhinelander, against every\nabuse. He spoke of the necessity of a general council, and told\nthe pope his views in frequent audiences. His advice was kindly\ntaken, and the pontiff answered him quietly by saying: \"My son,\ncircumstances are often more powerful than ourselves.' We cannot\ncast off all that weighs upon us through life.\" To accuse\nCornelius of being a Protestant because sometimes he expressed in\nart or conversation very peculiar sentiments is ridiculous. On\nthis plea, Peter Damica, St. Bernard, and many other saints who\nhave spoken boldly against abuses in the church should be\nconsidered as unorthodox. They say of Cornelius that he was\ndispleased at the conversion of his Protestant fellow-artists in\nRome. He is reported to have said: \"If another becomes Catholic,\nI shall turn Protestant.\" But this is a fiction. The whole\ncharacter of Cornelius proves it to be such. He who always\ninculcated truth to his pupils, and despised all hollowness and\nhypocrisy in life or art, cannot be supposed to have blamed men\nfor following out to the letter their religious convictions. It\nis impossible. We have, besides, a testimony to prove it. When\nhis friend, Miss Linder, became a convert to Catholicism, in\nMunich, in the year 1843, he wrote her a letter which is still\nextant. In this he praises her instead of proposing objections to\nher. \"In Rome the news reached me,\" he writes, \"that you had at\nlast taken courage to make the decisive step. I am not surprised.\nGod bless you and keep you free from spiritual pride and\nrigorism, (in my eyes almost the only sins.)\" He cannot,\ntherefore, have been offended at the conversion of his Protestant\nfriends, for we find him continuing his friendship with Overbeck\nafter the latter's entrance into the church.\n\nFinally, Niebuhr relates an anecdote which has given rise to a\ndoubt of Cornelius's orthodoxy. There was a supper-party of\nartists and learned men, one evening, in the Casarelli Palace, on\nthe Capitol. When much wine had been drunk by the party, they\nwent out on the flat roof of the building, and beheld the planet\nJupiter shining with unusual brilliancy. Then Cornelius said to\nThorwaldsen, \"Let us drink to the health of old Jupiter.\" \"With\nall my heart,\" answered Thorwaldsen. And they drank the toast.\nThis incident is adduced as a proof that Cornelius was then a\nfree-thinker; for he showed by his act a rejection of\nChristianity and a belief in paganism. But this toast proves\nnothing. It was a mere impulse; a jest of men over-heated by\nwine. There is certainly in this anecdote nothing to show a\ndeliberate protestation against the truth of revelation.\n\nSo much for the religious element of Cornelius's character at\nthat time.\n\nHe was now no longer solitary. He had married a Roman lady, the\ndaughter of a dealer in works of art. She was called the Signora\nCarolina, a noble and good maiden, simple and _naive_, like\nthe Marguerite of _Faust_.\n{399}\nShe bore him a daughter, and with this small family he was about\nto leave Rome and return to Germany.\n\nIn Munich, Cornelius became the director of a world-renowned\nacademy, a centre of art, a friend of the king, esteemed and\nvisited by all classes. But in Berlin he was a mere private\nindividual, without position, thought little of, without occasion\nfor the proper display of his artistic powers, working quietly in\nhis studio. To use his own expression, he was \"a solitary sparrow\non the house-top.\" But this trial was necessary for the spiritual\nwelfare and true greatness of the master. On the 12th of April,\nof the year 1841, Cornelius, with wife and children, had left\nMunich, where a farewell dinner was given him. In Dresden, he was\nhonored by a torchlight procession of artists. On April 23d, he\nreached Berlin. All received him with honor and applause. He\nvisited the celebrated men of the city, Humboldt, Grimm, Rauch,\nand Schinkel, who received him into their circle. Testimonials of\nesteem from abroad reached him. The Queen of Portugal wrote to\nrequest him to send artists to Portugal to introduce\nfresco-painting; and Lord Monson requested him to ornament his\ncastle with frescoes. Cornelius travelled to England, but the\nsudden death of the lord and an ophthalmia of the artist\nnecessitated his return to Berlin.\n\nNow days of gloom began to dawn for him. The aristocratic society\nof the city did not suit him. He preferred his Bavarian beer to\nthe insipid tea of the Berlin aristocracy. He could not flatter\nthe affected connoisseurs of art. He was too independent to be a\ntoady. \"He does not approach us!\" was the complaint, and men\nbegan to criticise himself and his works harshly.\n\nCornelius had executed a painting in oil for Count Raczynski in\n1843. It was placed on exhibition. It represented the liberation\nof the souls in limbo by the Saviour. Though the coloring is\nheavy and disagreeable, still the grouping of the patriarchs and\ntheir countenances are highly characteristic and almost\nunsurpassable. But the cry was immediately raised by the whole\ncrowd of art critics, \"How can we call these bodiless, unnatural\nforms artistic, or those heavy colors painting?\" They treated the\nartist with contempt and looked on him as a fallen man. A\ncelebrated portrait-painter of Berlin gave expression to this\nsentiment: \"If I found in the street a picture executed by\nCornelius, I would not pick it up!\" This opinion became general\nin Berlin. This was fortunate for the salvation of the master and\nfor his art. He withdrew from the world, and became more\nrecollected and devoted more exclusively to his art.\n\nFor some time he made little show. However, the king gave him an\norder for a work in which he had an opportunity of displaying his\npowers of imagination. It was the design of a shield which\nWilliam IV. wished to present to the young Prince of Wales as a\ngodfather's gift. Cornelius finished it in six weeks. It was a\nround shield, in the middle of which Christ is represented on the\ncross; in the corners appear the four evangelists, and over them\nthe four cardinal virtues; in the four arms of the cross, baptism\nand the Last Supper, and their figures in the Old Testament, the\ngushing of the water from the rock, and the rain of manna. Round\nabout the shield were carved the busts of the twelve apostles. On\nits rim were depicted scenes from the passion and triumph of\nChrist, from the entry into Jerusalem to the apostolic mission.\n{400}\nIn order to show the connection of the ancient church with the\npresent, one of the apostles is represented as landing with the\ndistinguished guests from Prussia in order to administer baptism\nto the prince. This little work breathes the spirit of the\nartist; it is genial, severe, expressive, full of style; often\nquaint and singular, by the induction of modern personages, Queen\nVictoria, Wellington, and Humboldt.\n\nKing Frederick William IV. determined, at this time, to erect a\nchurch which should vie with that of St. Peter's in Rome and St.\nPaul's in London. St\u00fcler made the plan. Cornelius was to ornament\nthe walls with frescoes. He undertook this task in 1843. He felt\nagain all his powers revive. Exultingly he wrote to the academy\nof M\u00fcnster, which had given the great artist the diploma of a\ndoctor in philosophy in recognition of his ability: \"A great,\nholy field, _campo santo_, has been opened to me, through\nthe favor of Providence and the grace of my illustrious king and\nsovereign, in order to execute upon it what God has put in my\nsoul. May he enlighten my spirit and penetrate my heart with his\nlove; open my eyes to the glory of his works, fill me with piety\nand truth, and guide every motion of my hand!\"\n\nIn order to have the requisite quiet and leisure for this\ngigantic work, Cornelius made a second trip to Rome, that\nparadise of painters and head of Catholicity. From the spring of\nthe year 1843 to May, 1844, and again from March, 1845 to 1846,\nhe dwelt in the Eternal City.\n\nAfter his return from Rome, he labored incessantly at Berlin to\nfinish his great undertaking. In January, 1845, the first sketch\nwas ended; in 1846, the glorious, unequalled cartoon of the\nhorsemen in the apocalypse, which was exhibited in Rome, Berlin,\nGhent, and Vienna, and at the feet of which the whole school of\nBelgian artists laid a laurel crown. The government also gave him\na house on the royal square, in which to prosecute his\nundertaking. He finished the whole series of decorations in\ntwenty-five years. He worked with inexpressible pleasure and joy,\nalthough none of those pictures really came to its destined\nplace. He labored without desire of fame. He painted as the bird\nsings on the boughs. As none of his great works or frescoes were\nexposed publicly at Berlin, he remained almost unknown to the\npeople; but he found his sole delight in the love of his art, and\nin application to its expression.\n\nIn the year 1833, he lost his first wife. He married again, in\nRome, a lady named Gertrude, distinguished for beauty and virtue.\nShe died in 1859. His daughter Marie also died at the same time,\nwho had been espoused to the Marquis Marcelli. Thus he drank of a\nbitter chalice! When he went to Rome for the last time, on the\n14th of April, 1861, although aged, he made a third' marriage in\nespousing Theresa of Urbino, whom he had met and admired in the\nhouse of his daughter! This wife attended the last years of his\nlife, and stood by his death-bed.\n\nThe residence of Cornelius in Berlin had made him more and more\nattached to the Catholic Church. He wrote in 1851 to a friend in\nMunich: \"The invisible church is the only one to be found among\nGerman Protestants. I have tried to find a church among them\nhere, but so far my search has been in vain. In Rome, I am always\na half-heretic, but here I am more Catholic everyday.\"\n{401}\nWhen he made his last voyage to Rome, he passed through Munich on\nhis return, and paid a visit to his friend Schlotthauer, to whom\nhe spoke thus: \"Friend, I am now entirely of your way of thinking\nin religious matters. Berlin has made me entirely Catholic. Only\nnow do I prize Catholicism sufficiently. If the King of Bavaria\nwere here, I would seek him and say to him openly: 'Your majesty,\nBavaria is still a Catholic country, and this is the cause of its\nstrength and greatness. Try to keep it so. This is the best\npolicy.'\" To his friend Ringseis he made a similar statement,\nadding that he had travelled to Munich on purpose to inform them\nof his thorough conversion.\n\nIn another instance, also, the fervor of Cornelius's faith and\ncharity displayed itself. He presented the committee who were\nengaged in erecting a Catholic hospital with a painting of St.\nElizabeth surprised by her husband in the act of nursing a sick\npauper in her own bed. The picture was sold, after having been\nlithographed, and realized a large sum for the intended purpose.\n\nHe was extremely hostile to the _Life of Jesus_, by Renan,\nand considered the attempt to take away the members of divinity\nfrom the head of Christ as highly injurious to Christian art. The\ngray-headed prince of painting, on this account, painted the\n\"Resurrection,\" choosing for subject the very moment when the\nhitherto incredulous Thomas exclaims, \"My God and my Lord!\" He\nexhibited this picture with religious enthusiasm, and pointed it\nout to visitors, saying, \"That is against Renan!\" He wished to\nleave behind him a clear profession of his belief in the divinity\nof Jesus.\n\nCornelius spent the last six years of his life in Berlin, in a\nkind of hidden life, continually occupied, like Plato, in his old\nage, always lively, loquacious, and fond of society, so that he\ngathered around him a host of young artists and _savans_.\nThe tranquillity of his life was only broken at this period by a\nfew excursions. In the year 1862, he went to D\u00fcsseldorf; in 1863,\nto Trier on professional business. In 1864, he made his last\nvisit to Munich, toward which his heart always yearned.\n\nHis visit to Munich shortened his life. The fatigues of the\njourney, and the visits which he received and was obliged to\nmake, as well as the ovations tendered him, wore him out. He\nbecame ill, and returned sick to Berlin. A disease of the heart\ndeclared itself; in February, 1867, his case became hopeless. He\ncalled for a priest, and received all the sacraments of the\nchurch twenty-four hours before his death. He took leave of his\nbeloved wife and friends, seized his crucifix, and breathed his\nlast, uttering the words: \"Pray! pray!\" He died on the 6th of\nMarch, at ten A.M., on Ash-Wednesday. Over his remains was hung\nhis own painting of Pentecost, as over those of Raphael the\npicture of the Resurrection. He was buried on the 6th of March,\nand all the nobility and talent of Berlin formed a part of his\nfuneral _cort\u00e9ge_.\n\nDeath has taken from us this great master of German painting;\nbut, to use the language of St. Bernard, it has only taken his\ncloak, for his spirit still lives! It lives in the heavenly\nJerusalem. It lives in his works, in the history of art, and in\nthe breasts of his pupils on earth, who bear aloft the standard\nof pure, ideal, religious art. All will bear testimony that\nCornelius is the man who freed modern German painting from\nforeign mannerism, opened the way for generous monumental\nfrescoes, which embraced with equal cordiality the three worlds\nof the classic German, national, and Christian manifestations;\nwho portrayed the deepest thoughts in the most noble forms, and\nwhose works are unrivalled in colossal proportions, richness of\nexpression, and striking characterization, architectural\nproportions and dramatic life, by any masterpieces of antiquity;\nwhile, in the piety and sweetness of the countenances portrayed\nand the harmonious coloring of the whole, they exceed anything in\nmodern art.\n\n{402}\n\nThe news of his death brought sadness everywhere. In Munich,\nMozart's solemn Requiem was sung for his soul. Professor Carriere\npronounced a panegyric on him in the evening. A few days after,\nProfessor Sepp pronounced another eulogium on him, calling him\nthe Shakespeare of painting, whilst Overbeck he called the\nCalderon of the art.\n\nIn Stuttgart, when the news of his death was heard, the halls of\nthe church, where a requiem was sung for his soul, were hung with\ncopies of his own paintings. L\u00fcbke spoke on the occasion, and\ndrew a parallel between Cornelius and Phidias and Michael Angelo.\nIn Dresden, Hettner made the funeral discourse. Finally, in Rome,\nthe Eternal City, from which Cornelius had gone forth to conquer\na new world of art, and to which he had returned in order to draw\ninspiration from its associations and have a perfect intuition of\nthe ideal, a solemn requiem was sung for him in the German\nnational church of the \"Anima,\" at which King Louis I., of\nBavaria, who had opened the path of immortality to the artist,\nOverbeck, who had loved him for fifty-six years, and all the\nartists of Rome, assisted. A few days before, King Louis had\nwritten a letter to the widow of Cornelius, who lived in Berlin.\nIn it occurred these words: \"Be assured of my profound sympathy\nin your great loss; but not alone your loss, but our common loss.\nThe sun of heaven became dark when he who was the sun of art was\nextinguished. But the sun will shine again in the heavens, but we\nshall hardly ever see another Cornelius!\"\n\nThe whole world on both sides of the Alps have united in\nrendering homage to the genius of Cornelius, and laying crowns on\nhis sepulchre at Berlin. But the last monument to his glory would\nbe the ornamentation of the cathedral in that city with his\nwonderful compositions. That such an event should happen there\nwas given to Cornelius the word of a king.\n\nWe who admired and loved the artist and his genius only pray that\nhe may enjoy now an eternal, happy rest in the bosom of the\nAuthor of beauty, from whom he always drew the inspiration of his\nart.\n\n--------\n\n{403}\n\n    What shall we do with the Indians?\n\n\nThe Commissioners whom our Government recently sent out to the\nPlains to negotiate treaties with the hostile Indians, have\npatched up a truce with some of the most dangerous of the tribes,\nand the people are congratulating themselves that the warfare is\nover. We might have been on good terms with the savages any time\nthis last half-century, if we had been honestly so minded and had\nknown how to govern ourselves and the red man too. Yet the record\nof our intercourse with the aborigines has been nothing but a\nhistory of long wars and short truces. Years of the most terrible\nhostilities have been followed by a few months of precarious\nquiet, and the Western pioneer has been almost invariably\nobliged, like his New-England ancestors, to till his acres with\none hand on the plough and the other on his gun. He has never\nknown a month of security. He has never left his log cabin in the\nmorning without reasonable fear that he would find it in flames\nwhen he returned at night. He has learned to look upon the Indian\nas a noxious beast, whom no promises could bind, no good\ntreatment could mollify; as a pest which every honest man was\njustified in conscience, if he was not bound in duty, to do his\nutmost to exterminate. A war of races between the red and the\nwhite has long been a cardinal doctrine in the creed of the\nprairie settler, and his chief social principle has been, War to\nthe knife with the Indian, and no quarter.\n\nHere is a dreadful state of things for a Christian people to\ncontemplate; and the fault of it, to speak plain English, is all\nour own. Managed as we manage them, Indian affairs can be nothing\nelse than a perpetual affliction. Treated as we treat them, the\naborigines of the West cannot help being our cruel and implacable\nfoes. The devil himself could hardly invent a wrong which we have\nnot done to the primitive owners of our territory. They once\nstood in awe of us as superior beings; we have committed every\nconceivable baseness that could belittle us in their estimation.\nThey had noble traits of character; we have done all we could to\nobliterate them. They had the common faults of uncivilized\npagans; we have intensified them. They are proud; we insult them.\nThey are revengeful; we aggravate them. They are covetous; we rob\nthem. They have a natural tendency toward drunkenness; we keep\nthem supplied with liquor. They are cruel; we tempt them to\nmurder. The \"noble savage\" of the novel and the stage, we grant,\nis a fiction; but he is not more unreal than the irredeemable\nbrute who is popularly depicted as the terror of the frontiersman\nand the western emigrant. The Indians, after all, are not so very\ndifferent from other human beings. Like all mankind, they have\ngreat virtues and great faults; and if a fair balance could be\nstruck, we are by no means certain that their credits would not\nexceed our own. There is many a vice which they never would have\nknown if they had not learned it from us; but we can think of no\nspecies of crime which the Indians have taught to white men. It\nis an insane piece of wickedness to treat any race of human\nbeings as vermin, whom it is a mercy to the rest of mankind to\nsweep out of existence.\n{404}\nGod never made tribes of men to be slaughtered. All creatures\nwith human souls are capable of moral and mental improvement;\ncapable of a greater or less degree of civilization; capable of\nbeing brought under the rule of law, and being made useful to the\nrest of the world. If we have failed sensibly to improve the\ncondition of the Indians, or to teach them anything more of\ncivilization than some of its worst vices, the fault is our own.\n\nWe have to deal with two classes of Indians in the West, and our\nsystem with both is as bad as any system can be. As settlements\nhave encroached upon the prairies and forests where the savages\nroamed in pursuit of game, we have, as a rule, gone through the\nform of buying the territory from the tribes which claimed it.\nThese tribes have then been removed further westward, or have\nbeen assigned certain lands called reservations. The\nconsideration for which the lands are bought is not a sum of\nmoney, paid to the savages in hand, but a fixed annuity, given to\nthem in form of merchandise, clothing, blankets, implements of\nthe chase and of husbandry, trinkets, and other goods chiefly\nprized by the red men; and to oversee the forwarding and\ndistribution of these articles, as well as to look after the\ngeneral interests of the tribes, to protect them from oppression\non the part of the whites, and to check crimes and outrages, we\nsend out into the Indian country a number of officers called\nIndian Agents and Superintendents. On the reservations, where\nsome effort has been made to teach the savages the habits of\ncivilized life, there are schools, farms, and workshops. The\nwandering tribes of the far West, however, subsist wholly by the\nchase, and preserve all their primitive wildness. The Indian\nAgent in their territory has little to do but distribute their\nannuities, and when they commit any outrage upon the settlers try\nto have them punished. Now, there is nothing very objectionable\nin our way of dealing with these two classes of Indians,\n_provided_ the agents and superintendents are honest and\ncompetent men; but experience has proved that, as a rule, they\nare neither, though, of course, there are honorable exceptions.\nOne unprincipled adventurer in power over these fierce tribes can\nraise a tumult which years of warfare cannot subdue. One\nswindling agent can upset a treaty which has cost the government\nhundred of lives and millions of dollars. How often has not this\nbeen done! It is notorious that most of the men who receive\nappointments in the Indian country are persons of no character,\nwho demand an opportunity of enriching themselves at the red\nman's expense, as a reward for political services rendered to the\nparty in power. It is probably a rare thing for any tribe of\nIndians to receive the whole amount of the annuity to which they\nare entitled, and for which the government pays. They are\nswindled first in the price which government pays for the goods,\nand then they are swindled again by the agents, who deliver just\nas many of the articles as they please, and no more, or by the\nteamsters who \"lose\" packages on the road. Worse still are the\ntraders who sell the poor savages whisky and gunpowder, and\ncollect their \"debts\" from the distributors of annuities. How\nmany of these debts do our readers suppose are just? And when\nthere is a corrupt understanding between the trader and the\nagent, what chance has the poor Indian for justice?\n{405}\nIt is in this atrocious manner that the original owners of our\nsoil have bartered away their birthright for a mess of pottage--\nsold their rich acres for a glass of rum. It is in this way that\nthe treaties with the tribes are continually broken. The Indians\ngave up their lands for a certain annual consideration. The\nconsideration is not paid them in full, and often is hardly paid\nat all. How are they to know whether we are all swindlers alike,\nor are only in the habit of appointing swindlers to positions of\ntrust and responsibility?\n\nThese, however, are not the only wrongs of which the Indian has\nto complain. The testimony of missionaries and other trusty\nwitnesses, is unanimous in saying that the frontier settlers as a\ngeneral rule are perfectly unscrupulous and lawless in all their\ndealings with the tribes. Contact with the whites always means\ndemoralization, drunkenness, and domestic infamy for the Indian.\nHis property is appropriated, his cabin is invaded, his house is\ndefiled, and if he resists he is murdered, and the murderer never\nis punished. He has no rights which the white man is bound to\nrespect. He is nothing but a brute, to be hunted as men hunt the\nbuffalo, or killed off like the wolves, with a price set upon his\nscalp. No wonder we have war; it is a wonder we ever have peace.\n\nThe commissioners who were recently sent out to the plains by the\nnational government to investigate the troubles and try to devise\na way out of them, are understood to favor the removal of all the\nIndian tribes to reservations where they will be out of the way\nof the great routes of travel across the continent, and where\nwhite men will have no excuse to interfere with them. That is to\nsay, their plan consists merely of an enlargement of the\nsuperintendent system. Cut off from a great part of their\nhunting-grounds, the savages will become more than ever dependent\nupon the liberality of the United States government, and more\nthan ever in the power of the agents and traders through whose\nhands the national _largeness_ must pass. Moreover, it is\nevident that the boundaries of the reservations cannot be\npermanently fixed. As the white settlements expand, the Indian\nterritories must contract. Nobody can for a moment suppose that\nthe proprietary rights of the Indians will long be respected when\nthe Yankee emigrant wants their lands. What will happen when the\nboundaries are broken through? Unless the Indians have learned by\nthat time to support themselves by labor and to conform to a\ncivilized mode of life, they will infallibly be crushed out of\nexistence. There will be another horrible war which will have no\nend until the red men are virtually exterminated. Now, the\nserious duty of preparing these rude tribes for the changed\nconditions of life which must soon come upon them, and fitting\nthem for a gradual and peaceable absorption into the rest of the\ncommunity--which is their only hope of existence--must fall, if\nthe plan of the commissioners be adopted, upon the Indian agents\nand superintendents. The power of these men for good or for\nmischief will be enormously increased. Hence, unless some\neffective measures be taken to fill these important offices with\nmen of a better class than have hitherto secured them, our\npresent evils will be correspondingly increased. The government\nswindler will come back to the savages with seven other devils\nmore wicked than himself, and the last state of those poor\nwretches will be worse than the first.\n\n{406}\n\nIs there any reason to expect improvement? We see not the\nslightest so long as these offices are distributed on the same\nprinciple as other government appointments, and rated among the\npolitical spoils that belong to the party in power. An Indian\nagent ought to be a man of superior abilities; but men of\nsuperior abilities will not banish themselves to the desert\nexcept for one of two reasons: either they must be animated by\ndisinterested charity, or they must expect to make a good deal of\nmoney out of the office over and above their trifling salaries.\nCharity is not one of the characteristics of political hacks. As\nfor the other motive, we know pretty well how often it operates.\nTo find capable persons to undertake this work; men of\nincorruptible integrity, of lofty purpose, and of _moral\nforce;_ men whom the Indians will respect and obey, and who\nwill be likely to persevere in their arduous task, we must go\noutside the partisan ranks. Where shall we find them and how\nshall we recognize them?\n\nThere are such men, who have been at work in this very enterprise\never since the discovery of America, and there are numerous\ncommunities of Indians whom they have almost entirely reclaimed\nfrom savage life and made quiet and useful members of society. If\nthey have not done more, it is because they have never been free\nfrom interference. The unruly settler has invariably broken in\nupon their work and brought into the communities which they were\nlaboriously civilizing the fatal disturbances of drunkenness and\nlicense. If the missionaries could be left alone, they would soon\nnot only Christianize the savages but reduce them to order.\nScattered all over the West there are thriving little settlements\nwhere the dusky hunter has turned his spear into a ploughshare,\nand under the directions of the priest has learned more or less\nof industry and peaceful arts, and forgotten the fierce impulses\nwhich once made him a terror to the plains. In these quiet\nvillages the school-house and the chapel are crowded with zealous\nlearners, the fields and gardens bloom with the evidences of\nthrift. So long as the white man keeps away, there is quiet and\nprosperity. The great mission of St. Mary's, among the\nPottawattomies in Eastern Kansas, is a notable example of what\nthe missionaries can do toward civilizing the poor wretches whom\nwe have so long been trying to tame with gunpowder. And the\ntestimony of travellers, army officers, and government\nfunctionaries generally is unanimous as to the complete success\nof the Catholic priests in dealing with the great problem which\nperplexes our national legislature.\n\nWhy then should we not leave to these missionaries the task in\nwhich they have made such satisfactory progress? If we let them\nalone, their progress will be tenfold more rapid than it has ever\nbeen yet. Their conquests will soon be numbered not by villages\nbut by nations. The mission of St. Mary's will be repeated in\nevery corner of the West; and if the government can only devise\nsome means of keeping away from these nurseries of Christianity\nthe corrupting influence of white thieves, drunkards, and\nadventurers, the Indians in the course of a single generation\nwill be ready for absorption into the rest of the population,\nwill be fit to live side by side with us, to till the land as we\ndo, and earn their bread by honest labor, and then all the\ntrouble will be over. If this policy could be adopted, the\nreservation plan of the peace commissioners would be a very good\none.\n{407}\nWhite men should be strictly forbidden to trespass upon the\nterritory thus set apart, and the military might be employed to\nenforce the prohibition. Let the whole machinery of agencies,\netc., be utterly abolished, as useless and demoralizing. Then let\nthe money now spent in the purchase of beads and similar toys,\nwhich the Indians themselves are learning to despise, be devoted\nto the establishment, stocking, and support of schools, farms,\nand industrial establishments, under the charge of any authorized\nmissionaries of good standing who are willing to serve _without\npay_. Of course, we anticipate little success from any\nmissionaries except Catholic priests; but we cannot expect a\nnon-Catholic government to restrict its confidence to them, and\nwe ask no more than to have the field thrown open to volunteers\nof all denominations on equal terms. We know well enough, if this\nbe done, that the great majority of the laborers will be those of\nour own household. The purchase of annuity goods should be made\nin accordance with the recommendations of the superiors of the\nmissions; but their distribution, lest there should be even a\nsuspicion of unfair dealing, might be arranged through the\nnearest military commanders. We would not have clergymen mixed up\nwith government money matters, and army officers would probably\nmanage them honestly. Visitors should be appointed periodically\nby Congress to inspect and report upon the condition of the\nmissions, and those which were not properly ordered should be put\ninto other hands.\n\nUnder this arrangement the missionaries would ask nothing from\nthe government but a free field and no interference. They would\nreceive none of the public money. They would ask for no power\nexcept what the Indians chose to confer upon them. The domestic\ngovernment of the tribes could be managed just as that of all\nother American settlements is managed, by the settlers\nthemselves. The missionary would be merely their guide and\nteacher. He would desire no power over them beyond what he has\nalready. The Catholic priest never fails to secure an ascendency\nover the savage mind by the legitimate influence of his personal\ncharacter and of the message which he comes to preach. Of course\nit would be many years before the whole field could be occupied;\nbut if the United States government would invite the cooperation\nof all religious denominations in the great work of civilization,\nwe are persuaded that scores of zealous priests would offer\nthemselves for the labor, that the Jesuits and other great\nmissionary orders would be prodigal of their subjects, and that a\ngenerous and earnest spirit would be aroused among the Catholic\npeople and would lead to the collection of an ample fund for the\nsupport of the enterprise.\n\nWe are not sanguine that the government will adopt this plan.\nThere are too many opposing influences; it is too hard to do\nright; and it is so easy to oppress an inferior people when you\ncan make money by doing it, and get public applause at the same\ntime. But we see no other hope for the Indian except in the\nprotection of the missionary, and no prospect of peace on the\nfrontier until in our dealings with the aborigines we take as our\nmotto, Justice and Benevolence.\n\n--------\n\n{408}\n\n\n        Translated From The German.\n\n        Bellini's Romance.\n\n\nI was a guest at a pleasant country festival at Eisenberg, a few\nhours' ride from Dresden, at the close of September, 1835. The\npost-boy brought me a letter that caused me to order my horse\nsaddled immediately. It was a brief note from my friend J. P.\nPixis, informing me that _La Sonnambula_ was to be performed\nthat evening; my favorite songstress, Francilla ------, in the\npart of Amina. I was more than half in love with that\nenchantress, and trembled with delight at the prospect of seeing\nher, while I took a hasty leave of my rural entertainers.\n\nI arrived in time, but would not call upon Francilla till after\nthe opera; not until the next morning, for I wished to see her\nalone. I was early at the door of her lodgings in Castle street.\nWhen she came into the drawing-room and advanced to greet me, I\nwas startled to see her pale, with eyes red with weeping. I gazed\nanxiously on her face, pressing the hand she held out to me in\nsilence, for my emotion was too great for speech. She asked\nquietly if I had witnessed the last evening's representation. I\nassured her I had, and endeavored to express my rapturous\nappreciation of her singing. But my praises were dashed with\ngloom as I saw her so sadly altered. \"It is no wonder I am\ndejected,\" she replied to my questioning looks. \"We have all\ncause to mourn.\"\n\n\"What has happened?\"\n\n\"Alas!\" she faltered, weeping afresh, \"Bellini is dead!\"\n\nI had not heard the fatal news. Bellini! the glorious composer of\nthe noble work that had so delighted me a few hours before! So\nadmirable an artist--so young--so much honored and beloved! I\ncould have wept with Francilla.\n\nAfter a few moments' silence, she wiped her eyes, then rose, and\ntook a volume from the table. It was her album, for which I had\nsent her a drawing--a sketch of her fair self as Romeo, at the\nmoment when Juliet calls on his name in the tomb, while he thinks\nit the voice of an angel from the skies.\n\nWe turned over the leaves of the album, lingering as we came to\nthe different autographs. Francilla's soft, languishing eyes\nkindled with haughty fire as we noted the bold, rude characters\ntraced by the hand of Judith Pasta; and when we came to the\nsignature of Countess Rossi, her expressive features were lighted\nwith a tender smile.\n\nOne letter was written by her Uncle Pixis in Prague. She stopped\nto give me an account of his family. Turning the leaves and\ntalking rapidly, she paused of a sudden, and I saw two names\nrecorded opposite each other--those of Vincenzo Bellini and Maria\nMalibran. Bellini had written a passage from the\n_Capuletti_.\n\nFrancilla signed for me to give her my pencil--it was one she had\ngiven me--and drew a large cross under Bellini's signature. Her\nlook was intensely significant. Her silence was strangely\nprolonged. At last I asked, merely to say something: \"Why is it,\nFrancilla, that, in the last act of the _Capuletti_, you use\nVaccai's music instead of Bellini's? Bellini's composition, as a\nwhole, is superior, and the close far more touching.\n{409}\nI never could understand why a celebrated vocalist like yourself\nshould prefer the tamer close of Vaccai.\"\n\nFrancilla looked earnestly in my face, but did not answer for\nsome time. At length, fixing her eyes on the cross she had\npencilled, she said, in a tone of deepest solemnity: \"I will tell\nyou a story, my friend, and you will see then how much our poor\nfriend suffered. Neither Maria nor I could sing his last act; you\nshall know why.\"\n\n\"Madame Malibran, too?\" I exclaimed.\n\nShe interrupted me with a gesture enjoining silence. \"You know,\"\nshe said, \"though of fair complexion and blue eyes, Bellini was\nborn at the foot of Etna. You have yourself described him to me\nas effeminate and a little foppish; but he was a genuine son of\nSicily, and he glowed with the warmth of the south,\nnotwithstanding his gentleness and weakness. That was a wonderful\nnature of his! It was not, like Sicily's volcano, spread over\nluxuriant meadows, through woods and snow-fields, across a lava\nwaste to the brink of the fiery abyss; nor was it like the Hecla\nof your own land, where eternal fire burns under eternal ice. He\nreminded me of an English garden tastefully laid out, with smooth\nwalks and quiet streams, delicate flowers and quaint shrubbery,\nfountains and fluted shafts; beneath which glowed an abyss of\nfire! That was Bellini; under his sentimental culture burned a\nquenchless flame--the love of art, fed by another love--for\nMalibran!\"\n\n\"You amaze me, Francilla,\" I exclaimed. \"His passion for art was\none for Maria, too. How could he help it? Was it not she who\ninspired his wondrous creations with their irresistible charm?\nWas she not his soul of all other performers in the operas? 'What\nwill Malibran say to it?' was Bellini's question concerning\neverything he composed. She was his queen of art, his muse, his\nideal! Life without her was gloom. How can Malibran survive him?\nYour own imagination, Francilla,\" I said, \"weaves this pretty\nromance. You know Malibran married M. Beriot.\"\n\n\"Do I not remember how the news of that marriage affected\nVincenzo?\" she retorted. \"How pale he grew, how he trembled, and\nleft the company in silence! Yet he could not have hoped to win\nMalibran; for she always treated him as a boy, though he was a\nyear older than herself. But he could not have dreamed she would\nmarry M. Beriot, who was at one time distracted for Madame\nSontag.\"\n\nWith a pause she went on: \"Bellini avoided both Maria and her\nhusband after the marriage. If he saw M. Beriot, he went out of\nthe way--very wisely; for in case of an encounter he might have\nbeen tempted--after the Sicilian fashion--you understand?\" And\nwith flashing eyes she swung her arm as one who gives a\ndagger-thrust.\n\n\"I understand the pantomime, my pretty Romeo! But your fancy\ncarries the thing too far.\"\n\n\"No one knows what might have happened,\" she said, \"in spite of\nVincenzo's soft heart. It was well Malibran left Paris and went\nto Italy. Bellini never confided his secret to any one; but it\nbecame suspected among his friends. And Malibran must have heard\nof it; for she suddenly became reluctant to sang in any of\nBellini's pieces. She continued, however, to represent Romeo; she\ncould not give up that part.\n{410}\nWhen the last representation of the _Capuletti_ was given in\nMilan, it happened that, in the final act, when Romeo takes the\npoison, such a death-like shuddering seized Maria's frame, it was\nwith great difficulty she could go through with the part. After\nthe performance was over, she was greatly exhausted; and with\nemotion she declared that no power on earth should compel her to\nsing again the Romeo of Bellini. She adopted the part as composed\nby Vaccai. But she was not satisfied with that; and afterward she\nreturned to poor Bellini's music so far as to retain the first\nacts of the opera. The last act she always sang as Vaccai wrote\nit.\"\n\n\"What said Vincenzo to this?\"\n\n\"When he heard of it, he fell into the deepest despondency. He\nwould neither write nor think anything more; he seemed at times\nto forget himself, and smiled and talked like a man who had lost\nhis reason. All his friends noticed and lamented the change.\n\n\"One day, Lablache came to see him. He found Bellini lying\nlistless on the sofa, pale, depressed, miserable, his eyes\nhalf-closed, indifferent to every one. The giant singer went up\nto him, opened his big mouth, and roared out: 'Halloa, Bellini!\nwhat are you lying there for, like an idle lout of a lazzaroni on\nthe Molo, weary of doing nothing! Get up and go to work! Paris,\nFrance, all Europe is full of expectation as to what you are to\ngive the world after your _Norma_, which your adversaries\nsilenced. Up, I say! Do you hear me, Bellini?'\n\n\"'Indeed, I do hear you, my dear Lablache,' replied the composer\nin a lachrymose voice. 'I have good ears, and, if I had not, your\nbrazen base pierces like a trumpet! Leave me, _caro_; leave\nme to myself. I am good for nothing, unless it be the _dolce\nfar niente!_ I have lost interest in everything!'\n\n\"'The mischief you have!' exclaimed Lablache, striking his hands\ntogether, with a tone that caused the walls to vibrate. And\nyou--Bellini--talk thus? You, who have ever pressed on to the\ngoal, and reached it in spite of obstacles! Are you an artist?\nAre you a man? _Amico mio!_ will you be checked midway in\nyour glorious career? Will you lose the prize fame holds out?\nWill you spend your life whining out loverlike complaints, like\nsome silly Damon of his cruel Doris or Phillis? Shame on you!\nSuch womanish pinings are unworthy of you!'\n\n\"Bellini interrupted him very gently. 'My good Lablache,' he\nsaid, 'you do me injustice! I make no complaints; I am not\npining--'\n\n\"'Silence!' roared Lablache. 'You are a fool! Do you think I do\nnot know where the shoe pinches?'\n\n\"Bellini colored deeply and cast down his eyes.\n\n\"'Have you nothing to say, Bellini?' continued Lablache. 'Don't\nlook so stupidly like an apprehended school-boy!'\n\n\"Vincenzo sighed piteously. 'If you know all,' he replied, 'you\nknow that _she_ will sing nothing of my music!'\n\n\"Lablache came closer, grasped the shoulders of the young\ncomposer in his powerful hands, lifted him from the cushions of\nthe sofa to his feet, and gave him a good shaking! Then, as he\nreleased him, he said, with flashing eyes:\n\n\"'You shall hear _me_ sing something of yours.' He began the\n_allegro_ to the duet from _I Puritani_, \"Suoni la\ntromba e intrepido.\" His stentorian voice rang like a clarion or\na martial shout. The flush of enthusiasm rushed to Bellini's pale\nface; the tears sprang into his eyes; at length, he threw himself\ninto Lablache's arms, and joined his voice in the splendid song.\nWhen it was ended, he thanked his friend, and pledged his word\nthat he would finish the composition of the entire opera in a few\nweeks.\n\n{411}\n\n\"The promise was kept. Bellini worked diligently, and in the\nstipulated time put the opera into the hands of Lablache, who\nundertook to see that it should be worthily represented.\n\n\"All Paris was delighted at the announcement of the\nrepresentation. The opera was splendidly cast, and the rehearsals\ncommenced. Bellini was present at the first rehearsal; at the\nsecond, he was absent, and word came that he was ill at his\ncountry-seat at Porteaux, near the capital. They hoped he would\nrecover in time to attend the first performance of the opera.\n\n\"All went on successfully; and a large audience attended the\nopening representation. The famous duet Lablache had sung was\nrepeated and encored amid thunders of applause. Just then a\nmurmur went round the theatre, and the applause was silenced. The\nnews was:\n\n\"'Bellini died an hour ago, at his country-seat.'\"\n\nFrancilla ceased. She closed the album, rose hastily, and went to\nthe window. I was deeply affected, and was leaving the room\nquietly. But she turned round, and, bidding me stay, went and\nseated herself at the piano. The song was a melancholy one, sung\nwith wonderful expression and feeling. It was a farewell to the\ndead.\n\nMy friend Pixis came into the room at its close, and asked what\nit was we were so mournful about.\n\nI replied, \"Francilla has been telling me of Bellini's unhappy\nlove for Malibran.\"\n\n\"Do not believe a word of it!\" cried Pixis, laughing. \"She will\nget you up a fine romance on that chapter.\"\n\nI had my doubts of its truth; yet the fact is indisputable that\nBellini was always in love.\n\nHere the pretty artist, Maschinka Schneider, came in, and the\nconversation was of the representation of the _Capuletti_,\nalready announced. I gave advice as to improvements in the\narrangement of the scenes.\n\nI could not help remembering the sad tale my little friend had\ntold me. I thought of it again when, a year afterward, I read in\nthe newspapers that Malibran had died at Manchester, on the 23d\nof September, the same day on which Bellini had expired a year\nbefore.\n\n------\n\n{412}\n\n\n    Translated from the French of Souvestre.\n\n    The Inside of a Stage-Coach.\n\n\nOne of the last days of September the rain had fallen all day in\ntorrents, but finally, having ceased, left the sky so enveloped\nin fog that, though scarcely four o'clock, night seemed already\nto have overspread the earth.\n\nA heavy diligence, with its relay of horses, ascended with\ndifficulty one of the hills which separate Belleville from Lyons,\nwhile the postilions walked on each side of the team, pausing\nabout every fifty steps to breathe and recover themselves. The\nwearied passengers had descended by invitation of the conductor,\nand were trudging along in no amiable mood, scolding the horses,\nthe rain, and the miserable roads. Two of them, who came last,\nstopped suddenly at the turning of the ascent One was a man\nnearly fifty years old, with a mild and smiling countenance; but\nthe other, much younger, had an air of gloom and dissatisfaction.\nThrowing his eyes over the surrounding country, half enveloped in\nfog, he said to his companion:\n\n\"What weather and what a year, Cousin Grugel! The Sa\u00f4ne has\nhardly entered its bed, and the valleys are again inundated.\"\n\n\"God preserve us, Gontran!\" replied the man with the mild\ncountenance; \"the rainbow can appear any moment above the\ndeluge.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the other traveller, with slight irony; \"I know\nyour mania of hope, Jacques.\"\n\n\"And I yours of discouragement, Darvon.\"\n\n\"Well, I am right when I examine how this world goes. Where do\nyou see peace, order, or prosperity? I only hear of incendiaries,\ncontagion, deluge, and murder. What man's wickedness spares, the\nwickedness of nature annihilates, for even brute matter seems to\npossess the instinct of destruction; and the elements, like\nkings, cannot remain neighbors without warring against each\nother.\"\n\n\"That is only one side of things, my cousin--the sad side; but of\nthe other you never speak. Your eyes are riveted on the volcano\nwhich dims the horizon, but you cannot lower them to the fields\nof ripe corn undulating at your feet. There is happiness in the\nworld, if you can make up your mind to believe it.\"\n\n\"Well, I know nothing of it,\" replied Darvon, in a tone of\nvexation.\n\n\"But, yourself considered, may you not be placed among the most\nfavored?\"\n\n\"True, Jacques, and yet I have not been able to find, in all the\ngood accorded me, either peace or contentment.\"\n\n\"What have you to wish for? You are rich, honored, and have a\nfamily who love you.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Gontran; \"but this same fortune has cost me the\nlawsuit for which I have just made the third voyage to Macon; my\ngood reputation has not deterred the opposing lawyer from\nslander; and as to my family--\"\n\n\"Well?\" inquired Jacques.\n\n\"Well! my sister, with whom I always lived so affectionately, has\njust quarrelled with me.\"\n\n\"It will be a short quarrel.\"\n\n{413}\n\n\"No, no; I am tired of working without profit to establish order\nin her affairs. I have been too much annoyed by her want of\nsystem and reason.\"\n\n\"Think of her excellent heart and you will forgive her.\"\n\n\"Oh! I know that you will always find a good reason for me to\nbear my sorrows patiently; you have a recipe for every wound of\nthe soul, and if I press you a little, you will prove me in the\nwrong to complain, and that all is quite right here below.\"\n\n\"Pardon me,\" replied Grugel; \"in the government of this world I\nfind much to wound me, but I am not sure I am the best judge.\nLife is a great mystery, of which we comprehend so little. Must I\nown it to you, there are hours when I persuade myself that God\nhas not afflicted men with so many scourges without intention.\nHappy and invulnerable, they could be endured; each one would\ncount on his individual strength, delight in his own isolation,\nand refuse all sympathy to his fellow-being. But weakness has no\nsuch resource; on the contrary, it forces men to be friendly, to\naid and love one another. Grief has become a bond of sympathy,\nand we owe to it our noblest and best sentiments, gratitude,\ndevotion, and piety.\"\n\n\"Well done,\" said Darvon, smiling; \"not being able to sustain the\ngood in all things, you give me the bright side of evil.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" said Grugel; \"only be sure that evil itself is not\nabsolute. Science borrows its remedies from the sap of venomous\nplants; why, then, may we not from passion, misfortune, or\ninequality draw much that is good? Believe me, Darvon, there is\nno human dross, however poor, without its particles of gold.\"\n\n\"In good faith, then, I would like to know what could be found in\nour travelling companions,\" cried Gontran. \"Let us see, cousin;\nsuppose we put to the test these curious patterns of our race, as\nwe proclaim it so intelligent.\"\n\n\"It is very certain,\" said Jacques, smiling, \"fate has not\nfavored us.\"\n\n\"Never mind, never mind,\" replied Darvon, whose misanthropy was\nniggardly in its character; \"disengage the gold from the dross,\nas you say. But first, how many grains do you expect to find in\nthis cattle-merchant before us?\"\n\nGrugel raised his head and saw, a few steps in advance, the\ntraveller who had called him cousin. A coarse man in a blue\nblouse, following with heavy steps the side of the road, while\nfinishing his well-picked chicken-bone.\n\n\"I declare, that is the seventh repast I have seen him make\nto-day,\" continued Darvon, \"and the coach-pockets are still laden\nwith his provisions. When he has eaten enough, he goes to sleep,\nthen he eats again, then goes to sleep in order to recommence his\nprogramme. He is a mere digesting machine, too imbecile to draw\nfrom him either response or information.\"\n\n\"Our companion with the felt hat can sufficiently acquit himself\nin that respect.\"\n\n\"Ah! yes, let us consider him and try also to extract his gold.\nHe joined our party only this morning, and already the conductor\nhas sent him from the _imp\u00e9riale_ to the travellers in the\n_coup\u00e9_, who again have sent him to the _int\u00e9rieur_. We\nhave had him but two hours, and he has already given us his own\nand his family history to the fifth degree. I know his name is\nPeter Lepr\u00e9, that for twenty years he has been commissioner of\ncolonial produce in the departments of the Sa\u00f4ne and Loire, of\nAin, Is\u00e8re, and of the Rhone, and he has been married three\ntimes.\n{414}\nThen if you did not have to bear his questioning; but he is\nequally talkative and curious, and when his confession is\nfinished, he awaits yours. If you are reflecting, he speaks to\nyou; if you speak, he interrupts you. His voice is like a rattle\nin constant motion, the noise of which ends in making you\nnervous.\"\n\n\"Poor Lepr\u00e9!\" said Grugel; \"at heart, after all he is a worthy\nman.\"\n\n\"He has one merit,\" replied Darvon, \"that of annoying\nMademoiselle Ath\u00e9na\u00efs de Locherais; for we almost forgot this\namiable fellow-traveller, who, after recommending us all to get\nout to lighten the coach, remained in herself so as not to dampen\nher feet.\"\n\n\"You must forgive her,\" observed Jacques; \"isolation has made her\nforget all ease of others; her heart is contracted.\"\n\n\"Contracted!\" repeated Gontran, \"you are deceived, cousin;\nMademoiselle Ath\u00e9na\u00efs has a great deal of love for herself. The\nwhole world seems to have been made for her special ease, and she\ncan imagine nothing in it that does not bear upon her in some way\nor other. She is one of those sweet creatures who, hearing the\ncry of the midnight assassin, returns to her pillow complaining\nof having been awakened.\"\n\nGrugel was going to reply, but they had arrived at the top of the\nhill. The conductor, calling the passengers, urged them to\nremount, as a courier had just appeared with an announcement,\nthat, owing to the overflow of the Sa\u00f4ne, the passage by\nVillefranche would be impossible, and that in order to reach Anse\nthey would be obliged to turn more to the right, passing the\nNiseran higher up and taking another road. The coach which had\njust preceded them, not having taken this precaution, had been\nsurprised by the waters, and some of the passengers were reported\nto be drowned. Happily this last intelligence was not\ncommunicated to the travellers, but they vociferated loudly when\napprised of the by-road they were obliged to take.\n\n\"There is a malediction on us,\" said Gontran, already peevish\nwith the length of the journey.\n\n\"I knew it would be so, sir,\" cried Pierre Lepr\u00e9, with\nvolubility. The two postilions had just escaped from him, so he\nfell back on his travelling companions. \"I was told on my way\nthat the Ardiere and Vauzarme had risen considerably; indeed, we\ncannot tell if we can pass to Anse, where we may encounter the\nwaters of the Azergnes and the Brevanne. Where in the world are\nyou taking us, conductor? Shall we pass the woods of Orrigt?\nWell, I know the mayor, a thin man, always smoking. But, speaking\nof this, can we not stop again before we come to Anse?\"\n\n\"Impossible,\" replied the conductor brusquely; \"I am now eight\nhours behind time.\"\n\n\"Gracious! where will we sup, then?\" cried the fat\ncattle-merchant.\n\n\"We won't sup at all, sir.\"\n\n\"I declare, I wish I had some broth,\" interrupted Mademoiselle\nAth\u00e9na\u00efs, in a shrill voice, with her head out of the coach door;\n\"I always take my broth at five o'clock.\"\n\n\"We have had nothing since morning,\" cried all the travellers.\n\n\"Get in, gentlemen,\" called out the conductor; \"one hour's delay\nmay prevent us from reaching there. You can't joke with an\noverflow, and I don't want my coach drowned.\"\n\n\"Drowned!\" cried Mademoiselle Ath\u00e9na\u00efs's. \"Why, this is horrible.\nYou shall be informed against, conductor! I demand that you leave\nthe valley. Why don't you answer me, conductor? I will complain\nto your chief.\"\n\n{415}\n\nThe diligence starting, cut the old lady's sentence in two, so\nshe fell back in her corner with an exclamation of\ndissatisfaction.\n\nJacques Grugel felt himself obliged to tell her that the route\nthey were taking would lead them away from the Sa\u00f4ne and avoid\nthe danger.\n\n\"But where will I get my soup?\" inquired she, slightly reassured.\n\n\"We will not stop till we reach Anse,\" resumed Lepr\u00e9; \"the\nconductor has said so, and God only knows what kind of roads we\nwill meet with. Roads of the department; that says everything.\nAnd then I know the engineer, a talented man; his son was married\nthe same day as my eldest. But we won't arrive till to-morrow,\nmark my words.\"\n\nThere was a general cry from the passengers. They had eaten\nnothing since morning, calculating on the lunch usually obtained\nat Villefranche, and Gontran had already proposed, with his usual\nvivacity, to make a descent on the first village and force them\nto serve up a supper, when the cattle-merchant cried out:\n\n\"A supper! I have one at your service.\"\n\n\"What! for everybody?\" asked Lepr\u00e9.\n\n\"For everybody, citizen. I can offer you three courses, with your\ndessert, and something for a heeltap.\"\n\nWhile speaking he drew from the pockets of the carriage a\nhalf-dozen packets, and, rolling his tongue around his mouth,\nproceeded to open them; they contained provisions of every kind,\nproperly enveloped and tied with care.\n\n\"Won't we have a feast?\" said Lepr\u00e9, who had asked the\ncattle-merchant, in his inventory, \"my friend, what _is_\nyour name?\"\n\n\"Barnau.\"\n\n\"Good, Mr. Barnau; but what good care you take of yourself.\"\n\n\"How can a man be at his ease,\" said the fat merchant, with a\ncertain pride, \"if he can't eat the best of everything? However,\nthese gentlemen and mademoiselle can judge of my victuals.\"\n\nGrugel turned to Gontran, and gave him a significant look.\n\n\"Truly,\" said he smiling, and in an under-voice, \"here are the\n_grains of gold_ you looked for.\"\n\n\"_Grains of gold!_\" repeated Barnau, who did not understand\nhim; \"why, man, that's a sausage with truffles.\"\n\n\"And these gentlemen would have us believe grains of gold are\ngood for famished people,\" resumed Pierre Lepr\u00e9, laughing; \"that\nis a figure of speech, Monsieur Barnau. I have a son who studied\nthese figures in rhetoric. He explained it all to me; but, pardon\nme, let us first help mademoiselle.\"\n\nThey presented the food to Mademoiselle de Locherais, who\nreturned each piece, but finally ended by choosing the most\ndelicate, complaining, as she ate, of the privations of\ntravellers. To console her, Barnau offered her some old brandy;\nbut mademoiselle cried out with horror:\n\n\"Brandy to me! What do you take me for, sir?\"\n\n\"You like sherry better, perhaps,\" said the cattle-merchant, in a\ncareless way.\n\n\"I drink neither sherry nor brandy,\" cried Mademoiselle Ath\u00e9na\u00efs\nfiercely. \"I take water only,\" she said, turning toward Grugel.\n\"Did you ever hear anything like this rustic?\" she murmured;\n\"offer me cognac, as if the spices he has given us were not\nsufficient to burn one's blood. I shall surely be ill from it.\"\n{416}\nFinishing what she had to say, she arranged herself in her\ncorner, so as to turn her back on the cattle-merchant, picked up\na pillow she had with her, leaned her head on it, and fell\nasleep.\n\nThe diligence continued its tedious route. Though humid, the air\nwas cold, and not a star was to be seen. Relieved by the repast\nwhich the gastronomical foresight of Barnau had permitted him to\nmake, Lepr\u00e9 resumed his loquacity, and, although his\nfellow-travellers had long since ceased to answer him, he\ncontinued to talk on without being in the least concerned to know\nif he was listened to.\n\nThis noise of words, the slowness of their progress, the\ndarkness, and the cold combined to render the passengers\nnervously impatient, and every few moments might be heard yawns,\nshudderings, or subdued complaints. Darvon, particularly, seemed\nmore and more excitable; a prey to nervous irritation. He had\nalready opened and shut for the tenth time the blind of the\ncoach-door, leaned his head to the right, to the left, and back\non the cushion, fixed his legs in every possible position that\nthe narrow space of which he could dispose allowed him; and,\nfinally, at the break of day, his patience was entirely\nexhausted.\n\n\"I would give ten of the days which remain of my life to be at\nthe end of this journey,\" cried he.\n\n\"Here we are at Anse,\" replied Grugel.\n\n\"True, upon my word,\" said Lepr\u00e9, who had been asleep an instant.\n\"Hallo, conductor, how long do you remain here?\"\n\n\"Five minutes.\"\n\n\"Open the door; I am just going to say good day to the\npost-master.\"\n\nThe door was opened, and Barnau got down with Lepr\u00e9 to renew his\nprovisions. Nearly at the same moment the clerk came forward to\nsee if there were any vacant places.\n\n\"Only one,\" replied Grugel.\n\n\"How!\" cried Mademoiselle de Locherais, who had just awakened\nwith a start; \"would monsieur by any chance ask any one to come\nin here?\"\n\n\"A traveller for Lyons.\"\n\n\"But it is quite impossible,\" resumed the old maid; \"we are\nalready frightfully crowded. Monsieur, your coaches are too\nsmall; I will complain to the administration.\"\n\n\"Ah! without doubt here is our new companion,\" said Grugel, who\nwas looking out of the door. \"M. Lepr\u00e9 has already seized upon\nhim.\"\n\n\"He is a military man,\" cried mademoiselle.\n\n\"A non-commissioned officer of the Chasseurs.\"\n\n\"Oh! is he coming in here? Why don't they make soldiers go on\nfoot?\"\n\n\"In such a time as this it would be hard and fatiguing for them,\nmademoiselle.\"\n\n\"Is it not their trade? Such people are never fatigued. These\npublic conveyances do give you such disagreeable neighbors! ....\nThe derangement of your usual habits, to have nothing warm, pass\nthe night without any sleep, be crowded, choked! .... I don't see\nwhy one of these gentlemen don't get up in the imperial.\"\n\n\"Notwithstanding the fog?\"\n\n\"What does that signify, for men?\"\n\n\"Mademoiselle would be less incommoded,\" added Darvon ironically.\n\"She had better make the proposition herself to our companion.\"\n\n\"What! I speak to a soldier!\" said Mademoiselle Ath\u00e9na\u00efs\nfiercely; \"I prefer being incommoded, sir!\"\n\n\"Well, here he is,\" said Jacques.\n\n{417}\n\nThe non-commissioned officer had indeed just appeared before the\ndoor, followed by the clerk with whom he was quarrelling. He was\na spruce, dapper-looking young man, but his bragging and\nsoldierly manners disgusted Darvon at first sight. He complained\nof the delay of the coach, having waited for it since the night\npreceding, and with words abused the clerk of the office, whose\nresponses were timid and embarrassed. At last, the conductor\ndeclaring they must start, he came to the coach-door and looked\ninside.\n\n\"Magnificent collection,\" murmured he, after having cast an\nimpertinent look on the travellers; \"I wonder if the _coup\u00e9_\nand the _rotonde_ are as well furnished. Have you no women\naboard, conductor?\"\n\n\"The insolent creature!\" murmured Mademoiselle.\n\n\"Well,\" resumed the soldier, \"one must not be too particular in\nthe country.\" And he took his place.\n\nGontran leaned toward Grugel, and said, in a low voice, \"This one\ncompletes our collection of absurdities.\"\n\n\"Take care he don't hear you,\" replied Jacques.\n\nDarvon shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"Bragging people inspire more disgust than fear,\" said he, \"and\nthis one certainly needs a lesson in politeness.\"\n\nMeanwhile, Barnau returned without Lepr\u00e9. After having looked for\nthe latter at the inn, and waited for him some minutes, the\ndiligence started without him, to the great joy of mademoiselle,\nwho hoped to be more at her ease. But her joy was of short\nduration, for the non-commissioned officer, who had located\nhimself at first on the other bench, got up and took the seat\nnext to her. The angry old maid adjusted herself brusquely, and\npulled down her veil.\n\nThe military man turned toward her.\n\n\"Ah!\" said he, in a mocking tone, \"madame seems afraid of being\nlooked at.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so, sir,\" said she, dryly.\n\n\"I quite understand the reason,\" resumed the soldier. \"But she\ncan calm her nerves. I can deprive myself of the pleasure.\" And\nas he noticed the movement of indignation of Mademoiselle de\nLocherais, continued, \"I speak solely for the interest of her\nhealth; and to allow her to breathe with her face uncovered, as\nwe want air in this box, I think I had better lower the window.\"\n\n\"I object to it,\" said mademoiselle quickly; \"my doctor has\nforbidden any exposure to the morning air.\"\n\n\"And mine has forbidden me to smother,\" replied the young man,\nputting out his hand to open the sash.\n\nBut the old maid cried out. The window was on her side, she had a\nright to have it closed, and appealed to the other travellers.\n\nHowever little disposed Darvon had been in favor of Mademoiselle\nde Locherais, he considered it right to defend her, and the\nresult was a sharp discussion between him and the soldier, which\nwould have ended in trouble had not Grugel ceded his place at the\nother window.\n\nThe soldier accepted it with a bad grace, preserving a strong\nfeeling against Darvon.\n\nNow, the reader has already perceived that Gontran's predominant\nqualities were neither resignation nor patience. The\ncontrarieties of the journey had excited his sickly inability,\ntherefore the disagreement which had already broken out between\nthem was renewed several times, and only awaited a favorable\nopportunity to become a later quarrel.\n\n{418}\n\nSome of the smaller baggage had been placed by Darvon in a net\nsuspended from the top of the diligence; the soldier pretended\nthat it incommoded him, and wished it removed. Gontran refused to\ndo it.\n\n\"You have decided it shall remain where it is?\" cried the\nsoldier, after a discussion in which he had grown more and more\nanimated.\n\n\"Decidedly!\" replied Darvon.\n\n\"Very well. I will get rid of it by the coach-door,\" replied the\nyoung man, while extending his hand toward the net.\n\nGontran seized the hand, and said, \"Take care what you do, sir,\"\nin a changed voice. \"Ever since you came in here, you have tried\nto make me lose my patience; your whole course has been one of\nabuse and tyranny, but you may as well understand I am not the\nman to put up with your tyranny.\"\n\n\"Is this a challenge?\" asked the soldier, throwing on Gontran a\ndisdainful look.\n\n\"By no means,\" interrupted Grugel, annoyed by the turn affairs\nhad taken; \"my cousin merely wished you to observe--\"\n\n\"I don't accept the observations of snarlers.\"\n\n\"And snarlers don't accept your insolence,\" replied Gontran.\n\nAt this word insolence the soldier shuddered, a deep redness\nsuffused his features.\n\n\"Where do you stop, sir?\" asked he of Darvon, in a voice\ntrembling with anger.\n\n\"At Lyons,\" replied the latter.\n\n\"Very well, we will finish our explanation there.\"\n\n\"So be it.\"\n\nJacques, alarmed, wished to interpose, but his cousin and the\nsoldier spoke at the same time, and repeated they would terminate\nthis affair at Lyons.\n\nAt the same instant great cries were heard, and the diligence was\novertaken by a wagon entirely covered with mud. Mademoiselle de\nLocherais put her head out of the coach-door.\n\n\"O Lord! what a misfortune,\" said she; \"Monsieur Pierre Lepr\u00e9 has\novertaken us. Now we will be completely filled up.\"\n\nAs soon as they reached the public conveyance, the commissioner\nof colonial produce jumped out of the wagon, and presented\nhimself at the coach-door, which the conductor had just opened.\n\n\"Is this the way you go off without waiting for the passengers?\"\ncried he, furious.\n\n\"I warned you three times,\" interposed the conductor.\n\n\"Six times is customary, sir, or even a dozen; you are very\nmiserly with your words. Does it cost anything to speak? I could\nnot leave the post-master while he was telling me what happened\nto the diligence yesterday; for you did not know, gentlemen, that\nthe one that preceded this was drowned.\"\n\n\"Drowned!\" repeated every one.\n\n\"Very good,\" interrupted the conductor; \"but get in.\"\n\n\"Anything but good,\" responded Pierre Lepr\u00e9; \"everybody is\nfrightened enough.\"\n\n\"I beg of you to get up immediately.\"\n\n\"And what will our families think when they learn this disaster?\"\n\n\"Be quick, then.\"\n\n\"Again, there was I trying to obtain these details, when they\ncame to tell me you had gone on without me.\"\n\n\"And we are going to do the same thing again,\" said the impatient\nconductor.\n\n\"Bless me,\" cried Lepr\u00e9, who hastened to get up. \"I have had\nenough of wagons; here I am, conductor, lift me up.\"\n\n{419}\n\nThe commissioner of provisions was overwhelmed with questions,\nand he soon related all he had heard; then, interrupting himself,\naccording to his usual habit, and recognizing the young officer,\nhe cried out:\n\n\"Oh! this is the gentleman I had the honor of seeing at Anse.\"\n\n\"The same,\" replied the soldier.\n\n\"Delighted to meet you again,\" said Lepr\u00e9. \"Whatever you may\nthink of me, I am the born friend of all the military. I should\nhave had to serve myself if they had not found a substitute for\nme.\"\n\nHe was interrupted by Mademoiselle Ath\u00e9na\u00efs, who just perceived\nthat he was quite wet.\n\n\"It is this abominable fog,\" said he, while wiping the water off\nwith his handkerchief.\n\n\"But people don't come into a carriage in such a condition,\"\nreplied mademoiselle, in a discontented way. \"When you are\ncovered with fog, you might as well remain out.\"\n\n\"To dry one's self?\" asked Lepr\u00e9, laughing. \"Great goodness, I\nhad enough of it; then my coachman was drunk, and just missed\nturning the wagon over into the river.\"\n\n\"The deuce!\" said Gontran.\n\n\"We would have been added to the diligence of yesterday, unless\nwe had found some good soul brave enough to fish for us. But such\nthings have been. Three years ago, after a great inundation, a\nworkman alone saved five persons who were drowning near the\nGuilloti\u00e8re.\"\n\n\"We knew of him particularly,\" said Grugel, \"as my cousin's best\nfriend was one of the saved.\"\n\n\"True?\" asked the soldier.\n\n\"And he owed his safety to the devotion of that young man.\"\n\n\"Oh! all the details of that action were admirable,\" said Darvon,\nwith great warmth; \"the frightened horse had pulled the carriage\ninto the strongest of the current; on the shore the crowd looked\non, without daring to go to their relief; there seemed to be no\nhope for the five persons in the carriage.\"\n\n\"Bah!\" interrupted the soldier, \"perhaps some of them could swim,\nand have got nicely out of the scrape.\"\n\nGontran disdained a reply.\n\n\"The carriage commenced to sink,\" continued he, \"when a workman\nappeared with a small boat, which with difficulty he guided into\nthe midst of the Rhone. Three times it was on the point of\nupsetting. The people who looked on from the shore cried out, 'Do\nnot go any further; come ashore; you are going to perish.' But he\ndid not listen to them--still advancing toward the carriage,\nwhich by dint of skill and courage, he finally reached.\"\n\n\"And most happily,\" the military man replied.\n\n\"Without doubt,\" replied Grugel, who remarked Gontran's movement\nof impatience, \"but only good-hearted people find happiness in\nsuch acts.\"\n\n\"It was a beautiful incident,\" interrupted Mademoiselle de\nLocherais, \"and one that should have benefited its author.\"\n\n\"Pardon me, madame,\" said Darvon. \"The workman no doubt\nconsidered that the true recompense for any generous action is in\nourselves; for, after having saved these people, he retired\nwithout wishing to receive either reward or praise.\"\n\n\"Humph! perhaps he thought it useless to demand payment,\" said\nthe officer.\n\n\"And is his name unknown?\" said Pierre Lepr\u00e9.\n\n\"Pardon me, he was called Louis Duroc.\"\n\n\"What! what do you say, Louis----\"\n\n\"Duroc.\"\n\nLepr\u00e9 turned towards the officer.\n\n{420}\n\n\"Why, that is your name?\" cried he.\n\n\"This gentleman's name!\" repeated all the travellers.\n\n\"Louis Duroc, called the African; I asked him his name at Anse,\nwhile we were talking at the inn, and I have seen it, besides, on\nhis portmanteau.\"\n\n\"Well, what next?\" asked the officer, laughing. \"It certainly is\nmy name.\"\n\n\"Can it be!\" interrupted Gontran; \"and you are--\"\n\n\"The workman in question; yes, gentlemen. There would have been\nno use in telling it, but now there is no use in concealing it. I\nentered the service a week after the accident, and my regiment\nhad to leave for Algeria, so that I never again met my friends of\nthe carriage; however, I hope to see them again at Lyons.\"\n\n\"I will take you to them,\" said Darvon quickly, while offering\nhis hand to the officer; \"for I wish we may be friends, Monsieur\nLouis.\"\n\n\"What, we!\" replied the military man, regarding Gontran with\nhesitation.\n\n\"Oh! please forget all that has passed,\" replied the latter; \"I\nam ready, if necessary, to acknowledge I have been wrong--\"\n\n\"No!\" interrupted Duroc, \"no, indeed; I was the wrong-headed one,\nand I regret it, I give you my word of honor. Bad habits of the\nregiment, you see. Because we have no fear, we like to show it on\nall occasions, and to each new-comer, and so play the bully, but\nat heart good children; so without malice, monsieur.\"\n\nHe had cordially pressed Gontran's hand, Lepr\u00e9 seizing his at the\nsame time.\n\n\"Good!\" cried he; \"you are a true Frenchmen, and so is Monsieur.\nBetween Frenchmen, people should always agree. I am delighted to\nhave made your acquaintance, M. Louis Duroc. But, _\u00e0\npropos_, do you know it was a most happy coincidence that I\nobliged you to tell me your name, that you did not want to give\nme? Without me, no one would have known what you were worth.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" replied Grugel. \"If this gentleman had talked less,\nthis explanation would not have taken place, and my cousin would\nhave mistaken the true character of Monsieur Louis. You see,\nchance seems to have taken the task of supporting my theory, and\nall the honor of the journey is mine.\"\n\nAs he finished these words, the coach stopped; they had arrived.\n\nThe travellers found the diligence-yard crowded with relations or\nfriends awaiting their arrival. The misfortune of the day before\nwas known, and had awakened all possible anguish.\n\nDarvon no sooner stepped down, than he heard his name pronounced,\nand, turning, saw his sister hastening to him with cries of joy.\nHer anxiety on his account had caused her to forget their\nquarrel.\n\nThey embraced over and over again; their eyes moistened with\ntears as they looked at each other, smiling. They were\nreconciled.\n\nAs they went together from the diligence-yard Gontran met his\ntravelling companions. Barnau and Lepr\u00e9 saluted them; Louis Duroc\nrenewed his promise to visit them; Mademoiselle Ath\u00e9na\u00efs de\nLocherais alone passed without any sign of recognition. She was\ntoo much occupied watching her baggage. Jacques Grugel turned\nthen to Gontran.\n\n{421}\n\n\"There is the only objection to my doctrine,\" said he, pointing\nto the old maid. \"All our other companions have more or less\nredeemed themselves in our eyes: the _gourmand_ procured us\na supper; the babbler revealed a useful secret; the quarrelsome\none gave proof of his generous bravery; but of what use has been\nto us the selfish egotism of Mademoiselle de Locherais?\"\n\n\"To make me realize the value of true devotion and tenderness,\"\nreplied Gontran, who pressed his sister's arm more closely to his\nheart. \"Yes, from to-day, cousin, I will adopt your system. I\nfirmly believe there is a good side to everything, and that it is\nonly necessary to know where to look for the _vein of\ngold_.\"\n\n--------\n\n  Sayings Of The Fathers Of The Desert.\n\n\nHe who remains alone by himself, and maintains a state of\ntranquillity, is saved the waging of three wars; that is to say,\nthe warfare of hearing, of speech, and of sight; and he will have\nbut one to carry on, and that is the warfare of the heart.\n\n\nAbbot Arsenius, while he still dwelt in a palace, prayed to the\nLord one day, and said, \"O Lord! point out to me the way to\nsalvation.\" And a voice came to him saying, \"Arsenius, avoid the\nsociety of men, and you shall be saved.\" Thereupon he went away\nto lead a monastic life, and it happened that he again made the\nsame prayer. And he heard a voice saying unto him, \"Arsenius,\nflee, remain silent, be tranquil.\"\n\n\nAbbot Evagrius said: Cast from thee affection for many things,\nlest thy mind be full of trouble and lose its tranquillity.\n\n\nA certain brother once went to Scythia, to ask advice of Abbot\nMoses. And the old man said to him, \"Go sit in thy cell, and thy\ncell will teach thee all things.\"\n\n\n\nAbbot Nilus said: He who loveth quiet shall be impenetrable to\nthe darts of the enemy; but he who mingleth with the multitude\nshall receive many wounds.\n\n\nA certain father told this story: Three persons who loved their\nsouls became monks. One of them chose as his task the making up\nof quarrels, according as it is written, \"Blessed are the\npeacemakers.\" (Matt, v.) The second determined to visit the sick.\nThe third went away into the desert to remain in solitude. Now,\nthe first, who busied himself about the quarrels of men, could\nnot always succeed in bringing about a reconciliation. Sick at\nheart, he went to see how he fared who was visiting the sick, and\nfound that he also was growing weary, and was quite unable to\ncarry out his purpose. These two then went together to see the\none who had gone into the desert, and told him all their\ntroubles. And then they asked him to tell them how he himself had\ngot along. After a short pause, he poured some water into a basin\nand said to them, \"Look at the water.\" And it was troubled. After\na little while he again said to them, \"Now look at the water, and\nsee how clear it has grown.\" And they, looking in the water, saw\ntheir faces reflected as from a mirror.\n{422}\nAnd then he said to them, \"Thus it is with him who lives among\nmen; for from the turbulence of his life he sees not his own\nsins; when, however, he is become tranquil, and especially when\nhe lives in solitude, then he clearly perceives his faults.\"\n\n\nAbbot Elias said: Three things I fear. One is, the separation of\nsoul and body; the second, my meeting with God the third, the\nsentence which shall be pronounced upon me.\n\n\nAbbot James said: As a light illuminateth a room, even so doth\nthe fear of God, when it shall have entered the heart of man,\nilluminate and teach him every virtue and the precepts of God.\n\n\nSyncletica, of holy memory, said: The wicked who are converted to\nGod have to toil and struggle much, but afterward their joy is\nineffable. For as those who wish to kindle a fire have first to\nbear the smoke, and are ofttimes forced to shed tears before they\nsucceed for it is written, \"Our God is a consuming fire\"--so\nought we also to kindle within us the divine flame amid toils and\ntears.\n\n\nA father said: As we carry our shadow about with us everywhere,\neven so ought we always to weep and be contrite.\n\n\n\nThey tell of Abbot Agatho that he kept a pebble in his mouth\nthree years, and thus acquired silence.\n\n\nAbbot Agatho was once making a journey with his disciples, when\none of them found a little bundle of green vetches lying on the\nroadside, and said to his master, \"Father, if you wish it, I will\ntake them.\" The old man looked at him in astonishment, and asked,\n\"Didst thou place them there?\" And the disciple said \"No.\" And\nthen the father replied, \"Why, then, do you desire to take away\nwhat you have not placed there?\"\n\nAbbot Evagrius tells that a father once said: I deprive myself of\ncarnal delights, in order that I may the more readily avoid\noccasions of anger. For I know that this passion always attacks\nand disturbs my mind and clouds my intellect according as I\nindulge in carnal delights.\n\n\nEpiphanius, Bishop of Cyprus, once sent for Abbot Hilarion, that\nhe might see him before he died. When they had met and were\ndining, a fowl was set on the table which the bishop offered\nHilarion. And then Hilarion said, \"Pardon me, father, for ever\nsince I have worn this habit I have never eaten of anything\nslain.\" And then Epiphanius replied, \"And I, since I have worn\nthis habit, have never allowed any one to sleep who had anything\nagainst me, nor have I ever slept having aught against any one.\"\n\"Pardon me,\" replied the old man, \"your life is more perfect than\nmine.\"\n\n\n\nThey tell of Abbot Elladius that he lived in his cell twenty\nyears without ever lifting his eyes to the ceiling.\n\n\nAbbot John the Small said: If a king should wish to take a\nhostile city, he would first intercept supplies of water and\nprovisions, and thus the enemy, being in danger of starvation,\nwould fall into his hands. So it is with the inordinate desires\nof the stomach. If a man fast well, the enemies of his soul grow\nweak.\n\n--------\n\n{423}\n\n    New Publications.\n\n\n  Language, And The Study Of Languages.\n  In Twelve Lectures on the\n  Principles of Linguistic Science.\n  By William Dwight Whitney, Professor of\n  Sanskrit and Modern Languages in Yale College.\n  New York: Scribner & Co. 1867. 12mo, pp. 489.\n\nProfessor Whitney, with a full knowledge of the chief results\nthus far obtained in linguistic science by philologists, appears\nto be passably free and independent in his judgments, and\ncautious and sober in his inductions. His book is, however,\nrather an introduction to the study of linguistics than a full\nstatement and vindication of its principles as a science. Its\nchief merit is in its correction of the exaggerations of\nenthusiastic and hasty philologists, and in brushing away\nnumerous false theories and hypotheses unsustained and\nunsustainable by the facts in the case.\n\nFor the most part, the principles laid down by the author are\nsound and incontrovertible; but in some instances his application\nof them, and the conclusions he draws, may be disputed. Even his\ndefinition of language, as the medium by which men communicate\ntheir thoughts to one another, maybe objected to as superficial\nand inadequate, and as really including only one of its\nfunctions. Language is better defined: the sensible sign or\nrepresentation of the ideal or the intelligible, and is as\nindispensable to the formation of thought in one's own mind as to\nthe communication of thought to the minds of others. For\nintuition, no matter of what sort, language indeed is not\nnecessary; but intuition is the _\u00e0 priori_ condition of\nthought, as necessary to it as creation is to contingent\nexistence, not thought itself. Without intuition there is no\nthought; but thought itself is the action of the mind on the\nintuition--an action not possible without the sensible sign\nwhich holds and represents--re-presents--the intuition. What\ncould we do in algebra or the calculus without sensible signs; or\nin philosophy or theology, or anything that belongs to the noetic\nor intelligible order, without the words which hold and represent\nthe noetic object? There is a more intimate connection of thought\nand the word than the professor admits--a deeper significance, a\nprofounder philosophy, a more inscrutable mystery in language,\nthan most philologists dream of, and he who masters its secret\nmasters the secret of the universe. He who is no theologian, no\nphilosopher, can at best be only a sorry philologist. The part\ncan be fully understood only in its relation to the whole, nor\nthe effect without its cause, and hence it is that man and the\nuniverse cannot be understood without the knowledge of God.\n\nThe author regards linguistics as a moral science, dependent\nwholly on moral causes, and denies that it is a physical science,\nor that physical causes have anything to do in producing the\ndialectic changes, modifications, or differences of language,\nwhich the science notes. Here he is too sweeping in both his\nassertion and his denial. Moral causes operate in the changes\nlanguage undergoes; and so do physical causes, especially in its\nphonetic change. At any rate, linguistics is to be classed with\nthe inductive sciences, and, therefore, is a subordinate science,\nand can never without foreign aid be raised to the dignity or\ncertainty of science itself. None of the inductive sciences are\ncomplete in themselves, or sufficient for themselves, and they\nall do and must, consciously or unconsciously, borrow from\nphilosophy or theology, which has been very properly called\n_scientia scientiarum_, the science of sciences. Facts are\nfacts always and everywhere; but facts are the matter of science,\nnot science itself. The science is in their explication, or their\nreduction to the principles from which they proceed, and the law\nof their procession or production.\n{424}\nThe inductive philosophers seek to obtain the law by induction\nfrom the facts observed, and the principle by induction from the\nlaw, which is unscientific; for the principle determines the law,\nand the law the facts. Hence their inductions are never science,\nor anything more than empirical classifications. Till the law is\nreferred to its principle, it is not a law, but simply a\ncongeries of facts. The reason why the inductive philosophers\nfail to perceive this is in the fact that the mind is already in\npossession of the principle, and simply supplies or applies it to\nthe facts observed; while they, finding they have it, take it for\ngranted that they have obtained it by induction. But he who lacks\nintuition of the ideal or the universal can never from the\nobservation and analysis of facts rise scientifically above the\nphenomenal. Here, under the point of view of science, is the\ndefect of all the inductive sciences; and hence, the tendency of\nall inductive philosophy, as any one may see in the writings of\nthe Positivists, Auguste Comte, E. Littr\u00e9, J. Stuart Mill,\nHerbert Spencer, and Sir William Hamilton and his school, is to\nrestrict all science to the phenomenal, and, therefore, to\nexclude principles and causes, and consequently laws.\n\nWe do not mean by these strictures to exclude the inductive\nsciences, so-called, to condemn the inductive method, or to\nmaintain that the sciences are to be created by way of deduction\nor _\u00e0 priori_. The inductive method is censurable only when\nit insists on being exclusive, and that it needs for its\napplication only bare phenomena; and we value as highly as\nanybody does the inductive sciences when completed by the\nprinciples and laws which are neither obtained nor obtainable by\ninduction. There is no way of constructing linguistics but by\nobservation of facts and induction therefrom. The error as to\nprinciples and method of Professor Whitney is, that he forgets\nthat all inductions of any value are made by virtue of a\nprinciple not obtained by induction, and, therefore, controllable\nby the science of sciences, that is, by faith, and universal\nscience or philosophy.\n\nThe professor proves very satisfactorily that what are called\ndialects are the result of development, growth, or modifications\nof the original language, and, therefore, that the unity of the\nlanguage precedes diversity of dialects. Hence, he maintains that\nthe various languages of the Aryan, Indo-Germanic, or, as he\nprefers to say, Indo-European group, have all sprung from a\ncommon original now lost, but of which perhaps the Sanscrit is\nthe best representative now remaining. Why not, then, conclude\nthat all the languages of mankind, extinct or extant, have sprung\nfrom one common original? If we suppose the unity of the species,\nthis must be so; and the professor says that, while linguistics\nis not and never will be able to confirm it, it cannot, by any\nmeans, deny it. The diversity of tongues, then, cannot be alleged\nas disproving the unity of the species; and as we know the\nspecies is one, and that all men have sprung from one original\npair, we know that all the diverse tongues of men are but so many\ndialects of one and the same original language. This is not an\ninduction from linguistic facts, nor can linguistics, in its\npresent state, confirm it; but it is a scientific truth, and also\na truth of faith which controls air linguistic inductions. The\nprofessor himself goes too far when he says linguistics will\nnever be in a condition to confirm it. That it will not is\npossible, not certain. His whole work proves that as yet the\nscience of linguistics is in its infancy, hardly a science at\nall, and that it is not safe to conclude what it may one day do,\nor not do.\n\nThe professor proceeds throughout on the assumption that language\nis conventional. We do not agree to this, for there can be no\nconvention without language, and language, as he himself shows,\nis traditional. I speak English because I was born, brought up,\nand live in a community that speaks English, and because I have\nlearned or been taught it. It is my mother tongue, the tongue of\nmy mother, and taught me by her. Particular words, and particular\nsenses of words already in use, may have been conventionally\nintroduced, but not language itself.\n{425}\nThese words, whether newly coined or borrowed from other tongues,\ndo not make up the language or modify its laws; they add to its\nvocabulary, but are subjected to its regimen. We have borrowed\nlargely from the Latin, but we cannot construct a sentence with\nwords so borrowed till we have made them English words. Nobody\ncan talk Latin in English, though we can talk English in words\nwholly of Latin origin. The vocabulary is of various origin, but\nthe language is English, and has remained so through all the\nchanges the vocabulary has undergone; and this English language\ndefies all conventions, and the influence of both the learned and\nthe unlearned.\n\nProfessor Whitney, who appears never to have understood the\nrelation of the inductive sciences either to science or to faith,\ndenies the divine and supernatural origin of language, supposes\nman to have commenced his career on this earth without language,\nand to have formed for himself voluntarily but irreflectively\nlanguage, by attempting to imitate the various cries of animals\nand the more striking sounds of nature, among which there is not\na single articulate sound, the distinguishing mark of human\nspeech. He does not represent men as saying to one another, \"Go\nto, now; let us construct a language, so that we can tell each\nother our thoughts;\" but he represents them as listening to the\ngrowl, barking, and howling of dogs, the bleating of sheep, the\nmooing of cows, the chirping of birds, the crowing of the cock,\nthe hissing of the serpent, the roaring and whistling of the\nwinds, the rattling of the shower or pouring of the rain, the\nbellowing of the storm, and, by way of imitation, forming out of\nthese inarticulate sounds language in which we praise God and\ncommunicate with men. He adopts the onomatopoetic or bow-wow\ntheory, so contemptuously dismissed by Max M\u00fcller. There is no\ndoubt that in all dialects there have been introduced vocables in\nwhich there is an attempt in the word itself to imitate the sound\nor cry of the object named; but, supposing men had no language\nand were unable to converse, how were they to agree on the\nmeaning to be given to these imitated sounds, or construct these\nwords into sentences composed of subject, predicate, and copula,\ninflected according to the demands of number, gender, case, mood,\nand tense? There may have also been vocables formed from\ninterjections, and there may be some truth in the interjectional\nor pooh! pooh! theory; but how form them into words, and these\nwords into language with its grammatical laws and inflections\nbefore any knowledge of grammar or language, and bring about a\ngeneral understanding as to the sense they are to bear? The same\nobjections may be urged against the ding-dong theory, or that man\nis so constructed that, when touched in a certain manner, he\ninvoluntarily emits a certain sound. These theories explain the\norigin of certain vocables, but not of language.\n\nProfessor Whitney is not willing, by any means, to admit the\nsupernatural origin of language, for the inductive sciences\nrecognize nothing above nature. But none of the facts treated by\nany one of the inductive sciences are explicable without God, and\nGod is supernatural. Man has his origin in the supernatural,\nthough the species is developed by natural generation. In like\nmanner, language, though developed, modified, or changed\nstructurally or phonetically by natural causes according to\nnatural laws, has its origin in the supernatural, or the direct\nact of God infusing it along with the ideal truth it signifies\ninto the first man. Its origin is divine, as is the origin of\nman. This is evident because it requires in man the possession of\nlanguage to be able to invent language, as we have already seen.\nIt is from God, because it can come from no other source; and\nimmediately from God to the first man, though traditionally to\nus, because there is no natural medium through which its\norigination is possible; yet not the entire vocabulary of\nlanguage, but language in the respect that it is the sensible\nsign or representation of the ideal or the intelligible, whence\nproceeds the sensible, which copies or imitates it.\n\n{426}\n\n  I. Grammatical Synthesis:\n  The Art of English Composition.\n  By Henry N. Day.\n  New York: Scribner & Co. 1867.\n  12mo, pp. 356.\n\n  2. The Art Of Discourse:\n  A System of Rhetoric.\n  By Henry N. Day.\n  New York: Scribner & Co. 1867.\n  12mo, pp. 343.\n\nWe know Mr. Day only as the author of these two books, and these\ndo not give us a very high opinion of him either as a master of\nEnglish grammar or of English composition. His volumes are\nelaborate, and evidently have cost him much time and hard study;\nhe has aimed to make them profound, logical, philosophical,\nattractive, and profitable to the student; but their depth is\nless than he believes, their logic is more pretentious than real,\nand their philosophy is borrowed from a bad school.\n\nThe first work purports to be a grammar of the English language,\nand aims, while teaching the art of composition or the\nconstruction of sentences, to make the study of grammar\nattractive by exercising the thought and reasoning faculty of the\npupil. The aim is commendable, but is rarely successful. The\nauthor lacks simplicity, ease, and grace as a writer, and a\nthorough mastery of his subject; and his grammar, by its attempt\nat logic and philosophy, is better fitted to discourage than to\nquicken thought. As far as we can discover, the work is no\nimprovement on Lindley Murray's well-known English grammar; it is\nless simple, and not a whit more logical or philosophical. It\ndeparts widely from the old grammatical technology, but with no\nadvantage, that we can discover, to the pupil. What is gained by\ncalling adjectives and adverbs _modifiers_, a name\nappropriate to adverbs only? Adjectives _qualify_; adverbs\n_modify_. Murray defines the verb, \"A word that signifies to\nbe, to do, or to suffer.\" What do we gain by rejecting this\ndefinition, and defining it to be the word in a sentence that\nasserts? The author makes a sentence, as a judgment, consist of\nthree parts, subject, predicate, and copula, which is correct. He\nidentifies the verb with the copula, which is also correct; but\nhe makes its essence consist in assertion, which is not correct.\nThere is, indeed, no assertion without the copula; but the copula\nalone does not make the assertion. The assertion is made by the\nwhole sentence; and the three terms, subject, predicate, and\ncopula, are each equally necessary to the assertion or judgment.\nThe author is right in making the verb the copula, but not when\nhe makes its essence consist in assertion. The verb, the author\nsays, is the copula, and essentially the copula merely expresses\nthe identity or non-identity of the subject and predicate; but\nthe copula, in a judgment, distinguishes as well as unites the\nsubject and predicate, and the predicate is never identical with\nthe subject; for, if it were, it would be subject and not\npredicate. When an author attempts to make grammar, logic, and\nphilosophy correspond, he can escape censure only by success.\nMurray's definition of the verb is sufficient for us and for all\nthe purposes of grammar. As such, it is enough to say a verb is a\nword that signifies \"to be, to do, or to suffer;\" but, if you\ninsist on running grammar into logic, and making the verb express\nthe copula of the judgment, we insist that you shall make it\nrepresent, as it does philosophically, the creative act, the real\ncopula between being and existence, in which case the predicate\nis connected by the copula to the subject as its product, as when\nwe say, Two and two make four. The verb, then, while it expresses\nthe union of the predicate with subject, distinguishes it from\nthe subject, as the effect from the cause.\n\nThe details of the book are frequently objectionable. The author\nmakes _as,_ when it follows _some, such, so,_ and\n_as,_ a relative pronoun, and _that_, in the clause,\n\"The last time that I saw him,\" a relative pronoun, and in other\nlocutions, exactly similar, a conjunction. _As_ is never a\nrelative pronoun in any correct speaker, but an adverb or\nconjunction of comparison. We doubt if _as_ ever properly\nfollows _same_. \"It is the same _as_ a denial\" is not\ngood English, although sometimes met with; but, if so, the\nsentence is elliptical. \"It is the same as a denial would be.\"\nOrdinarily, _same_ requires _that, which,_ or\n_who_ after it; and where it will not take one or another of\nthese terms, it requires _with_; for _same_ expresses\nidentity not comparison, and, therefore, can never be properly\nfollowed by _as_.\n{427}\nThe _same as_ seems to us no better than _equal as_.\n_So_, when it must be followed by a relative pronoun,\ndemands _that_. \"He went as far as the gate\" is good\nEnglish, but neither _as_ is a relative pronoun. The phrase,\n\"Such men _as_ these\" is elliptical for, \"Such men _as_\nthese men are,\" where _as_ is clearly an adverb or\nconjunction of comparison, and no relative pronoun at all.\nWherever _as_ is used as a relative, the phrase or sentence\nis a vulgarism; as, in the phrase mentioned by Mrs. Trollope,\n\"The lady _as_ takes in washing over the way,\" though not a\nYankee vulgarism.\n\nThe second work should, by its title, _The Art of\nDiscourse_, be a work on logic, not on rhetoric.\n_Discourse_ is from the Latin _discursus_, and means\nreasoning as distinguished from intuition, if taken\netymologically, and it is only in a neological sense that it\nstands for an oration. We see no gain in exchanging the old term\n_rhetoric_ for that of _discourse_, which in the sense\nused is a pure neologism. In the first work, the author to a\ngreat extent confuses grammar with rhetoric, and in this second\nwork he confuses rhetoric with logic. The arts of grammar,\nrhetoric, and logic are undoubtedly three kindred arts, but yet\ndistinguishable by well-defined lines of difference. Grammar\ntreats of words and their formation into sentences; rhetoric, of\nthe arrangement of sentences in an oration, essay, dissertation,\nor treatise; logic, of the construction, arrangement, and\nrelation of propositions or judgments. Grammar teaches to speak\nand write correctly; rhetoric, to speak or write pleasingly and\npersuasively; logic teaches us to reason justly and conclusively.\nGrammar makes us acquainted with language; rhetoric addresses\nlanguage to the affections, passions, and sentiments; logic\naddresses the reason and judgment. Though they must all three\nunite in forming what Mr. Day would call a perfect discourse,\nthey should be taught separately. Sentences may be correctly\nformed, and yet the discourse be heavy and dull; the sentences\nmay be rhetorically arranged so as to move the feelings, without\ninstructing or convincing the understanding; but still, in\nteaching, each art should be kept distinct, and prevented from\nencroaching on the province of either of the others.\n\nMr. Day's treatise on rhetoric is not, in our judgment, superior,\nor, as a whole, equal to that of Campbell or even that of Blair.\nYet it is not without value, though better adapted to private\nstudy than to colleges and academies. No man can treat the art of\nrhetoric well who does not understand well the science both of\nlanguage and of logic. Mr. Day is well aware of this, and\nattempts to connect the art with the science of which it is the\napplication. This is well and praiseworthy; but, unhappily, he\nunderstands the science neither of language nor of logic. He does\nnot understand the relation of the word to thought any more than\ndoes Professor Whitney; and no one can understand the science of\nlogic until he has mastered philosophical science, which Mr. Day\nis very far from having done. The science neither of language nor\nof logic can be mastered by one who holds Sir William Hamilton\nwas a philosopher, whose pretended philosophy is substantially\nthat of the Positivists. The school Sir William Hamilton founded,\nand of which Professor Ferrier and Mr. Mansel are distinguished\ndisciples, avowedly maintains that philosophy cannot rise above\nthe sensible, and that the supersensible as well as the\nsuperintelligible must be taken, if at all, on the authority of\nfaith or revelation.\n\nMr. Day belongs to this school, and adopts, to a great extent,\nits manner of writing English, which is hardly more intelligible\nto us than Choctaw or the dialects of South Africa. His example,\nif not his precept, is likely to encourage the distortion, we may\nsay corruption, of plain, simple, and nervous English, which we\nsee coming into fashion with our English as well as Scottish\nwriters. The present race of Englishmen, when treating\nphilosophical or theological subjects, seem to mistake obscurity\nfor depth, and darkness for sublimity. Undeniably Jeffrey is\ndead. We wish the authors of school-books would show that they\nknow and love our real English tongue, and are aware that\nsimplicity and clearness of style are merits that should be\nretained.\n\n------\n\n{428}\n\n  Short Studies On Great Subjects.\n  By James Anthony Froude, M.A., late\n  Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford.\n  Crown 8vo, pp. 534. New York:\n  Charles Scribner & Co.\n\nMr. Froude is a very startling instance of the truth of a\nstatement often made during the last few years--and made by men\nwithin the Church of England as well by men outside her\npale--that the Anglican establishment is rapidly losing all hold\nupon the most thoughtful and best educated of those who profess\nto be her subjects. Time, which tries all things, is\ndemonstrating beyond cavil the insufficiency of Anglicanism not\nonly to content the soul but to satisfy the intellect. There are\nfashions of thought just as there are fashions of dress, and the\nchurch which Henry VIII. made to fit as well as he could the\nprevailing style of mental activity in his day has been getting\nmore and more antiquated ever since, until now it will no more\nsuit the intelligence of the present century than King Harry's\nhose and doublet would accord with a modern fine gentleman's idea\nof dress. In the sixteenth century, the mass of men knew very\nlittle; and so, when the king's clergy told them to believe this\nor to believe that, they were ready enough to obey, not because\nthey heard the church as the voice of God, but because it was\nonly the churchmen who had learning enough to know anything about\nit. Now all this is changed. The relative positions of the\nProtestant clergy and laity have been reversed. The education of\nthe former is for the most part narrow and superficial. The best\nclass of laymen, on the contrary, receive a broad and liberal\nschooling; they sound the remotest depths of science, and\npenetrate recesses of nature to which the clergy, as a general\nthing, never approach. Taking the average of all the educated\nclasses, the laity know more than the churchmen. The obedience,\ntherefore, which ignorance once paid to learning has vanished.\nWhat is there to substitute in its stead? The Anglican\nestablishment claims no direct authority from heaven to teach and\ndirect, or, if she does assert any such prerogative, she asserts\nit in so loose a manner, claiming and disclaiming in the same\nbreath, that her disciples cannot help feeling themselves at\nperfect liberty to obey or not as they please.\n\nWhat is the natural consequence of this state of things? Why,\nearnest, thinking men are driven away from the English\nestablishment in constantly increasing numbers. In a few years,\nif matters go on as they are now going, the regular old humdrum\nEpiscopalian or Anglican will be as great a curiosity as the last\nsoldier of the Revolution. Some are taking refuge in ritualism,\nand trying to supplant their cold and cheerless establishment by\na counterfeit Catholicism, which may, and we hope will, lead them\nultimately to the one true faith, but which is at present only a\npretty sham. Others, and among these is Mr. Froude, rush to the\nopposite extreme, and profess an extravagant rationalism which is\nnearly equivalent to no creed at all. Mr. Froude has been\nregarded as in some sense the champion of the English\nestablishment. He is the admiring chronicler of its infancy, the\napologist and biographer of its earliest apostles and prophets,\nHenry and Elizabeth, Cromwell and Cranmer. He has made the\nhistory of its foundation the study of his life, and has told\nthat history in a strain of enthusiasm such as has inspired no\nother reputable writer. If there is any man from whom we might\nhave expected a vigorous defence of the claims of Anglicanism, a\nrecognition of its right to command our obedience, it is Mr.\nFroude. Yet he has given us just the reverse of this. His volume\nis at once a startling indication of the mental unrest which has\nkept thinking Anglicans disturbed of late years, and a strong\nprotest against the right of the Church of England to seek to\nquiet that uneasiness by the exercise of ecclesiastical authority\nor the bold promulgation of clerical dogmas. In his \"Plea for the\nFree Discussion of Theological Difficulties,\" reprinted in the\npresent volume from _Fraser's Magazine_, he calls for a\nreopening of all the fundamental questions of religious belief, a\nsubjection of every article of every creed to the most searching\ndiscussion.\n{429}\nThe clergy, he says in effect, are not to be our instructors in\nmatters of theology. We are quite as competent to judge as they\nare. Theological truth is not different from any other truth. The\nHoly Spirit does not guide the Church, and there is no tribunal\nbut public opinion which is competent to decide disputed\nquestions of religious belief. In a word, the great truths of\ntheology are all to be declared open problems, and the world is\nto be turned into one great debating society for their free\ndiscussion.\n\nThis is not the place to show the tendency of Mr. Froude's\nprinciples, nor to Catholic readers is there much need of showing\nit. We only refer to them as a remarkable example of a state of\nfeeling which prevails among a large party of the most\nintellectual members of the Church of England, and what the\nresult of that state of feeling must be it is not difficult to\ntell.\n\nOf the other essays in this volume we have little to say. The\nthree lectures on \"The Times of Erasmus and Luther\" are not very\npleasant reading for us, but they are counterbalanced by a paper\non \"The Philosophy of Catholicism,\" in which the writer pays an\neloquent tribute to \"the beautiful creed which for 1500 years\ntuned the heart and formed the mind of the noblest of mankind.\"\nHis admiration, of course, stops short of its logical term, and\nis but a coldly intellectual sort of appreciation at best--not\nthat emotional comprehension which must accompany the grace of\nfaith; but, such as it is, we thank him for it.\n\n-------\n\n  Life And Letters Of Madame Swetchine.\n  By Count de Falloux, of the French Academy.\n  Translated by H. W. Preston,\n  1 vol. 12mo, pp. 369.\n  Boston: Roberts Brothers.\n  New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1867.\n\nIt can hardly be necessary to inform our readers who Madame\nSwetchine was, or what are the claims of her life and career to\nthe interest and attention of the public. A sketch of her\nremarkable history has been already given in _The Catholic\nWorld_ for July, 1865. Her biographer was one of her most\nintimate friends--a member of the distinguished coterie of French\necclesiastics and laymen with whose aims and aspirations she most\ndeeply sympathized--a witness of her dying hours, and the\nexecutor of her last will and testament. He is the Count de\nFalloux, and that is more than any eulogium we could pronounce on\nhis qualities as a writer. Mr. Alger, under whose auspices this\nlife has been translated and published, has done a great service,\nand has added no little to the value of the book, in its English\ndress, by the short preface with which he introduces it to the\nAmerican public. The following passage shows what has been the\nintention and the spirit with which he has been animated:\n\n  \"It may seem strange that a work so eminently Catholic in its\n  quality as this biography should be introduced to a Protestant\n  people by a Protestant translator and Protestant publishers.\n  But, on further consideration, will not this be found\n  especially fit and serviceable? In this country, a traditional\n  antipathy or bigoted repugnance to the Catholic Church prevails\n  in an unjustifiable extreme. Whatever is repulsive in the\n  Catholic dogmas or rule is fastened on with unwarrantable\n  acrimony and exclusiveness. The interests alike of justice and\n  of good feeling demand that the attention of Protestants shall,\n  at least occasionally, be given to the best ingredients and\n  workings of the Catholic system. In the present work, we have\n  the forensic doctrine and authority of Catholicity in the\n  background, its purest inner aims and life in the foreground.\n  We here have a beautiful specimen of the style of character and\n  experience which the most imposing organic Symbol of\n  Christendom tends to produce, and has, in all the ages of its\n  mighty reign, largely produced. If every bigoted disliker of\n  the Roman Catholic Church within the English-speaking race\n  could read this book, and, as a consequence, have his\n  prejudices lessened, his sympathies enlarged, the result, so\n  far from being deprecated, should be warmly welcomed. This is\n  written by one who, while enthusiastically admiring the\n  spiritual wealth of the Catholic Church, the ineffable\n  tenderness and beauty of its moral and religious ministrations,\n  is, as to its dogmatic fabric and secular sway, even more than\n  a Protestant of the Protestants. Finally, this book is\n  especially commended to women as a work of inestimable worth.\n  The character and life of Madame Swetchine, her lonely studies\n  and aspirations, her sublime personal attainments, her\n  philanthropic labors, her literary productions, her sweet\n  social charm and vast influence, her thrice-royal friendships\n  with kings and geniuses and saints, the sober raptures of her\n  religious faith and fruition, form an example whose exciting\n  and edifying interest and value are scarcely surpassed in the\n  annals of her sex.\"\n\nThe translation has been well done, and the typographical\nexecution is unexceptionable. We desire for the book as wide a\ncirculation as possible.\n\n------\n\n{430}\n\n  The Catholic Crusoe.\n  Adventures of Owen Evans, Esq., Surgeon's Mate,\n  set Ashore with Five Companions on a Desolate\n  Island in the Caribbean Sea, 1739.\n  Given from the original MS.\n  By Rev. W. H. Anderdon, M.A.\n  12mo, pp. 344.\n  London: Burns, Lambert & Gates.\n  New York: The Catholic Publication Society.\n\nThe name of Dr. Anderdon's interesting story is so well indicated\nby the title that we have only to add that it seems admirably\nadapted both to amuse and instruct young people, is full of\nincident, and is written in a pleasant and simple style. A\nsupplement entitled \"Don Manuel's Narrative,\" a marvellous\nrelation purporting to have been picked up at sea, is a second\nstory of a nature similar to the first. We commend the book to\nparents and teachers as a very acceptable present for lads of a\nsomewhat advanced age.\n\n------\n\n  Aner's Return; or,\n  The Migrations of a Soul. An Allegorical Tale.\n  By Alto S. Hoermann, O.S.B.\n  Translated from the Original German by\n  Innocent A. Bergrath.\n  12mo, pp. 294. New York: P. O'Shea.\n\nThis is an allegory of human life, sin, repentance, and\nforgiveness, the idea of which seems to have been inspired by\nBunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_. The excellence of the\nauthor's intentions and the soundness of his theology must plead\nin excuse for a great many shortcomings, the most serious of\nwhich is that the book is not very readable. The ambitious style,\nwe fear, will repel a great many readers from a story which\ndisplays considerable ingenuity, and, as we are assured by the\ntranslator, has proved very popular in Europe. It is very neatly\nprinted and prettily bound, and will serve well as a holiday\npresent or school premium.\n\n------\n\n  Memoirs And Correspondence Of Madame R\u00e9camier.\n  Translated from the French, and edited by\n  Isaphene M. Luyster.\n  12mo, pp. 408.\n  Boston: Roberts Brothers.\n\nWe published in an early number of _The Catholic World_ a\nsketch of the remarkable and brilliant woman whose life forms the\nsubject of this attractive little volume. The French work, from\nwhich Miss Luyster's translation is made, appeared in Paris in\n1859. It was from the pen of Madame Lenormant, the adopted\ndaughter of Madame R\u00e9camier, and niece of her husband. The lady\nseems, from all accounts, to have performed her task in a rather\nloose and confused manner, so that Miss Luyster's part has been\nnot only to turn it into readable English, but to prune,\ncondense, and arrange it in readable form; and this we judge she\nhas done in a very satisfactory manner. The correspondence is\nstrangely deficient in Madame R\u00e9camier's own letters; but the\nlack of these is well compensated for by numerous ones from\nChateaubriand, Matthieu de Montmorency, and Ballanche, and a few\nfrom Madame de Sta\u00ebl, La Harpe Bernadotte, Louis Napoleon, Victor\nHugo, and B\u00e9ranger.\n\n---------\n\n  The Galin Method Of Musical Instruction.\n  By C. H. Farnham.\n  New York: American News Company. 1867.\n\nMr. Farnham gives us a very concise comparative view of the\ncommon system of musical notation and the new one known as the\nGalin Method, which has already received so much consideration in\nEurope, and must soon attract the attention of the musical world\nin this country. In France, many distinguished musicians have\nadvocated the general adoption of the Galin method, and it is the\nonly one now used at the Polytechnic and superior normal schools\nin Paris and in the government schools of Russia. It aims at\nsimplifying the system of musical signs, now certainly somewhat\ncomplicated, by the substitution of a uniform series of figures\nfor the old staff, with its different clefs and many-shaped\nnotes.\n\nIt is claimed that by this method nine persons out of ten can be\ntaught the whole theory of music in a few months, and learn at\nthe same time to sing at sight and to write under dictation,\nindependently of an instrument, music of ordinary difficulty.\n{431}\nWe have very little doubt that this system possesses immense\nadvantages over the old one for learning the theory of music and\nfor the execution of a vocal score. But we are not quite sure\nthat a page of instrumental music written according to the Galin\nmethod would be any less difficult to read than one written in\nthe old style. We have already simplified matters a good deal by\nthe abandonment of several of the clefs formerly in use, and we\ndo not see why a still further reformation might not be made. We\nhad the pleasure of assisting at one of Mr. Farnham's classes,\ngiven in this city, and can testify to the remarkable facility of\nreading and writing music according to this method, as exhibited\nby his pupils. Our musical readers will not fail to find much to\ninterest them in a perusal of this essay.\n\n---------\n\n  St. Ignatius And The Society Of Jesus:\n  Their Influence on Civilization and Christianity.\n  A Sermon delivered in the Church of the\n  Immaculate Conception, in Boston, on Sunday,\n  August 4th, 1867. By Rev. G. F. Haskins,\n  Rector of the Home of the Angel Guardian.\n  Boston: Bernard Carr, Printer, 5 Chatham Row. 1867.\n\nFather Haskins is one of our most eloquent preachers and most\ngraphic writers, although he seldom favors us with any published\nproductions. His eloquence is that eloquence of realities which\nflies off like a glowing stream of sparks from the energetic\naction of a soul on fire with zeal, incessantly occupied in\npractical works of charity. The sermon before us is a panegyric\npronounced in the church of the Jesuits in Boston, on the\noccasion of the celebration of the feast of St. Ignatius. It\nrecounts in a succinct but forcible and thorough manner the\nservices rendered to religion and humanity by the Society of\nJesus. Although the language is glowing and the eulogium of the\nhighest kind, yet, in point of fact, Father Haskins has not\nexaggerated the reality. History bears out all that he so warmly\nclaims for this great religious order, which has equalled in its\nhistory the greatest orders of past ages, while far surpassing\nall others in modern times. The hatred and calumny which the\nJesuits have encountered on the part of anti-Catholics were never\nmore gratuitous and undeserved. The whole sum of the accusations\nwhich Catholic writers have been able to bring against them\nmerely show that some portions of the society have at times\ndegenerated from its true spirit; that individuals have erred in\ndoctrine, or committed faults in administration; that a mistaken\npolicy has sometimes been adopted; and that the order has not,\nany more than the other great orders, transcended that limited\nthough elevated sphere to which every order is confined by the\nlaw of its being. The Jesuits were constituted as one of the\n_corps d'\u00e9lite_ of the church militant. As such they have\nrendered the most signal services, which will ever cover their\nnames with imperishable glory; and we ascribe their success, in\nsubordination to the grace of God and the unfailing vigor of the\nCatholic Church whose offspring they are, to the genius elevated\nby sanctity of their founder, and the admirable constitutions\nwhich he bequeathed to the institute.\n\n------\n\n  Meditations Of St. Thomas, etc.\n  For a Retreat of Ten Days.\n  Followed by a Treatise on the Virtues, etc.\n  By Father Massoulie, O.P.\n  Translated from the French.\n  London: Richardson.\n  New York: The Catholic Publication Society.\n\nThese Meditations have been taken, as to their substance, from\nthe writings of St. Thomas, but arranged and supplemented by the\nlearned Dominican whose name is given in the title. Their great\nadvantage lies in the fact that they embody the doctrine of one\nwho was not only the most consummate theologian the world has\never seen, but also a contemplative saint of the highest order.\nThis gives one who wishes to use them for his own profit a secure\nwarrant that they will furnish his mind and heart with the most\nchoice as well as wholesome nutriment they can possibly feed\nupon. The works of saints are always to be preferred to all\nothers.\n{432}\nWe recommend, therefore, this work, derived from the writings of\na most illustrious saint, to all; especially to thoughtful and\neducated men who can relish, and who, therefore, desire and need,\nthe most solid spiritual food to promote the growth of\nintelligent, solid piety and virtue in their souls.\n\n-------\n\n  The Heiress Of Killorgan;\n  or, Evenings With The Old Geraldines.\n  By Mrs. J. Sadlier.\n  New York; D. & J. Sadlier & Co.\n\nThe author of this very interesting novel has given to our\nliterature a great number of works of various kinds, intended not\nonly for our amusement but for our instruction; and the present\nvolume is perhaps the very best specimen of her productions,\ncombining, as it does, the interest of a romance with many\ngenuine historical and personal reminiscences of the celebrated\nAnglo-Norman family of Fitzgerald, with which is associated so\nmuch of the history of Ireland from the English invasion until\nthe present time. It cannot be said that there is any plot in the\ntale, being a simple narration of the incidents occurring in the\nhousehold of a refined family reduced in fortune, but still\nretaining its native dignity and pride of ancestry; but the\ncharacters, though few, are clearly, gracefully, and vividly\ndrawn. The heiress of the decayed house of Killorgan is admirably\nsketched with a pencil which aims less at personal description\nthan at those delicate lines of thought and feeling which, after\nall, give us the truest idea of the excellence of the female\ncharacter. The greatest merit, however, of the work rests in its\nhistorical descriptions, which, being taken from the best\nauthorities, are thoroughly reliable and presented in a very\nattractive and concise form.\n\n--------\n\n  Affixes In Their Origin And Application.\n  Exhibiting the Etymological Structure of English Words.\n  By S. S. Haldeman, A.M.\n  Philadelphia: Butler & Co. 1865. 12mo, pp. 271.\n\nProfessor Haldeman has few if any superiors in the science of\nlanguage, and he has also the modesty that always accompanies\nreal merit. He pretends to no more knowledge than he really has,\nand he never undertakes to explain what in the present state of\nlinguistic science is not explicable. His chief fault is his fear\nof saying on any point more than is necessary, which leaves him\nin his brevity sometimes obscure. We should find his work more\neasily understood if he allowed himself to enlarge a little more\non the independent meaning of the prefixes and suffixes to\nEnglish words. But perhaps he is full enough for others.\n\nThe importance of affixes in the construction of English words\nmay be gathered from the fact that there are in English only\nabout three thousand two hundred monosyllables, and that many of\nthese even are not primitives, but have a prefix, a suffix, or\nboth. It is evident that affixes must be concerned in the\nformation of by far the greatest part of the English vocabulary,\nand that an accurate knowledge of English words is to be obtained\nonly \"through a distinct appreciation of the modes used to vary\nthem according to the exigencies of thought and speech.\" This\nappreciation in the case of our mother tongue becomes the more\ndifficult because it is a composite tongue, and, unlike the Greek\nand Welsh, for instance, has not its chief etymological materials\nin itself, and its words cannot in general be analyzed\nindependently of other languages. To have a scientific knowledge\nof our language we must know the languages from which its words\nare derived, and the derivation, meaning, and use of their\naffixes in those languages as well as in our own. Professor\nHaldeman has in this small but compact volume attempted to give\nus the derivation, meaning, and use of all the affixes, divided\ninto prefixes and suffixes, in the English language, from\nwhatever language taken, and he has done it in as satisfactory a\nmanner as possible in the present state of comparative philology.\nNo English scholar should fail to obtain and master it, if he\nwishes really to understand his own language.\n\n--------\n\n{433}\n\n            The Catholic World.\n\n       Vol. Vi., No. 34. January, 1868.\n\n\n\n    The Catholic Doctrine Of Justification.\n\n\nThe remarks we are about to make in this article grow out of the\ndiscussion of the philosophy of conversion between this magazine\nand the _New-Englander_. Nevertheless, those who expect a\ncontinuation of personal controversy on the topics suggested in\nour last article, and a formal rejoinder to the respected writer\nin the _New-Englander_ who replied to it, will be\ndisappointed. Our views on the subject matter of discussion were\nexpressed, as we think, clearly enough to be understood, and as\nfully as our purpose required. We leave them, therefore, to the\njudgment of those of our readers who are really in earnest, that\nthey may give them whatever weight their intrinsic value may\ndemand in the court of conscience; and as for the opinion of\nothers, we care nothing. Controversy upon minor topics and side\nissues is of its very nature interminable, as well as of little\ncomparative utility. The controversy between the Catholic Church\nand Protestants on the great, fundamental principles and\ndoctrines at issue, has been so ably and thoroughly argued out\nthat there is little left to be done in that department of\ntheology. For those who desire information, there are plenty of\nbooks to be had treating of every topic in a much more\nsatisfactory manner than it is possible to treat them in the\nshort compass of magazine articles. The great controversy of the\nday, in our opinion, and the one which interests us most deeply,\nis the one which is waging between Christianity and infidelity,\nin its various phases of rationalism, scepticism, and atheism. So\nfar as Protestants of the more orthodox schools are concerned,\nthe aspect of the question we feel most disposed to present to\nthem is that which Guizot and others of their own number have\nseen with more or less distinctness--namely, that in the great\nconflict of the age their real interest is at stake in the\nsuccess of the Catholic side; that, as Christians, they belong to\nus, and ought to make with us common cause against the enemy.\nThat method of removing the difficulty in the way of their doing\nso which recommends itself to our judgment and feelings is one\nwhich brings into strong relief the grand, fundamental principles\nof Christianity in which we agree; and with these principles as a\npoint of departure, endeavors to explain and develop the complete\nCatholic system in such a way as to remove misunderstandings and\nto show how the several, particular portions of revealed truth,\nheld by our various bodies of separated brethren in a fragmentary\nstate, are integrated in a grand, universal whole in this\nCatholic system.\n{434}\nIn this line, as we conceive it, lie the richest and least\nworked-out fields, where new writers may enter in and follow up\nthe labors of their predecessors. One special need, moreover, is\nto clothe thought in a language which is familiar to the persons\nwe are addressing, and to translate or explain in their own idiom\nwhat may be strange or unintelligible in the forms of other ages,\ncountries, and schools of philosophy and theology. What little\nthe writer of this article is able to do he prefers to do in this\nline, and thinks it best to restrict himself to single and\nspecific topics in the short essays which are the only suitable\nones for a magazine. We have no wish to abjure general\ncontroversy in the abstract, or to lay down a rule of conduct in\nthis matter for others. Nor would we seem to slight or treat with\nindifference what may be written on the other side. We desire to\ngive due attention to all that candid and courteous opponents may\nhave to say, and to keep it in view when we are arguing our own\ncause. It suits better, however, with the time and strength we\nhave at our command, and our other avocations, to keep ourselves\nfree from the obligations of formal controversy, and to be at\nliberty to take up such single topics as may be opportune\naccording to circumstances. At present, we propose to touch a\nlittle more at length upon the topic of justification, one of\nthose we have before now briefly remarked upon, dropping\naltogether the attitude and style of personal controversy.\n\nThe real objection against the Catholic doctrine of justification\nby _fides formata_, or faith informed by charity, as well as\nthe reason for insisting that faith alone justifies, exclusively\nof the charity which accompanies it, is grounded in a notion that\nthe former doctrine subverts the gratuitous character of\nsalvation by the grace of God through the merits of Jesus Christ.\nWe propose, therefore, to make a brief exposition of the Catholic\ndoctrine, with a view of showing what it really teaches\nrespecting the gratuitousness of grace, and the work of Christ as\nthe meritorious cause of its being conferred.\n\nCatholic theology teaches, what even sound philosophy\ndemonstrates, that all created existence proceeds from a\ngratuitous act of the Creator. But it teaches, moreover, against\nthe Pelagians, that the original state of supernatural justice\nand sanctity in which the angels and Adam were constituted was an\nadditional gratuitous boon, or grace conferred by God. It is\nevident, then, that the Catholic doctrine excludes the\npossibility of holding that the first principle of the\nbeatification and glorification of a creature is in the nature of\nthe creature itself. This principle, as supernatural, is not due\nto nature, cannot be merited by any acts proceeding from the\nprinciples of nature, and must therefore be a pure, gratuitous\ngrace. That is, the creature is justified by grace, and owes the\ncapacity of attaining beatitude, consequently beatitude itself\nwhen attained, radically to a pure act of the divine goodness. It\nis plain, therefore, that the angels and Adam could not have\nmerited their own justification. They were obliged either to\nreceive it passively, or to accept it, as Billuart holds, by an\nactive concurrence with grace.\n{435}\nThe grace being given, constituting its subjects in the state of\njustice and sanctity, what was it? It was not a mere forensic and\nexterior modification of their relation to God, but an interior,\nsanctifying grace, making them subjectively, holy, like to God,\naffiliated to him, united to him in an inchoate union whose final\nterm is beatitude. It is evident that this sanctifying grace,\nwhich in act was the love of God, made them fit and worthy to be\nthe friends of God, and to be admitted to the fellowship of his\nglory. It is also certain that they were placed in probation.\nWhat was that probation? Was it not a trial of obedience, in\nwhich certain definite acts of free-will were prescribed as the\nconditions of being confirmed in grace and consummated in glory?\nEternal life was therefore proposed to them as the reward of good\nworks, as a premium of voluntary obedience, and as such is\nactually possessed by the holy angels in heaven. It is,\ntherefore, true that the angels were justified by grace,\njustified by charity, justified by good works; that their\nsalvation proceeds from the pure goodness of God, and has been\nobtained by their own good acts: nor is there the least\ncontradiction in any of these statements.\n\nThere being no intrinsic, necessary contradiction between the two\npropositions, the creature is justified and beatified by the\ngratuitous grace of God; and, the creature is justified and\nbeatified by his personal sanctity--there is no necessary\nlogical deduction derivable from the premise that man in his\npresent state is justified by gratuitous grace to the conclusion\nthat he is not justified by his intrinsic sanctity. The\nredemption has repaired the fall, has restored the human race to\nthe condition from which it fell by the sin of Adam. There is no\nreason, therefore, why man should not be justified now, in\nessentially the same manner as before; no reason why the order of\ngrace, repaired by redemption, should not follow the same\nessential laws as before the fall. If a change has taken place,\nit must be proved that it is so. If this change was required by\nthe fact that the restoration of man is due to the merits of\nChrist, the reason of it must be shown. It must be shown that the\nrecovery of justification through the merits of Christ is\nincompatible with justification by intrinsic sanctity and\nglorification as the reward of good works done from the principle\nof charity. If this cannot be shown, no argument can be derived\nfrom the doctrine that the work of Christ is the meritorious\ncause of the justification of fallen man to prove that the formal\ncause of his justification is any other than the formal cause of\nthe justification of the angels and of man in his original state.\n\nThe Catholic doctrine teaches that the sacrifice of himself which\nJesus Christ offered up on the cross is the meritorious cause of\njustification through the expiation which it made of original and\nactual sin, and the new title which it obtained to the lost\ninheritance of everlasting life. This includes in itself the\ngrant of all those graces which are necessary in order to the\nremission of sins, the sanctification of the soul, and its\ncomplete preparation for the state of beatitude and glory.\nConsequently, all Catholic theologians teach that the initial\nmovement of the sinner to return to God, the faith which disposes\nhim for justification, the sanctifying grace which makes him\nreally just and the friend of God, the actual graces which enable\nhim to perform salutary acts, the special aid which enables him\nto persevere, all proceed from the grace of God, which is\ngratuitous in reference to the original provision of a plan of\nredemption, gratuitous toward each individual who receives it so\nfar as he is personally concerned, and due as a reward, under the\ntitle of justice, solely to Jesus Christ himself on account of\nhis own personal merits.\n{436}\nIt is, therefore, through the merits of Christ that a sinner\nreceives the grace which justifies and sanctifies him in the\nfirst instance. Through the same merits he receives the remission\nof his sins, if he falls into any afterward. Through the same\nmerits he receives all the actual graces which he obtains by\nprayer. And, finally, it is through the same merits that the\nkingdom of heaven has been prepared for him, as the ultimate term\nto which he is permitted to aspire. The effect of the merits of\nthe death of Christ upon the cross is therefore to put fallen man\nback again, essentially, where he was before the trial in\nParadise, and where the angels were when they were created. It\ndoes not affect the case at all whether the angels and Adam were\nplaced in that state in view of the Incarnation, or by the mere\ngoodness of God, without any reference to the Incarnation. If\nthey were created and elevated to the divine filiation,\n_intuitu Christi_, they received a boon motived upon the\nextrinsic glory which God would receive from his deific humanity.\nIf not, they received the same boon motived upon the glory which\nGod would receive from their elevation to beatitude. The boon was\nequally gratuitous in either case, for the decree of the\nIncarnation, whether included in the decree of creation or in\nthat of redemption--whether antecedent or subsequent to the\nforesight of redemption--was perfectly gratuitous. Nay, more:\nbecause it was gratuitous it was fitting and just that God should\ncondition it with any terms that were possible and reasonable. He\ndid actually condition it upon obedience to certain precepts,\nunknown to us as regards the angels, but known as regards Adam.\nThe original grace conceded to them, therefore, merely placed\nthem in a condition to obtain everlasting beatitude by\ncorresponding to this grace with their free, voluntary acts, or\nby fidelity to the obligations of their probation. They were\njustified, that is, placed in the state of justification, by the\nact of God which gave them sanctifying grace. They were\nconstituted just in act by this personal quality of sanctifying\ngrace, which made them fit and worthy to be the sons of God; and\nthey were commanded to retain the state of justice, to augment\nit, and to obtain confirmation in it, with the consummation of it\nin glory, as a premium of obedience to the divine precepts. The\nholy angels are now in heaven actually the object of the divine\nlove of complacency on account of their inherent sanctity and in\nproportion to the degree of it which each one possesses. They\nenjoy heaven as a reward gained by the right exercise of their\nfree-will; and yet, it is no less true that their state of glory\nis due to the gratuitous grace of God, nor is there any\ncontradiction in supposing that the grace was given to them\n_intuitu Christi_.\n\nThe fact that man is now placed under an order of grace, based on\nthe merits of Christ, cannot therefore be shown to be\nincompatible with the position that he is also placed in a state\nof probation essentially similar to that of angels and of Adam.\nHe may be constituted just by sanctifying grace, as well as they;\nobliged, as well as they, to remain just, and to attain perpetual\njustice and its complement of glory by the right exercise of his\nfree-will in producing acts which proceed from the principle of\nsanctity within him.\n\n{437}\n\nThe Catholic doctrine teaches that man is actually placed in this\nstate of probation under the law of grace established in Christ.\nThis probation implies that the initial, inchoate principle of\nthe divine everlasting life to which he is destined should be\nimplanted within him, as the centre of the supernatural force\ngiving him a movement toward his prefixed end. It implies, also,\nthat a series of acts impelling him forward should proceed from\nthis principle by the effort of his free-will. This principle can\nbe nothing else than sanctifying grace, and sanctifying grace, in\nits essence, can be nothing else than the love of God. Love is\nthe only principle capable of uniting the soul with God. Faith\nalone cannot do it. It is further evident that faith cannot be\nthe essential principle which makes the soul just, for two\nreasons: First. That infants are capable of justification, which,\nwe suppose, no one will deny, but are not capable of an act of\nfaith. Second. That faith is a temporary virtue, ceasing in the\nbeatified state, whereas the principle of justification is\npermanent and eternal.\n\nMoreover, the sphere of probation is necessarily identical with\nthe sphere of free-will, and the sphere of free-will is\ncoextensive with all the precepts which God has given as the\nmatter for free-will to exercise its choice upon, by selecting\nthe good and rejecting the evil. The acts which must proceed from\nthe principle of love, in order to bring the soul to God as its\nultimate term, must, therefore, cover the whole ground of the\ndivine law, and include the fulfilment of all its commandments.\nIt is impossible, therefore, that faith alone should justify,\nunless probation, free-will, and the law of God are strictly\nconfined to the sphere of faith. No one will pretend that they\nare. If they are not, it is impossible that a mere habit of\nfaith, or the mere exercise of faith in act, should alone\nconstitute a man just before God. God is not bound to place a\ncreature on probation. He can justify, sanctify, and glorify him\nimmediately, without leaving him any liberty of choice between\ngood and evil. But he cannot elevate him to the high state of\npersonal union and friendship with himself without giving him\nthat love which fixes the will immovably in God as the supreme\ngood, and includes in itself all virtue and sanctity. Union\nbetween the soul and God requires likeness. The soul must be made\nlike to God in order that it may love God, and that God may love\nthe soul. Although, therefore, God is not bound to place a\ncreature on probation--that is, to require of him the particular\nexercise of love which consists in a voluntary obedience to\ncertain precepts--yet he cannot dispense with love itself, which\nis the sole and indispensable requisite to a state of perfect\njustification; and although he is not bound to place a creature\nin a state of probation, yet if he does so, he cannot dispense\nwith those acts of love which are suitable to such a state. The\nvery notion of a state of probation requires that certain\nprecepts should be given to a rational creature, who is free to\nkeep them or violate them as he may choose, and who is to receive\nthe favor of God during his probation and an eternal reward at\nthe end of it if he keeps them, forfeiting both if he fails to do\nso. On any other supposition, the state of probation is entirely\nillusory and unreal. The attributes of God require him to carry\nout the terms of the probation to which he has subjected man.\n{438}\nWhen he imposes precepts, he must from his very nature withdraw\nhis friendship from the transgressor. He may still regard him\nwith the love of benevolence, and offer him forgiveness; but he\ncannot actually forgive him and look upon him again with the love\nof complacency until he has regained his lost sanctity and\nreturned to the love of God. Sin of its own nature turns the soul\naway from God as its supreme good to some created object. It is,\ntherefore, a contradiction in terms to say that a man can be in\nthe state of sin and the state of justification at the same time;\nfor it is equivalent to saying that he can at the same instant be\nturned toward God as his supreme good, and away from him. Love is\ntherefore the _conditio sine qu\u00e2 non_, at least, of\njustification. Faith alone cannot, therefore, formally justify.\nIf it did, there would be no need of love in order to constitute\na man just before God. A man might be completely justified while\nin the very act of the most grievous sin, as, for instance,\nblasphemy, murder, or suicide, and might die without having\nchanged his will to commit those sins, yet pass immediately to\nheaven. These sins are not incompatible with faith, though they\nare with charity. If they are incompatible with faith, all mortal\nsins--that is, all those which, in the strict and proper sense,\nalienate the soul from God, and destroy charity--must be\nincompatible with faith. Why is this? Does faith, of its own\nnature, produce charity? If it does, it must contain within\nitself the radical principle of charity, and while it exists in\nthe soul it must exclude all sins which are directly contrary to\ncharity and incompatible with it. Then, one who has faith cannot\ncommit a mortal sin. If faith is inamissible, and a man once\njustified can no more lose his justification, then, as soon as\none has obtained faith, he has obtained also exemption from all\nmortal sins for the future. If faith is not inamissible, then\nevery sin against charity, or every mortal sin, destroys faith\nand justification. Such a definition of faith, however, including\nlove and sanctifying grace, makes faith to be the _fides\nformata_ of Catholic theology.\n\nIf it is said that faith does not, of itself, produce charity,\nyet is always accompanied by charity, it must be, then, that\nfaith gives one a title to sanctifying grace and charity, so\nthat, whoever makes an act of faith, receives an additional gift\nwhich makes him holy. In that case, every one who was once\njustified would be exempt from mortal sin while his faith lasts.\nIf the first act of faith justifies once for all, then the\nbeliever can never again commit a mortal sin. If it justifies\nonly for the time being, then while it lasts it preserves the\nsoul from sin, and whoever sins proves that he has already lost\nfaith. This is contrary to reason and experience. It is certain\nthat men who have had faith and grace have afterwards sinned\nmortally. Therefore, faith does not, by its first act, bring with\nit an inamissible gift of charity. It is also certain that men do\nnot always lose faith when they sin, or sin against faith first\nbefore they sin against charity. Many a man who believes firmly\nin Jesus Christ as the Son of God and the Saviour of men, and who\nhopes for salvation through his merits, commits mortal sin, and\neven lives for years in the habitual state of sin. It may be said\nthat such persons have no _saving_ faith, never did have it,\nor have lost it. But what is saving faith? What is the\n_differentia_ of that faith which really justifies?\n{439}\nIt is evident enough that a certain kind of habitual belief in\nJesus Christ and his doctrines, accompanied by a desire and hope\nof being saved through his merits and mercy, does frequently\nexist in persons who are living in habitual sin. If this is not\ngenuine faith, or saving faith, there must be in saving faith\nsome additional quality which distinguishes it from that faith\nwhich produces no fruits of sanctity. Is it made saving by its\nquality of supernaturalness, or as proceeding from the grace of\nthe Holy Spirit? This is the same as saying that supernatural\nfaith, as such, or because it is a grace of the Holy Spirit,\nnecessarily brings with it sanctification. This is not so. The\nHoly Spirit may and does give men a firm belief in revealed\ntruths, and a hope of obtaining mercy from God through Christ\nbefore they are actually forgiven and justified. This remains in\nthem, often, after they have lost sanctifying grace by sin, as a\ndisposition which facilitates their return to God. It does not,\nhowever, _per se_, produce the fruits of sanctity, or\nimplant the principle of love, from which these fruits proceed,\nwhich is the very principle of union with God, and, therefore,\nthe formal cause of justification. That quality which faith must\nhave, in order to render it justifying faith, cannot be,\ntherefore, anything else but charity, or the love of God, which\nmakes it _fides formata_.\n\nWe are convinced that a great number of Protestants substantially\nhold the doctrines we have laid down. They believe that man has\nfree-will; is bound to believe and obey the doctrine and precepts\nof Jesus Christ; is made the friend of God by sanctifying grace\nbrought into the active exercise of Christian virtue by his own\nvoluntary cooperation; is placed here to work out his own\nsalvation; will receive heaven as a reward if he serves God\nfaithfully, and will be damned if he lives in sin. Even those who\nhold the Calvinistic tradition either modify its tenets or hold\nmore sound and rational opinions in juxtaposition with them,\nwhich really control their sentiments and conduct. It would be\neasy to show this by a multitude of citations. So far as\nmetaphysical opinions and technical statements are concerned, we\njudge every work and every formula of doctrine by its obvious,\nobjective sense, and accept every individual writer's statements\nrespecting his own opinions. But in regard to the real, genuine\nideas which form the true intellectual and spiritual life of men,\nwe take the liberty of judging them more by the language they use\nin common life, by their indirect statements, and by the general\nspirit and scope of what they say and write, when not immediately\nintent upon stating their technical formulas, than from their\ntechnical formulas themselves. We have heard it said of the\nillustrious President Dwight that his real sentiments and conduct\ntoward his fellow-men indicated a belief in the goodness of all\nmen, whereas he held theoretically that all men were totally\ndepraved. We have no doubt that President Edwards always acted on\nthe belief that his children possessed the self-determining power\nof the will, against which he wrote so acutely, or that Bishop\nBerkeley was persuaded of the reality of the external world.\nTherefore, we still think that a large number of non-Catholics\nare more Catholic in their belief than they are aware, and that\ntheir rejection of what they suppose to be Catholic doctrine is\nfrequently only a rejection of opinions attributed by mistake to\nthe Catholic Church.\n{440}\nIn regard to this special question of justification, it is our\nopinion that the objection prevalent among the more orthodox\nProtestants is based on the supposition that the Catholic\ndoctrine ascribes a justifying and saving efficacy to a mere\nintellectual submission to church-authority, and a mere external\ncompliance with its precepts, without reference to the interior\ndisposition of the soul toward God, or recognition of the merits\nof Christ as the source of all the supernatural excellence and\nvalue of good works. It is believed that the Catholic substitutes\nthe merits of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the merits of the saints,\nand his own merits, as an independent ground of justification, in\nlieu of the merits of Christ. Also, that merit is ascribed to\nmere external works, such as fasting, hearing mass, and\nperforming ceremonial rites or penitential labors, on account of\nthe mere physical nature and extent of the works done, without\nreference to the motive from which they proceed. The vague and\ntimorous pastoral of the late Synod of Lambeth is explicit and\nbold only on this one point, of condemning the substitution of\nthe Virgin Mary as a mediator in the place of Christ. For this\nreason, we think that the simple statement of the genuine\nCatholic doctrine is the surest way to remove objections against\nit, and that most of these objections fall away of themselves as\nsoon as the misapprehensions of the doctrine are removed. This is\nno private fancy of our own, but the judgment of some of the\nablest theologians of the world, Protestant as well as Catholic.\nLeibnitz, the greatest philosopher among Protestants, found\nnothing to object to in the doctrines of the Council of Trent\nrespecting justification. Dr. Pusey, one of the most learned men\nof the age in scriptural and patristic theology, has publicly\nexpressed his adhesion to the same doctrine. It is easy to\nridicule that movement in the Anglican church, of which he is the\nhead; but it would be much more sensible for those who do it to\nstudy his elaborate and profound writings, and much more\ndifficult to refute them. Protestantism has produced nothing, at\nleast in the English language, which can approach the great works\nof the High-Church divines of England. These works contain the\nelements of all the theology of Catholic doctrine respecting the\njustification of man, in the ascetical, spiritual, and\nsacramental aspects of the question. All the life of\nProtestantism in England is centred in the Catholicizing\nmovement. On the continent, that orthodox Protestantism which is\nderived from Luther and Calvin is a nullity. The real issue of\nthe world, as we have repeatedly said, is about the fundamental\nprinciples of Christianity. The question between Catholics and\nthose Protestants who hold with us these fundamental principles\nis not, as many of them suppose, respecting the first principles\nof the doctrine of Christ, but respecting the deductions to be\nderived from them and their due development. That God is revealed\nin Jesus Christ, as our sovereign teacher, our sovereign Lord,\nour sovereign redeemer and mediator, the sovereign author of our\nspiritual and everlasting life; that we are bound to render him\nthe absolute homage of our faith and our obedience, is admitted\nby all. The only question is, by what method or means can we\nascertain with certainty the exact and complete sense of the\ndoctrine he has commanded us to believe and the law he has\ncommanded us to keep. This is a question to be decided by\nevidence. The sooner the _prohibentia_ in the way of\nexamining carefully and candidly this evidence are removed the\nbetter. This is the only point we have been aiming at--the only\nresult we desire to reach.\n{441}\nWe have endeavored to remove some of the obstacles in the way of\na fair hearing of the claims of the Catholic Church, arising from\n_\u00e0 priori_ conceptions of her doctrine, which are thought to\nauthorize a foregone conclusion against them. We have also\npresented some of the reasons specially urgent at present, why\nthe basis for unity which the Catholic Church offers should be\ncarefully and studiously considered by all those who desire the\nunion and welfare of Christendom, its victory over every form of\nanti-Christianity, and its universal extension in the world. The\n_fides formata_, or faith working by love, which we have set\nforth as the vital principle of spiritual life in the individual,\nmust also be the principle of unity in the Christian society.\nWhoever has faith implicitly believes all those revealed\ndoctrines which, without his own fault, he does not explicitly\nknow to be revealed. Whoever has love has the principle of\nobedience to those laws whose existence he does not know.\nTherefore, we say that whoever has _fides formata_ is\njustified, and, of course, spiritually united to the true church.\nBut whoever remains culpably in error respecting essential\ndoctrines and precepts, or refuses to believe and obey what is\nfairly presented to him as the revealed truth and will of Jesus\nChrist, cannot have _fides formata_. It is evident,\ntherefore, that we are all bound to strive after as great a\ncertitude as possible respecting the important question at issue\nbetween the Catholic Church and Protestants.\n\n--------\n\n      Translated From The French.\n\n      The Story Of A Conscript.\n\n\n             VI.\n\n\nThe mairie of Phalsbourg, that Thursday morning, January 15th,\n1813, during the drawing for the conscription, was a sight to be\nseen. To-day it is bad enough to be drawn, to be forced to leave\nparents, friends, home, one's goods and one's fields, to go and\nlearn--God knows where \"_One! two!_ one! two! halt! eyes\nleft! eyes right! front! carry arms!\" etc. etc. Yes, this is all\nbad enough, but there is a chance of returning. One can say, with\nsomething like confidence: \"In seven years I will see my old nest\nagain, and my parents, and perhaps my sweetheart. I shall have\nseen the world, and will perhaps have some title to be appointed\nforester or gend'arme.\" This is a comfort for reasonable people.\nBut then, if you had the ill-luck to lose in the lottery, there\nwas an end of you; often not one in a hundred returned. The idea\nthat you were only going for a time never entered your head.\n\nThe enrolled of Harberg, of Garbourg, and of Quatre-Vents were to\ndraw first; then those of the city, and lastly those of W\u00e9ehem\nand Mittlebronn.\n\n{442}\n\nI was up early in the morning, and with my elbows on the\nwork-bench I watched the people pass by; young men in blouses,\npoor old men in cotton caps and short vests; old women in jackets\nand woolen skirts, bent almost double, with staff or umbrella\nunder their arms. They arrived by families. Monsieur the\nSous-Pr\u00e9fet of Larrebourg, with his silver collar, and his\nsecretary, had stopped the day before at the \"Red Ox,\" and they\nwere also looking out of the window. Toward eight o'clock,\nMonsieur Goulden began work, after breakfasting. I ate nothing,\nbut stared and stared until Monsieur the Mayor, Parmentier and\nhis coadjutor, came for Monsieur the Sous-Pr\u00e9fet.\n\nThe drawing began at nine, and soon we heard the clarionet of\nPfifer-Karl and the violin of great Andr\u00e8s resounding through the\nstreets. They were playing the \"March of the Swedes,\" an air to\nwhich thousands of poor wretches had left old Alsace for ever.\nThe conscripts danced, linked arms, shouted until their voices\nseemed to pierce the clouds, stamped on the ground, waved their\nhats, trying to seem joyful while death was at their hearts.\nWell, it was the fashion; and big Andr\u00e8s, withered, stiff, and\nyellow as boxwood, and his short chubby comrade, with cheeks\nextended to their utmost tension, seemed like people who would\nlead you to the churchyard all the while chatting indifferently.\n\nThat music, those cries, sent a shudder through my heart.\n\nI had just put on my swallow-tailed coat and my beaver hat to go\nout, when Aunt Gr\u00e9del and Catharine entered, saying:\n\n\"Good morning, Monsieur Goulden. We have come for the\nconscription.\"\n\nThen I saw how Catharine had been crying. Her eyes were red, and\nshe threw her arms around my neck, while her mother turned to me.\n\nMonsieur Goulden said:\n\n\"It will soon be the turn of the young men of the city.\"\n\n\"Yes, Monsieur Goulden,\" answered Catharine, in a choking voice;\n\"they have finished Harberg.\"\n\n\"Then it is time for you to go, Joseph,\" said he; \"but do not\ngrieve; do not be frightened. These drawings, you know, are only\na matter of form. For a long while past none can escape; or if\nthey escape one drawing, they are caught a year or two after. All\nthe numbers are bad. When the council of exemption meets, we will\nsee what is best to be done. To-day it is merely a sort of\nsatisfaction they give people to draw in the lottery; but every\none loses.\"\n\n\"No matter,\" said Aunt Gr\u00e9del; \"Joseph will win.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" replied Monsieur Goulden, smiling, \"he cannot fail.\"\n\nThen I sallied forth with Catharine and Aunt Gr\u00e9del, and we went\nto the town place, where the crowd was. In all the shops, dozens\nof conscripts, purchasing ribbons, thronged around the counters,\nweeping and singing as if possessed. Others in the inns embraced,\nsobbing; but still they sang. Two or three musicians of the\nneighborhood--the Gipsy Walteufel, Rosselkasten, and George\nAdam--had arrived, and their pieces thundered in terrible and\nheart-rending strains.\n\nCatharine squeezed my arm. Aunt Gr\u00e9del followed.\n\nOpposite the guard-house I saw the peddler Pinacle affar off, his\npack opened on a little table, and beside it a long pole decked\nwith ribbons which he was selling to the conscripts.\n\nI hastened to pass by him, when he cried:\n\n{443}\n\n\"Ha! Cripple! Halt! Come here; I have a fine ribbon for you; you\nmust have a magnificent one--one to draw a prize by.\"\n\nHe waved a long black ribbon above his head, and I grew pale\ndespite myself. But as we ascended the steps of the mairie, a\nconscript was just descending; it was Klipfel, the smith of the\nFrench gate; he had drawn number eight, and shouted:\n\n\"The black for me, Pinacle! Bring it here, whatever may happen.\"\n\nHis face was gloomy, but he laughed. His little brother Jean was\ncrying behind him, and said:\n\n\"No, no, Jacob! not the black!\"\n\nBut Pinacle fastened the ribbon to the smith's hat, while the\nlatter said:\n\n\"That is what we want now. We are all dead, and should wear our\nown mourning.\"\n\nAnd he cried savagely:\n\n\"_Vive l'Empereur!_\"\n\nI was better satisfied to see the black ribbon on his hat than on\nmine, and I slipped quickly through the crowd to avoid Pinacle.\n\nWe had great difficulty in getting into the mairie and in\nclimbing the old oak stairs, where people where going up and down\nin swarms. In the great hall above, the gendarme Kelz walked\nabout, maintaining order as well as he could, and in the\ncouncil-chamber at the side, where there is a painting of Justice\nwith her eyes blindfolded, we heard them calling off the numbers.\nFrom time to time a conscript came put with flushed face,\nfastening his number on his cap and passing with bowed head\nthrough the crowd, like a furious bull who cannot see clearly and\nwho would seem to wish to break his horns against the walls.\nOthers, on the contrary, passed pale as death. The windows of the\nmairie were open, and without were heard six or seven pieces\nplaying together. It was horrible.\n\nI pressed Catharine's hand, and we passed slowly through the\ncrowd to the hall where Monsieur the Sous-Pr\u00e9fet, the Mayors, and\nthe Secretaries were seated on their tribune, calling the numbers\naloud as if pronouncing sentence of death in a court of justice;\nfor all those numbers were really sentences of death.\n\nWe waited a long while.\n\nIt seemed as if there was no longer a drop of blood in my veins,\nwhen at last my name was called.\n\nI advanced, seeing and hearing nothing; I put my hand in the box\nand drew a number.\n\nMonsieur the Sous-Pr\u00e9fet cried out:\n\n\"Number seventeen.\"\n\nThen I departed without speaking, Catharine and her mother behind\nme. We went out into the _place_, and, the air reviving me,\nI remembered that I had drawn number seventeen.\n\nAunt Gr\u00e9del seemed confounded.\n\n\"And I put something into your pocket, too,\" said she; \"but that\nrascal of a Pinacle gave you ill luck.\"\n\nAt the same time she drew from my coat-pocket the end of a cord.\nGreat drops of sweat rolled down my forehead; Catharine was white\nas marble, and so we returned to Monsieur Goulden's.\n\n\"What number did you draw, Joseph?\" he asked, as soon as he saw\nus.\n\n\"Seventeen,\" replied Aunt Gr\u00e9del, sitting down, with her hands\nupon her knees.\n\nMonsieur Goulden seemed troubled for a moment, but he said\ninstantly:\n\n\"One is as good as another. All will go; the skeletons must be\nfilled. But it don't matter for Joseph. I will go and see\nMonsieur the Mayor and Monsieur the Commandant. It will be\ntelling no lie to say that Joseph is lame; all the town knows\nthat; but among so many they may overlook him. That is why I go,\nso rest easy; do not be anxious.\"\n\n{444}\n\nThese words of good Monsieur Goulden reassured Aunt Gr\u00e9del and\nCatharine, who returned to Quatre-Vents full of hope; but they\ndid not affect me, for from that moment I had not a moment of\nrest day or night.\n\nThe emperor had a good custom: he did not allow the conscripts to\nlanguish at home. Soon as the drawing was complete, the council\nof revision met, and a few days after came the orders to march.\nHe did not do like those tooth-pullers who first show you their\npincers and hooks and gaze for an hour into your mouth, so that\nyou feel half dead before they make up their minds to begin work:\nhe proceeded without loss of time.\n\nA week after the drawing, the council of revision sat at the town\nhall, with all the mayors and a few notables of the country to\ngive advice in case of need.\n\nThe day before Monsieur Goulden had put on his brown great-coat\nand his best wig to go to wind up Monsieur the Mayor's clock and\nthat of the Commandant. He returned laughing and said:\n\n\"All goes well, Joseph. Monsieur the Mayor and Monsieur the\nCommandant know that you are lame; that is easy enough to be\nseen. They replied at once, Eh, Monsieur Goulden, the young man\nis lame; why speak of him? Do not be uneasy; we do not want the\ninfirm; we want soldiers.\"\n\nThese words poured balm on my wounds, and that night I slept like\none of the blessed. But the next day fear again assailed me; I\nremembered suddenly how many men full of defects had gone all the\nsame, and how many others invented defects to deceive the\ncouncil; for instance, swallowing injurious substances to make\nthem pale; tying up their legs to give themselves swollen veins;\nor playing deaf, blind, or foolish. I had heard that vinegar\nwould make one sick, and, without telling Monsieur Goulden, in my\nfear I swallowed all the vinegar in his bottle. Then I dressed\nmyself, thinking that I looked like a dead man, for the vinegar\nwas very strong; but when I entered Monsieur Goulden's room, he\ncried out:\n\n\"Joseph, what is the matter with you? You are as red as a cock's\ncomb.\"\n\nAnd, looking at myself in the mirror, I saw that my face was red\nto my ears and to the very tip of my nose. I was frightened, but\ninstead of growing pale I became redder yet, and I cried out in\nmy distress:\n\n\"Now I am lost indeed! I will seem like a man without a single\ndefect, and full of health. The vinegar is rushing to my head.\"\n\n\"What vinegar?\" asked Monsieur Goulden.\n\n\"That in your bottle. I drank it to make myself pale, as they say\nMademoiselle Selapp, the organist, does. O Heavens! what a fool I\nwas.\"\n\n\"That does not prevent your being lame,\" said Monsieur Goulden;\n\"but you tried to deceive the council, which was dishonest. But\nit is half-past nine, and Werner is come to tell me you must be\nthere at ten o'clock. So, hurry.\"\n\nI had to go in that state; the heat of the vinegar seemed\nbursting from my cheeks, and when I met Catharine and her mother,\nwho were waiting for me at the mairie, they scarcely knew me.\n\n\"How happy and satisfied you look!\" said Aunt Gr\u00e9del.\n\n{445}\n\nI would have fainted on hearing this if the vinegar had not\nsustained me in spite of myself. I went upstairs in terrible\nagony, without being able to move my tongue to reply, so great\nwas the horror I felt at my folly.\n\nAbove, more than twenty-five conscripts who pretended to be\ninfirm, had been examined and received, while twenty-five others,\non a bench along the wall, sat with drooping heads awaiting their\nturn.\n\nThe old gendarme, Kelz, with his huge cocked hat, was walking\nabout, and as soon as he saw me exclaimed: \"At last! At last!\nHere is one, at all events, who will not be sorry to go; the love\nof glory is shining in his eyes. Very good, Joseph; I predict\nthat at the end of the campaign you will be corporal.\"\n\n\"But I am lame,\" I cried angrily.\n\n\"Lame!\" repeated Kelz, winking and smiling; \"lame! No matter.\nWith such health as yours you can always hold your own.\"\n\nHe had scarcely ceased speaking when the door of the hall of the\nCouncil of Revision opened, and the other gendarme, Werner,\nputting out his head, called, \"Joseph Bertha.\"\n\nI entered, limping as much as I could, and Werner shut the door.\nThe mayors of the canton were seated in a semi-circle, Monsieur\nthe Sous-Pr\u00e9fet and the Mayor of Phalsbourg in the middle, in\narm-chairs, and the Secretary Fr\u00e9lig at his table. A Harberg\nconscript was dressing himself, the gendarme Descarmes helping\nhim. This conscript, with a mass of brown hair falling over his\neyes, his neck bare, and his mouth open as he caught his breath,\nseemed like a man going to be hanged. Two surgeons--the\nSurgeon-in-Chief of the Hospital, with another in uniform--were\nconversing in the middle of the hall. They turned to me, saying,\n\"Take off your coat.\"\n\nI did so. The others looked on.\n\nMonsieur the Sous-Pr\u00e9fet observed:\n\n\"There is a young man full of health.\"\n\nThese words angered me, but I nevertheless replied respectfully:\n\n\"I am lame, Monsieur the Sous-Pr\u00e9fet.\"\n\nThe surgeons examined me, and the one from the hospital, to whom\nMonsieur the Commandant had doubtless spoken of me, said: \"The\nleft leg is a little short.\" \"Bah!\" said the other; \"it is\nsound.\"\n\nThen placing his hand upon my chest he said, \"The conformation is\ngood. Cough.\"\n\nI coughed as freely as I could; but he found me all right, and\nsaid again:\n\n\"Look at his color. How good his blood must be!\"\n\nThen I, seeing that they would pass me if I remained silent,\nreplied: \"I have drank vinegar.\" \"Ah!\" said he; \"that proves you\nhave a good stomach; you like vinegar.\"\n\n\"But I am lame!\" I cried in my distress.\n\n\"Bah! don't grieve at that,\" he answered; \"your leg is sound.\nI'll answer for it.\"\n\n\"But that,\" said Monsieur the Mayor, \"does not prevent his being\nlame from birth; all Phalsbourg knows that.\"\n\n\"The leg is too short,\" said the surgeon from the hospital; \"it\nis doubtless a case for exemption.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Mayor; \"I am sure that this young man could not\nendure a long march; he would drop on the road the second mile.\"\n\nThe first surgeon said nothing more.\n\nI thought myself saved, when Monsieur the Sous-Pr\u00e9fet asked: \"You\nare really Joseph Bertha?\"\n\n{446}\n\n\"Yes, Monsieur the Sous-Pr\u00e9fet,\" I answered.\n\n\"Well, gentlemen,\" said he, taking a letter out of his portfolio,\n\"listen.\"\n\nHe began to read the letter, which stated that, six months\nbefore, I had bet that I could go to Laverne and back quicker\nthan Pinacle; that we had run the race, and I had won.\n\nIt was unhappily too true. The villain Pinacle had always taunted\nme with being a cripple, and in my anger I laid the wager. Every\none knew of it. I could not deny it.\n\nWhile I stood utterly confounded, the first surgeon said:\n\n\"That settles the question. Dress yourself.\" And, turning to the\nSecretary, he cried, \"Good for service.\"\n\nI took up my coat in despair.\n\nWerner called another. I no longer saw anything. Some one helped\nme to get my arms in my coat-sleeves. Then I found myself upon\nthe stairs, and while Catharine asked me what had passed, I\nsobbed aloud and would have fallen from top to bottom if Aunt\nGr\u00e9del had not supported me.\n\nWe went out by the rear-way and crossed the little court. I wept\nlike a child, and Catharine did too.\n\nMonsieur Goulden knowing that Aunt Gr\u00e9del and Catharine would\ncome to dine with us the day of the revision, had had a stuffed\ngoose and two bottles of good Alsace wine sent from the \"Golden\nSheep.\" He was sure that I would be exempted at once. What was\nhis surprise, then, to see us enter together in such distress.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" said he, raising his silk cap over his bald\nforehead, and staring at us with eyes wide open.\n\nI had not strength enough to answer. I threw myself into the\narmchair and burst into tears. Catharine sat down beside me, and\nour sobs redoubled.\n\nAunt Gr\u00e9del said:\n\n\"The robbers have taken him.\"\n\n\"It is not possible!\" exclaimed Monsieur Goulden, letting fall\nhis arms by his side.\n\n\"It shows their villainy,\" replied my aunt, and, growing more and\nmore excited, she cried, \"Will a revolution never come again?\nShall those wretches always be our masters?\"\n\n\"Calm yourself, Mother Gr\u00e9del,\" said Monsieur Goulden. \"In the\nname of Heaven don't cry so loud. Joseph, tell me how it\nhappened. They are surely mistaken; it cannot be possible\notherwise. Did Monsieur the Mayor and the hospital surgeon say\nnothing?\"\n\nI told the history of the letter, and Aunt Gr\u00e9del, who until then\nknew nothing of it, again shrieked with her hands clenched.\n\n\"O the scoundrel! God grant that he may cross my threshold again.\nI will cleave his head with my hatchet.\"\n\nMonsieur Goulden was astounded.\n\n\"And you did not say that it was false. Then the story was true?\"\n\nAnd as I bowed my head without replying, he clasped his hands,\nsaying:\n\n\"O youth! youth! it thinks of nothing. What folly! what folly!\"\n\nHe walked around the room; then sat down to wipe his spectacles,\nand Aunt Gr\u00e9del exclaimed:\n\n\"Yes, but they shall not have him yet! Their wickedness shall yet\ngo for nothing. This very evening Joseph shall be in the\nmountains on the way to Switzerland.\"\n\nMonsieur Goulden hearing this, looked grave; he bent his brows,\nand replied in a few moments:\n\n{447}\n\n\"It is a misfortune, a great misfortune, for Joseph is really\nlame. They will yet find it out, for he cannot march two days\nwithout falling behind and becoming sick. But you are wrong,\nMother Gr\u00e9del, to speak as you do and give him bad advice.\"\n\n\"Bad advice!\" she cried. \"Then you are for having people\nmassacred too!\"\n\n\"No,\" he answered; \"I do not love wars, especially where a\nhundred thousand men lose their lives for the glory of one. But\nwars of that kind are ended. It is not now for glory and to win\nnew kingdoms that soldiers are levied, but to defend our country,\nwhich had been put in danger by tyranny and ambition. We would\ngladly have peace now. Unhappily, the Russians are advancing; the\nPrussians are joining them; and our friends, the Austrians, only\nawait a good opportunity to fall upon our rear. If we do not go\nto meet them, they will come to our homes; for we are about to\nhave Europe on our hands as we had in '93. It is now a different\nmatter from our wars in Spain, in Russia, and in Germany; and I,\nold as I am, Mother Gr\u00e9del, if the danger continues to increase\nand the veterans of the republic are needed, I would be ashamed\nto go and make clocks in Switzerland while others were pouring\nout their blood to defend my country. Besides, remember this\nwell, that deserters are despised everywhere; after having\ncommitted such an act, they have no kindred or home anywhere.\nThey have neither father, mother, church, nor country. They are\nincapable of fulfilling the first duty of man--to love and\nsustain their country, even though she be in the wrong.\"\n\nHe said no more at the moment, but sat gravely down.\n\n\"Let us eat,\" he exclaimed, after some minutes of silence.\n\"Midday is striking. Mother Gr\u00e9del and Catharine, seat yourselves\nthere.\"\n\nThey sat down, and we began dinner. I meditated upon the words of\nMonsieur Goulden, which seemed right to me. Aunt Gr\u00e9del\ncompressed her lips, and from time to time gazed at me as if to\nread my thoughts. At length she said:\n\n\"I despise a country where they take fathers of families after\ncarrying off the sons. If I were in Joseph's place, I would fly\nat once.\"\n\n\"Listen, Aunt Gr\u00e9del,\" I replied; \"you know that I love nothing\nso much as peace and quiet; but I would not, nevertheless, run\naway like a coward to another country. But, notwithstanding, I\nwill do as Catharine says; if she wishes me to go to Switzerland,\nI will go.\"\n\nThen Catharine, lowering her head to hide her tears, said in a\nlow voice:\n\n\"I would not have them call you a deserter.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I will do like the others,\" I cried; \"and as those\nof Phalsbourg and Dagsberg are going to the wars, I will go.\"\n\nMonsieur Goulden made no remark.\n\n\"Every one is free to do as he pleases,\" said he, after a while;\n\"but I am glad that Joseph thinks as I do.\"\n\nThen there was silence, and toward two o'clock Aunt Gr\u00e9del arose\nand took her basket. She seemed utterly cast down, and said:\n\n\"Joseph, you will not listen to me, but no matter. With God's\ngrace, all will yet be well. You will return if he wills it, and\nCatharine will wait for you.\"\n\nCatharine wept again, and I more than she; so that Monsieur\nGoulden himself could not help shedding tears.\n\nAt length Catharine and her mother descended the stairs, and Aunt\nGr\u00e9del called out from the bottom:\n\n\"Try to come and see us once or twice again, Joseph.\"\n\n{448}\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" I answered, shutting the door.\n\nI could no longer stand. Never had I been so miserable, and even\nnow, when I think of it, my heart chills.\n\n\n                  VII.\n\nFrom that day I could think of nothing but my misfortune. I tried\nto work, but my thoughts were far away, and Monsieur Goulden\nsaid:\n\n\"Joseph, lay labor aside. Profit by the little time you can\nremain among us; go to see Catharine and Mother Gr\u00e9del. I still\nthink they will exempt you, but who can tell? They need men so\nmuch that it may be a long time coming.\"\n\nI went then every morning to Quatre-Vents, and passed my days\nwith Catharine. We were very sorrowful, but very glad to see each\nother. We loved one another even more than before, if that were\npossible. Catharine sometimes tried to sing as in the good old\ntimes; but suddenly she would burst into tears. Then we wept\ntogether, and Aunt Gr\u00e9del would rail at the wars which brought\nmisery to every one. She said that the Council of Revision\ndeserved to be hung; that they were all robbers, banded together\nto poison our lives. It solaced us a little to hear her talk\nthus, and we thought she was right.\n\nI returned to the city about eight or nine o'clock in the\nevening. When they closed the gates, and as I passed, I saw the\nsmall inns full of conscripts and old returned soldiers drinking\ntogether. The conscripts always paid; the others, with dirty\npolice-caps cocked over their ears, red noses, and horse-hair\nstocks in place of shirt-collars, twisted their mustaches and\nrelated with majestic air their battles, their marches, and their\nduels. One can imagine nothing viler than those holes, full of\nsmoke, cobwebs hanging on the black beams, those old sworders and\nyoung men drinking, shouting, and beating the tables like crazy\npeople; and behind in the shadow old Annette Schnaps or Marie\nH\u00e9ring--her old wig stuck back on her head, her comb with only\nthree teeth remaining, crosswise, in it--gazing on the scene, or\nemptying a mug to the health of the braves.\n\nIt was sad to see the sons of peasants, honest and laborious\nfellows, leading such an existence; but no one thought of\nworking, and any one of them would have given his life for two\nfarthings. Worn out with shouting, drinking, and internal grief,\nthey ended by falling asleep over the table, while the old\nfellows emptied their cups, singing:\n\n\"'Tis glory calls us on!\"\n\nI saw these things, and I blessed heaven for having given me, in\nmy wretchedness, kind hearts to keep up my courage and prevent my\nfalling into such hands.\n\nThis state of affairs lasted until the twenty-fifth of January.\nFor some days a great number of Italian conscripts--Piedmontese\nand Genoese--had been arriving in the city; some stout and fat as\nSavoyards fed upon chestnuts--their great cocked hats on their\ncurly heads; their linsey-woolsey pantaloons dyed a dark green,\nand their short vests also of wool, but brick-red, fastened\naround their waists by a leather belt. They wore enormous shoes,\nand ate their cheese seated along the old marketplace. Others\nwere dried up, lean, brown, shivering in their long cassocks,\nseeing nothing but snow upon the roofs and gazing with their\nlarge, black, mournful eyes upon the women who passed. They were\nexercised every day in marching, and were going to fill up the\nskeleton of the sixth regiment of the line at Mayence, and were\nthen resting for a while in the infantry barracks.\n\n{449}\n\nThe captain of the recruits, who was named Vidal, lodged over our\nroom. He was a square-built, solid, very strong-looking man, and\nwas, too, very kind and civil. He came to us to have his watch\nrepaired, and when he learned that I was a conscript and was\nafraid I should never return, he encouraged me, saying that it\nwas all habit; that at the end of five or six months one fights\nand marches as he eats his dinner; and that many so accustom\nthemselves to shooting at people that they consider themselves\nunhappy when they are deprived of that amusement.\n\nBut his mode of reasoning was not to my taste; the more so as I\nsaw five or six large grains of powder on one of his cheeks,\nwhich had entered deeply, and as he explained to me that they\ncame from a shot which a Russian fired almost under his nose.\nSuch a life disgusted me more and more, and as several days had\nalready passed without news, I began to think they had forgotten\nme, as they did Jacob, of Ch\u00e8vre-Hof, of whose extraordinary luck\nevery one yet talks. Aunt Gr\u00e9del herself said to me every time I\nwent there, \"Well, well! they will let us alone after all!\" When\non the morning of the twenty-fifth of January, as I was about\nstarting for Quatre-Vents, Monsieur Goulden, who was working at\nhis bench with a thoughtful air, turned to me with tears in his\neyes and said:\n\n\"Listen, Joseph! I wanted to let you have one night more of quiet\nsleep; but you must know now, my child, that yesterday evening\nthe brigadier of gendarmerie brought me your marching orders. You\ngo with the Piedmontese and Genoese and five or six young men of\nthe city--young Klipfel, young Loerig, Jean L\u00e9ger, and Gaspard\nZ\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9. You go to Mayence.\"\n\nI felt my knees give way as he spoke, and I sat down unable to\nspeak. Monsieur Goulden took my marching orders, beautifully\nwritten, out of a drawer, and began to read them slowly. All that\nI remember is that Joseph Bertha, native of Dabo, Canton of\nPhalsbourg, Arrondissement of Sarrebourg, was incorporated in the\nsixth regiment of the line, and that he should join his corps the\ntwenty-ninth of January at Mayence.\n\nThis letter produced as evil an effect on me as if I had known\nnothing of it before. It seemed something new, and I grew angry.\nMonsieur Goulden, after a moment's silence, added:\n\n\"The Italians start to-day at eleven.\"\n\nThen, as if awakening from a horrible dream, I cried:\n\n\"But shall I not see Catharine again?\"\n\n\"Yes, Joseph, yes,\" said he, in a trembling voice. \"I notified\nMother Gr\u00e9del and Catharine, and thus, my boy, they will come,\nand you can embrace them before leaving.\"\n\nI saw his grief, and it made me sadder yet, so that I had a hard\nstruggle to keep myself from bursting into tears.\n\nHe continued, after a pause:\n\n\"You need not be anxious about anything, Joseph. I have prepared\nall beforehand; and when you return, if it please God to keep me\nso long in this world, you will find me always the same. I am\nbeginning to grow old, and my greatest happiness would be to keep\nyou for a son, for I found you good-hearted and honest. I would\nhave given you what I possess, and we would have been happy\ntogether. Catharine and you would have been my children.\n{450}\nBut since it is otherwise, let us resign ourselves. It is only\nfor a little while. You will be sent back, I am sure. They will\nsoon see that you cannot make long marches.\"\n\nWhile he spoke, I sat silently sobbing, my face buried in my\nhands.\n\nAt last he arose and took from a closet a soldier's knapsack of\ncowskin, which he placed upon the table. I looked at him,\nthinking of nothing but the pain of parting.\n\n\"Here is your knapsack,\" he added; \"and I have put in it all that\nyou require; two linen shirts, two flannel waistcoats, and all\nthe rest. Well, well, that is all.\"\n\nHe placed the knapsack upon the table and sat down.\n\nWithout, we heard the Italians making ready to depart. Above us\nCaptain Vidal was giving his orders. He had his horse at the\nbarracks of the gendarmerie, and was telling his orderly to see\nthat he was well rubbed and had received his hay.\n\nAll this bustle and movement produced a strange effect upon me,\nand I could not yet realize that I must quit the city. As I was\nthus in the greatest distress, the door opened and Catharine\nentered weeping, while Mother Gr\u00e9del cried:\n\n\"I told you you should have fled to Switzerland; that these\nrogues would finish by carrying you off. I told you so, and you\nwould not believe me.\"\n\n\"Mother Gr\u00e9del,\" replied Monsieur Goulden, \"to go to do his duty\nis not so great an evil as to be despised by honest people.\nInstead of all these cries and reproaches, which serve no good\npurpose, you would do better to comfort and encourage Joseph.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said she; \"I do not reproach him, although this is\nterrible.\"\n\nCatharine did not leave me; she sat by me and said, pressing my\narm:\n\n\"You will return?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said I, in a low voice. \"And you--you will always\nthink of me; you will not love another?\"\n\nShe answered, sobbing:\n\n\"No, no! I will never love any but you.\"\n\nThis lasted a quarter of an hour, when the door opened and\nCaptain Vidal entered, his cloak rolled like a hunting-horn over\nhis shoulder.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"well; how goes our young man?\"\n\n\"Here he is,\" answered Monsieur Goulden.\n\n\"Ah!\" remarked the captain; \"you are making yourself miserable.\nIt is natural. I remember when I departed for the army. We have\nall a home.\"\n\nThen, raising his voice, he said:\n\n\"Come, come, young man, courage! We are no longer children.\"\n\nHe looked at Catharine.\n\n\"I see all,\" said he to Monsieur Goulden. \"I can understand why\nhe does not want to go.\"\n\nThe drums beat in the street and he added.\n\n\"We have yet twenty minutes before starting,\" and, throwing a\nglance at me, \"Do not fail to be at the first call, young man,\"\nsaid he, pressing Monsieur Goulden's hand.\n\nHe went out, and we heard his horse at the door.\n\nThe morning was overcast, and grief overwhelmed me. I could not\nleave Catharine.\n\nSuddenly the roll beat. The drums were all collected in the\nPlace. Monsieur Goulden, taking the knapsack by its straps, said\nin a grave voice:\n\n\"Joseph, now the last embrace; it is time to go.\"\n\n{451}\n\nI stood up, pale as ashes. He fastened the knapsack to my\nshoulders. Catharine sat sobbing, her face covered with her\napron. Mother Gr\u00e9del looked on with lips compressed.\n\nThe roll continued for a time, then suddenly ceased.\n\n\"The call is about commencing,\" said Monsieur Goulden, embracing\nme. Then the fountains of his heart burst forth; tears sprang to\nhis eyes; and, calling me his child, his son, he whispered,\n\"Courage!\"\n\nMother Gr\u00e9del seated herself again, and as I bent toward her,\ntaking my head between her hands, she sobbed:\n\n\"I always loved you, Joseph; ever since you were a baby. You\nnever gave me cause of grief--and now you must go. O God! O God!\"\n\nI wept no longer.\n\nWhen Aunt Gr\u00e9del released me, I looked a moment at Catharine, who\nstood motionless. Then I turned quickly to go, when she cried, in\nheart-breaking tones:\n\n\"O Joseph! Joseph!\"\n\nI looked back. Her strength seemed to leave her, and I placed her\nin the arm-chair, and fled.\n\nI was already on the Place, in the midst of the Italians and of a\ncrowd of people crying for their sons or brothers. I saw nothing;\nI heard nothing.\n\nWhen the roll of the drums recommenced, I looked around, and saw\nthat I was between Klipfel and Furst, all three with our\nknapsacks on our backs. Their parents stood before us, weeping as\nif at their funeral. To the right, near the town-hall, Captain\nVidal, on his little gray mare, was conversing with two infantry\nofficers. The sergeants called the roll, and we answered. They\ncalled Furst, Klipfel, Bertha; we answered like the others. Then\nthe captain gave the word, \"March!\" and we went, two abreast,\ntoward the French gate.\n\nAt the corner of the baker Spitz, an old woman cried, in a\nchoking voice, from a window:\n\n\"Kasper! Kasper!\"\n\nIt was Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9's grandmother. His lips trembled. He waved his\nhand, without replying, and passed on with downcast face.\n\nI shuddered at the thought of passing my home. As we neared it,\nmy knees trembled, and I heard some one call at the window; but I\nturned my head toward the \"Red Ox,\" and the rattle of the drums\ndrowned the voices.\n\nThe children ran after us, shouting:\n\n\"There goes Joseph! there goes Klipfel!\"\n\nUnder the French gate, the men on guard, drawn up in line on each\nside, gazed on us as we passed at shoulder arms. We passed the\noutposts, and the drums ceased playing as we turned to the right.\nNothing was heard but the plash of footsteps in the mud, for the\nsnow was melting.\n\nWe had passed the farm-house of Gerberhoff, and were going to the\ngreat bridge, when I heard some one call me. It was the captain,\nwho cried from his horse:\n\n\"Very well done, young man; I am satisfied with you.\"\n\nHearing this, I could not help again bursting into tears, and the\ngreat Furst, too, wept, as we marched along; the others, pale as\nmarble, said nothing. At the bridge, Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 took out his pipe to\nsmoke. In front of us, the Italians talked and laughed among\nthemselves; their three weeks of service had accustomed them to\nthis life.\n\nOnce on the way to Metting, more than a league from the city, as\nwe began to descend, Klipfel touched me on the shoulder, and\nwhispered:\n\n\"Look yonder.\"\n\n{452}\n\nI looked, and saw Phalsbourg far beneath us; the barracks, the\nmagazines, the steeple whence I had seen Catharine's home, six\nweeks before, with old Brainstein--all were in the gray distance,\nwith the woods all around. I would have stopped a few moments,\nbut the troop marched on, and I had to keep pace with them. We\nentered Metting.\n\n\n                   VIII.\n\nThat same day we went as far as Bitche; the next, to Hornbach;\nthen to Kaiserslantern. It began to snow again.\n\nHow often during that long march did I sigh for the thick cloak\nof Monsieur Goulden, and his double-soled shoes.\n\nWe passed through innumerable villages, sometimes on the\nmountains, sometimes in the plains. As we entered each little\ntown, the drums began to beat, and we marched with heads erect,\nmarking the step, trying to assume the mien of old soldiers. The\npeople looked out of their little windows, or came to the doors,\nsaying, \"There go the conscripts!\"\n\nAt night we halted, glad to rest our weary feet--I, especially. I\ncannot say that my leg hurt me, but my feet! I had never\nundergone such fatigue. With our billet for lodging we had the\nright to a corner of the fire, but our hosts also gave us a place\nat the table. We had nearly always buttermilk and potatoes, and\noften fresh lard on a dish of sauerkraut. The children came to\nlook at us, and the old women asked us from what place we came,\nand what our business was before we left home. The young girls\nlooked sorrowfully at us, thinking of their sweethearts, who had\ngone five, six, or seven months before. Then they would take us\nto the son's bed. With what pleasure I stretched out my tired\nlimbs! How I wished to sleep all our twelve hours' halt! But\nearly in the morning, at day-break, the rattling of the drums\nawoke me. I gazed at the brown rafters of the ceiling, the\nwindow-panes covered with frost, and asked myself where I was.\nThen my heart would grow cold, as I thought that I was at\nBitche--at Kaiserslantern--that I was a conscript; and I had to\ndress fast as I could, catch up my knapsack, and answer the\nroll-call.\n\n\"A good journey to you!\" said the hostess, awakened so early in\nthe morning.\n\n\"Thank you,\" replied the conscript.\n\nAnd we marched on.\n\nYes! a good journey to you! They will not see you again, poor\nwretch! How many others have followed the same road!\n\nI will never forget how at Kaiserslantern, the second day of our\nmarch, having unstrapped my knapsack to take out a white shirt, I\ndiscovered, beneath, a little pocket, and opening it I found\nfifty-four francs in six-livre pieces. On the paper wrapped\naround them were these words, written by Monsieur Goulden:\n\n\"While you are at the wars, be always good and honest. Think of\nyour friends and of those for whom you would be willing to\nsacrifice your life, and treat the enemy with humanity that they\nmay so treat our soldiers. May heaven guide you, and protect you\nin your dangers! You will find some money inclosed; for it is a\ngood thing, when far from home and all who love you, to have a\nlittle of it. Write to us as often as you can. I embrace you, my\nchild, and press you to my heart.\"\n\n{453}\n\nAs I read this, the tears forced themselves to my eyes, and I\nthought, \"Thou art not wholly abandoned, Joseph; fond hearts are\nyearning toward you. Never forget their kind counsels.\"\n\nAt last, on the fifth day, about five o'clock in the evening, we\nentered Mayence. As long as I live I will remember it. It was\nterribly cold. We had begun our march at early dawn, and, long\nbefore reaching the city, had passed through villages filled with\nsoldiers--calvary, infantry, dragoons in their short\njackets--some digging holes in the ice to get water for their\nhorses, others dragging bundles of forage to the doors of the\nstables; powder-wagons, carts full of cannon-balls, all white\nwith frost, stood on every side; couriers, detachments of\nartillery, pontoon-trains were coming and going over the white\nground; and no more attention was paid to us than if we were not\nin existence.\n\nCaptain Vidal, to warm himself, had dismounted and marched with\nus on foot. The officers and sergeants hastened us on. Five or\nsix Italians had fallen behind and remained in the villages, no\nlonger able to advance. My feet were sore and burning, and at the\nlast halt I could scarcely rise to resume the march. The others\nfrom Phalsbourg, however, kept bravely on.\n\nNight had fallen; the sky sparkled with stars. Every one gazed\nforward, and said to his comrade, \"We are nearing it! we are\nnearing it!\" for along the horizon a dark line of seeming cloud,\nglittering here and there with flashing points, announced that a\ngreat city lay before us.\n\nAt last we entered the advanced works, and passed through the\nzig-zag earthen bastions. Then we dressed our ranks and marked\nthe step, as we usually did when approaching a town. At the\ncorner of a sort of demilune we saw the frozen fosse of the city,\nand the brick ramparts towering above, and opposite us an old,\ndark gate, with the draw-bridge raised. Above stood a sentinel,\nwho, with his musket raised, cried out:\n\n\"Who goes there?\"\n\nThe captain, going forward alone, replied:\n\n\"France!\"\n\n\"What regiment?\"\n\n\"Recruits for the Sixth of the Line.\"\n\nA silence ensued. Then the draw-bridge was lowered, and the guard\nturned out and examined us, one of them carrying a great torch.\nCaptain Vidal, a few paces in advance of us, spoke to the\ncommandant of the post, who called out at length:\n\n\"Whenever you please.\"\n\nOur drums began to beat, but the captain ordered them to cease,\nand we crossed a long bridge and passed through a second gate\nlike the first. Then we were in the streets of the city, which\nwere paved with smooth round stones. Every one tried his best to\nmarch steadily; for, although it was night, all the inns and\nshops along the way were open and their large windows were\nshining, and hundreds of people were passing to and fro as if it\nwere broad day.\n\nWe turned five or six corners and soon arrived in a little open\nplace before a high barrack, where we were ordered to halt.\n\nThere was a shed at the corner of the barrack, and in it a\n_cantini\u00e8re_ seated behind a small table, under a great\ntri-colored umbrella from which hung two lanterns.\n\nSeveral officers arrived as soon as we halted; they were the\nCommandant G\u00e9meau and some others whom I have since known. They\npressed our captain's hand laughing, then looked at us and\nordered the roll to be called.\n{454}\nAfter that, we each received a ration of bread and a billet for\nlodging. We were told that roll-call would take place the next\nmorning at eight o'clock for the distribution of arms, and then\nwe were ordered to break ranks, while the officers turned up a\nstreet to the left and went into a great coffee-house, the\nentrance to which was approached by a flight of fifteen steps.\n\nBut we, with our billets for lodging--what were we to do with\nthem in the middle of such a city, and, above all, the Italians,\nwho did not know a word either of German or French?\n\nMy first idea was to see the _cantini\u00e8re_ under her\numbrella. She was an old Alsatian, round and chubby, and, when I\nasked for the _Capougner-Strasse_, she replied:\n\n\"What will you pay for?\"\n\nI was obliged to take a glass of _eau-de-vie_ with her; then\nshe said:\n\n\"Look just opposite there; if you turn the first corner to the\nright, you will find the _Capougner-Strasse_. Good evening,\nconscript.\"\n\nShe laughed.\n\nFurst and Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9' were also billeted in the\n_Capougner-Strasse_ and we set out, glad enough to be able\nto limp together through the strange city.\n\nFurst first found his house, but it was shut; and while he was\nknocking at the door, I found mine, which had a light in two\nwindows. I pushed at the door, it opened, and I entered a dark\nalley, whence came a smell of fresh bread, which was very\nwelcome. Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 had to go further on.\n\nI called out in the alley:\n\n\"Is any one here?\"\n\nThen an old woman appeared with a candle at the top of a wooden\nstaircase.\n\n\"What do you want?\" she asked.\n\nI told her that I was billeted at her house. She came\ndown-stairs, and, looking at my billet, told me in German to\nfollow her.\n\nI ascended the stairs. Passing an open door, I saw two men at\nwork before an oven. I was, then, at a baker's, and this\naccounted for the old woman being up so late. She wore a cap with\nblack ribbons; her arms were bare to the elbows; she, too, had\nbeen working, and seemed very sorrowful.\n\n\"You come late,\" she said.\n\n\"We were marching all day,\" I replied, \"and I am fainting with\nhunger and weariness.\"\n\nShe looked at me and murmured:\n\n\"Poor child! poor child!\"\n\n\"Your feet are sore,\" said she; \"take off your shoes and put on\nthese sabots.\"\n\nShe put the candle upon the table and went out. I took off my\nshoes. My feet were blistered and bleeding, and pained me\nhorribly, and I felt for the moment as if it would almost be\nbetter to die at once than to continue in such suffering.\n\nThis thought had more than once arisen to my mind in the march,\nbut now, before that good fire, I felt so worn, so miserable,\nthat I would gladly have laid myself down to sleep for ever,\nnotwithstanding Catharine, Aunt Gr\u00e9del, and all who loved me.\nTruly, I needed God's assistance.\n\nWhile these thoughts were running through my head, the door\nopened, and a tall, stout man, gray-haired, but yet strong and\nhealthy, entered. He was one of those I had seen at work below,\nand held in his hands a bottle of wine and two glasses.\n\n\"Good evening!\" said he gravely and kindly.\n\nI looked up. The old woman was behind him. She was carrying a\nlittle wooden tub, which, she placed on the floor near my chair.\n\n{455}\n\n\"Take a foot-bath,\" said she; \"it will do you good.\"\n\nThis kindness, on the part of a stranger, affected me more than I\ncared to show. I took off my stockings; my feet were bleeding,\nand the good old dame repeated, as she gazed at them:\n\n\"Poor child! poor child!\"\n\nThe man asked me whence I came. I told him from Phalsbourg in\nLorraine. Then he told his wife to bring some bread, adding that,\nafter we had taken a glass of wine together, he would leave me to\nthe repose I needed so much.\n\nHe pushed the table before me, as I sat with my feet in the bath,\nand we each drained a glass of good white wine. The old woman\nreturned with some hot bread, over which she had spread fresh,\nhalf-melted butter. Then I knew how hungry I was. I was almost\nill. The good people saw my eagerness for food; for the woman\nsaid:\n\n\"Before eating, my child, you must take your feet out of the\nbath.\"\n\nShe knelt down and dried my feet with her apron before I knew\nwhat she was about to do. I cried:\n\n\"Good Heavens! madame; you treat me as if I were your son.\"\n\nShe replied, after a moment's mournful silence:\n\n\"We have a son in the army.\"\n\nHer voice trembled as she spoke. I thought of Catharine and Aunt\nGr\u00e9del, and could not speak again. I ate and drank with a\npleasure I never before felt in doing so. The two old people sat\ngazing kindly on me, and, when I had finished, the man said:\n\n\"Yes, we have a son in the army; he went to Russia last year, and\nwe have not since heard from him. These wars are terrible!\"\n\nHe spoke dreamily, as if to himself, all the while walking up and\ndown the room, his hands crossed behind his back. My eyes began\nto close, when he said suddenly:\n\n\"Come, wife. Good night, conscript.\"\n\nThey went out together, she carrying the tub.\n\n\"God reward you,\" I cried, \"and bring your son safe home!\"\n\nIn a minute I was undressed, and, sinking on the bed, I was\nalmost immediately buried in a deep sleep.\n\n\n                   IX.\n\nThe next morning I awoke at about seven o'clock. A trumpet was\nsounding the recall at the corner of the street; horses, wagons,\nand men and women on foot, were hurrying past the house. My feet\nwere yet somewhat sore, but nothing to what they had been; and\nwhen I had dressed, I felt like a new man, and thought to myself:\n\n\"Joseph, if this continues, you will soon be a soldier. It is\nonly the first step that costs.\"\n\nThe baker's wife had put my shoes to dry before the fire, after\nfilling them with hot ashes, to keep them from growing hard. They\nwere well greased and shining.\n\nThen I buckled on my knapsack, and hurried out, without having\ntime to thank those good people--a duty I intended to fulfil\nafter roll-call.\n\nAt the end of the street--on the Place--many of our Italians were\nalready waiting, shivering around the fountain. Furst, Klipfel,\nand Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 arrived a moment after.\n\nCannon and their caissons covered one entire side of the Place.\nHorses were being brought to water, led by hussars and dragoons.\nOpposite us were cavalry barracks, high as the church at\nPhalsbourg, while around the other three sides rose old houses\nwith sculptured gables, like those at Saverne, but much larger.\n{456}\nI had never seen anything like all this, and while I stood gazing\naround, the drums began to beat, and each man took his place in\nthe ranks, and we were informed, first in Italian and then in\nFrench, that we were about to receive our arms, and each one was\nordered to stand forth as his name was called.\n\nThe wagons containing the arms now came up, and the call began.\nEach received a cartouche box, a sabre, a bayonet, and a musket.\nWe put them on as well as we could, over our blouses, coats, or\ngreat-coats, and we looked, with our hats, our caps, and our\narms, like a veritable band of banditti. My musket was so long\nand heavy that I could scarcely carry it; and the Sergeant Pinto\nshowed me how to buckle on the cartouche-box. He was a fine\nfellow, Pinto.\n\nSo many belts crossing my chest made me feel as if I could\nscarcely breathe, and I saw at once that my miseries had not yet\nended.\n\nAfter the arms, an ammunition-wagon advanced, and they\ndistributed fifty rounds of cartridges to each man. This was no\npleasant augury. Then, instead of ordering us to break ranks and\nreturn to our lodgings, Captain Vidal drew his sabre and shouted:\n\n\"By file right--march!\"\n\nThe drums began to beat. I was grieved at not being able to thank\nmy hosts for their kindness, and thought that they would consider\nme ungrateful. But that did not prevent my following the line of\nmarch.\n\nWe passed through a long winding street, and soon found ourselves\nwithout the glacis, and near the frozen Rhine. Across the river\nhigh hills appeared, and on the hills, old, gray, ruined castles,\nlike those of Haut-Bas and Geroldseck in the Vosges.\n\nThe battalion descended to the river-bank, and crossed upon the\nice. The scene was magnificent--dazzling. We were not alone on\nthe ice; five or six hundred paces before us was a baggage-train\non the way to Frankfort. Crossing the river, we continued our\nmarch through the mountains. Sometimes we discovered villages in\nthe defiles; and Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, who was next to me, said:\n\n\"As we had to leave home, I would rather go as a soldier than\notherwise. At least we shall see something new every day, and, if\nwe are lucky enough ever to return, how much we will have to talk\nof!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said I; \"but I would like better to have less to talk\nabout, and to live quietly, toiling on my own account and not on\naccount of others, who remain safe at home while we climb about\nhere on the ice.\"\n\n\"You do not care for glory,\" said he; \"and yet glory is a grand\nthing.\"\n\n\"Yes; the glory of fighting and losing our lives for others, and\nbeing called lazy idlers and drunkards when we get home again. I\nwould rather have these friends of glory go fight themselves, and\nleave us to remain in peace at home.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he replied, \"I think much as you do; but, as we are\nforced to fight, we may as well make the most of it. If we go\nabout looking miserable, people will laugh at us.\"\n\nConversing thus, we reached a large river, which, the sergeant\ntold us, was the Main, and near it, upon our road, was a little\nvillage. We did not know the name of the village, but there we\nhalted.\n\nWe entered the houses, and those who could bought some brandy,\nwine, and bread. Those who had no money crunched their ration of\nbiscuit, and gazed wistfully at their more fortunate comrades.\n\n{457}\n\nAbout six in the evening we arrived at Frankfort, which is a city\nyet older than Mayence, and full of Jews. They took us to the\nbarracks of the Tenth Hussars, where our Captain, Florentin, and\nthe two Lieutenants, Clavel and Bretonville, awaited us.\n\n\n                   X.\n\nAt Frankfort I began to learn a soldier's duty in earnest. Up to\nthat time I had been but a simple conscript. I do not speak\nmerely of drill--that is only an affair of a month or two, if a\nman really desires to learn; but I speak of discipline--of\nremembering that the corporal is always in the right when he\nspeaks to a private soldier, the sergeant when he speaks to the\ncorporal, the sergeant-major when speaking to the sergeant, the\nsecond lieutenant when he orders the sergeant-major, and so on to\nthe Marshal of France--even if the superior asserts that two and\ntwo make five, or that the moon shines at midday.\n\nThis is very difficult to learn; but there is one thing that\nassists you immensely, and that is a sort of placard hung up in\nevery room in the barracks, and which is from time to time read\nto you. This placard presupposes everything that a soldier might\nwish to do, as, for instance, to return home, to refuse to serve,\nto resist his officer, and always ends by speaking of death or at\nleast five years with a ball and chain.\n\nThe day after our arrival at Frankfort I wrote to Monsieur\nGoulden, to Catharine, and to Aunt Gr\u00e9del. I told them that I was\nin good health, for which I thanked God, and that I was even\nstronger than before I left home, and sent them a thousand\nremembrances. Our Phalsbourg conscripts, who saw me writing, made\nme add a few words for each of their families. I wrote also to\nMayence, to the good couple of the _Capougner-Strasse_, who\nhad been so kind to me, telling them how I was forced to march\nwithout being able to thank them, and asking their forgiveness\nfor so doing.\n\nThat day, in the afternoon, we received our uniforms. Dozens of\nJews made their appearance and bought our old clothes. The\nItalians had great difficulty in making these respectable\nmerchants comprehend their wishes, but the Genoese were as\ncunning as the Jews, and their bargainings lasted until night.\nOur corporals received more than one glass of wine; it was policy\nto make friends of them, for morning and evening they taught us\nthe drill in the snow-covered yard. The _cantini\u00e8re_\nChristine was always at her post with a warming-pan under her\nfeet. She took young men of good family into special favor, and\nthe young men of good family were all those who spent their money\nfreely. Poor fools! How many of them parted with their last\n_sou_ in return for her miserable flattery! When that was\ngone, they were mere beggars; but vanity rules all, from\nconscripts to generals.\n\nAll this time recruits were constantly arriving from France, and\nambulances full of wounded from Poland. Klipfel, Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, Furst,\nand I often went to see these poor wretches, and never did we see\nmen so miserably clad. Some wore jackets which once belonged to\nCossacks, crushed shakos, women's dresses, and many had only\nhandkerchiefs wound around their feet in lieu of shoes and\nstockings. They gave us a history of the retreat from Moscow, and\nthen we knew that the twenty-ninth bulletin told only truth.\n\n{458}\n\nThese stories enraged our men against the Russians, and we longed\nfor the war to begin again. I was at times almost overcome with\nwrath after hearing some tale of horror; and even the thought\nthat these Russians were defending their families, their homes,\nall that man holds most dear, could scarcely recall me to a right\nframe of mind. We hated them for defending themselves; we would\nhave despised them had they not done so. But about this time an\nextraordinary event occurred.\n\nYou must know that my comrade, Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9', was the son of the\ngravedigger of Phalsbourg, and sometimes between ourselves we\ncalled him \"Gravedigger.\" This he took in good part from us; but\none evening after drill, as he was crossing the yard, a hussar\ncried out:\n\n\"Halloo, Gravedigger! help me to drag in these bundles of straw.\"\n\nZ\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, turning about, replied:\n\n\"My name is not Gravedigger, and you can drag in your own straw.\nDo you take me for a fool?\"\n\nThen the other cried, in a still louder tone:\n\n\"Conscript, you had better come, or beware!\"\n\nZ\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, with his great hooked nose, his gray eyes and thin lips,\nnever bore too good a character for mildness. He went up to the\nhussar and asked:\n\n\"What is that you say?\"\n\n\"I tell you to take up those bundles of straw, and quickly, too.\nDo you hear, conscript?\"\n\nHe was quite an old man, with mustaches and red, bushy whiskers.\nZ\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 seized one of the latter, but received two blows in the\nface. Nevertheless, a fist-full of the whisker remained in his\ngrasp, and, as the dispute had attracted a crowd to the spot, the\nhussar shook his finger, saying:\n\n\"You will hear from me to-morrow, conscript.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" returned Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9; \"we shall see. You will probably\nhear from me too, veteran.\"\n\nHe came immediately after to tell me all this, and I, knowing\nthat he had never handled a weapon more warlike than a pickaxe,\ncould not help trembling for him.\n\n\"Listen, Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9,\" I said; \"all that there now remains for you to\ndo, since you do not want to desert, is to ask pardon of this old\nfellow; for those veterans all know some fearful tricks of fence\nwhich they have brought from Egypt or Spain, or somewhere else.\nIf you wish, I will lend you a crown to pay for a bottle of wine\nto make up the quarrel.\"\n\nBut he, knitting his brows, would hear none of this.\n\n\"Rather than beg his pardon,\" said he, \"I would go and hang\nmyself. I laugh him and his comrades to scorn. If he has tricks\nof fence, I have a long arm, that will drive my sabre through his\nbones as easily as his will penetrate my flesh.\"\n\nThe thought of the blows made him insensible to reason; and soon\nChazy, the _maitre d'armes_, Corporal Fleury, Klipfel,\nFurst, and Leger arrived. They all said that Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 was in the\nright, and the _maitre d'armes_ added that blood alone could\nwash out the stain of a blow; that the honor of the recruits\nrequired Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 to fight.\n\nZ\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 answered proudly that the men of Phalsbourg had never\nfeared the sight of a little blood, and that he was ready. Then\nthe _maitre d'armes_ went to see our Captain, Florentin, who\nwas one of the most magnificent men imaginable--tall,\nwell-formed, broad-shouldered, with regular features, and the\nCross, which the Emperor had himself given him at Eylau. The\ncaptain even went further than the _maitre d'armes_; he\nthought it would set the conscripts a good example, and that if\nZ\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 refused to fight he would be unworthy to remain in the\nThird Battalion of the Sixth of the Line.\n\n{459}\n\nAll that night I could not close my eyes. I heard the deep\nbreathing of my poor comrade as he slept, and I thought: \"Poor\nZ\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9! another day, and you will breathe no more.\" I shuddered\nto think how near I was to a man so near death. At last, as day\nbroke, I fell asleep, when suddenly I felt a cold blast of wind\nstrike me. I opened my eyes, and there I saw the old hussar. He\nhad lifted up the coverlid of our bed, and said as I awoke:\n\n\"Up, sluggard! I will show you what manner of man you struck.\"\nZ\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 rose tranquilly, saying: \"I was asleep, veteran; I was\nasleep.\"\n\nThe other, hearing himself thus mockingly called \"veteran,\" would\nhave fallen upon my comrade in his bed; but two tall fellows who\nserved him as seconds held him back, and, besides, the Phalsbourg\nmen were there.\n\n\"Quick, quick! Hurry!\" cried the old hussar.\n\nBut Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 dressed himself calmly, without any haste. After a\nmoment's silence, he said:\n\n\"Have we permission to go outside our quarters, old fellows?\"\n\n\"There is room enough for us in the yard,\" replied one of the\nhussars. Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 put on his great-coat, and, turning to me, said:\n\n\"Joseph, and you, Klipfel, I choose you for my seconds.\"\n\nBut I shook my head.\n\n\"Well, then, Furst,\" said he.\n\nThe whole party descended the stairs together. I thought Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9\nwas lost, and thought it hard that not only must the Russians and\nPrussians seek our lives, but that we must seek each other's.\n\nAll the men in the room crowded to the windows. I alone remained\nbehind, upon my bed. At the end of five minutes the clash of\nsabres made my heart almost cease to beat; the blood seemed no\nlonger to flow through my veins.\n\nBut this did not last long; for suddenly Klipfel exclaimed,\n\"Touched!\"\n\nThen I made my way--I know not how--to a window, and, looking\nover the heads of the others, saw the old hussar leaning against\nthe wall, and Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 rising, his sabre all dripping with blood.\nHe had fallen upon his knees during the fight, and, while the old\nman's sword pierced the air just above his shoulder, he plunged\nhis blade into the hussar's breast. If he had not slipped, he\nhimself would have been run through and through.\n\nThe hussar sank at the foot of the wall. His seconds lifted him\nin their arms, while Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, pale as a corpse, gazed at his\nbloody sabre.\n\nAnd so, for a few thoughtless words, was a soul sent to meet its\nMaker.\n\n\n                   XI.\n\nThe events of the preceding chapter happened on the eighteenth of\nFebruary. The same day we received orders to pack our knapsacks,\nand left Frankfort for Seligenstadt, where we remained until the\neighth of March, by which time all the recruits were well\ninstructed in the use of the musket and the school of the\nplatoon. From Seligenstadt we went to Schweinheim, and on the\ntwenty-fourth of March, 1813, joined the division at\nAschaffenbourg, where Marshal Ney passed us in review.\n\nThe captain of the company was named Florentin; the lieutenant,\nBretonville; the commandant of the battalion, Gemeau; the\ncolonel, Zapfel, the general of brigade, Ladoucette; and the\ngeneral of division, Sonham. These are things that every soldier\nshould know.\n\n{460}\n\nThe melting of the snows began about the middle of March, and on\nthe day of the review the rain did not cease falling from ten in\nthe morning until three in the afternoon. The water ran over our\nshoes, and every moment, to keep us brightened up, the order rang\nout:\n\n\"Carry arms! Shoulder arms!\"\n\nThe Marshal advanced slowly, surrounded by his staff. What\nconsoled Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 was, that we were about to see \"the bravest of\nthe brave.\" I thought that if I could only get a place at the\ncorner of a good fire, I would gladly forego that pleasure.\n\nAt last he arrived in front of us, and I can yet see him, with\nhis chapeau dripping with rain, his blue coat covered with\nembroidery and decorations, and his great boots. He was a\nhandsome, florid man, with a short nose and sparkling eyes. He\ndid not seem at all haughty; for, as he passed our company, who\npresented arms, he turned suddenly in his saddle and said:\n\n\"Hold! It is Florentin!\"\n\nThen the captain stood erect, not knowing what to reply. It\nseemed that the Marshal and he had been simple soldiers together\nin the time of the republic. The captain at last answered:\n\n\"Yes, Marshal; it is Sebastian Florentin.\"\n\n\"_Ma foi_, Florentin,\" said the Marshal, extending his arm\ntoward Russia, \"I am glad to see you again. I thought we had left\nyou there.\"\n\nAll our company felt honored, and Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 said:\n\n\"That is what I call a man. I would spill my blood for him.\"\n\nI could not see why Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 should wish to spill his blood because\nthe Marshal had spoken a few words to an old comrade.\n\nAt Schweinheim, our beef and mutton and bread were very good, as\nwas also our wine. But many of our men pretended to find fault\nwith everything, thinking thus to pass for people of consequence.\nThey were mistaken; for more than once I heard the citizens say\nin German:\n\n\"Those fellows, in their own country, were only beggars. If they\nreturned to France, they would find only potatoes to live upon.\"\n\nAnd the _bourgeois_ were quite right; and I always found\nthat people so difficult to please abroad were but poor wretches\nat home. For my part, I was well content to meet such good fare.\nTwo conscripts were billeted with me at the house of the village\npostmaster, when, on the evening of the fourth day, as we were\nfinishing our supper, an old man in a black great-coat came in.\nHis hair was white, and his mien and appearance neat and\nrespectable. He saluted us, and then said to the master of the\nhouse, in German:\n\n\"These are recruits?\"\n\n\"Yes, Monsieur Stenger,\" replied the other; \"we will never be rid\nof them. If I could poison them all, it would be a good deed.\"\n\nI turned quietly, and said:\n\n\"I understand German; do not speak in such a manner.\"\n\nThe postmaster's pipe fell from his hand.\n\n\"You are very imprudent in your speech, Monsieur Kalkreuth,\" said\nthe old man; \"if others beside this young man had understood you,\nyou know what would happen.\"\n\n\"It is only my way of talking,\" replied the postmaster. \"What can\nyou expect? When everything is taken from you--when you are\nrobbed, year after year--it is but natural that you should at\nlast speak bitterly.\"\n\n{461}\n\nThe old man, who was none other than the pastor of Schweinheim,\nthen said to me:\n\n\"Monsieur, your manner of acting is that of an honest man;\nbelieve me that Monsieur Kalkreuth is incapable of such a\ndeed--of doing evil even to our enemies.\"\n\n\"I do believe it, sir,\" I replied, \"or I should not eat so\nheartily of these sausages.\"\n\nThe postmaster, hearing these words, began to laugh, and, in the\nexcess of his joy, cried:\n\n\"I would never have thought that a Frenchman could have made me\nlaugh;\" and bringing out a bottle of wine, we drank it together.\nIt was the last time we met; for while we chatted over our wine,\nthe order to march came.\n\nAnd now the whole army was moving, advancing on Erfurt. Our\nsergeants kept repeating, \"We are nearing them! there will be hot\nwork soon;\" and we thought, \"So much the better!\" that those\nbeggarly Prussians and Russians had drawn their fate upon\nthemselves. If they had remained quiet, we would have been yet in\nFrance.\n\nThese thoughts embittered us all towards the enemy, and, as we\nmeet everywhere people who seem to rejoice only in fighting,\nKlipfel and Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 talked only of the pleasure it would give them\nto meet the Prussians; and I, not to seem less courageous than\nthey, adopted the same strain.\n\nOn the eighth of April, the battalion entered Erfurt, and I will\nnever forget how, when we broke ranks before the barracks, a\npackage of letters was handed to the sergeant of the company.\nAmong the number was one for me, and I recognized, Catharine's\nwriting at once. Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 took my musket, telling me to read it,\nfor he, too, was glad to hear from home.\n\nI put it in my pocket, and all our Phalsbourg men followed me to\nhear it, but I only commenced when I was quietly seated on my bed\nin the barracks, while they crowded around. Tears rolled down my\ncheeks as she told me how she remembered and prayed for the\nfar-off conscript.\n\nMy comrades, as I read, exclaimed:\n\n\"And we are sure that there are some at home to pray for us,\ntoo.\"\n\nOne spoke of his mother, another of his sisters, and another of\nhis sweetheart.\n\nAt the end of the letter, Monsieur Goulden added a few words,\ntelling me that all our friends were well, and that I should take\ncourage, for our troubles could not last for ever. He charged me\nto be sure to tell my comrades that their friends thought of them\nand complained of not having received a word from them.\n\nThis letter was a consolation to us all. We knew that before many\ndays passed we must be on the field of battle, and it seemed a\nlast farewell from home.\n\n\n    To Be Continued.\n\n--------\n\n{462}\n\n      Bethlehem--A Pilgrimage.\n\n\nBethlehem, where was born the Redeemer of the world, is one of\nthe holiest spots of earth, and to it the thoughts of the\nChristian turn with constant delight. The events in the life of\nour Lord which give to Jerusalem its supreme interest are mostly\nof a saddening character, bringing to recollection the sufferings\nof Jesus for the salvation of his people; and, wherever we turn\nin the city of the Great King, we are reminded of the Man of\nSorrows, and the contradiction of sinners which he endured. But\nBethlehem has other associations; and the pilgrim to the sacred\nshrines can here pour out his soul in joyful gratitude and love,\nfor he is where God's infinite mercy was made evident to Jew and\nGentile, and the Saviour of the world was first seen by those he\ncame to redeem.\n\nOn the 30th of January, 1866, I reached Jerusalem in company with\nmy friend the Reverend Father Wadhams, of Albany. We had brought\nletters from Rome to his excellency the Patriarch of Jerusalem,\nand to the reverendissimo superior of the Franciscans at the\nconvent of San Salvador. The Franciscan monks have charge of all\nthe sacred places in the Holy Land. We were most kindly received\nby the patriarch and the superior of the convent; and the latter\nnot only offered us the hospitality of the Casa Nuova, (where all\nthe Catholic pilgrims lodge,) but gave permission for one of the\npriests to be our companion and attendant every day. The company\nof this good father, with which we were constantly favored during\nour stay in Jerusalem, was of inestimable value. He knew all\nabout the sacred localities, having been six years a resident in\nthe Holy Land. He was from Ireland, and the only one in the\ncommunity who spoke English, the others being Italians.\n\nOn Sexagesima Sunday, Father Wadhams, Father Luigi, and the\nwriter of this sketch walked to Bethlehem, a distance of six\nmiles. Leaving Jerusalem by the Jaffa gate, we turned southward.\nHaving crossed the valley of Gihon, after a short distance the\npathway was on level ground, over the plain of Rephaim, where\nKing David gained his victory over the Philistines. Beyond this,\nin the middle of the road, is a well or cistern, having around it\nsome large rough stones. There is a tradition that, as the wise\nmen from the east were going from Jerusalem to Bethlehem in\nsearch of the new-born King of the Jews, the star which had\nguided them in the early part of their journey from home, but had\ndisappeared as they drew near the former city, was seen reflected\nin the water at this spot. Certain it is that, either here or\nwithin a short distance, they were favored once more with the\nguidance of the star which led them to the place, and stood still\nover where the child Jesus was.\n\nAbout half-way between Jerusalem and Bethlehem is the Greek\nmonastery of the Prophet Elijah. It is said he once rested here.\nFrom this neighborhood we can see Jerusalem on the north and\nBethlehem on the south; and thus the two holiest places in the\nworld are visible to the pilgrim at once. Before we go on to the\ncity of the Nativity, let us pause a few moments to recollect the\nhistory of the place and observe its appearance from a distance.\n\n{463}\n\nBethlehem is one of the oldest cities in the world, having a\nhistory of more than three thousand six hundred years. The name\nsignified the House of Bread; now its Arabic form, Beit Lahm,\ndenotes the House of Flesh. Either name is suitable for the place\nin which the true bread of life, whose flesh is the food of\nimmortality, was to be born. It is called Bethlehem-Judah, to\ndistinguish it from another Bethlehem in the region of Zebulun;\nit is also called Bethlehem Ephratah, or _the fruitful_. The\nearliest mention of it is in the book of Genesis, (xxxv. 1 8,) in\nthe description of the death and burial of Rachel. Six hundred\nyears afterward occurred the events narrated in the book of Ruth.\nA century after the marriage of Boaz and Ruth, David was born\nhere, who, at the age of seventeen years, was anointed king over\nIsrael--and hence it obtained the name of the city of David, and\nis thus called in the holy Gospel.\n\nFor a thousand years the history of Bethlehem is obscure, until\nthe place starts into prominence and immortal glory as the scene\nof the wondrous events attending the birth of Christ. With this\nnarrative every Christian is familiar; and each year, under the\nguidance of the church, we renew, at Christmas and Epiphany, the\njoy which its telling brings. An edict of the Roman emperor\nrequired all the people of Judea to present themselves for\nenrolment in the cities where they belonged, even should they be\nresiding in other and distant places. In obedience to this\ninjunction, Joseph, the espoused husband of the Virgin Mary,\naccompanied by her, repaired to his own city, Bethlehem, he being\nof the house and lineage of David. A long journey of eighty miles\nfrom Nazareth in the north, where he lived, to Bethlehem in the\nsouth was thus imperative; for Roman rulers were strict in\ndemanding obedience to their laws on the part of conquered\npeoples. By the time they reached Bethlehem, the town was already\nfull, and there was no room for them in the inn or public place\nfor the reception of travellers. They were thus compelled to do\nthe best they could, and found shelter in a rude place where some\ncattle were kept. This was not only better than none, but was\nsuch as many travellers since that time have been obliged to\ncontent themselves with. Even now, it is sometimes found in the\nEast that the house and stable are together, being the same\napartment; a floor somewhat raised above the ground being the\nplace for the people, while the other part is tenanted by cattle,\nsheep, or goats. There was no evidence that it was cruel\nindifference on the part of the Bethlehemites which led to the\nchoice of this place by the holy ones who came there. That they\nwere poor is more certainly known from the offering made in the\ntemple in Jerusalem, when the Divine Infant was presented there,\nat the purification of his stainless mother.\n\nIt was in this cheerless place that Christ was born of the Holy\nVirgin, according to the prophecies of Isaias and Micheas. Now,\nindeed, was it true that \"Thou, Bethlehem Ephrata, out of thee\nshall he come forth unto me that is to be the ruler in Israel;\nand his going forth is from the beginning, from the days of\neternity.\" Shepherds were keeping watch over their flocks by\nnight; and the angel of God appeared to them, and the brightness\nof God shone round about them; and while they feared, the angel\nsaid to them: \"Fear not; for behold I bring you good tidings of\ngreat joy that shall be to all the people; for this day is born\nto you a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord, in the city of David.\n{464}\nAnd this shall be a sign unto you: you shall find the infant\nwrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger. And suddenly\nthere was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host,\npraising God and saying, Glory be to God in the highest, and on\nearth peace to men of good will.\" The shepherds went to\nBethlehem, and found these things so, and they and others\nwondered thereat.\n\nSo was the Messiah made known to the Jews, as, in a few days\nafterwards, he was manifested to Gentiles in the persons of the\nmagi, or wise men from the East.\n\nStanding at the place where we have the first good view of\nBethlehem, at the point midway between Jerusalem and the city of\nthe Nativity, the eye ranges over an extensive region. Before us\nis the city to which our steps are directed. It is on very high\nground, on a ridge projecting from the mountain range. The Church\nof the Nativity, a large building with the convents attached, is\non the left of the view, the houses of the village being more to\nthe right and three or four hundred yards from the church. From\nthree sides there is a descent, in places very great, so that on\nthe north, east, and south, there are deep valleys at the foot of\nthe hill on which the buildings stand. All the land near the\nchurch and houses is cultivated, and the hill is completely\nterraced and covered with olive and fig trees, and vines, which\nare carefully tended. Every foot of available ground is thus\nbrought into use; and the fine condition of the trees and vines\nshows that nothing is wanting to restore the ancient fertility of\nthe region but security for labor--something miserably wanting\nthroughout the East. The convents are built up against the\nchurch, and give it the appearance of an enormous castle. The\nhouses of the town are grouped somewhat closely, and have a\ncompact look. Like all edifices in this part of the world, they\nare built of a grayish limestone, the roofs being of stone,\ngenerally flat, but sometimes with a small dome. We are standing\nabout three miles north of Bethlehem, and the eye ranges over a\nwide extent of hill country, especially to the left. The hills of\nJudea are near us, the mountains of Moab beyond and to the east.\nOn the hither side of these last is the Dead Sea, filling the\nsunken basin where once stood the wicked cities of the plain.\nUnder our feet, and all the way to Bethlehem, the ground is\ncovered with immense numbers of stones about four inches in size,\nso that travelling, whether on foot or horseback, is neither easy\nnor pleasant.\n\nLet us now go forward to the city. One mile this side of\nBethlehem, at a short distance to the right of the path we\nfollow, is the tomb of Rachel. This spot is one of the most\ninteresting of its kind in the world. Rachel was the wife of the\nPatriarch Jacob, and she died and was buried here, \"on the way to\nEphrah which is Bethlehem.\" Her memory has always been held in\nrespect by the Jews and Christians, and even now the former go\nthere every Thursday, to pray and read the old, old history of\nthis mother of their race. When leaving Bethlehem for the fourth\nand last time, after we had passed the tomb of Rachel, on our way\nto Jerusalem, Father Luigi and I met a hundred or more Jews on\ntheir weekly visit to the venerated spot. A small square\nbuilding, with a dome, covers the grave of one whose name will\nnever perish from the remembrance of the people of God.\n\n{465}\n\nAs we stand at the tomb of Rachel, at our right is the village of\nBeitjala, Bethlehem being a mile or more to our left. Beitjala is\na thriving place, having many beautiful olive-trees, the finest I\never saw. The Catholic Seminary for Priests of the Patriarch of\nJerusalem is there, and a fine large church has just been\ncompleted. The Rector of the Seminary was consecrated Bishop of\nBeitjala in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre some weeks after our\ndeparture.\n\nEntering Bethlehem to go to the convent, we pass through a large\npart of the city, the church being at the left of the ridge.\nThere are about three thousand residents in the city, who are\nall, or nearly so, Christians. The streets are few, and, like all\nEastern cities, narrow and dirty--very narrow and very dirty,\nindeed. Many of the people are out of doors. As we pass along, we\nsee some small, rude shops or dens, in which various articles are\nexposed for sale. We look in other rooms, and find men at work\nsitting on the ground, turning beads for rosaries. The work is\ndone rapidly, and great quantities of these are made. Also,\ncrosses and medals are carved from the mother of pearl shell. As\nevery one who goes to the Holy Land makes some purchases of these\narticles, there is quite a brisk trade at Easter time, when the\npilgrims most resort to the shrines. These beads, medals, and\ncrosses are taken to Jerusalem and blessed in the most Holy\nSepulchre of our Lord, and are thus in just estimation among the\nholy things of earth. A cross made in Bethlehem, where Christ was\nborn, and blessed in the most Holy Sepulchre where he was buried,\nand from which he rose triumphant over death, is surely a\nprecious thing for any Christian to have. In going through some\nof the streets of Bethlehem, I have seen the scraps of pearl\nwhich were left in the manufacture of crosses and medals, and had\nbeen thrown out as refuse, sparkling and glistening in the bright\nsunshine, reminding one of the city above, whose gates are pearl.\nBut the place where Christ was born is so holy that not even\npearls are too precious to pave its streets.\n\nThe Latin convent is on the north side of the great church, and\nto the left, as one approaches the venerable pile. We knock at\nthe iron door, which is opened quickly, and enter the\nreception-room of the house. This is a pleasant and comfortable\nplace; and the pilgrim, fatigued by the long walk or ride, finds\nit a cheerful place of rest. The good fathers of the monastery\nare hospitable and kind, and give such welcome as the traveller\nwould wish to receive at this holy place. The convent is old, and\nthe walls are of great strength, being ten feet thick, which\nmakes a deep recess at every window. A long table covered with a\ngreen cloth is in the middle of the room, and there are\ncomfortable divans or cushioned seats along the wall by the\nwindows. Portraits of a king and queen, who were benefactors of\nthe convent many years ago, hang at the farther end of the\napartment; while among the later decorations of the walls are\ngood portraits of the present Emperor and Empress of Austria.\nSome photographs and engravings of religious subjects are also\nhere; and there is a homelike and cheerful appearance which is\nmost grateful to the weary traveller from other and distant\nlands.\n\nLet us glance at the buildings and their history. The grotto or\ncave in which Christ was born is covered by the large church. Of\nthis spot, as being the very place where the infant God was born,\nthere never has been a doubt.\n{466}\nThe identification of it goes back to the very next century after\nthe Ascension of Christ. The church was built by Saint Helena,\nthe mother of the first Christian Emperor, Constantine the Great,\nand it is the oldest place erected for Christian worship in the\nworld. It was solidly and well built, and even now bids fair to\nlast when many of the slight structures of modern times shall\nhave fallen into ruin. It is fifteen hundred years old; in length\none hundred and twenty feet, the breadth being one hundred and\nten. There are four rows of large marble columns, taken,\nprobably, from the porches of the temple in Jerusalem. Each row\ncontains twelve columns, each one being of a single stone, twenty\nfeet high and thirty inches in diameter; they are smooth, and\nhave handsome capitals of the Corinthian order. The roof of the\nchurch was originally of the cedars of Lebanon, but was repaired\nabout four hundred years ago with oak. The columns were once\nrichly ornamented, and the walls were inlaid with mosaics; these\nare nearly all gone, and whitewash is in their stead. The\nSanctuary was very beautiful, and yet retains much of the\nadornment of better days; but we can only see the top of the\naltar screen as we stand in the body of the church, for a large\nwall now runs entirely across the upper end of the nave, dividing\nit from the sanctuary. In consequence of this, the whole church\nlooks desolate, empty, and cold. There are some cheap and mean\nglass lamps, a few ostrich eggs, and other trifling objects in\nthe way of decoration, but the whole of this once beautiful and\nmagnificent interior is desolate and neglected. Being common\nproperty of the Latins, Greeks, and Armenians, it receives care\nfrom none; or, rather, the jealousies of the Christians prevent\nany attempt at restoration. The stone pavement is broken and\nirregular. The main door of entrance from the village has been\npartly walled up, so that one can only enter by stooping low.\nThis was done a long time since, to hinder the Turks from riding\nin on horses, mules, or camels; and the barrier against this sort\nof desecration is effectual enough.\n\nThe sanctuary of the church is directly over the spot where our\nLord was born; and was once, as it should be, rich and gorgeous\nas loving devotion could make it--a brave sight in the day of its\nperfection. Raised six steps above the level of the floor of the\nbody of the church, it is nearly square, and is large enough to\naccommodate the congregations who gather there. This sanctuary is\nin the possession of the Greeks and Armenians; for they, being\nricher than the Latins, have bought from the Turks the largest\nshare in all the holy places in Bethlehem and Jerusalem.\n\nThe church, with its sanctuary described above, is _over_\nthe crypt or grotto, which is the glory of Bethlehem, the place\nwhere Christ was born. Let us now go down to this most holy and\nblessed spot. It is reached by a flight of steps on each side of\nthe great sanctuary, about thirteen in number, much worn by the\nthousands of feet which have pressed them. Language fails to\nconvey the sentiments and emotions of the pilgrim as he descends\nthese old steps. In a moment more he is to be\n_there_--there, where his Redeemer was born--there, where\nhis heart has yearned to be thousands of times, through many long\nyears, in the far distant land which is his home. Carefully he\ndescends, and, when nearly at the bottom, he sees, at the right\nhand, a silver star fastened in the marble floor; over it a\nnumber of small lamps burning; three steps more--he kneels and\nflings himself prostrate--he is _there_! Blessed is the\npilgrim to whom God has given this joy, the holiest and sweetest\never known on earth!\n\n{467}\n\nDoubtless we have all known, at some time or other, a gladness of\nheart whose power and intensity have caused it to be remembered\nin after-years, as marking the brightest day in our lives. With\nmany it is that of the first communion; with others, something\nelse has caused it. But the pilgrim to the holy places has a\npeculiar joy in addition to that shared with his brethren at\nhome. And he will be forgiven if he say, as he feels, that there\nis no joy like that he has when he kneels where Christ was born.\nThe superior of the convent at Jerusalem told me, on my first\ninterview with him, \"Jerusalem est locus crucis et spinarum.\" The\nsuperior of the convent at Bethlehem said, \"Bethlehem est domus\nlaetitiae.\" Both these excellent fathers spoke truly, and justly\ndescribed the character of their respective cities. I\nsubsequently found that Jerusalem was indeed the _place of the\ncross and of thorns_; but it needed only this day--only this\nhour--to prove to me, with all fulness of absolute certainty,\nthat Bethlehem is indeed _the house of joy_. Think you that\nthere is on earth another place so blessed and joyful as this? I\nknow of none. Whoever has prayed at Bethlehem will say the same.\nThe good tidings of great joy to all people _from this\nplace_ have been spread over the world.\n\nLet us now look around and observe with carefulness the objects\nabout us. We are in a grotto, apparently hewn in the rock,\nthirty-eight feet long, eleven feet wide, and nine feet high. The\nfloor and walls are of large slabs of marble, once white, but\ngrown dark by age and lamp-smoke and droppings of olive oil, for\nhundreds of years. The hangings are old, and in some places\n(especially the ceiling, which is covered with a blue stuff)\ndropping to pieces. Twenty-nine lamps, suspended from the roof,\nburn continually. The Holy Place is at the east end of the\ngrotto; the two flights of stairs mentioned above land very near\nit. Imagine a semi-circular recess or apse, some four or five\nfeet across, raised four inches above the floor. A marble slab,\nsix inches in diameter, marks the spot where our Lord was born.\nAround this stone is a large silver star, which lies flat, as\nwould a plate laid on the floor. The body of the star is cut out,\nso that it makes a rim around the stone in its centre. The star\nhas fourteen rays or points, each about seven inches long, so\nthat it is about twenty inches across the stone from one point to\nthe opposite one. On the star is the inscription--the letters\nforming a circle around the marble centre--\"Hic de Virgine Maria\nJesus Christus natus est.\" Over the star hang sixteen silver\nlamps which ever burn; they are carefully tended day and night.\nThere are eleven small and rude Greek pictures around the recess\nbehind the lamps. Immediately over the star is an altar, used by\nthe Greeks and Armenians, but not by the Latins; for the reason\nthat Greek and Armenian gold has been largely given to the\nTurkish rulers for the privilege they possess. The Catholics are\ncomparatively few in numbers and poor in money throughout the\nHoly Land; and to this circumstance is owing the melancholy fact\nthat what ought to be our exclusive possession, is enjoyed by\nschismatics, or grudgingly shared with us by them. This altar is\nquite without decoration during the day.\n{468}\nWhen the Greeks say their mass, they dress it up, removing the\nthings immediately afterward. The Armenians do the same.\n\nJust at the foot of the stairs, as we came down to the shrine, at\nour _left_ hand--the star being at our _right_--is a\nlittle recess two feet below the floor of the grotto, perhaps\nseven feet square, a spot of great interest, which happily\nbelongs to the Catholics or Latins. A stone raised eight inches\nhigh above the floor of this little chapel marks the spot where\nthe crib stood. Over and behind the stone is an excellent\npainting in a frame of silver. A screen of silver wire is in\nfront of the painting and of the five silver lamps which hang\nover the stone. Opposite this, and in the same little chapel, is\nan altar standing in the spot where the wise men from the East\noffered their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to the\nnewborn King. It was my happiness to have said Mass three times\non this altar. The painting over this altar is very good; and a\nscreen of wire is put up at the end of Mass, to protect the\npainting and the top of the altar during the day. In this little\nsunken chapel there is only just room for the celebrant and for\nthe brother who serves the Mass; but, as it opens into the grotto\non two sides, many persons can assist at the divine mysteries. Of\nall the shrines in Bethlehem this is the most favorable to\ndevotion. Only a very little daylight comes down the stairs. The\ngrotto is dimly lighted by the lamps, which are all like\nsanctuary lamps, with a small flame. The eye is attracted to the\nplace of the nativity. All is silent, disposing to recollection\nand meditation. There are no crowds as in Jerusalem, and no Turks\nare seen here.\n\nBeside these objects of chief interest, there are several others\nadjoining the sacred grotto. A passage leads from the rear of the\ngrotto, at the opposite end from the shrine, past the tombs of\nSt. Eusebius, the tombs and altar of Santa Paula and Santa\nEustachium, her daughter. Opposite is the tomb of St. Jerome,\nwith a painting representing him resting on a lion. A short\ndistance from this is a square vault, about twenty feet in length\nand breadth, and nine feet high, lighted from above by a window.\nA stone seat or dais is around the apartment. This was the study\nof the great St. Jerome. It is now a chapel, and over the altar\nis a painting representing the saint with a lion at his feet. For\nmore than thirty years did this great Father live in this cell.\nHere he made the translation of the Holy Scriptures into Latin,\nwhich we yet use--the Latin Vulgate, as it is called. Here, also,\nhe wrote his treatises, letters, and commentaries, which are of\nsuch value and estimation in the church. Here, also, he wrote\nthose remarkable words concerning the day of judgment, which are\nsometimes appended to his picture: \"Quoties diem illum considero,\ntoto corpore contremisco; sive enim comedo, sive bibo, sive\naliquid aliud facio, semper videtur illa tuba terribilis sonare\nin auribus meis: Surgite mortui, venite ad judicium.\" This is the\nreason why he is sometimes painted with a trumpet, _illa tuba\nterribilis_, blown by an angel over his head. He was one of\nthe earliest and certainly the most illustrious of pilgrims from\nEurope to Bethlehem, and is justly honored as a doctor and father\nof the church. He died A.D. 420, and was buried here in his\nmonastery; but his remains were subsequently removed to Rome,\nwhere they now are in the magnificent church of St. Mary Major.\n\n{469}\n\nIn another place, some forty feet from the study of St. Jerome,\nis the tomb of the Holy Innocents, where were buried many of\nthose so cruelly murdered by order of the wicked Herod, who hoped\nthat in their number would be the new-born King of the Jews. With\na single exception, the slaughter of the Holy Innocents is the\nonly sad memory associated with Bethlehem. That exception is the\npoverty, fearful and extreme, in which some of the Catholics at\nthis time live. Their desolation is great, and their appeals for\nassistance are urgent and painful to the traveller.\n\nIn Bethlehem, as in Jerusalem, there is a procession daily made\nto the sacred places in the church. The plan and idea of the\noffice is the same in both places, that is, a hymn with antiphon\nand prayer at each station. There is a difference in the subject,\nof course. It was touching, when we came to the place where is\nthe silver star, to listen to the words in the prayer,\n\"_Here_ Jesus Christ was born.\" Also, when we next went to\nthe place where the wise men made their offerings, one of the\nacolytes stood at the corner of the altar and, pointing with his\nfinger, chanted \"_Hic_ magi offerabant munera.\" Few things\nin life can equal in impressiveness this daily visit to the holy\nplaces.\n\nAt night I went up on the convent roof to see the stars shining\non Bethlehem; to be in Bethlehem and see the stars look down on\nthe spot where I stood. The sky was clear and pure. Countless\nthousands of the heavenly bodies were there, each in its\nbrilliancy. Starlight is always beautiful; especially is it\ngrateful to the eye which has been pained with the dazzling and\nblinding power of the Eastern sun. How often, at home, had I\nthought of Bethlehem and the stars, not alone _that one_\nwhich is so memorable in the gospel history, but also of those\nwhich may now be seen; for, ever in the future, Bethlehem and the\nstarlight are intimately associated. I looked up with a thankful\nheart. Countless as these lights had been God's mercies to\nmyself. Another was added in its being granted me to come to\nBethlehem to see it, to pray there, to look up to the sky and\nrecall the sacred events belonging to the place. That night I\nwent to rest in joy.\n\nThe next morning, Monday, February 5th, I said mass at the altar\nof the Magi or Three Kings. In the afternoon, Father Wadhams,\nFather Luigi, and myself went out to visit a place of great\ninterest, a mile or so from the convent. We passed through the\nvillage of the shepherds--yet retaining that name--where dwelt\nthose who kept their flocks. Beyond this we walked over the plain\nand fields of Boaz and Ruth to the place where the shepherds were\nabiding, keeping watch over their flocks by night, and where the\nangel came upon them in glory, saying, \"Fear not: for behold, I\nbring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all people.\nFor unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour\nwho is Christ the Lord.\" And suddenly there was with the angel a\nmultitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, \"Glory\nto God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good will.\"\n\nWe recalled this history with joy, and, taking off our hats,\nchanted the _Gloria in Excelsis_ on the spot where those\nholy words were first heard by men. How often has not that grand\nand touching chant been sung throughout the world, melting the\nhardest hearts into penitence, and subduing the roughest natures\ninto gentleness and love!\n\n{470}\n\nThe place where the shepherds rested while watching their flocks\nwas a grotto, of which there are very many throughout the Holy\nLand, and in it they would be sheltered from the night air,\nneeding less protection in the day time, as the winter is not\nvery cold. The grotto had long ago been converted into a chapel\nby the Greeks, and we went into it and prayed. The\nneighborhood--especially the place were the shepherds heard the\nangel's message--is planted with olive trees; and I broke a few\nleaves from the tree under which we stood while singing the\n_Gloria_ to keep as a memorial of the place. A Catholic\npriest is now building a church in the village of the shepherds.\nReturning, we saw the place where Santa Paula lived and died; it\nis a mile or less from the Church of the Nativity toward\nJerusalem. We came home in time to join the procession which is\ndaily made.\n\nLater in the evening, and when there was no one present but\nourselves, we went into the sacred grotto. Perfect silence\nreigned. Prostrate on the marble floor, I passed an hour close to\nthe very spot where our Lord was born. Over and over again did I\npray for the good people of Nativity Church at home, and for all\nwho were commended to my prayers. Then, in this unbroken silence,\nwhich not even our breathing disturbed, I meditated on all that\nhad taken place here, and on the mercy from God of which the\nbirth of the Divine Infant was the seal. Repeatedly I kissed the\nstone which marks the spot, and the silver star by which it is\nsurrounded. God has often in time past been gracious to me; but I\nsay it with a thankful heart, that this one hour was the most\nblessed and happy of my whole life.\n\nI have thus attempted to describe the holy city of David, and the\nobjects of interest within and near it. My fourth and last visit\nwas made on the return from Hebron; and I had more difficulty in\ntearing myself away from Bethlehem than in leaving any other\nplace in the Holy Land. At the Greek convent of Elijah, of which\nmention has been made, I turned to take my last look at the city\nwhere Christ was born. Gazing long and earnestly, the whole scene\nwas stamped indelibly on memory, and I said \"Good-bye, Bethlehem,\ndearest city of holy mercy, house of joy, good-bye. Peace be with\nthee, and peace with them who love thee!\"\n\n--------\n\n{471}\n\n\n  Lines on the Ceremonial Sandal of his Holiness.\n\n    Preserved At Burton Manor, Staffordshire,\n    The Seat Of Francis Whitgreave, Esq.\n\n\n  \"How beauteous on the hills the feet of him\"\n    ('Tis thus Isaias sings)\n  \"Who preaches heavenly peace, and brings to man\n    Glad tidings of good things!\"\n\n  Christ first, his vicar now, to us fulfils\n    _This_ gracious work of God;\n  No land by seas or mountains so concealed\n    But Peter there hath trod.\n\n  Hail, dearly-prized memorial, in late days\n    By our loved Pius worn!\n  Hail, emblem of the foot that walked the waves\n    In our redemption's morn!\n\n  Before the little cross embroided here\n    Princes have bended low,\n  And owned the presence of a greater power\n    Than the proud world can show.\n\n  Here love hath left a kiss; here guilt hath been.\n    Nor dropped her tear in vain\n  At his dear feet who can absolve all sins,\n    Or, when he wills, retain!\n\n  Here learning to the truthful Roman See\n    Hath noble homage paid;\n  Here to religion's lovelier majesty\n    Beauty hath bowed her head.\n\n  Oh! by this sacred relic here I swear,\n    As all my life shall prove,\n  To him who sits in Peter's holy chair\n    True loyalty and love.\n\n\n         E. Caswall.\n         Oratory, Birmingham.\n\n--------\n\n{472}\n\n\n        The Labor Question.\n\n   Translated From Le Correspondant.\n\n   Address Of Rev. Father Hyacinthe\n   Before The Catholic Congress Of Malines.\n\n\nYour Eminence, My Lords, And Gentlemen:\n\nI will not attempt to conceal from you the emotion which thrills\nme. I behold and am dismayed. I am abashed before this assembly,\nwhich will presently give me inspiration. I speak before a prince\nof the church, who is also a prince of wisdom and virtue; before\nthis illustrious circle of bishops, my fathers in the faith;\nbefore these eminent statesmen, masters of science and of\neloquence, and I find this tribunal still warm and palpitating\nfrom the hands which have touched it and the words which have\nmade it tremulous. I speak before this grand assemblage, convened\nfrom the four quarters of the world to discuss, upon this little\nspot of free ground that we call Belgium, the religious interests\nof the Catholics of two worlds. Gentlemen, I was alarmed at\nfirst, but I will fear no longer. I feel that I am not a stranger\nhere; I meet brothers. Your acclamations I accept, for they are\nnot addressed to the individual, who is nothing, but to the\ncause, which is grand; I had almost said, which is every thing.\nThis cause I can define in two words--the Catholic Church, and\nthe Catholic Church in the nineteenth century.\n\nOn that day which no priest forgets--on that day when, lying\nupon the pavement of the temple, I took for my only and virginal\nspouse the Holy Church of Jesus Christ; my lips in the dust, my\neyes in tears, my heart in ecstacy and in thrills of rapture--I\nvowed in silence to love her well, and, if I could, to serve her\nwell, not only in her grand past, which is no more, and in her\nglorious future, which is not yet come, but in her present, so\nsorrowful and so grand also; in her present, which is the product\nof the past ages of her history, and, consequently, the work of\nGod.\n\nThose who undertake to serve the church in the nineteenth century\nhave one especially profound and threatening question to\nencounter: I mean the Labor Question.\n\nThis question is one which transcends all fixed limits, but I\nwill limit my treatment of it to one especial point of view--the\neducation of the laboring classes. The hope of the harvest is in\nthe seed, and Leibnitz was right in saying, \"Give me the\ninstruction of the youth during one century and I will change the\nface of the globe.\" This transformation cannot be accomplished\nuntil the working classes shall be educated under the conditions\ndesigned by the nature of man and the general harmony of the\ndivine plan.\n\nThere are three degrees in this education--the primary education\nby the family, the professional education by the workshop, the\nreligious education of the Sunday.\n\n\n                   I.\n\n            Family Education.\n\nI place the family in the first rank. It occupies it in the order\nof time; it ought to occupy it in the order of influences.\n\nAmong the many elevated minds occupied with the fate of the\nworking classes, I am astonished that there are so few who\ncomprehend their real wants.\n{473}\nThe remedy for the evils which they suffer, the means of the\nprogress that they wish to realize, are vainly sought for in new\ninventions and combinations, in specious theories, or even in\nprivate or public charitable institutions. They are in the\nfamily; that institution which is as ancient and universal as the\nworld, and which has its roots in the inmost depths of the\nstrength and tenderness of humanity; that institution which came\nfrom the hands of God himself, a vestige of the primal order of\nEden, which Christ has empurpled with his blood, and raised to\nthe dignity of a sacrament, making it one of the seven pillars\ndestined to uphold for ever the edifice of regenerated human\nsociety. (Applause.)\n\nIt is, then, the family that embodies the strength to sustain or\nto restore in all classes of society; but above all in the\nworking class of our cities. It is especially to the family that\nthe first education of the child must be entrusted.\n\nIn primary education, there are two things which need especial\nconsideration--the place and the agent. The place is the\ndomestic hearth; the agent is the mother.\n\nThe domestic hearth! There it is that the cradle of the child\nought to be, there that its first years ought to be passed. Has\nnot Providence implanted this instinct in the heart of all his\ncreation, even in the species inferior to ours? Does not the bird\nbuild its nest in the soft moss, under the shelter of the hedge\nand among the branches of the tree? Is there not in all the\norders of nature a special place, a sacred spot, where the first\nhopes, the first joys, and the first sufferings of life should be\nexperienced? Ah, well! among all these other cradles, the human\nrace has a right to a sacred cradle, too; it has a right to a\ndomestic hearth which shall be free from the infection of filth\nand disease, and whose atmosphere shall not be fatal to the life\neither of the body or of the soul of the child.\n\nIt is at this fireside that must first begin the education of\nthis young soul, of its imagination and budding perceptions.\nThese walls are not merely walls, this roof is not alone a\ncollection of shingles and slate, this furniture is not merely\ncollection of common objects: I say that all this speaks a deep\nlanguage, that all this exercises a powerful influence in the\nmoral order. Have not we Catholics, in our divine religion,\nsensible signs that are called sacraments, water, wine, bread,\noil; in short, matter--but matter which reveals and communicates\nin different degrees invisible things! In the order of nature,\nand in what I will call the religion of the fireside, there is\nalso a mysterious influence of places and of things--a secret\ncommunication of the habits, of the virtues, of the soul of the\nfamily by these material objects themselves. The child will see\nwhat its parents have seen; it will mingle its life with objects\nfilled with recollections of them, and, so to speak, penetrated\nby their souls; he will receive some impress from it, and as an\nindelible character that he will carry through the errors of\nyouth and even under the white hairs of the old man. If there be\npoetry in this, gentlemen, it is practical poetry; it germinates\nin facts; it has its roots in the nature of things. It makes us\nfeel, besides, of what importance it is for the child to be\nreared with its father and mother, and not under a strange roof.\n\nI have said that the mother is the principal agent in the\nfireside education. It is not that I disregard the part of the\nfather; and if it were appropriate for me to say all I think, I\nshould reproach some Catholic writers, who fail to make\nsufficient account of it.\n{474}\nWe are in danger of forgetting the father in the presence of the\nmother--this type so pure, so gracious, so Christian.\n\nBut I cannot give here an exhaustive treatise upon family\neducation, and I insist above all upon the importance of this\nprimary education of which the care devolves almost exclusively\nupon the mother. At this period of life, the body and the heart\nof the child must be formed; reason will have its turn later, but\nit will only develop itself upon the double soil, physical and\nmoral, a body and a heart worthily prepared. Now, the hands of\nthe wife are alone capable of this divine field-culture,\n_agricultura Dei_; they alone are pure enough and tender\nenough to touch this virginal and suffering body that an\nimprudent touch might bruise or blight; they alone are powerful\nenough to awake in him that organ of the heart which is,\naccording to science, the first to be born and the last to die,\n_primum saliens et ultimum moriens_, the power to love which\nremains so often stifled or corrupted in its germ. As the hands\nof the priest are consecrated to touch the body of Christ upon\nthe altar--this body glorious but subjected to the fragile\nconditions of the sacrament--so the hands of the Christian woman,\nby the benediction of marriage and through the graces of\nmaternity, are sanctified to touch worthily the body of the\nchild, a body infirm but glorious, because it contains a soul; I\nhad almost said because it contains a god. By baptism it has been\nmade a living member of Jesus Christ. (Applause.)\n\nThe fireside and the mother! Where are they to-day for the people\nof our great cities? Ah! I touch two great, hideous sores of our\ncontemporaneous society: the pitiable condition of the working\npart of the community, and the absence of the mother from the\ndomestic hearth. Here is one of the most unrecognized and most\nactive principles in the evil which we suffer; it is here, in\nthis disorganization of the family, in this demoralization of the\npeople, that are formed those black spots which finally rise in\nthe atmosphere, and become there an ever-increasing cloud which\nat last bursts in a great tempest.\n\nIs it a fireside or is it a den, this damp, dark, infected cellar\nfrom which the poor are absent all day, and in the evening return\nonly to horrible poverty and disorder? Is this the dwelling of\nthe living or the tomb of the dead, this narrow, suffocating\ngarret, where, in order to extend himself upon his bed--I cite a\nfact recently come to my knowledge in Paris--the fatigued workman\nis obliged to open the garret window during the night and to put\nhis feet upon the roof? I ask, are such dwellings tolerable for\nthe free citizens of France or Belgium; for men redeemed by the\nblood of Jesus Christ? (Applause.)\n\nIf at least the mother were there, her look and her smile would\nillumine the clouds, transform the ugliness, and make a joyous\nfestival in the midst of this sadness. But labor, barbarous\nlabor, has deprived her of performing the sacred duties of the\nmother, and has drawn her, weak and tottering, into the great\nworkshop, full of the noise of work and the sound of blasphemy,\nwhence she can not hear the cry of her son carried far from her\nto an indifferent or covetous stranger, who will restore him to\nher dead or at least blighted.\n\n{475}\n\nI do not exaggerate, gentlemen; these are but too common facts,\nand which are tending to become the law in these great industrial\nmasses. Ah! well, it is the duty, the imperious duty of Catholics\nto unite among themselves and with the Christians of all churches\nand feeling men of all opinions, to make one supreme effort in\nfavor of the working classes. Let us work to restore to them the\nfamily which has been taken away from them. Let us work to\nrestore the fireside, modest and poor undoubtedly, but decent and\npleasant, where the mother remains with her children and gives\nthem those cares of the heart and the body in which no one in the\nworld can replace her. (Applause.)\n\nI do not wish to be a Utopian, and I have not the credulity to\nbelieve that these things can be accomplished in a day. Whatever\nassistance may be rendered, it will require years and still years\nbefore the family life, so deeply violated among the people of\nour cities, retakes its vigor and beauty. In the meantime,\ngentlemen, what shall we do? Charity has marvellous inventions.\nTo those who are homeless, it has opened children's homes and\nasylums; to those who have no mother, it has prepared devoted\nhearts of teachers, whatever may be the dress and name they bear.\nIt has prepared, above all, three centuries ago, through the\nheart of Vincent de Paul, that extraordinary woman whose mission\nwas reserved especially for the nineteenth century, for the great\ncrisis of the laboring classes, the helper of the workman as of\nthe soldier, upon the field of battle, of labor, and of\nsuffering--the sister of charity. If any one could replace the\nmother at the cradles of the people, it would be the sister of\ncharity, (applause;) it would be this nun, unsecluded and\nunveiled, who, not being of the world, yet lives in the world,\nand who unites, in an unexampled combination, the heart of the\nvirgin and the feelings of the mother. (Prolonged applause;) Let\nus leave the child to the sister of charity; we will leave it to\nthe instructor and instructress who fill to it the place of\nparents, to the infant-asylum and school that supplies to it the\nplace of home. Let us not permit that any hand, under any\npretence, snatch it from this cradle-education, and give us that\nspectacle, which would be loathsome if it were not lamentable--\nthe workman eight years of age. I feel the need of speaking the\ntruth with regard to this grand industry, that has been flattered\neven to baseness by some, and disparaged even to abuse by others.\nI belong neither to the class of courtiers nor to that of\ntraducers, and I estimate that the best homage one can render to\na power of this world is to believe it great enough to hear the\ntruth. I will say, then, to trade, that it has never a right to\nput its hand upon a child before the age denoted by nature and by\nreligion. To do this is to commit a crime more odious than that\nwhich has so long stained America, and that she has been obliged\nto wash out in waves of blood. Among those men who owned other\nmen there were those who were just and good, who were more the\nbenefactors of their slaves than their masters. But there were\nalso those who were without conscience and without feeling. They\nsaw in the negro only an instrument, and they required of him\nunmeasured labor without repose. This was the oppression of the\nbody. But all oppression, as all liberty, passes from that of the\nbody to that of the soul. If the truth could come in them, the\ntruth would deliver them! No communication, then, with those who\npossess science, with men who speak too high, nor with books that\nteach too thoroughly. And, finally, to intellectual oppression,\nthese cautious and cruel tyrants added moral oppression.\n{476}\nThey were doubly right, for, of all the accessories of liberty,\nthe most dangerous is not science but virtue. No virtue, then,\nfor the slave! He has been deprived of the gospel; he must also\nbe deprived of nature! And because in the absence of the gospel,\nand even in the ruins of human nature, when this nature has not\nentirely perished, there yet dwell two noble sentiments, two\npowerful roots, whence all can spring up again and\nflourish--conjugal love and paternal love--family life was\nrendered impossible, and in these horrible cases men could no\nlonger embrace, in honor as in tenderness, the companion of their\nmisfortunes and the fruit of their love.\n\nYou shudder, gentlemen, and you are right. But nothing which has\nbeen lost, however great may be the evil, is ever entirely\nwithout remedy. This negro is an adult, a man grown; and if, in a\nchildhood more happy than his maturity, he has been warmed upon\nthe bosom of a black but Christian mother, _nigra sed\nformosa_, and has drawn the chaste and healthful milk of\nvirtue; if he has known the gospel, and if he has loved Jesus\nChrist, he holds in his innermost life concealed resources; he\nwill feel the sudden and powerful awakenings of an honest\nconscience and of Christian truth, and against the triple tyranny\nof the body, of the intelligence, and of the heart there will be\nvictorious rebellions.\n\nGentlemen, the being most effectually oppressed, the victim\nirremediably crushed, is not the man; it is the child. It is the\nlittle white slave of our Europe, who has known neither his\ncradle nor his mother, and who has awakened to life in the dark\nworkshop, a kind of hell on earth, of which we may write--\n\n  \"You who enter here leave all hope behind.\"\n\nHis active lungs breathe in full draughts of air which are simply\ndraughts of poison; his little limbs, bent under the work before\nbeing formed, are dedicated from infancy to decrepitude. His\nintelligence, too, arrested in its early budding, is sadly locked\nin darkness. It is in vain that, later, in fruitless remorse, we\nwould attempt to imbue him with some truths. The negro will\nrecollect himself after years of brutishness; the child will\nlearn no more after a few months of this odious system. He will\nnever hold in his hand the three keys, at once common and\nsublime, which open so many things in life and in the\nsoul--reading, writing, and arithmetic. He will never possess\nthose rudiments of science which ought to be the portion of\nall--something of the form and life of this globe that he\ninhabits, and much of the glory and destinies of that country\nwhich he ought to love and to serve. Never, above all, will he\nhave the clear and strong revelation of his own soul and of God.\nHis soul and God! it is not only ignorance which steals them from\nhim, it is vice. What has taken place in this dark workshop, in\nthis hell, precocious but not the less hopeless? I will not\nattempt to speak it, but will listen to the words of a poet\n[Footnote 46] of our age, eloquent interpreter of the frenzies\nand anguishes of evil in the depths of the human soul:\n\n  \"The heart of man, unspotted, is a vase profound;\n   If the first water poured into it be impure,\n   The sea may pass over without washing away the stain,\n   For the abyss is unfathomable and the spot in its depths.\"\n\n    [Footnote 46: Alfred de Musset.]\n\n{477}\n\n(Applause.) O hands that have abused the child! you will be\ncursed in spite of all your splendor, in spite of all your\nscience, and in spite of your riches! Hands of a relentless\nindustry, you will remain dry and withered as the hand of the\ntyrant of Israel under the malediction of the prophet of Judos,\n\"The hand of Jeroboam withered and he was not able to draw it\nback again to him, because the Lord had cursed it.\" You have\ncommitted the most cowardly, the most revolting, and the most\nirreparable of crimes. (Prolonged applause.)\n\n\n\n                   II.\n\n     The Education Of The Workshop.\n\n\nI have been too diffuse upon the primary education of man. The\nfault, gentlemen, is in your attention and sympathy; and then in\nthe empty cradle, the absent mother, this gloomy fireside, where\nI had need to weep and hope with you.\n\nThe home education is concluded by that grand religious ceremony,\nthe first communion, which serves as the first emancipation of\nthe child. More precocious in that than the sons of the rich, the\nsons of the workman enter from there a sort of public life; from\nthe family, they pass to the workshop. Am I mistaken, gentlemen;\nis there not a school between the family and the workshop, the\nprimary school first and the professional school afterward? No;\nthe school is not between the family and the workshop, it is\nbeside them. It does not form, in connection with them, a third\ndegree in the popular education. In a word, its part is not\nprincipal and independent, but secondary and subordinate. I am\nfull of sympathy and respect for those modest and courageous\nteachers of the people, to whatever corps of instructors they may\nbelong, whether they wear the religious or the layman's dress,\nprovided they remain at the height of their profession. I will\nnever associate myself with the gross and unmerited injuries of\nwhich they are the objects, in different senses, on the part of\nall extreme parties. But grand as is their mission, I repeat it,\nit is secondary; and practical reason fails to see in the school\nwhat a large number of our contemporaries see in it--the most\nefficacious instrument for the elevation of the laboring classes.\nPermit me, gentlemen, to cite the words of an economist, a\npatient, impartial, and wise observer, whose name and works I\nwould wish to popularize among Catholics. \"With a free and\nprosperous people,\" says M. Le Play, \"the instructor occupies\nonly a subordinate position. The true education is given by the\nfamily, aided by the priest; it is completed by apprenticeship to\na profession, and by the observance of social duties.\" [Footnote\n47]\n\n    [Footnote 47: _Social Reform in France_, by M. Le Play,\n    author of _European Laborers_, Commissioner-General to\n    the Universal Exhibitions of 1855, '62, and '67. 3d edition,\n    vol. ii. p. 369.]\n\nThe workshop is, then, after the family, the second centre, the\nsecond home, for the education of the people. But what is a\nwell-planned and well-organized workshop? It is one where the\ndignity and rights of personal being are recognized in the\nworkmen, and especially in the child. A personal being is always\nan end, never a means; it cannot be used as an animal without\nreason, nor as an instrument without consciousness. If one expect\nservices of it, and receive profit from it, it is necessary to\ndispose of it, as God does of us, with a great respect; _cum\nmagna reverentia disponis nos_. What is a well-appointed\nworkshop? It is one which has at its head a patron who is an\nhonorable man, a patron truly worthy of the name he bears. Some\nhave seen something ridiculous and disagreeable in this name;\nbut, for my part, I find it very grand, very elevated, and, above\nall, very Christian.\n{478}\nI see in it the idea of paternity, and in this very idea the\npractical solution of our problem, by the relations of mutual\naffection in a free but, nevertheless, close and durable\nassociation between the masters and the workmen. In such a\nworkshop, under this father of the laborer, an immediate gain\nwill be sacrificed, however great it may be, to the formation of\nintelligent and virtuous apprentices. It is not proposed to\nproduce only much and quickly; it is desired that trade may be\ngrand by its workmen as well as by its works; from its moral as\nwell as its material side. The kingdom of God and his\nrighteousness is sought first; and all the rest is added, for\nrighteousness and utility have more bonds between them than we\nthink, and science has recently stated that in the products of\nlabor not only the degree of intelligence, but also the degree of\nmorality of the workmen, may be recognized.\n\nAided by devoted and qualified foremen, such a patron will make\nthe workshop he directs the best of professional schools. The\ngood workman is made, like the good soldier, less by precept than\nby example, less by general and theoretical knowledge than by a\npractical struggle with the realities of his trade.\n\nCome, then, young conscript of labor! I would have many more of\nthis kind and many fewer of the other. (Applause.) Yes, the\nconscripts of agriculture, in these vast open workshops that we\ncall the fields, and the conscripts of trade, in the more\nconfined but not less fruitful workshops of our cities--the\ngreat, peaceful army which forms the true power and superior\ninfluence of a nation. (Renewed applause.) Come, conscript of\nlabor! Enter upon the field of battle of the workshop! Fight\nthose combats which are not always without dangers, never without\ncourage and glory! And you, inured foreman, captain of this noble\nmilitia, follow it, guide it, exercise it by look, and word, and\ngesture! See how it avenges its first defeats by valiant\nexploits; how it puts its victorious hand upon this wild beast,\nthis matter, revolted against man. It seizes it, it twists its\nmane, and finally curbs it, subdued, pliant, and docile, to carry\non the inventions of science and the creations of genius.\n(Applause.)\n\nGentlemen, yet a word with regard to the workshop. It is a place\nwhich ought to complete the formation of the moral and religious\ncharacter, at the same time that it perfects the intelligent and\nqualified workman. It is not alone the school of excellence in\nthe profession; it is also the school of life. The family, with\nits auxiliaries, the school and the catechism, has provided the\ntheory of life more than it has given the practice. The good\nprecepts have fallen upon the consciousness of the child in the\nform of a mysterious revelation, of which he has felt the power\nand the beauty, but of which he has not been able to seize all\nthe significance. Every theory, so far as it remains abstract,\ndiffers more or less from the reality; it is essential that it\ndescend into the region of facts, and that it enter into a\ncontact with them which, far from destroying, confirms, but at\nthe same time modifies and fructifies, it. This is the true\ntendency of practical life.\n\nWhen, then, the mother and the priest have grounded this sublime,\ntrue, and eternal theory of religion and of virtue, it belongs to\nthe workshop to submit it to its necessary and decisive proof, to\ngive or refuse it citizenship in practical existence.\n{479}\nIf, finally, everything in this new school says to the young\napprentice, Your teachers have deceived you or are themselves\ndeceived; the great movement of men and things is not, and cannot\nbe, what they have told you; if this contradiction of the faith\nof his childhood penetrate his mind and heart through the\nconstant teachings of word and example, by all the influences of\nthese moral mediums, which act upon us with far greater force\nthan physical mediums, it will come to pass that he will abandon\nthe principles of his parents and instructors as a weak support,\nand will allow himself to glide down the seductive declivities of\ndoubt and pleasure. But if, on the contrary, he find one of these\nworkshops too rare to-day, which are the continuation of the\nschool and fireside experience; if he hear and see the practical\ncommentary on all he has believed and loved; if he breathe the\npure air of healthful souls which refreshes and fortifies the\nconscience and the heart; you will soon see developed to manly\nstature those virtues of childhood instilled in him by the sacred\ninfluence of home and of religion, warmed by the contact of those\ntwo hearts which are equal--I dare not say that one surpasses the\nother; God has clothed them with so nearly the same tenderness\nand the same piety, for the cradle of mankind--the heart of the\nmother and the heart of the priest. (Applause.)\n\n\n                   III.\n\n       Education By Means Of The Sunday.\n\nI have just compared the priest and the mother. And indeed,\ngentlemen, if I have spoken separately of the family and the\nworkshop, I have not intended by that to separate them from\nreligion. With these two primordial laws of love and of labor of\nwhich I have indicated the double home--the family and the\nworkshop--is connected, and, as it were, interlaced, a third\nstill grander law, which forms with them the divine net-work of\nhuman existence--prayer.\n\nWe cannot be the disciples of an independent morality, because we\nare not participators in an impersonal deity. We have a morality\nwhich comes from the living God and which returns to him, and in\nthis golden chain which binds the earth to heaven all the links\nare not the duties of man in respect to man; and when one desires\nto be an honorable man in the fulness and holiness of this term,\nso often profaned, he must not disregard in his practical respect\nthe most living and sacred of all personalities. Now, this\nintercourse of the living and personal soul with the living and\npersonal God is what we call prayer, in the fullest and most\ncomprehensive sense of the word. It is not sufficient to think of\nGod; it is necessary to pray to him. When one habituates himself\nto reach him only by thought, he finishes by no longer believing\nin God; he vanishes, or at least he transforms himself into a\nmass of confused and icy clouds--_evanuerunt in cogitationibus\nsuis_--and of the Being of beings there remains only a\nsublime but chimerical ideality. It is necessary to have a heart,\nto have the arts and movements of a soul which looks up with\nrespect and tenderness to the God who makes it to live upon the\nearth, to the Father who awaits it in the heavens. Not even\nindividual prayer suffices; collective prayer is necessary--the\nmeeting and communion of souls in the same illumination and\nfervidness of love. This prayer has a sacred day and place--the\nSunday and the temple. It is of this day and this place,\ngentlemen, that it remains to say to you that they are, after as\nbefore the first communion, the highest school of the child, of\nthe youth, and of the man.\n\n{480}\n\nThis is why the first and most essential of all popular liberties\nis the liberty of keeping the Sunday. There are men who do not\ncomprehend this need of repose for the soul and for the body.\nThey are usually those who direct work, but who do not perform\nit; who receive the profit without knowing the fatigue. They are\nthose who have not pricked their hands on the hard asperities of\nlabor, with the thorns and briers of the workshop, and who have\nnot been bowed down during six days over the earth with their\nbrows bathed in sweat and their souls exhausted with suffering.\nAs for such, I can conceive of their objections to the law of\nrepose. I can comprehend their repugnance to the liberty of the\nSunday. But the laborer, whenever he is not under the pressure of\nmaterial or moral violence, whenever he is left to his own\ninstincts; he claims as his most dear and sacred right the\nenjoyment of this day which makes him truly free, truly husband\nand father, truly a child of God. The sentiment of human dignity\nrequires it; it is the exigency of family life; it is the\nreligious need of souls; it is the cry of all that is most noble\nand imperious in our nature.\n\nI still recollect what I experienced in my childhood. Permit me\nthis confession, which is yours as well, and which would be also\nthat of our workmen. In the morning, when I awoke, I felt\ndistinctly that it was Sunday! In the clump of trees near the\nwindow, the birds sang more sweetly; the church-bells pealed more\njoyously; the air was filled with more harmonies and perfumes;\nthe sky was so beautiful, the sun so brilliant! I did not\nunderstand this mystery. I asked myself many times how nature\nthus became transformed on a fixed day. Later, I understood it.\nChild, still warm from the waters of thy baptism, throbbing from\nthe caresses of thy mother, it is a reflection of thy religious\nsoul which passes over nature and makes it more beautiful and\nmore like thyself. (Applause.)\n\nThe child will arise transported. It will go into the temple,\nwhich is the house of God, but which is also the house of the\npeople. The rich have their palaces; they can content themselves\nwith a modest chapel. For the people we must have cathedrals,\n(applause,) and festivals such as are not given to the princes of\nthe earth, such as religion alone can realize. The true popular\nfestival--let me speak the word so much abused, the true\n_democratic_ festival--is Sunday. In the vast basilica, all\nthe arts, united around the altar, have mingled their\nenchantments into one supreme enchantment--architecture,\nstatuary, painting, music, above all, eloquence. Yes, eloquence!\nHowever unpolished the words of the priest may sometimes be, by\nthe nature of the truths he must announce, by the chords which he\nis sure to touch in the human heart, the priest is necessarily\neloquent. (Applause.) The people enter, and they feel its\ngrandeur. And the little children, as they cross the threshold,\nare welcomed like kings by the grand voice of the organ; they\nbreathe the perfumes of incense and of flowers; they listen to\nthose majestic and tender chants, those Latin words, which they\ndo not comprehend, and which nevertheless say to them so many\nthings--words of eternity dropped down into time, mysterious\nsecrets of the fatherland, a glimpse caught in exile. Transported\nwith faith, with hope, and with love, they come from the fireside\nto the altar; from the altar to the fireside they recarry to the\nmother the kiss of God, as they have carried to God the kiss of\nthe mother.\n\n{481}\n\nThis is the day of which their friends wish to deprive the\npeople--false friends, who believe only in the body, who see in\nit only material needs, the work and the pleasures of the beast\nof burden! Courtiers of democracy, you who flatter the people and\ndespise it, believe in its soul, _crede animae_, and by that\nbegin to believe in your own. (Applause.)\n\nYes, this law of Sunday, so religiously democratic, is to-day\neverywhere unrecognized. Patriotism imposes upon me still greater\nconsideration for my country when I speak upon soil which is not\nher own. I am mistaken; my country asks of me only equity, and I\nknow that if much evil can be said of France as she is to-day,\nmuch good may also justly be said of her. I will speak, then,\nfreely; I will complain of the violation of the Sunday in the\ngreat industrial cities of France. Sometimes I must pass through\nthe streets in going to the church to speak the sacred word. I\nrevolve in my heart the lessons of the Gospel and all along the\nway are visions of hell; heavy wagons, axle-trees that groan,\npavements that reek, clouds of dust which hide from me the sun\nand the face of God. I cover my eyes with my hands and say,\ngroaning, It is France that does this.\n\nThe answer comes, Undoubtedly; but this is liberty. Respect the\nliberty of France! Respect the conscience of your\nfellow-citizens! Ah! I have nothing to say against liberty. I\nspeak of it with lips as much more sincere and fervent as they\nare more Christian and more Catholic. The hour is not yet come,\ngentlemen, but the hour will come, in which misapprehensions\nshall cease, and it will be said before the end of this century\nthat the pontiff so great and so unappreciated, Pius IX., who has\nmost valiantly combated against revolution, is the same who has\nopened the initiatives the most bold and most fruitful--yes, in\nspite of apparent reverses, I say the most fruitful for the\nliberty of Europe. Let us not do that with which St. Paul\nreproaches the Christians of Corinth. We will not depart from\nChrist; we will not divide ourselves from Pius IX., _divisus\nest Christus!_ As for me, in all the extent of his glory I\naccept him; from his prosperity so pure to his misfortunes so\ntouching; from the raising of the standard of reform and progress\nin his royal and priestly hand, previous to 1848, to the\nconvocation of the ecumenical council which unites at this hour\nto the applause of Catholics the sympathy of Protestants and\nRationalists.\n\nNo! we will not lessen liberty. We will not wound the interests\nof labor nor the exigencies of trade. What contemptible sophisms\nthese are! Do you not see two great free nations, two great\nindustrial nations, which are equal to yours, if they do not\nsurpass you--England and the United States? I have had the\nhappiness to visit London. I shall never forget the emotion which\nfilled me at the sight of this city, similar to the ancient\nmetropolis of the sea which the prophets paint; the woman who is\nseated upon the waters, _mulier quae sedet super aquas_. And\nin the deep waves I saw no abysses, but only an immense and\nsolemn fluctuation, and as the majesty of an ever moving but\nfirmly established throne. And the great queen of the seas was\nthere, commanding the islands and the continents, reaching out in\nthe distance over kings and peoples, no longer, as her\npredecessors, the rod of oppression, but the beneficent sceptre\nof her riches and her liberty.\n{482}\nAnd I heard the sound of her vast trade, and in the streets\npassed the living flood of men and chariots. Then one day broke\nas the days of my childhood; one day such as public life no\nlonger shows me in my country; one day which did not resemble\nother days. No longer the noisy cars in the streets, no longer a\ncrowd full of business; the gigantic machine which muttered and\nthundered the evening before had suddenly stopped, as before the\nvision of God. The grand movement of English trade was arrested,\nand I saw in the streets only those who went, collected and\nhappy, to the place of prayer, and I heard only the sweet harmony\nof the Protestant bells, which remembered having been Catholic\nwhile waiting to become so again. (Applause.)\n\nLet not any one say, England is an aristocratic and feudal power;\nits Sabbath-rest is one of the remnants of the middle ages which\nmodern breath will soon have swept away. I look to the other side\nof the sea, and I find again this Anglo-Saxon race which can\nclothe the same grandeur under the most diverse forms; this time\nit is not the middle age and aristocracy; it is the most advanced\nprow of modern civilization, sailing across all glories and\nindiscretions toward an unknown future. This is, I love to think,\nthe people chosen by God to renew things and to prepare for\ntruths and institutions which can no longer do without newer and\nstronger vestments. Well, the United States observe the Sunday as\nEngland does, and send back to us across the ocean this same\nresponse of the silence of God to the blasphemies of men.\n(Applause.)\n\nIn praising these great countries, gentlemen, I do not intend to\nrecommend to you a servile imitation, and I do not ask that what\nis not in our manners shall be inscribed in our laws. The law\nexists in France, it is true, but in the state of a dead letter.\nI do not desire to see it applied. I am persuaded that in such\ncountries as France and Belgium great inconvenience would arise\nby this means. What I ask is not the obligation, it is the\nliberty of the Sunday; liberty by the Sunday and the Sunday by\nliberty. (Cries of Good. That is it.) Yes, I repeat, the liberty\nof the people by the Sunday and the observance of the Sunday by\nliberty. If I had the right to speak to governments, I should do\nit with that respect which is their due even in their faults.\nEven here, we have applauded the beautiful words of M. de Maistre\non the subject of Russia: \"I respect all that is respectable, the\nsovereigns and the people.\" I say, then, to them, Give your\nexample, and I ask of you no other support for the cause that I\ndefend. Let the public works scrupulously respect the Sunday, and\nthe state force the individual to blush before it. (Applause.)\nAnd you, princes of trade, organizers, legislators, and monarchs\nof labor and of wealth, you can do more here than crowned heads;\nyou have been powerful agents in suppressing the liberty of the\nSunday; you will be more powerful in restoring it. (Applause.)\n\nAnd now, gentlemen, before closing, suffer me to address one last\nand earnest appeal to your zeal in favor of these three great\nrestorers in the bosom of the laboring classes--the family, the\nworkshop, and the Sunday.\n\nYesterday, in language which belongs only to himself, but which\ninterprets our feelings as well, M. Le Compte de Falloux said to\nthe illustrious Bishop of Orleans, \"My Lord, you have recommended\nus to arise early; but you have joined example to precept; you\nhave ever been the standard-bearer in all good causes.\"\n{483}\nWell, what I could wish is, that each one of us could also be\namong the standard-bearers; that we could have the honor, we\nCatholics, of being in advance of others in the practical\nknowledge of what is preparing in the approximate future.\n\nWhat is approaching? It is called by an illy-defined name, which\nawakens passions and dissensions--democracy. Two years ago I\nattempted to explain this word at Notre-Dame de Paris, [Footnote\n48] and I have been blamed for it by some. I have since found a\nsimilar definition in the recent writings of the honored bishop\nwhom I have just named. I retake it, then, with pride, and I say\nto all those who invoke this name, There are two democracies in\nthe world. Which is yours? Is it radical revolution? Does social\nhierarchy, entirely prostrated before the force of numbers,\nconstitute the grandeur of intelligence and virtue? Is it the\nbrutal level which passes over all things to crush and to lower?\nIf this be your democracy, it is the worst of barbarisms, and we\nwill combat it, if necessary, even to the shedding of our blood.\nBut if democracy be the gradual and peaceable elevation of the\nlaboring and suffering masses, who are called peasants in the\ncountry and workmen in our cities; if it be their elevation to a\nmore extended knowledge, to a more secure well-being, to a more\nefficient and refined morality, and by legitimate consequence to\na more extensive social influence; we are with this democracy,\nnot only because we are the sons of our century, but because we\nare the sons of the Gospel. [Footnote 49]\n\n    [Footnote 48: Advent Conferences of 1865. (3d conference.)]\n\n    [Footnote 49: \"If democracy be the rising of the common\n    people, of the peasants and the laborers, to a higher\n    standard of education, of well-being, of morality, of\n    legitimate influence, the church is with democracy.\"\n    --_Atheism and Social Peril_, by Monsignor the Bishop of\n    Orleans. 1866. p. 166.]\n\nI see it arise. I salute it in your name; this Christian\ndemocracy, having its deep and solid foundations in the homes,\nthe workshops of trade, and in the sanctuary of our temples. It\nwill change history, which, in the past, has only recorded the\nintrigues of the wily or the conquests of the strong, the\npowerlessness of policy, the too frequent corruption of riches\nand art. It will give to the sages a subject of meditation in the\nintelligent and faithful working out of the laws of private life,\nto which public life itself is subordinate when it is understood.\nIt will cause a great people to spring up who will seek the\npractical welfare of their existence, as well as the inspiration\nof their literature and art, in family affection, the struggles\nand joys of labor, and in the chaste emotions of prayer and the\nsplendid festivities of religion.\n\nUndoubtedly, the crisis that we are passing through is one of the\nmost important and terrible that our race has known. Let us raise\nour efforts, our courage, and our faith to the height of these\nsolemn events, but never doubt the final issue. I can explain the\nruins of pagan society; but the society which has touched Jesus\nChrist, the humanity which has possessed for centuries the spirit\nof the Gospel--in a word, Europe--she may suffer, she may be in\nthe pangs of death, but she cannot die. (Prolonged applause.)\n\n--------\n\n{484}\n\n             Mater Filii.\n\n\n  Behind this vast and wondrous frame\n    Of worlds whereof we nothing know\n  Except their aspects, and their name,--\n    Behind this blind, bewildering show\n\n  Of shapes that on the darkness trace\n    Transitions fair and fugitive,\n  Lies hid that power upon whose face\n    No child of man shall gaze and live.\n\n  As one that in broad sunshine stands\n    While minster organs near him roll,\n  Screening his forehead with his hands,\n    And following through the gulfs of soul\n\n  Some memory that before him flies--\n    Thus, power eternal and unknown,\n  We muse on thine immensities,\n    Yet find thee in thy Son alone.\n\n  Immanuel--God with us--in him\n    The lineaments divine are glassed\n  Like mountain outlines, vague and dim\n    Upon the mists of morning cast.\n\n  The \"Word made Flesh!\" O power divine!\n    Through him, through him, we guess at thee,\n  And deepliest feel that he is thine\n    When throned upon his mother's knee.\n\n  \"If I but touch his vesture's hem,\n    I shall be healed, and strong, and free--\"\n  Thou wert his vesture, Mary;--them\n    His virtue heals that cling to thee!\n\n                        Aubrey De Vere.\n\n--------\n\n{485}\n\n       The Sacrifice and the Ransom.\n\n\n             Introduction.\n\n\nAmong the various manifestations of Christian charity in the\nmiddle ages--charity sometimes ill-understood perhaps, but always\nsincere and enthusiastic--there are few that show more\nexpressively to what a degree the love of our fellow-creature can\nsuppress all egotistical instincts, than the Order of Mercy for\nthe redemption of captives. Sustained and encouraged by holy\ncharity, the Father of Mercy embarked each year at Marseilles,\nbraving plague, martyrdom, and slavery. In the name of that\nheavenly King, of whom he considered himself the ambassador, he\ndemanded from the astonished tyrant of Algiers the liberty of the\nChristian captives, until then apparently condemned never to see\nagain their homes. The savage Dey, awed by the heroic confidence\nof the unarmed pilgrim--moved, perhaps, by some secret\ncompassion, accepted the gold offered as ransom; and the obscure\nand humble father recrossed the sea, and returned again on foot\nto his distant monastery.\n\nAnd what was the origin of this institution? No legislative\nassembly, no council of ministers is entitled to the honor of\nhaving conceived the idea of this pious enterprise. The loving\nheart of a man who had devoted himself from his childhood to the\nservice of suffering humanity was the first to devise a plan of\ncarrying relief and consolation to misfortunes which, until then,\nhad seemed beyond the ordinary action of Christian charity. Peter\nNolasque, the founder of the Order of Mercy, was born in 1189,\nnear Castelnaudari, in Languedoc, France. His learning was as\nremarkable as his piety, so that at the age of twenty-five, the\neducation of the son of Peter of Aragon was confided to him by\nthe celebrated Simon of Montfort. It was while at the court of\nBarcelona, in this high and responsible position, that Peter\nNolasque resolved to devote his life and fortune to the ransom of\nthe Christian slaves who languished hopelessly, under the burning\nsun of Africa.\n\nFor this purpose he determined to establish a religious order for\nthe deliverance of captives. Several noblemen contributed large\nsums of money toward the good work; the court of Rome gave its\nsupreme approbation, and on St. Lawrence's day, 1223, Peter\nNolasque was declared the first general of the new institution,\nand invested with the monastic habit. He lived far from courts\nduring the rest of his life, travelling painfully on foot to\ncarry consolation and freedom to the wretched beings he pitied so\ntruly. More than four hundred Christians were delivered from the\nhands of the Mussulman by his efforts alone.\n\nHe died on Christmas-day, 1256, leaving behind him the memory of\na pure and generous life, and an institution which soon numbered\namong its members many of the bravest and noblest chevaliers of\nFrance.\n\n                  ----\n\n\n{486}\n\n               The Sacrifice.\n\nIt was in the year of our Lord 1363. The curfew bell had just\nbeen rung, the doors of the village houses were all fast shut,\nand within the castle wall the measured tread of the sentinel on\nthe battlements was the only sound that met the ear. If,\nperchance, some belated traveller was still abroad, he hung his\nrosary around his neck, and hurried onward muttering pious\nejaculations; for a heavy mist deepened the shades of night, and\nthe sad wailings of the wind and the hootings of the owl mingling\ntogether, sounded ominously in his terrified ears.\n\nThe only light visible was in the chapel of the monastery, where\nthe monks of the Order of Mercy were reciting their evening\nprayers. They had just ended the last and solemn petition for\n\"_all Christians, captive and suffering in the hands of the\ninfidel,_\" when the bell at the great gate of the holy house\nrang loudly, and the brother-porter, rising from his knees,\nhastened to reconnoitre by the wicket who it was demanded\nadmittance at such an unusual hour.\n\nThree persons were at the gate; one, a young man, wore a rich\nemblazoned coat of arms; his head was uncovered save by the long\nclustering curls of dark hair, now heavy with the night-damp,\nthat descended to his shoulders; a youth, apparently his page,\nbore in his arms the knight's helmet. The third individual was an\nold man, who kept himself in the background, and who appeared by\nhis plain steel cuirass to be an humble squire, grown gray in\nharness.\n\nThe page's youthful face was sad and timid; the elder man's\nshowed the traces of violent passions in the deep lines that\nfurrowed it, and his eyes even now seemed to flash in the light\nof the torch that the monk carried. The chevalier's noble\ncountenance was pale and grave, and he stood leaning pensively on\nhis sword. \"What wish you, Messire?\" asked the brother-porter of\nthe knight, when, after a deep but sharp scrutiny, his doubts\nwere removed as to the quality of the strangers.\n\n\"May it please the Reverend Father Prior to grant me a short\ninterview?\"\n\n\"May it be as you desire, Messire. I will seek the reverend\nFather when you have entered with your followers.\"\n\nThe heavy iron-bound gate of the convent turned on its massive\nhinges, and closed the instant that the travellers were within.\n\nThe golden spurs of the chevalier resounded on the cloister's\nmarble flags as he followed the monk, and he murmured to himself\nthe words of the Psalm, \"_Haec requies mea in seculum\nseculi_\"--but his page and his squire knew no Latin, and his\nconductor heard him not.\n\nThey were introduced into a spacious ancient parlor lined with\nhigh black oaken wainscot; the brother placed the torch he\ncarried in an iron claw that was fixed in the wall for that\npurpose, and invited the strangers to seat themselves on the\nbench that ran round the chamber, then bowing profoundly, left\nthem.\n\nThe squire immediately drew nearer to his young lord who appeared\nto be absorbed in thought.\n\n\"How, my lord,\" cried he, \"is it possible that you believe that\nthese monks can forward your plans? Why thus retard our journey?\nA few days more and we should have reached our goal, and many a\ngood man and true would have made your quarrel his own. The brave\nfree companies would have served you as never a hooded priest in\nFrance!\"\n\n\"Banish all such thoughts for the future, Michel,\" replied the\nknight, \"it is better to pardon than to revenge.\"\n\n{487}\n\n\"Good Saint Denis! do I hear the Lord of Montorgueil aright! My\nlord, pardon the frank speech of an old soldier, but never was\nthe escutcheon of your house dimmed without being washed in\nblood--and would you be the first to let it lie soiled in the\ndust?\"\n\n\"Alas! Michel, it is indeed true that too much blood has been\nshed in the quarrels of our house!\"\n\n\"Holy Virgin! can it be possible that my liege lord has forgotten\nthe duties of a valiant knight?\"\n\n\"Friend,\" replied the young warrior sternly while his pale cheek\nreddened with the emotion awakened by the squire's reproach, \"I\nhave remembered that I was a Christian before I was made a\nknight!\"\n\nMichel drew back in silence, gazing on his master with a\ncountenance in which astonishment and grief were nearly equally\nportrayed, while the Lord of Montorgueil silently proceeded to\ntake off his shoulder-belt and untie his silken scarf.\n\nThe heavy oaken door at length opened and the venerable prior\nentered. Quick as thought, the knight threw the sword he held in\nhis hands at the monk's feet; then, falling on his knees,\nexclaimed in a loud, firm voice, \"Reverend Father, in the name of\nGod and of the holy Virgin Mary, I, Raoul de Montorgueil,\nchevalier, pray and conjure you to admit me into the religious\nand devout observance of our Lady of Mercy, for the deliverance\nof captives!\"\n\n\"Amen, my son, so be it, if it be God who sends thee,\" replied\nthe Prior.\n\n\"My lord, my lord,\" cried Michel, \"remember the Sire of Valeri!\nProud will he be, and loud his boast that fear of him has moved\nyou to this. You know his _outre-cui-dance!_\"\n\n\"O my worshipful lord!\" exclaimed the timid page, bursting into\ntears, \"think of your lady-mother!\"\n\n\"I think of the salvation of my soul more than of all else,\"\nreplied the chevalier.\n\n\"Silence, good friend!\" said the prior, as Michel appeared about\nto attempt another remonstrance; \"and you, my son, seat yourself\nhere by my side, and tell me what has induced you to seek this\npeaceful sanctuary.\"\n\nThe young knight arose and placed himself on the wooden bench by\nthe monk; then, keeping his eyes steadfastly bent to the ground\nas if to avoid the sight of his two weeping retainers, \"Reverend\nFather,\" he said, \"most bitter is the remembrance of the past;\nfor the last time will I recount the evil thoughts and deeds that\nonce seemed so natural to me. For many a year all Brittany has\nresounded with the feuds of the Lords of Montorgueil and the\nSires of Valeri; bitter has been the hatred and bloody the strife\nbetween these two proud houses; but I will not recall past\noutrages--let me relate only the last deadly wrong that filled my\nheart with unspeakable thirst of vengeance.\n\n\"Twelve days have not yet expired since the passage of arms at\nRennes; the Sire of Valeri was there at the head of a numerous\ncompany of his partisans, and defied me to single combat, with\nmany a vain and bragging word. I accepted his challenge, resolved\nto be the victor or die. The onslaught was terrible, for we were\nequal in strength and skill, and we long parried each other's\nthrusts. Forced at last to pause to take breath, the Sire of\nValeri proposed a truce.\n\n\"'Let us meet a month hence,' he cried, 'with twenty good men\neach, and end our quarrel.'\n\n{488}\n\n\"'Why should we adjourn till another day what can be so well\nended now?' I replied; 'our swords will be no sharper and our\nhate no hotter. No, may my spurs be hacked off my heels by your\nbasest varlet, ere I consent to sheathe again my sword before one\nof us fall!' Then again fast and furious fell our blows until the\ntraitor knight making a feint, struck me before I had time to\ncover and I fell. 'Yield!' cried my exulting foe. 'Never! Never!'\nI replied. 'Then die the death!' and he raised his weapon.\n\n\"At that moment my young brother--alas! alas! why did my\nlady-mother bring him to those fatal lists!--my young brother\nleapt over the barriers and sprang to the rescue--the heavy\nblade descended on his fair head! Father, I saw the long hair of\nthe noble child red with his young life's blood, and I saw no\nmore. When I awoke from my deadly swoon, I found that my good\nsquire and gentle page had carried me from the lists and were\nweeping over me while they swore vengeance on the enemy of our\nhouse.\n\n\"I, too, thirsted for vengeance, for vengeance on all the kith\nand kin of the house of Valeri, and I resolved to seek fifty\nlances and attack the miscreant in his stronghold. Vainly my\nlady-mother prayed me to lay aside my sword and live for her.\n'Leave vengeance to heaven,' she said, 'I have seen too much\nblood--O my son! let me not weep over the mangled corpse of my\nlast child!' Vainly she prayed; I left her, reverend father, to\nmourn over the grave of my brother, while I carried death to the\nhomestead of our enemy.\n\n\"But as I journeyed toward the quarters of the Free Companions,\nfollowed by these, my squire and page, intending to enlist some\ngood lances under my banner, the remembrance of my mother's grief\nreturned again and again, and my heart softened each time that I\nthought of her, childless and alone in her sorrow. I was\nmeditating sadly this very day, when the sound of a bell ringing\nthe _Angelus_ reminded me that it was the hour of prayer,\nand I alighted from my horse to repeat an Ave Maria. When I said,\n'_Pray for us in the hour of our death_,' I asked myself for\nthe first time, if in that supreme hour the remembrance of my\nrevenge would be sweet to me, and if, when in the presence of him\nwho is the suzerain of the lord as well as of the vassal, I\nshould dare to vaunt me of the blood I had shed. Thus I continued\nto reflect as I resumed my journey, until at last I found myself\nbefore the gate of this holy house, and I heard echoing beneath\nthe arched cloisters the strains of that sweet _Salve\nRegina_, that pilgrims say the angels sing at night beside the\nfountains.\n\n\"All the bitterness and anguish of my heart melted away as I\nlistened; 'O Mother of Mercy!' I cried, 'it is then here that\nthou art awaiting me? Yes, I will henceforth be thy knight; it is\nbetter, I feel, to wipe tears away, than to cause them to flow.'\nI threw myself on my knees, and when again the holy strains\nrepeated _'O clemens! O pia! O dulcis Virgo Maria!'_ my\nresolution was firmly taken, and I had vowed myself to the\nservice of the blessed Virgin. Receive me then, Father, as her\nservant.\"\n\nRaoul threw himself once more on his knees before the venerable\npriest, who raising his arms toward heaven, silently gave thanks\nfor this miraculous conversion; then turning toward the knight,\nblessed him and gave him the kiss of peace. \"How admirable are\nthe ways of God, my son,\" said he; \"how little did my brethren\nand I think while we were praying this night for all captives,\nthat there was one so near us being freed at that moment from his\nbonds! Thou wast smitten on the road, my son, like Saint Paul;\nlike him thou art, perhaps, destined to become a chosen vessel of\ngrace.\n{489}\nIn the name of God and of the blessed Virgin, I receive thee into\nour holy order, and admit thee to the ordeal of our novitiate.\"\n\nThe sobs of the two retainers had been the only sign of their\npresence that they had given while the knight was speaking; but\nnow the old squire cast himself at his feet, and in broken\naccents besought him to have pity on his poor vassals, and not\nabandon them to the scoffs and outrages of the enemy of his\nhouse.\n\n\"Have pity on us,\" repeated the page, wringing his hands.\n\n\"My friends, weep not like women,\" replied their master, \"I have\nthought of everything. God will comfort my lady-mother, and she\nwill rejoice to have her son a knight of the holy Virgin. My\nkinsman Gaston will be your lord; he is worthy of the inheritance\nI leave him, for he has a noble and generous heart. He is young,\nit is true, but I will place him under the tutelage of Messire\nBertrand du Guesclin, and foolhardy will he be who shall then\nattack our house or harm its vassals. Reverend Father, I crave\nyour hospitality for my two retainers, and I entreat you to\npermit me now to seek peace and strength in prayer.\"\n\nThe prior took his hand and conducted him in silence to the\nchapel. A single lamp burnt before the sanctuary, and shed a\nfaint, solemn light upon the image of our Lady of Mercy. Raoul\nprostrated himself at the foot of the altar and poured forth his\nardent soul in supplication. When he arose, the marble steps were\nwet with tears.\n\n\"Father,\" he said to the prior, \"I am strong now--the sacrifice\nis accomplished.\"\n\nThe young convert passed that night in writing. He addressed a\nlong and loving letter to his mother, relating to her all his\nstruggle--his burning wish for vengeance, his fear of shame, the\ntender mercy that had touched his heart: the parchment on which\nhe wrote was stained with many a tear. \"I could not remain in the\nsecular world without revenging our injuries,\" said he in\nconclusion, \"I have left it that I may pardon. Honored lady and\ndear mother, bless your son and pray for him.\"\n\nTo Messire Bertrand du Guesclin he gave a rapid sketch of the\nfacts, and besought his protection for his young kinsman, now\nLord of Montorgueil.\n\nA third letter still remained to be written; how much it cost him\nto break this last link with the outward world, was revealed by\nthe sobs that burst from his quivering lips, by the tears that\ndropped heavily on the oaken table on which he leaned. \"No,\"\ncried he at last, \"this tie _cannot_ be broken,\" and taking\nhis pen he traced some hurried words: they were addressed to his\nbrother-in-arms, his friend, his playmate in happy childhood, his\nrival in his first feats of arms.\n\n\"Dear Aymar,\" were his concluding words, \"my heart can never\nchange toward you--oh! believe that it beats the same under the\nmonk's frock as under the knight's armor! _For love of me_,\nAymar, _avenge not my quarrel._\"\n\nThe ancient squire, who had passed the night in lamentations,\ninterrupted only by exclamations of indignant surprise at the\npeaceful slumbers of his young companion, looked very sad and\nweary when Raoul entered his chamber at break of day.\n\n\"Michel,\" said the knight, \"spare me your reproaches and tears;\nthey can avail nothing to change my purpose, but I have need of\nall my fortitude. Here are divers messages; be heedful of them,\nthat they may reach their destination speedily.\"\n\n{490}\n\nHe put into the squire's hands the letters he had prepared, each\nfastened with a silken string, and impressed with his seal.\n\n\"Give this rosary of golden beads to my lady mother,\" he\ncontinued, \"she hung it on my neck when we parted; henceforth\nwhen she tells it, the remembrance of her Raoul will be mingled\nwith every prayer. This ring, that I won in my first tournament,\nis for Aymar de Boncourt; beg him also to take my armor and my\nwar-horse. And now farewell, Michel, the matin-bell is ringing,\nand I belong no longer to the world, but to God. Farewell, old\nfriend, farewell; be as faithful to Gaston as you have been to\nme.\" He threw himself on the old man's breast and pressed him to\nhis heart, then tearing himself from his arms, he gazed an\ninstant tenderly on the still sleeping page. \"Recommend this poor\nchild to the new Lord of Montorgueil, Michel, and be ever his\nfriend.\" He stooped and kissed the boy's smooth brow, then turned\nsoftly away--the door closed, and the squire and the page never\nlooked on him again.\n\nWhen the morning prayers were ended, the prior summoned the\ndisconsolate retainers to his presence, and, after a discourse\nfull of consolation and good counsel, dismissed them with a\nhandsome largess from their beloved master. We will not follow\nthem on their journey; suffice it to say that when the lady of\nMontorgueil received her son's unexpected letter, the first pang\nof sorrow and regret was excruciating, but the Christian mother\nwas soon able to accept the sacrifice. She ceased to grieve, and\nin a few months retired to a convent, where she passed the rest\nof her peaceful and honored life.\n\nDu Guesclin, whose noble heart was full of generous sympathy,\nloudly proclaimed his affection for Raoul, and his determination\nto protect the house of Montorgueil. This was sufficient to\nprevent all attempts of the Sire of Valeri against the vassals\nand lands of the new lord; and he contented himself with\nwhispering accusations of cowardice against the knight who had\nleft the death of his brother unavenged, and his own quarrel\nunvoided.\n\nAymar alone could not be comforted for the loss of his\nbrother-in-arms, and it was long before he was seen to take his\nwonted place in the feasts and tournaments that formed the\ngreater part of the occupations of the young chevaliers of his\ntime and country.\n\nRaoul meantime consummated his sacrifice; his long curls were\ncropped close, and the monk's white woolen robe replaced the\nknight's brocade and velvet. After a novitiate of a year and a\nday, he pronounced the three vows of his order in the Chapel of\nour Lady of Mercy, with an especial promise to give his life for\nthe ransom of captives. From this time forward he was only known\nas the Brother Sainte Foi.\n\n\n               -------\n\n             The Ransom.\n\n\nTime passed away, and France was once more at peace with England\nfor a brief space; at peace, but far from tranquil, for the Free\nCompanies, which at first consisted only of nobles, younger sons\nof powerful lords, had been terribly augmented by the disbanded\nsoldiers of both countries, who found inaction intolerable, and\nwho now ravaged her defenceless provinces. In vain the outraged\npeople cried for help and protection; the state, without money or\nmen, was unable either to prevent or punish.\n{491}\nAt length the brave du Guesclin imagined a means to employ these\nfiery spirits. He sought the formidable band, then encamped on\nthe plains of Chalon, at the head of two hundred chevaliers, and\naddressed them: \"Most of you,\" said he, \"were once my\ncompanions-in-arms, you are all my friends. Your vocation is not\nto ravage and destroy, but to conquer and save. Necessity, only,\nI know, has forced you to such extremities. I come now to offer\nyou the means of living honorably and of fighting gloriously.\nSpain groans beneath the yoke of the Saracen: would you not\nrather choose to be the deliverers of a great nation than the\nruin of this fair country?\"\n\nAt these words the Free Companions surrounded the chief, and with\nenthusiastic acclamations swore as one man to follow him\nwhithersoever he should lead. The noblest of the French chivalry\njoined the enterprise, and Spain soon reechoed with the\nwell-known war-cry of \"Notre-Dame Guesclin!\"\n\nThe Sire of Valeri and young Aymar of Boncourt were among the\nbravest of du Guesclin's gallant band, and their exploits soon\nbecame the favorite themes of the troubadours and trouv\u00e8res of\ntuneful, glory-loving France. But when the chief and his\nvictorious warriors returned to their native land, Aymar and the\nSire of Valeri were not among them. Had they fallen in the last\nbloody encounter? Had they been traitorously ensnared and were\nthey now languishing in some Moorish dungeon? Several of the\nadventurers affirmed that the two knights had embarked for\nFrance, but no vessel from Gallicia had reached a port of\nBrittany.\n\nThe Fathers of the Order of Mercy were soon aware of the rumors\nthat circulated concerning the fate of the two bravest chevaliers\nof the age; their continual efforts to collect funds for the\nransom of captives placed them in communication with all parts of\nChristendom, and the news of the disappearance of the Sire of\nValeri quickly reached the ears of Brother Sainte Foi. The\nmysterious fate of him who was Raoul's enemy saddened him, but\nterrible indeed was the pang he felt when he learnt that his\nfriend Aymar was also lost. All his fortitude, all his\nresignation, suddenly forsook him, and he wept bitterly.\n\n\"My son,\" said the prior reproachfully, \"I thought thou wast dead\nto all earthly things.\"\n\n\"O reverend father!\" replied he, \"earthly things are perishable,\nbut holy friendship comes from Heaven and dieth not. Let me weep\nfor my friend. David wept for Jonathan; their souls were one;\nmine also was one with Aymar's.\"\n\nFrom this time forward the young monk seemed to waste away, his\ncheek grew thinner and paler, his eyes were dim and tear-worn. In\nvain, hoping to arouse him, his superior sent him without, to\nseek funds for their work of charity; no change of scene could\ndispel the melancholy languor that had taken possession of him,\nand the whole fraternity deplored that so pious and ardent a\nspirit would, in all probability, be so soon taken from among\nthem. After much anxious deliberation the chapter at last\nresolved to invest him with the title and functions of\nRedemptorist, and, on account of his youth and inexperience, to\nassociate him with an aged monk who had been several times sent\non the errand of love and mercy.\n\nBrother Sainte Foi was accordingly summoned one day before the\nassembled fathers.\n\n{492}\n\n\"Brother,\" said the prior, \"don thy sandals, take thy staff, and\nbe ready to depart.\"\n\n\"I am ready, reverend father.\"\n\n\"Thou dost not enquire whither?\"\n\n\"Obedience questioneth not, reverend father.\"\n\n\"It is well, my son; depart, then, and may God be with thee! Go\nto the land of the infidel--go ransom the captives!\"\n\nBrother Sainte Foi, transported with joy, threw himself at the\nprior's feet, unable to speak his thanks, while his dim eyes\nflashed, and his faded cheek reddened; youth, and health and\nstrength came back, as if by a miracle, and the good prior,\ndelighted to see the effect he had produced, entered into full\ndetails for the guidance of the young Redemptorist during his\nmission. The whole community assembled to pray for the happy\nissue of his journey; and after receiving the blessing of the\nelders, he set forth laden with the rich alms destined to relieve\nso much misery.\n\nA long and wearisome journey on foot brought the Redemptorist\nfather to the port where he was to take ship for Algiers, and\nhere he was joined by the venerable monk who had been appointed\nhis guide and counsellor in the holy work. They embarked together\non a Genoese vessel they found ready to sail, and a favorable\nwind soon carried them across the Mediterranean. The young\nfather's heart beat hard when he heard the cry of \"land!\" and saw\nthe cruel coast of Africa, where so many fellow-Christians were\ngroaning hopelessly beneath the yoke of the bigot Mussulman.\n\n\"It is there that our brethren suffer. O father!\" cried he to his\ncompanion, \"but we are going to succor, we are going to save!\"\n\nAnd when, at last, the vessel entered the port of Algiers, the\nRedemptorist knight knelt and kissed the soil of the wished-for\nland, where he was about to make his first trial of arms in the\nholy lists of charity.\n\nThe two monks, whose errand was well known, were immediately\nsurrounded by a crowd of slave-merchants, who scoffingly taunted\nthem, \"Have you plenty of gold, Christians? for we have plenty of\nslaves; you may have a shipload of them.\" Father Antoine had\nlearned prudence and replied as guardedly and as briefly as he\ncould to the miscreants that pressed upon him. He hastily\ndirected his steps, followed by his companion, toward the\nhospital which the Order of Mercy had with much difficulty\nobtained permission to build at the entrance of the port. Arrived\nthere, without tarrying to rest, he commenced ringing the great\nbell that never tolled but to announce the joyful tidings that\ncharity, holy charity that suffereth long and is kind, that\nbeareth all things, that believeth all things, hopeth all things,\nendureth all things; charity that never faileth, had landed again\non those burning sands, to bring hope and aid to the followers of\nthe cross.\n\nAt that signal a crowd of disheveled, ragged men, many wearing\nchains at their wrists and ankles, were seen hurrying toward the\nchapel. Alas! who would have recognized in those emaciated,\ntear-worn spectres, the stalwart soldiers, the valiant\nchevaliers, whose deeds the silver-tongued minstrels of France\nwere singing even then?\n\nSobs and joyous cries, prayers and ejaculations, burst from them\nas they threw themselves on their knees before their deliverers,\nand kissed their garments.\n\n{493}\n\n\"Brethren,\" said the venerable father, his voice troubled and\ntrembling, \"we have come hither in the first place for the\nsalvation of your souls: during eight days we shall be here\nwaiting to listen to your confessions, and to give you ghostly\nconsolation, to preach to you the word of life, and to bestow on\nyou the sacraments of our holy mother church. In the second\nplace, we have come to work for your deliverance from captivity.\nPray for us, brethren, that we may worthily acquit ourselves of\nour sacred tasks.\"\n\nThe unhappy slaves, whose hopes and fears could be read in their\nagitated features, gave a great cry when the good father ceased\nspeaking. It seemed as if despair was calling on heaven for\nmercy, and then slowly withdrew.\n\nThe next, and the following days, slaves and masters besieged the\nhospital gate, and the two monks knew not a moment's rest while\ndaylight lasted. Each evening, when they were once more alone,\nFather Sainte Foi would enquire eagerly of his aged companion if\nhe thought that they would be able to ransom all the captives.\n\n\"We shall be able to save them all, father, shall we not?\" he\nwould say with trembling anxiety; \"I have so raised their hopes\nto-day that I could not leave one now to despair.\"\n\nFather Antoine returned no answer to these enquiries; he seemed\nrather to avoid the pleading eyes that tried to read his\nthoughts. So passed the eight days allowed them by the infidel.\nAt length, on the eve of that fixed for their departure, a little\nbefore the solemn hour, when all the slaves that the alms of the\nfaithful had been able to ransom were to be surrendered into the\nhands of the Redemptorists, the old man sought his young\ncoadjutor.\n\n\"There are two hundred and twenty, dear brother,\" cried he, with\na radiant look of triumph; \"and we have ransomed them all!\"\n\n\"All, father! oh! thank God and our Lady;\" and the monk cast\nhimself on his knees, and prayed silently; then rising, clasped\nthe good old father in his arms, in an ecstasy of joy.\n\nThat night Father Antoine repeated the evening prayer, as usual,\nwith the captives, but his voice trembled, while Father Sainte\nFoi could scarcely restrain his tears. All hearts beat hard, and\nevery face was pale and anxious. In the midst of the solemn\nsilence that followed the repetition of the last supplication to\nthe throne of grace, the priest arose slowly, and cast upon the\nwoe-begone crowd a look so pitiful and so loving, that\nconsolation seemed to fall like heavenly dew upon even the most\ndespondent.\n\n\"Brethren,\" said he, \"dear brethren! dear children! this is the\ntwelfth time that the honored title of Redemptorist has been\nconferred on me; sometimes it has been the cause of much pain and\ndisappointment to me, sometimes too of great joy.\"\n\nHere the slaves stretched their trembling hands toward him, but\ntheir lips uttered no sound.\n\n\"My children, my dear children! at this moment my heart overflows\nwith joy!\"\n\nA cry, a terrible, unearthly cry escaped from every mouth, as,\nmoved by one and the same impulse, the liberated slaves flung\nthemselves on their knees.\n\n\"In the name of our omnipotent God and of the Mother of our\nRedeemer, the Blessed Lady of Mercy, I, an unworthy priest, and\nmy companion here present, declare you to be all free! The alms\nof the faithful have been sufficient to ransom you all. All of\nyou, Christian brethren, will see your native land again!\"\n\n{494}\n\nBursts of frantic joy, rapturous embraces again and again\nrepeated, succeeded to the silent anguish with which they had\nawaited their doom. The venerable father endeavored to calm this\nexhausting excitement, and then left to go pay the Moors the sum\nstipulated. Father Sainte Foi remained behind to help remove the\nfetters whose iron verily entered into his soul.\n\n\"To-morrow!\" he cried, as he knocked off the heavy chains,\n\"to-morrow, we shall quit this land of slavery and death!\"\n\n\"To-morrow!\" echoed the pale victims, \"to-morrow! Thanks, O Lord\nGod! Thanks, O well-named Lady of Mercy! Thanks Redemptorist\nFathers! We are going home to-morrow!\"\n\n\"Retire now, dear brethren,\" said Father Antoine, returning, \"the\nMoors are satisfied, and to-morrow at break of day we shall meet\nagain!\"\n\nThe now happy crowd left the chapel to seek repose in the\ndormitories of the hospital until the wished-for morning light,\nand the two monks prostrated themselves before the altar in\nhumble, hearty thanksgiving.\n\nAt dawn, the next day, the ransomed slaves were already\nmarshalled on the open space before the hospital gate, waiting\nthe signal for embarking. Father Sainte Foi was in the midst of\nthem, full of ardor and energy, and as impatient for the happy\nmoment when they should quit the land of the infidel as the\nunfortunate men he had saved. Father Antoine was there also, but,\nmore reserved in the expression of his joy, he could scarcely\nrepress a smile as he remarked the excitement and triumph of his\nyoung companion.\n\n\"But I was also once young,\" said he, \"nay, to-day I could almost\nfancy myself so again! And now, my son, see that all is ready,\nthat no one is missing; it is time to begin our march to the\nship.\"\n\nAt this moment a cry arose from the assembled Christians.\n\"Slaves! more slaves! O God! they come too late--they have just\narrived from the desert with their master--there are two of\nthem--they are too late!\"\n\n\"There are two of them,\" repeated Father Sainte Foi, and his\ncheek turned pale, \"oh! if there had been but one!\"\n\n\"Alas! they arrive too late,\" cried the good old priest, \"our\npurse is empty. Go to them, my son. I cannot comfort them;\npromise them that next year--but oh! hide from them, if possible,\nthe joy of the others!\" Father Sainte Foi forced a passage\nthrough the assembled multitude, and found himself before the two\nunfortunate captives who had already learned their fate, and were\nbewailing it in heartrending accents. One, a man already past the\nprime of life, was wringing his hands and sobbing with a choking\nvoice, \"My children, my children, shall I then never see you\nagain?\" Overcome by his emotion he fell fainting to the ground;\nthe father rushed to his assistance, but started back as he\ncaught sight of his features. One moment, one single moment he\nhesitated, then cast himself on his knees by the side of the\nprostrate man, raised and supported the sinking head, and\nimpressed a kiss on the pale brow. \"Thus do I seal my pardon!\"\nsaid he; \"Sire of Valeri, you shall see your children again!\"\n\nThe other slave whom he had not yet remarked, at this instant\nuttered a joyful cry, and threw himself into his arms,\nexclaiming, \"Friend, brother, dear Raoul!\"\n\n{495}\n\n\"Aymar--Sire de Valeri--O Blessed Virgin!\" stammered the monk,\nwith a stifled voice as he fell back insensible.\n\n\"Help! help!\" exclaimed Aymar, for it was indeed he, \"I have\nkilled my friend!\"\n\nThe unconscious father was carried into the hospital chapel,\nAymar supporting him in his arms, while tears of mingled joy and\ngrief coursed down his thin cheeks. Father Antoine desired him to\nretire, but not until his friend gave signs of returning life\nwould Aymar leave him, to await in silence at the other end of\nthe chapel the effect of the aged monk's consolations and\nadmonitions.\n\n\"Father Antoine,\" spoke the young priest at length, raising\nhimself on the bench on which he had been laid, \"you know the vow\nI made on the day of my profession? If gold I had none, to give\nmy body for the ransom of Christian captives. That time is come,\nfather, but I cannot choose between these two. One is--no,\n_was_ my enemy, and the other is my dearest friend! O\nreverend father, I fear to fail in my duty toward God if I refuse\nto return good for evil, if I leave the Sire of Valeri in\ncaptivity. And yet--how can I prefer him to my dear Aymar?--to\nAymar for whom I would gladly give my life! Venerable father,\nhelp me in this terrible struggle and choose for me!\"\n\n\"Hold!\" cried Aymar, coming forward; \"there is no choice needful\nhere! Can you believe, Raoul, that I will accept your sacrifice?\nWhat, you a slave in my place! _I_ return again to France at\nthe cost of _your_ freedom! Raoul, Raoul, do you know me so\nlittle? If your noble heart prompts you to ransom the Sire of\nValeri at such a cost, let it be so, but never will Aymar consent\nto it for himself!\"\n\n\"Generous friend!\" exclaimed the young monk, seizing his hand.\n\n\"Nay, Raoul, we have been brothers-in-arms, we will now be\nbrothers-in-chains; it is but a change of harness!\" The two\nfriends threw themselves into each other's arms, and Father\nAntoine blessed them while he wept.\n\n\"I cannot prevent you from making this sacrifice, my son,\" said\nhe, at length, \"it is according to our holy rules; but if God\ngrant me life, next spring will see me here again to deliver you\nboth. And now go, tell the Sire of Valeri what your charity has\ninspired you to do for him.\"\n\n\"No, no, father; I must not see him again. He is too proud--I\nknow him well--to receive a gift from the hands of Raoul de\nMontorgueil; he would rather die a slave than be delivered by me.\nLet him never learn, I entreat you, by what means he recovered\nhis freedom.\"\n\n\"It is well, my brother; it shall be as you desire.\"\n\nFather Antoine hastened to the beach, where he found the Sire of\nValeri recovered from his swoon. Without further explanation the\ngood father told him simply that he was free, and invited the\nMussulman, his master, to accompany him back to the hospital,\nwhere Father Sainte Foi, with a calm, clear voice, proposed to\nthe astonished unbeliever to take him, a strong, young man and he\nshowed his muscular, nervous arm--in exchange for the broken-down\nand aged slave on the strand.\n\nThe avaricious master willingly accepted an offer so advantageous\nto himself, and Father Sainte Foi put on with a smile of\nineffable happiness, the chains that had weighed so heavily on\nthe once stalwart limbs of the enemy of his name and race. Father\nAntoine pressed his lips reverentially to those chains, and then\nseizing his cross, hastened to take his place at the head of the\nlong line of ransomed Christians.\n{496}\nBut no chant of joy and triumph resounded as they bent their way\ntoward the ship that was to bear them to their homes--they\nembarked silently, almost sadly--the sails spread, and the swift\nvessel was soon lost to sight.\n\nThe Moor took possession of his slaves. But we will pass over in\nsilence their toils and their sufferings: his living faith\nsustained the Redemptorist father; hope was the life-spring of\nAymar; their mutual friendship was the consolation of both. Aymar\nfound his chains light to bear, since his friend was near him,\nand the monk feared that he had received his reward in this\nworld, so sweet did their daily intercourse appear to him.\n\nThe young knight related to his younger brother-in-arms, how, on\nhis return from du Guesclin's victorious expedition, the vessel\nin which he and the Sire of Valeri were embarked, had fallen into\nthe hands of Moorish pirates, and how they had been sold together\nin the slave-market at Algiers. He loved, too, to recount to his\nsympathizing listener his feats of arms in Spain, until his\nfriend, reproaching himself for giving ear to such worldly\nmatters, would talk, in his turn, of heavenly things, of the\npeaceful joys and aspirations of his convent life, and would\nrepeat the history of the Son of Man, who loved us so that he had\nwilled to bear poverty, hunger, and death for us. When he told\nhow he had not where to lay his head, \"Oh! never more shall I\ncomplain,\" cried Aymar, \"for mine rests on the bosom of a\nfriend!\"\n\nThus the long days of slavery passed over the two captives, and\nwhen at last the hour of deliverance arrived; when Father\nAntoine, true to his word, came with the first days of the next\nspring to unloose their chains, Aymar looked tenderly in his\nfriend's face, while Father Sainte Foi endeavored to hide a tear.\n\n\"Can you believe that I will ever leave you again?\" said Aymar,\nreplying to his friend's thoughts. \"No, death alone shall\nseparate us henceforth! I will accompany you to your monastery.\nThe world smiled on me, but gave me pain and slavery; Heaven has\ngiven me a true friend, and to Heaven I devote myself for ever!\"\n\nThen turning toward Father Antoine, \"Father,\" said he, \"receive\nme here, in the land of our cruel taskmasters, here, where we\nhave suffered together, as a novice of the Order of Mercy!\"\n\nFather Antoine in answer threw his white mantle on the young\nknight's shoulders, and the two friends, hand in hand, climbed\nthe side of the ship that was waiting to carry them back to\nFrance.\n\nHere we will bid them farewell, in the full enjoyment of that\nperfect friendship; we will not seek to know if other\nvicissitudes came to try it; let us lose sight of them now, and\nbelieve, that, retired from the strife and noise of the world,\nthey passed together the remainder of their quiet lives, busied\nin the acquirement of heavenly wisdom, and in the practice of\nthose pure, simple, but sublime virtues which find in themselves\ntheir own reward and glory.\n\nCan we doubt that Father Sainte Foi experienced that charity,\nlike mercy, \"is twice blessed,\"\n\n  \"It blesseth him that gives,\n  and him that takes\"?\n\n--------\n\n{497}\n\n\n  From The German Of Dr. J. B. Henry.\n\n           Joseph G\u00f6rres.\n\n\n          A Life-portrait Of\n       The Author Of Die Mystik.\n\n\nThe bells of Coblenz were tolling the Angelus at noon on January\n25th, 1776, the feast of the Conversion of St. Paul, when John\nJoseph G\u00f6rres was born, the son of a timber merchant, of an old\nCatholic family of the Rhineland. In this traditional land of\nvalor, beauty, poetry, and art G\u00f6rres spent his childhood. Here\nhe made his first studies, devoting himself especially to\nhistory, geography, and the natural sciences, which had for him a\npeculiar attraction. This led him at the University of Bonn to\nchoose medicine as a profession. But his studies were hardly\nbegun than interrupted, so that G\u00f6rres, who, later, had so many\ndisciples himself, never sat for any length of time at the feet\nof a master.\n\nThe torrent of the French revolution broke over his home, and\ncarried the youth along on its waves. At a period so exciting,\nwhen all order seemed to be destroyed, and when good and evil\nwere so strongly marked, young G\u00f6rres rose above his compeers,\nremarkable for his uncommon political talent, a powerful\neloquence, and a determined, persevering character. Hardly twenty\nyears old, he had already great weight in the clubs; and his\ninfluence became still more widely felt by the publication of a\npolitical paper called _The Red Letter_, which, suppressed\nby the republican directory, reappeared with the title of _Puck\nin Blue_; and a pamphlet called _The Political\nMenagerie;_ all distinguished for their historical and\nphilosophical depth of thought, as well as for a vigorous and\nglowing style.\n\nAt the age of twenty-four he was sent, at the head of a\ndeputation, in November, 1799, to Paris, to obtain from the First\nConsul, in whom G\u00f6rres already saw the future emperor and despot,\nthe cessation of the oppressive occupation of the Rhine province.\nIn a pamphlet entitled _Result of my Embassy to Paris in\nBrumaire VIII._, A.D. 1800, he gave a full account of his\nmission; but expressed a complete change in his political\nopinions, after he had clearly perceived the abyss in which the\nFrench revolution ended; and he never after this returned to the\nerrors of his youth.\n\nWhen, at a later date, G\u00f6rres stood forth as the champion of the\nrights and freedom of the Catholic Church, his enemies reproached\nhim with having proved a traitor to the cause of liberty, which\nhe had defended in his youth, and tried to represent him\nsometimes as a revolutionist, and then again as a man of weak,\ninconsequent, and vacillating character. He was thus severely\nblamed for an enthusiastic aberration of youth, into which not\nonly Schiller but even the grave and aged Klopstock, as well as\nmany other distinguished Germans of the time, had fallen.\n\n{498}\n\nIt was a time of such confusion that even the foundations of the\nearth quaked and the stars from heaven fell. The glorious edifice\nof the German empire, encircled with the halo of a thousand years\nof glory, had crumbled in a day; the emperor became a mere\nshadow; and the nobility, corrupted by despotism, became as\nimmoral as in the days of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. Religious life\nwas torpid; and religious indifference, through the influence of\nboth the French and German press, through liberalism and the aid\nof the illuminati, had gained the mastery over not only the\nProtestant but the Catholic mind. Even an Emperor, Joseph II.,\nhad placed himself at the head of the most shallow liberals; the\nprincipal churchmen sought even to surpass him; in short, so\ngreat was the decay and blindness of those who should have been\nthe mainstay of the old Christian order, that God could choose no\ngentler means of chastising the universal iniquity, than by\nletting the fires of the mad revolution have full scope. How can\nwe be astonished, therefore, that a youth like G\u00f6rres should have\nbeen carried away with the spirit of the age? But even then he\ndisplayed that straightforwardness and purity of character which\nalways distinguished him. In the latter half of his revolutionary\nlife, he had only sought to serve the welfare of the Rhine\nprovince, by his struggle against the oppressions of the French\ngenerals and officials who persecuted him as well as his country.\n\nBut G\u00f6rres was certainly not blamed most for having doffed his\nbonnet to the spirit of the revolution; but because, as Paul was\nchanged from a jealous Pharisee into an apostle, the young\nJacobin became the great defender of the church and Christian\nideas.\n\nG\u00f6rres gave up politics in the beginning of his twenty-fifth\nyear, and devoted himself exclusively to science and art for a\nperiod of ten years. He occupied the chair of natural history and\nscience, in a college at Coblenz, and published during this time\nmany works, the product of his restless activity. Then came to\nlight his _Aphorisms on Art_, (A.D. 1802;) _Aphorisms on\nOrganic Laws_, (1803;) _Exposition of Physiology_,\n(1805;) _Aphorisms on Organology_, (1805;) and his book on\n_Faith and Science_, (1806;) writings composed under the\ninfluence of the Schelling natural philosophy. G\u00f6rres had not yet\nreached a full and clear knowledge of Christian truth. In the\nyear 1806 he went on vacation to Heidelberg, where he gave\nlectures on natural philosophy, metaphysics, and literature in\nthe university. Here he was also led more deeply into a study\nthat exercised great influence on his later development. He\nstudied the Christian middle age of Germany from an aesthetic and\npoetic point of view. He was led in this direction by his\npersonal acquaintance and friendship with two men, Clement\nBrentano and Achim von Arnim, who have deserved highly of their\ncountry for having awakened the muse of German romantic poetry\nfrom her slumbers.\n\nThe reformation separated one half of Germany from the past; and\nthe rationalism of the eighteenth century completed the\nseparation. The German people were accustomed to despise, as a\nperiod of darkness and barbarism, the most glorious age in their\nhistory, when they were the first nation of the earth; when\nAlbert the Great taught divine philosophy, Wolfram of Eschenbach\nwrote poetry, and Ervinius of Steinbach built cathedrals. This\nentire schism of German consciousness from the past had much to\ndo in causing that deplorable decay of national feeling and\nunity. The corruption had reached its height in the eighteenth\ncentury, and Germany became the spoil and the contempt of the\nforeigner.\n{499}\nIn order that fatherland should be politically free, the German\nconscience must be aroused. Nothing could have more power, in\nthis respect, than the revival of the hitherto despised\nChristian-German middle age and its glorious ballad poetry. For\nthis purpose the _Pilgrim_, a journal, was started by Arnim,\nBrentano, and G\u00f6rres. The undertaking failed for the want of\ncooperation; but produced fruit at a later period. G\u00f6rres was\nmore successful in obtaining his purpose in the year 1807 by his\n_German Books for the People_, in which he held up to the\neyes of his contemporaries the mirror of the middle ages.\n\nPlunging his mind more and more deeply into the Christian middle\nage, his comprehensive intellect turned its attention to another\ndomain of history, namely, to the primeval times of the East.\nAfter his return to Coblenz, in 1808, appeared in two volumes,\nhis _Mythology of the Asiatic World_, a work of great\nimportance, which influenced considerably the ideas of both\nCreuzer and Schelling. At the same time he explained northern\nmythology, as contained in the Edda; cultivated the German\nmediaeval muse, and enriched the literature of the Nibelung Song,\nby hitherto undiscovered fragments.\n\nWhile G\u00f6rres was thus engaged, a great change had taken place in\nFrance. The absolutism and godlessness of the revolution\nnaturally begot the unlimited despotism of Napoleon. His was not\nthe tyranny of mere brute force, as in the barbaric times, but a\ndespotism engendered by modern civilization and enlightened\negotism. Napoleon made all the forces of the revolution subserve\nhis will, and with them conquered all the degenerate nations of\nEurope; for the corruption and infidelity of the age of Louis\nXIV. and Louis XV., which caused the revolution, were more or\nless extended and felt in the neighboring nations in the\neighteenth century. Hence, France was to be punished, first by\nher own hands, and, through her, the other peoples were to be\nchastised.\n\nSince Christianity had destroyed the universal monarchy of Rome,\nGod had never allowed another to arise and destroy the autonomy\nof nations, and with it the independence of the church; for both\nare inseparable. What was the empire Napoleon tried to found but\nthe same work which the Hohenstaufens failed in accomplishing;\nwhat was it else but an attempt to revive the old Roman pagan\nsovereignty of the world? His work seemed completed; the outside\npower of all the states of the continent seemed broken; within,\nminds were enslaved, and, under the appearance of liberal forms,\nfreedom was destroyed; the sciences, the whole instruction of\nyouth moulded, on military principles, to aid the imperial power;\nreligion even became the handmaid of worldly majesty, and a mere\naffair of policy; the pope himself, the last refuge of religious\nliberty, was in chains, for refusing to become the court chaplain\nof the new Caesar.\n\nThus stood matters, when the spirit of God, breathing over the\nearth, destroyed the enchanter who had chained victory to his car\nof triumph, and awaked the nations from the slumber of death.\nThat was a grand period in history, when the nations arose, and\nabove all Germany--Germany that had been the most enslaved and\ndishonored, because she had betrayed, disgraced, and sold\nherself. Peoples broke their gyves on the head of the conqueror.\nThe man who, at this time above all his contemporaries, felt the\nchains of slavery in his very soul, and in whose heart the flames\nof patriotism burned most brightly; whose genius made him the\nspokesman, herald, and prophet of liberty against French\ndespotism, was Joseph G\u00f6rres.\n{500}\nIn the year 1814 he left his retirement, and, conscious of his\nvocation by the spirit that quickened him, he spoke out for all\nin the name of God and fatherland. He edited the _Mercury of\nthe Rhine_, a journal which has never been equalled since. As\nMenzel observes, he wrote it, not with ink, but with fire; and in\na short time this newspaper, full of G\u00f6rres' best essays, became\nuniversally received as the vehicle of public opinion. Napoleon\nhimself felt the influence of this powerful journal, and called\nthe man at Coblenz the fifth of the allied powers against him. It\nwas in the _Mercury of the Rhine_ that G\u00f6rres wrote the\n\"Proclamation to the Peoples of Europe,\" which he puts into the\nmouth of Napoleon after the escape from Elba. In this\nproclamation the character of the great soldier is personified\nwith a creative power hardly surpassed by any production of\nShakespeare's genius. [Footnote 50]\n\n    [Footnote 50: At the end of this fictitious proclamation\n    Napoleon is made to express himself thus: \"I have conquered\n    the revolution, and then devoured and assimilated it to\n    myself, and worked through it and by its forces. But now,\n    tired out, I give it back to you uninjured, and spew it out\n    upon you. And you will continue in the condition in which I\n    found you; for my spirit rests upon you, though my body may\n    be absent.\" After a period of fifty-three years these words\n    seem still prophetic.]\n\nIt was not enough, then, to crush the Napoleonic tyranny; but it\nwas also necessary to renovate the European states, especially\nGermany, with an infusion of Christian and national principles;\nand thus connect, in an enduring relation, the rights of princes\nand the nobility with the liberties of the people. It was then\nthe conviction of many, and of the best men, that the unity, the\nfreedom, and the greatness of Germany could be placed on a solid\nfoundation only by a reinstallment of the old empire, under which\nGermany had existed and flourished for a thousand years. Of this\nconviction G\u00f6rres wrote in the year 1819: \"A glance at the\nhistory of the past shows us that Germany was the true guardian\nand refuge of Christianity, and a bulwark against internal and\nexternal enemies, only when its stirring, living variety was made\nunity under the direction of a sole emperor. It therefore becomes\nalmost an instinct with many, that the stone which the builders\nrejected should become the head of the corner; that the old ideas\nshould be revived, quickened with an infusion of young blood, and\naccommodated to the march of progress.\" Some of the ablest men\nagreed with G\u00f6rres in favor of a revival of the old Roman empire,\nmodified according to modern notions.\n\nThis was the ideal for the realization of which G\u00f6rres strove\nwith all the power of his genius and eloquence; while at the same\ntime he attacked with vigor the egotism and meanness of selfish\npolitics wherever he met them. On this account, as the most\nindependent and yet the most conservative publicist of his time,\nhe came into collision with both statesmen and governments. Hence\nthe _Mercury of the Rhine_ was suppressed; but G\u00f6rres, in a\npamphlet called the _Future Condition of Germany_, still\nargued for the reestablishment of the old empire. In 1817, during\nthe famine, he went from Heidelberg to his own home, where he\nbecame president of a relief society, and thus was a benefactor\nof the Rhine province. At the same time he found leisure to\npublish _Old German Ballads and Classic Poetry._ Appointed\ndirector of public instruction by Justus Gr\u00fcner, governor of the\nmiddle countries of the Rhine, he was soon removed from his\nposition by the Prussian government and offered a large pension\nif he would agree to write nothing hostile to the existing order.\n{501}\nBut money and personal interest never had the slightest influence\nover G\u00f6rres. By an address to the city and province of Coblenz;\nand more especially by a pamphlet published in 1820, on\n_Germany and the Revolution_, he drew on himself the hatred\nof the prime minister Hardenberg, escaped imprisonment in a\nfortress only by flight, and not being able to succeed in\nobtaining a trial by the ordinary civil judges, he never more\nreturned to his birthplace.\n\nHe spent almost a year in Strasburg, where he occupied his\nleisure, hours in translating from the Persian the epic poem of\nShah Nameh of Ferdusi. It is called _The Heroes of Ivan;_\nand was published in two volumes in 1820. From Strasburg he went\nto Switzerland which he travelled on foot; and from the Alpine\nsummits he studied and looked down upon the past and present of\nEurope, and saw with a prophet's eye the history of its future.\nHe wrote in twenty-seven days the fruits of his meditations on\nEuropean society, and printed them under the title of _Europe\nand the Revolution_. This was in 1821. Finding that all\nefforts to have the decree against him revoked by Hardenberg were\nvain, he wrote in 1822 his work on _The Condition and Affairs\nof the Rhine Province;_ and gave a full account of his\nthoughts, hopes, and resignation in another work written on the\neve of the Congress of Verona in 1822, entitled _The Holy\nAlliance and the People in the Congress of Verona._ After this\nhe resided in Strasburg.\n\nIt cannot be denied that G\u00f6rres had been carried away in his\nyouth by the spirit of the French revolution; and that his faith,\nif not entirely destroyed, was then of a very uncertain and\nslippery character. Still, we never find in him that poisonous\nhate and contempt for religion and the church, which the spirit\nof sect is apt to infuse into its votaries, and which renders\ntheir minds almost impervious to truth. He was also saved by God\nfrom moral corruption. We even perceive in his early writings\ntraces of that deep religious feeling which he had imbibed with\nhis mother's milk, and of love for the religion of his race and\nfathers. In the _Mercury of the Rhine_ he often raised his\nvoice in defence of the rights and interests of the abused\nCatholic Church. When he began to study more closely the dogmas\nand history of Christianity, he learned to appreciate it better,\nand grew less confident in the reigning German philosophy, which\nhad captivated his youth. It was not the triumph of his system,\nbut of truth that he sought with all the love of his heart, and\nthe force and clearness of his penetrating genius. When he found\ntruth, no one could be a more ardent and able champion of it.\nThere was no half-way in his character. He trampled on human\nrespect. Undoubtedly it was at Strasburg that he became\nthoroughly catholicized. Maria G\u00f6rres, the heiress of her\nfather's talents, thus beautifully and appropriately writes of\nhis religious life: \"As in the legend of St. Christopher, he\nwould obey only the strongest; so can it be truly said of my\nfather that he was the slave of truth and of truth alone. With\ngreat rectitude of heart he strove ever to attain it, and came\nnearer to it as he increased in years; new prospects of it, and\nnew insights into it, developing gradually before his mind's eye.\nPrinciples were not for him the limits of science, but secure\nfoundations on which he could build further without fear or\ndeceit. He never wanted to systematize truth; but rather to make\nsystems subservient to it.\n{502}\nHence he never thought that his own discoveries were absolute\ntruths, or that dogmas were erroneous because they did not chime\nwith the result of his investigations; but sought the fault in\nhis own work, renewed his arduous studies until he found them\nagreeing with the received doctrines, and thus discovered where\nhis error lay.\" [Footnote 51]\n\n    [Footnote 51: G\u00f6rres, _Politische Schriften_,\n    Bd. i. p. 9 of the Preface.]\n\nWhen G\u00f6rres acknowledged the Catholic Church to be the church of\nthe living God, it was in a state of slavery and abasement in\nGermany; where it was the object of a hateful and shallow\npersecution fomented by Vossius, especially since the conversion\nof Count Frederic Leopold Stolberg, and since the celebration of\nthe Reformation Jubilee in 1817.\n\nIn the year 1820, two young professors in the episcopal seminary\nat Mayence, urged by an earnest faith and supernatural courage,\nstarted _The Catholic_, a magazine intended to defend the\nalmost defenceless church from external attacks and internal\ndangers which were threatened by the introduction of false\nscience into the Catholic mind. To escape the illiberal\nopposition and censure of Prussia, _The Catholic_ was\npublished for some time at Strasburg, where G\u00f6rres, then in\nexile, wrote much for it in the year 1826. With his invincible\nhumor and sarcasm he lashed the authors of the stories told about\nthe formulas of excommunication in the church, exploded the\n_Monita Secreta_ of the Jesuits, and scourged the\ncontemptible prejudices and falsehoods brought to bear against\ncatholicity. He raised the cry of freedom for the church; showed\nher influence on the hearts of the people; portrayed in striking\ncolors the internal truth and moral rectitude of Catholic\nprinciples, and taught Catholics to respect themselves, to trust\nin their cause, to despise the hollow phrases of the sham\nliberals, and fight their adversaries with that security which\ntruth alone can give to its champions.\n\nIn the mean time a favorable change took place in his external\nrelations. King Louis of Bavaria, a prince of great talents,\ndevoted to the church and fatherland, appointed G\u00f6rres professor\nof history in the University of Munich, A.D. 1827. Here he became\nthe centre of that group of distinguished Catholic thinkers whom\nthe king had gathered together, in order to create a powerful and\nfree development of the hitherto debased and despised spirit of\nCatholicism. The efforts of G\u00f6rres and his friends and colaborers\nin Munich form a brilliant epoch in the history of the revival of\ncatholic life in Germany. It was for him the glorious evening of\nan eventful life of battle.\n\nThe patriotic hopes and ideas of his early life were more and\nmore baffled, and he at last saw that any mere political efforts\nare fruitless; for the decay of peoples and states is not caused\nso much by political degradation, as by religious and moral\ncorruption. The more he dived into the history of mankind, the\nmore clearly did he perceive that Christianity, which brings\nredemption to the individual and true freedom to the children of\nGod, is the only source of a people's salvation. When living\nChristian faith becomes a stranger in the public and private life\nof citizens; when self-interest and worldly wisdom take the place\nof Christian charity and justice, then will the interest of the\nruler and the subject, of the church and state, of private wealth\nand corporations, which should all conspire to the common weal,\ncollide, become hostile, and engender confusion and revolution.\n{503}\nG\u00f6rres learned by experience that, since religion had lost its\nauthority, and the Gospel ceased to command respect, the civil\npower had also lost force, and the liberty of the people had\nbecome unstable and undefined, so that Europe wavered with\nfeverish restlessness between despotism and anarchy, revolution\nand reaction. Men in this doubtful conflict b the egotism of\nprinces and the egotism of subjects, become wrapped up in the\nnatural and earthly, and supernatural.\n\nInvestigating the causes of this decline of Christianity, G\u00f6rres\ndiscovered that the faith of Christ is not a dead letter, but a\nthing endowed with divine life; and as political and social life\nhas stability and force only in the state, so Christian life is\nonly in the church, the kingdom founded by Christ; and as a sound\nsocial system depends on the autonomy and freedom of the state,\nso religious life rests on the liberty of the church. Hence the\nchief cause of the decay of religion is in the dependence and\nsubjection of the church to the state. The eighteenth century,\nthat age of tyranny and unbelief, had enslaved the church; the\nrevolution and Napoleon made the slavery complete. True, the\nanimus of the war of freedom was a religious as well as a\nnational one; the Holy Alliance, formed in the name of the\nTrinity, proclaimed Christianity as the groundwork of politics\nand popular rights; but this religious enthusiasm of 1813 and\n1814, not resting on the solid basis of faith, being rather a\nvague feeling than a conviction, soon cooled off, and the\nChristian principles of the Holy Alliance were only written on\npaper, not on the hearts and minds of the high contracting\nparties. In reality, religion and church remained in the\noppressed and debased condition in which Josephism and\nNapoleonism had placed them. Educated the school of the 18th\ncentury, and under Napoleonic influence, statesmen, even after\nthe restoration, continued to mistrust the church, to keep her in\nthe leading-strings of high policy, and repress every one of her\nfree motions. To cap the climax of evil, the church herself,\nespecially in Germany, was so poor and powerless, that she could\nmake no valid opposition to the insulting guardianship of the\nstate; and even churchmen were found weak and selfish enough to\nbecome the willing tools of the civil government in destroying\ntheir own rights. The curse and plague of the church has ever\nbeen cowardly or renegade churchmen. This enslavement of the\nchurch was most oppressive and dangerous in those districts of\nGermany which had been governed by catholic, and, as long as the\nempire lasted, by spiritual lords, but were now controlled by\nProtestant rulers. These, accustomed to Protestant teaching,\nwhich admitted an unlimited civil surveillance in ecclesiastical\naffairs, were only too willing to exercise their power over the\nCatholic Church. They wished and hoped to sever her connection\nwith Rome; change her into a national church, and, uniting her\nwith Lutherans and other sectaries, form one state church. Such a\nthought will not appear strange to us, if we consider that\nreligious indifference reigned supreme, particularly among the\neducated classes. A fierce battle, not with the material sword,\nbut with the weapons of faith and talent, was to be fought in\norder to free the church from the shackles of state control. The\nstandard-bearer in this great conflict was, again, Joseph G\u00f6rres.\n\n{504}\n\nThe 11th of November, 1837, marks the turning-point of the career\nof the modern church in Germany. From that date it revived and\nbegan to be independent. To Clement Augustus von\nDr\u00f6ste-Vischering, the great and pious Archbishop of Cologne,\nbelongs the glory of opening the battle, and of bearing the first\nbrunt of the onslaughts of the state. The civil government wished\nhim, in contradiction to the laws of the church, to impart her\nblessing to mixed marriages; and also to give over the chairs of\ntheology and the education of the young clergy to the Hermesians,\nwhose coryphaeus, Hermes, had invented a half-way system between\nfaith and rationalism. Clement Augustus, the Athanasius of our\ntimes, unarmed and alone, bravely entered the lists against the\nspirit of indifferentism and the whole power of the Prussian\ngovernment. But Gregory XVI., in his memorable allocution of\nDecember 10th, 1837, made the cause of the archbishop his own;\nfor it was the cause of religion, and the church. The Catholics\nof the Rhine province, awakened from their slumbers, rallied with\nunexpected ardor to the support of their chief pastor. But their\ncause needed the aid of the press, and G\u00f6rres was the man to\nwield that power in their defence. He who had been standing so\nlong on the watch-tower, observing and noting the signs of the\ntimes, saw that the moment had arrived to strike a blow for the\nliberty of the church. In January, 1838, appeared his\n_Athanasius_. It fell like a thunderbolt from an unclouded\nsky among all those who had expected, with the power of the state\nand an enlightened press, to make short work of the mediaeval\narchbishop. It came like a ray of divine light into the minds of\nthe despised and intimidated Catholics, a ray that shone in their\nhearts, and enkindled in them faith and courage. There now arose\nin Germany a powerful catholic public opinion, which enforced\nrespect from its adversaries. In vain did opponents swarm.\nPietists, Hegelians, politicians, jurists, professors, and\njournalists wrote against _Athanasius_, which was spread\nover all Germany by four large editions. G\u00f6rres answered the\ncritics of _Athanasius_ by another work, called _Die\nTriarier_, printed in 1838, and which achieved the spiritual\nvictory of his first book.\n\nThe further history of this cause is known. The innocence of the\narchbishop and the right of the church were acknowledged; and the\nnoble ruler, who then sat on the Prussian throne, confessed the\njustice of the principles which G\u00f6rres had so ably explained and\ndefended. The battle between Protestantism and Catholicity for\nthe future should be on even footing; carried on no longer by\nforce or cunning, but by spiritual weapons alone. This is all\nthat truth requires to disarm her enemies--a fair field and no\ntreachery. At the same time with the _Athanasius_ of G\u00f6rres,\ncatholic public opinion found a vehicle in the\n_Historisch-politische Bl\u00e4tter_, edited at Munich. G\u00f6rres\nwas its chief of staff. His last article in this magazine, which\nexercised the greatest influence throughout Germany, and which\nstill flourishes, appeared in the January number of 1848, shortly\nbefore his death.\n\nFreedom of the church is the condition of its beneficent and\nworking life, but not the life itself. Faith is the basis of\nreligious and church life; faith in the supernatural ideas and\nfacts of revelation, whose centre is Christ, the incarnate Son of\nGod and Redeemer of the world. This faith seemed to have\ndisappeared with the freedom of the church. Protestantism, which\nbegan by denying the church, logically ended with a denial of the\nexistence of Christ. Strauss wrote his _Life of Jesus_ with\nthis intention.\n{505}\nEven among the Catholics, indifferentism, rationalism, and\ninfidelity had made ravages, and men asked, Where was the faith\nof the Catholic populations? A striking answer to this question\nwas the Pilgrimage to Trier; the extraordinary spectacle of over\na million of free men attesting their living belief in Christ the\nSon of God; a proof that the Catholic people despised sham\nliberalism and sham enlightenment, set revolutions at defiance,\nand professed the same faith as in the days of their fathers.\nThis was the meaning of that remarkable event, which G\u00f6rres\nexplains in his last published pamphlet, called the _Pilgrimage\nto Trier._\n\nG\u00f6rres now ceased to be a publicist. He had written countless\nworks; he had aided truth with word and work. No one had done\nmore. No one had seen so clearly into the future. He had attacked\nselfishness in high and low. His enemies were countless. No man\nreceived so much abuse as he; no one was the object of greater\nhate and more fierce persecution. _Yet you will seek in vain\nfor one word of invective against his adversaries in any of his\nworks. His blood boils; his words rush; his lips quiver; his pen\nruns nervously along the paper; his sentences glow and thrill in\ndefence of truth; but he is never abusive or personal._ He\nchastises wickedness, carves iniquity with the knife of satire,\nand scourges folly by his wit; but in the midst of the battle he\nhas ever a friendly hand to stretch out to his opponent. Would\nthat all our modern journalists might take a lesson from him in\nthis respect!\n\nViewing things from the standpoint of divine providence, and\nhaving no desire but that of seeing the divine plans realized, he\nwas always tranquil in the midst of storms and confusion. His\nwritings as a publicist are consequently not merely ephemeral, or\nof passing importance but contain the most profound views on the\nrelations of church and state, on the dogmas of religion, the\nprinciples of philosophy, politics, and history.\n\nBut the influence of G\u00f6rres was not confined to mere journalism;\nhe studied and developed science and art. G\u00f6rres possessed\nimmense knowledge; yet little of it was school learning. He had\naided to free his fatherland and the church; he also helped to\nfree science and art from their shackles. The learned almost\ndespised the supernatural. The lives of the saints were looked on\nas so many myths; their miracles absurd; and everything that was\nnot rational or natural was considered as the result of\nsuperstition and ignorance. In order to counteract this tendency\nof the age, and bring out boldly the belief in the supernatural,\nG\u00f6rres wrote in 1826, his _St. Francis, a Troubadour;_ in\n1827, _Emmanuel Swedenborg, his Visions, and Relation to the\nChurch;_ an introduction to Diepenbrock's edition of the works\nof Blessed Henry Suso; and in 1842, his greatest work, in five\nvolumes, entitled _Christian Mysticism_.\n\nThe foundation and source of all mystic theology is the\nincarnation of God, the union of the divine with the human, in\norder that the latter should be united with the divine. But what\ntook place in Christ is not merely a passing event, but a living,\nenduring act of God; who continues the incarnation in the most\nholy sacrament of the altar, the mystery of mysteries; through\nwhich the wonderful life and works of Christ, according to his\npromise, are continued in the saints of his church. Hence come\nthe supernatural phenomena of visions and ecstasies in the\ncorporal and spiritual life of the saints.\n\n{506}\n\nG\u00f6rres sought to give not a bare, dry history of those marvels,\nbut to explain and prove them scientifically. But, as to the\nkingdom of the good, of grace, and of the celestial, there is\nopposed a kingdom of evil, which is controlled by the fallen\nangels; G\u00f6rres has also endeavored in his _Mystik_ to render\nintelligible this _night-side_ of the supernatural.\n\n\"As the eyes of the Spaniards,\" he writes in the beginning of\nthis wonderful book, \"on crossing the ocean, whose dangers,\nunconquered for so many centuries, they had braved and escaped,\nwere struck with admiration and astonishment at the spectacle of\na new world, whose chains of mountains, mighty lakes, and rivers\nmurmuring with strange voices, primeval forests, unaccustomed\nflowers, birds, beasts, and another race of men speaking a\nhitherto unheard language, greeted their arrival; so will it\nhappen to the majority of those who cast a glance over the\nmarvellous world, which is here exposed to their vision; and\nwhose existence and comprehensibility have been unknown to them\nby their own fault, and through the neglect and calumny of\nothers; just as the Atlantis of the ancients had been well-nigh\nforgotten through the inattention of mankind. I call it a world\nof marvels, and, as no one will contradict this assertion, I\nfurther ask, When has a book appeared in these later days, which,\nleaving higher considerations aside, has, in the interests of\nscience alone, sought to explain such a variety of the most\nremarkable and important events; facts, acts, and experiences\nwhich give us an insight into the interior recesses of the soul;\nwhich lay open its most hidden nature, and throw the greatest\nlight on metaphysiology and metapsychology? These materials have\nlain scattered about publicly, yet no one has thought it worth\nwhile to stoop down and collect them. In vain has the rich\nharvest presented its nodding ears, no one would take the trouble\nto apply the sickle. For the learned put their heads together and\ndecided that the miraculous phenomena were all false, mere\njugglery, or the hallucinations of superstitious imaginations;\nand that it would be ridiculous and contemptible in any one even\nto give them a thought.\"\n\nAnother remarkable writing of G\u00f6rres is his introduction to the\n_Life of Christ_, composed against Strauss by Sepp. His\nhistorical works while occupying the chair of professor of\nhistory were few. In 1830, appeared his _Basis, Connection,_\nand _Chronology of the History of the World;_ in 1844, he\nprinted _The Sons of Japhet and their Common Origin in\nArmenia,_ in which he tried to clear up the difficulties of\nthe Mosaic account of the races of men; and in 1845, came forth\nfrom the press, _The Three Roots of the Celtic Race in Gaul,\nand their Immigrations._ He had conceived the idea of\ncomposing a universal history; but he never accomplished this\nintention.\n\nWolfgang Menzel, one of the ablest of German critics, in his\n_History of Literature,_ p. 157, thus ably judges the\ncharacter of G\u00f6rres as a writer: \"I know not what better\nexpresses the character of his mind than to compare it to the\nStrasburg Minster or the Cathedral of Cologne. It is said that\nWinckelmann was an interior artist, and Tieck an internal\ntragedian; so G\u00f6rres may be called an interior architect. At\nleast all his writings, by their logical design and their\ngorgeous ornaments of imagination, remind us of the art of\nErvinius. In all his works of natural philosophy, of mythology,\npolitics, and history, we perceive the deep feeling and reverie\nof the Gothic mason.\n{507}\nG\u00f6rres's works are to be aesthetically regarded as churches\nwonderfully planned, thoroughly executed from deep foundations to\nspire-top; rich and finished masterpieces; but entirely distinct\nand different from other creations of the human mind by their\nChristian, holy, and ecclesiastical character. Hence arises their\nunpopularity in our time. Those who are able to understand and\nlove art, as a rule, admire only the superficial, and are\nincapable of fathoming the depth of a work of G\u00f6rres, and\ncomprehending, in all its grandeur and vastness, his spiritual\narchitecture. Even persons who have genius enough to think deeply\nare inspired by too profane a spirit to contemplate properly and\nfeel the force of G\u00f6rres' writings, which the incense of the holy\nof holies is ever wreathing with its delicious aroma. The\nliterati, therefore, call him bombastic; and the philosophists\nsay he is mystical; and thus one of the richest and deepest\nintellects of the nation remains a stranger to them, if not\nactually an object of their contempt.\" Thus Menzel.\n\nThe last observation is not, however, entirely true. As Catholic\nGermany awakes from its lethargy, and rises gradually higher over\nthe materialism and frivolity of the present, bringing with it\nagain into notice the lofty and eternal ideas of religion and\nhistory, recalling the glories of its artistic days, attested by\nits grand monasteries and cathedrals, the fame of G\u00f6rres will\ngrow, his merits be disclosed, his mind and services be better\nappreciated. Men will say of him in the future what he himself\nhas written of the architect of the Cathedral of Cologne in his\nlittle book on _The Cathedral of Cologne and the Minster of\nStrasburg:_ \"The Cathedral of Cologne is the work of one of\nthe greatest minds that ever left a trace of its power on earth.\nThe dizzy height of the building, which we cannot contemplate\nwithout awe, gives us an idea of the profundity of the genius\nthat planned it. In the conceiver of such a work were\nharmoniously blended the most singular and exceptional mental\nfaculties. A creative imagination, productive as nature, which\ntakes pleasure in the generation of manifold forms of being;\npower of intellect, which penetrates the very essence of things,\nand comprehends the whole ideal realm without effort; a clearness\nof apprehension, which, like a flash, lays bare the darkest\nobjects; a reason which grasps the relation of things with\nperspicuity; arranging with ease their synthetic and analytic\nconnections; finally, a deep feeling and sentiment of the\nbeautiful, of the most pure and exalted character; all united to\nmake their possessor capable for his undertaking. Besides, had he\nsucceeded in completing it, he must have possessed a persevering\nwill, a most extensive technical knowledge of the arts and\ntrades; and an amount of practical knowledge which alone would\nmake him an extraordinary genius.\" G\u00f6rres, in thus describing the\narchitect of the Cologne Cathedral, leaves us his own portrait.\n\nThe private life of G\u00f6rres was free from blame; and in this\nregard he is a model among so many distinguished men, who are not\nalways free from reproach in their domestic relations. Even his\nyouth was marked by no follies. His domestic life was pure, and\nhe brought up his children not only with a high intellectual\ntraining, but also in the fear of God and in the principles of\nChristian morality.\n\n{508}\n\nHis house was the picture of a German farmer's. It was open to\nevery good man, and closed only to the wicked and false. Its\nmaster was pleasant, jovial, and fond of gayety and innocent\namusement. G\u00f6rres was not a mere theoretical Catholic; but a true\nson of the church in his practical conduct, full of piety and\nChristian charity. He was generous to the poor and needy. He\nfeared God, loved the church, and obeyed the pope. He was\nedifying at divine service, assisted daily at the holy sacrifice,\nand received holy communion frequently.\n\nHe was a short, thick-set man, able to bear labor and fatigue.\nAlways healthy, he had hardly ever spent a day in bed. He had a\nbroad brow and brilliant eyes. His hair was auburn, streaked with\ngrey in his old age, hanging loosely about his head, so that\nClement Brentano compared his appearance to that of an old lion\nshaking and pulling his mane caught in the bars of his cage.\n\nG\u00f6rres died as he had lived, well, pious, and happy. It is a\nremarkable fact, that great men have at last often to undergo\ngreat trials. Moses died before entering the promised land; Peter\nand Paul, in the midst of a fierce persecution excited against\nthe young church they had founded; St. Augustine, while African\nChristianity was being destroyed by the Vandals; Gregory VII.,\ndying, exclaimed, \"I have loved justice and hated iniquity,\ntherefore do I die in exile.\" In our time, O'Connell saw his\nbeloved island a prey to famine, while he breathed his last far\naway from her. G\u00f6rres, too, saw all that he had contended for\nwell-nigh ruined, and the labor of years appeared to be in vain.\nEight days before his death, he took to his bed, and received the\nblessed Eucharist. On January 25th, 1848, his children and\nfriends celebrated his seventy-second birthday. He received holy\ncommunion again two days before his departure, which took place\non January 29th, at half-past six in the morning, whilst his\nchildren and friends knelt at his bedside repeating the Litany\nfor the dying; and while his friend and pupil, Professor\nHaneberg, was saying Mass for him. A letter, written just after\nhis death by an eye-witness, contains this passage: \"The corpse\nwas beautiful. It became like alabaster. The head, face, and\nbroad brow were calm, clear, and peaceful, as if freed from the\ncares of this life, and awaiting the resurrection of the just.\"\nThus died, uttering holy sentiments, one of the greatest\nintellects of this or any other age.\n\nAn extraordinary remark of G\u00f6rres, just before his death, is\npreserved. His mind wandered among the scenes of his former\nstudies, and, recalling the dead nations of history, he said,\n\"_Let us pray for the peoples that are no more!_\"\n\nG\u00f6rres has been frequently called the O'Connell of Catholic\nGermany. There is some truth in the parallel. It is true he could\nnot address a hundred thousand of his countrymen from the\nrostrum; yet his _Mercury of the Rhine_ and his\n_Athanasius_ could effect as much as his living voice. He\nwas not, like O'Connell, the recognized leader of his people; yet\nall good men regarded him as their master; and all who had\nwitnessed his patriotism in 1814, and his faith in 1837, trusted\nhim as Ireland did her O'Connell. O'Connell's work was indeed\nmore rapid and exciting in the present; but more efficacious in\nthe future was what G\u00f6rres had done, and more fruitful the seed\nwhich he planted.\n{509}\nG\u00f6rres had not to free the Catholics of Germany from a yoke, such\nas England had put over the neck of her sister isle; still he was\na real liberator, a liberator of Germans from foreign manners;\nfor every nation is ordained of God, and it is a shame and a\ndisgrace, by aping foreign manners, to deny the fatherland to\nwhich we belong by speech and nativity; a liberator of the church\nfrom state tutelage, which injured the civil as well as the\necclesiastical power; a liberator of the sciences from the\nshackles of rationalism and infidelity; a liberator of the\ncatholic spirit and of catholic self-consciousness from the\nslumber of indifferentism and the chains of the spirit of the\nage; an agitator and excitator was he in the cause of truth and\nvirtue; he dragged Catholic Germany out of the miry dungeon of\npusillanimity, taught her self-respect, and made the blood, which\nhad been stagnant, flow again in her veins. As O'Connell loved\nhis country, his church, and liberty, so did G\u00f6rres; especially\nthat true liberty which is as distinct from the false as God is\nfrom idols. May Germany and the church never want geniuses like\nG\u00f6rres in their need; and may God send a shower of such men to\nour own United States!\n\n--------\n\n\n             Nature And Grace.\n\n\nIn the article on _Rome and the World_ in the Magazine for\nNovember last, it was shown that there is an irrepressible\nconflict between the spirit which dominates in the world and that\nwhich reigns in the church, or the antagonism which there is and\nmust be between Christ and Satan, the law of life and the law of\ndeath; and every one who has attempted to live in strict\nobedience to the law of God has found that he has to sustain an\nunceasing warfare between the spirit and the flesh, between the\nlaw of the mind and the law in the members. We see the right, we\napprove it, we resolve to do it, and do it not. We are drawn away\nfrom it by the seductions of the flesh, our appetites, passions,\nand carnal affections, so that the good we would do, we do not,\nand the evil we would not, that we do. This, which is really a\nstruggle in our own bosom between the higher nature and the\nlower, is sometimes regarded as a struggle between nature and\ngrace, and taken as a proof that our nature is evil, and that\nbetween it and grace there is an inherent antagonism which can be\nremoved only by the destruction either of nature by grace, or of\ngrace by nature. Antagonism there certainly is between the spirit\nof Christ and the spirit of the world, and in the bosom of the\nindividual between the spirit and the flesh. This antagonism must\nlast as long as this life lasts, for the carnal mind is not\nsubject to the law of God, neither indeed can be; but this\nimplies no antagonism between the law of grace and the law of\nnature; for there is, as St. Paul assures us, \"no condemnation to\nthem who are in Christ Jesus, who walk not according to the\nflesh.\" (Rom. viii. 1.) Nor does this struggle imply that our\nnature is evil or has been corrupted by the fall; for the Council\nof Trent has defined that the flesh indeed inclines to sin, but\nis not itself sin. It remains even after baptism, and renders the\ncombat necessary through life; but they who resist it and walk\nafter the spirit are not sinners, because they retain it, feel\nits motions, and are exposed to its seductions.\n{510}\nAll evil originates in the abuse of good, for God has never made\nanything evil. We have suffered and suffer from original sin; we\nhave lost innocence, the original righteousness in which we were\nconstituted, the gifts originally added thereto, or the integrity\nof our nature--as immunity from disease and death, the subjection\nof the body to the soul, the inferior soul to the higher--and\nfallen into a disordered or abnormal state; but our nature has\nundergone no entitative or physical change or corruption, and it\nis essentially now what it was before the fall. It retains all\nits original faculties, and these all retain their original\nnature. The understanding lacks the supernatural light that\nillumined it in the state of innocence; but it is still\nunderstanding, and still operates and can operate only _ad\nveritatem;_ free-will, as the Council of Trent defines, has\nbeen enfeebled, attenuated, either positively in itself by being\ndespoiled of its integrity and of its supernatural endowment, or\nnegatively by the greater obstacles in the appetites and passions\nit has to overcome; but it is free-will still, and operates and\ncan operate only _propter bonitatem_. We can will only good,\nor things only in the respect that they are good, and only for\nthe reason they are good. We do not and cannot will evil as evil,\nor for the sake of evil. The object and only object of the\nintellect is truth, the object and only object of the will is\ngood, as it was before the prevarication of Adam or original sin.\n\nEven our lower nature, _concupiscentia_, in which is the\n_fomes peccati_, is still entitatively good, and the due\nsatisfaction of all its tendencies is useful and necessary in the\neconomy of human life. Food and drink are necessary to supply the\nwaste of the body and to maintain its health and strength. Every\nnatural affection, passion, appetite, or tendency points to a\ngood of some sort, which cannot be neglected without greater or\nless injury; nor is the sensible pleasure that accompanies the\ngratification of our nature in itself evil, or without a good and\nnecessary end. Where, then, is the evil, and in what consists the\ndamage done to our nature by original sin? The damage, aside from\nthe _culpa_, or sin and consequent loss of communion with\nGod, is in the disorder introduced, the abnormal development of\nthe flesh or the appetites and passions consequent on their\nescape from the control of reason, their fall under Satanic\ninfluence, and the ignoble slavery, when they became dominant, to\nwhich they reduce reason and free-will as ministers of their\npleasure. All the tendencies of our nature have each its special\nend, which each seeks without respect for the special ends of the\nothers; and hence, if not restrained by reason within the bounds\nof moderation and sobriety, they run athwart one another, and\nintroduce into the bosom of the individual disorder and anarchy,\nwhence proceed the disorder and anarchy, the tyranny and\noppression, the wars and fightings in society. The appetites and\npassions are all despotic and destitute of reason, each seeking\nblindly and with all its force its special gratification; and the\nevil is in the struggle of each for the mastery of the others,\nand in their tendency to make reason and free-will their\nservants, or to bring the superior soul into bondage to the\ninferior, as is said, when we say of a man, \"He is the slave of\nhis appetites,\" or \"the slave of his passions,\" so that we are\nled to prefer a present and temporary good, though smaller, to a\ndistant future and eternal beatitude, though infinitely greater.\n{511}\nHence, under their control we not only are afflicted with\ninternal disorder and anarchy, but we come to regard the pleasure\nthat accompanies the gratification of our sensitive appetites and\npassions as the real and true end of life. We eat and drink, not\nin order to live, but we live in order to eat and drink. We make\nsensual pleasure our end, the motive of our activity and the\nmeasure of our progress. Hence we are carnal men, sold under sin,\nfollow the carnal mind, which is antagonistic to the spiritual\nmind, or to reason and will, which, though they do in the carnal\nman the bidding of the flesh, never approve it, nor mistake what\nthe flesh craves for the true end of man.\n\nThe antagonism here is antagonism between the spirit and the\nflesh, not an antagonism between nature and grace--certainly not\nbetween the law of nature and the law of grace. The law of nature\nis something very different from the natural laws of the\nphysicists, which are simply physical laws. Transcendentalists,\nhumanitarians, and naturalists confound these physical laws with\nwhat theologians call the natural law as distinguished from the\nrevealed law, and take as their rule of morals the maxim, \"Follow\nnature,\" that is, follow one's own inclinations and tendencies.\nThey recognize no real difference between the law of obedience\nand the law of gravitation, and allow no distinction between\nphysical laws and moral law. Hence for them there is a physical,\nbut no moral order. The law of nature, as recognized by\ntheologians and moralists, is a moral law, not a physical law, a\nlaw which is addressed to reason and free-will, and demands\nmotives, not simply a mover. It is called natural because it is\npromulgated by the Supreme Lawgiver through natural reason,\ninstead of supernatural revelation, and is, at least in a\nmeasure, known to all men; for all men have reason, and a natural\nsense of right and wrong, and, therefore, a conscience.\n\nNatural reason is able to attain to the full knowledge of the\nnatural law, but, as St. Thomas maintains, only in the\n_\u00e9lite_ of the race. For the bulk of mankind a revelation is\nnecessary to give them an adequate knowledge even of the precepts\nof the natural law; but as in some men it can be known by reason\nalone, it is within the reach of our natural faculties, and\ntherefore properly called natural. Not that nature is the source\nfrom which it derives its legal character, but the medium of its\npromulgation.\n\nThe law of grace or the revealed law presupposes the natural\nlaw--_gratia supponit naturam_--and however much or little\nit contains that surpasses it, it contains nothing that\ncontradicts, abrogates, or overrides it. The natural law itself\nrequires that all our natural appetites, passions, and tendencies\nbe restrained within the bounds of moderation, and subordinated\nto a moral end or the true end of man, the great purpose of his\nexistence; and even Epicurus, who makes pleasure the end of our\nexistence, our supreme good, requires, at least theoretically,\nthe lower nature to be indulged only with sobriety and\nmoderation. His error is not so much in the indulgence he allowed\nto the sensual or carnal nature, which he was as well aware as\nothers, needs the restraints of reason and will, as in placing\nthe supreme good in the pleasure that accompanies the\ngratification of nature, and in giving as the reason or motive of\nthe restraint, not the will of God, but the greater amount and\nsecurity of natural pleasure. The natural law not only commands\nthe restraint, but forbids us to make the pleasure the supreme\ngood, or the motive of the restraint.\n{512}\nIt places the supreme good in the fulfilment of the real purpose\nof our existence, makes the proper motive justice or right, not\npleasure, and commands us to subordinate inclination to duty as\ndetermined by reason or the law itself. It requires the lower\nnature to move in subordination to the higher, and the higher to\nact always in reference to the ultimate end of man, which, we\nknow even from reason itself, is God, the final as well as the\nfirst cause of all things. The revealed law and the natural law\nhere perfectly coincide, and there is no discrepancy between\nthem. If, then, we understand by nature the law of nature,\nnatural justice and equity, or what we know or may know naturally\nis reasonable and just, there is no contrariety between nature\nand grace, for grace demands only what nature herself demands.\nThe supposed war of grace against nature is only the war of\nreason and free-will against appetite, passion, and inclination,\nwhich can be safely followed only when restrained within proper\nbounds. The crucifixion or annihilation of nature, which\nChristian asceticism enjoins, is a moral, not a physical\ncrucifixion or annihilation; the destruction of pleasure as our\nmotive or end. No physical destruction of anything natural, nor\nphysical change in anything natural, is demanded by grace or\nChristian perfection. The law of grace neither forbids nor\ndiminishes the pleasure that accompanies the satisfaction of\nnature; it only forbids our making it our good, an end to be\nlived for. When the saints mortify the flesh, chastise the body,\nor sprinkle with ashes their mess of bitter herbs, it is to\nmaintain inward freedom, to prevent pleasure from gaining a\nmastery over them, and becoming a motive of action, or perhaps\noftener from a love of sacrifice, and the desire to share with\nChrist in his sufferings to redeem the world. We all of us, if we\nhave any sympathies, feel an invincible repugnance to feasting\nand making merry when our friends, those we tenderly love, are\nsuffering near us, and the saints see always the suffering\nRedeemer, Christ in his agony in the garden and on the cross,\nbefore their eyes, him whom they love deeply, tenderly, with the\nwhole heart and soul.\n\nBut though the law of nature and the law of grace really\ncoincide, we have so suffered from original sin, that we cannot,\nby our unassisted natural strength, perfectly keep even the law\nof nature. The law of nature requires us to love God with our\nwhole heart and with our whole soul, and with all our strength\nand with all our mind, and our neighbor as ourselves. This law,\nthough not above our powers in integral nature, is above them in\nour fallen or abnormal state. Grace is the supernatural\nassistance given us through Jesus Christ to deliver us from the\nbondage of Satan and the flesh, and to enable us to fulfil this\ngreat law. This is what is sometimes called medicinal grace; and\nhowever antagonistic it may be to the moral disorder introduced\nby original sin and aggravated by actual sin, it is no more\nantagonistic to nature itself than is the medicine administered\nby the physician to the body to enable it to throw off a disease\ntoo strong for it, and to recover its health. What assists\nnature, aids it to keep the law and attain to freedom and normal\ndevelopment, cannot be opposed to nature or in any manner hurtful\nto it.\n\nMoreover, grace is not merely medicinal, nor simply restricted to\nrepairing the damage done by original sin. Where sin abounded,\ngrace superabounds.\n{513}\nWhether, if man had not sinned, God would have become incarnate\nor not is a question which we need not raise here, any more than\nthe question whether God could or could not, congruously with his\nknown attributes, have created man in what the theologians call\nthe state of pure nature, as he is now born, _seclusa ratione\nculpae et paenae_, and therefore for a natural beatitude; for\nit is agreed on all hands that he did not so create him, and that\nthe incarnation is not restricted in its intention or effect to\nthe simple redemption of man from sin, original or actual, and\nhis restoration to the integrity of his nature, lost by the\nprevarication of Adam. All schools teach that as a matter of fact\nthe incarnation looks higher and farther, and is intended to\nelevate man to a supernatural order of spiritual life, and to\nsecure him a supernatural beatitude, a life and beatitude to\nwhich his nature alone is not adequate.\n\nMan regarded in the present decree of God has not only his origin\nin the supernatural, but also his last end or final cause. He\nproceeds from God as first cause, and returns to him as final\ncause. The oriental religions, the Egyptian, Hindu, Chinese, and\nthe Buddhist, etc., all say as much, but fall into the error of\nmaking him proceed from God by way of emanation, generation,\nformation, or development, and his return to him as final cause,\nabsorption in him, as the stream in the fountain, or the total\nloss of individuality, which, instead of being perfect beatitude\nin God, is absolute personal annihilation. But these religions\nhave originated in a truth which they misapprehend, pervert, or\ntravesty. Man, both Christian faith and sound philosophy teach\nus, proceeds from God as first cause by way of creation proper,\nand returns to him as final cause without absorption in him or\nloss of individuality. God creates man, not indeed an\nindependent, but a substantive existence, capable of acting from\nhis own centre as a second cause; and however intimate may be his\nrelation with God, he is always distinguishable from him, and can\nno more be confounded with him as his final cause than he can be\nconfounded with him as his first cause. Not only the race but the\nindividual man returns to God, and finds in him his supreme good,\nand individually united to him, through the Word made flesh,\nenjoys personally in him an infinite beatitude.\n\nGod alike as first cause and as final cause is supernatural. And\nman therefore can neither exist nor find his beatitude without\nthe intervention of the supernatural. He can no more rise to a\nsupernatural beatitude or beatitude in God without the\nsupernatural act of God, than he could begin to exist without\nthat act. The natural is created and finite, and can be no medium\nof the infinite or supernatural. Man, as he is in the present\ndecree of God, cannot obtain his end, rise to his supreme good or\nbeatitude, without a supernatural medium. This medium in relation\nto the end, or in the teleological order, is the Word made flesh,\nGod incarnate, Jesus Christ, the only mediator between God and\nmen. Jesus Christ is not only the medium of our redemption from\nsin and the consequences of the fall, but of our elevation to the\nplane of a supernatural destiny, and perfect beatitude in the\nintimate and eternal possession of God, who is both our good and\nthe Good in itself. This is a higher, an infinitely greater good\nthan man could ever have attained to by his natural powers even\nin a state of integral nature, or if he had not sinned, and had\nhad no need of a Redeemer; and hence the apostle tells us where\nsin abounded grace superabounded, and the church sings on Holy\nSaturday, _O felix culpa_. The incarnate Word is the medium\nof this superabounding good, as the Father is its principle and\nthe Holy Ghost its consummator.\n\n{514}\n\nWhether grace is something created, as St. Thomas maintains, and\nas would seem to follow from the doctrine of infused virtues\nasserted by the Council of Trent, or the direct action of the\nHoly Ghost within us, as was held by Petrus Lombardus, the Master\nof Sentences, it is certain that the medium of all grace given to\nenable us to attain to beatitude is the Incarnation, and hence is\ntermed by theologians _gratia Christi_, and distinguishable\nfrom the simple _gratia Dei_, which is bestowed on man in\nthe initial order, or order of genesis, commonly the natural\norder, because its explication is by natural generation, and not\nas the teleological order, by the election of grace. The grace of\nChrist by which our nature is elevated to the plane of the\nsupernatural, and enabled to attain to a supernatural end or\nbeatitude, cannot be opposed to nature, or in any sense\nantagonistic to nature. Nature is not denied or injured because\nits author prepares for it a greater, an infinitely greater than\na natural or created good, to which no created nature by its own\npowers, however exalted, could ever attain. Men may doubt if such\na good remains for those who love our Lord Jesus Christ and by\nhis grace follow him in the regeneration, but nobody can pretend\nthat the proffer of such good, and the gift of the means to\nattain it, can be any injury or slight to nature.\n\nThere is no doubt that in the flesh which resists grace, because\ngrace would subordinate it to reason and free-will, but this,\nthough the practical difficulty, is not the real dialectic\ndifficulty which men feel in the way of accepting the Christian\ndoctrine of grace. Men object to it on the ground that it\nsubstitutes grace for nature, and renders nature good for nothing\nin the Christian or teleological order--the order of return to\nGod as our last end or final cause. We have anticipated and\nrefuted this objection in condemning the pantheistic doctrine of\nthe orientals, and by maintaining that the return to God is\nwithout absorption in him, or loss of our individuality or\ndistinct personality.\n\nThe beatitude which the regenerate soul attains to in God by the\ngrace of our Lord Jesus Christ is the beatitude of that very\nindividual soul that proceeds, by way of creation, from God. The\nsaints by being blest in God are not lost in him, but retain in\nglory their original human nature and their identical personal\nexistence. This the church plainly teaches in her _cultus\nsanctorum_. She invokes the saints in heaven, and honors them\nas individuals distinct from God, and as distinct personalities;\nand hence, she teaches us that the saints are sons of God only by\nadoption, and, though living by and in the Incarnate Word, are\nnot themselves Christ, or the Word made flesh. In the\nIncarnation, the human personality was absorbed or superseded by\nthe divine personality, so that the human nature assumed had a\ndivine but no human personality. The Word assumed human nature,\nnot a human person. Hence the error of the Nestorians and\nAdoptionists, and also of those who in our own times are willing\nto call Mary the mother of Christ, but shrink from calling her\n[Greek text], or the Mother of God. But in the saints, who are\nnot hypostatically united to the Word, human nature not only\nremains unchanged, but retains its human personality; and the\nsaints are as really men, as really human persons in glory, as\nthey were while in the flesh, and are the same human persons that\nthey were before either regeneration or glorification.\n{515}\nThe church, by her _cultus sanctorum_, teaches us to regard\nthe glorified saints as still human persons, and to honor them as\nhuman persons, who by the aid of grace have merited the honor we\ngive them. We undoubtedly honor God in his saints as well as in\nall his works of nature or of grace; but this honor of God in his\nworks is that of _latria_, and is not that which is rendered\nto the saints. In the _cultus sanctorum_, we not only honor\nhim in his works, but we also honor the saints themselves for\ntheir own personal worth, acquired not, indeed, without grace,\nbut still acquired by them, and is as much theirs as if it had\nbeen acquired by their unassisted natural powers; for our natural\npowers are from God as first cause, no less than grace itself,\nonly grace is from him through the Incarnation. You say, it is\nobjected, that grace supposes nature, _gratia supponit\nnaturam_, yet St. Paul calls the regeneration a new creation,\nand the regenerated soul a new creature. Very true; yet he says\nthis not because the nature given in generation is destroyed or\nsuperseded in regeneration, but because regeneration no more than\ngeneration can be initiated or sustained without the divine\ncreative act; because generation can never become of itself\nregeneration, or make the first motion toward it. Without the\ndivine regenerative act we cannot enter upon our teleological or\nspiritual life, but must remain for ever in the order of\ngeneration, and infinitely below our destiny, as is the case with\nthe reprobate or those who die unregenerate. But it is the person\nborn of Adam that is regenerated, that is translated into the\nkingdom of God's dear Son, and that is the recipient of\nregenerating, persevering, and glorifying grace. This is the\npoint we insist on; for, if so, the objection that grace destroys\nor supersedes nature is refuted. The whole of Catholic theology\nteaches that grace assists nature, but does not create or\nsubstitute a new nature, as is evident from the fact that it\nteaches that in regeneration even we must concur with grace, that\nwe can resist it, and after regeneration lose all that grace\nconfers, apostatize from the faith, and fall even below the\ncondition of the unregenerate. This would be impossible, if we\ndid not retain our nature as active in and after regeneration. In\nthis life it is certain that regeneration is a moral, a\nspiritual, not a physical change, and that our reason and will\nare emancipated from the bondage of sin, and are simply enabled\nto act from a higher plane and gain a higher end than it could\nunassisted; but it is the natural person that is enabled and that\nacts in gaining the higher end. Grace, then, does not in this\nlife destroy or supersede nature, and the authorized\n_cultus_ of the saints proves that it does not in the\nglorified saint or life to come.\n\nThe same conclusion follows from the fact that regeneration only\nfulfils generation. \"I am not come,\" said our Lord, \"to destroy,\nbut to fulfil.\" The creative act, completed, as to the order of\nprocession of existences from God, in the Incarnation or\nhypostatic union, which closes the initial order and institutes\nthe teleological, includes both the procession of existences from\nGod and their return to him. It is completed, fulfilled, and\nconsummated only in regeneration and glorification. If the nature\nthat proceeds from God is changed or superseded by grace, the\ncreative act is not fulfilled, for that which proceeds from God\ndoes not return to him.\n{516}\nThe initial man must himself return, or with regard to him the\ncreative act remains initial and incomplete. In the first order,\nman is only initial or inchoate, and is a complete, a perfect man\nonly when he has returned to God as his final cause. To maintain\nthat it is not this initial man that returns, but, if the\nsupposition be possible, another than he, or something\nsubstituted for him, and that has not by way of creation\nproceeded from God, would deny the very purpose and end of the\nIncarnation, and the very idea of redemption, regeneration, and\nglorification, the grace of Christ, and leave man without any\nmeans of redemption or deliverance from sin, or of fulfilling his\ndestiny--the doom of the damned in hell. The destruction or\nchange of man's nature is the destruction of man himself, the\ndestruction of his identity, his human personality; yet St. Paul\nteaches, Rom. viii. 30, that the persons called are they who are\nredeemed and glorified: \"Whom he predestinated, them also he\ncalled; and whom he called, them also he justified; and whom he\njustified, them also he glorified.\"\n\nWe can, indeed, do nothing in relation to our end without the\ngrace of Christ; but, with that grace freely given and\nstrengthening us, it is equally certain that we can work, and\nwork even meritoriously, or else how could heaven be promised us\nas a reward? Yet it is so promised: \"He that cometh to God must\nbelieve that he is, and is the rewarder of them that seek him.\"\n(Heb. xi. 6.) Moses \"looked to the reward;\" David had respect to\nthe divine \"retributions;\" and all Christians, as nearly all\nheathen, believe in a future state of rewards and punishments. We\nare exhorted to flee to Christ and obey him that we may escape\nhell and gain heaven. The grace by which we are born again and\nare enabled to merit is unquestionably gratuitous, for grace is\nalways gratuitous, _omnino gratis_, as say the theologians,\nand we can do nothing to merit it, no more than we could do\nsomething to merit our creation from nothing; but though\ngratuitous, a free gift of God, grace is bestowed on or infused\ninto a subject already existing in the order of generation or\nnatural order, and we can act by it, and can and do, if faithful\nto it, merit heaven or eternal life. Hence says the apostle,\n\"Work out your salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God\nthat worketh in you both to will and to do, or to accomplish.\"\n(Philip, ii. 12.) But this no more implies that the willing and\ndoing in the order of regeneration are not ours than that our\nacting in the order of nature is not ours because we can even in\nthat order act, whether for good or for evil, only by the divine\nconcurrence.\n\nThe heterodox confound the gift of grace by which we are able to\nmerit the reward with the reward itself; hence they maintain,\nbecause we can merit nothing without grace, that we can merit\nnothing even with it, and that we are justified by faith alone,\nwhich is the free gift of God, conferred on whom he wills, and\nthat grace is irresistible, and once in grace we are always in\ngrace. But St. James tells us that we are \"justified by our\nworks, and not by faith only, for faith without works is dead.\"\n(St. James ii. 14-25.) Are we who work by grace and merit the\nreward the same _we_ that prior to regeneration sinned and\nwere under wrath? Is it we who by the aid of grace merit the\nreward, or is it the grace in us? If the grace itself, how can it\nbe said that we are rewarded? If the reward is given not to us\nwho sinned, but to the new person or new nature into which grace\nis said to change us, how can it be said that _we_ either\nmerit or are rewarded?\n{517}\nMan has his specific nature, and if you destroy or change that\nspecific nature, you annihilate him as man, instead of aiding his\nreturn to God as his final cause. The theologians treat grace not\nas a new nature or a new faculty bestowed on nature, but as a\n_habitus_, or habit, an infused habit indeed, not an\nacquired habit, but none the less a habit on that account, which\nchanges not, transforms not nature, but gives it, as do all\nhabits, a power or facility of doing what without it would exceed\nits strength. The subject of the habit is the human soul, and\nthat which acts by, under, or with the habit is also the human\nsoul, not the habit. The soul, as before receiving it, is the\nactor, but it acts with an increased strength, and does what\nbefore it could not; yet its nature is simply strengthened, not\nchanged. The general idea of _habit_ must be preserved\nthroughout. The personality is not in the habit, but in the\nrational nature of him into whom the habit is infused by the Holy\nGhost. In our Lord there are the two natures; but in him the\ndivine personality assumes the human nature, and is always the\nsubject acting, whether acting in the human nature or in the\ndivine. In the regenerated there are also the human and the\ndivine; but the human, if I may so speak, assumes the divine, and\nretains from first to last its own personality, as is implied in\nthe return to God without absorption in him or loss of personal\nindividuality, and in the fact that, though without grace, we\ncannot concur with grace, yet by the aid of grace we can and must\nconcur with it the moment we come to the use of reason, or it is\nnot effectual. The sacraments are, indeed, efficacious _ex\nopere operato_, not by the faith or virtue of the recipient,\nbut only in case the will, as in infants, opposes no obstacle to\nthe grace they signify. Yet even in infants the concurrence of\nthe will is required when they come to the use of reason, and the\nrefusal to elicit the act loses the habit infused by baptism. The\nbaptized infant must concur with grace as soon as capable of a\nrational act.\n\nThe heterodox who are exclusive supernaturalists, because we\ncannot without grace concur with grace, deny that the concurrence\nis needed, and assert that grace is irresistible and overcomes\nall resistance, and, as _gratia victrix_, subjects the will.\nHence they hold that, in faith, regeneration, justification,\nsanctification, nature does nothing, and all that is done is done\nby sovereign grace even in spite of nature; but the fact on which\nthey rely is not sufficient to sustain their theory. The\nschoolmen, for the convenience of teaching, divide and subdivide\ngrace till we are in danger of losing sight of its essential\nunity. They tell us of prevenient grace, or the grace that goes\nbefore and excites the will of assisting grace, the grace that\naids the will when excited to elect to concur with grace; and\nefficacious grace, the grace that renders the act of concurrence\neffectual. But these three graces are really one and the same\ngrace, and the _gratia praeveniens_, when not resisted,\nbecomes immediately _gratia adjuvans_, and aids the will to\nconcur with grace, and, if concurred with, it becomes, _ipso\nfacto_ and immediately, _gratia efficax_. It needs no\ngrace to resist grace, and none, it would seem to follow from the\nfreedom of the will, _not_ to resist it. Freedom of the\nwill, according to the decision of the church in the case of the\n_gratia victrix_ of the Jansenists, implies the power to\nwill the contrary, and, if free to resist it, why not free not to\nresist?\n{518}\nThere is, it seems to us, a real distinction between not willing\nto resist and willing to concur. Nothing in nature compels or\nforces the will to resist, for its natural operation is to the\ngood, as that of the intellect is to the true. The grace excites\nit to action, and, if it do not will to resist, the grace is\npresent to assist it to elect to comply. If this be tenable, and\nwe see not why it is not, both the aid of grace and the freedom\nand activity of the will are asserted, are saved, are harmonized,\nand the soul is elevated into the order of regeneration without\nany derogation either from nature or from grace, or lesion to\neither.\n\nWe are well aware of the old question debated in Catholic\nschools, whether grace is to be regarded as _auxilium quod_\nor as _auxilium quo_; but it is not necessary either to\ninquire what was the precise sense of the question debated, or to\nenter into any discussion of its merits, for both schools held\nthe Catholic faith, which asserts the freedom of the will, and\nboth held that grace is _auxilium_, and therefore an aid\ngiven to nature, not its destruction, nor its change into\nsomething else. The word _auxilium_, or aid, says of itself\nall that we are contending for. St. Paul says, indeed, when\nreluctantly comparing his labors with those of the other\napostles, that he had labored more abundantly than they all, but\nadds, \"Yet not I, but the grace of God with me.\" But he\nrecognizes himself, for he says, \"grace with _me_;\" and his\nsense is easily explained by what he says in a passage already\nquoted, namely, \"Work out your own salvation; for it is God that\nworketh in you to will and to do,\" or to accomplish, and also by\nwhat he says in the text itself, (1 Cor. xv. 1,) \"By the grace of\nGod, I am what I am;\" which has primary reference to his calling\nto be an apostle. God by his grace works in us to will and to do,\nand we can will or do nothing in relation to our final end, as\nhas been explained, without his grace; but, nevertheless, it is\n_we_ who will and do. Hence St. Paul could say to St.\nTimothy, \"I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course,\nI have kept the faith. For the rest, there is laid up for me a\ncrown of justice, which the Lord, the just Judge, will render to\nme at that day: and not to me only, but to them also who love his\ncoming.\" (2 Tim. iv. 7, 8.) Here St. Paul speaks of himself as\nthe actor and as the recipient of the crown. St. Augustine says\nthat God, in crowning the saints, \"crowns his own gifts,\" but\nevidently means that he crowns them for what they have become by\nhis gifts; and, as it is only by virtue of his gifts that they\nhave become worthy of crowns, their glory redounds primarily to\nhim, and only in a subordinate sense to themselves. There is, in\nexclusive supernaturalists and exaggerated ascetics, an\nunsuspected pantheism, no less sophistical and uncatholic than\nthe pantheism of our pseudo-ontologists. The characteristic mark\nof pantheism is not simply the denial of creation, but the denial\nof the creation of substances capable of acting as second causes.\nIn the order of regeneration as in the order of generation we are\nnot indeed primary, but are really secondary causes; and the\ndenial of this fact, and the assertion of God as the direct and\nimmediate actor from first to last, is pure pantheism. This is as\ntrue in the order of regeneration as in the order of generation,\nthough in the order of grace it is thought to be a proof of\npiety, when, in fact, it denies the very subject that can be\npious. Count de Maistre somewhere says, \"The worst error against\ngrace is that of asserting too much grace.\"\n{519}\nWe must exist, and exist as second causes, to be the recipients\nof grace, or to be able even with grace to be pious toward God,\nor the subject of any other virtue. In the regeneration we\n_do_ by the aid of grace, but we are, nevertheless, the\ndoers, whence it follows that regeneration no more than\ngeneration is wholly supernatural. Regeneration supposes\ngeneration, takes it up to itself and completes it, otherwise the\nfirst Adam would have no relation to the second Adam, and man\nwould find no place in the order of regeneration, which would be\nthe more surprising since the order itself originates in the\nIncarnation, in the God-Man, who is its Alpha and Omega, its\nbeginning and end.\n\nMany people are, perhaps, misled on this subject by the habit of\nrestricting the word _natural_ exclusively to the procession\nof existences from God and what pertains to the initial order of\ncreation, and the word _supernatural_ to the return of\nexistences to God as their last end, and the means by which they\nreturn or attain that end and complete the cycle of existence or\nthe creative act. The procession is initial, the return is\nteleological. The initial is called natural, because it is\ndeveloped and carried on by natural generation; the teleological\nis called supernatural, because it is developed and carried on by\ngrace, and the election by grace takes the place of hereditary\ndescent. This is well enough, except when we have to deal with\npersons who insist on separating--not simply distinguishing, but\nseparating, the natural and the supernatural, and on denying\neither the one or the other. But, in reality, what we ordinarily\ncall the natural is not wholly natural, nor what we call the\nsupernatural is wholly supernatural. Strictly speaking, the\nsupernatural is God himself and what he does with no other medium\nthan his own eternal Word, that is, without any created medium,\nor agency of second causes; the natural is that which is created\nand what God does through the medium of second causes or created\nagencies, called by physicists natural laws. Thus, creation is a\nsupernatural fact, because effected immediately by God himself;\ngeneration is a natural fact, because effected by God mediately\nby natural laws or second causes; the hypostatic union, or the\nassumption of flesh by the Word, which completes the creative act\nin the initial order and institutes the teleological or final\norder, is supernatural; all the operations of grace are\nsupernatural, though operations in and with nature; the\nsacraments are supernatural, for they are effective _ex opere\noperato_, and the natural parts are only signs of the grace,\nnot its natural medium. The water used in baptism is not a\nnatural medium of the grace of regeneration; it is made by the\ndivine will the sign, though an appropriate sign, of it; the\ngrace itself is communicated by the direct action of the Holy\nGhost, which is supernatural. Regeneration, as well as its\ncomplement, glorification, is supernatural, for it cannot be\nnaturally developed from generation, and regeneration does not\nnecessarily carry with it glorification; for it does not of\nitself, as St. Augustine teaches, insure the grace of\nperseverance, since grace is _omnino gratis_, and only he\nthat perseveres to the end will be glorified. Hence, even in the\nteleological order, the natural, that is, the human, reason and\nwill have their share, and without their activity the end would\nnot and could not be gained.\n{520}\nRevelation demands the active reception of reason, or else it\nmight as well be made to an ox or a horse as to a man; and the\nwill that perseveres to the end is the human will, though the\nhuman will be regenerated by grace. Wherever you see the action\nof the creature as second cause you see the natural, and wherever\nyou see the direct action of God, whether as sustaining the\ncreature or immediately producing the effect, you see the\nsupernatural.\n\nThe fact that God works in us to will and to do, or that we can\ndo nothing in the order of regeneration without grace moving and\nassisting us, no more denies the presence and activity of nature\nthan does the analogous fact that we can do nothing even in the\norder of generation without the supernatural presence and\nconcurrence of the Creator. We are as apt to forget that God has\nany hand in the action of nature as we are to deny that where God\nacts nature can ever co\u00f6perate; we are apt to conclude that the\naction of the one excludes that of the other, and to run either\ninto Pelagianism on the one hand, or into Calvinism or Jansenism\non the other; and we find a difficulty in harmonizing in our\nminds the divine sovereignty of God and human liberty. We cannot,\non this occasion, enter fully into the question of their\nconciliation. Catholic faith requires us to assert both, whether\nwe can or cannot see how they can coexist. We think, however,\nthat we can see a distinction between the divine government of a\nfree active subject and of an inanimate and passive subject. God\ngoverns each subject according to the nature he has given it;\nand, if he has given man a free nature, his government, although\nabsolute, must leave human freedom intact, and to man the\ncapacity of exercising his own free activity, without running\nathwart the divine sovereignty. How this can be done, we do not\nundertake to say.\n\nBut be this as it may, there is no act even in the natural order\nthat is or can be performed without the assistance of the\nsupernatural; for we are absolutely dependent on the creative act\nof God in everything, in those very acts in which we act most\nfreely. The grace of God is as necessary as the grace of Christ.\nGod has not created a universe, and made it, when once created,\ncapable of going alone as a self-moving machine. He creates\nsubstances, indeed, capable of acting as second causes; but these\nsubstances can do nothing, are nothing as separated from the\ncreative act of God that produces them, upholds them, is present\nin them, and active in all their acts, even in the most free\ndeterminations of the will. Without this divine presence, always\nan efficient presence, and this divine activity in all created\nactivities, there is and can be no natural activity or action,\nany more than, in relation to our last end, there can be the\nfirst motion toward grace without grace. The principle of action\nin both orders is strictly analogous, and our acting with grace\nor by the assistance of grace in the order of regeneration is as\nnatural as is our acting by the divine presence and concurrence\nin the order of generation. The human activity in either order is\nequally natural, and in neither is it possible or explicable\nwithout the constant presence and activity of the supernatural.\nThe two orders, the initial and the teleological, then, are not\nantagonistical to each other, are not based on two mutually\ndestructive principles, but are really two distinct parts, as we\nso often say, of one dialectic whole.\n\n{521}\n\nThe Holy Scriptures, since God is _causa eminens_, the cause\nof causes, the first cause operative in all second causes, speak\nof God as doing this or that, without always taking special note\nof the fact that, though he really does it, he does it through\nthe agency of second causes or the activity of creatures. This is\nfrequently the case in the Scriptures of the Old Testament, and\nsometimes, though less frequently, in the New Testament, though\nnever in either without something to indicate whether it is the\ndirect and immediate or the indirect and mediate action of God\nthat is meant. Paying no attention to this, many overlook the\ndistinction altogether, and fall into a sort of pantheistic\nfatalism, and practically deny the freedom and activity of second\ncauses, as is the case with Calvin when he declares God to be the\nauthor of sin, which on his own principles is absurd, for he\nmakes the will of God the criterion of right, and therefore\nwhatever God does must be right, and nothing that is right can be\nsin. On the other hand, men, fixing their attention on the agency\nof second causes, overlook the constant presence and activity of\nthe first cause, treat second causes as independent causes, or as\nif they were themselves first cause, and fall into pure\nnaturalism, which is only another name for atheism. The universe\nis not a clock or a watch, but even a clock or a watch generates\nnot its own motive power; the maker in either has only so\nconstructed it as to utilize for his purpose a motive power that\nexists and operates independently both of him and of his\nmechanism.\n\nMen speak of nature as supernaturalized in regeneration, and\nhence assume that grace transforms nature; but in this there must\nbe some misunderstanding or exaggeration. In regeneration we are\nborn into the order of the end, or started, so to speak, on our\nreturn to God as our final cause. The principle of this new\nbirth, which is grace, and the end, which is God, are\nsupernatural; but our nature is not changed except as to its\nmotives and the assistance it receives, though it receives in\nbaptism an indelible mark not easy to explain. This follows from\nthe Incarnation. In the Incarnation our nature is raised to be\nthe nature of God, and yet remains human nature, as is evident\nfrom the condemnation by the church of the monophysites and the\nmonothelites. Catholic faith requires us to hold that the two\nnatures, the human and the divine, remain for ever distinct in\nthe one divine person of the Word. Some prelates thought to save\ntheir orthodoxy by maintaining that, after his resurrection, the\ntwo natures of our Lord became fused or transformed into one\ntheandric nature; but they did not succeed, and were condemned\nand deposed. The monothelites asserted that there was in Christ\ntwo natures indeed, but only one will, or that his human will was\nabsorbed in the divine. But they also were condemned as heretics.\nOur Lord, addressing the Father, says, \"Not my will, but thine be\ndone,\" thus plainly implying a human will distinct from, though\nnot contrary to, the divine will. Can we suppose that the grace\nof regeneration or even of glorification works a greater change\nof nature in us than the grace of union worked in our nature as\nassumed by the Word? If human nature and human will remain in\nChrist after the hypostatic union, so that to regard him after\nhis resurrection as having but one will or one theandric nature\nis a heresy, how can we hold without heresy that grace, which\nflows from that union, either destroys our nature or transforms\nit into a theandric or supernaturalized nature?\n\n{522}\n\nLet us understand, then, that grace neither annihilates nor\nsupersedes or transforms our nature. It is our nature that is\nredeemed or delivered from the bondage of sin, our nature that is\ntranslated from the kingdom of dark into the kingdom of light,\nour nature that is reborn, that is justified, that by the help of\ngrace perseveres to the end, that is rewarded, that is glorified,\nand enters into the glory of our Lord. It then persists in\nregeneration and glorification as one and the same human nature,\nwith its human reason, its human will, its human personality, its\nhuman activity, only assisted by grace to act from a supernatural\nprinciple to or for a supernatural end. The assistance is\nsupernatural, and so is the end; but that which receives the\nassistance, profits by it, and attains the end, is human nature,\nthe man that was born of Adam as well as reborn of Christ, the\nsecond Adam.\n\nWe have dwelt long, perhaps to tediousness, upon this point,\nbecause we have wished to efface entirely the fatal impression\nthat nature and grace are mutually antagonistic, and to make it\nappear that the two orders, commonly called the natural and the\nsupernatural, are both mutually consistent parts of one whole;\nthat grace simply completes nature; and that Christianity is no\nanomaly, no after-thought, or succedaneum, in the original design\nof creation.\n\nThe heterodox, with their doctrine of total depravity, and the\nessential corruption or evil of nature, and their doctrine,\ngrowing out of this assumed depravity or corruption, of\nirresistible grace, and the inactivity or passivity of man in\nfaith and justification, obscure this great fact, and make men\nregard nature as a failure, and that to save some God had to\nsupplant and create a new nature in its place. A more immoral\ndoctrine, or one more fatal to all human activity, is not\nconceivable, if it could be really and seriously believed and\nacted on prior to regeneration, which is impossible. The\nheterodox are better than their system. The system teaches that\nall our works before regeneration are sins; even our prayers are\nunacceptable, some say, an abomination to the Lord, and\nconsequently, there is no use in striving to be virtuous. After\nregeneration there is no need of our activity, for grace is\ninamissible, and if really born again, sin as much as we will,\nour salvation is sure, for the sins of the regenerated are not\nreputed to them or counted as sins. There is no telling how many\nsouls this exclusive and exaggerated supernaturalism (which we\nowe to the reformers of the sixteenth century) has destroyed, or\nhow many persons it has deterred from returning to the Catholic\nChurch by the common impression, that, since she asserts original\nsin and the necessity of grace, she holds and teaches the same\nfrightful system. Men who are able to think, and accustomed to\nsober reflection, find themselves unable to embrace Calvinism,\nand, confounding Calvinism with Christianity, reject Christianity\nitself, and fall into a meagre rationalism, a naked naturalism,\nor, worst of all, an unreasoning indifferentism; yet there is no\ngreater mistake than to suppose that the church holds it or has\nthe slightest sympathy with it. We have wished to mark clearly\nthe difference between it and her teaching. Christian asceticism,\nwhen rightly understood, is not based on the assumption that\nnature is evil, and needs to be destroyed, repressed, or changed.\nIt is based on two great ideas, liberty and sacrifice.\n{523}\nIt is directed not to the destruction of the flesh or the body,\nfor in the creed we profess to believe in the \"resurrection of\nthe flesh.\" Our Lord assumed flesh in the womb of the Virgin; he\nhad a real body, ascended into heaven with it, and in it sitteth\nat the right hand of the Father Almighty. He feeds and nourishes\nus with it in Holy Communion; and it is by eating his flesh and\ndrinking his blood that our spiritual life is sustained and\nstrengthened. Our own bodies shall rise again, and, spiritualized\nafter the manner of Christ's glorious body, shall, reunited to\nthe soul, live for ever. We show that this is our belief by the\nhonor we pay to the relics of the saints. This sacred flesh,\nthese sacred bones, which we cherish with so much tender piety,\nshall live again, and reenter the glorified body of the saint.\nMatter is not evil, as the Platonists teach, and as the false\nasceticism of the heathen assumes, and with which Christian\nasceticism has no affinity, though many who ought to know better\npretend to the contrary. The Christian ascetic aims, indeed, at a\nmoral victory over the flesh, labors by the help of grace to\nliberate the soul from its bondage, to gain the command of\nhimself, to be at all times free to maintain the truth, and to\nkeep the commandments of God; to bring his body into subjection\nto the soul, to reduce the appetites and passions under the\ncontrol of his reason and will, but never to destroy them or in\nany manner to injure his material body. Far less does he seek to\nabnegate, destroy, or repress either will or reason, in order to\ngive grace freer and fuller scope; he only labors to purify and\nstrengthen both by grace. Nature is less abnormal, purer,\nstronger, more active, more energetic in the true ascetic than in\nthose who take no pains to train and purify it under the\ninfluence of divine grace.\n\nThe principle of all sacrifice is love. It was because God so\nloved men that he gave his only-begotten Son to die for them that\nthey might not perish, but have everlasting life. It was love\nthat died on the cross for our redemption. Nothing is hard or\ndifficult to love, and there is nothing love will not do or\nsacrifice for the object loved. The saint can never make for his\nLord a sacrifice great enough to satisfy his love, and gives up\nfor him the most precious things he has, not because they are\nevil or it would be sin in him to retain them; not because his\nLord needs them, but because they are the most costly sacrifice\nhe can make, and he in making the sacrifice can give some proof\nof his love. The chief basis of monastic life is sacrifice. The\nmodern notion that monastic institutions were designed to be a\nsort of hospital for infirm souls is essentially false. As a\nrule, a virtue that cannot sustain itself in the world will\nhardly acquire firmness and strength in a monastery. The first\nmonks did not retire from the world because [it was] unfit to\nlive in it, but because the world restrained their liberty, and\nbecause it afforded them no adequate field for the heroic\nsacrifices to which they aspired. Their austerities, which we so\nlittle robust as Christians, accustomed to pamper our bodies, and\nto deny ourselves nothing, regard as sublime folly, if not with a\nshudder of horror, were heroic sacrifices to the Spouse of the\nsoul, for whom they wished to give up everything but their love.\nThey rejoiced in affliction for his sake, and they wished to\nshare, as we have already said, with him in the passion and cross\nwhich he endured for our sake, so as to be as like him as\npossible.\n{524}\nThere are saints to-day in monasteries, and out of monasteries in\nthe world, living in our midst, whom we know not or little heed,\nwho understand the meaning of this word _sacrifice_, and\nmake as great and as pure sacrifices, though perhaps in other\nforms, and as thoroughly forego their own pleasure, and as\ncheerfully give up what costs them the most to give up, as did\nthe old Fathers of the Desert. But, if we know them not, God\nknows them and loves them.\n\nYet we pretend not to deny that many went into monasteries from\nother motives, from weakness, disappointed affection, disgust of\nthe world, and some to hide their shame, and to expiate by a life\nof penance their sins; but, if the monastery often sheltered such\nas these, it was not for such that it was originally designed. In\nprocess of time, monastic institutions, when they became rich,\nwere abused, as often the priesthood itself, and treated by the\nnobles as a provision for younger sons or portionless daughters.\nWe may at times detect in ascetics an exaggeration of the\nsupernatural element and an underrating if not a neglect of the\nnatural, we may find, chiefly in modern times, a tendency amongst\nthe pious and devout to overlook the fact that manliness,\nrobustness, and energy of mind and character enter as an\nimportant element in the Christian life; but the tendency in this\ndirection is not catholic, though observed to some extent among\nCatholics. It originates in the same causes that originated the\nCalvinistic or Jansenistic heresy, and has been strengthened by\nthe exaggerated assertion of the human and natural elements\ncaused by the reaction of the human mind against an exclusive and\nexaggerated supernaturalism. The rationalism and humanitarianism\nof the last century and the present are only the reaction of\nhuman nature against the exaggerated supernaturalism of the\nReformers and their descendants, the Jansenists, who labored to\ndemolish nature to make way for grace, and to annihilate man in\norder to assert God. Each has an element of truth, but, neither\nhaving the whole truth, each makes war on the other, and\nalternately gains a victory and undergoes a defeat. Unhappily,\nneither will listen to the church who accepts the truth and\nrejects the exclusiveness of each, and harmonizes and completes\nthe truth of both in the unity and catholicity of the faith once\ndelivered to the saints. The Catholic faith is the reconciler of\nall opposites. These alternate victories and defeats go on in the\nworld outside of the church; but it would be strange if they did\nnot have some echo among Catholics, living, as they do, in the\nmidst of the combatants, and in constant literary and\nintellectual intercourse with them. They create some practical\ndifficulties for Catholics which are not always properly\nappreciated. We cannot assert the natural, rational, and the\nhuman element of the church without helping, more or less, the\nexclusive rationalists or naturalists who deny the supernatural;\nand we can hardly oppose them with the necessary vigor and\ndetermination without seeming at least to favor their opponents,\nthe exclusive supernaturalists, who reject reason and deny the\nnatural. It is this fact very likely that has kept Catholics for\nthe most part during the last century and the present on the\ndefensive; and as, during this period, the anti-supernaturalists\nhave been the most formidable enemy of the church, it is no\nwonder if the mass of devout Catholics have shown some tendency\nto exaggerate the supernatural, and been shy of asserting as\nfully as faith warrants the importance of the rational and the\nnatural, or if they have paid less attention to the cultivation\nof the human side of religion than is desirable.\n\n{525}\n\nSome allowance must be made for the new position in which\nCatholics for a century or more have been placed, and it would be\nvery wrong to censure them with severity, even if we found them\nfailing to show themselves all at once equal to the new duties\nimposed upon them. The breaking up of old governments and\ninstitutions, founded by Catholic ancestors, the political,\nsocial, and industrial revolutions that have been and still are\ngoing on, must have, to some extent, displaced the Catholic mind,\nand required it, so to speak, to ease itself, or to take a new\nand difficult observation, and determine its future course.\nCatholics to-day stand between the old, which was theirs, and\nwhich is passing away, and the new, which is rising, and which is\nnot yet theirs. They must needs be partially paralyzed, and at a\nmomentary loss to know what course to take. Naturally\nconservative, as all men are who have something to lose or on\nwhich to rely, their sympathies are with the past, they have not\nbeen able as yet to accept the new state of things, and convert\nregrets into hopes. A certain hesitation marks their conduct, as\nif in doubt whether to stand out against the new at all hazards,\nand, if need be, fall martyrs to a lost cause, or to accept it\nand do the best they can with it. In this country, where\nCatholicity is not associated with any sort of political\ninstitutions, and Catholics have no old civilization to retain or\nany new order to resist, we, unless educated abroad, are hardly\nable to appreciate the doubts, hesitations, and discouragements\nof Catholics in the old world, and to make the proper allowances\nif at times they seem to attach as Catholics undue importance to\nthe political and social changes going on around them, to be too\ndespondent, and more disposed to cry out against the wickedness\nof the age, to fold their hands, and wait for Providence to\nrearrange all things for them without their co\u00f6peration, than to\nlook the changes events have produced full in the face, and to\nexert themselves, with the help of grace, to bring order out of\nthe new chaos, as their brave old ancestors did out of the chaos\nthat followed the irruption of the northern barbarians, and the\nbreaking up of the Graeco-Roman civilization. It is no light\nthing to see the social and political world in which we have\nlived, and with which we have been accustomed to associate the\ninterests of religion and society falling in ruins under our very\neyes, and we must be pardoned if for a moment we feel that all is\ngone or going.\n\nBut Catholic energy can never be long paralyzed, and already the\nCatholics of Europe are arousing themselves from their apathy,\nrecovering their courage, and beginning to feel aware that the\nchurch depends on nothing temporary, is identified with no\npolitical or social organization, and can survive all the\nmutations of the world around her. Leading Catholics in Europe,\ninstead of wasting their strength in vain regrets for a past that\nis gone, or in vainer efforts to restore what can no longer be\nrestored, are beginning to adjust themselves to the present, and\nto labor to command the future. They are leaving the dead to bury\ntheir dead, and preparing to follow their Lord in the new work to\nbe done for the new and turbulent times in which their lot is\ncast. \"All these things are against me,\" said the patriarch\nJacob, and yet they proved to be all for him and his family. Who\nknows but the untoward events of the last century and the present\nwill turn out for the interests of religion, and that another\nJoseph may be able to say to their authors, \"Ye meant it for\nevil, but God meant it for good?\"\n\n{526}\n\nIn all great political and social revolutions there must always\nbe a moment when men may reasonably doubt whether duty calls them\nto labor to retain what is passing away, or whether they shall\nsuffer it to be buried with honor, and betake themselves with\nfaith and hope and courage to what has supplanted it. That moment\nhas passed in the Old World, and nothing remains but to make the\nbest of the present, and to labor to reconstruct the future in\nthe best way possible. Happily for us, the church, though she may\nlose province after province, nation after nation, and be driven\nto take refuge in the catacombs cannot be broken up, or her\ndivine strength and energy impaired. While she remains, we have\nGod with us, and our case can never be desperate. The church has\nseen darker days than any she now experiences; civilization has\nbeen much nearer its ruin than it is now in Europe, and Catholics\nhave now all the means to surmount present difficulties, which\nsufficed them once to conquer the world. There is no sense in\ndespondency. Cannot the millions of Catholics do to-day what\ntwelve fishermen of Galilee did? Is the successor of Peter to-day\nmore helpless than was Peter himself, when he entered Rome with\nhis staff to preach in the proud capitol of heathendom the\ncrucified Redeemer? The same God that was with Peter, and gave\nefficacy to his preaching, is with his successor; and we who live\nto-day have, if we seek it, all the divine support, and more than\nall the human means, that those Catholics had who subdued the\nbarbarians and laid the foundation of Christian Europe. What they\ndid we may do, if, with confidence in God, we set earnestly about\ndoing it. The world is not so bad now as it was in the first\ncentury or in the sixth century; and there is as strong faith, as\nardent piety, in this age, as in any age that has gone before it.\nNever say, \"We have fallen on evil times.\" All times are evil to\nthe weak, the cowardly, the despondent; and all times are good to\nthe strong, the brave, the hopeful, who dare use the means God\nputs into their hands, and are prepared to do first the duty that\nlies nearest them.\n\nWe see many movements that indicate that our European brethren\nare regaining their courage, and, counting the past, so glorious\nfor Catholics, as beyond recovery, are endeavoring to do what\nthey can in and for the present, quietly, calmly, without noise\nor ostentation; and they will not need to labor long before they\nwill see the \"truths crushed to the earth rise again,\" and a new\norder, Phoenix-like, rising from the ashes of the old, more\nresplendent in beauty and worth, more in harmony with the divine\nspirit of the church, and more favorable to the freedom and\ndignity of man. Truth dies never. \"The eternal years of God are\nhers.\" The Omnipotent reigns, and thus far in the history of the\nchurch, what seemed her defeat, has proved for her a new and more\nbrilliant victory. The church never grows old, and we can afford\nto be patient though earnest in her service. The spirit of God\nnever ceases to hover over the chaos, and order, though disturbed\nfor a time, is sure, soon or late, to reappear.\n\n{527}\n\nWe feel that we have very inadequately discussed the great\nquestion of nature and grace, the adequate discussion of which is\nfar beyond the reach of such feeble abilities and such limited\ntheological attainments as ours; but we have aimed to set forth\nas clearly and as simply as we could what we have been taught by\nour Catholic masters on the relation of the natural to the\nsupernatural; and if we have succeeded in showing that there is\nno antagonism between nature and grace, the natural and the\nsupernatural, the divine sovereignty and human liberty, and that\nwe can be at once pious and manly, energetic as men, and humble\nand devout as Christians, or if we have thrown out any\nsuggestions that will aid others in showing it to the\nintelligence of our age, and if we have been able to speak a word\nof comfort and hope to our brethren who find themselves in a\nposition in which it is difficult to determine how to act, our\npurpose will have been accomplished, and we shall have done no\ngreat but some slight service to the cause to which we feel that\nwe are devoted heart and soul. We have aimed to avoid saying\nanything that could wound the susceptibilities of any Catholic\nschool of theology, and to touch as lightly as possible on\nmatters debated among Catholics. We hope we have succeeded; for\nthese are times in which Catholics need to be united in action as\nwell as in faith.\n\n\n--------\n\n            Matin.\n\n              I.\n\n  Only when mounting sings the lark,\n    Struggling to fields of purer air\n  Silent her music when she turns\n    Back to a world of gloom and care!\n\n\n             II.\n\n  Only when mounting sings my heart,\n    Fluttering on tremulous wing to God!\n  Fainter the music as I fall--\n    Mute, when I reach the lower sod!\n\n\n             III.\n\n  Lark, in my heart this morn astir,\n    Upward to God on eager wing!\n  Seek for one pure, celestial draught,\n    Fresh from th' eternal Music-Spring!\n\n                     Richard Storks Willis.\n\n\n---------\n\n{528}\n\n    A Word about the Temporal Power of the Pope.\n\n\nWhen our Lord Jesus Christ was upon the earth, his enemies were\nable to persecute him and to excite a general hatred against him,\nbut never able to ignore him, to make him forgotten, or to\nprevent the question concerning Christ from being the\nturning-point of the religious and political destiny of the\nJewish people. The efforts they made to extinguish this question\nonly served to extend it all over the world, and make it the\nturning-point of the religious and political destinies of all\nmankind.\n\nIt is the same with the Vicar of Christ. The warfare which is\nwaged against him never removes him out of the way of his\nenemies, or causes him to be ignored by the world; but it\nupheaves and convulses the whole world, political as well as\nreligious. Just at present it is unusually agitated, because for\nsome time past a crisis has seemed to be impending. We have a\nword to say, in the first place, on the attitude of many persons,\nprofessing to be Christians, who do not acknowledge the spiritual\nauthority of the pope, toward the party who are attempting to\nwrest from him by force his temporal authority as sovereign of\nRome.\n\nThat avowed adherents of infidel socialism should disregard the\nprinciples of right and justice does not surprise us, for they\nhave denied the basis of all right and justice. That a portion of\nthe secular press, notorious throughout the world for an utter\nwant of principle, should encourage every revolution which has\nany prospect of success, is precisely what we might expect from\nit, judging by the course it has always pursued, and the base\nmaxims it unblushingly avows. The mockeries and insults of this\nclass of writers are only echoes from the infidel press of\nEurope, and would be despised by every American who believes in\nthe Christian religion and in decency, were they not directed\nagainst the pope. Serious argument upon the right of the matter\nmight as well be addressed to a gorilla as to one of these\nwriters.\n\nThe case is different, however, with those who profess sound\nChristian, moral, and political principles. Such persons are\ngrossly inconsistent with themselves when they favor and sustain\nthe party of Garibaldi who have sought to seize upon the Roman\nterritory by an armed raid, or that party in Italy and Europe who\nadvocate the forcible annexation of this territory to the Italian\nkingdom by its government, with the aid or consent of the other\nnations. They may say that the papacy is a hindrance to pure\nreligion and civilization. So be it. But how is it to be put\ndown? By argument, by moral means, in a just manner, or by\nviolence and injustice? Have not the Catholics of the world a\nright to sustain the papal jurisdiction as a part of their\nreligion? Protestants, no doubt, desire to see it abolished, and\nrejoice in every prospect which presents itself that the temporal\nkingdom of the Pope may be wrested from him, because they think\nthat the loss of his spiritual supremacy will follow. But, have\nthey any right, on this account, to favor unjust and unlawful\nattempts to wrest from him his temporal sovereignty? Is it lawful\nto do evil that good may come? Does the end justify the means?\n\n{529}\n\nThey may say, that it would be better for the Roman people to\nhave another government, and that they have a right, if they\nplease, to establish another. We do not believe they have any\nmore right to do this, than the people of the District of\nColumbia have, to shake off the government of the United States\nand establish another. But we will not argue this point, for it\nis unnecessary. The Roman people have recently shown that they\nprefer to remain as they are. The question is, as to the right of\ndispossessing the pope of his kingdom by a force from without.\nWhat right has the Italian kingdom to the Roman territory? Does\nthe pretence that the glory and advantage of Italy require it to\nhave Rome as a political capital justify its forcible annexation?\nThen interest and might alone make right, we must bid farewell to\nthe hope that justice and law will ever rule in the world, and be\ncontent that the old, barbarous reign of violence, war, and\nconquest should continue for ever.\n\nBut what are we to say of a war, not levied by one king and\npeople against another, but waged by a band of marauders invading\na nation from another nation with which it is at peace, and which\nis bound by solemn treaty to repress all such invasions?\nEnglishmen and Americans are loud enough in condemning\nrebellions, insurrections, violations of the laws and rights of\nnations, where their own countries are the aggrieved parties.\nWhat gross and shameful inconsistency, then, is it, for them to\napplaud an attack like that of the bandit Garibaldi and his horde\nof robbers upon the Roman kingdom. Sympathy and encouragement\ngiven to Mazzini, Garibaldi, and their associates, is sympathy\nand encouragement to a party of atheists and socialists who are\naiming at the complete extirpation of all religion and all\nestablished political and social order from the world.\nProtestants little know to what ruin they are exposing themselves\nin abetting such a party. Their treacherous allies are making use\nof them as mere dupes and tools in their war upon the outward\nbulwarks of the Catholic Church; knowing well that, if they have\nonce carried these, the slight barriers of Protestantism will\noffer but a feeble and momentary resistance. The friends of\npolitical and social order little think what a mine they are\nhelping to run under their own feet, in abetting socialism.\nEngland is beginning already to reap the bitter fruit of the\nseeds of sedition and revolution she has been busily sowing in\nthe soil of Europe. There is no knowing where the just\nretribution of her unprincipled agitation will stop. We have just\nas much cause to dread the irruption of infidelity and socialism\nin our own country. And if it does come, those who boast so much\nof their wealth, their prosperity, their superior culture and\nenlightenment, and attribute this material glory to their\nemancipation from Catholic ideas, will be the first victims of\nthe volcano that will burst under their feet. We trust no such\ncatastrophe will come, either in Europe or America. But if it is\naverted, it will be because the pope will stand his ground; and\nthe event will prove that he has been the saviour not only of\nreligion but also of civilization.\n\nThere are also some considerations which merit the attention of\nCatholics, who do acknowledge the Pope to be the Vicar of Christ,\nand give him their allegiance as the Chief Ruler and Teacher of\nthe Church throughout the whole world.\n\n{530}\n\nThe cause of the Catholic Church everywhere, and of every\nindividual Catholic as a member of the Church, is bound up with\nthe cause of the pope, and is identical with it. He is the head\nof the entire body, not merely as having precedence of dignity\nand honor over other bishops, or a merely nominal primacy, but as\nthe bishop of the entire Catholic Church, laity, clergy and\nbishops included. He is the real head of the body, the source of\njurisdiction, the principle of unity, catholicity, and apostolic\nsuccession, the principal organ of the intelligence and vital\nforce of the Church, of its infallibility in doctrine and\nimmortality in existence. Every blow upon the head affects\nsensibly every member. Every member is bound to exert itself to\nward off all blows aimed at the head, for the preservation of its\nown life. A mortal blow on the head will cause the death of the\nwhole body, and a stunning or seriously injurious blow on the\nhead will paralyze its energies. All particular churches, all\nportions of Christendom, and all individual Christians, receive\ntheir life from communion with the Church of St. Peter, the\nprincipal See, and the Mother and Mistress of the Churches.\n\"Where Peter is, there is the Church.\" The flock fed by the\nsuccessors of St. Peter, the supreme pastor, is the only true\nflock of Christ. \"Feed my lambs, feed my sheep,\" was said to St.\nPeter alone, and whoever is not fed by him, living in his\nsuccessors in the holy Roman Church, with the sound, Catholic\ndoctrine; whoever is not guided and governed by his pastoral\nstaff, is no lamb of the flock of Christ, but an alien and a lost\nsheep. The most illustrious and numerous churches, the most\ncultivated nations, are smitten with spiritual disease, decay,\nand death, when they are severed from the unity of the See of St.\nPeter. The schismatical churches of the East, once the fairest\nportion of the heritage of the Lord, are a witness to this truth.\nSo are the countless sects with their ever-varying,\never-multiplying heresies and divisions, in the West. We may even\nsee in certain parts of the Catholic Church itself, what ruinous\nconsequences follow from impediments placed by the civil power in\nthe way of the full exercise of the papal supremacy over the\nbishops, clergy, and faithful. Bishops lose their independence\nand authority, priests their sacerdotal dignity and influence,\nand the people their Christian piety, as soon as they revolt from\ntheir obedience to the pope; and all these are weakened in\nproportion as his power to exercise his paternal solicitude and\ngovernment over them is enfeebled.\n\nFull, hearty, and loyal allegiance to the pope is therefore an\nessential part of Christian duty. It is the duty and the interest\nof all Catholic Christians, bishops, priests, and laymen, to\nstand by the pope, as the Vicar of our Lord Jesus Christ and\nGod's Vicegerent upon earth; and to make common cause with him,\nas knowing that we must stand or fall together. There are special\nreasons why American Catholics should appreciate this high\nobligation. The American Catholic Church is to a great extent an\noffshoot from the Catholic Church of Ireland. It was the pope who\nsent St. Patrick into Ireland to convert that country from\nheathenism to Christianity. The Irish people have always been\nforemost among all other Catholics in filial reverence, devotion,\nand obedience to the See of St. Peter. When all but one man in\nthe English hierarchy basely deserted their allegiance to the\npope in submission to the will of a tyrant, only one Irish bishop\nof insignificant character imitated their example, and even he\nrepented before his death.\n{531}\nIt was for their loyalty to the pope that the Irish people were\nreduced to _feed on nettles_, both literally and\nfiguratively. The glorious archbishop O'Hurley, tortured on\nStephen's Green and hanged, the intrepid monks hurled into the\nsea from the heights of Bantry, the slaughtered victims of\nDrogheda and Wexford, and the rest of the noble army of Irish\nmartyrs and confessors, suffered and died for this doctrine of\nthe Catholic faith, that the Pope is the Vicar of Jesus Christ\nand the supreme head of the Church upon earth. The whole Irish\nnation has suffered martyrdom for three centuries, for its\nunswerving fidelity to the See of Peter. It would be unworthy of\nus, who have received the sacred plant of faith watered by the\nblood and preserved by the heroism of this faithful nation, and\nnow enjoy full liberty to partake of its fruits and to propagate\nit far and wide, in peace, to degenerate from the sentiments of\nsuch noble ancestors.\n\nMoreover, the Catholic Church in America has ever been under the\nmost immediate and special care of the Holy See, ever obedient\nand loyal, and therefore, ever united and prosperous. Nowhere in\nthe world do the bishops and priests receive a greater degree of\nrespect and obedience from their people, or a more abundant fruit\nfrom their labors in preaching the word and administering the\nsacraments of Christ. No heresy or schism, no violent disputes,\nno extensive alienation of the faithful from their pastors, none\nof those internal disorders which are far more dangerous than any\noutward opposition, have as yet arisen to trouble our peace. The\nchief reason of this is found in the perfect and unbroken union\nof our hierarchy and people with the apostolic See of St. Peter.\nWere it not for this, as there is no coercive force of the state\nto enforce a compulsory exterior unity like that of the Russian\nChurch, and no patriarchal jurisdiction of one bishop over all\nthe others, the decrees of national or provincial synods would\nhave no binding efficacy, the union of bishops with each other\nwould be broken, the authority of the bishops would be defied by\nthe clergy, of the clergy by the people, and the same\ndisintegration tending to final dissolution would take place\namong us which we see in the surrounding sects. The same result\nwould inevitably take place throughout the world, if the\nsupremacy of the successor of St. Peter were overthrown. State\npolicy, and the power of kings and parliaments, are broken reeds\nto lean upon. Were the church left to depend upon these, they\nwould soon withdraw their support, and, bereft of a principle of\ninternal life and unity, Christianity would resolve itself\neverywhere into dust and air, never again to be revived on earth.\n\nPeter, living in the unbroken line of his successors, is the rock\nand foundation upon which the church, that is, Christianity\nitself, is built; and because the gates of hell shall never\nprevail against this rock, to overthrow it, therefore\nChristianity shall endure to the end of the world.\n\nThe full and unimpeded exercise of the spiritual supremacy of the\npope over the Catholic Church throughout the whole world being\nnecessary to its well-being, the perfect independence of this\nsupremacy from all political power is also necessary as the\ncondition of its free exercise. The experience both of the past\nand the present proves that the political power is always\ndisposed to tyrannize over the church and deprive it of its\ndivine right to liberty.\n{532}\nThe only check to this domination of kings over bishops, and the\nonly lever by which the episcopate may be raised out of this\ndependence on the civil power, is the independent power of the\nHoly See. The pope must confirm the nominations to bishoprics,\nand the decrees of local councils, otherwise they are null and\nvoid. Were it not for this prerogative, which Napoleon the First\nviolently but unsuccessfully attempted to wrest from Pius VII.,\nthe king would be the real head of each national church in nearly\nevery Catholic state. If one of these national churches had\nwithin its bounds the principal and supreme see of the whole\nCatholic Church, the sovereign of that nation, through his power\nover the nomination to that see and its administration, would\nhave power to exercise dominion over the Catholic Church. If the\narchbishop of Paris or of Vienna had the supremacy, the emperor\nof France or of Austria would be the virtual head of the Catholic\nChurch, as the English sovereign and the Russian sovereign are\nthe real heads of the English and Russian churches,\nnotwithstanding the nominal primacy of the archbishops of\nCanterbury and of Moscow. Just so, if the pope became the subject\nof a king ruling over his episcopal city of Rome. He could not\nexercise his spiritual supremacy, except in dependence on the\nwill of the sovereign. He could not call an oecumenical council,\nsend a legate, receive an ambassador, issue an encyclical,\npromulgate a decree, receive or send out the documents necessary\nfor the government of the universal church, or possess the\nnecessary means for the transaction of indispensable business,\nwithout the permission of the political authority. In time of\nwar, his communication with the belligerents would be completely\ncut off. The nomination to the sovereign pontificate would either\nreally, or at least in the opinion of other nations, always be\ncontrolled by political influence, and so also would be the\nconfirmations or direct appointments to episcopal sees throughout\nthe world. Laws in regard to marriage or other matters, over\nwhich the sovereign pontiff has direct jurisdiction, might be\npassed, which he would be obliged to condemn, and yet be unable\nto do so, or at least without perpetual conflicts with the civil\npower. He would be continually subject to the treatment which the\nArchbishop of Cologne received from the King of Prussia, and the\nbishops of Italy from Victor Emmanuel, confiscation,\nimprisonment, or exile. The exercise of his supremacy would\ntherefore become impossible. For, it could only be exercised in\ndependence on the will of a monarch or a cabinet, and neither\nkings, bishops, or people would ever submit to such a supremacy.\nHow would American Catholics like to have King Victor Emmanuel\nand Ratazzi or Ricasoli dictating the affairs of the church in\nthis country? Our hierarchy here is, thank God! free from the\ndictation of the state, and the head of our hierarchy must also\nbe a free and independent pope.\n\nIt is folly to imagine another and purely ideal state of things,\nin which the pope might have perfect independence without\nsovereignty. There is no likelihood that such a state of things\nwill become actual, and there would be no security for its\npermanence did it ever begin to exist. Divine Providence has\ngiven the vicar of Christ a temporal sovereignty as the security\nof his independence and the bulwark of the liberty of the\nuniversal church. The pope has solemnly declared that it is the\nnecessary and the bounden duty of all the members of the church,\nwhether kings, prelates, or people, to maintain that sovereignty\nat all hazards.\n{533}\nTo throw the whole burden of sustaining the Holy See and the\nauthority of the successor of St. Peter upon Divine Providence,\nis both presumptuous and cowardly. Christ has promised that his\nchurch shall last to the end of the world, and he will fulfil\nthis promise, if necessary, by miraculous intervention. But he\nhas not promised that particular nations shall not lose the\nfaith, or that faithlessness and cowardice shall not bring after\nthem their natural disastrous consequences. The glory,\nprosperity, and extension of the Catholic Church depend on the\nefforts of the free human will; and the providence or grace of\nGod will not aid us, except in proportion to our fidelity and\ngenerosity in maintaining his cause and our own. Our confidence\nthat the holy Roman Church cannot be overthrown rests on the sure\nfoundation of that divine word, not one iota of which can fail,\neven though heaven and earth may pass away. \"Thou art Peter, and\nupon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell\nshall never prevail against it.\" This is no warrant for our\nabandoning the ground to the enemies of the church, trusting that\nGod will thwart their designs by miraculous intervention. But it\nis an encouragement to loyalty, fidelity, and unalterable hope in\nthe ultimate triumph of the holy cause. It is our duty to do all\nin our power to secure this triumph by our own efforts, and\nhaving done this, we may then leave the result in the hands of\nDivine Providence. We can never foresee, with certainty, through\nwhat straits Divine Providence will permit the church to pass, or\nhow far it will allow the designs of her enemies to proceed\ntoward an apparent ultimate success. Nevertheless, there does not\nappear at present so much reason to apprehend dark and disastrous\ndays for the church and religion, as there did during the epoch\npreceding the present one. Even during the reign of the present\nseverely tried but indomitable chief pastor of the church, there\nhave been periods far more critical and threatening than the\npresent. Indeed, we may say that those Catholics who are\ndesponding and discouraged now, derive their reason for\nforeboding evil more from their own timidity and impatience than\nfrom any real external motives. The Holy See is in perpetual\nconflict against powerful enemies, no doubt, and the Holy Father\nsometimes threatened with a prospect of exile from Rome. Yet,\nnotwithstanding this, the march of events continually brings\nnearer the reconciliation and pacification of Christendom, upon\nthe basis of a universal recognition of the independence and\ninviolability of the sacred domain of the Roman Church, which God\nhas set apart as the seat of the successor of St. Peter. In\ntruth, there has often been in the past a greater need of\nabsolute reliance on the predictions of the divine word as the\nonly firm ground of hope, than at present. We are not called upon\nfor the same heroic exercise of faith and hope which was exacted\nfrom our ancestors. We can look back upon the dangers and trials\nthrough which they passed, and find in their result a reproach\nfor our own pusillanimity, and a support for our confidence in\nthe present and future triumph of the church. We are in an\ninvincible fortress, on an immovable rock; and yet we do not\nappreciate the strength of our position as clearly as those do\nwho are tossing about on the turbulent sea of the surrounding\nworld. Although humiliating, it is yet true, that we can find no\nlanguage so well adapted to stimulate faint-hearted Catholics to\ncourage, as that uttered under an overawing compulsion by\nadversaries or aliens to the church.\n{534}\nOne of the most eloquent of these reluctant tributaries, carried\naway by a kind of natural ecstasy, in contemplating this glorious\ntheme, like another Balaam blessing the tents of Israel, rises to\na kind of sublimity far above his usual flight, and seems to\nspeak with a catholic inspiration worthy of a Bossuet. He is\nspeaking of that dark era when Pius VII. ascended the chair of\nSt. Peter, and these are his words:\n\n  \"It is not strange that in the year 1799 even sagacious\n  observers should have thought that at length the hour of the\n  Church of Rome was come: an infidel power ascendant, the pope\n  dying in captivity, the most illustrious prelates of France\n  living in a foreign country on Protestant alms, the noblest\n  edifices which the munificence of former ages had consecrated\n  to the worship of God turned into temples of victory, or into\n  banqueting houses for political societies, or into\n  Theophilanthropic chapels; such signs might well be supposed to\n  indicate the approaching end of that long domination. But the\n  end was not yet; again doomed to death, the milkwhite hind was\n  still fated not to die. Even before the funeral rites had been\n  performed over the ashes of Pius VI., a great reaction had\n  commenced, which, after the lapse of more than forty years,\n  appears to be still us progress. Anarchy had had its day; a new\n  order of things rose out of the confusion, new dynasties, new\n  laws, new titles, and amidst them emerged the ancient religion.\n  The Arabs have a fable that the great Pyramid was built by\n  antediluvian kings, and alone, of the works of men, bore the\n  weight of the flood. Such as this was the fate of the papacy;\n  it had been buried under the great inundation, but its deep\n  foundations had remained unshaken, and, when the waters abated,\n  it appeared alone amid the ruins of a world which had passed\n  away. The republic of Holland was gone, the empire of Germany,\n  and the great council of Venice, and the Helvetian League, and\n  the house of Bourbon, and the parliaments and aristocracy of\n  France. Europe was full of young creations; a French empire, a\n  kingdom of Italy, a confederation of the Rhine; nor had the\n  late events affected only territorial limits and political\n  institutions; the disposition of property, the composition and\n  spirit of society, had, through a great part of Catholic\n  Europe, undergone a complete change; but _the unchangeable\n  church was still there._\"\n\nThe unchangeable church was still there, when Pius VII. was\nrestored to his episcopal city, where his successors, one after\nthe other, ascended the throne of St. Peter, and when Macaulay\nwrote the words we have quoted. It is still there, now, after all\nthe commotions of the last twenty years; there it will be until\nthe day prefixed by the Creator for the end of all human\ninstitutions. We may apply to it, in a more elevated and\nspiritual sense, the words of the poet\n\n  \"While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand;\n   When falls the Colisaeum, Rome shall fall;\n   _And when Rome falls, the world._\"\n\n--------\n\n{535}\n\n\n       Plagiarism and John Bunyan.\n\n\nThere are not many writers of any popularity or eminence who have\nnot in their day, either in their own behalf or by the sensitive\nproxy of their intimate friends, had occasion for self-defence\nagainst the charge of plagiarism. From young authors especially,\nsome little slur or other on this tender point is pretty sure, at\nsome time, to evoke a thin-skinned answer, replete with a\npeculiar modest defensive ferocity that critics know by heart,\nand grin over with a grim relish. This is a thing of course--a\nwell-marked stage of the fever of authorship. Only we notice that\nmost of those who begin with young Byron's philippics end with\nold Wordsworth's philosophy. The fact is, splendid sensitiveness,\nhere as everywhere, does not pay, and beyond most men the author\nfinds it cost him dear. For of all ill-matched and absurd\ncontroversies, there is none like a wrangle about plagiarism. It\nis a duel of javelins and catapults, of fly and lion. All the\nadvantage is with the attacking party. The accusation is vague\nand sweeping to the last degree, and the easiest imaginable to\nmake. It need not even be said; it can be sneered. And how cheap\nit is to be sophistical about it! A little ingenuity to cook up a\nfactitious resemblance, a little malice to point a bit of irony\nor innuendo, and the thing is done. To rebut such crimination may\ntake days of labor. These very days consumed, too, are so much\ndead disadvantage; the whole matter grows stale the while. Then\nthe answer must not only conclusively meet the charge, both as to\nthe _animus furandi_ and the fact of theft, but it must be\nintrinsically interesting, both to revive interest enough in the\nsubject for the reading public to go to the trouble of revising\nits opinion, and because every word an author writes is matter\nfor fresh criticism, while his opponent may waive all pretensions\nto style. Practically we incline to think it is much as in\nbattle, where it takes a man's weight in lead to kill him. Now\nand then, some one is demolished utterly by one of these\nelaborate broadsides, but the number of them that miss the mark\nmust be enormous. It is only effects and successes that we all\nremember. The shot that sunk the Alabama at a few hundred yards,\nmade more impression in history than the dozens of idle shell\nthat the great Sawyer gun used to send spinning miles away over\nthe Ripraps. One general net result is a vast waste of the\nauthor's time, which is always valuable to him, and sometimes to\nthe public. And after all, with the truest aim and best\npowder--who is hit? Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, some\nnobody. And this is truer every day. Pope and Byron could at\nleast single out their Dennises and Amos Cottles by name; but\nnowadays, what with pseudonyms and anonyms, and above all the\neditorial pronoun, one fights the very air.\n\nThus we find authors of standing strangely meek under audacious\nstrictures of this sort, and very little given to tilting at the\nmosquitoes of the press. This is more than dignity; it is sense.\nBut (and now we strike the point we have been coming at all this\nwhile) the world draws from this fact a very exaggerated\ninference.\n{536}\nIt seems, to reverse the old law rule, that one story's good till\nanother is told. The very fact of an accusation's going\nunanswered seems to crush it under a _vis inertiae_ of\nsilence. This is all worldly wise, but not very infallible. If a\nman shouts something against me before my street-door, and I let\nhim shout away at his own sweet will, I am tolerably sure,\nwhether it be truth or calumny he is vociferating, that his wind\nmust give out after a while. The world, though, is apt instead of\nlistening to him, to stare up at my window, and see if I mind it.\nIf I make no sign, he is a vituperator, and some good citizen\njust mentions him to the policeman round the corner. But all this\nwhile may not he be bawling the blessed truth, and I slinking\nbehind the shutters? Public opinion says no. If a man of standing\ndoes not deign or see fit to come out against a charge, it is a\nfabrication or a fancy sketch. Now, the truth is, as history well\nknows, that there is a vast amount of systematic stealing in the\nworld of letters, and that these same majestic gentlemen, who are\nabove replies, have done their very fair share of the stealing.\nWhat is the effect, then, of this false estimate of men and\nthings? This: that when a writer has once attained station, with\na decent regard to the conventionalities of literary larceny, he\ncan steal all he chooses with impunity. All he has to do is to\nalter enough to keep him that runs from reading the resemblance.\nThis done, there remains the one risk that some one who cannot be\nignored may expose the theft. But this risk is not, by far, so\ngreat as it seems. The man of calibre enough for the task is\ngenerally an amiable man, and always a busy one, and has plenty\nof pleasanter things to do than airing his neighbor's\npeccadilloes. Besides, it is an even chance but he has some\nlittle appropriation of his own to cover up, and this\nfellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind. Thus a very little\njudgment in the selection of the author stolen from passes the\nwhole fraud scot free. And there are good reasons why there\nshould be a good deal of this fraud. _First-class plagiarism\npays_, like everything first-class. It has a high market\nvalue, with large and ungrudging profits. For the reading power\nis omnivorous, and it feels that an old author made modern, or a\nforeign author made native, is not as good as new but better.\nPisistratus Caxton is a vast improvement on _Tristram\nShandy_, and the _Comedy of Errors_ on the\n_Menaechmi_; and the primmest of the decriers read Bulwer\nand Shakespeare, and do _not_ read Plautus and Sterne.\nBoucicault's plays draw in London, and we never hear of English\npurists staying away till they can go to see the originals at\nParis. But it is idle to multiply instances. The fact is too\npatent to need illustrating, that the nineteenth century prefers\nessences of books to books, and the juice of literary fruit to\nthe fruit itself. Extracts, and digests, and compilations and\nabridgments, and _horti sicci_ of all sorts are the order of\nthe day, and the old fogies, who prate of _meum_ and\n_tuum_, and dream of international copyright, and read old\nauthors through, _\"miranturque nihil nisi quod Libitina\nsacravit,\"_ find that these are all side issues. The public\ndoes not care a rush where a man gets what it wants. This may be\nthe best law, or it may not; the law it certainly is. Let any one\nwho doubts the popularity of plagiarism, only take up that fine,\nfurious, generous little book, Mr. Reade's _Eighth\nCommandment_, and see for himself what is the fashion and what\nis not.\n\n{537}\n\nBut the honest crusader against literary despoilers and\ndesecrators, soon finds that without the limits of downright\npillage lies a vast debatable land, which has been the Flanders,\nthe Kentucky, the Quadrilateral of critic controversy from time\nimmemorial--the territory of mere resemblance. This is far more\ndifficult ground, because the critic's own fallible perceptions\nof likeness enter as an element of possible error into his\njudgment, and the danger of doing injustice is great. Here, it is\ntrue, are found the expertest plagiarists of all--the vampires of\nliterature--the thieves that steal the soul and leave the body.\nBut close beside them stand the true scholars, to whose assiduity\nbooks yield up an honest wealth, and who melt and mould their\nwell-worn treasure into solid ingots of golden thought or\nexquisite fretwork of glittering fancies. And more puzzling than\nboth, we have the myriad legions of fugitive resemblances--an\narmy of ghosts, present to the comparing consciousness, but\nimpalpable to the analyzing sense. Obviously it will not do to\napply here the martial law of literary vindication. Men are too\nmuch alike to be damned for striking even strange coincidences.\nAmong the best writers there are so many parallelisms that a mind\nwith any turn for hunting phantoms of similarity, soon comes to\nthe saying of King Solomon about nothing new under the sun. At\nany rate, if it ever did exist, the era of entire novelty is of\nthe past now. Take out what a keen, well-read man could trace to\nShakespeare, Byron, Macaulay, Carlyle, the Bible, the Greek\ntragedians, the Standard Speakers, and the Declaration of\nIndependence, and how much is there left of to-day's English and\nAmerican literature? Yet among the imitations, if there are many\nwilful and culpable, there are many more innocent and unwitting.\nTrue, not every one is born with so developed an organ of\nunconsciousness as Mr. A. M. W. Ball, who astonished himself by\noriginating some one else's poem in full. But very few read over\ntheir familiar authors without finding the germs of a thousand\nthoughts they had never suspected not to be all their own.\nIndeed, for some time after beginning, a young author could, if\nhe should choose, (which he doesn't,) pluck up his ideas like\nyoung blades of corn, and find the original seed of some pet\nauthor at the root.\n\nBut critics have called the name of plagiarist far too often and\ntoo lightly. The charge is old enough, heaven knows, for people\nto know what they mean by it. Waiving those ancient Sanscrit\nsages, who seem with malice prepense to have been born so long\nago that we can't more than half believe in them, and before\nthere was any intelligible language for them to be wise in, we\nfind that Job, our oldest modern writer, has been read out of the\nrubric by a theologue somewhere out West, who has discovered in\nhis style gross and servile plagiarisms from the Bible. Homer\nstood tolerably well till the German omniscients found out that,\nlike Artemus Ward's friend, Brigham Young's mother-in-law, he was\nnumerous, when it at once becomes plain, from the great\nuniformity of style, that _each one_ of him must have been a\nmost accomplished plagiarist from the remaining fractional bards.\nHorace's spiteful and uncalled for commentaries on Lucilius,\nbesides the outrageous ill taste of them, show that there was\nsome shrewdness in the bite of the _cimex Pantilius_, the\nblear-eyed Crispinus, and other literary gentlemen--probably\ngood fellows enough, too--as those ancient Bohemians went--who,\nno doubt, hinted at little likenesses between his _sermo\nmerus_ and Lucilius' _sal nigrum_.\n{538}\nMartial's epigrams have crucified a dozen thieves into\nimmortality. And so the old bandying of hard words has come down\nthe annals of literature, till the self-same wave of bitterness\nthat whelmed the luckless insect Pantilius foams about the\nshallows of Mr. Swinburne's self-defence, and finally goes\ncombing over the City Hall with Mr. Charles Reade for its\nNeptune, and threatens to make flotsam of that cosy fixture, the\n_Round Table_. Yet, with all these precedents to define it,\nplagiarism is to-day a purely relative term--a weapon of the\npartisan wars of letters. If our enemies commit a coincidence,\nthat is plagiarism; when our friends pilfer, it is adaptation,\nversion, studies in style, or some other euphemism.\n\nModern criticism has not signalized its advance by establishing\nany principle to decide this difficult question of what is really\nplagiarism. There is absolutely no standard or criterion yet, and\neach one who wishes to form a right opinion, is thrown upon his\nown devices to reach it. Amid the many delicacies and\ndifficulties of judging in this matter, we have found, or fancied\nwe found, one rule of singular service in guiding us to a\nsatisfactory conclusion. It is noteworthy, to say the least, that\nalmost all the great plagiarists and imitators of all time have\nbeen writers of the self-conscious or _subjective_ order;\nmen who wrote with Mrs. Grundy uppermost, and their theme next;\nwhose real and primary aim was to exhibit and exalt themselves;\nto feed their personal vanity, ambition, or greed. The objective\nor intuitive class, on the contrary--those who wrote because they\nwere full of their subject; thinking of it, feeling it, full of\nit; those in brief who develop their natures instead of\nadvantaging themselves, are almost never caught depredating\nintentionally, while their very intentness on what they may have\nto say makes them the most frequent of unconscious imitators in\nmere manner and expression.\n\nIt may be generalizing too much to say that this fact contains a\nprinciple, but we do think it points to a presumption. The more\nsatisfactory the rule, however, the more puzzling the exception,\nand in applying this test of subjectivity, we strike on quite a\nlittle _casus conscientiae_, in the issues presented by the\ntwo books which form our text.\n\nOf all English writers, one of the last to pitch on for a\nplagiarist is honest John Bunyan. He, if ever man was, is\nsincere, objective--a convinced missionary and messenger. Grave,\nrough, outspoken, self-praising, yet rigid, he seems at a first\nglance to embody and epitomize his age; that strange, fermented,\nfanatical age, when England seems one vast presbytery--a\nMassachusetts of political, social, and religious austerities and\nextremes; when the Englishmen of history seem to lose their\ncharacteristics for a while, and turn to foreshadowed, mediaeval\nYankees; when we never think of them in connection with blonde\nlove-locks and blue eyes, and slashed doublets, and foaming ale,\nand big, merry, unmeant oaths, and cheery taverns, and champing\nsteeds; but as stern, sombre, black-a-vised, steel-capped,\npraying infantry, with jerkins on their backs, and Sternhold and\nHopkins in every third knapsack. Yet, when we look closely,\nBunyan is not so representative a man as he appears.\n{539}\nHe was not only a better and bolder man than his fellows, but at\nbottom a different one. The reason why he typifies so much of\nthose days is really that the man had a large measure of that\ntact for apparent conformity with the masses which is the essence\nof popularity, and which in him covered much independence. A\nhundred years later, he would have been the Francis Asbury of\nEngland. Under the Puritan crust lay hidden a red-hot Methodist.\nHis autobiography--by far his most interesting work, in our\nopinion--is full of an ebullient fervor that was then a favorite\nnovelty, is now to most of us a psychological study, but would\nwaken only electric sympathy without a touch of surprise in many\na circuit-riding itinerant of the south-west--unless, perhaps, he\nshould wonder that there were such orthodox Methodists so long\nago. He also fails in not representing that pragmatical hypocrisy\nwhich culminated in the Rump Parliament and Praisegod Barebones,\nand finally rotted the Commonwealth into the Restoration.\nControversial and conceited he may have been, and he had no\nlittle reason to be honestly proud of the volcanic force of\nmanliness that found him an imbruted tinker-boy, and made him a\nrespected leader of his people. But in his great work no man\ncould be more self-forgetful, more impersonal, more transparent\nto the thought within him. He is rife, permeated, possessed with\nhis subject. His powerful imagination, always morbidly vivid, and\nat times in his life, disordered, bends its full force to the\nwork. \"He saw the things of which he was writing,\" says one of\nhis biographers, \"as distinctly with his mind's eye, as if they\nwere indeed passing before him in a dream.\" Now, this is not the\nsort of man to go culling other people's words for his warm and\nswarming fancies. But moreover Bunyan was attacked in his\nlifetime with charges of plagiarism, and replied with his usual\naggressive emphasis, and in his characteristic doggerel--in the\npreface to his _Holy War_.\n\n  \"Some say the Pilgrim's Progress is not mine,\n   Insinuating as if I would shine\n   In name and fame by the worth of another,\n   Like some made rich by robbing of their brother.\n\n  \"Or that so fond I am of being sire,\n   I'll father bastards, or, if need require,\n   I'll tell a lie in print to get applause.\n   I scorn it; John such dirt-heap never was\n   Since God converted him. Let this suffice\n   To show why I my Pilgrim patronize.\n\n  \"It came from mine own heart, so to my head,\n   And thence into my fingers trickled;\n   Then to my pen, from whence immediately\n   On paper I did dripple it daintily.\n\n  \"Manner and matter too was all mine own;\n   Nor was it unto any mortal known,\n   Till I had done it. Nor did any then,\n   By books, by wits, by tongues, or hand, or pen,\n   Add five words to it, or wrote half a line\n   Thereof; the whole and every whit is mine.\" ...\n\nThis leaves the suggestion of plagiarism apparently little room\nto stand upon, unless it fall back upon some safe generality,\nsuch as that in a republic (or commonwealth) all things are\npossible, or that the heart is deceitful and desperately wicked,\netc.\n\nAgainst this giant of truth, panoplied in the very _robur et as\ntriplex_ of self-conscious originality, comes out the queerest\nantagonist imaginable--a French David against a Welsh Goliath.\nThese little books altogether deserve a passing word. Both are\npublished privately and by subscription. One, the later, is a\nmere translation, arising out of its predecessor. The other is a\nmost singular compilation, from a number of notes which one Mr.\nNathaniel Hill, M.R.S.L., as we are not surprised to learn, died\nmaking. They make a book very unlike most books. To begin with,\nMr. Basil Montagu Pickering, the publisher, has taken for his\nmotto, \"Aldi Discipulus Anglus,\" and the printing is an excellent\nimitation of that famous old press which so many dead scholars\nhave blessed, and so many dead printers doubtless sworn at.\n{540}\nThen the engravings are very curious ones, copied from the oldest\neditions of the original, and combine a childlike range of\nscenery with a Chinese mastery of perspective. The text, though,\nis vilely marred by a variation of plan. Mr. Hill's idea was to\nshow the indebtedness of Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_ to\nmany earlier works, and its principal creditor happened to be\nthis _P\u00e9lerinage de l'Homme_ of Guillaume De Guileville. His\neditors finding it so quaint, were struck by the bright\nafterthought of making this book itself the main subject. It may\nhave sold better, but for ourselves we differ _toto caelo_\nwith their taste. Their method defies order, and results in a\nmost extraordinary hotch-potch of queer quotations, Scripture\nreferences past number, antique French, archaic English to match,\nbiographies, analogies, and translations, that reads like a fit\nof levity of old Fuller, or an _excursus_--or\npilgrimage--from the _Anatomy of Melancholy_. Add now to all\nthis, that to an old-fashioned translation of an antiquated poem\nby an obsolete monk, there are appended a body of notes full of\nall sorts of odd learning, and finally, that translation, notes\nand all, are by a woman, and the _outr\u00e9_ picture is\ncomplete.\n\nThe comparison between De Guileville and Bunyan is not originated\nby this book. Southey, among others, speaks of the\n_P\u00e9lerinage_, which he entitles the _P\u00e9lerin de la Vie\nHumaine_, (although this name is not given it in any of the\neditions on the very full list of this volume,) and dismisses the\nsubject with a wary vagueness that has to our ear a\n_soup\u00e7on_ of Podsnappery, and somehow makes us doubt if the\nworthy laureate ever read the book at all. But, at any rate, this\nis by far the most extended comparison yet made, and all the\nbetter in that it does not argue a preconceived theory.\n\nOne thing, at least, it plainly proves--that Master Bunyan very\nmuch overstated his originality in saying that manner and matter\ntoo were all his own. It shows that from the time of the Norman\ntroubadors (not to go back to the Apocalypse of St. John) the\ndream-form which is the framing of _The Pilgrim's Progress_\nwas a common and favorite device, and instances _Piers\nPlowman's Vision,_ (A.D. 1369,) Walter de Mapes's\n_Apocalypsis Golice_, the older poem, _The Debate of the\nBody and the Soul_, Lydgate's _Temple of Glass_,\nHampole's _Prycke of Conscience_, (1349,) Sir David Lyndesay\nof the Mount's poem, _The Dreme_, (1528,) and _Dunbar's\nDaunce_, (1470.) Probably Bunyan, not being accused of\nstealing so obvious and public an artifice, did not have it in\nmind at all when he made his sweeping self-assertion.\n\nIn looking further for resemblances, those who expect to find\nstrong similarity of any sort will be disappointed. In fact, they\nwould in ordinary cases be dismissed as trivial. But we must\nremember the vast difference between the two works. De\nGuileville's is a true mediaeval monastic \"boke,\" justly\ndescribed in this volume as \"a cold and lifeless dialogue between\nabstract and unembodied qualities.\" It is, in all but its ancient\nquaintness, the dullest and driest of books; there is not a ray\nof reality in it anywhere. Bunyan, on the contrary, gives us men\nand women where the old prior of Chaliz has nothing but ghosts of\nabstract ideas. One is like the antiquated masques or\nmiracle-plays; the other like the theatre before Garrick's day.\n{541}\nThus between a galvanized French _Roman_ of 1330 and a live\nEnglish book of 1670, by a man innocent of French, any\nresemblance in diction would not only be matter of wonder but\nmatter of the merest chance. We will, however, cite a few of the\nparallelisms given in the comparison which forms the gist and\npith of these volumes. And first comes one which we cite because\nit contains the only lines we have seen worth remembering in De\nGuileville's dreary waste of dialogue. He is describing the lady\n(Gracedieu) whom his _P\u00e9lerin_ meets at the outset.\n\n        De Guileville.\n\n  _\"Moult courtoise et de douce ch\u00e8re\n   Me fut grandement car premi\u00e8re\n   Me saulua en demandant\n   Pourquoy nauoie meilleur semblant\n   Et pour quelle cause ie pleuroye\n   Et saucune defaulte auoie.\n   Adonc ie fuz comme surpris\n   Pource que pas nauoye apris\n   Que dame de si grant atour\n   Daignast vers moi faire vng seul tour\n   Fors et seullement pour autant\n   Que cil qui a bonte plus grant\n   Plus a en soy dhumilite\n   Grant doulceur et benignite\n   CAR PLUS A LE POMMIER DE POMMES\n   PLUS BAS SENCLINE VERS LES HOMMES,\n   Et ne scay signe de bonte\n   Si grant comme est humilite,\n   Qui ne porte ceste baniere\n   Na vertu ne bonte entiere.\"_ [Footnote 52]\n\n    [Footnote 52:\n      \"Full courteously, and in most gentle wise\n      Made she first salutation, questioning\n      Wherefore that I bore not more cheerful mien\n      And why I wept, and if in aught I lacked.\n      And then I was as one o'erta'en with wonder,\n      That lady of so great nobility\n      Should even deign to turn towards such as I,\n      Saving for this sole cause, that whoso most\n      Of gracious ruth doth bless, the same alway\n      Most in his bosom bears of lowliness.\n      For the more rich in store of golden fruit,\n      More deeply bendeth unto man the tree.\n      Nor know I any sign of graciousness\n      Great as humility. Who bears not that\n      Graved on his banner, hath not truly virtue.\"]\n\n\n     Lydgate's Translation.\n\n  This ladye that I spak of here\n  Was curteys and of noble chere\n  And wonderly of gret vertu,\n  And ffyrst she 'gan me to salue\n  In goodly wise axynge of me\n  What maner thyng yt myght be\n  Or cause why I should hyr lere\n  That I made so heavy chere,\n  Or why that I was aye wepyng,\n  Wher of when I gan take hede\n  I ffyl into a maner drede\n  For unkonnyng and leudnesse\n  That ache of so great noblesse\n  Dysdenede not in her degre\n  To speke to on so pore as me;\n  But yiff it were so, as I guess,\n  Al only of hyr gentyllenesse,\n  For gladly wher is most beute\n  Ther is grettest humylyte,\n  And that ys verrylye the sygne\n  Suych ar most goodly and benygne,\n  An apple tre with frut most lade\n  To folk that stonden in the shade\n  More lowly doth his branches loute\n  Then a nother tre withoute.\n  Wher haboundeth most goodness\n  There is ay most of meeknesse,\n  None so gret token of bewte\n  As is parfyt humylyte.\n  Who wanteth hyr in hys banere\n  Hath not vertu hool and entere.\n\n\"The same gracious salutation,\" says our book, \"is made by\nEvangelist to Christian whilst he is weeping.\" \"I looked then,\"\nsays Bunyan, \"and saw a man named Evangelist coming to him, who\nasked, 'Wherefore dost thou cry?' 'Because I fear,' replies\nChristian, 'that this burden that is upon my back will sink me\nlower than the grave, and I shall fall into the grave.'\"\n\nThe simile of the fruit-tree is excellent, and perhaps strikes us\nthe better for its being the one oasis. The resemblance also is\nstrong between the greetings of _Gracedieu_ and Evangelist,\nand in fact, in the whole situation, and seems hard to account\nfor without supposing Bunyan to have known Lydgate's or some\nother translation of the earlier author.\n\nThe next point is one of apparent discrepancy, but really of\nlikeness. The _P\u00e9lerin_ is stopped by a _stream_, at\nwhich he desponds--signifying the water of baptism at the\nentrance to the church. Bunyan being a Baptist, with strong\nliberal views of communion, (which, indeed, embroiled him at one\ntime with the radicals of his sect,) naturally balked at this\nabhorrent papistical metaphor, and substituted his famous\n_Slough of Despond_, which, it will be remembered, he makes\nto be sixteen hundred years old--the age of Christianity at his\nday.\n\n{542}\n\nAnother slight touch, perhaps worth noting, is where De\nGuileville's pilgrims come from Moses, (the Mr. Legality of\nBunyan,) as if\n\n  _\"Yssys du bourbier,\n   Ou dun noir sac a charbonnier:\"_\n\nwhile Pliable, in a like case, is represented as seeming\n\"bedaubed with dirt,\" as if he had been \"_dipped in a sack of\ncharcoal._\" This certainly looks like a pebble for Goliath's\nforehead. Also these same muddy pilgrims of the\n_P\u00e9lerinage_, returning _\"Enbordiz et encore tous\nfamilleux\"_ come back all of a tremor and beg to join the\nothers: so Christian, after his episode at Mr. Legality's, falls\nat the feet of Evangelist with prayers to be put again in the way\nof salvation. Again Christian's second companion _Hopeful_\nand the _P\u00e9lerin's_ staff _Hope_ are branches of one\nidea. Farther on, _Gracedieu_ presents her _prot\u00e9g\u00e9_\nwith \"the identical pebbles that David had in his scrip when he\nfought against Goliath.\" Bunyan makes the damsels of the palace\ncalled Beautiful, in exhibiting that establishment to the\ndelighted Christian, display, among other aesthetic accessories\nof the place, \"the sling and stone with which David slew Goliath\nof Gath.\"\n\nAnother curious parallelism is not cited at all in this book. De\nGuileville's hero is accosted by Avarice, who, in true Amazon\nstyle, swears by her golden _mammet_ she carries on her head\n(\"_mon ydole est mon Mahommet_\" says the old lady,\ninstructively) that she will have his life, and makes him the\nalluring proposal, either to be killed at once, or to give up his\nstaff and scrip, bow down to her _mammet_, acknowledge it\nthe most worshipful of mammets, and then be killed after all.\nThis reminds us very forcibly of the impressive occasion which so\nwrought on our childhood's susceptibilities, when \"Apollyon\nstraddled quite over the whole breadth of the way, and said, 'I\nam void of fear in this matter; _prepare thyself to die; for I\nswear by my infernal den,_ that you shall go no farther: here\nwill I spill thy soul!'\" etc.\n\nSuch are the main body of the resemblances between the good old\nCistercian abbot and the sturdy Baptist exhorter. There are many\nwho will look them over and decide quite readily with Mr. Southey\nthat the coincidences are fugitive and illusory, and that, as he\nsays, _The Pilgrim's Progress_ might have been exactly what\nit is, whether Bunyan had ever seen this book or not.\" But this\ndoes not show either much acumen or much thought in Mr. Southey.\nFor all he says might be true from the reason we have before\nsuggested--that Bunyan knew no French, or certainly not enough to\nmaster the dialect of De Guileville, and might see the book a\nthousand times quite harmlessly. We confess, even that if Bunyan\nhad really been familiar with the original poem, these\nsimilarities would be trifling. But when he must have drawn if at\nall from some one of the numerous translations--all\nindifferently poor--which abounded in his time, slight\nresemblances mean more. Those who have ever played at the\nwell-known game of passing a story through a number of persons,\none by one, will appreciate the force of this. Bunyan could\nscarcely help seeing some of the translations. For, strange to\nsay, this, to us the baldest of books, was popular for\ngenerations, both in France and England. It is hard to understand\nthese cases. We are apt to look upon them as instances of the\ninveterate slowness of ancient people; but apart from the fact\nthat this slowness is a very difficult thing to analyze, we know\nthat in a few years we shall be slow ourselves.\n{543}\nBut what every one does not think is, that we are slow to-day.\nAny one who happens to glance over the shelves of any of our\nlarge publishing houses can find there numbers of dull-seeming\nworks, on various specialties, full of facts, figures,\ndemonstrations, discoveries, and what seems to us literally\nlumber of all sorts. Yet these books sell, and pay an invariable\nprofit to a well-established house. Who buys them and what\nbecomes of them, we shall probably learn when the disappearance\nof pins, and the necessity of summer clothing, and the origin of\nevil, are duly cleared up. Certain it is, that the _P\u00e9lerinage\nde l'Homme_ enjoyed a wide reputation and diffusion. Chaucer,\nespecially, was familiar with its author, and his famous \"A, B,\nC,\" is a palpable and, so far as we know, an undisguised\nimitation of De Guileville's _Prayer to the Virgin_,\npublished in the same year 1330. Now, a work which, after\nfiltering through three hundred years, another language and the\nbrains of \"painfulle\" translators, could still yield the germ of\nthe most nationally popular book in all English literature, has\nsome claim to be called its original.\n\nWe shall not attempt to pass upon the question of plagiarism, for\nthe honest reason that, as we have said, we really do not exactly\nknow what the word means in the critical vernacular of to-day.\nThe coincidences we have cited would certainly go to show that\n_The Pilgrim's Progress_ is not the entire novelty which its\nauthor so explicitly proclaims it. On the other hand, it is not\nproven to complete satisfaction that \"John such a dirt-heap ever\nwas\" as to mean to steal anything from anybody. Perhaps the most\npeaceable as well as the most novel conclusion that suggests\nitself, is to harmonize both sides of this question by a third\ntheory, namely, that one may be a palpable plagiarist, as the\nword is often used, without in the slightest degree detracting\nfrom his originality. The statement sounds extraordinary, but its\ningenious advocate, M. Philar\u00e8te Chasles, is an extraordinary\nFrenchman, and is talking when he advances it, about the \"divine\nWilliams,\" who is an extraordinary subject for a Frenchman to\ntalk about. We are very much mistaken if those who smile at this\nseeming contradiction of terms will not find some force in the\nsubjoined excerpt, which we premise, however, suffers greatly in\ntranslation for want of the peculiar super-emphatic style of the\noriginal French.\n\n  \"Genius arranges and imitates, studies\n   and deepens; _it never invents_.\"\n\n  \"Genius consists in understanding better, penetrating better,\n   surrounding with more light, what every one does\n   superficially, or understands by half. One of the singular\n   traits of Shakespeare is his supreme indifference as to the\n   subject he is to treat of. _He never cares about it;_ the\n   excellent artisan knows how to find material in everything. He\n   takes up at hap-hazard a pebble, a bit of wood, a block of\n   granite, a block of marble. Little he cares for his\n   predecessor's having made an old king disinherited by his\n   daughters, act and talk upon the stage; it is a fact like any\n   other fact, that counts for no more and no less. Shakespeare\n   goes on to find whatever of tears and of power there is in the\n   soul of this old man.\"\n\n  \"_People to-day are running after an inventiveness which real\n   originality lacks;_ it dwells in the artist, not in the\n   materials he employs. With all great men it is tradition, it\n   is the people, it is the common heritage of ideas and customs\n   that has gathered the materials. They have taken them as they\n   came, and then laid their foundations, transmuted them,\n   immortalized them.\n\n  \"If what is called invention were not a deceptive quality, we\n   should have to rate much higher than Dante, the first idle\n   monk, who wrote, in lumbering style, a vision of Paradise and\n   Hell; the coarse authors of certain Italian delineations would\n   carry the day over Moli\u00e8re; the unknown writers of certain\n   chronicles, divided into acts, would eclipse Shakespeare.\n\n{544}\n\n  \"In the epochs of literary decadence those are taken for\n   inventors who, impelled by a certain ardor of temperament, and\na certain fieriness of phrase, dislocate words and images, and\n   think they have launched ideas. These folk proclaim themselves\norators. Montaigne, Shakespeare, Moli\u00e8re took to themselves no\n   merit but that of studying nature, the world, and man.\"\n\n  \"The true function of genius is to second.\n   --_Etudes sur IV. Shakespeare, etc._,\n   par Philar\u00e8te Chasles. 1851; p. 88, _sqq._\n\nThere is no labor like making up one's mind, (unless it be,\nkeeping it made up,) and we own ourselves charmed to find in this\nacute and able reasoning an outlet of escape from the whole duty\nof decision. And we think, too, that the many friends of the old\nPilgrim--those who love him because (tenderest tie!) he was one\nof the picture-books of their infancy, those assuredly who have\nlaughed at him in his French dress, converted to a good Catholic\nPalmer; [Footnote 53] and above all, the large Baptist connection\nof this magazine, will thank us; and if not, we assure them they\nought to thank us, for this third horn of his sore dilemma.\n\n  [Footnote 53: _Petite Biblioth\u00e8que de Catholique_, tom.\n  xix. This is a translation of the first part of _The\n  Pilgrim's Progress,_ and is duly modified to doctrinal\n  fitness, and embellished with a frontispiece head of the\n  Blessed Virgin. Southey speaks also of a _Portuguese\n  translation_ of 1782. _Nil admirari ... !_]\n\n--------\n\n    The Legend Of The Seven Sleepers.\n                 A.D. 439.\n\n  The slaves of Adolius went forth on the hill,\n    And in toiling and talking got half through their day.\n  The sun was declining; the landscape was still,\n    As it stretched far beneath. While they delved in the clay,\n  And uncovered the rocks by command of their master,\n  Their stories and comments came faster and faster--\n    \"How hot it became about noon!\"\n  \"How the olives were prospering greatly!\"\n    That \"the figs and the grapes would be plentiful soon--\"\n  And \"what changes had happened in Ephesus lately.\"\n\n  They wandered a century back, ay, and more,\n    To the time when the edict of Decius went out,\n  As they heard from their fathers. How fiercely it bore\n    On the Christians! Their blood in the streets flowed about\n  How the fame of Diana, whose beauty they knew\n  By description, those martyrs with horror did view!\n    How the Goth with his merciless torch\n  From the Euxine had rushed, an invincible foeman,\n    And spurning the goddess, had fired her high porch,\n  Despite of the wide-sweeping blade of the Roman.\n\n{545}\n\n  Then one ceased his work, who was wrinkled and gray,\n    And, his hand on his mattock, he said: \"It appears\n  Now since Decius did reign, from what wise people say,\n    To be clear of one hundred and eighty good years.\n  When his cruelty flourished, I'm told there were seven\n  Good youths of our city--so long gone to heaven--\n    Who fled to these parts and were pent\n  By the emperor's soldiers, who came on a sally,\n    And built up the cave.\" To his mattock he bent,\n  And a rock that he loosened rolled down to the valley.\n\n  They found a large rent where the rock had its bed,\n    Which with eager assault they made larger by delving;\n  And a cave was disclosed like a home of the dead--\n    It was horrid and cold, it was rugged and shelving.\n  The foulness of ages, unused to the light,\n  Seemed grimly reclaiming its curtain of night.\n    But look! as the mist grows more clear,\n  There's a form moving outward--of hell or of heaven--\n    The slaves did not question, but fled in their fear;\n  But in truth this was Iamblichus, one of the seven.\n\n  He paused at the mouth; placed his hands on his eyes;\n    Then he looked toward Ephesus, bath\u00e8d in light;\n  And he journeyed in haste, till with speechless surprise\n    A cross on the grand city gate met his sight.\n  He wondered, he doubted, he hearkened the din\n  Of the city; and kissing the symbol, passed in;\n    This place he so lately had known\n  Was transformed--had grown foreign, and altered, and cold;\n    He was famished for bread, and his wishes were shown;\n  But they liked not his accents, his dress, or his gold.\n\n  \"Away to the judge with this madman or worse!\"\n    \"He has treasure that must be accounted.\" They went.\n  \"I'm a Christian,\" he said, \"and am wealthy; my purse\n    I have offered for bread. Should it be your intent\n  To enroll me a martyr, my life I'll lay down:\n  Take my life! Take my wealth in exchange for the crown.\"\n    Then the judge when he looked and saw clearly\n  That Decius' head on the coin did appear,\n    Declared, while he doubted, \"this youth must be nearly\n  Two hundred years older than any one here!\"\n\n  The bishop was sent for, and Iamblichus spoke:\n    \"Six others and he had but yesterday fled;\n  They had slept in a cave, and this morning awoke;\n    And he had been sent to the city for bread.\"\n  \"True sons,\" said the bishop, \"of God's predilection!\n  These men are all saints who have found resurrection.\n\n{546}\n\n    Resurrection indeed but from sleep,\n  Which the God of all nature prolonging had shed,\n    Like a life-saving balsam, to guard and to keep\n  Those whose memory had passed with the ancient and dead.\"\n\n  The city was emptied the emperor came,\n    The people, the magnates and all, in a throng,\n  Beat a broad hardened path to that cavern of fame,\n    Where the young men of Ephesus slumbered so long.\n  And when Iamblichus shouted, they came at his call;\n  And the seven stood together amidst of them all.\n    But nature asserted her sway,\n  Which a special design had for once set aside;\n    And they lived but to gaze on the light of the day,\n  And imparting their blessing, they painlessly died.\n\n  Through the wide Roman empire their fame travelled round;\n    The East and the West have adopted the story;\n  In Syriac, in Greek, and in Latin 'tis found;\n    The Romans and Russians agree in their glory\n  Where Mahomet conquered, they're known unto all,\n  And are reverenced as saints from Algiers to Bengal.\n    The cavilling sceptic may doubt;\n  But sooner shall earth to destruction be hurled,\n    Than Iamblichus' name be dethroned or die out,\n  Or the tale of the sleepers depart from the world.\n\n--------\n\n    Family, Parish, And Sunday-school Libraries.\n\n\nIt would be trite to say that the press is an extraordinary power\nfor good or for evil. Some have decried it, as if they looked\nupon it as not merely evil by accident, but bad in itself. We\ncannot agree with them. We regard the press, in the order of\ndivine providence, as a rapid means of spreading the truth and\nthe morality of the Gospel among mankind. There is an apostleship\nof the pen as well as of the mouth. The written word often does\nmore than the spoken word; as a proof from Scripture may often\ntell more forcibly on the mind of an unbeliever, than an argument\nfrom tradition.\n\nPrinting is a blessing; the press is a boon and a power which the\nfriends of God should know how to use better than his enemies.\nTrue, the latter employ it to great effect, What a torrent of bad\nliterature is poured daily over the world!\n{547}\nThe press is a huge monster, sending forth from its giant jaws\npoison, that circulates in the blood of society. Infidelity and\nfalse theology; immoral, obscene, and useless books are its\noffspring. Reviews, magazines, weekly and daily papers, issue\nfrom it; and are made the vehicles of falsehood and vice. Such is\nthe fact. What are the friends of religion to do, when its\nenemies are so active? Will it do for us to sit down and express\nour longings for the good old times when there were no printed\nbooks? Hold up our eyes in holy horror, but let our hands hang\nunemployed by our side? Decry the wickedness of the press; the\ndishonesty of the authors, and deplore the vitiated taste of the\npopulace, whose minds we see daily devouring the poisoned trash\nof novels and newspapers; and remain content with uttering an\nempty sigh? No; we must be up and doing. We must fight the foes\nof religion with their own weapons. We must use the press against\nthose who abuse it. The old tar who was accustomed to see only\nwooden ships contend on the ocean; or the veteran of the\nbattle-field who fought for liberty with an antiquated firelock,\nwould be laughed at now for protesting against the use of\nironclads or needle-guns in warfare. In vain would he say that\nwhat won battles half a century ago ought to win them still. So\nwould it be unreasonable to cling solely to those weapons of\nspiritual combat which were good enough a century ago, but which\nto-day are blunt or rusty. We must copper the keels and plate the\nsides of our wooden vessels with iron; and remodel the ancient\nshooting-irons of the scholastics to meet the exigencies of\nmodern circumstances. It can hardly be questioned that the amount\nof bad or useless books published daily is greater than the\nquantity of good ones. Now, whose fault is this? The fault of the\nwriters? Yes, in part. But they tell us, when asked why they\nwrite improper works, that the people will not read any other\nkind; and that if they were to follow truth, and not to please\nthe passions in their compositions, they would starve. The great\ncause of bad literature is, therefore, the corrupt taste of the\nmasses. It is at the same time cause and effect; for literary men\nsuit their books to it; and these again help to spread moral\ndiseases farther, and make them sink more deeply into the brains\nof the community.\n\nThe chief means of counteracting the influence of bad books is by\nwriting good ones; by spreading a taste for sound and wholesome\nreading. In this way can morality be preserved in the soul. To\nthis end should we Catholics direct our energies. We number in\nthis country many millions; and if we were all filled with an\nardent zeal for souls, we should think no sacrifice too great, of\ntime, labor, or purse, in order to destroy the pernicious effects\nof un-Catholic or anti-Catholic books and journals. Men will\nread. They need food for the mind as well as for the body. Let us\ngive them wholesome food. It was in this sense that Pius IX., in\nspeaking of France, said, \"You Frenchmen have planted the tree of\nscience almost everywhere. I do not object to this, provided you\ndo not allow it to become the science of evil; and this will\nhappen, _if you do not inundate France with good\npublications._\" The words apply to our own country as well as\nto France.\n\nWrite and publish good books then! We do not mean by good books,\nmerely technical, spiritual books. We mean interesting books, in\nwhich nothing against faith or morals is found; and in which\neverything tends to promote good morals.\n{548}\nA good novel, or any work of fiction, a pamphlet or brochure, a\nnewspaper article--anything and everything, from a dear folio to\na one cent tract, provided it be moral in aim and method, comes\nunder the class of \"good publications.\" We prefer small, cheap\nbooks to large and expensive ones. The people cannot understand\nlearned works, but they can comprehend a tract, a magazine, or a\nsmall book, like those published in Paris, and scattered among\nthe population by the zealous Abb\u00e9 Mullois and his fervent\nassociates of the French clergy and laity. Books for general and\npopular reading should be written and dressed in a popular style.\nSmall works of fiction and anecdote, or an allegory containing a\nwholesome truth, will do more than a dry sermon. Horace tells us\nthat the old schoolmasters used to give their pupils cakes, to\nincite them to learn:\n\n    \"--ut pueris olim dant crustula blandi\n  Doctores, elementa velint ut discere prima.\"\n\nWe too, laughing, may tell the truth, and sugar-coat the pill so\nas to make its bitterness less sensible. It is astonishing to\nlearn how much good has been done among the lower classes in\nFrance by the good priests and laymen just mentioned. The Abb\u00e9\nMullois gives us instances of conversions effected, of wicked men\nreclaimed, of virtues instilled into minds almost brutal, by the\ncasual perusal of some little book or tract. These small\npublications are put in a valise or trunk, and read in the cars,\nin the work-shop, at home, or in the house of a friend, and they\nleave a lasting impression behind them. Thus we quote the good\nAbb\u00e9's words:\n\n  \"There was a poor widow with many children. The eldest, who\n   alone could help her, was a very hard case. Instead of\n   bringing anything home, he often stole the money necessary for\n   the support of the family. His poor mother suffered, prayed,\n   and wept in vain. But one day this young man being at home,\n   had no money with which to go on a spree. He began to amuse\n   himself with looking over a collection of old books on the\n   chimney. He takes up one, reads it, becomes interested and is\n   moved by it. He even weeps; he leaves the book reluctantly,\n   but returns to its perusal next day. His mother observed a\n   great change in his person; even his figure was transformed;\n   but she was more surprised when her son, awaiting an\n   opportunity to find her alone, addressed her as follows: 'My\n   dear mother, I have made you suffer much; I am a wretch; I\n   have seen it in a book. I shall never be able by work to aid\n   you enough or pay all that I owe you. I have found a means of\n   assisting you till my brothers and sisters grow up. I am going\n   to enlist; you will receive a large bounty. This is the only\n   way in which I can atone for my neglect of you.' And he\n   immediately after joined the army.\"\n\nThis is but one of many instances recorded by Abb\u00e9 Mullois in\n_L'Ami du Jeune Clerg\u00e9_, a monthly magazine devoted to the\ninterests of religion.\n\nGo into many houses, and you will find the _Ledger_; the\n_Sunday Mercury_, the daily newspapers, the _Atlantic\nMonthly_, and often, even in Christian families, you may find\npublications far worse than these; occasionally, even lay hold of\nan obscene or grossly immoral book lying around loose, within\nreach of the children. Let our Catholic publications drive out\nall others--at least, such as are positively injurious--from\nCatholic families. Let the children, the young men and women,\nhave Catholic books to read, and let the Catholic doctrines\npercolate through their minds even from early life.\n\nHow can we effect this? By children's, family, and parish\nlibraries. We must write good books for the young, and give them\nopportunities of reading; parents should see to this; and should\nalways have in their families a supply of good Catholic reading\nmatter; a collection of tracts, or of tales, like those of Canon\nSchmidt, or a Catholic newspaper, magazine, or review.\n{549}\nA family library is a treasure in a house, and goes down from\nfather to child as a most precious heirloom. Its benefits are\nspiritual; and it is often better than a fortune.\n\nBut the principal means of promoting a taste for Catholic\nliterature, and encouraging those who have devoted their lives to\nits cause, is by the formation of parish libraries. Let us hear\nthe Abb\u00e9 Mullois pleading in this cause. \"In order to combat bad\nbooks and bad doctrines, we must have and spread good books as\nthe only efficacious method. It is useless to spend the time in\ncomplaining or in railing against evil publications. There is a\nnew want in our days not known to the middle ages. The people\nknow how to read, and they will read. The popular intellect is\nhungry, and we must feed it. You cannot argue with hunger; it is\nstronger than you; it will break and sweep away all your\narguments and reasons. You have no right to say to some one who\nis dying of hunger, 'You are wrong to eat such food; it is\nunhealthy,' unless you can give him something good and wholesome.\nIn hunger, people _eat what they have_, not _what they\nwould like to have_.\n\n\"We say, then, that actions, not words, are necessary, and that\nevery one should help, for there is plenty to do for all, both\npriests and laity.\n\n\"What must we do? Let us go straight to the point. In the first\nplace, every parish should have a little library of select books,\nboth instructive and amusing. Books of history, of science, of\nagriculture, on morals or religion, at the disposal of every one\nto read, and to bring back safely. You must have one, my reverend\nbrother, else your parish will be considered the worst managed in\nFrance; for these libraries are almost everywhere in it.\"--Is\nthis true of the United States?--\" If it already exists, increase\nit annually, embellish and complete it. It brings in a revenue.\nCan it be possible that you have no parish library? Oh! how\ndifficult it is to propagate good ideas! We spend money for\nschools, and invite the world to the banquet of science; we\ncreate appetites, but when they are willing to eat, we tell them\nthere is little or nothing for them. We have schools for boys,\nand for girls, day, night, and Sunday-schools; but where is the\nuse of all these if there is nothing to read, or nothing but what\nis pernicious? If we teach children to read, we must provide\nintellectual food for them, or show ourselves devoid of logic,\nreason, good sense, and heart.\"\n\nTo whom are we to look for the realization of the good Abb\u00e9's\nplan in our country? In the first place, to the clergy. They are\nour guides, our fathers, our leaders in every good enterprise.\nTheir influence is unlimited. Probably in no country has a priest\nso much power, or so many opportunities of doing good, as in the\nUnited States. The politician may control several thousand votes;\na brave general may so infuse his own courage into the hearts of\nhis soldiers as to make them carry the fiercest battery with the\ncold steel. But no one can do as the priest. On a Sunday, from\nhis pulpit or altar, he can, in a short discourse of fifteen or\ntwenty minutes, influence the actions, open the purses, and\ncreate the spirit of enthusiastic sacrifice in a whole community.\nHe can build a church; he can found a benevolent society; surely\nhe can found a parish or Sunday-school library. He knows the\nravages of souls committed by non-Catholic periodical or other\nliterature.\n{550}\nHe has only to say the word, and he, in a great measure, stops\nthem. A sermon on the dangers of bad books will have its\ncompletion in the founding or enlarging of a parish library,\nfilled with good publications. What an easy means of preventing\nso much evil!\n\n\"But,\" you say, \"the clergy have no time.\" Undoubtedly their time\nis greatly taken up with parochial duties. In our country, bricks\nand mortar are by necessity as familiar to the eye of the priest,\nas books of theology. He has no time to write; very little time\nto read. This is true of the venerable senior clergy. But they\nneed not do more than give their sanction to the work, and\nentrust it to the hands of the assistant, or of some responsible\nlayman. A \"few words from the pastor, recommending the library,\nand an occasional inspection of its management, will be\nsufficient. The curate, whose duties are not of so engrossing a\nnature as those of the pastor; or some good lay members of the\nparish; the young men of a literary or debating society; or\nmembers of the Saint Vincent de Paul Society; or the\nschool-teacher, or, if need be, the schoolmistress, will do all\nthat is necessary. In many parishes there are libraries, well\nconducted, well managed, and productive of immense moral and\nintellectual benefits among the young and old of both sexes. Our\nreaders must know that there are such from their own experience.\nIt will, therefore, require very little time from the pastor to\nhave and to keep a parish library in perfect working order,\naccording to rules laid down or sanctioned by himself. No zealous\npriest, who has once known the beneficial results of good family\nand parish libraries among his flock, would allow them to be\nneglected; or would not become a champion of our good cause. We\nask, then, in the name of religion, of charity and morality; by\nthe love of our holy faith, and by the zeal of the apostles, that\nall the clergy, young and old, should put their shoulders to the\nwheel with us, and roll on the car of Catholic progress, which\ncarries in it our Catholic books and publications.\n\nSo many hundred priests, talented and learned, speaking from so\nmany hundred pulpits and altars, guiding the consciences of so\nmany millions of men, are a power able to defeat all the\nproductions of a licentious press; and if, united by a common\nzeal, they but lock hands and pull together, they cannot fail to\nrealize the already quoted expression of our holy Father, Pius\nIX., speaking of France, _to inundate the country with good\npublications_. We priests often fail to realize our power and\ninfluence.\n\nNor should the laity be idle. \"In the day of a nation's peril,\"\nsays Tertullian, \"every citizen becomes a soldier; in the great\nstruggles of the faith, every Christian becomes an apostle.\" Let\nthe sacred fire of zeal pass from the bosom of the priest to burn\nin the breasts of the laity. There is a certain priesthood of the\nlaity, which they do not sufficiently understand. They are too\napt to be passive, to let the priest do all the labor, and only\nhelp him when called and urged; they forget that piety and good\nworks are as essential to them as to their spiritual directors,\nand that so far from, their zeal being an intrusion on that of\nthe priesthood, it is an acceptable assistance. How many a poor,\ntired priest longs that some good layman would relieve him of a\nportion of his burden, and enable him to bear the load and\nresponsibility of his parish! We call on the laity, then, to come\nto the rescue: help in the cause of God!\n{551}\nFound libraries; or at any rate, stock a few shelves in your own\nhomes with good books for yourselves and your friends or\nchildren. Become propagandists! You propagate the faith; you aid\nthe pope, the bishops, and the priests; you are doing a work\nacceptable to God, when you help to spread good books or\nperiodicals. Encourage others by your example. Are you a young\nman? Engage others with you in the cause of Catholic literature.\nCan you write? Have you a ready pen? Why not write a tract, or a\ngood article for a Catholic paper? or buy it and give to your\ninfidel or Protestant neighbors? You may save a soul by giving\nthat little tract. You may save a soul for one cent! Do not be\nafraid because you are said to be too young; or, if some one\npatronizingly informs you of the fact, be sure you are right, and\nthat God is on your side; then go ahead.\n\nHear how the zealous Montalembert answered the charge of being a\nyoung man, slurringly made against him by M. Villemain, in the\nhouse of peers, in the time of Louis Philippe. Montalembert had\nbeen defending the liberty of the church. \"I shall argue,\nperhaps, too ardently, too warmly, with that youthful vivacity of\nwhich the minister of public instruction and others accuse me.\nYouth is a fault of which I am daily correcting myself. I thought\nmyself already cured of it, until the honorable M. Villemain told\nme the contrary, and that I shall always remain a young man in\nhis eyes. (Laughter.) But besides the youth of age which passes\naway, there is another youthfulness for which I shall never make\nan apology or defence; it is the youthfulness of heart and\ncourage inspired by a faith whose doctrines never grow old,\nbecause they are immortal! This youthfulness of faith is my\nhappiness and glory; and I hope never to excuse myself for it\nbefore you.\" Inexperience is not always the companion of youth.\nYoung priest or young layman then, let your youth of years be\nlike that of Montalembert, and not prevent you from aiding the\nholy cause of the Catholic press.\n\nLittle leisure is therefore required; and we have undoubtedly\nplenty of talent to write and give good books to the million; to\nestablish family, children's, Sunday-school, or parish libraries.\n\nThe rules for the special management of libraries are easily\nfound. Either obtain those already in use, or obtain a set of new\nregulations from the pastor. The regulations of many of our\npublic libraries are used in many Protestant Sunday-school\nlibraries. For false religions know to use the press; and\nProtestants know well the influence which their religious\njournals, periodicals, tracts, and other publications exercise on\nthe minds of both young and old. We certainly ought not to be\nbehind the propagandists of error in our propagandism of truth.\nWe need not, therefore, specify any system of rules for the\nmaintenance of good order in the case of libraries. Any librarian\nwill easily find regulations that have been found to work\nsuccessfully.\n\nA more grave difficulty than that of finding rules to manage a\nlibrary is that of obtaining the money to create it. Money is the\nmain-stay and the backbone of Catholic publications. If it be the\nsinews of war, it is certainly the life of the press. Unless the\npublic pays the author, he will not write; and you cannot collect\nbooks without money to purchase them. A hard-worked priest will\nsay, \"I have enough to do to raise money to build my church, or\nschool, or parochial house, without spending it on books.\"\n{552}\nThe layman will say, \"You are always begging. We cannot give for\neverything; and I have no cash to spare for your magazine, for\nyour tracts, or your books, for I have to give it for the new\nchurch, or the new school, or the new priest's house.\"\n\nIn answer to this difficulty, we observe, firstly, that a\nlibrary, or collection of books, is almost of equal importance,\nin some respects more important, than a school or a house;\nsecondly, a parish library costs but a trifle, which will not be\nmissed either by priest or people.\n\nLet us hear, before developing our answer, how the good Abb\u00e9\nMullois, whose spirit inspires the whole of is article, resolves\nthe objection in _L'Ami du Jeune Clerg\u00e9_, for May and June,\n1867:\n\n  \"We know a man,\" says he, \"who has given away in four years\n   _forty-two thousand volumes!_\"--Would any one in America\n   do this?--\"A zealous woman in Paris gives six of eight thousand\n   francs yearly to help Catholic publications; and after sending\n   every package of good books for distribution, she is sure to\n   receive letters of this kind: 'Madam, I have heard of your\n   great charity; you have sent books to such a place; they were\n   liked, and so interesting that everybody wanted one to read.\n   They did much good. Would you be kind enough to send me some?'\n\n  \"The Society of St. Francis de Sales gives\n  twenty-five or thirty thousand francs annually\n  for this purpose; the society for the\n  amelioration and propagation of good books\n  spends fifty thousand francs a year in the\n  work. It is not books, therefore, that are\n  wanting. Let them be sought, and they will\n  be found. Why are there so many corrupt\n  publications? because they find readers. Let\n  us make readers of good publications by doing\n  our duty.\n\n  \"In order to begin a library, thirty, forty, or fifty francs\n   will do. A good pastor of the diocese of Soissons tells us the\n   way in which he raised the funds to found a library, in the\n   following terms: 'I wanted to establish this good work in my\n   parish, but money was the difficulty. I soon conquered it. On\n   Sun I preached on the necessity of education in general; and I\n   told my parishioners that, if they wanted to be educated, I\n   could furnish them about fifty volumes for thirty francs, to\n   make a beginning. But how was I to get the thirty francs? Let\n   thirty persons give me a franc apiece. This will enable me to\n   found a library, and you will be able _to read all your life\n   for one franc!_ Next day, forty-five persons subscribed,\n   and thirty-five paid the cash down. The others will pay during\n   the year.'\"\n\nWhen we remember that a franc is about equal to a quarter-dollar\nof our currency; we, who are accustomed to give dollars by the\ntens and twenties for every collection, will smile at the\n_na\u00efvet\u00e9_ of the _bon cur\u00e9_ and the modesty of his\nrequest.\n\nHe helps us, however, to answer our own difficulty. From all that\nwe have written concerning the pernicious influence of bad\npublications, and the necessity of counteracting it by good ones,\nit follows that a good library in a parish, with reading\nparishioners, is almost as important as a good school. In fact,\nwhat good is the school, if, after leaving it, our children have\nno reading-room, no good books, to keep up the remembrance of\nwhat was learned in childhood? It is after his school days, that\nthe young man meets all the great perils of his faith and\nmorality. It is then young women want good books to read, instead\nof the yellow-covered trash, or pictorial, sensational serials,\nover which you may find the young of both sexes gloating of a\nSunday afternoon, or of a rainy night, wasting their health of\nbody and mind in this midnight perusal. The cause, then, of\nCatholic publications, of Catholic tracts, of the Catholic press,\nis the cause of religion itself. We are not exaggerating; we are\nonly giving it that place among the means of preserving and\npropagating faith and good morals which the Catholic Church,\nspeaking through the mouth of the supreme pontiff and bishops,\ngive it.\n\n{553}\n\nA good book in the house is a guardian angel. It has the voice of\na priest, and the tongue of inspiration. It speaks and enlightens\nthe intellect; it warms the heart, and fills the mind with good\nthoughts, and the imagination with holy images. It speaks in the\nsilence of the night, as well as in the effulgence of the day,\nand its impressions pass from the written pages to be engraved\nfor ever on the soul of the reader.\n\nWhat a trifle to found a library! Who objects to give it? We do\nnot say merely thirty francs, like the parish priest of the\ndiocese of Soissons. We suit the sum to the generous and wealthy\ncharacter of the people. For our poor people are wealthy compared\nwith the poor of Europe. Fifty persons giving a dollar apiece\ncould lay the foundation of a library that might grow in the\ncourse of time into great magnitude and celebrity. By clubbing\ntogether, expenses are always diminished. It is the custom, as we\nknow, of Catholic publishers, as well of all booksellers, to make\na reduction in price when a large quantity of books is bought. A\nsmall tax of one or two cents a week on books lent from the\nlibrary brings gradually a large revenue, which enables the\nlibrarian to increase his store. What parish would miss fifty\ndollars? What priest or people begrudge it for so good a purpose?\nThen let the work be undertaken, where it has not yet been begun;\nand progress with renewed zeal, where there has already been made\na beginning.\n\nLet the pulpits ring; give at least one sermon in favor of this\ngood cause! Brothers of the clergy, veterans whose hair has grown\ngray in the church militant; you know that we do not exaggerate\nthe importance of Catholic publications in the battle of our holy\nfaith against the devil, the flesh and the world; we appeal to\nyou! Young Levites, fresh from your school glories, do not forget\nyour projects for God's honor and for the spread of his holy\nfaith; we ask your succor also. And you, over-tasked yet generous\nlaity, ever ready to respond joyfully to a call made on your\nfaith or your charity, we ask you, too, to interest yourselves in\nthe cause of Catholic publications. We ask all to unite with God,\nwith the church, with the supreme pontiff and the episcopate, in\nfurthering the work of the Catholic press, Catholic books,\nCatholic literature of every description; from the tract or\nlittle tale, the Sunday-school paper, to the ponderous\ntheological or philosophical folio. God will crown our work. He\nasks but our cordial cooperation. Success must therefore follow\nour efforts; for if God is for us, who can withstand us? _Si\nDeus pro nob is, quis contra nos?_\n\n\"The necessity of a Sunday-school library no one disputes. But\nhow am I to get one?\" says the pastor.\n\nMake a beginning. Buy Catholic tales, biographies, and the\nsmaller class of books which are popular among children. More\ncostly books can be added afterward.\n\nAt first give books to the more advanced classes as a reward for\ngood lessons, good conduct, etc. As the library increases, the\nprivilege can be extended till it embraces every class capable of\nprofiting by it.\n\nBut how is the library to be supported and enlarged? Take up a\ncollection every Sunday at the children's Mass, as is done in\nmany churches in this city and elsewhere, where good libraries\nare already in existence. This will not only create a fund\nsufficient to sustain and enlarge the library, but will also give\nthe children the habit of contributing to the support of\nreligion, which will be of the greatest benefit to them in after\nlife.\n{554}\nThis plan has been successfully tried; the children have been\nable to support and steadily enlarge the library, and have also\ngiven liberally to other charitable objects.\n\nAgain, When and how shall the books be distributed? A very\nsuccessful method is the following:\n\nNumber the classes in the Sunday-school. Divide the library into\nas many sections or alcoves as you have classes. There must be at\nleast as many books in each alcove as there are scholars in any\nclass. A separate catalogue of each alcove should be made and\ndesignated as section A, B, C, etc.\n\nErasive tablets may be easily procured. On one side may be\nwritten the names and numbers of the books in each section, and\nthe other side used to record the numbers of the books selected.\nThis being done, after the Sunday-school is opened, let the\nlibrarian or assistant give a catalogue of a section to each\nclass; section A to class 1, section B to class 2, etc.\n\nThe teachers will then select books for the class, and mark the\nnumbers on the tablet. The librarian collects the tablets and\ncarries to each class the books selected. The teacher notes the\nnumber of the book against the name of the child who receives it\nin his class-book. The next Sunday, let the books be first\ncollected and returned to their places. The catalogues are then\ngiven out. Those who chose from selection A before, should now\nhave section B, and so on in rotation. Thus all will in turn\nselect from each section of the library, and the books are\ndistributed in a short time, without noise or confusion.\n\nHow shall the books be selected? This is not an easy task. Many\nhave been deterred from starting a library on account of the\ndifficulty in making this selection. In view of this, we have\nprepared a catalogue suitable for a parochial and Sunday-school\nlibrary, which the reader can find in our advertising pages.\nThese are put down at the lowest terms, and are selected with\ncare, as the most suitable to make a beginning with. As funds\nincrease, others can be added from time to time.\n\n--------\n\n        The Comedy Of Convocation. [Footnote 54]\n\n    [Footnote 54: _The Comedy of Convocation in the English\n    Church, in Two Scenes_. Edited by Archdeacon Chasuble,\n    D.D. 8vo, pp. 135. London: William Freeman.]\n\n\nSatire without bitterness or rancor is a phenomenon in literature\nof which the world has seen few examples, and genuine, religious\nsatire has been so rare, that we can hardly recall a single\nunexceptionable specimen. There was a day, to be sure, when every\npoet held it a part of his profession to lacerate with the weapon\nof his wit, or with the rhymed invective which too often passed\nfor wit, whatever creed happened at the time to be most\nunpopular. Some few even of the great masters of verse, like\nDryden and Butler, trenched upon the domain of religious\ncontroversy; but Dryden's _Hind and Panther_ and _Religio\nLaici_ are rather dogmatical poems than satires, and Butler's\n_Hudibras_, which is pure satire, is aimed less at a\nreligious sect than at a political party.\n{555}\nHere we have, however, a prose satire in the Church of England,\nwhich is one of the most admirable specimens of that class of\nliterature in our own or any other language. It is sharp without\nunkindness; it contains not a syllable of invective; it is\nhonest; it is logical; the wit is radiant; the fun is\noverpowering; and the application is irresistible. Volumes could\nnot expose the preposterous errors of Anglicanism with half the\neffect produced by this little pamphlet. The troubles and\nperplexities of the English divines, the absurdities of the privy\ncouncil, the purposeless debates of convocations, the conflict of\nbeliefs, the uncertainty of dogmas, the vain theories of deans\nand doctors, the darkness, the wavering, the inconsistency, the\nworldliness of the Anglican Church, are pictured in this little\ncomedy to the very life. Its appearance has created in London a\nprofound sensation. Anglicans are smarting under the exposure,\nand everybody else is laughing at the ludicrous exhibition. The\nauthorship is unknown, but we are inclined to believe that the\ncurrent rumor which ascribes it to Dr. J. H. Newman is well\nfounded. We doubt whether there is another man in England capable\nof writing it.\n\nThe _Dramatis Personae_ embrace a number of deans,\narchdeacons, and lesser ecclesiastical dignitaries, and the first\nscene takes place in \"the Jerusalem Chamber,\" where Convocation\nis in session.\n\n  \"Doctor Easy rose to propose the question of which he had given\n  notice at the previous sitting of Con 'Would it be considered\n  heresy in the Church of England to deny the existence of God?'\n  It had occurred to him that he should, perhaps, adopt a form\n  more convenient for the present debate, if he put the question\n  thus: 'Would a clergyman, openly teaching that there was no\n  God, be liable to suspension?'\n\n  \"Archdeacon Jolly thought not. What the Church of England\n  especially prided herself upon was the breadth of her views. No\n  view could be broader than the one just stated, and therefore,\n  none more likely to meet with the sanction of the privy\n  council, which, he apprehended, was the real point to be kept\n  in view in the discussion of this interesting question. (Hear,\n  hear.)\n\n  \"Dean Blunt concurred in the opinion that breadth and the privy\n  council were kindred ideas. Still, it might be asked, could\n  even the doctrinal elasticity of that tribunal become\n  sufficiently expansive to embrace the enormous hypothesis of\n  his learned friend? He ventured to think that it could. Let it\n  be supposed that some clergymen of the Church of England--say\n  the Archbishop of Canterbury--should publicly teach that there\n  was no God. The case being brought before the privy council, it\n  might be reasonably assumed that that supreme arbiter of\n  Anglican doctrine would deliver some such judgment as the\n  following:\n\n    'We find that the Church of England is not opposed to the\n    existence of a God. At the same time, we cannot overlook the\n    fact that the nineteenth article, in affirming that all\n    churches, even the apostolic, have erred in matters of faith,\n    obviously implies that the Church of England may err also in\n    the same way. Therefore the Church of England may err in\n    teaching that there is a God. We conclude, that whilst, on\n    the one hand, the archbishop has taken an extreme or\n    one-sided view of the teaching of the church; on the other,\n    for the reason assigned, it is undoubtedly open to every\n    clergyman either to believe in or to deny the existence of a\n    God.'\n\n  \"Archdeacon Theory would be disposed cordially to approve the\n  judgment which the learned dean anticipated. He had always\n  maintained that it was the _duty_ of every Anglican to\n  doubt the existence of God. (Uproar.)\n{556}\n  Let him not be misunderstood. Speaking for himself, he had a\n  moral and intellectual conviction that there was a God. He was\n  not disputing the objective truth of the existence of a God:\n  about that he could not suppose that a single member of\n  Convocation could entertain the most transitory doubt. He was\n  speaking only of their duty as members of the Church of\n  England, and not at all of their obligation as Christians; two\n  things which might happen in a particular case to be as wide\n  apart as the poles, and to involve distinct and opposite\n  responsibilities. Now, as members of the Church of England, he\n  believed it was their duty to doubt, not only the existence of\n  God, but also every separate article which the Church of\n  England now taught, or might teach hereafter; and the more\n  emphatically the Church of England appeared to teach, the more\n  imperative was their duty to doubt. For, referring to the\n  ingenious argument which Dean Blunt had put into the mouth of\n  their national oracle, it was clear that the Church of England\n  in denying her own infallibility, laid all her members under\n  the religious obligation of doubting everything she taught.\n  Fallibility, properly defined, was not simply liability to err,\n  it was _the state of error_. As infallibility is a state\n  of certainty, which does not admit of error; so fallibility is\n  a state of doubt which does not admit of conviction. Now, the\n  Church of England, in proclaiming her own fallibility, did so\n  with a peremptoriness which elevated this part of her teaching,\n  and this alone, to the dignity of dogma. For, whereas, in\n  propounding other Anglican tenets, she so adjusted her\n  definitions of doctrine as to leave the choice of possible and\n  opposite interpretations to the discretion of her members; when\n  speaking of this, the fundamental axiom of her whole\n  theological system, she rose for the moment to the authority of\n  a _teacher_, and consented to put on the robe of\n  infallibility, in order to promulgate with greater force the\n  dogma of her own liability to error.\"\n\nHere is the key to the first scene. The discussion is maintained\nat considerable length, and carries us over the whole ground of\nthe authority of the English church to teach divine truth; and in\nthe course of it, some representative of each of the most\nprominent schools of theological opinion in the establishment\ntakes occasion to express his mind. Dr. Viewy holds that since\nheresy is the choice of one's creed, as opposed to the submission\nof the will to authority, no Anglican can be guilty of heresy who\nobeys the teachings of his ecclesiastical superiors; and hence,\nin the Church of England, it might be _conditionally_, but\ncould not be _necessarily_, heresy to deny the existence of\nGod. As that church is taunted by her enemies with holding and\nrejecting every imaginable creed, the only safe course for a\nclergyman is to centre the whole of his obedience in that one\nbishop or rector, under whom, for the time being, he may find\nhimself placed.\n\n  \"In other words, since to obey any _two_ ecclesiastical\n  authorities at the same moment involved the risk of being\n  pronounced a heretic by either one or the other--because no two\n  clergymen are exactly of the same belief--the only effective\n  safeguard against the possibility of heresy was personal\n  obedience to one clergyman at a time. When first ordained to\n  the office of the diaconate, from which he had been\n  subsequently elevated to unmerited dignities, he found himself\n  in the diocese of a low-church bishop--he might say a very\n  low-church bishop--so low that any further descent into the\n  regions of a purely negative theology would have left no\n  doctrinal residuum whatever.\n{557}\n  He at once decided, in virtue of his principle of obedience to\n  authority, to teach his flock the religion of his bishop,\n  which, by careful analysis, he resolved into two articles of\n  belief--the denial of dogma, and the assertion of self. (Dean\n  Pompous audibly whispered, 'Highly unbecoming.') But here he\n  had met with a difficulty in starting; for it happened that his\n  rector was a Puseyite; and that, consequently, in the main,\n  whatever the bishop taught to be true, the rector taught to be\n  false, and whatever the bishop taught to be false, the rector\n  taught to be true. The case, as convocation knew, was so common\n  in this country, as to form, perhaps, the rule in a majority of\n  parochial cures. His principle, however, suggested an easy\n  escape from the embarrassing position. He applied it thus:\n  manifestly more obedience was due to a bishop than to a rector;\n  yet a certain _quantum_ of obedience was due to a rector,\n  if only because a bishop had appointed him. It became, so to\n  speak, a question of proportion rather than of theology, and\n  was soluble, not by the thirty-nine articles, but by the rule\n  of three; and, after working it out with religious care, the\n  following commended itself to him as the solution of the\n  problem. He would preach low-church doctrines on the Sundays,\n  denying the sacramental view and all its consequences, as the\n  homage of clerical obedience due to the bishop; but he would\n  teach high-church doctrines during the week, without abating a\n  single tenet, in discharge of the proportionate measure of\n  obedience due to the rector. This practice gave rise, he was\n  bound to admit, to some excitement in the parish, and led to\n  the popular conviction that, however excellent his teaching\n  might be in detail, there was a want of unity about it when\n  looked at as a whole. Yet when he explained to his parishioners\n  the purity of the motive which induced the apparent\n  contradictions, and proved to them that his duplex system was\n  designed only to reflect justly and proportionately the two\n  aspects of Christianity exhibited by their bishop and their\n  rector, the whole parish at once applauded the delicacy of his\n  conscience, while it ceased not to question the value of his\n  teaching. And so things went on with tolerable harmony for the\n  space of a year; when, unhappily, both the bishop and the\n  rector died about the same time; the former being quickly\n  replaced by a high-church bishop, appointed by a friend in the\n  cabinet, and the latter by a low-church rector, nominated by\n  Mr. Simeon's trustees. It now became his duty, in consistency\n  with his principle of obedience to personal authority, to\n  invert the order and portion of his teaching. He would continue\n  to give the Sundays to the bishop, and the week-days to the\n  rector; but on Sundays he must now be a Puseyite, and on\n  week-days an Evangelical; and this simple inversion, so\n  equitable in itself, and inspired solely by the desire of\n  submitting himself to his superiors, created such discord in\n  the parish, that finally he was entreated, as the only means of\n  restoring peace, to resign his cure of souls.\n\n  \"Dean Pliable concurred, in the main, with the principle of the\n  learned divine who had just resumed his seat, that obedience to\n  authority was the first duty of a clergyman; but he utterly\n  differed from him in his application of the principle, which\n  appeared to him to be equally servile and injudicious.\n{558}\n  That principle he conceived to be most effectually carried out,\n  not by abject submission to this bishop or that, this rector or\n  that--which might be both possible and convenient, if, in the\n  Church of England, as in the Church of Rome, every bishop and\n  every rector taught the same Christianity--but in the larger\n  and nobler aim of faithfully representing at one and the same\n  time _all_ the Christianities taught by all the bishops\n  and all the rectors of the Church of England. In other words,\n  since every one confessed that it was impossible to teach a\n  uniform theology in the Church of England, whose highest\n  tribunal had ruled that her clergy might teach _either_ of\n  two opposite doctrines--and therefore both alternately--he was\n  brought to the conviction that the only course open to\n  Anglicans solicitous about theoretical unity was to profess at\n  the same moment every doctrine held within their communion, and\n  all their contradictories. (Great uproar: a well-known preacher\n  was heard to exclaim--\"He would convert us into ecclesiastical\n  acrobats.\")\n\n  \"Dean Critical inquired, with a touch of irony in his voice and\n  manner--'Could any of his reverend friends undertake to inform\n  him what was the authority of the Church of England?' Hitherto\n  the debate had gone only to show what it was not. Dr. Theory\n  had maintained that there was no such thing. Dr. Viewy and Dean\n  Pliable had each of them proved that it did not reside in the\n  bishops and clergy, unless, indeed, it might be supposed to\n  exist in equal measure in every one of them; but, as they were\n  unhappily in direct opposition to one another on many\n  fundamental doctrines, this was equivalent to saying that\n  _no_ authority to decide Christian doctrine existed in the\n  Church of England. If there really were any such authority,\n  convocation could hardly be more usefully employed than in\n  defining its nature and fixing its limits.\n\n  \"Archdeacon Jolly observed, without rising from his seat--'What\n  say you to the Archbishop of Canterbury?' (Some laughter, which\n  was immediately suppressed.)\n\n  \"Dean Critical reminded the venerable archdeacon that the\n  Archbishop of Canterbury was not alluded to in their\n  formularies in any such character, and feared, it must be said\n  without disrespect, that he had no more power to determine a\n  disputed point of doctrine than his amiable lady, whose\n  hospitality many of them had enjoyed. It was a lamentable fact\n  that his Grace had no more authority over the people of\n  England, nor over a single individual out of his own household,\n  than ... (a voice exclaimed, 'the King of the Sandwich\n  Islands,' a suggestion which was greeted with mingled applause\n  and disapprobation.)\n\n  \"Archdeacon Jolly: Well, then, her Majesty the Queen, whom the\n  church admits to be 'supreme' in all causes, spiritual as well\n  as temporal?\n\n  \"Dean Critical could not forget that her Majesty, in whom they\n  recognized a model of every Christian virtue, frequented,\n  indifferently, Presbyterian meeting-houses and the churches of\n  their own communion. If, therefore, as the law appeared to\n  admit, the authority of the Anglican Church resided in her\n  royal person, it followed that the Westminster Confession and\n  the Thirty-nine Articles were equally true, and that every\n  Anglican was also a Presbyterian.\n\n  \"Archdeacon Jolly: 'How about the Privy Council? If it be the\n  ultimate judge of doctrine, must it not be the authority for\n  which you are seeking?'\n\n{559}\n\n  \"Dean Critical thought not, because in fact, the sum of its\n  decisions amounted to this--that the Church of England taught\n  nothing and denied nothing, which was equivalent to saying that\n  she believed nothing. A tribunal which decided in every case of\n  disputed doctrine, as the privy council invariably did, that\n  both the plaintiff and defendant were right, was a judicial\n  curiosity that could hardly be said to afford the litigant\n  parties much assistance in bringing their cause to an issue.\n  The privy council might be an authority _over_ the Church\n  of England, whose decisions the latter was obliged to receive;\n  but no one could seriously maintain that it was an authority to\n  which any Anglican, of whatever party in the church, professed\n  to submit his conscience in matters of faith.\n\n  \"Archdeacon Jolly: 'Will you accept convocation as your\n  authority?' (Loud laughter, with cries of 'shame' from Dean\n  Pompous.)\n\n  \"Dean Critical regretted that he could not accept convocation\n  in the character of an Anglican Holy See: because, to say\n  nothing of the general feeling of the country, and the\n  malicious comments of the public press, which appeared to treat\n  them with derision, and talked of their 'dancing round a\n  may-pole,' his own observation of the proceedings of that\n  assembly dissuaded him from any such view. Much experience had\n  brought him to the sorrowful conviction that convocation was\n  only a clerical debating-club, of which every member took\n  himself for the pope, and the church for his pupil.\n\n  \"Archdeacon Jolly: 'Might it be permitted to suggest the\n  formularies?'\n\n  \"Dean Critical: So supple and elastic in their nature as to be\n  sworn to with equal facility both by those who claim to 'hold\n  all Roman doctrine' and those who protest against it.\n\n  \"Archdeacon Jolly: 'Well, there are still the thirty-nine\n  articles.'\n\n  \"Dean Critical: Thirty-nine _opinions_, one of which\n  declares of all others, that they are human and fallible.\n\n  \"Archdeacon Jolly did not know that he could offer any further\n  suggestion, but, at least, one of the articles declared, 'the\n  church _hath_ authority in matters of faith.'\n\n  \"Dean Critical was not unmindful of the fact, which had always\n  appeared to him to be a device of the framers to express this\n  idea: 'We admit that the church we are forming _has_ no\n  authority, but we recognize that if it were a church, it\n  _would_ have authority.' For it should be observed that\n  while they said, 'the church _hath_ authority,' they at\n  the same time enjoined the clergy not to believe a single word\n  she taught them, unless they found their own interpretation of\n  the Scriptures to agree with hers! Thus they made the Church of\n  England say to all her members: 'If you should accidentally be\n  _right_ in your interpretation of the Bible, put that down\n  to _me_, for I am the church that teaches you; but if,\n  which is far more probable, you should be wrong, put that down\n  to yourself, for I have warned you to believe in nothing which\n  you cannot prove for yourself out of the Bible.' ('Hear, hear,'\n  from the Rev. Lavender Kidds.)\"\n\nThis Rev. Lavender Kidds is the comic man of the drama. His one\nprinciple is \"Bible Christianity,\" his one passion a dread of the\npope.\n\n  \"The Rev. Lavender Kidds (who seemed much excited, and rose\n  amidst cries of 'order, order,' and considerable laughter)\n  observed that he now assisted for the first time at the\n  assembly of convocation, and had been deeply shocked by the\n  unscriptural tone of the discussion.\n{560}\n  (Suppressed merriment.) For his part, he gloried in the\n  thirty-nine articles of their pure and reformed church, and\n  especially in their noble testimony to the grand truth that the\n  religion of Protestants was 'the Bible, the whole Bible, and\n  nothing but the Bible.' This was the true 'authority' of vital\n  Christians, and he cared for no other. This was the simple and\n  grand lesson of those venerable formularies which had been that\n  day so grievously under-valued and calumniated. Really, it\n  seemed to him to be preposterous in any Protestant assembly to\n  talk so much of 'church-authority.' Authority, indeed! Who\n  wanted it? And if they had it, who would obey it? Certainly no\n  member of that house with whom he had the happiness of being\n  acquainted--(laughter and ironical cheers)--least of all the\n  high-church party, who had recently been forming a society to\n  protect themselves _against_ their bishops. (Renewed\n  disapprobation.) He contended that their forefathers had done\n  without authority, and had wisely regarded it as a mark of the\n  beast. He was for the Bible and the Bible only. Perish the\n  articles, and the church itself--no, his zeal was perhaps\n  carrying him too far. What he meant to say was--in fact, he\n  wished to observe--as long as they had the Word they wanted\n  nothing else. He knew, indeed, that Dean Primitive and\n  Archdeacon Chasuble preferred authority to Scripture--as long,\n  that was, as they could keep the former entirely in their own\n  hands; but he had invariably remarked that they refused to\n  their bishops and superiors the obedience they required from\n  their curates and parishioners. But Englishmen, he felt\n  convinced, were not to be cajoled by a spurious popery; and if\n  they must renounce their liberty, it would not be to those who\n  used that liberty themselves to resist the very church they\n  copied, in everything but their obedience. (General cries of\n  'Enough, enough,' amid which Mr. Kidds resumed his seat, with\n  the air of one who had delivered a solemn and suitable\n  protest.')\n\n  \"Dean Primitive was unwilling that the observations of Mr.\n  Kidds should pass without any other reply than Dean Blunt had\n  thought fit to give them. He had spent thirty years of his life\n  in combating the errors of that party in the church to which\n  Mr. Kidds belonged, and he hoped to continue the same holy\n  warfare to to the end. He was aware that the so-called\n  evangelicals insisted upon the _plainness_ of Scripture,\n  and were accustomed to assume, with strange disregard of\n  notorious facts, that nobody need find any difficulty in\n  deciding the true meaning of any text whatever. With the\n  permission of the house, he would give a few illustrations of\n  the evangelical method of dealing with the inspired book; from\n  which it would very clearly appear, that when they boasted of\n  appealing to the Bible, they only appealed to their own version\n  of it, that is, to themselves; and their favorite shibboleth,\n  'the Bible, and the Bible only,' meant simply, as Dean Blunt\n  had well observed, '_my_ interpretation of the Bible, and\n  not yours.'\n\n  \"Thus, when our Lord said to his priests, 'I give to _you_\n  the keys of the kingdom of heaven,' it is plain, according to\n  the evangelicals, that he meant, 'I give to _no man_ the\n  keys of the kingdom of heaven.'\n\n  \"When He declared, 'Whosesoever sins _you_ remit, they are\n  remitted,' beyond doubt he wished them to understand, 'I\n  particularly withhold from _you_ the power to remit sin.'\n\n{561}\n\n  \"When he gave the promise to his church, 'I am with you always,\n  even to the end of the world,' manifestly he designed to say,\n  'I am with you only to the end of the third or fourth century,\n  after which I shall desert you until the sixteenth.'\n\n  \"When he announced, 'I will send the Holy Ghost, and he shall\n  guide you into _all_ truth,' it is clearer than the day\n  that he wished to tell them, 'The Holy Ghost will teach you\n  just so much of truth as each individual can gather from the\n  private study of the Scriptures.'\n\n  \"When he made the wonderful statement, 'The gates of hell shall\n  _never_ prevail against the church,' even children can see\n  that he meant, 'Hell shall triumph over the church for eight\n  hundred years and more.'\"\n\nThe question is raised whether the Fathers and the first four\nGeneral Councils cannot be taken as guides, and it is shown that\nthey are as hard to interpret as the Bible itself. But cannot the\nclergy be appealed to as authorized interpreters? In replying to\nthis query, the professor of theology said:\n\n  \"There was not, he conceived, in the annals of human\n  religion--of which the number was now almost beyond\n  arithmetical calculation--so singular a paradox as that which\n  was displayed in Puseyite theology. The claims of a Leo the\n  Great, or a Gregory the Seventh, which, at least, whatever\n  Protestants might think of them, were cordially admitted both\n  in their own generation and in those which followed it, were\n  only the utterances of timid self-abasement, compared with the\n  super-oecumenical dogmatism of their high-church friends. 'Obey\n  me,' said these gentlemen to their disciples, 'for obedience is\n  the prerogative of the laity; but I obey nobody except my own\n  interpretation of the fathers, or of such of them as I approve,\n  because my church is not yet sufficiently catholic to deserve\n  my obedience. At present I am obliged to create a church for\n  you, because nothing worthy of the name is found just now on\n  earth. The day will come when she will have been sufficiently\n  taught by me, will cease to be Protestant without becoming\n  Roman, and then I shall be able to obey the church, because,\n  having learned from me the exact form of primitive\n  Christianity, which exists nowhere at present but in my own\n  ideal conception, the church will have come again into\n  corporate existence, and will be worthy of your dutiful regard.\n  It will then no longer be necessary for me, as it is\n  unfortunately at present, to cumulate in my own person the\n  functions of the pope, the saints, the fathers, the general\n  councils, and Almighty God.'\n\n  \"(Considerable agitation followed this speech, during which the\n  sitting was suspended for some minutes.)\n\n  \"The Rev. Lavender Kidds observed, as soon as the composure of\n  the assembly was restored, that, however forcible the remarks\n  of the learned professor might be as applied to Puseyism, he\n  had shown that he was unwilling to grapple with the grand\n  principle of Bible Christianity, of which he was the humble\n  advocate.\n\n  \"The professor intended no disrespect to Mr. Kidds and his\n  party. Bible Christianity, since he must speak of it, (though\n  he thought that former speakers had sufficiently disposed of\n  the subject,) was only less preposterous than the rival theory\n  which he had just ventured to describe. It required personal\n  infallibility in all who professed it. It simply transferred to\n  the individual the supernatural prerogative which the Romanist\n  attributed to his church.\n{562}\n  It was obvious to common sense that, if Mr. Kidds could\n  interpret a particular translation of the Scriptures, so as to\n  know infallibly both how much was necessary to be salvation,\n  and exactly what was necessary to believed about it, he must\n  himself be personally infallible.\n\n  \"The professor must decline to give his own opinion, though of\n  course he had one, on the question proposed by Dr. Easy; but he\n  had no objection to state how he conceived it ought to be\n  answered by the so-called Bible-Christian. That answer might be\n  as follows:\n\n  \"The existence of a church assumes the existence of a God;\n  therefore, the denial of a God would be the same with the\n  denial of a church. But the Church of England is a fact. Her\n  teaching may be doubtful or contradictory, but her existence as\n  a politico-ecclesiastical institution, professing belief in a\n  God, is beyond dispute. It would, therefore, be heresy in the\n  Bible Christian to deny the existence of a God; but it was\n  quite open to him to believe in any _kind_ of divinity he\n  might prefer, and to clothe him with whatever attributes the\n  Privy Council had permitted him to retain. ...\n\n  \"Archdeacon Jolly doubted whether the universal _Nego_ of\n  Mr. Kidds and his friends could combat successfully the eternal\n  _Credo_ of two hundred millions of Catholics. However, he\n  was quite willing to consider Mr. Kidd's proposition; but he\n  must be excused if he did so from his own point of view.\n\n  \"There was a large class of persons in this country,\" continued\n  the archdeacon, \"who, having no definite religion of their own,\n  and being slenderly endowed with common sense, were indebted to\n  the Roman Catholic Church both for employment and maintenance.\n  Let Mr. Kidds restrain his excitement; he would explain his\n  meaning. He did not, of course, include Mr. Kidds among the\n  class in question, though he believed that gentleman would\n  willingly accept the statement of Sterne, who candidly\n  confessed, that, 'when he had little to say or little to give\n  his people, he had resource to the abuse of popery. Hence he\n  called it his \"Cheshire Cheese.\" It had a twofold advantage; it\n  cost him very little, and he found by experience that nothing\n  satisfied so well the hungry appetites of his congregation.\n  They always devoured it greedily.'\n\n  \"Perhaps Mr. Kidds was not aware that in his zeal to hasten the\n  downfall of popery--which, even according to modern prophets,\n  had still a few years to last, and which, judging by a recent\n  tour he had made on the continent, presented anything but a\n  moribund aspect--he was in violent opposition with many active\n  and devoted Protestants. The persons to whom he alluded were,\n  at this moment, full of anxiety lest popery should perish too\n  soon! They could not afford to say farewell to their old friend\n  at present, and desired only to keep him on his legs a little\n  longer. Mr. Kidds was probably ignorant that a society had\n  recently been formed in London, in connection, he believed,\n  with the Protestant Reformation Society, to which it was\n  designed to act as a timely and important auxiliary. The title\n  of this new association was: _'Society for considering the\n  best means of keeping alive the corruptions of Popery in the\n  interests of Gospel Truth'_ It was, of course, a strictly\n  secret organization, but he had been favored, he knew not why,\n  with a copy of the prospectus, and as he had no intention of\n  becoming a member, he would communicate it to the house.\n{563}\n  It appeared from this document, and could be confirmed from\n  other sources, that a deputation was sent last year to Rome, to\n  obtain a private interview with the pope, in order to entreat\n  his holiness _not_ to reform a single popish corruption.\n  He was assured that they had reason to believe, he did not know\n  on what grounds, that the pope was about to make extensive\n  reforms, beginning with the substitution of the thirty-nine\n  articles for the creed of Pope Pius, and a permanent Anglican\n  convocation in lieu of an occasional oecumenical council. A\n  handsome present was entrusted to the deputation, and a liberal\n  contribution to the Peter's Pence Fund. The motives set forth\n  in the preamble of the address presented to his holiness were,\n  in substance, of the following nature: They urged that a very\n  large body of most respectable clergymen, who had no personal\n  ill-will toward the present occupant of the Holy See, had\n  maintained themselves and their families in comfort for many\n  years exclusively by the abuse of popery; and if popery were\n  taken away, they could not but contemplate the probable results\n  with uneasiness and alarm. Moreover, many eminent members of\n  the profession had gained a reputation for evangelical wit,\n  learning, and piety, as well as high dignities in the Church of\n  England, by setting forth in their sermons and at public\n  meetings, with all their harrowing details, the astounding\n  abominations of the Church of Rome. The petitioners implored\n  his holiness not to be indifferent to the position of these\n  gentlemen. Many of their number had privately requested the\n  deputation to plead their cause with the amiable and benevolent\n  Pius IX. Thus the great and good Doctor M'Nickel represented\n  respectfully that he had filled his church, and let all his\n  pews, during three-and-twenty years, by elegantly slandering\n  priests and nuns, and powerfully illustrating Romish\n  superstitions. A clergyman of noble birth had attained to the\n  honors of the episcopate by handling alternately the same\n  subjects, and a particularly pleasing doctrine of the\n  Millennium, and had thus been enabled to confer a valuable\n  living on his daughter's husband, who otherwise could not have\n  hoped to obtain one. An eminent canon of an old Roman Catholic\n  abbey owed his distinguished position, which he hoped to be\n  allowed to retain, to the fact of his having proved so clearly\n  that the pope was Antichrist; and earnestly entreated his\n  holiness to do nothing to forfeit that character. A well-known\n  doctor of Anglican divinity was on the point of quitting the\n  country in despair of gaining a livelihood, when the idea of\n  preaching against popery was suggested to him, and he had now\n  reason to rejoice that he had abandoned the foolish scheme of\n  emigration. Even a high-church bishop had been so hampered by\n  suspicions of Romanistic tendencies, which were perfectly\n  unfounded, that he had only saved himself from general\n  discredit by incessant abuse of popery, though he was able to\n  say, in self-defence, that he did not believe a word of his own\n  invectives. Finally, a young clergyman, who had not hitherto\n  much distinguished himself, having often but vainly solicited a\n  member of his congregation to favor his evangelical attachment,\n  at length hit upon a new expedient, and preached so ravishing a\n  discourse on the matrimonial prohibitions of the Romish Church,\n  and drew so appalling a picture of the domestic infelicities of\n  the Romish priesthood, that on the following Monday morning the\n  young lady made him an offer of her hand and fortune.\n{564}\n  It was hoped that his holiness would give due consideration to\n  interests so grave and manifold, and not peril them by hasty\n  reforms, which nobody desired, and which nobody would receive\n  with satisfaction.\n\n  \"Another class of clergymen appealed still more urgently to the\n  forbearance of the pope. They represented that they were in the\n  habit of realizing large sums by the publication of prophetical\n  works of which the whole interest turned upon the approximate\n  destruction of 'the beast,' and that while they indicated, by\n  the help of the apocalypse, the precise hour of his fall, they\n  yet managed to put off the final catastrophe from year to year,\n  and could hardly supply the successive editions which the\n  curiosity of the public demanded. They hoped that his holiness\n  would do nothing rash and imprudent which might compromise\n  their particular industry. One of these gentlemen ingenuously\n  confessed that without Antichrist, who was his best friend, and\n  the invaluable book of Revelation, which was his chief source\n  of income, he saw nothing before him but the workhouse. He\n  begged to forward to the pope a copy of each of his works,\n  including the following: 'Horns of the Beast,' neatly bound,\n  with gilt edges; 'Antichrist,' handsomely got up, 'positively\n  his last appearance in 1864, in consequence of other\n  engagements,' with new editions in 1865, 1866, and 1867; also,\n  'Answer to an insolent pamphlet, entitled the \"The _Number\n  and Street_ of the Beast proved to be that of the Rev. Dr.\n  Comeagain.\"'\n\n  \"Lastly, even members of parliament to whom nature had not been\n  prodigal in intellectual endowments, urged with great force\n  that they were able to get on their legs, and to stay there,\n  detailing the prodigious incidents of conventual turpitude;\n  making the blood to curdle, and the hair to stand on end, by\n  thrilling narratives of nuns immured, and clanking chains, and\n  bereaved mothers, invoking in agonized chorus, 'Liberty and Mr.\n  Newdegate.' They hoped the pope would see in this fact the\n  necessity of caution, lest he should unwittingly put to silence\n  more than one independent member of parliament, deprive an\n  illustrious assembly of its chief amusement, and rashly change\n  the composition of the British House of Commons.\n\n  \"Dean Pompous inquired (with a somewhat thick utterance, but\n  with great dignity of manner) whether he understood the\n  archdeacon to say that he had actually seen this document?\n\n  \"Archdeacon Jolly: He had certainly said so; it had been shown\n  to him in Rome by Cardinal Antonelli.\"\n\n  Archdeacon Chasuble held the theory that the Anglican\n  establishment is a _branch_ of the Catholic Church, and\n  proved that the Catholic Church was necessarily infallible at\n  one period of her existence. The gift of infallibility was\n  _suspended_ when Christendom became divided, and will be\n  recovered when the Russian, the Roman, the Greek, the Anglican,\n  and the Oriental branches reunite--a happy period, of whose\n  arrival, he regretted to say, there was no immediate prospect.\n  To this Dr. Candour undertook to reply:\n\n  \"When the Roman, Greek, and Anglican communities should all\n  become one, the church would once more become infallible. Three\n  spurious and defective Christianities fused together, if\n  anybody could persuade them to coalesce, would make one true\n  and perfect Christianity. The giving up what each believed\n  specifically true, and the uniting in what each believed\n  specifically false, was that travail in the womb of Christendom\n  which would give birth to the new infallibility.\n{565}\n  He would only say, as the professor of theology had disposed of\n  that point, that this was an obstetrical phenomenon which he\n  did not think any one present would live long enough to\n  witness.\n\n  \"But he would now approach another aspect of the question, to\n  which the archdeacon had attracted their attention. The\n  low-church theory, he had told them, and the language of their\n  articles and homilies, which assumed the defection of the\n  Catholic Church, 'made void the promises of God.' Was the\n  archdeacon quite sure that low-churchmen were the real or sole\n  offenders? He thought not. Let him ask his friend whether even\n  the 'diabolical millennium' of the English reformers, that\n  dismal interval between the sixth and sixteenth centuries, was\n  a conception more insolently subversive of the promises of God,\n  more fatal to the Catholic idea of a divine, indefectible, and\n  'teaching church,' than the well-known Anglican conceit, that\n  the early church was wholly pure, the mediaeval much less pure,\n  and the modern quite unworthy of their obedience? Was it really\n  so very respectful to the catholic idea, of which the\n  archdeacon claimed to be the advocate, to assert, as he and his\n  party did in every act of their lives, that, in spite of the\n  'promises of God,' the only really perfect church at this hour,\n  protesting at once against Protestant heresies and popish\n  corruptions, was the little group of Puseyites and ritualists\n  within the national establishment? (Great laughter.)\n\n  \"The archdeacon had reproached the low-church school, and the\n  founders of Anglicanism, with making void the promises of God.\n  Let the house consider how the high-church party interpreted\n  those promises for themselves. According to their theory, the\n  promise to be 'always' with the church applied only to the\n  beginning and the end of her career, but not to the long\n  interval between the two, during which the whole of Christendom\n  was hopelessly sunk in error and corruption. It was curious to\n  see that the high-church party cordially agreed with\n  ultra-Protestants, that the Catholic Church during long ages\n  had been teaching falsehoods! This was their reverence for 'the\n  promises of God!'\n\n  \"Again. The promise to guide the Church into '_all_ truth'\n  had reference only to the integrity of truth _before_ the\n  mission of St. Augustine to England, and _after_ the\n  publication of the _Tracts for the Times_. The twelve\n  hundred years between them, rather a long period in the life of\n  the church, during which all Christians obstinately believed\n  the supremacy of the pope, the office of the mother of God, and\n  the mystery of transubstantiation--doctrines highly offensive\n  to Puseyites--were merely an unfortunate parenthesis in the\n  faithfulness of God, during which the catholic idea was\n  lamentably obscured, and God forgot his 'promises.'\n\n  \"Once more. The promise that the 'gates of hell' should\n  '_never_' prevail against the church meant only, according\n  to the same school, that the principalities of evil, doing\n  active work under the father of lies, should certainly prevail\n  for a good many centuries, but that finally a little sect\n  should rise up in the Church of England, able to discriminate\n  with precision the errors of the Anglican, the Greek, and the\n  Roman churches, and peacefully to conduct them all to the\n  perfect truth which they had lost, to the unity which they had\n  forfeited, and to a very remarkable and final triumph over the\n  'gates of hell.'\n\n{566}\n\n  \"The only true test of a theory was the result to which it led\n  in practice. The branch-theory did not look well on paper, but\n  perhaps it redeemed itself in its practical evolution. He would\n  suppose, then, that the archdeacon, resolving to try his\n  theory, set out on a foreign tour. Did he leave Dover an\n  Anglican, and disembark at Calais a Roman Catholic? If so, at\n  what particular spot in the Channel did he drop the Anglican\n  articles and take up the Roman missal? Was it marked by a buoy?\n  or was the transformation a gradual process, like the changes\n  of temperature? On leaving Dover, he carried with him only two\n  sacraments, which had grown into seven by the time he landed at\n  Calais. Supposing the distance to be twenty-five miles, did he\n  take up a new sacrament--he was going to say at every fifth\n  milestone but the sea knew not such measures of distance. Were\n  there fixed points at which he _began_ to believe that\n  transubstantiation was a holy mystery, and not a 'blasphemous\n  fable;' that confirmation and extreme unction were divine\n  sacraments, and not, as he had believed while breakfasting at\n  Dover, a mere 'corrupt following of the Apostles'? Did he, in\n  spite of the injunction with which they were all familiar, 'not\n  to speak to the man at the wheel,' anxiously interrogate that\n  individual as to the precise longitude in which it behoved him\n  to cast away some Anglican delusion, and take up some Catholic\n  truth? At what point of the voyage did the pope's supremacy\n  begin to dawn upon him? And, finally, did the process of\n  transformation, to which all branch-Christians were inevitably\n  subject when they went to foreign lands, depend in any degree\n  upon the weather? Was it quicker or slower in a heavy sea? or\n  did sea-sickness in any way affect its development?\n\n  \"The prolocutor of the house here rose, with an air of dignity\n  becoming his official character, and expressed his conviction\n  that the general feeling of the house was that the debate\n  should now close. (Hear, hear.) That debate had proved a\n  variety of things, which were more or less destructive to the\n  national church, but nothing perhaps more clearly than this,\n  that the public was right in regarding their discussions as\n  very unprofitable to the interests of religion, either in their\n  own land or in any other. ... If the house shared his opinion,\n  it only remained to determine what should be the place of their\n  future meeting. (Applause.)\n\n  \"Doctor Easy was delighted to be able to offer hospitality to\n  his reverend friends. He lived, as they knew, in the immediate\n  neighborhood of their fine old historical abbey, and his\n  apartments were sufficiently spacious to afford a convenient\n  place of meeting. He proposed, therefore, on the understanding\n  that convocation was now happily extinct, that they should meet\n  at his residence on that day week, when they could either\n  resume the debate that had hitherto occupied them, or turn\n  their attention to any other topic which might promise greater\n  profit or amusement. (Loud cries of 'Agreed.') [_Excunt\n  omnes_.\"\n\nThe second scene is introduced with the following description,\nthe delicate humor of which is inimitable:\n\n  \"Dr. Easy's drawing-room presented an animated appearance.\n  Friendly greetings were exchanged, and decent hilarity pervaded\n  the assembly. The gravest countenances relaxed from\n  conventional severity. Archdeacons smiled as if in anticipation\n  of coming enjoyment, and even deans responded to the\n  salutations of the inferior clergy with unwonted urbanity.\n{567}\n  The bright mirrors, well-selected pictures, and far-reaching\n  sofas which adorned Dr. Easy's saloon, and bore witness at once\n  to the amplitude of his revenues and the refinement of his\n  taste, were evidently felt to be an improvement on the decorous\n  gloom of the Jerusalem chamber. Tables of marble and rosewood\n  were covered with choice engravings and other works of art.\n  Portraits of the Misses Easy attracted the attention of the\n  younger clergy. The absence of reporters imparted to their\n  elder brethren a welcome sense of liberty. Free but not\n  undignified postures preluded the familiar dialogue in which\n  each could take cheerful part, without the unpleasant fear of\n  newspaper criticism. Convocation had become a social or family\n  reunion, and was evidently satisfied with the change. Informal\n  discussion preceded the coming debate, and themes which never\n  fail to interest the clerical mind occupied the company. Dean\n  Pompous disputed with a neighbor the exact pecuniary value of a\n  benefice likely to be shortly vacant, and suggested a probable\n  successor to the dying incumbent. Dean Primitive conversed with\n  Archdeacon Chasuble on the recent letter of the primate,\n  inviting the bishops 'in visible communion with the Church of\n  England' to a council in September. Had his friend noticed, he\n  asked, that remarkable announcement that 'such council would\n  _not_ be competent to make declarations, or lay down\n  definitions on points of doctrine'? His friend had certainly\n  noticed it. He had heard of councils, both general and local,\n  which had assembled to _decide_ on points of doctrine, but\n  it was the first time he had ever heard of a council summoned\n  with the avowed object of _avoiding_ all such questions.\n  In such cheerful talk the reverend guests continued to indulge,\n  till their number being at length complete, there arose\n  suddenly, amid the hum of general conversation, a loud cry of\n  'Chair, chair!' Then the host, leaning against a chimney-piece,\n  bowed to his friends, and prayed them to be seated. Silence\n  being restored, the debate commenced as follows:\n\n  \"Dr. Easy rejoiced that his reverend friends had attended in\n  such imposing numbers. In compliance with their invitation, he\n  had selected a subject to be submitted to their notice. Their\n  last debate, as they seemed generally to feel, had proved to\n  themselves and to the public that authority neither did nor\n  could reside in the English Church. It was certain that no\n  individual clergyman, nor all the clergy put together, could\n  decide any point of doctrine whatever; so that the day seemed\n  close at hand if it had not actually arrived--when an Anglican\n  would be at liberty either to accept or reject every truth\n  contained in the Christian revelation. The learned prolocutor\n  had well epitomized all the points of their last debate, and\n  gracefully justified the characteristic decisions of privy\n  council, when he said, or at least implied, that the practical\n  result of all Anglican teaching, as of all Anglican history,\n  might be expressed in such a formula as this, 'Christianity,\n  from first to last, is simply a matter of opinion;' or, 'The\n  primary object of the Christian revelation is to render it\n  impossible for any man to know the truth with certainty.'\n\n  \"In confirmation of this view of their position as members of\n  the Established Church, he was happy to be able to call their\n  attention to the recent declaration of one of her highest\n  dignitaries.\n{568}\n  He regretted that he was not present with them, that he might\n  have enforced in person the very striking statements which he\n  was about to quote from a published volume of his sermons, with\n  which he (Dr. Easy) had only become acquainted since their last\n  meeting. The very Rev. Dr. Elliot, the present Dean of Bristol,\n  had publicly asserted, without incurring the slightest shadow\n  of reproach, these two momentous truths; (i) that the Church of\n  England is, in all respects, a purely human institution; and\n  (2) that her members are not bound in conscience to believe a\n  single doctrine taught by her. But he would quote his exact\n  words:\n\n  \"'The Church of England,' said the Dean of Bristol, 'is created\n  by the law, upheld by the law, paid by the law, and may be\n  changed by the law, _just as any other institution in the\n  land_.'\n\n  \"That was his first proposition, and here was the second:\n\n  \"'I cannot desire you to accept either what I affirm, or what\n  the church affirms, as undoubtedly true, or _the only\n  true_ interpretation of the mysteries of God.'\n\n  \"It was pleasant to see the conclusions at which they had\n  arrived in a former debate embraced with so much energy of\n  conviction by one of the highest functionaries of their\n  national church. And now, accepting these conclusions as\n  indisputable, and harmonizing perfectly with the life and\n  history of that church, he was led to ask, 'If the authority of\n  the English Church be purely human, can her orders be divine?'\n  This was the question he should propose for their\n  consideration, and without another word of preface, he would\n  submit the following motion to their vote: 'That this meeting,\n  being unanimous on the point that authority can have no\n  existence in the Church of England, desires to pass to the\n  discussion of the cognate question, \"Are English orders human\n  or divine?\"'\"\n\nThe discussion as to the validity of these orders is pretty\nexhaustive, and the arguments are put with a terseness and effect\nquite beyond adequate praise. The hand of a master in dialectics\nis evident from beginning to end. Instead of attempting a\nsummary, which would necessarily fall far short of doing justice\nto this part of the pamphlet, we shall let the ritualistic\nclergyman give the following account of himself:\n\n  \"I call myself a Catholic priest, because I am either that or a\n  ridiculous impostor, and I object to be considered in that\n  light. I claim the power of the keys, because they belong to\n  the priestly office, and I will not allow that the clergy of\n  any other church have more power than I have. I can consecrate\n  the host, though I am not quite sure what that means, because I\n  should be only a Protestant minister if I could not, and a\n  Protestant minister is the object of my contempt. I can absolve\n  from sin, though the English clergy never knew they could do\n  it, because the commission was given to somebody, and,\n  therefore, it must have been given to me. I teach the Church of\n  England what she ought to hold, and instruct the Church of Rome\n  what she ought to retract, because I clearly perceive the\n  deficiencies of the one, and detect the excesses of the other.\n  I assert that my doctrines are part of God's truth, but I\n  communicate with those who flatly deny them, because, when I am\n  taunted with this, I can always reply, that it is the mark of a\n  self-willed man to seek another communion in order to quiet his\n  conscience.\n{569}\n  I countenance, by remaining in the Church of England, all the\n  mortal heresies which have ever existed in her, but I tell my\n  accusers that I only remain in her in order to remove them. I\n  am in communion with no church in the world, but I invite them\n  all to come into communion with me, and indicate the terms on\n  which I will permit them to do so. I am not in schism, though I\n  dwell in solitude, because the other Christian bodies refuse to\n  associate with me; and I am not in heresy, though I every day\n  communicate with heretics, because I do it only for their good.\n  I do not obey my bishop, but I propose to him to obey me, which\n  he foolishly declines to do. All churches have erred, but I am\n  ready to teach them all, if they will only listen to me; and\n  though the perfect idea of Christianity has perished from the\n  earth, I am able to restore it at any moment, whenever I shall\n  be requested to do so. I remain in the Church of England,\n  though she allows most of her clergy to teach lies, because I\n  do not choose to quit her; and I refuse to enter the Church of\n  Rome, though she forces all her priests to teach truth, because\n  I do not choose to obey her. I prefer to obey myself, because I\n  find no other authority worthy to be obeyed; and, though I\n  admit that this position has its disadvantages, I must\n  positively decline to exchange it for any other.\"\n\nThe conclusion of the meeting is thus stated:\n\n  \"Dr. Easy said he could not permit his friends to depart, as\n  they now manifested their intention to do, without thanking\n  them both for their attendance on that occasion and for the\n  part which they had taken in a discussion of great interest and\n  importance. He would not abuse his privilege as their host by\n  adding to the discourse of the archdeacon more than a few brief\n  words. They had arrived, he supposed, at a common conviction on\n  the two great questions of authority in the Anglican Church,\n  and the real character of her orders. It was at once their\n  wisdom and their safety to insist that both were purely human.\n  Any other theory, as the archdeacon had clearly proved, would\n  expose not only themselves but their common Christianity to\n  contempt and ruin. Either ordination, as it existed in the\n  English Church, was _not_ a rite intended to produce a\n  supernatural effect, except in a sense which might with equal\n  justice be applied to the orders of Mr. Spurgeon or Mr. Newman\n  Hall; or, if it _was_, the Reformed and Protestant\n  ministry established by Elizabeth and inaugurated by Parker,\n  which had never displayed the faintest trace of any such\n  effect, was a failure so portentous, that they must remain for\n  ever silent in the presence of any scoffing infidel who should\n  use it as an argument against the truth of Christianity.\n\n  \"He trusted, therefore, that they were about to separate that\n  night with this practical conclusion, that the idea of a\n  catholic priesthood, one in doctrine and divine in endowments,\n  existing in the English Church, was not only a contradiction of\n  her whole history, but absolutely inconsistent with the belief\n  that Christianity was true. Either that foolish notion must be\n  abandoned, or they must honestly admit that, at least, the\n  English Church was a delusion.\n{570}\n  For if any man could deliberately maintain, as a small party\n  among them desired to do, that the entire body of the English\n  clergy had been, from the beginning, a supernatural caste,\n  though it was undeniable that they had always exactly resembled\n  the laity in all their habits, principles, and actions; that\n  they had received a special vocation from Heaven to teach the\n  same unvarying doctrine, though no two of them could ever agree\n  together what that doctrine was; that they possessed the\n  faculty of retaining or remitting sin, though, for three\n  centuries, they had never once attempted to use it, and had\n  bitterly derided the assumption of it by the clergy of another\n  community; that they were clothed, by the transforming grace of\n  orders, with angelic purity and virginity, though they and\n  their bishops had ever been even more impatient of a life of\n  continence than any other class of human society; that they\n  were able to call down God upon a human altar, though their own\n  founders began their career by pulling down altars, and their\n  own tribunals ruled that the English Church denied their\n  existence; that the chief function of their ecclesiastical life\n  was to offer the daily sacrifice, though the Church of England\n  had carefully obliterated every trace of that mystery from the\n  national mind; and, finally, that the highest spiritual\n  privilege of their flocks was to adore the consecrated host,\n  though their own prayer-book expressly declared it was\n  'idolatry to be abhorred of all faithful Christians.' If, he\n  said, any man could seriously affirm the series of propositions\n  here enumerated, and many more like them, he should be ready to\n  admit, what it would no longer be possible to deny, that\n  neither religion nor history had any real meaning, and that\n  modern Christianity had been more fertile in childish conceits\n  and preposterous delusions than any system of heathen mythology\n  with which he was acquainted.\n\n  \"If, on the other hand, they were content to believe with the\n  whole nation, that the English clergy were simply the\n  representatives of the English reformation; that they were\n  Protestant ministers, not Catholic priests; that they were\n  distinguished in nothing from other men, except as having\n  undertaken to remind them, from time to time, of truths which\n  all were too apt to forget; they would then assume the only\n  character which really belonged to them, or in which either\n  their own communion or any other would ever consent to\n  recognize them. In that case, they would no longer expose\n  either themselves or their religion to the world's contempt,\n  nor unwittingly furnish the unbeliever with a fatal argument\n  against the truth and the reasonableness of Christianity. The\n  Church of England had never been the home of the supernatural,\n  as all mankind knew from her own history; and to try to\n  introduce so strange an element into such a receptacle would be\n  a far more dangerous experiment than to 'pour new wine into old\n  bottles.' They might as well attempt to inclose the lightning\n  which could shiver rocks in the hands of an infant, as to make\n  the English Church the shrine of mysteries _which she had\n  existed only to deny_.\"\n\nThe pamphlet from which the above excerpts are made is now in\npress, and will soon be published by \"The Catholic Publication\nHouse.\"\n\n--------\n\n{571}\n\n        New Publications.\n\n\n  The Irish Reformation; or, The Alleged Conversion of the Irish\n  Bishops at the accession of Queen Elizabeth, and the assumed\n  descent of the present established hierarchy in Ireland from\n  the ancient Irish Church, disproved.\n  By W. Maziere Brady, D.D., Vicar of Donoghpatrick and Rector of\n  Kilberry, Diocese of Meath, and formerly Chaplain to the Earls\n  of Clarendon, St. Germans, and Carlisle, Lord Lieutenant of\n  Ireland, etc., etc.\n  Fifth edition, containing also a letter from James A. Froude,\n  M.A.; notices of the early Elizabethan Prelates, and of the\n  sufferings of the Roman Catholic Bishops; and tables showing in\n  juxtaposition the Anglican and Roman Catholic successions of\n  Irish Archbishops, with lists of all Irish Roman Catholic\n  Bishops from 1558 to the present time.\n  London: Longmans, Green & Co. 1867.\n  For sale by the Catholic Publication Society,\n  126 Nassau Street, New York.\n\nThe author of this book, which has become celebrated in Great\nBritain, and has received the highest commendations from the\nEnglish secular press, is an Irish Protestant clergyman. Catholic\nclergymen and scholars may, therefore, think that it is written\nin favor of the Irish establishment, or lacking in thorough\ninformation on Catholic topics. On the contrary, it is the most\ndamaging attack on that iniquitous institution that has yet\nappeared; replete with solid learning, and an invaluable\ncompanion to the excellent works of Msgr. Moran, of Dublin, on\nthe Irish Catholic Church and hierarchy. It is not to be\nsupposed, however, that Dr. Brady is a Catholic in disguise, a\nRomanizer, or an enemy of the church whose minister he is. He is\na Protestant Episcopalian, a real believer in religious liberty,\nand a man of liberal sentiments, who respects the Catholic Church\nand loves the rights and welfare of the Irish people. He has\nwritten this work not against the doctrine or discipline of the\nProtestant Episcopal Church, but against the falsehoods, and\nignorant or fraudulent misrepresentations of historical facts, by\nwhich certain writers have attempted to justify and bolster up\nthe absurd pretence that the Anglican establishment in Ireland is\nthe true Catholic Church of that country. These writers, among\nwhom Palmer is a signal instance, pretend that the Marian bishops\nin Ireland, as a body, accepted the pretended reformation of\nElizabeth; that the Irish hierarchy, church, and nation,\nrenounced their allegiance to the Bishop of Rome, and to the\ndoctrine of the Roman Church; that the apostolic succession was\nregularly transmitted to the Protestant bishops of Ireland, and\nthat the present Roman Catholic hierarchy and church were\nestablished _de novo_, in a schismatical manner, by\nemissaries of the Pope. Consequently, they say, the Protestant\narchbishops of Armagh and Dublin are the canonical successors of\nSt. Patrick and St. Lawrence; the other Protestant bishops are\nalso the canonical successors to the ancient Catholic bishops of\nthe sees they pretend to fill, the ecclesiastical property\nlegally belongs to the Protestant establishment, and the Roman\nCatholic bishops are intruders who have drawn the majority of the\nIrish people into a schism. It was enough to have forced\nProtestantism into domination in Ireland by force, rapine,\nslaughter, and persecution without a parallel; to have robbed the\nIrish church and the Irish people of everything they possessed,\nwithout adding insult to injury by this preposterous pretence.\nDr. Brady has laboriously and triumphantly refuted it, and Mr.\nFroude, the English historian, has given his full indorsement to\nDr. Brady's statements. Dr. Brady proves that, at the most, two\nof the Marian bishops submitted to Elizabeth Curwin, of Dublin,\nand O'Fihil, of Leighlin. Curwin's apostasy is a notorious fact,\nbut that of O'Fihil is denied by Dr. Moran, who adduces evidence\nagainst it.\n{572}\nCurwin was an Englishman, and consecrated by English bishops.\nTherefore, according to Dr. Brady, but one Irishman, having Irish\nconsecration, deserted the communion of the Pope for that of the\nQueen and Parker. He goes through all the Irish sees\n_seriatim_, proving the continuity of succession from their\nancient to their modern Catholic incumbents, and proving, also,\nthe forcible intrusion of Protestants by degrees, and with many\nbreaks, into the same titular sees. He states the conclusion\nderived from his facts and arguments thus: \"In point of fact, the\nIrish nation from 1558 to 1867 has continued in communion with\nRome, never having ceased to be, in its clergy, priests, and\npeople, as thoroughly Roman Catholic as at the accession of\nElizabeth,\" (p. 199.) The claim of a succession of orders by a\nline traceable to the old Irish hierarchy is also disposed of.\nThe doctor shows that whatever orders the Irish Protestant church\nhas are derived from Curwin, and from him alone, through Loftus,\nwho was consecrated by him to Armagh, and thence transferred to\nDublin, in lieu of Curwin himself, who was transferred to Oxford.\nOf course he does not deny the validity of the orders, but merely\nthe fact that they descend from an Irish source. These orders\ncannot, however, be recognized by the Catholic Church for two\nreasons. First, there is a probability that Loftus was never\nordained priest, and, consequently, was incapable of receiving\nEpiscopal consecration. Second, he was consecrated by K. Edward's\nOrdinal, which is an invalid form. Anglicans may solace\nthemselves as much as they please by the reflection that they can\ntrace the Irish ordinations up to Curwin, an undoubted bishop,\nand may cover up the two great flaws we have pointed out in their\nvalidity, by the special pleading they are such adepts in using.\nThis will not, however, benefit in any way those who are obliged\nto trace their orders to Parker, nor will it affect the position\nof either English or Irish Protestant clergymen in relation to\nthe Catholic Church, or even to the schismatics of the East.\n\nDr. Brady throws much light on some other topics of historical\ninterest. He shows, among other things, how bad was the character\nof Curwin, Loftus, and several others of the first Protestant\nbishops of Ireland, and, on the other hand, does justice to the\nvirtues and martyr-like constancy of the Catholic prelates. He\nproves, against the denials of some Protestant writers, the truth\nof the history of the cruel martyrdom of that great hero of the\nfaith, Archbishop O'Hurley, a man who richly deserves, in common\nwith many other Irish martyrs, to be canonized.\n\nThe lists of Catholic bishops add much to the value of the work,\nand so also does the refutation of many Protestant calumnies\nagainst the Irish people, and the exposure of several\nfalsifications of history.\n\nOn Catholic principles, the established church of Ireland is\nnothing but a schismatical sect, whose bishops are intruders upon\nthe domain of the lawful bishops of the country. Even had they\nvalid ordination, they could make no claim to a lawful succession\nin jurisdiction.\n\nOn Protestant principles, it is not in any way entitled to be\nconsidered as the national church of Ireland, but only as the\nchurch of a small minority of the people, whose ancestors\nforcibly intruded themselves upon the Irish soil by the aid of\nfire, and sword, and confiscation. We have no hostility against\nthe Episcopalians of Ireland, who are not accountable for the\ncrimes of their ancestors, and many of whom are worthy persons\nand true Irish patriots. We would not have them molested in their\nreligious liberty, or even deprived of the churches in their\npossession, provided they can make any use of them, although it\nis so painful to Catholic feeling to see these ancient sacred\nshrines of the faith in their hands. But we would have them\ndeprived of the privileges of a state establishment, Catholic and\nProtestant dissenters freed from the obligation of paying tithes\nto their clergy, and themselves left to sustain their own\nreligion by their own contributions. The Irish establishment is a\ncrying iniquity, and it ought to be suppressed. It is time, also,\nthat the glorious history of the Catholic Church in Ireland,\nsince the disastrous epoch of Henry VIII., should be better known\nthan it is.\n{573}\nWe thank Dr. Brady for his valuable contribution to truth and the\ncause of justice, and we recommend his work, as the production of\na Protestant Episcopal clergyman of learning, honesty, and\ncandor, to all who are interested in the history of Ireland, and\nespecially to his own brethren in the ministry in this country.\n\n  ----\n\n  The Three Holy Kings.\n  With Photographic Illustrations.\n  New York: Kurd and Houghton.\n\nThe writer of this volume presents us a short essay upon the Holy\nWise Men of the East who came to adore our Lord soon after his\nnativity. The subject is one which requires considerable research\nto bring out a vivid picture of the character of the Magi, the\ncircumstances of their journey to Judea, and their subsequent\nfortunes. The author confines himself to a simple reproduction of\nthe gospel narrative, with a passing notice of the original\nbass-relief and pictures, with photographs of which the book is\nillustrated. It is well known that in the great Cathedral of\nCologne is to be seen the shrine containing the relics of these\nholy kings. We are not surprised to find the writer discrediting\nthe authenticity of these relics; but in the face of so much\ntestimony, and against the weight of such ancient traditions, he\nwho questions their truth must give solid, or at least plausible\nreasons, and not take it for granted as the author (we trust,\ninnocently) does, that \"some of the bones said to be of Saint\nUrsula and her eleven thousand virgins, which are everywhere\nexposed throughout the walls and pavement of the church of Saint\nUrsula, in the same city of Cologne, have been discovered to be\nthose of sheep and other animals,\" in order to throw discredit\nupon the authenticity of all relics.\n\nWe refer him to an article entitled \"The Truth of Supposed\nLegends and Fables,\" _Catholic World_, July, 1865, where he\nwill find the subject of Saint Ursula treated in a masterly\nmanner by His Eminence, the late Cardinal Wiseman.\n\nWe are surprised, however, to find the writer designating the\nCatholic Church as the _Romish_ Church. This appellation\nevery scholar knows, or ought to know, is slang, except in the\nmouths and on the pages of bitter and ignorant controversialists,\nwhere it is idiomatic. Messrs. Hurd & Houghton have published the\nbook in their best style; and were these defects removed, we\nwould cheerfully recommend it to our readers.\n\n  ----\n\n  Ye Legende Of St. Gwendoline.\n  With Eight Photographs, by Addis,\n  from Drawings by John W. Ehninger.\n  New York: G. P. Putnam and Son. 1867.\n\nThis truly magnificent volume, from the press of the Messrs.\nPutnam, is one of the choicest specimens of typography ever\nissued in the United States. The legend is written in early\nEnglish, and the author has closely adhered throughout to the use\nof Saxon words and to the Saxon form of phrases. The story,\nreplete with romance, is charmingly told, and reflects great\ncredit upon the writer's literary ability. St. Gwendoline is\nfirst a princess, \"fulle, fayre, and statelie, and of manie\nexcellent dispositions, and verie learned, soe that there was no\nqueene or princesse like her for beautie and goodlinesse and alle\nlearninge.\" The king, her father, gives her a realm of her own,\nand then invites the neighboring kings and princes to visit her,\nhoping she would marry one of them. Though many came, she refused\nthem all, because she did not love them. One, the King of\nMynwede, dies in her presence, broken-hearted at her refusal. The\ndescription of this scene is unequalled for its simple and\ntouching pathos. At last, Queen Gwendoline sees in a dream the\nface of a knight, whom, if a real person, she would certainly\nlove; and at a tournament she discovers in the victorious\nchampion the knight himself. Unfortunately for the love-sick\nqueen,\n\n  \"She who weds not when she may,\n  When she will she must have nay.\"\n\nThe knight is already a husband. Queen Gwendoline is good, pious,\ncharitable; but love makes sad havoc with us all.\n\n{574}\n\nShe will not give up her unlawful affection, and even prays for\nthe death of the knight's own lady. Prostrate before the altar,\nwith heart rebelling against God, an angel appears to her, and\nreasons with her. But what avail the best reasons, were they\ngiven by angels, when we have wilfully yielded ourselves up to\nthe tyrannical mastery of passion? But God had great designs on\nQueen Gwendoline, and he lets this suffering fall upon her that\nhe may purify her soul the more perfectly. The scene of her\nvision changes; the chapel walls divide, and before her is\nCalvary, with its \"grayte crosse, whereon hung in paynes and woe\nye Saviour of ye world. And ever mournfullie and stedfastlie Hee\ngazed upon her. And when ye Queene saw ye vision, shee cast her\nowne wille and her sinnes from her with a grayte crye.\"\n\nAnd more than that. She becomes one of those who, for the love of\nGod, sacrifice all human love. She lays aside her queenly crown,\nand royal robes, enters a convent; becomes, after many years, the\nabbess, and dies a saint.\n\nWe have given but a very imperfect sketch of this beautiful\nlegend, but we hope enough to induce many of our readers to\nperuse it entire. The photographic illustrations are good, but\nsuch a rare publication as this ought to be adorned with\nfirst-class line engravings. Its appearance at the present time\nis very opportune, for it is a volume which will make a valuable\nand most appropriate present for the holidays.\n\n----\n\n  Shamrock And Thistle; Or,\n  Young America In Ireland And Scotland.\n  A Story of Travel and Adventure,\n  by Oliver Optic.\n  Boston: Lee & Shepard. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 343.\n\nThe author of this volume is well known as the writer of several\ninteresting stories for boys. The book before us purports to be\nadventures of United States Naval Cadets in Ireland and Scotland\nduring the visit of the schoolship to British waters. The\nauthor's brief sketch of Irish history, and his descriptions of\nIrish scenery, is very fair, and generally correct. Occasionally\nhe lets out the usual sneer at Irish poverty and Irish customs.\nHe is especially severe on the Irish hackmen of Cork and the\nboatmen of Killarney. The book will interest youthful readers,\nfor whom it is written. Its style is somewhat inflated, and it\nhas a general tone of boyish exaggeration throughout, which we\nsuppose was the intention of the author, as he wrote it for boys.\nThis, however, we cannot approve, for we think the youth of\nAmerica pick up these ideas easily enough without having them put\nbefore them as examples, in books intended for their use. We are\nwilling to forgive the author for much of his exaggeration, for\nthe fairness exhibited by him in speaking of Ireland and her\nhistory, and her many wrongs under English rule. It will at least\ngive \"Young America\" a more correct idea of that country than can\nbe found in \"Peter Parley's\" books, and others of that same\nstamp.\n\n----\n\n  The Hymn Of Hildebert,\n  and other Mediaeval Hymns, with Translations.\n  By Erastus C. Benedict.\n  New York: Anson D. F. Randolph. 1867.\n\nMr. Erastus C. Benedict amuses himself \"in his occasional hours\nof leisure,\" as he tells us, by translating the grand old hymns\nof the Catholic Church into English rhyme. But he finds them full\nof horrible anti-protestant doctrine, and it would never do to\nput the true meaning of the verses before the eyes of his\nProtestant brethren. Besides, either his literary or his\nProtestant conscience would doubtless forbid an honest\ntranslation. Not being able, therefore, to make an honest one, he\nmakes a dishonest one rather than not make a book. We give him\ncredit, however, for making an apology for doing so, wretched as\nit is. All the doctrinal assertions of these hymns were\nundoubtedly meant by the writers of them to be understood in a\nCatholic sense; but, says Mr. B., they may be understood in a\nProtestant sense, (just as the Scriptures are interpreted in a\nProtestant sense, we suppose,) and thus garbled, distorted, and\nfalsified, he puts them out in print.\n\n{575}\n\nIt is bad enough to disgrace one's walls with ridiculous\nimitations of the pictures of great masters, but to cut down a\ngenuine Murillo or Vandyke to suit a second-hand frame, bought in\na cheap auction lot, and then touch up what is left of the\nsubject with a white-wash brush, is something too execrable to be\nexpressed. We append an example or two for our readers'\namusement.\n\n  \"Verbum caro, panem verum.\n    Verbo carnem efficit;\n  Fitque sanguis Christi merum.\n\n  \"Word made flesh, among us dwelling,\n    With true bread and wine regaleth;\n   By His word the mystery telling.\"\n\n                              Page 55.\n\n  \"Inflammatus et accensus,\n   Per te, Virgo, sim defensus\n     In die judicii.\n\n  \"By a heavenly zeal excited,\n   When the judgment fires are lighted,\n     Then may I be justified.\"\n\n                             Page 67.\n\n  \"Dogma datur Christianis,\n   Quod in carnem transit panis,\n   Et vinum in sanguinem.\n\n  \"Here to Christians Jesus preacheth,\n   Here to us the mystery teacheth,\n   Never sense perceiving it--\n   Flesh and blood for us devoted,\n   Are by bread and wine denoted,\n   Living faith believing it.\"\n                             Page 95.\n\nThese, we think, will suffice. The appearance of this new one\namong the many late republications in various forms of these\nhymns furnishes us with another gratifying proof that our\nProtestant friends are beginning to regret having consigned\n_all_ the works of \"popery\" to perdition; and we rejoice\nthat they rehabilitate her poetry among the first of them; for\nthe poetry of a church is as truly the sincerest expression of\nits heart as it is of a people's. But in the name of sincerity\nlet us have an honest version. When or where did a Catholic ever\n\"understand\" the works of a Protestant in a Catholic sense? Let\nMr. Benedict try again. We are sure he can and will do better,\nfor there is no sign of malicious intent in his volume; and his\nlanguage, when speaking of the Catholic Church, and of the\nwriters whose poems he reprints, is that of a scholar and a\ngentleman.\n\n  ----\n\n  My Prisons.\n  Memoirs of Silvio Pellico.\n  Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1868.\n\nThis well known and popular book is republished in beautiful\nform, with excellent illustrations, by the Messrs. Roberts, with\nan introductory notice by Epes Sargent. We cannot agree with Mr.\nSargent, however, that Silvio Pellico, if living now, would have\nhad any sympathy with the present Italian rebellion, or its\nunworthy and anti-Christian leaders, as he intimates. The\npublishers would do well to leave out the introductory notice.\n\n ----\n\n  Breaking Away: or, The Fortunes of a Student.\n  By Oliver Optic.\n  Boston: Lee & Shepard.\n\nIn this volume are described the adventures of the pupils of the\nParkville Liberal Institute, consequent on their revolt against a\ntyrannical principal. Their \"treasons, stratagems, and spoils\"\nare told in pleasing style, and will meet none the less with\nboyish approval if somewhat difficult of imitation.\n\n  ----\n\n  Climbing The Rope; or, God Helps Those who Help Themselves:\n  and\n  Billy Grimes's Favorite; or, Johnny Greenleaf's Talent.\n  By May Mannering.\n  Boston: Lee & Shepard.\n\nThese two volumes, the first of the \"Helping Hand Series,\" are\nwell adapted to make the youthful reader self-reliant, while\ncarefully guarding against self-sufficiency. The principal\ncharacters are well drawn, and there are several charming\nepisodes of village life. There is one blemish. How could Biddy\nO'Rooke, (sic,) \"a good Catholic,\" say that \"though she had been\nalways to church, and confessed all her life, when she had a\nchance, it wasn't much of the Great Father himself that she\nheard\"?\n\n  ----\n\n  Alexis, The Runaway; or, Afloat in the World.\n  By Mrs. Rosa Abbott Parker.\n  Boston: Lee & Shepard.\n\nThe search of Alexis for his master, the Count von Homburg,\nresults in some striking adventures by sea and land; in the New\nWorld and the Old. Pierre Grepan, fairly love-crazed Prissy Dean,\nand the kind-hearted Jacqueline Rasheburne, are well conceived.\n\n{576}\n\n  Dotty Dimple At Her Grandmother's.\n  By Sophie May, author of Little Prudie Stories.\n  Boston: Lee & Shepard.\n\nA charming little tale, attractive from its very simplicity; a\ntrue child's book.\n\n  ----\n\n  The Life Of The Right Hon. J. P. Curran.\n  By Thomas Davis, M.R.I.A.;\n  and a\n  Memoir Of The Life Of The Right Hon. Henry Grattan.\n  By D. O. Madden, of the Inner Temple;\n  with Addenda, and letter to Lord Clare.\n  Boston: Patrick Donahoe.\n\nThose whom a bulky volume affrights will welcome this excellent\nabridgment of the early days, matured labors, and closing years\nof two of the most illustrious among the many eminent orators and\nstatesmen whose eloquence and patriotism irradiated that saddest\nera in the history of Ireland, the extinction of her national\nindependence.\n\n  ----\n\n  Happy Hours Of Childhood.\n  A Series of Tales for the Little Ones.\n  By a member of the Order of Mercy, authoress\n  of the Life of Catherine McAuley, etc.\n  New York: P. O'Shea.\n\nAmong the many books for children which the approach of the\nholidays yields, we accord the first rank to these charming\ntales, \"which combine,\" to quote the authoress's own ideal of a\nreally good juvenile, \"all the fascinations of a lovely fairy\ntale with the highest spiritual teachings of which childhood is\ncapable. We hope she will soon repeat this, her most happy\nexperiment in childish literature.\n\n  ----\n\n  Holly And Mistletoe:\n  Tales translated from the German of Rosalie Koch.\n  New York: P. O'Shea.\n\nA collection of stories intended mainly for children, all\ninculcating self-denial, truth, and Christian trust. The\ntranslation is occasionally somewhat defective. Otherwise, the\nwork is to be commended to the attention of those who wish to put\ninto the hands of children pleasant and instructive reading.\n\n  ----\n\nThe Catholic Publication Society has in press, and will soon\npublish, _The Diary of a Sister of Mercy_, by Mrs. C. M.\nBraine.\n\nThe Society will also publish, about New-Year's, _Lectures on\nReason and Revelation_, by Rev. T. S. Preston. 1 vol. 12mo.\nPrice, $1.50.\n\n ----\n\n  Books Received.\n\nFrom Charles Scribner, New-York.\n\n  The Old Roman World;\n  the Grandeur and Failure of its Civilization.\n  By John Lord, LL.D. 1 vol. 8vo. pp. 605.\n\n  The History of the Church of God, during the Period of\n  Revelation.\n  By Rev. Charles Colcock Jones, D.D.\n  1 vol. 8vo., pp. 558.\n\n  Prayers from Plymouth Pulpit.\n  By H. W. Beecher. 12mo., pp. 332.\n\n\nFrom P. Donahoe, Boston.\n\n  The Glories of the Virgin Mother,\n  and Channel of Divine Grace.\n  From the Latin of St. Bernard, 1 vol. 16mo., pp. 172.\n\n\nFrom Kelly & Piet, Baltimore.\n\n  The Life of the Rev. J. B. M. Vianney,\n  the celebrated Parish-Priest of Ars, France.\n  Abridged from the French of Abb\u00e9 Monin,\n  by Rev. B. S. Piot.\n  1 vol. 16mo. pp. 216.\n\n  --------\n\n{577}\n\n    The Catholic World.\n\n    Vol. VI., No. 35.--February, 1868.\n\n\n  Paris Impious And Religious Paris. [Footnote 55]\n\n    [Footnote 55: _Les OEuores de Charit\u00e9 a Paris_, par\n    Julie Gouraud. _Le Bien qui se fait en France_, par M.\n    l'Abb\u00e9 Mullois.]\n\nAm English lady, with whom the writer of this article fell into\nconversation one day at the _table d'h\u00f4te_ of a Paris hotel,\nmade the remark, \"What a pity that the Parisians are so wicked!\"\nThis remark expresses the common opinion of English and American\nProtestants about Paris. The general desecration of Sunday, the\nevident lack of religion among a great portion of the people, the\nopen infidelity of many of the leading newspapers, and other\nthings of the like nature, strike their attention immediately.\nThe extreme gayety of the French character appears, moreover, to\nthe sedate Anglo-Saxon like an utter levity and frivolity.\nPuritan notions about Sunday, as foreign to the minds of\ncontinental Protestants as they are to those of Catholics, make\nthem look also upon many innocent recreations and amusements in\nwhich the French people indulge on Sunday, as marks of an\nirreligious spirit, when they are not at all so. The consequence\nis, that they make an unfavorable judgment of the Catholic\nreligion in consequence of what they see in Paris which is either\nreally or in their opinion impious and immoral. This judgment is,\nhowever, altogether superficial; first, because the actual\nestimate of the religious and moral state of Paris is partial and\none-sided; and second, because the responsibility of the really\nexisting evils is unjustly cast upon the Catholic religion.\n\nWe propose, therefore, to give a more just and correct estimate\nof Paris as it is, by presenting its religious aspect in the same\n_coup d'oeil_ with its irreligious aspect, and showing the\ntrue relations of the good and evil, as they exist side by side\nin mutual hostility and struggle, with each other and with their\ncauses.\n\nThe light in which Paris is regarded as a Catholic city, and\nFrance as a Catholic nation, by English and American Protestants,\nis an incorrect one. As Paris represents France, we will speak of\nParis alone, leaving the reader to apply to France generally,\nguided by his own knowledge and discretion, what we say about the\ncapital.\n{578}\nParis is rather to be called a city which was once Catholic, and\nwhich Catholicity is striving to reconquer, than an actually\nCatholic city. The French Revolution abolished the Catholic\nChurch, exterminated the clergy and religious orders, and put an\nend to the Christian religion in Paris. The mass of the people\nlost all faith and religious sentiment, and consequently could\nnot transmit them to the generations which have been born since,\nand which have, grown up in ignorance and heathenism. Since the\npartial restoration of the Catholic religion by Napoleon the\nFirst, constant and zealous efforts have been made to convert\nthis heathen mass, yet a vast number of the people remain still\npractically heathen, and a considerable proportion of them are\nnot even baptized. With the common people there is more of\nignorance and thoughtlessness than of positive infidelity or\naversion from the church. In the higher walks of life, beside the\nignorant and thoughtless class who have but a slight tincture of\nCatholic belief, there is the large and influential class of the\npositive infidels, who keep up a continual war upon every form of\nrevealed religion. The majority of the people of Paris having\nthus been always in a state of greater or less alienation from\nall positive Christian belief and wholly regardless of the\nauthority of the church since the French Revolution, the proper\nobservance of the Sunday has never been reestablished. The people\nhaving lost the habit of resting on that day, and having dropped\nall thought of going to church, business and work have gone on\nupon Sunday from the mere _vis inertiae_. The church and the\nminority of the population have not been able to bring back the\ngeneral observance of the day. Consequently, those who wish to\nobserve it and to have it observed, are to a great extent dragged\nin to follow the common custom by the necessity of the case, and\nthe clergy are not able to insist as strongly as they would wish\non the obligation of resting from servile labor. It is not to be\nsupposed that the clergy and the genuine Catholics of Paris\napprove of this desecration of Sunday. Let any one read the\neloquent remarks of F. Hyacinthe, the most celebrated preacher of\nParis, on this subject, in our last number, and he will see a\ncorrect statement of the sentiments of the Archbishop of Paris\nand all his clergy respecting the observance of Sunday. It is\nindeed a shocking spectacle, and one disgraceful to the great\nFrench nation, to see all public works going on, nearly all shops\nopen, all factories in motion, and to meet the crowd of blouses\nshoving their way through the other, well-dressed crowd, as they\nreturn from work on Sunday, which ought to be the poor man's\nholiday. As a consequence of this unnatural privation of the day\nof rest given him by God, the laborer, from sheer inability to\nmake a mere machine of himself, seizes on the Monday. Instead of\nthe holy, cheerful rest of Sunday, there is a dull, apathetic\ncessation of work on Monday, and the blouses are again met\nloitering about the streets and quays, too often in a state of\nintoxication. The accountability for this falls not upon the\nCatholic Church, but upon that party which has been and ever is\nworking for her destruction, and which receives to a great extent\nthe sympathy and encouragement of Protestants in England and\nAmerica.\n\nWe cannot pretend to say precisely what proportion of the\npopulation of Paris is practically outside of the Catholic\nChurch. We have been told by an American gentleman that one of\nthe clergymen of St. Eustache estimated the population of that\nparish at 40,000, of whom 10,000 attend Mass, and 3000 approach\nthe Sacraments.\n{579}\nIf this estimate can be applied to the whole city, then 900,000\nof the people habitually neglect the church, leaving 300,000 who\nhabitually frequent it, out of whom somewhat less than 100,000\nreceive the Sacraments. If this estimate is incorrect, it will\nprobably call out a more, correct statement from some of our\nfriends in Paris, which we shall be glad to receive. Without\ncommitting ourselves, therefore, to any exact estimates, we may\nnevertheless affirm what is an evident fact, that there exists\nwithin the great world of Paris a smaller, but still in magnitude\na considerable religious and Catholic world which is really one\nof the glories of Christendom for the extent and fervor of its\nworks of faith, charity, and piety. There is a religious as well\nas an impious Paris, which, in many respects deserves to be held\nup as a model to the other portions of the Catholic Church, and\nis entitled to the admiration of all Christians throughout the\nworld.\n\nWe will begin with the charities of Paris, leaving its religion\nto be spoke of afterwards. Paris is world-renowned for the number\nand excellence of its charitable institutions. These are not\nexclusively the work of the religious portion of the people, but\ncommon to all, from the imperial court down to the humblest\nclass. There is a natural basis for charity in the French\ncharacter. France is the most completely, highly, and universally\ncivilized nation in the world. This civilization has been matured\nand brought to perfection by Christianity, yet the superiority of\nits kind and degree is due to the fact that Christianity found in\nthe French character an uncommonly plastic and ductile material\nto work upon. The truth of this observation is proved by the\nrefinement and politeness prevailing so universally among all\nclasses. There must be something naturally amiable in the French\ncharacter, which takes easily the refining, gentilizing\ninfluences of Christian civilization. In the ordinary, small\naffairs of life and common intercourse this is politeness, and it\nadds no little to the pleasantness and happiness of every-day\nexistence, detracts no little from its burdens. Carried into a\nhigher sphere, it becomes philanthropy. The Catholic religion\nevolved it into the highest activity and elevated it to the rank\nof supernatural charity. This charity is still the interior and\nprincipal wheel which imparts movement and supplies force. Yet\nits movement, once communicated, is retained even by those who\nhave lost Catholic faith and charity, or who are acting chiefly\nin view of temporal motives. There is a general interest in and\ndesire for the well-being and happiness of the whole people.\nThere is not so much liberty in France as in some other\ncountries, yet there is more equality and fraternity there than\nanywhere else on the globe. The government is somewhat despotic,\nyet there is no doubt that it labors for the well-being of its\nsubjects. The utmost care is taken of life and property, and the\nmost extreme vigilance is exercised to see that the public is\nwell served in every branch of administration. The emperor is the\nhardest working man in Paris, and the empress is not at all\nbehindhand in sustaining her part of the arduous as well as\nhonorable duties of the throne. Who does not know that plans for\nmodel tenements, projects for relieving the laboring classes,\ncharitable and benevolent enterprises of various sorts, are the\ncontinual subjects of interest and consultation in the palace of\nthe Tuileries?\n{580}\nThe emperor's _f\u00eate_ on the fifteenth of August, with the\nabundant alms distributed on that day throughout every quarter of\nParis, and the permission to ask alms of everybody conceded to\nthe mendicant class, are like a gleam of more Catholic times, and\npresent a pleasing contrast with the glum demeanor and frozen\nstate of royalty in England and Prussia. We may speak here, also,\nof the remarkable honesty and fidelity in taking care of the\nproperty of others which is so general in Paris among all sorts\nof persons, especially those engaged in serving the public, and\nof which we might give a great number of instances, were it\nconvenient to do so. In regard to hospitals, and other public\ninstitutions for the relief of the sick, poor, and otherwise\nsuffering classes, it is needless to go into particulars to show\nhow energetic and liberal is the action of the French government\nin regard to them.\n\nEnglish and American Protestants exaggerate too much the good of\ntheir own civilization, and blow their own trumpet in a fearfully\nsonorous manner. They think too much of long faces, measured\ngravity of demeanor, drawling tones, long prayers, set,\nevangelical phrases, and the tithing, in a metaphorical sense, of\nmint, anise, and cummin. They are blind to the gross social\ndefects and evils marring their civilization; and to the\ncorruptions and immoralities which are poisoning their national\nlife-blood. We do not deny the evils which exist in Paris;\nnevertheless, we maintain that it is in a far sounder moral\nstate, and far superior in general social well-being, to London\nor New-York. There remains, even in impious and worldly Paris, an\neffect produced by the Catholic religion in former times, and\nsustained even now by a secret supply of force from the same\ncause, which places it in a much nearer proximity to genuine\nChristianity than any other great city in the world. But we will\nleave these generalities and come to a closer inspection of the\nspecific charities of Paris which are in an immediate relation\nwith the Catholic Church, and chiefly sustained by her faithful\nmembers.\n\n(1.) _The Work of the Faubourgs_. This is a society of\nladies founded in 1848. Its object is to provide clothing and\nschooling for the poorest children in the outskirts of Paris, who\nare sought out and cared for by the ladies of the society in\nperson. A concert of the first quality is given once a year which\nproduces from 6000 to 8000 francs, and there are numerous\nsubscribers at five francs a year.\n\n(2.) _The Maternal Society_. This society was founded in\n1788, with Queen Marie Antoinette as directress. Its object is to\nencourage mothers to nurse their own infants and to furnish them\nthe assistance necessary to enable them to do it. Forty-eight\nsections of the city are assigned, each one to a lady of the\nsociety, and these forty-eight ladies meet once a month to\nregulate the distribution of the charities. On the day of the\ninfant's birth, the mother receives ten francs and a set of\nbaby-clothes, five francs a month for ten months, and a change of\ndress for the infant. If the mother is unable to nurse the\ninfant, a nurse is provided. The ladies, moreover, take\nparticular care to give good counsel and advice to the mothers of\nfamilies whom they visit respecting their religious and moral\nduties. Napoleon the First placed the society under the\nprotection of the Empress Maria Louisa, and gave it a donation of\n100,000 francs. Nine hundred families are assisted and 60,000\nfrancs expended by the society, every year.\n\n{581}\n\n(3.) _The Cribs_. The institution of cribs was established\nto furnish a supplement to the work of the maternal society.\nGreat numbers of poor women are unable to remain at home during\nthe day with their children, on account of the necessity of going\nout to work. The cribs afford them an asylum where their infants\nare taken care of during the hours of their absence from home.\nThe merit of devising this work of charity belongs to M. Marbeau,\na member of the council of charities, who founded the first crib\nin 1844 at Chaillot. The cribs are now established in every\nquarter of Paris. They are regulated by a council of\nadministration under the presidency of the mayor. A committee of\nladies appoints and superintends the inspectresses of the work.\nSisters of Charity, aided by nurses, have charge of the cribs. A\nmedical committee watches over the sanitary department. Since the\nfoundation of the work, about fifteen thousands infants have been\nadmitted. Neat little cradles or beds are provided for the\nyoungest infants, walking-stools and playthings for the older\nones, and some are left to tumble about and play upon the floor\nof a small room which is carpeted with a mattress. The mothers\nbring their infants in the morning, come during the day to nurse\nthem, and take them home at night. On holidays they keep them at\nhome during the day, and can do so on other days when they have\nno work.\n\n(4.) _Halls of Asylum_. This is the delicate name given with\ntrue French politeness, that politeness to the poor of which\nlittle is known in England or America, to what we should call\n_poor-schools_ or _ragged-schools_. The first attempt\nto institute these schools in France was made in 1770, and the\ncelebrated Oberlin, a Protestant pastor in the Vosges, is said to\nhave been the first proposer of the plan. It is only since 1826\nthat they have been in general and successful operation, owing\nchiefly to the exertions of Madame de Pastoret and M. Cochin.\nThere are now in France 3308 asylums, which have educated\n3,833,856 children, besides 2022 _garderies_, or little\nschools, which have received 5026 children. Many of these asylums\nare under the charge of religious of different orders, and others\nunder lay teachers.\n\n(5.) _Common Schools_. Besides the above-mentioned class of\nschools, there are 1168 public primary schools in Paris, upon\nwhich the municipal council expend yearly 497,344 francs. The\nwhole number of schools in France is 73,271, attended by\n4,855,238 children. A great many of these schools are under the\ncare of religious of both sexes. To speak only of the Christian\nBrothers, this society has in France more than one thousand\nhouses, and above nine thousand members. Thirty-one of these\nhouses are in Paris, and they have several hundred schools under\ntheir charge. We have no exact statistics of a recent date, but\nin 1852 the number of their schools in Paris was 275.\n\n(6.) _Patronages_. The work of patronage has for its object\nto watch over children of the laboring class after leaving school\nand going to work. The houses of the society are distributed all\nover Paris, and the number of apprentices under its care is 1800.\nThe members are persons of the higher classes, and they exert\nthemselves personally to find good places for their clients, to\nwatch over them during their apprenticeship, and to lend them a\nhelping hand in various ways.\n{582}\nThe young people are assembled at the patronages on Sundays,\nwhere they have Mass and Vespers, religious instruction, study\nand recreation. They have also evening-schools during the week.\n\n(7.) _The Friends of Childhood_. This society was founded in\n1827, by a number of young gentlemen of fortune, for the succor\nof poor children without parents, or having parents who neglect\nto take proper care of them. The children adopted by the society\nare taken care of until they can be placed as apprentices. There\nis also a house in a pleasant quarter of the city, called _the\nfamily mansion_, where the apprentices who have been brought\nup by the society resort on Sundays and holidays, to meet their\nprotectors and pass the day in a profitable and pleasant manner.\n\n(8.) _The Work of the Prisons_. This is a very extensive\ncharity and has many ramifications. The _House of Paternal\nCorrection_ is a place of detention where parents may place\ndisorderly children, and in which, under the direction of\nreligious brothers or sisters, an effort is made to reform,\ninstruct, and prepare them for some kind of work in which they\ncan gain a decent living. The _Patronage of the Liberated_\nwatches over young persons after they have been dismissed from\nthe place of detention. The _Colony of Mettray_ receive\nyoung criminals, who are kept there, and employed in agriculture\nor shop-work until they come of age, when they are liberated. The\n_Work of Imprisoned Debtors_, established during the latter\npart of the sixteenth century, by Madame de Lamoignon, has in\nview the liberation of this unfortunate class by arrangements\nwith their creditors, and for this purpose engages the services\nof magistrates and lawyers. In the mean time they are visited and\nlooked after in prison, and help is given to their families.\nAfter they are dismissed from prison, an asylum is furnished them\nuntil they can obtain the means of gaining their own livelihood,\nor the means are provided of sending them to their own homes, if\nthey have come to Paris from a distance, as is the case with the\ngreater number. _The Work of St. Lazarus_, managed by\nladies, is directed to the care of women of bad life, detained in\nthe prison of St. Lazarus. Madame de Lamartine, an English lady,\nwas the foundress of this branch of charity, encouraged and aided\nby the advice of the celebrated Mrs. Fry. The first object\nproposed and accomplished was the amelioration of the prison\ndiscipline, by introducing neatness and order, regular\nemployment, religious instruction, and the happy influence of\ncontinual visits by the ladies engaged in the work. The second\nwas the foundation of a house of refuge for the poor women whose\nterm of imprisonment had expired. In this house everything is\ndone to complete their reformation, and at the proper time\narrangements are made to restore those whose conduct has been\ngood to their parents, to find places for them in respectable\nfamilies, or to procure their admission to some religious\ncommunity whose rules admit of receiving penitents. Those who\ndesire to remain, and are worthy to do so, continue in the house\npermanently, forming a separate class, under the name of\nMagdalens. On certain festival days the ladies go to communion\nwith the prisoners of St. Lazarus in their chapel, and afterward\ngive them a banquet at which the ladies themselves serve the\ntable in white aprons, and afterward accept an invitation to take\ntheir own breakfast.\n\n{583}\n\n(9.) _The Society of St. Francis Regis_. This society was\nfounded in 1822 by M. Gossin, an eminent magistrate of Paris, in\norder to remedy the widely-spread moral evil of illicit unions.\nVast numbers of the lower classes in Paris and throughout France\nlive together as man and wife in a permanent union without being\nlawfully married either in the eye of the church or in that of\nthe civil law. The society searches out persons of this kind,\npersuades them to contract valid marriages, and provides for the\nexpediting of all the documents and legal formalities necessary\nfor this purpose, as well as for the expenses. Between the years\n1826 and 1866, 43,256 illicit unions were rehabilitated by its\nefforts in the department of the Seine alone, beside all that was\ndone in other parts of the empire.\n\n(10.) _The Work of the Sick Poor_. This work derives its\nsystematic organization from St. Vincent de Paul, and is the\nspecial sphere of the Sisters of Charity, of whom there are\n10,000 in Paris alone. These devoted religious are not, however,\nalone or unaided in their work of visiting the sick poor. The\nwork is systematically organized in each parish under the\ndirection of the cur\u00e9, and a general supervision is exercised by\nthe Superior General of the Lazarists. There is a society of\nladies who assist the cur\u00e9 and the Sisters of Charity in each\nparish in their labors. More than 50,000 sick persons are each\nyear visited and provided with all that is necessary for their\nbodily and spiritual relief by the charity of these ladies.\n\nThe sick poor in hospitals receive the same kind and charitable\nsuccor, and private convalescent hospitals have been established\nto receive those who are dismissed from the public hospitals. One\nof these establishments, called _The Asylum of the Sacred Heart\nof Mary_, founded in 1840, has received more than 17,000 young\nfemale convalescents. There is one for children, called the\n_Asylum of St. Hilary_, in a pleasant place in the country,\nnear Paris, founded by a young Parisian gentleman of rank, whose\ninitials only are given as M. le Due de L.\n\n(11.) _The Little Sisters of the Poor_. The nature of this\ninstitute is so well known that there is no need to enlarge upon\nit. It has five houses in Paris, one of them partly founded by\nthe 7th Legion of the National Guard, which gave 14,000 francs\nfor the purpose.\n\n(12.) _Convent of the Blind Sisters of St. Paul_. This is a\nreligious community not entirely composed of blind persons, but\ninto which such are admitted, founded in 1853. Connected with it\nis an asylum for blind girls, who are received from the age of\nsix years, and can remain during life if they please.\n\n(13.) _The Work of the Soldiers_. This is intended to\nprovide schools of elementary education and religious instruction\nfor the young soldiers of the garrison of Paris. The schools are\nestablished with the consent of the military authorities near\nsome church or chapel, in order that there may be a place of easy\naccess for the members of the school to perform their devotions.\nEach school has its chaplain who superintends the religious\nexercises. The classes are taught by the Brothers of the\nChristian Doctrine, by educated lay gentlemen, and sometimes by\nthe more intelligent and well-instructed soldiers. The school is\nheld every evening between the hours of supper and _rappel_.\nAfter the lessons are over, prayer-books are distributed, usually\n_The Soldier's Manual_, or books containing hymns especially\ncomposed for soldiers, of which they are very fond. After some\nprayers have been recited or some hymns sung, an instruction is\ngiven or some good book is read; then some closing prayers are\nrecited, and the school is dismissed.\n{584}\nOnce a week there is a service entirely devoted to innocent\nrecreations and religious exercises. On Sundays they have mass at\nan hour convenient for the soldiers, and vespers, with the\nBenediction, in the evening. At Easter, there is a retreat,\nfollowed by a general communion. The gentlemen engaged in this\nwork are very punctual in their attendance, take great interest\nin their pupils, and find their intercourse with the soldiers\nvery agreeable. When a regiment is exchanged to another military\npost, a register of the members of the school belonging to the\nregiment is confided to a trustworthy soldier, who delivers it to\nthe priest in charge of the school at the new post, if there is\none, and if not, is himself charged to keep up the good work\namong his comrades the best way he can. The number of soldiers\nbrought under the influence of these schools is not very large,\nthere being not more than 600 in attendance at Paris, but the\nadmirable excellence of the plan is obvious, and there seems to\nbe no reason why it should not have a more extensive success in\ndue time.\n\n(14.) _The Society of St. Vincent de Paul_. This society is\nthe most extensive and celebrated of all existing religious\nassociations among laymen, and has spread itself from Paris not\nonly throughout France, but also into other countries of Europe,\nand into America. It was founded in 1833 by M. Bailly as a centre\nof reunion for Catholic young men, where they might learn to know\neach other, might give each other their mutual support and\nencouragement, and might act in combination for carrying on\ncharitable works. Eight young students formed the original\nnucleus of the society, one of whom was the renowned Frederic\nOzanam. The immediate stimulus to the formation of the society\nwas given by the reproach of the St. Simonians that Catholicity\nwas inert and incapable of doing any good in the social\ncommunity. At the present time the society has 2400 members in\nParis, many of whom are gentlemen of rank, judges, advocates,\nauthors, physicians, or merchants. It is divided into numerous\nconferences, each one of which is perfectly organized. Its active\nwork extends to searching out and relieving, as far as possible,\nevery kind of moral and physical misery among the poorer classes.\nIn a large number of schools for boys there are juvenile\nconferences where members are trained under experienced guides to\nthe practice of charitable work, and there are analogous\nconferences also in some female schools.\n\nThere are many other charitable works carried on in Paris, for\nthe publication of good books, for the provision of vestments and\nsacred vessels for poor country churches, and for a variety of\nother purposes which it would be impossible to enumerate\ncompletely. It is also well known that Paris is one of the great\ncentres of foreign missionary operations. Yet, as it would be\ndifficult to separate what belongs to Paris from the general work\nof the propagation of the faith, and the subject of French\nforeign missions is too extensive for a passing notice, we must\nleave it alone altogether.\n\nOur meagre sketch of charities in Paris is necessarily somewhat\nskeletonian. Mlle. Gouraud, in her lively, charming volume, tells\nthe story with that filling in of circumstantial narration and\nillustrative anecdote necessary to give its form completeness.\n{585}\nShe writes under the guise of _Letters from an English Lady in\nParis to a Friend in England_, and although like her\ncountryfolk in general, quite unsuccessful in spelling English,\nyet her book is made more entertaining by the pretty little\nartifice. We would recommend our countrywomen to order this\nlittle book, and some others of the same kind, with their\nParisian gloves, and to read them in lieu of the novels of Dumas\nand Hugo, if we had any hope that our advice would be listened\nto.\n\nWe have said enough to show that the charitable side of religion\nin Paris, if it be not in its extent of surface adequate to the\ndimensions of that great capital, is nevertheless in full\nproportion to the numbers and resources of the really Catholic\npopulation. Out of about one hundred thousand practical\nCatholics, from twenty to thirty thousand, including the clergy\nand religious, make it either the exclusive, or at least a\nprincipal end of their lives, to perform charitable works. Out of\nthese, a great number may justly be entitled true heroes and\nheroines of charity. If there were a legion of honor of charity,\nits grand crosses would be plentifully distributed in Paris.\nReligion in Paris atones for its deficiency in quantity by the\nsuperior excellence of its quality. Like ottar of roses, a little\nof it diffuses a wide perfume, and it is even able to disinfect\nthe atmosphere redolent of the _odeurs de Paris_. If the\nwhole population of Paris were really Catholic, and the whole\nbody of the easy classes would cooperate with the clergy and\nmagistracy to reform the social evils and miseries which fester\nin the bosom of the working class, it is difficult to conceive\nthe greatness of the result which might be accomplished. The\nFrench people are the most highly civilized, and the greatest\ncivilizers in the world. Their civilization extends downward into\nthe humblest classes, and ramifies indefinitely in every\ndirection. Take Paris even as it is, in our opinion it is the\nbest governed city in the world, and less immoral than any other\ngreat capital. There are great miseries in it, no doubt, but\nthese miseries make more impression on philosophic Frenchmen than\non other men, and they make more ado about them. It is a fixed\nidea in the French mind that every human being ought to have a\npleasant time and enjoy life. Evidently, the French are, as a\nwhole, the most cheerful and joyous people in the world, and even\nthe _cochers_, who are among the most forlorn human beings\nin Paris, do not seem very discontented. Let the Catholic\nreligion regain full sway over the French mind and heart, and it\nseems to us that the civilization of Christianity might attain\nits ultimatum in France. To regain that sway it is now bravely\nstriving against formidable difficulties and opposition. And\nalthough we do not venture to pronounce a positive judgment on\nthe probabilities of final and complete success, we think the\naspect of affairs encouraging, and believe that the church has\ngained ground steadily in Paris and throughout France.\n\nHistorically, and according to the exterior, Paris is a Catholic\ncity. The Catholic religion is the religion of the French people,\nand, as such, enters into the whole structure of the political,\ncivil, and social fabric. The French Revolution was a moment of\nnational delirium. When the nation came to itself, it was forced\nby its common sense to reestablish religion, restore the\ndesecrated temples to Catholic worship, and recall the surviving\nremnant of the expatriated clergy. The H\u00f4tel Dieu, a hospital\nnear Notre Dame de Paris, built by Saint Vincent de Paul, still\nbears on its front the half-effaced inscriptions, _Libert\u00e9,\nEgalit\u00e9, Fraternit\u00e9_.\n{586}\nThere could not be a more expressive symbol of the triumph of\nreligion over infidelity. The past, the present, and the future\nglory of France is identified with religion. The traditions of\nthe first foundation of Paris, which cast a halo of sacred\nassociation over it, and which are perpetuated by so many\nsplendid monuments, are religious. The names of Saint Dionysius,\nSaint Genevieve, Saint Louis, familiar as household words,\ncontinually recall them. The glorious churches, which are the\nchief ornaments of the city, Notre Dame de Paris, La Sainte\nChapelle, Saint Denys, Saint Eustache, The Madeleine; the streets\neven, with their appellations borrowed from religion, impress\nthem continually on the memory and imagination. The masterpieces\nof art which fill the galleries of painting embody the mysteries,\nthe events, the great personages of religion. The sublime\nservices of the church give their principal grandeur to the\nnational festivals, and to the public pomp of the imperial\ngovernment. This exterior Catholicity is not much in itself, it\nis true. Nevertheless, it is a _point d'appui_, of great\nservice to religion in laboring to imbue with the living\nprinciples of Christian faith and virtue the minds and hearts of\nthe people. Awaken them to a belief that religion is a reality,\nand to an earnest desire to act according to its precepts, and\nthey become fervent Catholics at once. The general atmosphere\nholds the Catholic spirit in solution, ready to be precipitated\nunder the proper influences.\n\nSo far as the actual piety and religion of Paris is concerned, we\nhave anticipated in a great measure what is to be said about it,\nin speaking of the charities of Paris. We need do no more than\nallude to certain facts well known to all who have visited the\ncity in such a way as to really learn anything about it, or who\nare well informed by reading. The clergy are numerous, well\norganized, and above all praise for their high sacerdotal\nvirtues. The colleges and seminaries for ecclesiastical training\nare certainly unsurpassed except by those of Rome. A rich and\nabundant stream of theological and religious literature is\nperennially flowing from the Paris press. Active and able as are\nthe infidel writers of Paris, they are overmatched by the\nadvocates of religion, who have vindicated and are vindicating\nChristianity in a most triumphant manner in every branch of\npolemics. The principal parish churches in Paris are models which\nthe world might imitate. As for the piety of that portion of the\npeople who are really practical Catholics, it is enough to visit\nthe churches on week-days or Sundays, especially such as are\nplaces of special devotion, like Notre Dame des Victoires, to be\nmost powerfully and agreeably impressed with the evidence of its\nhigh quality and fervor. Those who are best qualified to judge\nconsider it beyond a doubt that religion has made a great advance\nin Paris within the last twenty-five years, and is advancing\ngradually but surely toward a reconquest of the masses of the\npopulation. A great combat is going on throughout Europe for\nsaving the Christian religion and Christian civilization, and one\nof its chief battle-grounds is Paris. We cannot dissemble our\nsolicitude for the result, or our sentiment of the gravity of the\ncrisis. We trust, however, that the noble words of that great\nChristian orator P\u00e8re Hyacinthe may be verified: \"Christian\nsociety may agonize, but it cannot die; for it bears the\nprinciple of immortality in its bosom.\"\n\n--------\n\n{587}\n\n      Translated From The Journal De Bruxelles.\n\n  Bishop Dupanloup's Speech At The Catholic Congress Of Malines.\n\n\nPermit me, gentlemen, first of all to thank you for having kept\nup and continued your excellent congress. I congratulate you not\nonly on the sacred flame which animates you, or the zeal which\nshines so highly in your public sessions, but also on the works\nwhich are the enduring fruits of your meetings. In reading,\nyesterday and this morning, the volumes which contain the reports\nof the proceedings of your former sessions, I have been\nastonished at the amount of information, at the resolutions, and\nthe useful institutions which have resulted from your labors.\n\nYou have done a good work, a sacred and fruitful work; _bonum\nopus_. For this I give thanks to God, the author of all good\nand after him to his eminence the cardinal archbishop of Malines,\nwho, in his wisdom, has found the means of sustaining your work\nin spite of all opposition. (Prolonged applause.)\n\nThe presence, on this occasion, of Monsignor Dechamps will not\npermit of my expressing all that I feel in my heart toward him. I\nremember with pleasure that my first battles at Liege were fought\nunder the inspiring influence of his noble example. Twenty-one\nyears have elapsed since then, and, while these years have left\nthe marks of age upon me, it seems as if they have only had the\neffect of making him younger. (Laughter and applause.)\n\nHaving told you of the deep impression which has been made upon\nme, relative to the praiseworthy character of your work, it will\nhardly be expected that I should attempt to fan the flame of your\nzeal: that would be useless. My object at present is, just by a\nfew simple words, to add something if I can to that sacred fire\nburning in your hearts, of whose results, as set forth in the\nproceedings of your last sessions, I have read with so much\nadmiration.\n\nYou need not fear, then, that I will, on the present occasion, as\nhappened three years ago, impose upon your good nature. (Cries\nfrom all parts of \"No, no! Speak, speak at length.\") To abuse it\nthis time is impossible, for my strength will not permit. I\nshall, consequently, be on my guard against the temptations to\nwhich one is exposed before such an audience as this.\n\nI wish simply to remind you of the words of St. Paul, which are\napplicable now: \"Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with\ngood.\" _Noli vinci a malo, sed vince malum bono_. You will\nperceive that these are words of great importance; and, with your\npermission, I shall offer a few remarks upon them. They are words\ndeserving of serious consideration, for evil surrounds us, or\nrather presses upon us. This evil is present, acting, speaking.\nWe must overcome this evil, but we must overcome it not by evil,\nbut by good; _in bono._ Here we see our duty. The evil,\ngentlemen, has been in the world for a long time, and for this\nreason we should neither be astonished at it nor discouraged in\nour efforts. Let me simply remind you of the few last centuries.\n{588}\nWhat has Protestantism done? It has attacked the church which was\nin the sixteenth century. What has the eighteenth century done?\nIt has attacked Christianity. The nineteenth century, gentlemen,\nhas attacked everything--it has attacked God, the soul, reason,\nmorals, society, the distinction between good and evil. Yes,\ngentlemen, everything is to-day shamefully, audaciously,\nimpudently attacked. (Prolonged applause.) Here we see the extent\nand the intensity of the evil; here we see the necessity of\novercoming it with good. We can do it; not without effort, it is\ntrue; but still we can do it. For us is reserved, henceforth, the\nglory of defending the law of reason, as well as that of faith;\nthe natural, as well as the supernatural; the immortality of the\nsoul, and the existence of the Deity, against the most audacious\nand the most foolish enemies that have ever been known.\n(Applause.)\n\nI tell you, nevertheless, that the battle is a hard one, and\ncertainly the acclamations which, on this occasion, greet the\nnames of the church, the pope, and the holy Virgin, show that the\nevil is serious, that the sore is deeply seated, that the disease\nhas thoroughly infected souls that are dear to us, and for which\nwe ought to fight; has laid hold upon souls dear to us, and which\nwe should save from ruin. Ah! gentlemen, what ought we not to do\nin order to save souls! We should be prepared to sacrifice our\nstrength, blood, our lives if necessary. This is the price of\nvictory; and that you may not forget it, the cross which is\nraised over this assembly reminds you of what is the price of\nsouls. (Sensation.)\n\nThe struggle, then, is a severe one, and it is especially so now,\nseeing that never at any previous period has evil had more\npowerful means employed in its service than at the present time.\nWe have to encounter not only against an immense, concealed\norganization, that of secret societies, the ramifications of\nwhich extend on all sides, but against a vast public\norganization, and against a press which spreads calumnies and\nlies in every quarter.\n\nFrom whatever point of view we look at it, the contest is a\nterrible one. And observe, gentlemen, that the propaganda of evil\nknows no limits, and respects nothing; it attacks the rich, the\npoor, women, children, young girls. What do I say? It attacks\neven the dying, doing violence shamefully to their consciences,\nand snatching from them the consolation to be derived from a\nreturn to the faith. I ask these madmen, (for after all we are\nnot here in the dark, but we fight in the light of day.) Whence\ncame the idea of inducing any one to sign this infernal compact?\nWhat sort of man can he be who will persuade his fellow-creatures\nto enter into an engagement of this kind? And yet there are men\nwho yield! Yes, there are men who pledge themselves never to\nreturn, even to their dying hour, to the religion and the hearts\nof their wives, to the religion and hearts of their daughters;\nfor this is what these wicked, these barbarous separations amount\nto! (Sensation.)\n\nThe hatred of religion, gentlemen, is nowhere more marked than in\nBelgium. But I may add--what will, perhaps, astonish you when I\nsay it--that it is to your honor it is so; for it is doubtless\nbecause they feel sensibly the power of your religion, of your\nfaith, of your zeal, that they have been driven to hate so\nbitterly.\n{589}\nIt is to your honor, for it proves that you are a Catholic\nnation, the most Catholic, perhaps, that there has yet been.\n\nBut, in spite of these good and solid reasons for battling on,\nsome are frequently tempted to ask, \"Is the struggle to go on for\never? It is sufficient to wear out the stoutest courage.\" Well,\ngentlemen, I tell you that, under different phases, the struggle\nwill be eternal. Do you wish to have the proof of this? Hear it,\ngentlemen, from the mouth of the Master; hear it with that\nrespect which his divine word commands: \"_The world hates you,\nbut you know that it hated me before it hated you_.\" And\nagain: \"_I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves. If\nthey have persecuted me, they will persecute you. The disciple is\nnot above his master, nor the servant above his lord. If they\nhave called the master Beelzebub, how much more will they also\ncall his servants!_\"\n\nYou understand, then, gentlemen, it is what is good they\npersecute in you--it is the good, it is justice, it is the\nliberty of souls, it is eternal glory that they hate in you. It\nis the adorable name of Jesus Christ which they persecute in you.\nThis is to your honor; and allow me to say, it is to the\nparticular glory of that society with which Belgium is honored,\nthat society which has provided for your children such highly\naccomplished and devout masters, that society the members of\nwhich cultivate so successfully in your midst the sciences and\nletters, and who are, I may say, the princes of learning and of\nCatholic divinity. (Applause.)\n\nBut if Jesus Christ has predicted persecution, he says to us at\nthe same time, _Fear not; nolite timere_. And St. Augustine\nin his admirable comment on this exhortation says: \"You complain,\nyou are astonished, at seeing a flood of persecution rising\nagainst you. You cry out, Where, then, O Lord! is thy justice?\nBut God answers you, Where, then, is your faith? Did I promise\nyou anything else than from the height of my cross I baptized you\nin my blood? Did you become a Christian in order to enjoy here\nbelow all temporal prosperity? _Num quid Christianus factus es\nut in hoc saeculo floreres?_\"\n\nLet us look more closely into this great question. It may\ncertainly be asked, Since God holds in his eternal hands the\nhearts of all nations in every age--since he can turn the hearts\nof princes as he wills, may it not be presumed that he will put a\ncheck upon the passions of men, and allow his children to enjoy\neternal peace? Well, no. \"As high,\" says the prophet, \"as the\nheavens are above the earth, so high are my thoughts above\nyours.\" What, then, does he to whom belongs the wisdom and the\npower think on this subject? Gentlemen, God, in his eternal\ncouncils, has judged that there is nothing more glorious for him,\nnothing more salutary for man, than that good was to prevail by\nconflict. Overcome evil with good, is the tower of strength of\nthe divine power. God has thought--and let this thought,\ngentlemen, sink deep into your hearts; for you all, whatever your\ncondition in life, have need frequently to meditate upon those\nteachings of Christianity which are at once a solid foundation\nand a glorious crown; God has thought, I say, that conflict in\nthis world is necessary, that it is more worthy of him, and more\nworthy of us. In leaving men free to choose the good, God knows\nthat there is the possibility of evil, which he has, thereby,\nhazarded; but he has ordained that there shall be conflict and\nstruggle, without which that glorious thing we call virtue,\n_virtus_, would be unknown in the world.\n\n{590}\n\nAnd not only has he thought that, even after the fall, we were\nstill great enough to be equal to great trials, but he has\nthought, also, that it would be more worthy of him and of us for\nus to pass through those trials. So, gentlemen, when Christ\ndescended on earth, he chose the lot of suffering and of the\ncross. And St. Paul has found this foundation so solid, that he\nhas made it the basis of his doctrine when he says that it was\nnecessary that Christ should suffer in order that he might be\nraised in glory.\n\nWell, permit me, gentlemen, to use this plainness of speech, for\nwe are here as a family. I believe that God has judged rightly. I\nbelieve that bold adversaries are better for us than partial\nfriends and unbounded prosperity. I believe that he will never\nleave our sufferings without their compensations. There is no age\nthat has not had its glory. There are periods of consolation.\nSometimes the sun rises and all seems easy.\n\nWe are told in Scripture that these bright periods often follow\nthe darkness. There are times when the light of faith seems to be\nobscured. There are sometimes grievous misunderstandings among\nthe friends of God, and sometimes deplorable manifestations of\nself-will. In this season of darkness, under the cover of this\nnight, the beasts of prey leave their hiding-places: _in ipsa\nhora pertransibunt bestiae_. We hear men saying, God is evil.\nProperty is robbery. We must have a new morality. And they would\ninstil these things into the minds of your wives and your\nchildren. This is what we hear in the night. But the sun rises,\nand immediately these creatures retire into their holes.\n(Laughter.) Then the good man opens his door, sees that the\nweather is fine, that the sky is clear, and he goes forth to\nworks of charity and virtue, laboring on in lively hope until the\nreturn of the darkness. (Applause.)\n\nIt is true that, when we see so much evil in the world, when we\nfeel it near to us, and experience its effects, we are apt to\nbecome alarmed. But that would be wrong. A short time ago, on\nreturning from Rome, where every one goes for consolation and\nhope, I passed through Pisa, where I found an admirable type of\nthe church in the leaning tower of which you have all heard.\nThose who are ignorant of the secret of the skilful architect to\nwhom we are indebted for this wonderful monument, cannot\ncontemplate it without a certain degree of fear. But the\ncraziness of the structure is in appearance only. It is the same\nwith the church, which the Scriptures call the Tower of David,\n(_Turris Davidcea_,) surrounded by a thousand defences. When\nthis leaning tower raises itself, it is like St. Peter's at\nRome--an incomparable monument, grand, majestic, shining as if\nlighted with the fire of the setting sun. At this sight,\ngentlemen, we console ourselves, and take fresh courage, saying\nto ourselves, When afflictions come, I will think of St. Peter's\nat Rome, even when it appears like the leaning tower of Pisa.\n(Applause.)\n\nThis, gentlemen, is what I have to say to you about that conflict\nto which we are called to devote our strength, to consecrate our\nlife, and even our death. Yes, gentlemen, when, upon my arrival\nhere, I saw the illustrious writer who is now your host\nstruggling with sickness and suffering, at the time when he was\nrequired to write some of those pages which awaken such noble\nsentiments in our souls, the reflection forced itself upon me: It\nis thus that we should combat, and never yield. (The orator was\nhere about to leave the platform, but the opposition and\nentreaties of the audience prevented him.)\n\n{591}\n\nI crave your indulgence, gentlemen, he resumed; it is now two\nyears since I have opened my mouth in my diocese. But let it be\nas you wish; only I throw the responsibility upon you of making\nmy peace for me with the people of Orleans. (Orleanius.) (Great\nmerriment.) I will add a few words respecting the conditions of\nthis conflict.\n\nThe first is courage. Saint James the Evangelist, in addressing\nhimself to young men, calls upon them to be strong, to be\ncourageous; he says to them, \"I speak to you because you are\nstrong: _quia fortis estis_. I can say no more to you than\nthis: Be courageous, never yield. Remember that you are, every\nday and under all circumstances, called upon to resist.\"\n\nBut there is something greater and more enduring than courage: it\nis devotedness. Yes, gentlemen, you must be devoted, in order\nthat you may be the true friends of the poor, of the working\npeople, of those who suffer and who weep, the support of all\nthose works which is the life, the soul of the church, the\nblood--if I may so speak--which circulates in its veins.\n\nThe third quality which is demanded in this conflict is\npatriotism. O patriotism! I need not enlarge upon it in my\nspeech. I will simply content myself with saying to you, You have\na country; know how to defend it. (Immense applause.) You have\nthe arts: in this respect there is no nation that surpasses you,\nand but one at most that equals you. You have industry, commerce,\nnames among the most honored in Europe. You have I know not how\nmuch of generous, instinctive impulses against oppression,\nagainst debasing vices, against everything mean and degrading.\nCherish, then, the strongest attachment to your country, and see\nthat you preserve it.\n\nI was told a few days ago that a journal of some character had\nsaid that Belgium is the sink of Europe. I said to myself, this\nis not abuse. There is, in fact, no nation of which so much can\nbe said in the sense in which I wish now to speak. I myself,\ngentlemen, saw proof of this in walking through your city\nyesterday. In the street which runs along the magnificent city\nhotel of Brussels my eyes fell upon this sign: _Liberal\nAssociation and Constitutional Union of Brussels_. And what\nwas there below? A wine-shop; and lower down another wine-shop,\nhaving for a sign the words \"to Hell.\" (General merriment.) This,\nalas! is not all that I have seen in Brussels, gentlemen; but I\npass on.\n\nThe fourth condition of the conflict is labor. Oh! how I wish\nthat the Catholics were the most diligent, the most laborious of\nmen. Yes; whatever you may be, work will benefit your family,\nyour posterity. Depend upon it, gentlemen, the destinies of the\nworld are in the hands of those who know how to work.\n\nTo this condition, to industry, to science, I would add\nintelligence and prudence. And here again, gentlemen, it is our\nLord himself who gives us counsel: we are to have, he says, the\nartlessness of the dove, with the wisdom of the serpent. Yes,\ngentlemen, however much these words may have been abused, I\ninsist upon them, and I call upon you to give heed to them. We\nmust exercise that prudence of which the serpent is the symbol in\nthe language of the east. We must use our judgment; we must\nintelligently apply our principles; we must maintain that good\nunderstanding which should ever exist among brethren.\n{592}\nTo give up that to the enemy to trample under his feet, would be\ntreachery. (Applause.) We must seek to understand the times in\nwhich we live and the wants of the times, the adversaries whom we\nhave to combat and the means we ought to employ in meeting them,\nas God and revelation permit and demand of us. (Applause.)\n\nThere is another point on which you will allow me to insist. When\nI had the honor of being received in the French Academy, I was\nrequired to make a speech. In searching for a subject suited to\nthe times in which we live, I remembered the words of an\nhistorian: \"We have long since lost the true meaning of words.\"\nThis, gentlemen, is a profound remark. The higher philosophy,\nwhich is in accord with Christianity, proclaims its truth; words,\nwhich are the signs of ideas, are the grand riches of humanity;\nthey are the common treasure. To adopt the language of the\nadversaries of that philosophy, and Christianity, is, to speak\nplainly, the greatest fault which honest men can commit.\n\nWhat are the words with which the sixteenth and seventeenth\ncenturies achieved their success? what are those which are in the\npresent day so much abused? There are three of them:\n_Reformers, Philosophers_, and (since they take great\npleasure in being called so) _Liberals_.\n\n_Reformers!_ We must confess that the thing indicated by\nthis word is more strange even than the word itself. You have the\nCouncil of Trent which has labored continually to reform the\nchurch. In this world men are the depositaries of divine truth,\nand I need hardly tell you that, where man is concerned,\nimperfection must always be looked for. Well, gentlemen, the\nchurch is a society which reforms itself; for this purpose she\nhas held a thousand councils, and the Council of Trent decided\nthat there should not be a session in which reform should not be\nconsidered. We have reform, then, on our side. What have they on\nthe other? They have Luther, with the religion which he brought\nfrom the cloister; Calvin, with a society of the same nature;\nOEcolampadius, etc. And these were the men who devoted themselves\nto the work of reforming the church--the church, gentlemen, which\nthey called Babylon! As for them, it was the Holy Jerusalem,\nwhich they peopled with their wives and their children!\n\nBut what is still more extraordinary is the abuse which has been\nmade of the word _liberal_. When Count Felix de Merode--a\nman whose name I feel doubly honored in pronouncing here--a man\nwho fought to reconquer religious, civil, and political liberty\nfor his country--when he heard his adversaries called liberals,\nhe indignantly exclaimed: \"They are not liberals, they are\nlibertines. It is as impossible to call them liberals as it would\nbe to call a mother a barbarous mother.\"\n\nGentlemen, is all this what they call liberalism? I have lately\nheard Juarez spoken of as a liberal. It is not that I would judge\nthe men who claim this title, but I believe they do not\nunderstand the thing. For my part I would not apply the term to\nthem. And Garibaldi, gentlemen, is another liberal. Listen to his\nlanguage: \"My friends, my children\"--this man has something\npaternal about him (laughter)--\"we must crush the sacerdotal\nvampire; as for the priests, we must break their heads on the\npavement of the streets.\" What a liberal! Ah! gentlemen, if\nBossuet, if Fenelon, if Bourdaloue, could come back to this\nworld, they would say to us, \"But what have you clone with this\nbeautiful French language?\"\n{593}\nA liberal! But in our estimation he is the liberal man who does\nnot deny to others the same justice and truth which he claims to\nhave himself. The Portuguese Freemasons who drove out the Sisters\nof Charity, those of you who insult them, are still liberals! I\nsay again, the thing is intolerable; and if I were a Belgian I\nwould never betray my language, my honor, and my conscience by\ngiving such a name to such men. (Applause.)\n\nAnd so far as we are concerned, you know, gentlemen, how they pay\nus back. They call us the clerical party--that is to say, fools\nof the sacristy; or better still, the priest party. Shall I\nremind you of Voltaire, who invented the name wretch, by which he\ndesignated the church? And what name did he bear? He was called\nphilosopher. Gentlemen, they would never get me to give the title\nof philosopher to a d'Holbach, to a Lamettrie, to any of those\nwicked men, conspiring with their master to crush the \"wretch.\" I\nunderstand that they contemplate erecting a statue to the man who\nhas given this name to Christianity. For my part, I say they will\nhave raised a statue to infamy personified. (Prolonged cheers.) I\nam prepared to meet any opponent on this ground; and I will\npromise to give him, whenever he wishes to have them, such proofs\nof what I say as will resound throughout the whole of Europe.\nThis violence done to common sense, to honesty, to French honor,\nis revolting to me. I repeat it, they are raising a statue to\ninfamy personified. The Bishop of Orleans can think nothing\nbetter, can say nothing better of it. (Prolonged applause.)\n\nYou see, then, that we must have courage, devotedness,\npatriotism, prudence, and intelligence; I will add to these\nmoderation and gentleness. Did not Christ say to his Apostles, \"I\nsend you forth as sheep among wolves\"? Perhaps you will say to\nme, \"But you give us several applications of this evangelical\nsaying which it will not bear.\" Gentlemen, it is nowhere\nforbidden to the shepherd to give the alarm of the wolf, and to\nthe sheep to believe it. Yes, we must be gentle, and Saint\nChrysostom, commenting on these words, says: \"We require\nprotectors who attack little, but who defend well--_pro\npugnatorem, non impugnatorem_\" It is in this way,\ngentlemen--it is by gentleness--that we are to conquer. But if,\ninstead of being sheep, we become wolves by abuse, if we wish to\nconquer and not to be convinced, we run the risk of being\nvanquished. _Si lupi sumus vincimur_.\n\nAnd now, to conclude, I would express to you the deepest\nimpressions of my soul. That which I admire most in this\nbeautiful creation of the Deity, which makes man like the angels,\nis the flame of love which God has kindled in his soul.\nGentlemen, what do the radiant looks of this assembly, this\nclapping of hands, these outbursts of enthusiasm, express? They\nexpress love. You love, gentlemen, and you love nobly. You love\nthe church, your mother. Ah! you do well to love her with the\npurest and most generous love! The church is the fellowship of\nsouls; herein is her beauty and her immortal glory. This is why,\nalthough she is in the world, she is not of the world. She lives\nby faith, hope, and love. She believes, she hopes, she loves.\nThis earth is only the place of her pilgrimage; Heaven is her\ncountry, the King of Heaven is her father, Jesus Christ is her\nimmortal spouse, the Holy Spirit her inspirer and her guide.\n{594}\nShe has her pontiffs, whom you venerate, her doctors, her\npriests. There, at least, we find here below a divine and\nunchangeable constitution. Built on a rock that can never be\nmoved, we have a supreme authority, a teachable people, faithful\nministers, and, in short, (not to speak of others,) rights\nscrupulously respected, and duties faithfully performed.\n(Applause.)\n\nThat which seems astonishing at first sight is, that the church,\nnotwithstanding her divine origin and her immortal destinies,\nshould so often come to us with thorns on her brow. But this is\nbecause she comes from Calvary, and her favorite strains were\nthose which inspired Saint Paul when he said, \"God forbid that I\nshould glory save in the cross of Jesus Christ.\" Among the songs\nof gladness sung by the church, as she travels through this\nworld, there are none more dear to her than those which celebrate\nthe passion, the temptations, the sorrows of Calvary. These are\nher household words. We feel that she received them from the\ndying lips of a divine being; but, sharing the grief of the\nGod-man, she should go forth with him from the tomb to cover the\nearth with her children, in innumerable multitudes.\n\nThe church must expect to meet here below with indifference, with\nadversaries, with persecutors. This has been announced, or rather\npromised, to her; she is not to enjoy where she has not suffered;\nat some time or other we all suffer, we die for her. Yes! She\nalways has martyrs, and it is only recently that several have\nbeen laid upon the altar. Ah! it is during these festivals,\ngentlemen, that you should see the church in order to feel how\nher heart beats. On the recent occasion the Vicar of Jesus Christ\nwas surrounded by five hundred bishops, who hastened to him from\nall parts of the world. You should have seen the gladness, the\nglory, the universal enthusiasm which prevailed. We found there a\nstrength to encounter anything--to go freely, cheerfully, to\nAbyssinia, to India, to America, everywhere. How vigorous, how\ndeep, how indissoluble is the union of souls! Behold the church\nhere, as we have seen her and experienced her power! America sent\nthirty-five bishops; for a century she had not more than one. At\nthe last council of Baltimore there were forty-three, and the\nAmerican bishops, on leaving Rome, obtained from the Holy Father\nthe erection of twenty-three dioceses. You see how fruitful is\nthis immortal cause of yours.\n\nAnd in the midst of all these is the grand thought of the\nSovereign Pontiff proclaiming the utility and the necessity of a\ngeneral council. There is wisdom, there is energy! No, gentlemen,\nI have never seen a finer sight than this old man going direct to\nhis object with a firmness which nothing can overcome. All around\nhim may be in a state of trouble; the earth may fail under his\nfeet; still he maintains his ground, and the church shall have\nher council. Yes, gentlemen, the kingdoms of this earth may be\nremoved, _inclinata sunt regna_; but the bishops will one\nday meet in council, and with the chief will hold forth the light\nto those who require their help. The church shall have its\ncouncil, in order that disputes may cease, that peace may dwell\nin our hearts; that the people may be drawn into the arms of\ntheir common father, so that there shall be but one flock and but\none shepherd.\n\n--------\n\n{595}\n\n             The Reign of Law. [Footnote 56]\n\n    [Footnote 56: _The Reign of Law_. By the Duke of Argyll.\n     London: Strahan, 1867. 8vo, pp. 435.]\n\n\nThere is much in this work that we hold to be true and important,\nwhen considered by itself, without reference to the general views\nor doctrines of the author; but they are so interwoven with other\nthings, that to us are evidently unscientific or untrue, that\nthey lose nearly all their practical value. The author certainly\ndoes not lack ability, and is apparently learned in the sciences;\nbut, unhappily for such a work as he appears to have meditated,\nhe is no theologian and no philosopher. There is such a want of\ndistinctness in his principles, and of clearness and precision in\nhis statements, that, with the best intentions in the world to\nunderstand him, we are unable to make out to our own satisfaction\nwhat he is driving at, or for what purpose he has written his\nbook.\n\nThe topics treated are;\n  1. The supernatural;\n  2. Law--its definitions;\n  3. Contrivance, a necessity arising out of the reign of law;\n  4. Apparent exceptions to the supremacy of purpose;\n  5. Creation by law;\n  6. Law in the realm of mind;\n  7. Law in politics.\n\nThese are great topics, and are intimately connected with\ntheology and philosophy, faith and religion. But what has the\nauthor proposed to himself in treating them? What general view of\nreligion or of science does he seek to bring out, illustrate, or\nestablish? We can find in his book no satisfactory answer to\neither of these questions. He is a _savant_, not a\nphilosopher, and there seems to be in his mind and in his book\nthe same want of unity and wholeness, the same tendency to lose\nitself in details, that there is and must be in the special or\ninductive sciences when not subordinated to a general or a\nsuperior science, to be supplied only by theology or philosophy,\nwhich deals with the ideal, the universal, and the necessary; and\nwe find it impossible to harmonize the several special views\nwhich he takes, integrate them in any general view which it can\nbe supposed that he accepts, or which he is not found, first or\nlast, directly or indirectly impugning. We understand well enough\nhis language, which is simple and clear, so far as the words and\nsentences go; we understand, too, the parts of his book taken\nseparately; but we frankly confess our inability to put the\nseveral parts together and understand them as a whole.\n\nOur first impression, on looking through the work, was that the\nauthor wished to harmonize the sciences with the great primary\ntruths of religion, by showing that the universe in all its\ndepartments, laws, facts, and phenomena proceeds from a\nproductive will under the direction of mind or intelligence, for\na purpose or end. In this view the laws of nature, producing\neffects in their order, could be carried up for their first cause\nto the divine will, or that will itself using the instrumentality\nof laws or means it had itself created. To harmonize the sciences\nwith faith, or to render them compatible with faith, all that\nwould need to be done would be to show that since the so-called\nnatural laws themselves depend wholly on God, they can never\nrestrain his freedom, or compel him to act through them, and only\nthrough them. We will not say that he has not had something of\nthe sort in view; but, certainly, not uniformly and steadily.\n\n{596}\n\nWe thought, again, that having the same end in view, he wished to\nshow that all things are produced according to one and the same\ndialectic law, and| therefore, that viewed as a whole, in its\nprinciple, medium, and end, as the external expression of the\nHoly Trinity, which God is in himself, the universe must be\nreally dialectic, and strictly logical in all its parts. Creation\nis the external word of God, as the Son is his internal word or\nexpression. As the Creator is in himself the supreme logic,\n[Greek text], logic itself, creation as his expression _ad\nextra_, or external image, must be as a whole and in all its\nparts strictly logical, as St. Thomas implies when he says, \"God\nis the similitude of all things--_similitudo rerum omnium._\"\nNot that the type of God is in the creature, as the noble duke\nmore than once implies; but that the type of the creature, of\ncreation, is in God. Hence there can be no anomalies, no sophisms\nin the Creator's works; nothing arbitrary, capricious; but order\nmust run through all, and all must be subjected to the law of\norder, implied in the doctrine of Scripture, \"God hath made all\nthings by weight and measure.\" The author, then, might be\nunderstood as attempting, by his knowledge of the physical\nsciences, to prove _\u00e0 posteriori_ that this is true, and to\nshow that this law of order reigns in the world of matter and in\nthe realm of mind, in the plant and in the animal, in science and\nin faith, in religion and in politics, as the universal law of\ncreation. Hence, the possibility and reality of science, which\nconsists in recognizing this law and tracing it in all things,\nlittle or great.\n\nSome things, the author says, may be construed in favor of such a\npurpose, but he seems sometimes to be asserting the universal\nreign of law and at others to be censuring those who do assert\nit, and refuting those who maintain that life is the product of\nlaw: plainly showing that he does not understand law in the sense\nsupposed, nor always in the same sense. His definitions of law\nalso prove that he is a stranger to the view we suggest, and has\nhis mind fixed on something quite different. The \"root idea\" of\nlaw, he says, is that of force; and he defines law to be in its\nprimary sense \"will enforcing itself with power\"--a very\nerroneous definition, by the way, for law is will directed by\nreason. He also understands by it the means, medium, or\ninstrument by which will creates, for he does not seem to hold\nthat God creates from nothing, or without means distinguishable\nfrom himself; so we are thrown back, and again puzzled to\ndetermine what he really does mean. We ask ourselves if he is not\na really profound theologian, master of the deepest Christian\nphilosophy, and simply endeavoring to translate it into the\nlanguage of the _savans_, or if he is not totally ignorant\nof that philosophy, suggesting to those who know it far more than\nhe has ever dreamed of himself? Something almost inclines us to\nthink the former; but upon the whole we incline to the latter,\nand conclude that the less profound in philosophy and theology we\nregard him, the greater the justice we shall do him.\n\nThe author, as near as we can come at his meaning, holds that all\naction of the divine will is by law, and that law is the means or\ninstrument by which it acts and produces its effects; or, in\nother words, God always and everywhere makes use of natural laws\nor forces to effect his purposes.\n{597}\nThe definition he has given of law in its primary sense, \"will\nenforcing itself with power,\" would seem to identify it with God\nhimself, or at least with God willing and effecting his purpose;\nbut he says: \"Law is taken in certain derivative senses, in which\nhardly a trace of the primary sense is retained:\n\n  1. Law as applied simply to an observed order of facts.\n\n  2. To that order as involving the action of some force or\n  forces, of which nothing more may be known.\n\n  3. As applied to individual forces the measure of whose\n  operation has been more or less defined or ascertained.\n\n  4. As applied to those combinations of force which have\n  reference to the fulfilment of purpose or the discharge of\n  function.\n\n  5. As applied to the abstract conceptions of mind, not\n  corresponding with any actual phenomena, but deduced therefrom\n  as axioms of thought necessary to our understanding of\n  them--not merely to an order of facts, but to an order of\n  thought.\" (Pp. 64, 65.)\n\nThe last sense given to law proves clearly enough that the author\nknows nothing of philosophy, for it supposes the ideal or the\nintelligible is an abstract mental conception deduced from\nsensible phenomena, and therefore is objectively nothing, instead\nof being an objective reality affirmed to and apprehended by the\nmind. He is one who places the type of his God in the creature,\nnot the type of the creature in God, and represents God to\nhimself as the creature fulfilled or perfected, as do all\ninductive philosophers. But we will pass over this, as having\nbeen already amply discussed in this magazine.\n\nWe confess that we find very little that is definite in these\npretended definitions of law. They tell us to what classes of\nfacts law is applied, but do not tell us what law is, or define\nwhether it is the force which produces the facts to which it is\napplied or simply the rule according to which they are produced;\nwhether it designates the order of their production or is simply\ntheir classification. The author may reply that it is applied in\nall these senses and several more, but that defines nothing. What\nis it in itself, apart from its application, or the manner of its\nuse? A word, and nothing more? Then it is nothing, is unreal, a\nnullity, and how then can it ever be a force, or even an\ninstrument of force? \"These great leading significations of the\nword law,\" he continues, \"all circle round the three great\nquestions which science asks of nature, the What, the How, and\nthe Why:\n\n  1. What are the facts in their established order?\n\n  2. How, that is, from what physical causes, does that order\n  come to be?\n\n  3. Why have those causes been so combined? What relation do\n  they bear to purpose, to the fulfilment of intention, to the\n  discharge of function?\" (P. 65.)\n\nThis would be very well, if the sciences raised no questions\nbeyond the order of second causes, but this is not the case. The\nauthor himself brings in other than physical causes. Will is not,\nin the ordinary sense of the word, physical; and he defines law\nto be, in its primary sense, will enforcing itself with power;\nand the question comes up, If these facts of nature are the\nproduct of will, of whose will? Does nature will or act from\nwill? Is it by its will fire melts wax, the winds propel the ship\nat sea, or the lightning rends the oak? The author speaks of the\n_facts_ of nature. _Fact_ is something done, and\nimplies a doer; what or who, then, is the doer? Here is a great\nquestion which the author raises, and which his definitions of\nlaw exclude. The whence is as important as the what, the how, or\nthe why.\n{598}\nMoreover, the author mistakes the sense of the how. The answer to\nthe question, how? is not the question, from or by what cause or\ncauses, but in what mode or manner. Law in \"these great leading\nsignifications\" which circle round the what, the how, and the\nwhy, does in no sense answer the question whence, or from what or\nby what cause, and leaves, by the way, both the first cause and\nthe medial cause, the principle and medium of the facts observed\nand analyzed. How then can he assert the universal reign of law?\nAs far as we can collect from the senses of the word given, law\ndoes not reign at all; it lies in the order of natural facts, and\nsimply marks the order, manner, and purpose of their existence in\nnature, or their arrangement or classification in our scientific\nsystems. Nothing more.\n\nYet his grace means more than this. He means, sometimes at least,\nthat to arrange facts under their law is to reduce them to their\nphysical cause or principle of production. Such and such facts\nowe their existence to such and such a law, that is, to such or\nsuch a natural cause or productive force. And his doctrine is\nthat all causes are natural, and that there is no real\ndistinction between natural and supernatural. \"The truth is,\" he\nsays, pp. 46-47, \"that there is no such distinction between what\nwe find in nature, and what we are called upon to believe in\nreligion, as men pretend to draw between the natural and the\nsupernatural. _It is a distinction purely artificial,\narbitrary, unreal_. Nature presents to our intelligence, the\nmore clearly the more we search her, the designs, ideas, and\nintentions of some\n\n  'Living will that shall endure,\n   When all that seems shall suffer shock.'\"\n\nBut, does nature when she presents the designs, the ideas,\nintentions, present the will whose they are? And if so, does she\npresent it as her own will, or as a will above herself?\nUndoubtedly, the will presented by religion is the same will that\nis operative in nature, but religion presents that will not as\nnature, but as above nature, therefore as supernatural, for\nnothing can be both itself and above itself. Nobody pretends,\ncertainly no theologian pretends, that the will presented by\nreligion is above the will that is operative in nature, and calls\nit for that reason supernatural. The will in both is one and the\nsame, but religion asserts that it is alike supernatural whether\nin religion or in nature. That will is the will of the creator:\nand does the author mean to assert that the distinction between\nthe creator and the creature is unreal? Certainly not. Then he\nmust be mistaken in asserting that the distinction between the\nnatural and supernatural is \"purely artificial, arbitrary,\nunreal,\" and also in controverting, as he does, the assertion of\nM. Guizot that \"a belief in the supernatural is essential to all\npositive religion.\" He himself admits, p. 48, that M. Guizot's\naffirmation is true in the special sense that \"belief in the\nexistence of a living will, of a personal God, is indeed a\nrequisite condition,\" and we will not be so unjust as to suppose\nthat he either identifies this living will, this personal God\nwith nature, or denies that he is above nature, its first and\nfinal cause, its principle, medium, and end, its sovereign\nproprietor and supreme ruler; for this lies at the very threshold\nof all true religion, is a truth of reason, and a necessary\npreamble to faith.\n\n\"But,\" the author continues, \"the intellectual yoke, in the\ncommon idea of the supernatural, is a yoke which men impose upon\nthemselves. Obscure thought and confused language are the main\nsource of the difficulty.\"\n{599}\nIn the case of the noble duke, perhaps so; but if he had been\nfamiliar with the clear thought and distinct language of the\ntheologians, he probably would have experienced no difficulty in\nthe case. What he really denies is not the _super_natural,\nbut, if we may so speak, the _contra_natural, which is a\nvery different thing, and which all real theologians are as ready\nand as earnest to deny as any one is or can be; for they all hold\ngrace is supernatural, and yet adopt the maxim, _gratia\nsupponit naturam_, as we have heretofore shown in an article\non _Nature and Grace_. The author very conclusively shows\nthat the contradictory of what is true in nature cannot be true\nin religion. Some pretended philosophers in the time of Pope Leo\nX. maintained that the immortality of the soul is true in\ntheology, but false in philosophy. The pope condemned their\ndoctrine and vindicated common sense, which teaches every one\nthat what is true in theology cannot be false in philosophy, or\nwhat is true in philosophy cannot be false in theology. Truth is\ntruth always and everywhere, and never is or can be in\ncontradiction with itself. But we cannot agree with the author\nthat \"the common idea\" of the supernatural is that it is\nsomething antagonistic to nature. There may be some heterodox\ntheologians that so teach, or seem to teach, and many men who are\ndevoted to the study of the natural sciences suppose that\napproved theologians assert the supernatural in the same sense,\nand this is one reason why they take such a dislike to theology\nand become averse to faith in supernatural revelation. But we\nhold them mistaken; at least we are not accustomed to see the\nsupernatural presented by learned and orthodox theologians as\nopposed to the natural. If such is the teaching of the heterodox,\nit is very unfortunate for his grace that he has taken their\nteaching to be that of the Christian church, or the faith of\northodox believers.\n\nBut the author's difficulty about the supernatural has its\nprincipal origin in his theology, not in his science. We do not\nlike his habit of speaking of the divine action in nature as the\naction of will, for God never acts as mere will. We may\ndistinguish in relation to our mode of apprehending him, between\nhis essence and his attributes, and between one attribute and\nanother; indeed we must do so, for our powers are too feeble to\nform an adequate conception of the Divine Being; but we must\nnever forget that the distinctions we make in our mode of\napprehending have no real existence in God himself. He is one,\nand acts always as one, in the unity of his being, and his action\nis always identically the action of reason, love, wisdom, will,\npower. When we speak of him as living will, we are apt to divide\nor mutilate him in our thought, and to forget that he never acts\nor produces effects by any one attribute alone. But pass over\nthis--though we cannot approve it, for God is eternal reason as\nreally and as fully as he is eternal will; the noble duke,\nfollowing his theology, makes in reality this one living will the\nonly actor in nature, the direct and immediate cause of all the\neffects produced in the universe. He thus denies second causes,\nas Calvin did when he asserted that \"God is the author of sin.\"\nTaking this view, what is nature? Nature is only the divine will\nand its direct effects, or the one living will enforcing itself\nwith power, using what are called natural laws or forces, not as\nsecond causes, but as means or instruments for effecting its\npurpose or purposes. Recognizing no created or second causes, and\ntherefore no _causa eminens_ or _causa causarum_, but\nonly one direct and immediate cause, he can of course find no\nground for a distinction between natural and supernatural.\n{600}\nAll is natural or all is supernatural, for all is identical, one\nand the same. Hence, denying very properly all contrariety or\nantagonism between natural and supernatural, the author can\naccept miracles only in the sense of superhuman and supermaterial\nevents. They are not supernatural, as men commonly suppose: they\nare wrought by the one invincible will at work in every\ndepartment of nature, are in nature, and as natural as the most\nordinary events that occur--only they are the effects of more\nrecondite laws, which come into play only on extraordinary\noccasions, and for special purposes. They belong to what Carlyle,\nin the _Sartor Resartus_, calls \"natural-supernaturalism,\"\nwhich is no real supernaturalism at all. The author's theology,\nwhich resolves God into pure will and power, has forced him to\nadopt his conclusion. His theology hardly admits, though it may\nprofess not to deny, that God creates second causes, capable of\nacting from their own centre, and in their own order producing\neffects of their own. The difficulty he finds in admitting and\nunderstanding miracles as real supernatural facts, arises\nprecisely from his not distinguishing between the first cause and\nsecond causes. His failure to make this distinction is caused by\nhis misconception or confused conception of the real character of\nthe divine creative act. Indeed, he hardly recognizes the fact of\ncreation at all, as we might infer from his reducing the whole\nmatter of science to the questions of the what, the how, and the\nwhy, omitting entirely the whence. His science deals solely with\nfacts of the secondary order, and omits or rejects the ideal, in\nwhich all things have their origin and cause, as unknowable,\nimaginary, unreal.\n\nThe author speaks frequently of creation, and we are far from\nsupposing that he means to deny it; but if we understand him, he\ndoes deny that the divine will creates without natural means or\ninstrumentalities, and this appears to be what he means by\n\"Creation by law.\" He asks, p. 14, \"By supernatural power do we\nnot mean power independent of the use of means, as distinguished\nfrom power depending on knowledge, even infinite knowledge of the\nmeans proper to be employed?\" We think his question is not well\nput; certainly we never heard before of such a definition of the\nsupernatural, unless by means is meant natural means; but as he\ndenies all supernatural power as operating independent of the use\nof natural means, he must be understood as denying all creation\nfrom nothing, or that God creates all things by the word of his\npower, with no other means or medium than what is contained in\nhimself. \"The real difficulty,\" he says, \"lies in the idea of\nwill exercised without the use of means, not in the exercise of\nwill through means which are beyond our knowledge.\" But what\nmeans were there through which the will could operate when\nnothing besides itself existed? Does the scientific author not\nsee, unless he admits the eternal existence of something besides\nGod, that on his ground creation must precede creation as the\ncondition or means of creation? In the chapter on _Creation by\nLaw_, pp. 280, 281, he says: \"I do not know on what authority\nit is that we so often speak of creation as if it were not\ncreation, unless it works from nothing as its material, and by\nnothing as its means.\n{601}\nWe know that out of the 'dust of the ground,' that is, out of the\nordinary elements of nature are our bodies formed, and the bodies\nof all living things.\" But out of what was the \"dust of the\nground\" or \"the ordinary elements of nature\" formed? He\ncontinues: \"Nor is there anything which should shock us in the\nidea that the creation of new forms, any more than in their\npropagation, has been brought about by the instrumentality of\nmeans. In a theological point of view it matters nothing what\nthose means have been.\" It, however, matters something in a\ntheological point of view whether we assert that God creates\nwithout other means than is contained in his own divine being, or\nonly by working with preexisting materials, which are independent\nof him, and eternal like himself.\n\nThe author professes not to know on what authority creation is\ndenied to be creation unless from nothing as its materials, and\nby nothing as its means; but he must have said this without well\nweighing the words he uses. A man makes a watch out of materials\nwhich are supplied to his hand, and by availing himself of a\nmotive force which exists and operates independently of him; but\nnobody calls him the creator of the watch. Man has, strictly\nspeaking, no creative powers, because he can operate only on and\nwith materials furnished him by God or nature, and cannot himself\noriginate his own powers nor the powers he uses. He can form,\nfashion, utilize, to a limited extent, what already exists, but\nhe cannot originate a new law nor a new force. The Gentile\nphilosophers, finding in man no proper creative power, concluded\nthat there is no proper creative power in God, and hence they\nsubstituted in their systems for creation emanation, generation,\nor formation; and you will search in vain through Plato or even\nAristotle for the recognition of the fact of creation. Holding\nthat God cannot, any more than man, work without materials, even\nthe soundest of the Gentile philosophers, say Pythagoras, Plato,\nand Aristotle, asserted the eternity of matter, and explained the\norigin of things by supposing that God impresses on this eternal\nmatter, as the seal on wax, or in some way unites with it, the\nideas or forms eternal in his own mind. Here is no creation, for\nthough there is combination of the preexisting, there is no\nproduction of something where nothing was before; yet we cannot\ngo beyond them, if we deny that creation proper is creation from\nnothing, or, as we have explained, that God creates without any\nmaterial, means, or medium distinguishable from himself.\n\nYet no theologian pretends that God, in creating, works without\nmeans. No work, no act is possible or conceivable without\nprinciple, medium, and end. God can no more create without a\nmedial cause than man can build a house without materials; but if\nthe author had meditated on the significance of the dogma of the\nTrinity, he would have understood that God has the means or\nmedium in himself, in his own eternal Word, by whom all things\nare made, and without whom was made nothing that was made. God in\nhimself, in the unity of his own being, the mystery of the\nTrinity teaches us, is eternally and indissolubly, principle,\nmedium, and end, in three distinct persons. The Father is\nprinciple, the Son or Word is medium, and the Holy Ghost is end\nor consummator. Hence God is complete, being in its plenitude, in\nhimself, most pure act, as say the theologians, and, therefore,\nable to do what he wills without going out of himself, or using\nmeans not in himself. The medium of creation is the Word who was\nin the beginning, who was with God, and who is God.\n{602}\nHence not only by and for God, but also in him \"we live and move\nand have our being.\" To suppose otherwise is, as we have seen, to\nsuppose God does not and cannot create by himself alone, or\nwithout the aid of something exterior to and distinguishable from\nhimself, and nothing is distinguishable from him and his own\ncreatures, but another being in some sort eternal like himself,\nwhich philosophy, as well as theology, denies.\n\nRectifying the noble author's mistake as to the creative act, and\nbearing in mind that God creates existences by himself alone, and\ncreates them substances or second causes, capable of producing\neffects in the secondary order, we are able to assert a very real\nand a very intelligible distinction between the natural and the\nsupernatural. Nature is the name for all that is created, the\nwhole order of second causes, and as God creates and sustains\nnature, he must be himself supernatural. God has, or at least may\nhave, two modes of acting; the one directly, immediately, with no\nmedium but the medium he is in himself, and this mode of acting\nis supernatural; the other mode is acting in and through nature,\nin the law according to which he has constituted nature, or the\nforces which he has given her, called natural laws, and this mode\nis natural, because in it nature acts as second cause. God\nhimself is above this order of nature, but is always present in\nit by his creative act, for the universe, neither as a whole nor\nin any of its parts, can stand save as upheld by the Creator. A\nmiracle is a sensible fact not explicable by the laws of nature,\nand, therefore, a fact that can be explained only by being\nreferred to the direct and immediate or supernatural action of\nGod. Whether a miracle is ever wrought is simply a question of\nfact, to be determined by the testimony or evidence in the case.\nThat God can work miracles may be inferred from the fact that\ncreation does not exhaust him, and from the fact, the noble duke\nhas amply proved, that the natural laws do not bind him to act\nonly through them, or in any way restrain his freedom or liberty\nof action. In working a miracle, God does not contravene or\nviolate the natural laws, or the order of second causes, that is,\nthe order of nature; he simply acts above it, and the fact is not\ncontranatural, but supernatural. It does not destroy nature; for\nif it did, there would be no nature below it, and it would,\ntherefore, not be supernatural.\n\nThe author very properly rejects the origin of species in\ndevelopment, at least in the higher forms of organic life, and\nshows that Darwin's theory of the formation of new species by\nnatural selection does not form new species, but only selects the\nmost vigorous of preexisting species, such as survive the\nstruggle for life. Old species indeed become extinct and new\nspecies spring into existence; but those new species or new forms\nof life which science discovers are not developments, but new\ncreations. Creation, he holds, has a history, and is successive,\ncontinually going on. We doubt whether science is in a condition\nto say with absolute certainty that any species that once existed\nare now extinct, or that new species have successively sprung\ninto existence; but assuming the fact to be as alleged, and we\ncertainly are unable to deny it, we cannot accept the author's\nexplanation. We agree with him that the creative will is as\npresent and as active as it was in the beginning, or that\ncreation is always a present act; but for this very reason, if\nfor no other, we should deny that it is successive, or resolvable\ninto successive acts, since that would imply that it is past or\nfuture as well as present.\n{603}\nRegarded on the side of God, there can be no succession in the\ncreative act. Succession is in time; but God dwells not in time,\nhe inhabiteth eternity. His act on his side must be complete from\nthe instant he wills to create, and can be successive only as\nexternized in time. Individuals and species when they have served\ntheir purpose disappear, and others come forward and take their\nplaces, not by a new creation from nothing, but because in the\none creative act the appointed time and place for their external\nappearance have come. It is rather we who come successively to\nthe knowledge of creation than creation that is itself\nsuccessive. The creative act is one, but its externization is\nsuccessive. The divine act effecting the hypostatic union of\nhuman nature with the divine person of the Word was included in\nthe one creative act, and in relation to God and his act was\ncomplete from the first; but as a fact of time it did not take\nplace till long after the creation of the world. It is very\npossible then to accept fully all the facts with regard to the\nappearance of new species that science discovers, without\nasserting successive creations; they are only the successive\nmanifestations of the original creative act, revealing to us what\nwe had not before seen in it.\n\nIn point of fact the author does not, though he thinks he does,\nassert successive creations, for he contends that the new are in\nsome way made out of the old. He supposes the creative will\nprepares in what goes before for what comes after, and that the\nforms of life about to be extinguished approach close to and\nalmost overlap the forms that are coming to be, and are in some\nway used in the creation of the new forms or species. This, as we\nhave seen, is not creation, but formation or development, and\nhardly differs in substance from the doctrine of development that\nwas held by some naturalists prior to Darwin's theory of natural\nselection. It supposes the material of the new creation, the\n_causa materialis_, is in the old, and the development\ntheory only supposes that the material exists in the old in the\nform of a germ of the new. The difference, if any, is not worth\nnoticing. The development again can, on any theory, go on only\nunder the presence and constant action of the cause to which\nnature owes her existence, constitution, and powers.\n\nFor ourselves, we have no quarrel with the developmentists when\nthey do not deny the conditions without which there can be no\ndevelopment, or understand by development what is not development\nbut really creation. There is no development where there is no\ngerm to be developed, and that is not development which places\nsomething different in kind from the nature of the germ. In the\nlower forms of organic life, of plants and animals, where the\ndifferences of species are indistinct or feebly marked, there may\nbe, for aught we know, a natural development of new species, or\nwhat appears to be new species, that is, organic forms, not\nbefore brought out, or not perceived to be wrapped up in the\nforms examined; but in the higher forms of life, where the types\nare distinct and strongly marked, as in the mammalia, this cannot\nbe the case, for there is no germ in one species of another. We\nobject also to the doctrine that the higher forms of life are\ndeveloped from the lower forms. Grant, what is possible, perhaps\nprobable, but which every naturalist knows has not scientifically\nbeen made out, that there is a gradual ascent without break from\nthe lowest forms of organic life to the highest, it would by no\nmeans follow that the higher form but develops and completes the\nlower.\n{604}\nScience has not proved it, and cannot from any facts in its\npossession even begin to prove it. The law of gradation is very\ndistinguishable from the law of production, and it is a grave\nblunder in logic to confound them; yet it seems to us that this\nis what the noble author does, only substituting the term natural\ncreation for that of natural development. He seems to us to mean\nby the universal reign of law, which he seeks to establish, that\nthrough all nature the divine will educes the higher from the\nlower, or at least makes the lower the stepping-stone of the\nhigher; yet all that science can assert is that the lower in some\nform subserves the higher, but not that it is its _fons_, or\nprinciple, or the germ from which it is developed.\n\nOn the side of God, who is its principle, medium, and end,\ncreation is complete, consummated, both as a whole and in all its\nparts; but as externized, it is incomplete, imperfect, in part\npotential, not actual, and is completed by development in time.\nLooked at from our side or the point of view of the creature, we\nmay say it was created in germ, or with unrealized possibilities.\nHence development, not from one species to another, but of each\nspecies in its own order, and of each individual according to its\nspecies; hence progress, about which we hear so much, in\nrealizing the unrealized possibilities of nature, or in reducing\nwhat is potential in the created order to act, is not only\npossible, but necessary to the complete externization of the\ncreative act. This development or this progress is effected by\nprovidence acting through natural laws or natural forces, that\nis, second or created causes, and also, as the Christian holds,\nby grace, which is supernatural, and which, without destroying,\nsuperseding, or changing nature, assists it to attain an end\nabove and beyond the reach of nature, as we have shown in the\narticle on _Nature and Grace_.\n\nWe, as well as the author, assert the universal reign of law, but\nwe do not accept his definition of law, as \"will enforcing itself\nwith power,\" whether we speak of human law or the divine law, for\nthat is precisely the definition we give to will or power acting\nwithout law, or from mere arbitrariness. The Duke of Argyle is a\ncitizen of a constitutional state, and professes to be a liberal\nstatesman; he should not then adopt a definition of law which\nmakes might the measure of right, or denies to right any\nprinciple, type, or foundation in the divine nature. We have\nalready suggested the true definition of law--will directed by\nreason; and God's will is always law, because in him his eternal\nwill and his eternal reason are inseparable, and in him really\nindistinguishable. His will is, indeed, always law, because it is\nthe will of God, our creator; but if it were possible to conceive\nhim willing without his eternal reason, his will would not and\ncould not bind, though it might compel. The law is not in will\nalone, or in reason alone, but really in the synthetic action of\nboth. Hence St. Augustine tells us that unjust laws are violences\nrather than laws, and all jurists, as distinguished from mere\nlegists, tell us that all legislative acts that directly\ncontravene the law of God, or the law of natural justice, do not\nbind, and are null and void from the beginning.\n\n{605}\n\nLaw in the other senses the author notes, and has written his\nwork, in part at least, to elucidate and defend, in so far as the\nnatural or inductive sciences, without theology or philosophy,\nthat is, so called metaphysics, can go, is not law at all, but a\nmere fact, or classification of facts, and simply marks the order\nof coexistence or of succession of the various facts and\nphenomena of the natural world. The so-called law of gravitation\nstates to the physicist simply an order or series of facts, not\nthe cause or force producing them, as Hume. Kant, the\nPositivists, J. Stuart Mill, Herbert Spencer, and virtually even\nSir William Hamilton, and his disciple Mr. Mansel, who exclude\nthe ontological element from science, have amply proved. The idea\nof cause, of force, is not an empirical idea, but is given _\u00e0\npriori_.\n\nThere are several other points in the work before us on which we\nintended to comment, but we are obliged by our diminishing space\nto pass them over. The author says many true and important\nthings, and says them well too; but we think in his effort to\nreconcile theology and science he fails, in consequence of being\nnot so well versed in theology as he is in the sciences. He does\nnot take note of the fact that the sciences are special, and deal\nonly with facts of a secondary order, and are, therefore,\nincomplete without the science of the first cause, or theology.\nHe does not keep sufficiently before his mind the distinction\nbetween God, as first cause, and nature, as second cause; and\nhence when he asserts the divine action he inclines to pantheism,\nand when he asserts the action of nature he inclines to\nnaturalism. Yet his aim has been good, and we feel assured that\nhe has wished to serve the cause of religion as well as that of\nscience.\n\nFor ourselves, we hold, and have heretofore proved, that theology\nis the queen of the sciences, _scientia scientiarum_, but we\nhave a profound regard for the men of real science, and should be\nsorry to be found warring against them. There is nothing\nestablished by any of the sciences that conflicts with our\ntheology, which is that of the Church of Christ; and we have\nremarked that the quarrels between the _savans_ and the\ntheologians are, for the most part, not quarrels between science\nand theology, but between different schools of science. The\nprofessors of natural science, who had long taught the geocentric\ntheory, and associated it with their faith, when Galileo brought\nforward the heliocentric theory, opposed it, and found it easier\nto denounce him as a heretic than to refute him scientifically. A\nquarrel arose, and the church was appealed to, and, for the sake\nof peace, she imposed silence on Galileo, which she might well\ndo, since his theory was not received in the schools, and was not\nthen scientifically established; and when he broke silence\nagainst orders, she slightly punished him. But the dispute really\nturned on a purely scientific question, and faith was by no means\nnecessarily implicated, for faith can adjust itself to either\ntheory. Men of science oppose the supernatural not because they\nhave any scientific facts that militate against it, but because\nit appears to militate against the theory of the fixedness of\nnatural laws, or of the order of nature. The quarrel is really\nbetween a heterodox theology, or erroneous interpretation of the\nsupernatural on the one side, and the misinterpretation of the\nnatural order on the other, that is, between two opinions. A\nreference to orthodox theology would soon settle the dispute, by\nshowing that neither militates against the other, when both are\nrightly understood. There is no conflict between theology, as\ntaught by the church, and anything that science has really\nestablished with regard to the order of nature.\n\n{606}\n\nWe cannot accept all the theories of the noble duke, but we can\naccept all the scientific facts he adduces, and find ourselves\ninstructed and edified by them. It is time the quarrel between\ntheologians and _savans_ should end. It is of recent origin.\nTill the revival of letters in the fifteenth century, there was\nno such quarrel--not that men did not begin to think till then,\nor were ignorant till then of the true method of studying\nnature--and there need be none, and would be none now, if the\ntheologians never added or substituted for the teaching of\nrevelation unauthorized speculations of their own, and if the\n_savans_ would never put forward, as science, what is not\nscience. The blame, we are willing to admit, has not been all on\none side. Theologians in their zeal have cried out against\nscientific theories before ascertaining whether they really do or\ndo not conflict with faith, and _savans_ have too often\nconcluded their scientific discoveries conflict with faith, and\ntherefore said, Let faith go, before ascertaining whether they do\nso or not. There should, for the sake of truth, be a better\nmutual understanding, for both may work together in harmony.\n\n----------\n\n      \"Beati Mites, Quoniam Ipsi\n      Possidebunt Terram.\"\n\n\n  Thy song is not the song of morn,\n    O Thrush! but calmer and more strong,\n  While sunset woods around thee burn,\n    And fire-touched stems resound thy song.\n\n  O songstress of the thorn, whereon\n    As yet the white but streaks the green,\n  Sing on! sing on! Thou sing'st as one\n    That sings of what his eyes have seen.\n\n  In thee some Seraph's rapture tells\n    Of things thou know'st not! Heaven draws near:\n  I hear the Immortal City's bells:\n    The triumph of the blest I hear.\n\n  The whole wide earth, to God heart-bare,\n    Basks like some happy Umbrian vale\n  By Francis trodden and by Clare,\n    When anthems sweetened every gale.\n\n  When greatness thirsted to be good,\n    When faith was meek, and love was brave,\n  When hope by every cradle stood,\n    And rainbows spanned each new-made grave.\n\n                             Aubrey De Vere.\n\n--------\n\n{607}\n\n            The Story of a Conscript.\n\n            Translated From The French.\n\n\n                     XII.\n\nBut, as Sergeant Pinto said, all we had yet seen was but the\nprelude to the ball; the dance was now about to commence.\n\nThe sergeant had formed a particular friendship for me, and on\nthe eighteenth, on relieving guard at the Warthan gate, he said:\n\n\"Fusilier Bertha, the emperor has arrived.\"\n\nI had yet heard nothing of this, and replied respectfully:\n\n\"I have just seen the sapper Merlin, sergeant, who was on duty\nlast night at the general's quarters, and he said nothing of it.\"\n\nThen he, closing his eye, said with a peculiar expression:\n\n\"Everything is moving; I feel his presence in the air. You do not\nyet understand this, conscript, but he is here; everything says\nso. Before he came, we were lame, crippled; but a wing of the\narmy seemed able to move at once. But now, look there, see those\ncouriers galloping over the road; all is life. The dance is\nbeginning; the dance is beginning! Kaiserliks and the Cossacks do\nnot need spectacles to see that he is with us; they will feel him\npresently.\"\n\nAnd the sergeant's laugh rang hoarsely from beneath his long\nmustaches; and he was right, for that very day, about three in\nthe afternoon, all the troops stationed around the city were in\nmotion, and at five we were put under arms. The Marshal-Prince of\nMoskowa entered the town surrounded by the officers and generals\nwho composed his staff, and, almost immediately after, the\ngrey-haired Sunham followed and passed us in review upon the\n_Place_. Then he spoke in a loud, clear voice so that every\none could hear.\n\n\"Soldiers!\" said he, \"you will form part of the advance-guard of\nthe third corps. Try to remember that you are Frenchmen. _Vive\nl'Empereur!_\n\nAll shouted \"_Vive l'Empereur_\" till the echoes rang again,\nwhile the general departed with Colonel Zapfel.\n\nThat night we were relieved by the Hessians, and left Erfurt with\nthe Tenth hussars and a regiment of chasseurs. At six or seven in\nthe morning we were before the city of Weimar, and saw the sun\nrising on its gardens, its churches, and its houses, as well as\non an old castle to the right. Here we bivouacked, and the\nhussars went forward to reconnoitre the town. About nine, while\nwe were breakfasting, suddenly we heard the rattle of pistols and\ncarbines. Our hussars had encountered the Russian hussars in the\nstreets, and they were firing on each other. But it was so far\noff that we saw nothing of the combat.\n\nAt the end of an hour the hussars returned, having lost two men.\nThus began the campaign.\n\nWe remained five days in our camp, while the whole third corps\nwere coming up. As we were the advance-guard, we started again by\nway of Sulza and Warthan. Then we saw the enemy; Cossacks who\nkept ever beyond the range of our guns, and the further they\nretired the greater grew our courage.\n\n{608}\n\nBut it annoyed me to hear Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 constantly exclaiming in a tone\nof ill-humor:\n\n\"Will they never stop; never make a stand!\"\n\nI thought that if they kept retreating we could ask nothing\nbetter. We would gain all we wanted without loss of life or\nsuffering.\n\nBut at last they halted on the further side of a broad and deep\nriver, and I saw a great number posted near the bank to cut us to\npieces if we should cross unsupported.\n\nIt was the twenty-ninth of April, and growing late. Never did I\nsee a more glorious sunset. On the opposite side of the river\nstretched a wide plain as far as the eye could reach, and on\nthis, sharply outlined against the glowing sky, stood horsemen,\nwith their shakos drooping forward, their green jackets, little\ncartridge-boxes slung under the arm, and their sky-blue trousers;\nbehind them glittered thousands of lances, and Sergeant Pinto\nrecognized them as the Prussian cavalry and Cossacks. He knew the\nriver, too, which, he said was the Saale.\n\nWe went as near as we could to the water to exchange shots with\nthe horsemen, but they retired and at last disappeared entirely\nunder the blood-red sky. We made our bivouac along the river, and\nposted our sentries. On our left was a large village; a\ndetachment was sent to it to purchase meat; for since the arrival\nof the emperor we had orders to pay for everything.\n\nDuring the night other regiments of the division came up; they,\ntoo, bivouacked along the bank, and their long lines of fires,\nreflected in the ever-moving waters, glared grandly through the\ndarkness.\n\nNo one felt inclined to sleep. Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, Klipfel, Furst, and I\nmessed together, and we chatted as we lay around our fire.\n\n\"To-morrow we will have it hot enough, if we attempt to cross the\nriver! Our friends in Phalsbourg, over their warm suppers,\nscarcely think of us lying here, with nothing but a piece of\ncow-beef to eat, a river flowing beside us, the damp earth\nbeneath, and only the sky for a roof, without speaking of the\nsabre-cuts and bayonet-thrusts our friends yonder have in store\nfor us.\"\n\n\"Bah!\" said Klipfel; \"this is life. I would not pass my days\notherwise. To enjoy life we must be well to-day, sick to-morrow;\nthen we appreciate the pleasure of the change from pain to ease.\nAs for shots and sabre-strokes, with God's aid, we will give as\ngood as we take!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, lighting his pipe, \"when I lose my place in\nthe ranks, it will not be for the want of striking hard at the\nRussians!\"\n\nSo we lay wakeful for two or three hours. Leger lay stretched out\nin his great coat, his feet to the fire, asleep, when the\nsentinel cried:\n\n\"Who goes there?\"\n\n\"France!\"'\n\n\"What regiment?\"\n\n\"Sixth of the Line.\"\n\nIt was Marshal Ney and General Brenier, with engineer and\nartillery officers, and guns. The marshal replied \"Sixth of the\nLine,\" because he knew beforehand that we were there, and this\nlittle fact rejoiced us and made us feel very proud. We saw him\npass on horseback with General Sunham and five or six other\nofficers of high grade, and although it was night we could see\nthem distinctly, for the sky was covered with stars and the moon\nshone bright; it was almost as light as day.\n\n{609}\n\nThey stopped at a bend of the river and posted six guns, and\nimmediately after a pontoon train arrived with oak planks and all\nthings necessary for throwing two bridges across. Our hussars\nscoured the banks collecting boats, and the artillerymen stood at\ntheir pieces to sweep down any who might try to hinder the work.\nFor a long while we watched their labor, while again and again we\nheard the sentry's \"_Qui vive?_\" It was the regiments of the\nthird corps arriving.\n\nAt daybreak I fell asleep, and Klipfel had to shake me to arouse\nme. On every side they were beating the reveille; the bridges\nwere finished, and we were going to cross the Saale.\n\nA heavy dew had fallen, and each man hastened to wipe his musket,\nto roll up his great-coat and buckle it on his knapsack. One\nassisted the other, and we were soon in the ranks. It might have\nbeen four o'clock in the morning, and everything seemed grey in\nthe mist that arose from the river. Already two battalions were\ncrossing on the bridges, the officers and colors in the centre.\nThen the artillery and caissons crossed.\n\nCaptain Florentin had just ordered us to renew our primings, when\nGeneral Sunham, General Chemineau, Colonel Zapfel, and our\ncommandant arrived. The battalion began its march. I looked\nforward expecting to see the Russians coming on at a gallop, but\nnothing stirred.\n\nAs each regiment reached the further bank it formed square with\nordered arms. At five o'clock the entire division had passed. The\nsun dispersed the mist, and we saw, about three fourths of a\nleague to our right, an old city with its pointed roofs, slated\nclock-tower, surmounted by a cross, and, further away, a castle;\nit was Weissenfels.\n\nBetween the city and us was a deep valley. Marshal Ney, who had\njust come up, wished to reconnoitre this before advancing into\nit. Two companies of the Twenty-seventh were deployed as\nskirmishers and the squares moved onward in common time, with the\nofficers, sappers, and drums in the centre, the cannon in the\nintervals and the caissons in the rear.\n\nWe all mistrusted this valley--the more so since we had seen, the\nevening before, a mass of cavalry, which could not have retired\nbeyond the great plain that lay before us. Notwithstanding our\ndistrust, it made us feel very proud and brave to see ourselves\ndrawn up in our long ranks--our muskets loaded, the colors\nadvanced, the generals in the rear full of confidence--to see our\nmasses thus moving onward without hurry, but calmly marking the\nstep; yes, it was enough to make our hearts beat high with pride\nand hope! And I thought that the enemy might still retire and no\nblood be spilt, after all.\n\nI was in the second rank, behind Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, and from time to time I\nglanced at the other square which was moving on the same line\nwith us, in the centre of which I saw the marshal and his staff,\nall trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on ahead.\n\nThe skirmishers had by this time reached the ravine, which was\nbordered with brambles and hedges. I had already seen a movement\non its further side, like the motion of a corn-field in the wind,\nand the thought struck me that the Russians, with their lances\nand sabres, were there, although I could scarcely believe it. But\nwhen our skirmishers reached the hedges, the fusilade began, and\nI saw clearly the glitter of their lances. At the same instant a\nflash like lightning gleamed in front of us, followed by a fierce\nreport.\n{610}\nThe Prussians had their cannon with them; they had opened on us.\nI know not what noise made me turn my head, and there I saw an\nempty space in the ranks to my left.\n\nAt the same time Colonel Zapfel said quietly:\n\n\"Close up the ranks!\"\n\nAnd Captain Florentin repeated:\n\n\"Close up the ranks!\"\n\nAll this was done so quickly that I had no time for thought. But\nfifty paces further on another flash shone out; there was another\nmurmur in the ranks--as if a fierce wind was passing--and another\nvacant space, this time to the right.\n\nAnd thus, after every shot from the Prussians, the colonel said,\n\"Close up the ranks!\" and I knew that each time he spoke there\nwas a breach in the living wall! It was no pleasant thing to\nthink of, but still we marched on toward the valley. At last I\ndid not dare to think at all, when General Chemineau, who had\nentered our square, cried in a terrible voice:\n\n\"Halt!\"\n\nI looked forward, and saw a mass of Prussians coming down upon\nus.\n\n\"Front rank, kneel? Fix bayonets! Ready!\" cried the general.\n\nAs Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 knelt, I was now, so to speak, in the front rank. On\ncame the line of horses, each rider bending over his saddle-bow,\nwith sabre flashing in his hand. Then again the general's voice\nwas heard behind us, calm, tranquil, giving orders as coolly as\non parade:\n\n\"Attention for the command of fire! Aim! Fire!\"\n\nThe four squares fired together; it seemed as if the skies were\nfalling in the crash. When the smoke lifted, we saw the Prussians\nbroken and flying; but our artillery opened, and the cannon-balls\nsped faster than they.\n\n\"Charge!\" shouted the general.\n\nNever in my life did such a wild joy possess me. On every side\nthe cry of _Vive l'Empereur!_ shook the air, and in my\nexcitement I shouted like the others. But we could not pursue\nthem far, and soon we were again moving calmly on. We thought the\nfight was ended; but when within two or three hundred paces of\nthe ravine, we heard the rush of horses, and again the general\ncried:\n\n\"Halt! Kneel! Charge bayonets!\"\n\nOn came the Prussians from the valley like a whirlwind; the earth\nshook beneath their weight; we heard no more orders, but each man\nknew that he must fire into the mass, and the file-firing began,\nrattling like the drums in a grand review. Those who have not\nseen a battle can form but little idea of the excitement, the\nconfusion, and yet the order, of such a moment. A few of the\nPrussians neared us; we saw their forms appear a moment through\nthe smoke, and then saw them no more. In a few moments more the\nringing voice of General Chemineau arose, sounding above the\ncrash and rattle:\n\n\"Cease firing!\"\n\nWe scarcely dared obey. Each one hastened to deliver a final\nshot; then the smoke slowly lifted, and we saw a mass of cavalry\nascending the further side of the ravine.\n\nThe squares deployed at once into columns; the drums beat the\ncharge; our artillery still continued its fire; we rushed on,\nshouting:\n\n\"Forward! forward! _Vive l'Empereur!_\"\n\nWe descended the ravine, over heaps of horses and Russians; some\ndead, some writhing upon the earth, and we ascended the slope\ntoward Weissenfels at a quick step. The Cossacks and chasseurs\nbent forward in their saddles, their cartridge-boxes dangling\nbehind them, galloping before us in full flight. The battle was\nwon.\n\n{611}\n\nBut as we reached the gardens of the city, they posted their\ncannon, which they had brought off with them, behind a sort of\norchard, and reopened upon us, a ball carrying away both the axe\nand head of the sapper Merlin. The corporal of sappers, Thorn\u00e9,\nhad his arm fractured by a piece of the axe, and they were\ncompelled to amputate his arm at Weissenfels. Then we started\ntoward them on a run, for the sooner we reached them the less\ntime they would have for firing.\n\nWe entered the city at three places, marching through hedges,\ngardens, hop-fields, and climbing over walls. The marshals and\ngenerals followed after. Our regiment entered by an avenue\nbordered with poplars, which ran along the cemetery, and, as we\ndebouched in the public square, another column came through the\nmain street.\n\nThere we halted, and the marshal, without losing a moment,\ndispatched the Twenty-seventh to take a bridge and cut off the\nenemy's retreat. During this time the rest of the division\narrived, and was drawn up in the square. The burgomaster and\ncouncillors of Weissenfels were already on the steps of the\ntown-hall to bid us welcome.\n\nWhen we were re-formed, the Marshal-Prince of Moskowa passed\nbefore the front of our battalion and said joyfully:\n\n\"Well done! I am satisfied with you! The emperor will know of\nyour conduct!\"\n\nHe could not help laughing at the way we ran on the guns. General\nSunham cried:\n\n\"Things go bravely on!\"\n\nHe replied:\n\n\"Yes, yes; but in blood! in blood!\"\n\nThe battalion remained there until the next day. We were lodged\nwith the citizens, who were afraid of us and gave us all we\nasked. The Twenty-seventh returned in the evening and was\nquartered in the old chateau. We were very tired. After smoking\ntwo or three pipes together, chatting about our glory, Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9',\nKlipfel, and I went together to the shop of a joiner on a heap of\nshavings, and remained there until midnight, when they beat the\nreveille. We rose; the joiner gave us some brandy, and we went\nout. The rain was falling in torrents. That night the battalion\nwent to bivouac before the village of Cl\u00e9pen, two hours march\nfrom Weissenfels.\n\nOther detachments came and rejoined us. The emperor had arrived\nat Weissenfels, and all the third corps were to follow us. We\ntalked only of this all the day; but the day after, at five in\nthe morning, we set off again in the advance.\n\nBefore us rolled a river called the Rippach. Instead of turning\naside to take the bridge, we forded it where we were. The water\nreached our waists; and I thought how terrible this would have\nseemed to me when I was so much afraid of taking cold at Monsieur\nGoulden's.\n\nAs we passed down the other bank of the river in the rushes, we\ndiscovered a band of Cossacks observing us from the heights to\nthe left. They followed slowly, without daring to attack us, and\nso we kept on until it was broad day, when suddenly a terrific\nfusilade and the thunder of heavy guns made us turn our heads\ntoward Cl\u00e9pen. The commandant, on horseback, looked at us over\nthe reeds.\n\nThe sounds of conflict lasted a considerable time, and Sergeant\nPinto said:\n\n{612}\n\n\"The division is advancing; it is attacked.\"\n\nThe Cossacks gazed, too, toward the fight, and at the end of an\nhour disappeared. Then we saw the division advancing in column in\nthe plain to the right, driving before them the masses of Russian\ncavalry.\n\n\"_En avant!_ Forward!\" cried the commandant.\n\nWe ran, without knowing why, along the river bank, until we\nreached an old bridge where the Rippach and Gruna met. Here we\nwere to intercept the enemy; but the Cossacks had discovered our\ndesign, and their whole army fell back behind the Gruna, which\nthey forded, and, the division rejoining us, we learned that\nMarshal Bessi\u00e8res had been killed by a cannon-ball.\n\nWe left the bridge to bivouac before the village of Gorschen. The\nrumor that a great battle was approaching ran through the ranks,\nand they said that all that had passed was only a trial to see\nhow the recruits would act under fire. One may imagine the\nreflections of a thoughtful man under such circumstances, among\nsuch hare-brained fellows as Furst, Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, and Klipfel, who\nseemed to rejoice at the prospect, as if it could bring them\naught else than bullet-wounds or sabre-cuts. All night long I\nthought of Catharine, and prayed God to preserve my life and my\nhands, which are so needful for poor people to gain their bread.\n\n\n                 XIII.\n\nWe lighted our fires on the hill before Gross-Gorschen and a\ndetachment descended to the village and brought back five or six\nold cows to make soup of. But we were so worn out that many would\nrather sleep than eat. Other regiments arrived with cannon and\nmunitions. About eleven o'clock there were from ten to twelve\nthousand men there and two thousand and more in the village--all\nSunham's division. The general and his ordnance officers were\nquartered in an old mill to the left, near a stream called\nFloss-Graben. The line of sentries were stretched along the base\nof the hill a musket-shot off.\n\nAt length I fell asleep, but I awoke every hour, and behind us,\ntowards the road leading from the old bridge of Poserna to Lutzen\nand Leipzig, I heard the rolling of wagons, of artillery and\ncaissons, rising and falling through the silence.\n\nSergeant Pinto did not sleep; he sat smoking his pipe and drying\nhis feet at the fire. Every time one of us moved, he would try to\ntalk and say:\n\n\"Well, conscript?\"\n\nBut they pretended not to hear him, and turned over, gaping, to\nsleep again.\n\nThe clock of Gross-Gorschen was striking six when I awoke. I was\nsore and weary yet. Nevertheless, I sat up and tried to warm\nmyself, for I was very cold. The fires were smoking, and almost\nextinguished. Nothing of them remained but the ashes and a few\nembers. The sergeant, erect, was gazing over the vast plain where\nthe sun shot a few long lines of gold, and, seeing me awake, put\na coal in his pipe and said:\n\n\"Well, fusilier Bertha, we are now in the rear-guard.\"\n\nI did not know what he meant.\n\n\"That astonishes you,\" he continued; \"but we have not stirred,\nwhile the army has made a half-wheel. Yesterday it was before us\nin the Rippach; now it is behind us, near Lutzen; and, instead of\nbeing in the front, we are in the rear; so that now,\" said he,\nclosing an eye and drawing two long puffs of his pipe, \"we are\nthe last, instead of the foremost.\"\n\n{613}\n\n\"And what do we gain by it?\" I asked.\n\n\"We gain the honor of first reaching Leipzig, and falling on the\nPrussians,\" he replied. \"You will understand this by and by,\nconscript.\"\n\nI stood up, and looked around. I saw before us a wide, marshy\nplain, traversed by the Gruna-Bach and the Floss-Graben. A few\nhills arose along these streams, and beyond ran a large river,\nwhich the sergeant told me was the Elster. The morning mist hung\nover all. We saw no fires on the hills save those of our\ndivision; but the entire third corps occupied the villages\nscattered in our rear, and headquarters were at Kaya.\n\nAt seven o'clock the drums and the trumpets of the artillery\nsounded the reveille. Ammunition-wagons came up, and bread and\ncartridges were distributed. Two cantini\u00e8res arrived from the\nvillage; and, as I had yet a few crowns remaining, I offered\nKlipfel and Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 a glass of brandy each, to counteract the\neffects of the fogs of the night. I also presumed to offer one to\nSergeant Pinto, who accepted it, saying that bread and brandy\nwarmed the heart.\n\nWe felt quite happy, and no one suspected the horrors the day was\nto bring forth. We thought the Russians and the Prussians were\nseeking us behind the Gruna-Bach; but they knew well where we\nwere. And suddenly, almost ten o'clock, General Sunham, mounted,\narrived with his officers. I was sentry near the stacks of arms,\nand I think I can now see him, as he rode to the top of the hill,\nwith his grey hair and white-bordered hat; and as he took out his\nfield-glass, and, after an earnest gaze, returned quickly, and\nordered the drums to beat the recall. The sentries at once fell\ninto the ranks, and Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, who had the eyes of a falcon, said:\n\n\"I see yonder, near the Elster, masses of men forming and\nadvancing in good order, and others coming from the marshes by\nthe three bridges. We are lost if all those fall upon our rear!\"\n\n\"A battle is beginning,\" said Pinto, shading his eyes with his\nhands, \"or I know nothing of war. Those beggarly Prussians and\nRussians want to take us on the flank with their whole force, as\nwe defile on Leipzig, so as to cut us in two. It is well thought\nof on their part. We are always teaching them the art of war.\"\n\n\"But what will we do?\" asked Klipfel.\n\n\"Our part is simple,\" answered the sergeant. \"We are here twelve\nto fifteen thousand men, with old Sunham, who never gave an enemy\nan inch. We will stand here like a wall, one to six or seven,\nuntil the emperor is informed how matters stand, and sends us\naid. There go the staff officers now.\"\n\nIt was true; five or six officers were galloping over the plain\nof Lutzen toward Leipzig. They sped like the wind, and I prayed\nGod to have them reach the emperor in time to send the whole army\nto our assistance; for there is something horrible in the\ncertainty that we are about to perish, and I would not wish my\ngreatest enemy in such a position as ours was then.\n\nSergeant Pinto continued:\n\n\"You will have a chance now, conscripts; and if any of you come\nout alive, they will have something to boast of. Look at those\nblue lines advancing, with their muskets on their shoulders,\nalong Floss-Graben. Each of those lines is a regiment. There are\nthirty of them.\n{614}\nThat makes sixty thousand Prussians, without counting those lines\nof horsemen, each of which is a squadron. Those advancing to\ntheir left, near the Rippach, glittering in the sun, are the\ndragoons and cuirassiers of the Russian Imperial Guard. There are\neighteen or twenty thousand of them, and I first saw them at\nAusterlitz, where we fixed them finely. Those masses of lances in\nthe rear are Cossacks. We will have a hundred thousand men on our\nhands in an hour. This is a fight to win the cross in!\"\n\n\"Do you think so, sergeant?\" said Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, whose ideas were never\nvery clear, and who already imagined he held the cross in his\nfingers, while his eyes glittered with excitement.\n\n\"It will be hand to hand,\" replied the sergeant;\" and suppose\nthat, in the m\u00eal\u00e9e, you see a colonel or a flag near you, spring\non him or it; never mind sabres or bayonets; seize them, and then\nyour name goes on the list.\"\n\nAs he spoke, I remembered that the Mayor of Phalsbourg had\nreceived the cross for having gone to meet the Empress Marie\nLouise in carriages garlanded with flowers, and I thought his\nmethod much preferable to that of Sergeant Pinto.\n\nBut I had not time to think more, for the drums beat on all\nsides, and each one ran to where the arms of his company were\nstacked and seized his musket. Our officers formed us, great guns\ncame at a gallop from the village, and were posted on the brow of\nthe hill a little to the rear, so that the slope served them as a\nspecies of redoubt. Further away, in the villages of Rahna, of\nKaya, and of Klein-Gorschen, all was motion, but we were the\nfirst the Prussians would fall upon.\n\nThe enemy halted about twice a cannon-shot off, and the cavalry\nswarmed by hundreds up the hill to reconnoitre us. I was in utter\ndespair as I gazed on their immense masses, and thought that all\nwas ended; nothing remained for me but to sell my life as dearly\nas I could; to fight pitilessly, and die.\n\nWhile these thoughts were passing through my head, General\nChemineau galloped along our front, crying:\n\n\"Form squares.\"\n\nThe officers in the rear took up the word and it passed from\nright to left; four squares of four battalions each were formed.\nI found myself in the third, on one of the interior sides, a\ncircumstance which in some degree reassured me; for I thought\nthat the Prussians, who were advancing in three columns, would\nfirst attack those directly opposite them. But scarcely had the\nthought struck me when a hail of cannon-shot swept through us.\nThey had thirty pieces of artillery playing on us, and the balls\nshrieked sometimes over our heads, sometimes through the ranks,\nand then again struck the earth, which they scattered over us.\n\nOur heavy guns replied to their fire, but could not silence it,\nand the horrible cry of \"Close up the ranks! Close up the ranks!\"\nwas ever sounding in our ears.\n\nWe were enveloped in smoke without having fired a shot, and I\nthought that in another quarter of an hour we should have been\nall massacred without having a chance to defend ourselves, when\nthe head of the Prussian columns appeared between the hills,\nmoving forward, with a deep, hoarse murmur, like the noise of an\ninundation. Then the three first sides of our square, the second\nand third obliquing to the right and left, fired. God only knows\nhow many Prussians fell. But instead of stopping they rushed on,\nshouting \"_Vaterland! Vaterland!_\" and we fired again into\ntheir very bosoms.\n\n{615}\n\nThen began the work of death in earnest. Bayonet-thrust,\nsabre-stroke, blows from the butt-end of our pieces crashed on\nall sides. They tried to crush us by mere weight of numbers, and\ncame on like furious bulls. A battalion rushed upon us, thrusting\nwith their bayonets; we returned their blows without leaving the\nranks, and they were swept away almost to a man by two cannon\nwhich were in position toward our rear.\n\nThey were the last who tried to break our squares. They turned\nand fled down the hillside, we firing as they ran, when their\ncavalry dashed down upon our right, seeking to penetrate by the\ngaps made by their artillery. I could not see the fight, for it\nwas at the other end of the division, but their heavy guns swept\nus off by dozens as we stood inactive. General Chemineau had his\nthigh broken; we could not hold out much longer when the order\nwas given to beat the retreat.\n\nWe retired to Gross-Gorschen, pursued by the Prussians, both\nsides maintaining a constant fire. The two thousand men in the\nvillage checked the enemy while we ascended the opposite slope to\ngain Klein-Gorschen. But the Prussian cavalry came on once more\nto cut off our retreat and keep us under the fire of their\nartillery. Then my blood boiled with anger, and I heard Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9\ncry, \"Let us fight our way to the top rather than remain here!\"\n\nTo do this was fearfully dangerous, for their regiments of\nhussars and chasseurs advanced in good order to charge. Still we\nkept retreating, when a voice on the top of the ridge cried\n\"Halt!\" and at the same moment the hussars, who were already\nrushing down upon us, received a terrific discharge of case and\ngrape-shot which swept them down by hundreds. It was Girard's\ndivision who had come to our assistance from Klein-Gorschen and\nhad placed sixteen pieces in position to open upon them. The\nhussars fled faster than they came, and the six squares of\nGirard's division united with ours at Klein-Gorschen, to check\nthe Prussian infantry, which still continued to advance, the\nthree first columns in front and three others, equally strong,\nsupporting them.\n\nWe had lost Gross-Gorschen, but the battle was not yet ended.\n\nI thought now of nothing but vengeance. I was wild with\nexcitement and wrath against those who sought to kill me. I felt\na sort of hatred against those Prussians whose shouts and\ninsolent manner disgusted me. I was, nevertheless, very glad to\nsee Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 near me yet, and as we stood awaiting new attacks,\nwith our arms resting on the ground, I pressed his hand.\n\n\"We have escaped narrowly enough,\" said he. \"God grant the\nemperor may soon arrive, for they are twenty times our strength.\"\n\nHe no longer spoke of winning the cross.\n\nI looked around to see if the sergeant was with us yet, and saw\nhim calmly wiping his bayonet; not a feature showed any trace of\nexcitement. I would have wished to know if Klipfel and Furst were\nunhurt, but the command, \"Carry arms!\" made me think of myself.\n\nThe three first columns of the enemy had halted on the hill of\nGross-Gorschen to await their supports. The village in the valley\nbetween us was on fire, the flames bursting from the thatched\nroofs and the smoke rising to the sky, and to the left we saw a\nlong line of cannon coming down to open upon us.\n\n{616}\n\nIt might have been midday when the six columns began their march\nand deployed masses of hussars and cavalry on both sides of\nGross-Gorschen. Our artillery, placed behind the squares on the\ntop of the ridge, opened a terrible fire on the Prussian\ncannoneers, who replied all along their line.\n\nOur drums began to beat in the squares to warn that the enemy\nwere approaching, but their rattle was like the buzz of a fly in\nthe storm, while in the valley the Prussians shouted altogether,\n\"_Vaterland! Vaterland!_\"\n\nTheir fire, as they climbed the hill, enveloped us in smoke--as\nthe wind blew towards us--and hindered us from seeing them.\nNevertheless, we began our file-firing. We heard and saw nothing\nbut the noise and smoke of battle for the next quarter of an\nhour, when suddenly the Prussian hussars were in our squares. I\nknow not how it happened, but there they were on their little\nhorses, sabring us without mercy. We fought with our bayonets;\nthey slashed, and fired their pistols. The carnage was horrible.\nZ\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, Sergeant Pinto, and some twenty of the company held\ntogether. There they fought the pale-faced, long-mustached\nhussars, whose horses reared and neighed as they dashed over the\nheaps of dead and wounded. I remember the cries, French and\nGerman in a horrid mixture, that arose; how they called us\n\"_Schweinpelz,_\" and how old Pinto never ceased to cry,\n\"Strike bravely, my children; strike bravely!\"\n\nI never knew how we escaped; we ran at random through the smoke,\nand dashed through the midst of sabres and flying bullets. I only\nremember that Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 every moment cried out to me, \"Come on! come\non!\" and that finally we found ourselves on a hillside behind a\nsquare which yet held firm, with Sergeant Pinto and seven or\neight others of the company.\n\nWe were covered with blood, and looked like butchers.\n\n\"Load!\" cried the sergeant.\n\nThen I saw blood and hair on my bayonet, and I knew that in my\nfury I must have given some terrible blows. Old Pinto told us\nthat the regiment was totally routed; that the beggarly Prussians\nhad sabred half of it, but we should find the remainder by and\nby. \"Now,\" he cried, \"we must keep the enemy out of the village.\nBy file, left! March!\"\n\nWe descended a little stairway which led to one of the gardens of\nKlein-Gorschen, and, entering a house, the sergeant barricaded\nthe door leading to the fields with a heavy kitchen-table; then\nhe showed us the door opening on the street, telling us that\nthere lay our way of retreat. This done, we went to the floor\nabove, and found a pretty large room, with two windows looking\nout upon the village, and two upon the hill, which was still\ncovered with smoke and resounding with the crash of musketry and\nartillery. At one end was a broken bedstead and near it a cradle.\nThe people of the house had no doubt fled at the beginning of the\nbattle, but a dog, with ears erect and flashing eyes, glared at\nus from beneath the curtains.\n\nThe sergeant opened the window and fired at two or three Prussian\nhussars who were already advancing down the street. Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 and\nthe others standing behind him stood ready. I looked toward the\nhill to see if the squares had yet remained unbroken, and I saw\nthem retreating in good order, firing as they went from all four\nfaces on the masses of cavalry which surrounded them on every\nside.\n{617}\nThrough the smoke I could perceive the colonel on horseback,\nsabre in hand, and by him the colors, so torn by shot that they\nwere mere rags hanging on the staff.\n\nBeyond, a column of the enemy were debouching from the road and\nmarching on Klein-Gorschen. This column evidently designed\ncutting off our retreat on the village, but hundreds of disbanded\nsoldiers like us had arrived, and were pouring in from all sides;\nsome turning ever and anon to fire, others wounded, trying to\ncrawl to some place of shelter. They took possession of the\nhouses, and, as the column approached, musketry rattled upon them\nfrom all the windows. This checked the enemy, and at the same\nmoment the divisions of Brenier and Marchaud, which the Prince of\nMoskowa had dispatched to our assistance, began to deploy to the\nright.\n\nThe Prussians halted, and the firing ceased on both sides. Our\nsquares and columns began to climb the hills again, opposite\nStarsiedel, and the defenders of the village rushed from the\nhouses to rejoin their regiments. Ours had become mingled with\ntwo or three others; and, when the re\u00ebnforcing divisions halted\nbefore Kaya, we could scarcely find our places. The roll was\ncalled, and of our company but forty-two men remained; Furst and\nLeger were dead, but Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, Klipfel, and I were unhurt.\n\nBut the battle was not yet over, for the Prussians, flushed with\nvictory, were already making their dispositions to attack us at\nKaya; re\u00ebnforcements were hurrying to them, and it seemed that,\nfor so great a general, the emperor had made a gross mistake in\nstretching his lines to Leipzig, and leaving us to be overpowered\nby an army of over a hundred thousand men.\n\nAs we were reforming behind Brenier's division, eighteen thousand\nveterans of the Prussian guard charged up the hill, carrying the\nshakos of our killed on their bayonets in sign of victory. Once\nmore the fight began, and the mass of Russian cavalry, which we\nhad seen glittering in the sun in the morning, came down on our\nflank; the sixth corps had arrived in time to cover it, and stood\nthe shock like a castle wall. Once more shouts, groans, the\nclashing of sabre against bayonet, the crash of musketry and\nthunder of cannon shook the sky, while the plain was hidden in a\ncloud of smoke, through which we could see the glitter of\nhelmets, cuirasses, and thousands of lances.\n\nWe were retiring, when something passed along our front like a\nflash of lightning. It was Marshal Ney surrounded by his staff,\nand his eyes sparkled and his lips trembled with rage. In a\nsecond's time he had dashed along the lines, and drew up in front\nof our columns. The retreat stopped at once; he called us on,\nand, as if led by a kind of fascination, we dashed on to meet the\nPrussians, cheering like madmen as we went. But the Prussian line\nstood firm; they fought hard to keep the victory they had won,\nand besides were constantly receiving re\u00ebnforcements, while we\nwere worn out with five hours' fighting.\n\nOur battalion was now in the second line, and the enemy's shot\npassed over our heads; but a horrible din made my flesh creep; it\nwas the rattling of the grape-shot among the bayonets.\n\nIn the midst of shouts, orders, and the whistling of bullets, we\nagain began to fall back over heaps of dead; our first divisions\nreentered Klein-Gorschen, and once more the fight was hand to\nhand. In the main street of the village nothing was seen or heard\nbut shots and blows, and generals fought sword in hand like\nprivate soldiers.\n\n{618}\n\nThis lasted some minutes; we checked them again, but again they\nwere re\u00ebnforced, and we were obliged to continue our retreat,\nwhich was fast becoming a rout. If the enemy forced us to Kaya,\nour army was cut in two. The battle seemed irretrievably lost,\nfor Marshal Ney himself, in the centre of a square, was\nretreating; and many soldiers, to get away from the _m\u00eal\u00e9e_,\nwere carrying off wounded officers on their muskets. Everything\nlooked gloomy, indeed.\n\nI entered Kaya on the right of the village, leaping over the\nhedges, and creeping under the fences which separated the\ngardens, and was turning the corner of a street, when I saw some\nfifty officers on the brow of a hill before me, and behind them\nmasses of artillery galloping at full speed along the Leipzig\nroad. Then I saw the emperor himself, a little in advance of the\nothers; he was seated, as if in an arm-chair, on his white horse,\nand I could see him well, beneath the clear sky, motionless and\nlooking at the battle through his field-glass.\n\nMy heart beat gladly; I cried \"_Vive l'Empereur!_\" with all\nmy strength, and rushed along the main street of Kaya. I was one\nof the first to enter, and I saw the inhabitants of the village,\nmen, women, and children, hastening to the cellars for\nprotection.\n\nMany to whom I have related the foregoing have sneered at me for\nrunning so fast; but I can only reply that when Michel Ney\nretired, it was high time for Joseph Bertha to do so too.\n\nKlipfel, Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, Sergeant Pinto, and the others of the company\nhad not yet arrived, when masses of black smoke arose above the\nroofs; shattered tiles fell into the streets, and shot buried\nthemselves in the walls, or crashed through the beams with a\nhorrible noise.\n\nAt the same time, our soldiers rushed in through the lanes, over\nthe hedges and fences, turning from time to time to fire on the\nenemy. Men of all arms were mingled, some without shakos or\nknapsacks, their clothes torn and covered with blood; but they\nretreated furiously, and were nearly all mere children, boys of\nfifteen or twenty; but courage is inborn in the French people.\n\nThe Prussians led by old officers who shouted \"_Forw\u00e4rts!\nForw\u00e4rts!_\"--followed like packs of wolves, but we turned and\nopened fire from the hedges, and fences, and houses. How many of\nthem bit the dust I know not, but others always supplied the\nplaces of those who fell. Hundreds of balls whistled by our ears\nand flattened themselves on the stone walls; the plaster was\nbroken from the walls, and the thatch hung from the rafters, and\nas I turned for the twentieth time to fire, my musket dropped\nfrom my hand; I stooped to lift it, but I fell too; I had\nreceived a shot in the left shoulder and the blood ran like warm\nwater down my breast. I tried to rise, but all that I could do\nwas to seat myself against the wall while the blood continued to\nflow, and I shuddered at the thought that I was to die there.\n\nStill the fight went on.\n\nFearful that another bullet might reach me, I crawled to the\ncorner of a house, and fell into a little trench which brought\nwater from the street to the garden. My left arm was heavy as\nlead; my head swam; I still heard the firing, but it seemed a\ndream, and I closed my eyes.\n\n{619}\n\nWhen I again opened them, night was coming on, and the Prussians\nfilled the village. In the garden, before me, was an old general,\nwith white hair, on a fall brown horse. He shouted in a\ntrumpet-like voice to bring on the cannon, and officers hurried\naway with his orders. Near him, standing on a little wall, two\nsurgeons were bandaging his arm. Behind, on the other side, was a\nlittle Russian officer, whose plume of green feathers almost\ncovered his hat. I saw all this at a glance--the old man with his\nlarge nose and broad forehead, his quick glancing eyes, and bold\nair; the others around him; the surgeon, a little bald man with\nspectacles, and five or six hundred paces away, between two\nhouses, our soldiers reforming.\n\nThe firing had ceased, but between Klein-Gorschen and Kaya I\ncould hear the heavy rumble of artillery, neighing of horses,\ncries and shouts of drivers, and cracking of whips. Without\nknowing why, I dragged myself to the wall, and scarcely had I\ndone so, when two sixteen pounders, each drawn by six horses,\nturned the corner of the street. The artillery-men beat the\nhorses with all their strength, and the wheels rolled over the\nheaps of dead and wounded. Now I knew whence came the cries I had\nheard, and my hair stood on end with horror.\n\n\"Here!\" cried the old man in German; \"aim yonder, between those\ntwo houses near the fountain.\"\n\nThe two guns were turned at once; the old man, his left arm in a\nsling, cantered up the street, and I heard him say, in short,\nquick tones to the young officer as he passed where I lay:\n\n\"Tell the Emperor Alexander that I am in Kaya. The battle is won\nif I am re\u00ebnforced. Let them not discuss the matter, but send\nhelp at once. Napoleon is coming, and in half an hour we will\nhave him upon us with his Guard. I will stand, let it cost what\nit may. But in God's name do not lose a minute, and the victory\nis ours!\"\n\nThe young man set off at a gallop, and at the same moment a voice\nnear me whispered:\n\n\"That old wretch is Bl\u00fccher. Ah, scoundrel! if I only had my\ngun!\"\n\nTurning my head, I saw an old sergeant, withered and thin, with\nlong wrinkles in his cheeks, sitting against the door of the\nhouse, supporting himself with his hands on the ground as with a\npair of crutches, for a ball had passed through him from side to\nside. His yellow eyes followed the Prussian general; his hooked\nnose seemed to droop like the beak of an eagle over his thick\nmustache, and his look was fierce and proud.\n\n\"If I had my musket,\" he repeated, \"I would show you whether the\nbattle is won.\"\n\nWe were the only two living beings among heaps of dead.\n\nI thought that perhaps I should be buried in the morning, with\nthe others in the garden opposite us, and that I would never\nagain see Catharine; the tears ran down my cheeks and I could not\nhelp murmuring:\n\n\"Now all is indeed ended!\"\n\nThe sergeant gazed at me and, seeing that I was yet so young,\nsaid kindly:\n\n\"What is the matter with you, conscript?\"\n\n\"A ball in the shoulder, _mon sergeant._\"\n\n\"In the shoulder! That is better than one through the body. You\nwill get over it.\"\n\nAnd after a moment's thought he continued:\n\n\"Fear nothing. You will see home again!\"\n\n{620}\n\nI thought that he pitied my youth and wished to console me; but\nmy chest seemed crushed, and I could not hope.\n\nThe sergeant said no more, only from time to time he raised his\nhead to see if our columns were coming. He swore between his\nteeth and ended by falling at length upon the ground, saying:\n\n\"My business is done! The villain has finished me at last!\"\n\nHe gazed at the hedge opposite, where a Prussian grenadier was\nstretched, cold and stiff, the old sergeant's bayonet yet in his\nbody.\n\nIt might then have been six in the evening. I was cold and had\ndropped my head forward upon my knees, when the roll of artillery\ncalled me again to my senses. The two pieces in the garden and\nmany others posted behind them threw their broad flashes through\nthe darkness, while Russians and Prussians crowded through the\nstreet. But all this was as nothing in comparison to the fire of\nthe French, from the hill opposite the village, while the\nconstant glare showed the Young Guard coming on at the\ndouble-quick, generals and colonels on horseback in the midst of\nthe bayonets, waving their swords and cheering them on, while the\ntwenty-four guns the emperor had sent to support the movement\nthundered behind. The old wall against which I leaned shook to\nits foundations. In the street the balls mowed down the enemy\nlike grass before the scythe. It was their turn to close up the\nranks.\n\nI paid no further attention to the sergeant, but listened to the\ninspiring shouts of \"_Vive l'Empereur!_\" ringing out in the\nmomentary silence between the reports of the guns.\n\nThe Russians and the Prussians were forced back; the shouts of\nour troops grew nearer and nearer. The cannoneers at the pieces\nbefore me loaded and fired at their utmost speed, when three or\nfour grape-shots fell among them and broke the wheel of one of\ntheir guns, besides killing two and wounding another of their\nmen. I felt a hand seize my arm. It was the old sergeant. His\neyes were glazing in death, but he laughed scornfully and\nsavagely. The roof of our shelter fell in; the walls bent, but we\ncared not, we only saw the defeat of the enemy and heard the\nnearer and nearer shouts of our men, when the old sergeant gasped\nin my ear:\n\n\"Here he is!\"\n\nHe rose to his knees, supporting himself with one hand, while\nwith the other he waved his hat in the air, and cried in a\nringing voice:\n\n\"_Vive l'Empereur!_\"\n\nThey were his last words; he fell on his face to the earth, and\nmoved no more.\n\nAnd I, raising myself too from the ground, saw Napoleon, riding\ncalmly through the hail of shot--his hat pulled down over his\nlarge head--his grey great-coat open, a broad red ribbon\ncrossing his white vest--there he rode, calm and imperturbable,\nhis face lit up with the reflection from the bayonets. None stood\ntheir ground before _him_; the Prussian artillerymen\nabandoned their pieces and sprang over the garden-hedge, despite\nthe cries of their officers who sought to keep them back.\n\nI saw no more, our victory was certain; and I fell like a corpse\nin the midst of corpses.\n\n\n{621}\n\n\n                   XIV.\n\nWhen sense returned, all was silent around. Clouds were scudding\nacross the sky, and the moon shone down upon the abandoned\nvillage, the broken guns, and the pale upturned faces of the\ndead, as calmly as for ages she had looked on the flowing water,\nthe waving grass, and the rustling leaves. Men are but insects in\nthe midst of creation; lives but drops in the ocean of eternity,\nand none so truly feel their insignificance as the dying.\n\nI could not move from where I lay in the intensest pain. My right\narm alone could I stir; and raising myself with difficulty upon\nmy elbow, I saw the dead heaped along the street, their white\nfaces shining like snow in the moonlight. The sight thrilled me\nwith horror, and my teeth chattered.\n\nI would have cried for help, but my voice was no louder than that\nof a sobbing child. But my feeble cry awoke others, and groans\nand shrieks arose on all sides. The wounded, thought succor was\ncoming, and all who could cried piteously. And I heard, too, a\nhorse neigh painfully on the other side of the hedge. The poor\nanimal tried to rise, and I saw its head and long neck appear;\nthen it fell again to the earth.\n\nThe effort I made reopened my wound, and again I felt the blood\nrunning down my breast. I closed my eyes to die, and the scenes\nof my early childhood, of my native village, the face of my poor\nmother as she sang me to sleep, my little room, with its niched\nVirgin, our old dog Pommer--all rose before my eyes; my father\nembraced me again, as he laid aside his axe at his return from\nwork--all rose dreamily before me.\n\nHow little those poor parents thought that they were rearing\ntheir boy to die miserably far from friends, and home, and\nsuccor! Would that I could have asked their forgiveness for all\nthe pain I had given them! Tears rolled down my cheeks; I sobbed\nlike a child.\n\nThen Catharine, Aunt Gr\u00e9del, and Monsieur Goulden passed before\nme. I saw their grief and fear when the news of the battle came.\nAunt Gr\u00e9del running to the post-office to learn something of me,\nand Catharine prayerfully awaiting her return, while Monsieur\nGoulden searched the gazette for intelligence of our corps. I saw\nAunt Gr\u00e9del return disappointed, and heard Catharine's sobs as\nshe asked eagerly for me. Then a messenger seemed to arrive at\nQuatre-Vents. He opened his leathern sack, and handed a large\npaper to Aunt Gr\u00e9del, while Catharine stood, pale as death,\nbeside her. It was the official notice of my death! I heard\nCatharine's heart-rending cries and Aunt Gr\u00e9del's maledictions.\nThen good Monsieur Goulden came to console them, and all wept\ntogether.\n\nToward morning, a heavy shower began to fall, and the monotonous\ndripping on the roofs alone broke the silence. I thought of the\ngood God, whose power and mercy are limitless, and I hoped that\nhe would pardon my sins in consideration of my sufferings.\n\nThe rain filled the little trench in which I had been lying. From\ntime to time a wall fell in the village, and the cattle, scared\naway by the battle, began to resume confidence and return. I\nheard a goat bleat in a neighboring stable. A great shepherd's\ndog wandered fearfully among the heaps of dead. The horse, seeing\nhim, neighed in terror--he took him for a wolf--and the dog fled.\n\nI remember all these details, for, when we are dying, we see\neverything, we hear everything, for we know that we are seeing\nand hearing our last.\n\nBut how my whole frame thrilled with joy when, at the corner of\nthe street, I thought I heard the sound of voices! How eagerly I\nlistened!\n{622}\nAnd I raised myself upon my elbow, and called for help. It was\nyet night; but the first grey streak of day was becoming visible\nin the east, and afar off, through the falling rain, I saw a\nlight in the fields, now coming onward, now stopping. I saw dark\nforms bending around it. They were only confused shadows. But\nothers beside me saw the light; for on all sides arose groans and\nplaintive cries, from voices so feeble that they seemed like\nthose of children calling their mothers.\n\nWhat is this life to which we attach so great a price? This\nmiserable existence, so full of pain and suffering? Why do we so\ncling to it, and fear more to lose it than aught else in the\nworld? What is it that is to come hereafter that makes us shudder\nat the mere thought of death? Who knows? For ages and ages all\nhave thought and thought on the great question, but none have yet\nsolved it. I, in my eagerness to live, gazed on that light as the\ndrowning man looks to the shore. I could not take my eyes from\nit, and my heart thrilled with hope. I tried again to shout, but\nmy voice died on my lips. The pattering of the rain on the ruined\ndwellings, and on the trees, and the ground, drowned all other\nsounds, and, although I kept repeating, \"They hear us! They are\ncoming!\" and although the lantern seemed to grow larger and\nlarger, after wandering for some time over the field, it slowly\ndisappeared behind a little hill.\n\nI fell once more senseless to the ground.\n\n--------\n\n            The Old Religion;\n\n  Or, How Shall We Find Primitive Christianity?\n\n\nWe Americans, generally, have got the name of being the most\n\"go-ahead\" people on earth. We are always looking out for \"the\nlast new thing,\" and, when we have got it, we try to sail past\nit, to do something better. We have tried our hands at everything\nunder the sun; we have had our fair share in original invention,\nand when we have not invented we have brought out the last\nimprovements. Amongst other things, we have tried our hands at\nthe manufacture of religions, and if man could have made a\nreligion, there is not a doubt that we should have succeeded. As\nit is, we worked the religious element with considerable\noriginality. We have made tracks which no other people have ever\nthought of, and our imitations of religion have been a prodigious\nsuccess.\n\nBut, in truth, the great majority of thinking people in this\ncountry have always remained deeply convinced of the truth of the\nold original Christianity as the work of God's revelation to man,\nnot as the result of human thought. As a revelation, they know it\nmust have been given once for all as a heavenly treasure, to be\npreserved in its antiquity to the end, not to be improved upon\nand adapted and remodelled by human ingenuity.\n{623}\nHence, as a people, we are convinced of the claims of the\nChristian religion upon our allegiance, and understand moreover\nthat not \"the newest thing in religions,\" but the \"veritable old\nreligion,\" is not only the best, but is the _only truth_;\nour strength in life, our hope in death; the only thing we have\nto seek after, if as yet we have not found it, the pearl of\npriceless value, the purchase of our admission into heaven.\n\nThe question, therefore, as between Christians, narrows itself to\nthe simple issue, Which is the old religion, and what was\nprimitive Christianity?\n\nBut, again, we may narrow the question still more. All admit, as\nbeyond all doubt, that there is one church, and one only, which\nis historically in possession of the old religion. Other churches\nin this country have their history, and we know when each began;\nsome are not as old as the Declaration of Independence, none are\nolder than the era of the Reformation, 300 years ago. The\nCatholic Church stands alone in her ancient descent and undaunted\nlineage amongst the churches of the modern creation. \"True,\" it\nis answered, 'the Catholic Church is _the old church_' In\nthe line of her bishops she can, no doubt, trace her descent\nuntil, as Macaulay says, 'history is lost in the twilight of\nfable.' If _she_ cannot count name by name the long\nsuccession of her pontiffs up to the apostles, there is certainly\nno other church that can put in the shadow of a claim to\napostolic succession. But ancient as she is, she is not old\nenough to be primitive, and we should hardly think that any\neducated Catholic would venture to stand up before the public and\nsay honestly that he believed, and was ready to give proof, that\nthe Catholic Church of the present day and primitive Christianity\nare identical.\"\n\nSuch, strange as it seems to Catholics, is very much the attitude\nof the educated Protestant mind, when least prejudiced toward the\nchurch. Protestants, even of this class, do not know that the\nidentity of the Catholic religion and primitive Christianity is a\nfirst principle with us, and has always been so, centuries before\nProtestantism was heard of; that this is the one only basis on\nwhich the Catholic Church rests her exclusive right to \"teach all\nnations,\" and has always rested it. Disprove the justness of this\nclaim, and you have reduced the Catholic Church to the level of\none of the sects. So ancient and world-wide a challenge can only\nseem new and strange to Protestants, because they do not know\neven our first principles, still less the reasonings on which\nthey rest. But clearly it cannot be rash and foolhardy in us to\nput forward claims to which the intellect of the vast majority of\nChristians, for nearly twenty centuries, has given in its\nadhesion. But to come to our own age and to facts of our own\nexperience which meet us at every turn, we hear every day and\nhave heard for the last thirty years, here and in England, and in\nall other Protestant countries, of great numbers of conversions\nto the Catholic religion. Amongst them there have been many of\nthe leading minds of the day, high-classed men, the flower of the\nuniversities, now holding eminent positions in different walks of\nscience and literature, at the bar, in the senate, and in the\nchurch.\n{624}\nTo name Dr. Newman as the leading intellect amongst recent\nconverts to the Catholic Church, is to name one who possesses a\nmore than European reputation, nay, who is as well known on this\nas on the other continent for acuteness and accuracy of thought,\nsobriety of judgment, and indefatigable research into every\nquestion involving the history of Christian antiquity, primitive\nbelief and practice; and such men are but a reproduction, in our\nday, of the same type which we find in all those other men of\nhigh moral and intellectual endowments who, from the days of St.\nAugustine, have brought to the service of the church the mental\npowers which had been trained in the camp of her enemies. What do\nall such conversions involve but the emphatic admission, on the\npart of such converts, that the Catholic religion has made out\nher claim to identity with primitive Christianity?\n\nPerhaps we, in this country, are more than others averse to\nbowing down to the authority of great names. Still it cannot be\ndenied that _peritus in arte sua_, the man who has made any\nart or science his particular study is and always must be an\nauthority. We may examine a question for ourselves, or try an\nexperiment in physics, but we must admit that the chances are a\nhundred to one that, after having tried it, we shall find only\nthe predicted result. It is in this sense that we have brought\nforward the authority of majorities, and of great names in the\npresent question, not as deciding the matter, \"What is the\ntruth?\" but as justly producing on the minds of unprejudiced\npersons a strong presumption in favor of the justness of such\nconclusions. If it be said that the undoubtedly great minds which\nhave embraced the Catholic religion are no proof, or even\npresumption, that the Catholic religion is true, we reply, Be it\nso; they do, however, afford a strong presumption of the\nsincerity of such converts when, as is generally the case, it can\nbe shown that they embraced the Catholic faith against the force\nof early prejudice and to their own temporal loss. And it affords\nalso a strong persuasion that the reasons which they had for the\nchange of religion must have been weighty, since they wrought\nconviction in the minds of men well capable of judging of the\nforce of argument, and who knew also all that could be urged on\nthe other side. In fact, the argument in favor of the Catholic\nreligion, drawn from the fact of the great and good men who have\nin every age embraced it, is similar to that which is very\ncommonly brought forward in favor of the general evidences of\nChristianity, from the fact of their having wrought conviction in\nthe mind of St. Paul or of Sir Isaac Newton.\n\nThe large number of conversions taking place every day amongst\nourselves, not merely of the unlearned but even more in\nproportion, of the more educated and the more morally elevated,\nand the special weight which the submission of persons specially\neminent for moral and intellectual gifts carries with it, ought\nto have, and indeed are found to produce at least this effect on\nsensible men, that it makes them pause to consider, and try to\nassign a sufficient reason for such conversions. Anyhow, whether\nany reason good or bad can be assigned for this movement, it is a\n_fact_, to which no one who enters into society can shut his\neyes. Conversion to the Catholic religion is like an epidemic;\nthere is no neighborhood or profession, scarcely a family in any\nclass of society in which conversions to the Catholic Church have\nnot taken place. I enter a railway car or a steamboat; I go to a\ndinner party; I stand up with my partner at a ball; and, in the\npauses of the busy hum of voices or of musical sounds, I become\naware that my opposite neighbors are actually discussing with\ninterest, attacking or defending, the Catholic religion.\n\n{625}\n\nGoing into town by the cars the other day, I met my uncle Joe in\na brown study. \"Good morning, sir! why so gloomy?\"\n\n\"Why, John, my eldest son, has become a Papist, sir; sorry for\nit; a good, steady lad, but he has got into the hands of the\npriests, sir; I fear it is all up with him. I suppose he will\nshave his head next, leave his boots at home, and turn out like\none of those bare-footed friars we used to see in Belgium last\nfall.\"\n\n\"Well, but, uncle,\" say I, \"it cannot be helped, you see; you\nwould not have the boy, as you call him--though he is two and\ntwenty if he is a day--go against his conscience and remain a\nnominal Protestant to please you.\" \"No, sir,\" he replies, \"you\nhave me there; I stand up for the principle of liberty of\nconscience, sir. Yes, sir, liberty of conscience. I know all\nabout it, civil and religious liberty, which the fathers of our\nglorious republic established once and for all time as the\npalladium of our constitution. But how the boy can fancy the\nCatholic religion to be true, and make a matter of conscience to\njoin it, that is my puzzle, I can tell you.\"\n\n\"Well, but my dear sir, it is no flattery to say to you, your son\nis no fool. He knows what he is about; for his age, there is not\na more promising young fellow at our bar; only last week old\nJudge Davis complimented him for the way in which he had taken a\nvery complicated case in equity and literally turned it inside\nout and held it up for inspection. He is not a child; he has cut\nall his teeth, and is not one to be led by the nose by any man,\nbe he priest or lawyer--you don't walk round a Yankee lawyer in a\nhurry.\"\n\n\"Well, that is true,\" said my uncle. \"He has as sound a head as\nany lad I know, and at school and college he was always well up.\nWhatever has turned his head to Papacy? Do you know I sometimes\nthink it is what they call a _monomania_--like the man who\nwas sensible enough in everything else but mad on one point, and\nthought he was a pump; and another took to his room and could not\nbe got to go out because he thought he was made of glass, and\nwould not stand jostling in the streets. Then think of Joanna\nSouthcote, Joe Smith, and the rest. My word! there is no end of\nthe aberrations of the human intellect.\"\n\n\"Well, sir,\" I replied, \"I don't think that will hold water, for\nyou and I know a dozen sensible, first-rate men who have turned\nCatholics; no fanatics, but cool-headed men of business, good\nneighbors, good husbands, honest men. There is Mr. A., Judge B.,\nGeneral C., within the present year. They are not men to make a\nserious change, which they know would set every one talking and\ncriticising them, unless they knew well what they were about, and\ncould give reasons for the change and stand a little criticism.\"\n\n\"Well, that is nothing but common sense,\" he replied; \"still I am\npuzzled, I can tell you, to think why they did it.\"\n\n\"Well, my dear sir, I think I can tell you why they did it.\nBecause they found out that it was the old original religion,\nafter all.\"\n\n\"Well, you do astonish me. I do believe you must have turned\nCatholic yourself, by the way you speak.\"\n\n\"That's a fact uncle! You see, we have not met for more than nine\nmonths. I was led, through the conversion of a very dear friend\nof mine, to examine into his reasons, and the result is, that I\nbecame a Catholic just before last Christmas.\"\n\n{626}\n\n\"I am glad I met you to-day,\" he rejoined, \"for to tell you the\ntruth, I was very much cut up about this business. I have not\nseen John since he did it. I thought I should have to meet him\nto-day, and I fully intended to cut up rough with him over it.\nAnd so, Philip, you are a Catholic; let me look at you; well, I\nwonder how you felt when you went down on your knees and told the\npriest everything right away--but I suppose they did not get you\nup to that point, did they?\"\n\n\"As for that,\" I replied, \"set your mind at ease. I went to\nconfession like any pious old woman, and when it was over, I\nnever felt so light and happy since I was a boy. I felt as if I\nhad got rid of a load, like Christian, in the _Pilgrim's\nProgress_, when his heavy burden fell off at the foot of the\ncross of Christ, and rolled down into his sepulchre, to be buried\nout of sight for-ever.\"\n\n\"Ah! well,\" said he, \"if one could really believe in it, and was\nsure it was all true, I grant you. But I tell you what, I want to\nhave some more talk about these matters. You see, I know nothing\nexcept by hearsay against the Catholic religion, and so I have no\nright to pronounce an opinion--but you can't deny that they have\na bad name. Go into any of our churches and hear what they all\nhave to say against the Catholics. I don't believe one half of\nit; it is clear out of the question that good moral men, with all\ntheir wits about them like many we know, could be Catholics if\none half of the things said against them were true. Anyhow, they\nhave got a bad name and there is no denying it.\"\n\n\"That is true enough,\" I answered; \"but do you remember of whom\nit was said, 'As for this sect, it is everywhere spoken against,'\nand that Christ tells us that in those days he, the great teacher\nof truth, was called by those who did not believe in him,\n'Beelzebub;' that is, they actually gave out that he was the\ndevil! And then he goes on to say, 'If they have called the\nmaster of the house Beelzebub, how much more those of his\nhousehold;' and I suppose in those days there were sincere,\nzealous men, of whom Saul was one, who took up this cry and\nrepeated it, and so it came to be very generally believed.\"\n\n\"That's true, again,\" he answered; \"but here we are, at your\nplace, and I must go on to my office to get my letters. But after\nbusiness I hope you will not dislike a little more talk on these\nmatters; so you must go back with me to Linfield.\" It was agreed,\ntherefore, that we should go home together, and that I should\nstop a few days at his country place, a few miles out of town.\n\nWe met accordingly by appointment, and were soon seated together\nin his carriage, and before long free from the noise and turmoil\nof the city, and driving along the quiet country roads, with the\nsights and sounds of harvest all around, and nothing to distract\nour converse on grave topics. \"Well,\" he said, \"your last words\nhave been on my mind all day. Because so many speak against the\nCatholic religion, and it has got a bad name, that is no proof\nthat it is not right. The Jews said worse of the early Christians\nand of our Lord himself.\n\n\"Then there is another thing you said, that what made you a\nCatholic was, that you came to see that the Catholic religion and\nprimitive Christianity are identical--so I understood you. Am I\nright in this?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" I replied, \"that is precisely my proposition; stated\nin that form, the whole question is put, as it were, in a\nnutshell.\"\n\n\"Just so,\" he answered, \"if that were proved. So now tell me just\nhow you proved it to yourself.\"\n\n{627}\n\n\"With all my heart, sir,\" was the reply. \"Then see here, we must\nfirst lay down our definitions of what I mean by primitive\nChristianity, and what I mean by the Catholic religion.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he assented.\n\n\"Primitive Christianity, then,\" I continued, \"is soon settled. By\nit I mean the religion taught by the apostles to their disciples,\nand by those disciples taught to others, and so on--the religion\nof the New Testament.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" he broke in; \"no one can find fault with that, only\nwe have always been taught that the religion of the New\nTestament, a primitive Christianity, was substantially the same\nas Protestantism, so that it never struck me till this moment\nthat there was any fair doubt that the primitive Christians were\nProtestants, all but the name; and of course we know that the\nname was not given them at that day.\"\n\n\"All right! We will see about that later on,\" I continued. \"Now\nlet me tell you, in as few words as I can, what I mean by a\nCatholic.\"\n\n\"Well, I am all attention,\" he said.\n\n\"By a Catholic, then,\" I continued, \"I mean a Christian who is a\nmember of that vast, world-wide society which is generally known\nand called, by friend and foe, the Catholic Church, the spiritual\nhead of which is the Bishop of Rome. This church, or united\nbody--for you know the word church is the same as _ecclesia_\nin Latin or Greek, and means 'an assembly,' or 'united\nbody'--this united body we call catholic, or universal, because\nit has always vastly outnumbered all other divided bodies of\nChristians, whether taken singly or all put together. The number\nof Catholics in the world is usually stated to be two hundred\nmillions; of Russian, Greek, and Oriental schismatics about\nninety millions, and Protestants of all denominations about\nseventy millions. This vast united body, as it has always borne\nthe name of Catholic, so is it the only body of Christians that\ncan be called the catholic or universal church, if we attach any\nmeaning to the word as a definition of the visible church, such\nas we find set down in the Creed, 'I believe in the Catholic\nChurch.' However, as the name Catholic is sometimes claimed in\nsome indefinable sense by other bodies of Christians, those to\nwhom it belongs of right, and by the force of terms, have no\nobjection, for the sake of distinction, to the term sometimes\napplied to them, of Roman Catholic, meaning merely the\n_real_ catholics; that is to say, those who, though\nuniversal, or spread everywhere, are yet united in one visible\nsociety, through being all in communion with the Bishop of Rome;\nbeing Roman in their centre of unity, and Catholic in their\nworld-wide circumference.\n\n\"Thus the Catholic Church, alone of all Christian bodies, bears,\nas it it were, written on her forehead, that mark of unity\ndivinely impressed by her Heavenly Founder and preserved by the\npower of his dying prayer, as a perpetual note of her heavenly\norigin. 'I pray thee, O Father, that they may be one in us, that\nthe world may believe that thou hast sent me.'\n\n\"I think that you will admit that the old church founded by our\nLord was to have on her these marks of unity and universality,\nand that these marks are to be found on no church at the present\nday but the church Catholic.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied after a moment's reflection, \"I think this may\nfairly be admitted; but unity is not all that our Lord prayed\nfor; in the same prayer he said, 'Holy Father, keep them in thy\ntruth,' and we say that the old church fell away, and that it no\nlonger teaches the essential truths of the gospel, or has\nobscured them by false doctrines.\"\n\n{628}\n\n\"Well, let that pass for the moment,\" I replied. \"We will see\nlater on whether you will continue to maintain these\npropositions. I will now state the principal points on which we\nare agreed with Protestants, and afterward the distinctive points\non which we differ from them. And I think you will admit that the\npoints on which we are agreed with you are precisely every one of\nthose points which you would consider to be the great essential,\nfundamental doctrines of the gospel. We believe, then, in the\nunity and trinity of God, three coequal persons, one in\nsubstance, and in the incarnation of God the Son, who became the\nSon of Blessed Mary, ever Virgin, of the substance of his mother\naccording to his manhood, as he had been from all eternity God\nthe Son, of one substance with the Father--God of God. So we\nbelieve and hope for redemption and grace, to do good works\nacceptable to God, and which he will reward amply and solely from\nand through Christ our Lord, and in prayer, love, repentance,\nobedience, and holiness, as conditions of our salvation through\nhim. And we believe that eternal perdition and endless woe will\nbe the lot of those 'who neglect so great a salvation.' We\nbelieve also that all Holy Scripture is written by divine\ninspiration, and when studied and rightly understood, by aid of\nGod's Holy Spirit, is most profitable for instruction in all\nChristian perfection. In a word, Catholics believe all that\nreligious Protestants consider to be of the essence of true\nreligion; and they also reject every tenet or position which can\nclash with these paramount truths of revelation. A Protestant,\ntherefore, in becoming a Catholic, has to give up nothing which\nhe believes essential in religion. No doubt he would have to add\nto his faith certain other truths which at present he does not\nhold, because he has not come to see that they are parts of\nrevealed truth.\"\n\n\"I have not lost a word,\" he replied, \"of what you have been\nsaying. I confess it is quite a new light to me, that all these\ndoctrines which you have stated are part and parcel of the\nCatholic faith; but, my dear Philip, I cannot help fancying that\nall Catholics are not like you, for I have always heard that they\ndenied or obscured nearly every one of these doctrines.\"\n\n\"As for these statements of doctrine not being the authorized\nteaching of the church, I can only say that you will find them\nall stated fully by the authorities of our church in the canons\nand catechism of the Council of Trent, and stated briefly in\nevery child's catechism. Yet, notwithstanding, as you say,\nProtestants generally seem to think that they know our religion\nbetter than we do ourselves; although they seldom read our books,\nthey insist on denying that we really _do_ hold these points\nwhich we profess to hold in common with them; but I think you\nwill admit that we ought to be allowed to know our own creed\nbest. It is a wonder that they do not rather rejoice to believe\nthat we have so many points of faith in common, and those the\nvery points in which they consider the essence of true religion\nto consist. It seems as if they had an instinctive feeling that\nthe strength of their position would be broken up if once if\nshould appear that the differences between themselves and the old\nreligion were on but few points, and those such as they do not\nconsider the most essential.\"\n\n{629}\n\n\"Well, anyhow,\" he rejoined, \"whatever be the reason, there is a\nstrong prejudice on both sides; Protestants are as strongly\nconvinced that you are in the wrong as you Catholics are\nconvinced that you are right. One or other of us must be wrong;\nand if we assert that you are wrong against such a strong\nconviction on your part, and one that has subsisted for so many\nages, and been held by such a vast majority, why, we are forced\nto admit that our strong conviction against you is no argument\nthat we are in the right. But you can't deny that such a strong\nconviction as ours must have some foundation in reason.\"\n\n\"Just so,\" I answered, \"I do not deny it at all. These same\nreasons seemed so convincing to me once that I could not have\nbelieved that any reasoning could have convinced me that I was\nmistaken. I will just touch on some of the reasons which weighed\nmost with me against the Catholic religion. From my own\nexperience I am convinced that the difficulty Protestants\ngenerally feel, in admitting that Catholics really _do_ hold\nall that they deem to be essential, arises chiefly from this,\nthat it seems to them clear and evident that certain other\ndoctrines which we hold, such as the merit of good works, the\ninvocation of Saints, the inherent efficacy of Sacraments,\nPurgatory, the real Presence, and the sacrifice of the Mass, the\nuse of images, pictures, and relics, the Immaculate Conception,\nand devotion to the Blessed Virgin, and perhaps other doctrines\nand practices, _must_ necessarily interfere with the\nmediatorial office of Christ and with the worship of God, and be\nimpious or idolatrous.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he answered, \"you have given a long list enough, and it\nmakes me feel all over just as I was before I met you. I declare,\nto my dying day I never could take in all those things; and I\ncan't see how you, or any sensible man, could come to believe\nthem. Nay, don't tell me you believe them. Why, your church can't\nexpect it of an American citizen, whatever may be the case with\nFrenchmen and Spaniards, that have been, as one may say, brought\nup to it, and had it bred in the bone. I am sure I could easier\nturn Jew and go back to the old original religion of all than\nbecome a Catholic.\"\n\n\"Have a care, my dear sir,\" I answered; \"make no rash statements.\nI once thought as you do now. I can't answer all objections\nagainst these doctrines in one breath. Give me time, and I am not\nafraid of going into them one after the other. But I can't\nattempt it now; and now, as we are getting near home, just walk\nyour horse along this shady bit of road, and I will finish for\nto-day. Now, with regard to all these doctrines which seem so\nstrange and repugnant to you, let me say, as an honest man who\nonce thought and felt as you do now, but who has come by God's\ngrace to see things differently--let me say, as one who knows\nthat he must answer for his every word before Christ's unerring\ntribunal, that there is not one of those points which is not\ncapable of being shown in no degree to interfere with the supreme\nprerogatives of our divine Lord and only Saviour, and which is\nnot capable of conclusive proof. Would to God that Protestants,\ninstead of reading and hearing only what is said against us,\nwould hear and read what we have to say for ourselves. These\nearly prejudices, this 'human tradition,' which 'they have\nreceived to hold,' would be dispersed like the morning mists\nbefore the sun.\n\n\"The general answer that I would give to such objections is, read\nCatholic books, and you will find that all these allegations are\nas old as Protestantism, and that they have been answered a\nhundred times over.\"\n\n{630}\n\n\"If we are Catholics, it is simply under God's grace, because we\nhave read for ourselves, and have been satisfied with the\nCatholic answer on every single point. If I am asked to name any\nparticular works which would be found specially useful--I mean\nworks of a popular character--I would mention Bishop Milner's\n_End of Controversy; The Faith of Catholics_, by Waterworth;\nvarious works of Dr. Newman and Archbishop Manning; _Temporal\nMission of the Holy Ghost_, and _Rule of Faith_; the\nworks of Archbishop Kenrick; and other works which may be\nobtained at any Catholic bookstore. But most Protestants, as was\nmy own case when a Protestant, have a strong prejudice against\nreading Catholic books. I believe the basis of this prejudice\n(which would be logical enough if its basis were just) is much\nthe same as that which would rightly disincline all religious\npersons, unless in some way it became a duty, from reading\nSocinian and deistical writings. They have been accustomed to\nconsider that Catholics have this in common with Socinians and\ndeists, that they all, more or less, reject those doctrines of\nredemption through Christ which every baptized and thinking\nChristian feels to be part of the inner life of his soul, which\nhe would die rather than part from. But those who reason thus\nagainst the Catholic religion, and are unwilling to examine its\nevidence, forget that Thomas \u00e0 Kempis, or the author of the\n_Imitation of Christ_, was a Catholic, a monk of the middle\nages, devoted to every Catholic doctrine. His fourth book on the\nEucharist manifests, in every page, his belief in the real\nPresence, and the sacrifice of the Mass; and he speaks of\ninvocation of saints, purgatory, priestly absolution, and other\nCatholic doctrines. Yet this work, on account of the pure love of\nGod and trust in a Saviour, which it breathes in every line, is\nalmost as great a favorite with devout Protestants as it is with\npious Catholics. Translated from beginning to end by John Wesley,\nit is to be found as a manual of piety, with his\n_imprimatur_, recommended by him, in the hands of all his\nfollowers.\n\n\"The same may be said of the works of St. Bernard, F\u00e9n\u00e9lon,\nPaschal, all well-known names familiar through translations of\ntheir works to all well-read Protestants. Again, the Jansenist\nwriters of the school of Port Royal are, I believe, generally\nadmired by what are called the Evangelical school among\nProtestants. Yet the Jansenists all held the creed of Pope Pius,\nlaid down at the Council of Trent, and all the distinctive\ndoctrines of the Catholic religion.\n\n\"I have spoken before of Dr. Newman as a name honored by all, by\nProtestants as well as Catholics. No one has written more ably in\ndefence of every doctrine of the church. Could he, who is the\nauthor of the lines I am just going to repeat, have written so\ntruly and touchingly of the love of our Blessed Lord and faith in\nhim, if he had held any doctrine which interfered with or\novershadowed the supremacy of that Lord and only Saviour?\n\n  'Firmly I believe, and truly,\n     God is three, and God is one.\n   And I next acknowledge duly\n     Manhood taken by the Son.\n   And I hope and trust most fully\n     In that manhood crucified.\n   And each thought and deed unruly\n     Do to death as he hath died.\n   Simply to his grace, and solely,\n     Life and light and strength belong.\n   And I love supremely, solely\n     Him the Holy, him the Strong.\n   And I hold in veneration,\n     For the love of Christ alone,\n   Holy church, as his creation,\n     And her teaching as his own.'\n\n                     _Dream of Gerontius._\n\n{631}\n\n\"Now, my dear uncle, you will understand the earnestness of a man\nwho feels that it is beyond the power of words to express the\ndepth of his convictions. These, indeed, I cannot impart to you.\nI cannot give you the gift of faith. But so far, at least, I feel\nsure you will go with me, in admitting that the facts I have just\nstated should lead serious Protestants to admit that they have\nbeen wrong in assuming that the Catholic religion, although a\ngreat religious fact, majestic for her antiquity, universality,\nand unity, as all must admit, has yet a mark against her which\ndispenses them from all search after truth in that direction. My\nlast words shall be those which, though they seemed to St.\nAugustine to be uttered by the voice of a child, were yet, as he\ntells us, blessed to his own conversion: _Tolle,\nlege_'--Take and read.'\"\n\nJust as I had finished my last sentence, we drove into the\napproach to the mansion, where the ladies were already assembled\non the lawn, a sign that the arrangements for dinner were\ncompleted, and that all were awaiting only the return of the\nmaster of the house. So, kindly greetings, inquiries after absent\nfriends in Europe and America, and the other happy little\naccompaniments of an evening at home in the country in lovely\nautumn weather, effectually put a stop to all further\nconversation on the engrossing topics which had occupied us\nduring the morning.\n\nThe next day rose bright and beautiful, almost too cloudless and\nsultry, if we had had a journey before us, and six or seven hours\nto pass in the stifling heat of ------. But we had agreed to take\na day's holiday in the country, and, after breakfast, we strolled\nout together to the summer-house by the brook, where the daily\npapers and the last reviews, American and English, were laid out\non the library-table of the cool retreat beneath the broad\nchestnut trees, which served my uncle as his study during the\nsummer months. The other members of the family had their own\nreading and work to attend to. So we had the prospect of a long\nforenoon of leisure for reading or conversation. After the news\nof the day had been read and discussed, we each took up a review\nand read on pretty steadily for an hour or more. Then my uncle\nbegan to light his cigar, and I saw that he was watching when I\nshould have finished the article I was reading, and that he was\nready for a chat. When he saw that I was closing the volume, he\nbegan: \"I have thought a good deal over all you said yesterday.\nJust give me a memorandum of one or two of the books you spoke\nof.\" I pencilled them down on the back of a letter and handed it\nto him; he put the memorandum into his pocket-book.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, \"I should like to hear how you make out that the\nprimitive Christians were Catholics. You know all my family are\nstrict Episcopalians; there was one of them a bishop over in the\nold country, and we always took great pride in the Church of\nEngland; and I know we were always taught, and I've read several\nbooks about the old aboriginal British Church, which seemed to me\nto prove pretty clearly that, up to the year 600, or thereabouts,\nafter Christ, the early Christians in Britain knew nothing of the\nauthority of the Bishop of Rome, and opposed his claims when they\nwere put forward by Augustine on his coming over to convert the\nSaxons.\"\n\n{632}\n\n\"Well, sir,\" I replied, \"curiously enough, I have just been\nreading your last number of the _Saturday Review_, which, as\nwe all know, is no friend to Catholics, and I have been much\nstruck by a very able article which, I think, you will find well\nworth reading. If you will allow me, I will read you a passage\nwhich may serve me as a text for what I shall have to say in\nanswer to your question about the British Church, and how I make\nout that the early Christians were Catholics: 'The distinctive\nprinciple of the English Reformation was an appeal to Christian\nantiquity, as admirable, and probably as imaginary, as the\n\"Golden Age\" of the poets.' The writer then goes on to say, 'that\nthe era of the Reformation was before the age of accurate\nhistorical criticism. The true method of historical criticism was\nas yet uncreated, and it is not too much to say that whatever\naccurate knowledge we now possess of the church of the first\ncenturies, has been obtained within the last fifty years, and\nthat a better acquaintance with the remains of antiquity has\nconvinced us that many doctrines and practices which have been\ncommonly accounted to be peculiarities of later Romanism, existed\nin the best and purest ages of Christianity.' (_Saturday\nReview_, 1866.)\n\n\"Ah! I should not wonder,\" he replied, \"if they had hit the right\nnail on the head there; I must read that article--how is it\nheaded?\"\n\n\"Oh! you can't miss it,\" I answered, \"the title is _Primitive\nChristianity_.[Footnote 57] Well, then, to answer your\nquestion. We argued yesterday as to the great leading doctrines\non which Protestants and Catholics are at one, and which all\nChristians hold as essential. Now for what you would call the\ndistinctive doctrines of the Catholic religion, or as the writer\nin _The Saturday_ expresses it, 'what are commonly accounted\n(by Protestants) as peculiarities of later Romanism,' but which\nwe Catholics hold to be no less essential truths of Christianity,\npart and parcel of the same revelation which teaches us the\ndoctrine of the Trinity and the Incarnation. I will name three\nwhich I think you will admit are sufficiently distinctive. We\nhold, therefore:\n\n    [Footnote 57: _Saturday Review_, winter quarter, 1866.]\n\n\"First. That for Christ's sake we are to obey the church, which\nhe has made his infallible witness in the world, until he shall\ncome again. 'The church of the living God, the pillar and\nfoundation of the truth.' (I Tim. iii. 15.)\n\n\"Secondly. That for the same reason we are bound to submit to the\nspiritual supremacy of the Pope or Bishop of Rome, the successor\nof St. Peter, whom Christ, who is himself 'THE ROCK,' or sure\nfoundation of his church, left, when he ascended up out of sight,\nto be the _Visible Rock_, on which he willed to build up his\nchurch in unity.\n\n\"Thirdly. That God is to be worshipped by sacrifice, and that in\nplace of the _typical sacrifices_ offered to God, from the\ntime of Adam to Moses, and from Moses to the time of Christ in\nthe Levitical worship, he has instituted the _great reality of\nthe eucharistic_ sacrifice of Christ's body and blood,\ncommonly called the Mass.\n\n\"Of course there are other doctrines which I might name, but\nthese three are sufficient for my purpose. My proposition is,\nthat these doctrines were as distinctively characteristics of\nprimitive Christianity as they are of the Catholic Church of the\npresent day, or what our friend in _The Saturday_ calls\n'Later Romanism.'\"\n\n{633}\n\n\"Well! go on,\" he rejoined, \"I am all attention. I do not want to\nraise objection to details. I want to hear your whole argument to\nthe end, then I shall see what I may find to say about\nit--meantime, I am much interested, and want to see how you make\nout your points. I like your mode of stating the question; it is\nstraightforward, right up and down, and no mistake, as far as the\nstatement of the case goes, only I want to see how you set about\nproving it. But, here, I am smoking all the cigars; don't you\nsmoke?\"\n\n\"Why, bless the man! how can I smoke and talk? There, you do all\nthe smoking, and I'll do the talking just now; and then, when\nI've done, you may turn on the steam, and I'll do the\nsmoking--turn about is fair play!\n\n\"Well, then, learned Protestants are now beginning to admit 'that\nmany doctrines and practices which (at the time of the\nReformation) were commonly accounted to be peculiarities of later\nRomanism, existed in the best and purest ages of Christianity.'\n\n\"Now, this is precisely what we Catholics have always maintained;\nonly my proposition is, that the _distinctive features_ of\nthe Catholic religion are precisely those which mark the\nprimitive church and the British Church in primitive ages,\ncenturies before the time when St. Augustine, the first Bishop of\nCanterbury, came from Rome to convert our Anglo-Saxon\nforefathers, about the year of our Lord 600.\n\n\"Those who delight in the dream of a golden age of primitive\nChristianity, which was Protestant in all but the name, and only\nnot Protestant in name because, as they imagine, there was then\nno pope to protest against, take special delight in dwelling on\nimaginary pictures of an early British Church, and this for a\nvery simple reason, because here they can strike out boldly on\nthe wings of fancy, without much danger of coming to grief\nagainst the hard stone wall of historical facts. There is no\nBritish writer, of whose works we have any vestige, earlier than\nthe historian Gildas, who wrote about the year of our Lord 550!\nAll they have to rely on for proof of any difference between the\nBritish Church and the other churches of Christendom is one\nsingle fact, which they learn from the historian Bede, who wrote\nin the eighth century. He relates that about the year 600 certain\nBritish bishops were found differing from the Roman Church on\ncertain points, not of doctrine, but of discipline, and acting\nwith a considerable amount of contumaciousness toward St.\nAugustine, the Roman missionary and first Archbishop of\nCanterbury. All this we fully admit, and are quite prepared to\naccount for. But my proposition concerns the British Church, not\nin the year of our Lord 600, but centuries before, in the early\nprimitive times, from the first conversion of Britain.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is the point; I'm all attention to hear how you make\nit out.\"\n\n\"Christianity was probably established, partially in Britain, in\nvery early times, possibly in the days of the apostles, not\nimpossibly by St. Paul himself, and, if so, it must have been the\nsame in all essential features as that religion which the\napostles and their immediate disciples preached and established\neverywhere else. History, however, records nothing definite\nconcerning the Christianity of Britain, earlier than the fact\nrelated by the historian Bede, that, in the reign of Marcus\nAurelius, emperor of Rome, at the request of Lucius, a British\nking, Pope Eleutherius sent missionaries into Britain.\n{634}\nNext, as to what kind of Christianity this was. I shall show that\nit was sharply marked with the characteristics of the Catholic\nreligion which I laid down just now. Submission to the authority\nof the Bishop of Rome as head of the church, and a belief in the\nReal Presence and Eucharistic Sacrifice, commonly called the\nMass.\n\n\"With regard to the authority of the Bishop of Rome, as Head of\nthe Church, I will quote a well-known ancient writer, St.\nIrenaeus, Bishop of Lyons in Gaul, born A.D. 120, martyred A.D.\n202. He was a native of Asia Minor, a disciple of St. Polycarp,\nBishop of Smyrna, who was himself a disciple of St. John the\nEvangelist. He was a contemporary of Pope Eleutherius, and\nvisited Rome during his pontificate, as we learn from the\nhistorian Eusebius. Irenaeus is, therefore, a witness of peculiar\nvalue, since he was in a position to testify as to the belief of\nall Christians in his day, as well of the Eastern Church, in\nwhich he was trained, as of the Western Church, of which he\nbecame a bishop. The presumption is, also, that he taught to\nothers what had first been taught to him by his master, St.\nPolycarp, and that St. Polycarp taught what he had learned from\nthe inspired apostle. In the work of Irenaeus, _Adversus\nHiereses_, (Book III., chap, ii., n. 1 and 2,) which may be\nconsulted in any good library, we find it written. I will read\nfrom some short manuscript notes which I have here in my\npocket-book, and which I made at the time I was looking into\nthese matters before I became a Catholic.\n\n\"'As it would be a long task to enumerate the successions of all\nthe churches, I will point out that tradition which is of the\ngreatest, most ancient, and universally known church, founded and\nconstituted at Rome by the most glorious apostles, Peter and\nPaul, and which derives from the two apostles that faith\nannounced to all men, which, through the succession of her\nbishops, has come down to us.'\n\n\"Here, let me observe, by the way, in passing, we have the\ntestimony of a great writer, who lived within fifty years of St.\nJohn the Evangelist, and was instructed by his immediate\ndisciple, that the Church of Rome was founded by St. Peter and\nSt. Paul. What then becomes of the statement, so often\nrepeated--shall I call it ignorant, or impudent?--that the Bishop\nof Rome can have no claim to authority as successor of St. Peter,\nbecause there is no evidence that St. Peter was ever at Rome in\nhis life?\"\n\n\"Well, certainly,\" he interposed, \"that statement will not hold\nwater, for Irenaeus is an unexceptionable witness. But I\ninterrupt your narrative. Pray, go on.\"\n\n\"Well, then, to continue what I was saying, before I made this\ndigression, St. Irenaeus goes on in the same passage, 'With this\nchurch, (namely, the Church of Rome,) on account of its more\npowerful headship, (or primacy,) it is necessary that every\nchurch, that is, the faithful on every side, should be in\naccordance, in which church has always been preserved the\ntradition which is from the apostles. The blessed apostles, then,\nhaving founded and built up this church, committed the office of\nthe episcopacy to Linus, of whom Paul makes mention in his\nEpistle to Timothy. And to him succeeded Anacletus, and after him\nClement, who had also seen the blessed apostles, and conferred\nwith them, and had before his eyes their familiar preaching and\nthe tradition of the apostles; and not he alone, but there were\nmany at that time, still alive, who had been instructed by the\napostles.\n{635}\nTo Clement succeeded Evaristus, Alexander Sixtus, Telesphorus,\nHyginus, Pius Anicetus, Sater, and to him Eleutherius, who now in\nthe twelfth place from the apostles, holds the office of the\nepiscopate. By this order, and by his succession, that tradition\nwhich is from the apostles, and the preaching of the truth, have\ncome down to us.'\n\n\"Here then we have the testimony of one who wrote only fifty\nyears after the death of the last apostle, that the existing pope\nwas the successor of Peter in the see of Rome, and there could\nhave been as little doubt about the past as there is now as to\nthe succession of the presidents of the United States or the\nsovereigns of England during the last century.\n\n\"And the testimony of St. Irenaeus as to the authority of the\nbishops of Rome over the whole church, since we learn from\nEusebius, that Irenaeus had offered a firm but respectful\nopposition to two successive pontiffs, Eleutherius and Victor, on\nthe question of the time of keeping Easter, a point on which some\nof the Eastern churches as also later the churches of Ireland and\nBritain, followed a different custom from the church of Rome. St.\nIrenaeus visited Rome on the matter, and dissuaded the pope from\nmaking this question at that time a term of communion. He\nsucceeded in his endeavors, and so different churches were left\nto follow their own custom, until the matter was finally decided,\nand the Roman practice made obligatory on all, at the general\nCouncil of Nicaea, A.D. 325.\n\n\"Such then is the testimony of St. Irenaeus concerning the\ngeneral belief of all Christians of his day as to the rights and\nauthority of the bishops of Rome, or holy and apostolic see, as\nit was generally termed in very early times. He taught that it\nwas the duty of all churches and of each one of the faithful,\nthat is to say, of all who believe in Christ, to adhere to the\nfaith and the communion of the holy see, which by Christ's\ninstitution had been constituted in the person of Peter and his\nsuccessors the necessary centre of unity of all other\nchurches--which held on this account the supremacy of more\npowerful headship or primacy of authority in the universal\nchurch, under Christ our Lord.\n\n\"It is manifest therefore, that this doctrine concerning the\nauthority of the pope must have been taught, together with all\nother doctrines of the universal church, by the missionaries sent\ninto Britain by Pope Eleutherius. St. Irenaeus tells us in\nanother place that the faith of the whole church was one and the\nsame. He says, for instance, in the following passage, 'The\nchurch spread over the whole world to the earth's boundaries,\nhaving received the faith, ... sedulously guards it, as though\ndwelling in one house,' 'as having one soul,' and 'one heart,'\nand 'teaching uniformly as having one mouth, ... nor do the\nchurches of Spain or Gaul, or the East, or Egypt, or Africa,\nbelieve or deliver a different faith.' (_Adv. Hieres._ b. i.\nc. x.)\n\n\"But we are not left to conjecture as to the relation of Britain\nto the rest of Christendom, and to the see of Rome in primitive\ntimes. The next notice we have of the British Church is, that\nBritish bishops were sitting with the other Catholic bishops at\nthe Council of Aries in Gaul in 314, when the Roman practice as\nto the time was confirmed and accepted, and at the Council of\nSardica in Illyricum in 347, where the right of appeal from all\nbishops to the apostolic see was confirmed by a special decree.\n{636}\nThis council, at the conclusion of its deliberations, writes to\nPope Julius in the following terms: 'That though absent in body,\nhe had been present with them in spirit,' and that it was best\nand most fitting that the bishops of each particular province\nshould have recourse to him who is their head, that is, to the\nsee of the Apostle Peter. (See _Labbe's Councils_, ii. 690.)\n\n\"That the primacy of the Roman see involved a real right of\njurisdiction over other churches is manifest from the next fact\nof history bearing on the British Church. St. Prosper of\nAquitain, a contemporary of the events he describes, writing in\n430, tells us how a British priest, by name Morgan or Pelagius,\nhad invented a heresy, (which still bears his name,) in which he\ndenied the necessity of Divine Grace. That this heresy spread\ngreatly in Britain, whereupon Pope Celestine, the same pope who\nsent Palladius and Patrick to Ireland, dispatched St. Germanus,\nBishop of Auxerre in Gaul, as 'his vicar with Britain, and that\nhe might drive away heresy, and restore Britain to the Catholic\nfaith.' He tells us that he was received by the British bishops\nand presided at several national synods. St. Prosper also states\nas an existing fact then, just as any Catholic might make the\nsame statement at the present day, that 'Rome as the See of Peter\nis head of the episcopal order in the whole world, and holds in\nsubjection through the influence of religion, more nations than\never had been subdued by her arms.' (_St. Prosper de\nIngratitudine et Vocatione Gentium_.)\n\n\"With the mission of St. Germanus the early history of the\nBritish Church closes. A dark and calamitous period of a hundred\nyears succeeds, in which Britain is heard of no more until the\ntime of Gildas, the British historian, who wrote about the year\nof our Lord 550, that is to say, about fifty years before the\ncoming of St. Augustine.\n\n\"Britain, during this period finally abandoned by the Roman\narmies, is left a prey to continual invasion, first by the Picts\nand Scots, and then by the Saxons, who had settled down like a\nswarm of locusts upon the country, and driving the Britons before\nthem into the natural fastnesses of Wales and Cornwall, had\ncompletely occupied the country and made it their own. At length\nthe very name of Britain is lost; it had now become England, and\na heathen land once more.\n\n\"The native historian Gildas describes the condition of his\nmiserable countrymen, isolated from the rest of Christendom,\noverwhelmed by foreign invasion and by civil wars. As to\nreligion, he tells us that it was at the lowest ebb, and that no\nheresy had arisen in the church which had not effected a lodgment\nin Britain: as to morals, he informs us that princes, nobles, and\npeople were infected with the most shameful vices, and that even\na large portion of the clergy were sunk in profligacy. There were\nstill many bright exceptions amongst all classes, especially in\nthe monasteries, which were numerous and filled with a multitude\nof holy souls, who had fled from the almost universal corruption\nof morals in that miserable age.\n\n\"Gildas, moreover, upbraids the clergy for their want of charity,\nand because through hatred of their Saxon conquerors they could\nnot be induced to attempt their conversion to the faith of\nChrist.\n\n\"And be it remembered that Gildas wrote all this as an\neye-witness of the state of the British Church in his day, and\nthat he wrote only fifty years before the arrival of St.\nAugustine to preach the faith to the Anglo-Saxons.\n{637}\nCan we wonder then that when he invited the remnant of the\nBritish clergy to join him in his holy mission he met with a\ncontumacious refusal, at least from some of them?\n\n\"I quote from a Protestant historian, (_Hart's Ecclesiastical\nRecord_.) He quotes as follows from Bede's Ecclesiastical\nHistory. 'In many things,' says St. Augustine, 'ye act contrary\nto our custom, and those of the universal church; yet if in these\nthree respects you will obey me, to celebrate Easter at the\nproper time, to perform the rites of baptism according to the\ncustom of the Roman Apostolic Church, and to join me in preaching\nthe Gospel to the English nation the word of the Lord, all other\nchanges which you do, although contrary to our customs, we will\nbear with equanimity.' These terms they refused to comply with,\nand the above-named Protestant writer thus comments on their\nrefusal. 'While we triumphantly cite these testimonies to our\noriginal independence, let us not seek to palliate the\ncontumacious spirit displayed by the British clergy in their\nconference with Augustine. As Christians they ought cheerfully to\nhave assisted in evangelizing the pagan Saxons. The terms which\nhe proposed were mild and reasonable, and the faith which he\nprofessed was as pure and orthodox as their own.'\n\n\"It is quite clear that the faith of the British Church was\nessentially the same as that of St. Augustine, otherwise he would\ncertainly have taken exception to such differences in essentials,\nand not solely of accidental points of discipline, and moreover\nit is inconceivable that he should have invited them to preach to\nthe Saxons a faith different from his own. That the faith taught\nto our forefathers by St. Augustine was the same as that of the\nCatholic Church of the present day, does not require proof to any\none who has made the most superficial study of the annals of the\nAnglo-Saxon Church. The supremacy of Rome, the doctrines of the\nreal Presence, the sacrifice of the Mass, purgatory, devotion to\nthe blessed Virgin and the Saints, are written on every page of\nher history, as narrated by Bede and the ancient chroniclers, and\ncame to be incorporated into the very language and customs of the\npeople.\n\n\"As for the grounds of the opposition of the British bishops to\nSt. Augustine, this can be fully accounted for. The decay of\nfaith and morals amongst clergy and people, isolation from the\nrest of Christendom, natural pride and hatred of the Saxons, all\nwhich Gildas tells us existed in the British Church in his day,\nare quite enough to account for their opposition to St.\nAugustine, and this opposition cannot in the truth of history be\nattributed to any primitive independence of Rome in the British\nChurch. In the whole early history of British Christianity there\nis not one fact which proves any difference in faith whatever, or\nany variation in discipline inconsistent with that obedience to\nthe Bishop of Rome as successor of St. Peter, which Irenaeus\ntells us was in his time considered essential for all churches,\nand which is at the present day as then, an essential feature of\nCatholic Christianity.\n\n\"In the absence, then, of all proof to the contrary, and in the\npresence of the positive evidence which I have given that the\nBritish Church stood in the same relation to Rome during the\nearlier and purer ages of her history, as all the other churches\nof Christendom, it is surely disingenuous not to admit the fact.\nIt seems to me that thoughtful and candid persons can hardly fail\nto admit that as a controversial argument against the Catholic\nChurch the less said about the British Church the better.\"\n\n{638}\n\n\"Well, upon my word, my boy, I must say that my first\nimpression--but mind, I reserve my judgment till after I have\nhad time to reflect on the matter, read up your quotations in the\noriginal, and compare them with the context--I say my first\nimpression is, that you have a good case, and that you have\nhandled it very fairly. A good deal is involved in your being\nright or wrong in this matter; so much that, if you please, I\nwould rather not pursue the question any further at present; but\nI shall not let it sleep. And now I see your cousins coming this\nway with their brother John. I must go and meet the old fellow,\nand shall treat him as if nothing had happened. I am very glad I\nhappened to meet you yesterday; the truths you have suggested to\nmy mind are serious ones.\"\n\n\"That is so,\" I replied, \"and may they ripen in your mind and\nprove refreshing to your soul as they have to mine! Good-by!\"\n\n--------\n\n               Sub Umbra.\n\n\n  The hills that like billows swell clear in the dawn,\n  Seem heaving with conscious existence this morn;\n  For all the broad woods on their bosom serene\n      Are waving their ocean of green!\n\n\n                  II.\n\n  How fair! Save yon cloud sailing up from the west,\n  Whose shadow falls dark on that bright, leafy breast\n  But softly 'tis rocked: while beneath it is heard,\n      In wood haunts, the note of the bird.\n\n\n                 * * *\n\n                  III.\n\n  O heart! in yon shadow and soft-heaving sea,\n  Thy God hath unfolded a lesson for thee;\n  For oft while reposing 'neath sunniest skies,\n      A cloud o'er thy rest may arise.\n\n\n                   IV.\n\n  But when from that cloud the dark shadow shall fall,\n  Heave gently, heave gently though under the pall!\n  And 'neath the dark shadow let, sweet as the bird,\n      Thy low, quiet music be heard!\n\n                                  Richard Storrs Willis.\n\n--------\n\n{639}\n\n\n         Translated From The German.\n\n\n               Forget-Me-Not.\n\n     Or, The Picture That Was Never Seen.\n\n\n\nThe lord chamberlain, who had just returned from Italy, had\nbecome the subject of the greatest attention with the brilliant\nbut not extensive circle which the queen was accustomed to\nassemble around her, in the king's secluded summer residence.\n\nThe narratives of the count's travels served to shorten an\nunpleasant, stormy evening, which visited the shady park\nsurrounding the castle with gusts of rain and hail, interspersed\nwith streaks of lightning and heavy reechoing claps of thunder.\nThe imagination of the queen revelled in the recollections which\nthe stories of the count awakened; but the king, more interested\nin business of state, interrupted the speaker suddenly, with the\nquestion as to whether anything new had transpired in the capital\ncity, which he had passed through on his return. The lord\nchamberlain praised the quiet and elegance of the city, not\nneglecting to extol the wisdom of the sovereign to whom all this\nprosperity must be attributed, and closed with the assurance\nthat, excepting the exhibition of industry and art, the\ninhabitants of the city were occupying themselves, at present,\nwith nothing but their own homes and amusements. The Princess\nEliza inquired interestedly concerning the success of that\ninstitution which owed its existence to her suggestion, and the\ncount, passing slowly from one thing to another, ran easily into\nthe enumeration of the articles exhibited in the tasteful\ngallery. He left till the last what he considered the crowning\nglory of the collection--the paintings by native artists--and\ndescribed with the versatility of a cicerone all the pictures of\nMadonnas, pictures from every-day life, historical pictures and\nportraits, which were worthy of attention. Having come to the\nend, he interrupted himself suddenly, as if rebuking himself, and\nsaid--\n\n\"I had almost forgotten to mention a picture, which, although\nanonymous, and very unfavorably placed, deserves to be named as\nthe gem of the gallery, both in idea and execution. I have seen\nnothing more wonderful in my life, and even now, when I speak of\nit, all the details of the striking picture appear clear and\ndecided before the mind, so that I can give them without omitting\nanything essential.\"\n\nThis preliminary was calculated to raise the greatest curiosity,\nand the queen, with the company, formed a narrow circle around\nthe narrator.\n\n\"Imagine, your majesties, a medium-sized tablet divided into two\nparts, of which each represents a single picture,\" began the lord\nchamberlain; \"the conditions of space divide this picture in\nform: the character is one and the same. In the first, the\nprincipal figure is a maiden in the full blooming freshness of\nyouth. The flowing drapery flutters lightly in the wind. One foot\nalready rests upon the edge of the barge which wavers in\nsuspended dance, and which the stream, curling up into foaming\nwaves, seems about to drive from the shore, without rudder or\nanchor.\n{640}\nThe eyes of the maiden look longingly into the distance: in her\nfeatures lies romantic enthusiasm. On the shore which the mariner\nleaves, stand sympathizing friends. An old man, with silver hair,\nwaves a farewell: a group of maidens, blooming as she, and\nfamiliarly clinging to each other, wave handkerchiefs and ribbons\nafter the departing: a youth, handsome and earnest, folds his\nhands together, and out of the clouds, a friendly, loving,\nsorrowful countenance looks down upon her. Luxuriant roses signal\nfrom the beautiful shore, and form a rare contrast to the\nlurking, green-haired water-fairies who swim under the mirror of\nthe water in scarcely defined outlines, and seem to pull the\nfrail boat forward. The maiden, it is plain, goes hence on a\ndangerous journey; but a tender, shimmering cloud-figure,\ndoubtless the ever young Hegemone, hovers near her, and by\nsolicitous glance and imploring gesture, seems to express\nadmonition and prayer. Whether the mariner shall be saved by the\ngrace of this guardian angel, or fall by the wiles of the waiting\nfairies, is the question with which the gazer unwillingly leaves\nthe charming picture to turn to its companion piece.\n\n\"In the picture which we now consider, the principal figure is a\nyoung man with walking-staff and travelling-bag, who passes\nrapidly away from the narrow doorway of a house, and steps out\nboldly on the broad highway. He breathes freely, and an earnest\nsatisfaction speaks from his eyes. Joyfully starting out to meet\nlife, he takes notice neither of the noble matron who would hold\nhim back, nor of the affectionate maiden who longingly extends\nher hands to him, nor of the faithful dog that, although fastened\nby the chain, nevertheless raises himself entreatingly. From the\nwindows of an inn may be seen a waiter, standing at a counting\ntable and swinging his hat: a Jew stands in the way and holds out\na paper, which the wanderer refuses: at the well in the\nforeground a thoughtless maid nods saucily and piquantly to the\nyouth; and so far the picture represents a gay scene, a little\nsaddened by the quiet grief in the background; but, before the\nwanderer, who looks carelessly around, gapes an abyss, in which\nis suspended a frightful dead body, with a severe but honest\ncountenance. Its eyes are shut, but it raises the right hand\nwarningly toward the approaching youth, while the left rests on\nthe breast in quiet consciousness.\n\n\"And so,\" continued the narrator, \"the picture is finished.\"\n\nA short silence reigned in the company. The king rested gloomily\nin his chair; while the queen, on whom the affectionate daughters\nwere leaning, at length replied:\n\n\"The picture is finished, and we have an obscure allegory, to\nfind the key to which will not be difficult. Man and woman going\nfrom the narrow home-circle to enter upon life, leaving behind\nthem the sheltering paternal roof, and the innocent joys of\nchildhood; the youthful desire to toss upon tempestuous waters,\nor to journey on the parched highway; these are--or my feeling\nmust be very much at fault--the subjects which the poetical\npainter wishes to represent.\"\n\n\"Your majesty's penetration is equal to the solution of the most\nobscure enigma,\" replied the count; \"but in the attractive double\npicture lies still more, if one leave not out of notice that it\nis surrounded by a wreath of forget-me-nots; that the mariner\nwears these flowers in her hair, and the wanderer on his bosom.\n{641}\nThe artist thought to give the signification of the harmless\nlittle flower, and how well he has succeeded in painting its\ncharacteristics. The departing is for those remaining behind a\nforget-me-not; but even these who remain on the spot which the\nloved one leaves, desire to impress their remembrance on the bird\nof passage just as firmly. 'Forget me not!' call after her the\nsilver-haired father, the youthful friend, and the play\ncompanions of the maiden. 'Forget me not!' whispers the glorified\nmother out of the clouds, and the protecting spirit hovering over\nthe waters. Well for the mariner if she fail not to hear the\nwarning voice. Well for the youth, if the forget-me-not of the\nmother, the bride, and the creditor, cling long to his heart: he\nwill return true and noble, scorning the temptations on the way\nof life, and remembering the paternal honor, which, through the\ndumb mouth of the dead body, calls to him 'Forget me not!'\"\n\nThe queen rose hastily, nodded, as it seemed, overcome by tears,\nto the narrator, leaned upon the arm of her daughter, and\napparently struggling to hide her emotion, left the room. The\nking threw a disapproving glance after her, which finally met\nthat of the count, who stood transfixed in the middle of the\nhall, without knowing how or why so peculiar a circumstance had\ntranspired.\n\nThe courtiers had fallen back and were whispering among\nthemselves.\n\n\"Will your majesty condescend to point out to me whether any\nindiscretion of mine has caused the present event, or whether it\nmay be attributed to an unfortunate coincidence,\" said the count\ntimidly. Instead of answering, the ruler gave those standing\naround the signal of departure, and commanded the count to\nremain. Being called nearer, and permitted to sit opposite the\nking, he waited impatiently for the discourse which his commander\nshould direct to him.\n\n\"Your ignorance is excused,\" commenced the latter, in his usual\nshort manner of speaking, \"but the queen is unpleasantly affected\nby the name Forget-me-not. It is an old wound that has to-day\nbeen opened afresh, and hence the strange scene. It is, perhaps,\nnineteen years since I undertook the rule of this state. The care\nof it called me into the field against the enemy formed by the\nexiled royal family. I was but just married. In order to acquaint\nmy aged father-in-law with the fortunate result of a battle, I\nsent to the capital a young ordnance officer. He returned to the\ncamp at the time designated, but at the same time came secret\ndispatches from my zealous agents, who noted the disposition of\nthe people, and kept guard on the actions of the crown-princess,\nmy wife. The ordnance officer, who had long loved my wife in\nsecret, had, in special audience, received from her hands, a\nbouquet of forget-me-nots. My jealousy knew no bounds. In the\nnext tournament, the officer found his death, and--as it is\nsaid--on his breast lay the fatal flowers. After I had returned\nas victor, it became clear that my wife had intended this present\nfor me, and that she was unacquainted with the feelings of the\nunsafe messenger who had retained for himself the love-gift of a\nqueen. But now it was too late. Mother and sister mourned on his\ngrave, and the tender heart of my wife was so shocked by such a\ncatastrophe that even to-day, after so many years, her grief has\nagain been manifested.\" The king was silent, and leaned his head\non his hand. The count, overcome by the unusual confidence of his\nsovereign, and feeling himself inadequate to console, did not\nventure to reply.\n{642}\nThe king, instead of dismissing him, remained in troubled\nthought, while a bitter smile played around his mouth. \"Finally,\"\nhe continued, \"my position at that time was difficult. My zealous\ntemperament was bent on vanquishing the obstacles in the way of\nmy successful career. My motto was, 'Onward!' The people were\ndissatisfied that a man not of royal descent should have the\naudacity to claim the crown. I had, by force of arms, held the\nold king on his throne, banished the pretenders, and rescued the\npeople, the property, and the church. I had shown that no one\nunderstood better how to readjust the disorganized affairs of\nstate; but when the eyes of the old man closed, and I seized the\nsceptre, according to agreement, then arose a cry of\nconsternation. The fools had believed that I would give the house\nwhich I had built up to the alienated Merovingians, and myself be\nsatisfied with the position of major-domo. A conspiracy was\nformed. You remember that the flower forget-me-not passed for the\nsymbol of rebellion. The faction of the refugees have not yet\nforgotten the day on which I gave the command which the times\ndemanded. The first name which met me upon the list of those\nseized was Albo. The family of that officer bore this name. I\nknew that the baroness had hated me irreconcilably since the\ndeath of her son; that her daughter hated me not less, and that a\ndetermined ally of the exiles was about to offer his hand to the\nlatter. Now burst the bombshell. In the house of Albo were said\nto have been held meetings. The baroness was said to have sworn\nto give her daughter to the one among her countless suitors who\nwould take the most prominent part in my overthrow. My sternness\npassed the sentence of death upon the women; but the entreaties\nof my wife to whom it had been represented that the accusations\nwhich had been heaped upon the mother and daughter were only the\nwork of envy and private hatred--disarmed my sentence. I banished\nthe women, and confiscated their property. The bridegroom died in\nprison; and so the fate of that family was mournfully fulfilled.\"\nThe king then continued in a monotonous tone: \"I will not deny\nthat later I have thought of these poor women who must wander in\nexile, with a certain unwilling pity, and that still later I made\ninquiries concerning them. No trace of them could be found. But I\nsee that I have allowed myself to say more than is customary for\nme. We will pass to something else. Who is the painter who\nexecuted the picture of which you have spoken?\"\n\n\"Sire,\" replied the count, \"I do not know. He cannot, however, be\nunknown to the inspector of the gallery. I know only that he is\nnot one of your majesty's subjects, and that he begged permission\nto exhibit the double picture for a few days. For the present he\nremains in the capital.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" replied the king; \"no one but Cremati can have\ncreated this picture; his power alone manifests itself in such\nallegorical compositions; and the allusion to the\nforget-me-not--yes, yes, watchful man we will make peace, and thy\npride of art shall melt in the sunshine of my favor. I wish to\nsee the painter, count. You will take pains to bring him here. He\nwill not willingly obey, but an autographic command shall place\nall authority at your disposal. Depart as early as possible, and\nthe day after to-morrow I shall expect to see the painter. Good\nnight, count!\"\n\n{643}\n\nThe count departed, and the king retreated to his cabinet. After\na few fruitless struggles, he overcame the melancholy which\nclouded his soul, and went to the table, on which lay in great\nnumbers the reports and dispatches just brought in by the\ncourier. He sought impatiently among the letters for one, which\nwhen found, he broke with anxiously suspended breath; but after\nthe first line, the restless expectation vanished from his\nfeatures; cheerfulness spread over them, and with a light \"Good,\ngood!\" he took up the silver candlestick, impatient to share his\nsatisfaction, and opened the tapestry door which led into the\ncorridor connecting his rooms with the queen's. As he approached\nthe door, he heard voices, and upon entering found the queen\nsitting in an arm-chair, and leaning, in pleasant resignation,\nupon Eliza's shoulder. At their feet, on an ottoman, sat Sophia,\nthe younger princess, resting her smiling face on the mother's\nlap. The beautiful family picture charmed the king, and he\ncommanded the ladies, who would have risen in his honor, to\nremain in their positions. The group remained, but the former\nspirit was gone; and the king himself, after a few moments'\nthought, broke the restraint.\n\n\"I forgot,\" he said, as he gave his daughters a sign to leave\ntheir places, \"I forgot that my wish serves only to govern the\n_actions_ of my family, but cannot charm away a grief. I\ncannot approve of the tears which I see in your eyes, madame. You\nhave given to the court a spectacle, the cause of which is too\nantiquated to render it any longer excusable, and too unimportant\nto have been entrusted to your daughters, as I must imagine has\nbeen done.\"\n\n\"You err, sire!\" replied the queen, drying the last traces of\ntears from her eyes; \"the tenderness, not the curiosity of my\ndaughters has comforted me.\"\n\nThe princesses kissed the queen's hands caressingly, and the king\nreplied:\n\n\"Right; that I must commend; and to prove that it pleases me to\ngive pleasure, I will confide to you what gladdens my heart and\nsomewhat lightens my paternal cares. This letter from my\nambassador in a neighboring kingdom makes the heavens look\njoyful. The dissensions which have for so long a time threatened\nto separate that country and mine, are peacefully settled, and I\nhope to see soon at my court an ambassador with instructions to\nsue for Eliza's hand. So I have finally succeeded in entering\nfully into the band of sovereigns. The fortunate soldier is\nforgotten, and hereafter kings will speak to a king, and make\nroom in their ranks for him whom fortune raised to their level.\nMy name and the remembrance of my deeds will not pass away with\nmy body. If I am blessed with no son, my grandchildren will wear\nmy crown, and enjoy the fruits of my labors.\"\n\nThe queen gave him her hand softly, and spoke:\n\n\"May fortune still further attend you, gracious sire. Your wife\nwillingly submits to your wisdom, and your daughters will fulfil\nthe duties which your position imposes upon them.\"\n\n\"Have you not taught me early, beloved mother, that renunciation\nand offering is our destiny?\" said Eliza calmly, but sighing\nsoftly. \"I will obey my royal father without objection, without\ncomplaint, if--\"\n\n\"If the prince do not disappoint the ideal that a maiden's heart\nis accustomed to create,\" said the king, \"Be without fear, my\ndaughter; the prince is renowned as a second Bayard, whose\nbravery goes hand in hand with the most pleasant courtesy.\n{644}\nHe is not remarkably beautiful, as I understand, but moderately\nso, and possesses all those brilliant accomplishments which\npertain to a royal education. At least you will be able to boast\nof a better suitor than your mother, whom I, having neither the\nadvantage of beauty nor of birth, and grown up in the rough\ncustoms of the camp, won by the power of my sword, to the\nastonishment of her father. The brazen age ruled in the land\nthen, and my sword must cut out for your grandfather the royal\nrobe that he had taken from his cousins, as the people demanded.\nBut with your marriage, daughter Eliza, shall begin the golden\nage. I will give _f\u00eates_, and the world shall wonder before\nmy splendor as it has before my renown. This old Frankish\nbuilding shall put on a festival dress, and gleam with gay\npictures as for a carnival. Cremato comes again, and his brush\nshall prove worthy of my generosity.\"\n\n\"Cremato!\" repeated the queen wonderingly; \"Cremato,\" cried the\nprincesses together, as they recalled the wonderful, sprightly\nItalian, who had many times appeared at the court like a flying\nshadow, and as quickly disappeared; and who did not fear to\nexpress the strongest criticisms on the drawings of the royal\nchildren, but from whom the little students learned more in a\nquarter of an hour--when he sometimes condescended to\ninstruct--than from their well-paid court teacher in months. The\nqueen thought proper to send the curious princesses to their\napartments, a command that was quietly obeyed.\n\n\"What will Cremato here?\" she asked her husband who, sunken in\nplans for the brilliant future, walked silently back and forward.\n\"His name wakes only sorrowful recollections. Is there a new\nconspiracy to denounce? Shall blood flow again? Shall the\ninnocent again wander in misery? Speak, my husband! Why shall the\nterrible accuser, who has the misery of thousands on his soul,\nreturn?\"\n\n\"Woman condemns as quickly and as thoughtlessly as she excuses,\"\nreplied the king earnestly. \"Cremato, having by accident become\nacquainted with the first threads of the conspiracy, fulfilled\nthe duty of a brave citizen in disclosing them. Cremato owed this\nservice to the land and the prince who then gave him protection\nand security. The most indifferent stranger would have been to\nthat extent under moral obligations. Cremato rescued _thy_\nthrone through his denunciation. Neither for this favor nor the\ndisinterestedness which refused every reward does he deserve the\nunthankfulness which thy mouth has spoken against him. It is true\nthat many persons fell, but the pressure of necessity absolutely\ndemanded them. Therefore, no word more about it! For all I have\ndone--except one--I will answer before Him who judges the most\npowerful.\"\n\n\"And must this one example of vengeance work on for ever? Thy\nsuspicious jealousy drove poor Albo to a certain death; and\nstill, after my innocence was manifest, must make his family the\noffering of an ever insatiate revenge. Cremato's accusation--\"\n\n\"Not so,\" replied the king, with vexation. \"The guilt of the\nwomen came to my ear from another source. A report was spread\nthat Albo was sacrificed ... enough; the mother breathed\nvengeance, and for this the law demanded her life. I was gracious\nstill!\"\n\n{645}\n\n\"Fearful grace,\" cried the queen, \"which drove the unfortunate\nfrom their home and the graves of their dead, to wander in\npoverty and misery in a strange land. That was not what I asked\nwhen I prayed for mercy for the innocent. That was not what they\nexpected when they sent petitions to thy throne to recall the\nsentence, and to allow them to return to their native land, even\nif it must be in poverty and want.\"\n\n\"A ruler does not play with law and verdict like the conjurer\nwith a snake,\" spoke the king sharply. \"The women who were\nthirsting for revenge could not be allowed to come back at that\ntime: they cannot now: nevermore. And you, madame, might better\nlet the dead rest. Your feelings lead you to a false conclusion.\nThe gift of a few flowers caused the death of the thoughtless\nAlbo. Your tears for that are shed in vain. The youth's destiny\nand my passion bear all the blame. You are free from all\nresponsibility. Do not disturb yourself longer with frightful\nfancies. Leave the burden to my conscience. Admonishing to\nrepentance is of no use, and only embitters. Such attempts it\nwas, madame, that drove from my side the painter Cremato, to whom\nI had given my confidence. He did not accuse Albo's family, as\nyou falsely believe; he defended them only too boldly. He took\nthe liberty to speak to my conscience--to play the Massillon to\nme. I am tolerant only to a certain extent, and for nine years he\nhas avoided the court, at which he so often appeared and went\nlike a bird of passage.\"\n\n\"I did not know the man as you have painted him to me, sire,\"\nsaid the queen, only half convinced. \"My heart shudders before\nextreme punishment and severe retribution, therefore I trembled\nbefore the informer who called forth both at that time. You say\nhe comes again? Where has he lived, and how, until now?\"\n\n\"I must explain,\" replied the king, \"that I have no correct\naccount of this man's residence for some time. He was a person\nworthy to be the friend of a king. I am not a chief of police. I\nneed to know nothing more. Had he any settled dwelling-place? I\ndo not know. In my dominions he has only wandered back and forth\nsince that time. But, so much as I desire to see him again, I do\nnot know whether I should not rather dread the meeting, as for\nmany years I preserve his remembrance in fear.\"\n\n\"Fear!\" asked the queen, with wondering eyes; \"does the hero, my\nhusband, know the possibility of fear?\"\n\n\"The heart of iron trembles before the Eternal Judge, even when\nhe speaks through the fearless tongue of a human being,\" answered\nthe king, with anxiety depicted on his countenance. \"Cremato's\nlast words might convince thee, my guileless wife! He pleaded\nwith impetuous eloquence for Albo's sentenced family; painted\ntheir suffering, that they must die far from the land that bore\nthem, and asked their recall in the name of humanity. I refused.\n\n\"'Well!' spoke then the peculiar man, coldly and threateningly to\nme. 'I desist from further attempts to move the cold heart of the\nconqueror. Fortune's son no longer recognizes the unfortunate.\nBut, from now on, another shall speak to him in my stead. Albo's\nfall, and the accompanying circumstances, are no secret, and my\nbrush shall immortalize the unfortunate. His picture, in the pale\nmask of death--his picture--the herald of bloody tyranny, be my\nnext work, and the recollection that I leave to you, sire.\n{646}\nTake it as my legacy; and as often as an injustice or cruelty\ncomes into your soul, or on your lips, so often may this pale\nface, swaying on black ground, stand before your eyes. May it\nserve to moderate your vengeance: may it be to presumption a\nreminder of annihilation: may it sharpen the penitence of your\nconscience.' He went, but the sting of his words remained with me\nfrom that hour. My self-consciousness turned, thousands and\nthousands of times, back to the terrible picture which he had\nleft to torture me. Many times, as my dreaming thoughts wandered\nover my battle-fields, arose, from all the bodies only this one\ngiant countenance, ghost-like, before me. Often, when overcome by\nthe weariness of business, I rested upon a chair, I have seen on\nthe wall the promised picture--like to the old countenances of\nChrist, which swung on a black ground without neck or robe--\nfrightfully and threateningly coming nearer, as a phantasmagoric\nimage.\"\n\n\"Stop!\" cried the queen, in terror, for, in addition to the shock\nwhich the reference to Albo had given her, the countenance of her\nhusband had, while he had been speaking, become like that of a\nghost, and his voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper. \"The dreadful\nCremato,\" continued she, \"has he kept his word? How long has the\nunholy gift been in your hands? and have you destroyed it?\"\n\nThe king shook his head. \"I have never seen the painting,\" he\nanswered. \"Cremato has not kept his word; but I feel--I know\ncertainly--that the picture is ended; that it exists, and that,\nif it came into my hands, the strength to destroy it would fail\nme; but look upon it I could not, for my fancy has already\ncreated it to break my heart. Countless sentences has it\nmitigated, countless misfortunes arrested; for, whenever I have\ntaken the pen or opened the mouth to decide over the life,\nhappiness, or honor of any subject, I saw him--I saw Cremato's\ndreadful work opposite me.\"\n\nThe king stopped suddenly, took a few thoughtful steps through\nthe room, and went out; but the overpowering feeling which the\ndisclosure of the long-kept secret had aroused in him, prevented\nthe monarch's enjoying his rest. He left his couch, opened the\nwindow, and looked out into the still, cool summer night. The\ntrees of the grove whispered, while here and there a drop,\ncondensed from the moist air, fell sounding from leaf to leaf,\nand from the distance came an indistinct harmony, disturbing the\nsong of the nightingale. As the listener's ear became accustomed\nto the rustling of the forest, the distant sounds became more\ndistinct and figured themselves into a song that the king\nrecognized, while it recalled a sweet tide of youthful\nrecollections. The past, lying far back behind the confusion of\nendless wars, behind the tumultuous years of ambition and seeking\nfor glory, worked its nameless magic on his soul. He saw himself\nagain a boy on the rocks of the Mediterranean sea; he heard again\nas then--with never-ending satisfaction, the melodious song of\nthe fishermen as they rowed out in the golden gleaming of the\nmorning red, on in the rosy shimmer of evening when returning\ninto secure harbors and the peace of their homes.\n\n  O sanctissima,\n  O piissima\n  Dulcis Virgo Maria!\n  Mater amata,\n  Intemerata,\n  Ora pro nobis!\n\n{647}\n\nBut now it was no longer the strong tenor voices of the south,\nbut two sweet female voices, so low and melodious, that rest and\npeace came back to him, and turning to his couch, he murmured\nsoftly:\n\n\"Holy, blessed fatherland. The rolling fates have taken me from\nthy lap to fasten me in a strange land, with a strange crown, but\nwith blessings I think of thee; and blessed, thrice blessed,\nmay'st thou be, O my loved fatherland, my sweet home!\"\n\n ......\n\n\"That is not Cremato,\" spoke the king, as the count, according to\nthe command, presented the modest painter, a slender, handsome\nyouth, scarcely arrived at manhood.\n\n\"I am called Guido, sire!\" answered he fearlessly.\n\n\"Guido was always a fortunate name for one of your art,\" replied\nthe king, as he dismissed the count. \"I have heard good of you.\nHave you brought with you the picture of which the count has\nspoken?\"\n\n\"No, sire,\" said the painter; \"a liberal connoisseur had bought\nit and taken it away, before the command of your majesty reached\nme.\"\n\n\"What a misfortune!\" said the king condescendingly. \"I am a\npatron of art, and desire to employ your brush.\"\n\n\"I am sorry,\" replied Guido, \"that I have no specimen of my poor\ntalent to show to your majesty. But I have brought with me a work\nwhich I hope will obtain your favor, sire. I was on my way to\nyour court, and have Cremato's masterpiece to give to your\nmajesty.\"\n\nThe king became pale at these words. He looked at the painter\npiercingly, but as he received the glance without restraint,\nquestioned him further.\n\n\"Cremato! His last work? You, sir; perhaps his son?\"\n\n\"His student, gracious sire! his student who buried him a few\nmonths ago at Naples, and promised the dying man to bring the\npicture to your majesty.\"\n\n\"Cremato dead!\" sighed the king. \"In him died a true artist, a\npeculiar but noble man. I have never inquired further concerning\nhim. He was to me only a human being whom I could protect,\" added\nhe slowly. \"The last sign of his independence! You have brought\nit with you?\"\n\n\"Yes, your majesty,\" replied Guido. \"It stands in the anteroom. I\nhasten to bring it.\"\n\n\"Yet a word,\" began the king disturbedly to the artist. \"The\nsubject of the picture?\"\n\n\"For me a secret,\" answered Guido. \"The master worked on it with\nclosed door--embellished it with his own hands, and locked it in\nthe box. It stood long so, ready for departure. Cremato would\nentrust it only to me, and said to me, on his dying-bed, that\nonly your majesty knew what that picture designated.\"\n\nThe king's countenance cleared, and he allowed that Guido should\nbring the box, in which the picture was locked, into the room.\nWith a kind of grim horror, he refused to have it opened.\n\n\"Some other time,\" he said abruptly, \"I will see if you are the\nstudent of your teacher. Did Cremato leave relatives to whom I\ncan return the price of this masterpiece?\"\n\n\"A mother and two daughters,\" replied Guido. \"It is true, they\nare not pressed by want, but from a painter's inheritance is\nseldom left a surplus. Yet, do not pay for this gift in gold.\nWeighty grounds compel them to remain in a foreign land, and they\nwished to find a refuge in the kingdom that your majesty's wisdom\nmakes happy.\"\n\n{648}\n\n\"To take care of Cremato's daughters shall be my work, but\nperhaps his student has found his way to the heart of one of\nthem?\"\n\nGuido bowed blushingly and denied.\n\n\"I am already bound,\" said he, \"but to take to them the hope of\nyour majesty's grace will be my first duty. They will soon thank\nyou in person.\" The king bowed and said:\n\n\"Let yourself be presented to the queen and look at the drawings\nof my two young daughters. Cremato's pupil has certainly\ninherited quickness in art from him. His spirit is in your eyes.\nYou please me.\"\n\nHe dismissed the joyful painter and turned toward the secret\npicture. \"It seems to me,\" he said to himself, \"as if Albo's eyes\nlooked through the wood in order to wound me. Angry friend! On\nthy death-bed, hast thou after so many years kept thy pledge and\nmade the shade of the murdered one at home in my court? When will\nI obtain the strength to look at thy earnest work? To look at it!\nNever! I think I should die from the glance. I will never see it.\nI know it already too well. Away with it!\"\n\nWith his own hands he set the box away behind the heavy silken\ncurtain that fell down in long folds before a window. Then he\nthrew himself into an arm-chair and asked himself, \"How is it\npossible that one single deed performed in unjust revenge must\nperpetually swing its whip over my wounded heart? The fields\nwhich my battles have enriched with blood, the scaffolds which\nhave been erected in the course of time--these disappear when my\neyes look into the past; but Albo's grave lies ever open before\nthem.\"\n\n ......\n\nIt had become late in the evening. Government cares occupied the\nking. He had worked with his counsellors. The reception room was\ndeserted; but the tapers still burned in the rooms of the queen.\nThe Princess Sophia, overcome by weariness, had gone to her room.\nThe more beautiful sister kept her mother company. She endured\nimpatiently the reading of the governess. An indescribable unrest\nspoke in every movement of the beautiful maid. Her eyes rambled\nfrom the ceiling to the walls, then looked fixedly down at the\nfloor. The light work with which she employed herself did not\nincrease in her hands, and dropped, finally, entirely from them.\nWith growing unrest she changed her place a few times and started\nwhen the clock struck the departure of another hour.\n\nThe queen, a careful, loving mother, delayed not to notice this\nunusual behavior, and herself becoming anxious, took advantage of\nthe first suitable pause which came in the reading, and released\nthe lady from further duty for the evening. Mother and daughter\nremained alone.\n\n\"Please do me the favor to play something on the harp,\" said the\nmother to Eliza. \"The instrument that I once played so readily\nwill not do duty under my neglectful fingers. Quick young fingers\nsucceed better in bringing feeling out of its strings. Play, my\nchild; I need the enlivening.\"\n\nEliza obeyed. Her tender fingers glided over the strings in\nprelude. But the affectionate performer could not long hold the\nmeasured run of the selected piece. The restless, trembling\nspirit betrayed itself in the rising and falling tones. Andante\nbecame presto, and presently broke out into a striking\ndissonance.\n\n\"Forgive me, mother,\" cried the princess, springing up. \"I cannot\nplay any longer. My heart will break that I have since morning\nkept something secret, and secrecy must not be between you and\nme.\"\n\n{649}\n\n\"It shall not,\" replied the mother, calmly, \"because thy own\nfeelings lead thee to confide.\"\n\nThe princess came closer to the mother, and related that in the\nmorning, in her sister's room, almost under the eyes of Aja,\nwhile the strange painter was looking over Sophia's crayon\nsketches, a paper was dropped into her hands, on which she, with\nastonishment, read the words, 'Most gracious princess! Doubtless\nyour heart is what your lovely features speak, noble, tender,\ngracious, and charitable. Oh! will you plead for the unfortunates\nwho are hidden by Hergereita in the forest, and wait for a gleam\nof hope? Hear their prayer. Interest your elevated mother in this\nwork of love. Protect the most humble from the anger of your\nfather.' These strange, entreating words,\" continued the\nprincess, \"took possession of my heart. The painter must have\nplaced the paper in my hands. My searching glance read in his the\nanswer, 'Yes.' I should, perhaps, have scorned the boldness; but\nhis entreating glance disarmed me. I could not shame him before\nmy sister and the instructress. I concealed the paper, and this\nafternoon my devoted maid has spoken to Hergereita, and found an\nold, troubled-looking woman and two beautiful young girls, and,\nat my command, requested them to be in my room at eleven o'clock\nto hear how I can be useful to them. I should have liked to hear\nwhat the grieving ones wanted before speaking to you of them,\ndearest mother, but my unrest has betrayed me, and so, if you\nallow, I will bring the petitioners immediately before you.\"\n\n\"Thou hast done rightly, my daughter,\" said the queen, kissing\nEliza's brow. \"Thy trust excuses the censurable indiscretion of\ntaking a paper from a stranger's hand. We will together find out\nwhat the circumstances of the strangers are, and deal with the\nyoung artist according to the truthfulness of his\nrepresentation.\"\n\n\"The maid of her royal highness waits in the ante-room,\" said a\nmaid to the queen.\n\nEliza blushed.\n\n\"The pointer stands on the eleventh hour,\" whispered she. \"The\npetitioners are certainly already in attendance, and, if you will\nallow it, I will command that they be conducted here.\"\n\nThe queen consented. The princess gave the necessary command, and\nin a short time a lady, dressed in mourning, entered the room.\nShe seemed astonished at finding herself in the presence of the\nqueen; but this circumstance failed to deprive her of the\nsecurity of carriage which immediately betrayed her acquaintance\nwith life of the highest stand, although her dress belonged to a\ntime long past. Her noble, expressive countenance betrayed her\ngreat age, but the firm, erect gait almost denied the white hairs\nwhich spread out thinly under the black veil. With the usual bow,\nthe matron approached the queen, kissed, before she could prevent\nit, the hem of her robe, then arose, and spoke with a voice\nfilled with emotion:\n\n\"Your majesty sees before you a woman who has had the misfortune\nto become gray under sorrow, and older than her years would\nspeak. Unjust fate has finally overcome my pride, and now when I\nhave lost all except two hearts which love me, I pray only for\nthe favor to be allowed to die within the borders of this\nkingdom. The making of a new throne could not so rejoice your\nillustrious husband as a grave in this land would rejoice me.\"\n\n{650}\n\n\"Madame,\" replied the queen, astonished and overcome by the weary\nsadness in the suppliant's voice, \"before you speak further, who\nare you Your name?\"\n\nAt this moment the tapestry door opened, through which the king\nwas accustomed to enter, and the monarch appeared suddenly before\nthe women. The queen and Eliza were silent in terror. The\nstranger looked him fearlessly in the eyes. His wrathful look\nfell only on her. With a curious mixture of hardness,\nastonishment, and anger, he finally broke out into the words:\n\n\"Whom do I see here? What is passing here? How did you come into\nthis room, Frau von Albo?\"\n\n\"Albo!\" cried the queen, and threw herself upon the arm of her\ntrembling daughter.\n\n\"You have not forgotten me, sire!\" answered the lady, earnestly\nand firmly. \"For many years I have been unaccustomed to this\nname, and just here where it is proscribed I hear it again. Your\npresence, sire, decides my fate, which I would have intrusted to\nfriendly hands. Unjustly banished from your state, I know only\ntoo well that I stand before you now as a criminal. I have\nstepped over the ban, and death is my fate. Dispose of this gray\nhead as you will, only protect my grand-daughters, my king! Their\nmother has departed. They do not bear the hated name of Albo. Let\nthem live in the home of their mother, to plant flowers on mine\nand their uncle's grave.\"\n\nFor a long time the king made no reply, but his expression was\ndark and menacing.\n\n\"I am no tyrant who thirsts for your blood,\" said he finally,\n\"but guilty you are. I must know how all this has come about.\"\n\nEliza threw herself at her father's feet, and related to him what\nhad happened.\n\n\"Guido!\" replied the king, and pulled the bell, \"this\npresumptuous stranger shall answer to me on the spot.\"\n\nThe servant, who had come, was ordered to bring the painter\nimmediately into the royal presence. The lady appeared to hear\nnothing of all that was passing. Her eyes raised toward heaven\nand her lips moving as if in prayer, she stood there as if\nseparated from her surroundings and belonging to another world.\nThe queen spoke conciliatingly to her husband, but his features\nremained hard and dark.\n\n\"Must pictures of a miserable past swing for ever before me?\"\nmurmured he. \"Must death resign the booty long due him in order\nto torment me? And what could have induced you, Frau von Albo,\nnow that you are on the verge of the grave, and have lived so\nlong away, to put yourself into such a position?\"\n\n\"Age makes me a child again,\" replied the baroness quietly. \"I\nwas miserable in the strange land; I must, even at the price of\nmy life, see once again the spot which bore me. It remains my\nfatherland, in whose bosom my bones would gladly rest near those\nof my son.\"\n\n\"O sanctissima!\" sang the two angel voices through the forest,\nand the tones came through the open window, and the king thought\nagain of his fatherland, and sighed deeply.\n\nAt that moment the painter Guido entered, quickly and boldly.\n\"Your command, your majesty,\" said he. The baroness interrupted\nhim with the words, \"I have lost my play, most gracious prince,\nand I commend to you the orphans whom I must leave.\"\n\n\"That will God and the brave king's magnanimity not allow,\"\nreplied the betrayed, and went reverently to the royal pair.\n{651}\n\"I am Prince Julius,\" said he. \"I wished to convince myself,\nwithout being recognized, whether the soul of the beautiful\nprincess, whose hand I wish to gain, were like her rare charms.\nMy hope has not deceived me, and my confidence in your majesty's\ngrace will surely be justified to the favor of the two innocent\nsuppliants whom I recommend to your mercy.\"\n\nThe queen bowed pleasantly to the prince. Eliza, overcome by\ndelighted surprise, clung bashfully to her mother. The king\nreached his hand to the prince and spoke with light reproach.\n\n  ...\n\n\"The young hero, who is so welcome to my court, had no need of\ndissimulation in order to call out my justice. His word alone\"\n....\n\n\"Sire!\" The prince interrupted him, \"I flattered myself that the\ncircumstances themselves would speak to the heart of the wisest\nof kings more than any word of the undistinguished man who would\nconsider himself happy if the ruler whom he so admires would\nallow him to become his student and belong to his family.\"\n\nThe ambition of the king was so flattered by these words from a\ndescendant of an old royal family that he, with joyful pride, led\nthe exultant Julius to Eliza, with the words, \"My prince, your\nbride.\" Turning toward the baroness, he spoke, \"You have placed\nyourself under the protection of the queen. I will not have seen\nyou, but a woman who conspires against me I will not endure in my\nkingdom. Go back. An amount sufficient to meet your expenses\nshall show that I do not allow private vengence to work against\nyou--I cannot do more.\"\n\n\"Away from the home!\" cried Frau von Albo sorrowfully; \"no, no,\nnever! Be merciful, your majesty! I have never plotted against\nyou. The mother's heart commanded itself. I have never cursed\nyou. The calumniation of your dead chancellor ruined me and\nchased me into banishment, and still I have never cursed you.\nTherefore show mercy. Do not keep an old woman in doubt. My\ndaughter found her grave in the waves. I cannot seek it out to\ndie on it. The grave-mound of my son is in this land. I cannot\nleave it again. Keep the gift of your graciousness, sire! Keep\nthe property which was unjustly taken from us. Take my life. Take\nthe last treasure, the legacy of my son; only let me finish my\ndays here where I was born.\" In the outburst of feeling, the\nbaroness had pulled a letter from her bosom, and with trembling\nhands handed it to the king. A few withered forget-me-nots,\nsprinkled with drops of blood, fell out on the floor. The king\nand queen stood trembling, and \"O sanctissima!\" sounded anew,\nblessing and entreating, through the silent grove.\n\n\"Whence these wonderfully entrancing tones of home?\" asked the\nking quickly.\n\n\"Cremato's daughters it is,\" answered Prince Julius, \"and here\nstands his mother. Albo's sister was Cremato's wife, and, shortly\nbefore his death, perished on a pleasure excursion near the\ncoast. Grief for her loss hastened his death, and his family, to\nwhom your majesty to-day promised your protection, pray for a\nhome in their fatherland. Shall they pray in vain?\"\n\n\"Cremato the husband of your daughter?\" asked the king,\nastonished. \"Riddles multiply.\"\n\n{652}\n\n\"In our humiliation and poverty in a foreign land, the strange\nman found us,\" answered the lady. \"Less love than the warmest\nthankfulness which we owed gave him my daughter. God bless the\nnoble man!\" \"God bless him!\" said Julius quickly. \"He was nobler\nthan even his family knew. I was his student. To me he disclosed\nhimself. His conscience had compelled him to discover that plot.\nHis feelings tortured him when he discovered that Albo's innocent\nfamily had, through calumniation, become entangled in the\nterrible affair. Unable to disarm the anger of the insulted\nmonarch, he sought untiringly the helpless family; found them,\nand compelled himself to take the yoke of marriage in order to\nbecome the protector of those whom he had undesignedly and\nunknowingly driven into ruin. The noble man kept his relations\nsecret from the king, and left his court after he had proved that\nthe hatred against the name of Albo was ineradicable. The king\nhad never discovered that Cremato was his countryman. On his\ndeath-bed he confided to me his family and that picture which I\nhave never seen. A picture which I finished after Cremato's plan,\nand had exhibited, attracted the notice of the lord chamberlain,\nand brought me here more quickly. Cremato's remembrance; that\nfatherland song that Cremato had taught his children; the sight\nof this worthy matron, of the noble queen, and your angel\ndaughter's entreaties, shall finally move the heart of the king;\nand if I see rightly, if these be really tears which fill the\neyes of the most noble-hearted monarch, then has my plan\nsucceeded, and this night makes three happy.\"\n\nThe king was silent, struggling with his emotion. All eyes were\nfixed on him.\n\n\"Take up the flowers,\" said he. Then, deeply moved, to Albo's\nmother: \"I am not able to give you anything more precious, even\nwhen I return to you all the property that you have lost. Albo's,\nCremato's mother, be greeted! forget as I forget. The few days\nthat remain to you shall be peaceful, and your granddaughters\nshall be my care.\"\n\n\"Most noble king!\" cried Julius, and fell on his breast. Wife and\ndaughter embraced him. The baroness folded her hands and prayed.\n... \"Oh! see, my Albo, how he redeems the past! Oh! forgive him,\nthe repentant, as I forgive him!\"\n\nAs the king freed himself from this embrace, two beautiful\nmaidens lay at his feet and moistened his hands with their tears.\nThey were Cremato's daughters. \"O sanctissima!\" he sighed, and\nsoftly left the room to hide his tears.\n\n\n\nThe monarch kept his word, and peace reigned in his kingdom. But\nCremato's picture he ventured not to look upon, and for long\nyears it stood locked behind that curtain. The baroness had long\nsince slept in her grave, and her granddaughters were happy\nmothers by their own firesides.\n\nA host of blooming grandchildren, Eliza's and Sophia's sons, had\nmade the king himself a grandfather. Then death came upon him\nslowly, and warned him to quit the stage of life. Joyfully he\nmade himself ready, and willingly allowed the crown, so valueless\nto the dying, to glide from his hands. Satisfied with life, and\nresigned to death, he asked calmly to see Cremato's picture. \"I\nam strong,\" he said to the weeping wife, the only one entrusted\nwith that secret. \"Myself in the arms of death, the countenance\nof the dead will no longer terrify me.\" The cover fell;\ncourageously the king threw his glance upon the glowing\nbackground, and the light of transfiguration came over his face.\n\"It was no ghastly figure of death. A cherub, beaming in heavenly\nlight and glory, nodded from the clouds. Ethereally beautified,\nAlbo's features smiled upon him; the right hand of the angel\npointed above, and the left reached out conciliatingly the wreath\nof forget-me-nots, taken from the golden hair.\n\nThe work of the noble painter, a sign of his love for man and his\ntrust in God, transformed the last struggle of the monarch to the\ngentlest peace.\n\n\"Cremato! Albo!\" stammered he, going smilingly. \"Wife! Children!\nMy people! farewell! and thou, my fatherland, Forget me not!\"\n\n    --------\n\n{653}\n\n\n           \"Couture's Book.\"\n\n\nPerhaps it would have been more according to rule to have headed\nthis article, \"Painting-Room Method and Conversations,\" which is\nthe title the author gives his work. But as it is invariably\nspoken of and thought of as \"Couture's Book,\" I have but followed\nin the wake of others. The fact is, this is no regular book; it\nis but a series of printed talks, so characteristic, so entirely\nstamped with the individuality of the writer, that those who know\nhim recognize his peculiar expressions, his eccentricities of\nmanner, and almost seem to see his familiar gestures through its\npages. Therefore it seems perfectly natural to call it \"Couture's\nBook.\"\n\nCouture, as all those well know who are at all familiar with\nmodern French art, is one of those who has done most to raise and\ninvigorate it. His great picture, the Roman Orgie, is in the\nprincipal room of the Luxembourg, of which it is one of the\ngreatest ornaments. It is not my province to criticise him as an\nartist; others, far more capable, have given a favorable verdict\nlong since. My purpose is to speak of his book, and to say\nsomething of the author personally, as the best means of\nunderstanding it.\n\nIn his tenth chapter, M. Couture gives us an interesting glimpse\nof his early days, and of the gradual development of his powers.\nAll through life, one of his most striking characteristics seems\nto have been his utter inability to learn by rule; as a child, he\nwas looked upon as almost a dunce, and his elder brother, who, as\nhe expresses it, was \"nibbling at Latin,\" looked down upon him\nfrom his height. From his earliest years, however, he had the\npassion of reproduction. Before he understood the use of pencils,\nhe would cut out, with his mother's scissors, the outlines of all\nhe saw. Later, he became painter-in-ordinary to all the boys of\nthe neighborhood, and, by the help of the little men and women he\ndrew and painted, became rich in tops and marbles. But, when his\nfather, a man of remarkable intelligence for his station in life,\nplaced him with a drawing-master, the \"petit Thomas\" could do\nnothing; he did not understand his master's instructions; he\ncould not copy the models placed before him; he longed for\nnature, and for liberty to imitate just what struck his fancy.\nThe result was, that the drawing-master, after a few months'\ntrial, declared him to be wanting in capacity, and he was taken\naway!\n\n{654}\n\nThe child is father to the man, and all through life, the cause\nof nearly all his trials and disappointments, and perhaps, too,\nof his successes, has been this inability to subject himself to\nestablished rules. He entered the _atelier_ of Gros, as\nstudent, and fell sick with disappointment when, on a certain\noccasion, spurred on by the master's encouragement and advice, he\nproduced what he calls a most pitiable failure; while, on the\nother hand, several of his attempts--the unaided works of his\nown inspiration--excited great admiration, and turned the public\nattention on the young painter. Finally, he determined to\nrenounce master and rules, to trust to his own instinct, and to\nturn to public opinion for judgment. He succeeded; the public\nrecognized and appreciated him. Nevertheless, this same disregard\nfor established criterions, for academic dignities, etc., has\nproved the source of much annoyance to him; and, for some years\npast, M. Couture has refused to exhibit, or to bring himself\nforward in any way, as an artist. Abandoning himself to the joys\nand cares of a happy home-circle, enjoying his modest fortune as\nonly a man who has known poverty, and has fought hard against it\nfor nearly thirty years can, he lets people say what they will of\nhim, and, with sturdy independence, works when he likes, and at\nwhat he likes. Of course, all sorts of reports circulate about\nhim, and I have been told more than once, \"Oh! as for Couture, he\nis dead; he can produce nothing more.\"\n\nNot long ago, an artist, a firm friend of M. Couture, took me to\nsee him. We were told by the _concierge_ that monsieur was\nat home, _au premier, \u00e0 droite_. So _au premier, \u00e0\ndroite_ we went; rang; the door was opened by a respectable\nman-servant; but just behind him was an extraordinary looking\npersonage; it was M. Couture himself, who, with the curiosity of\na child, wanted to see who was there. Imagine a figure scarcely\nfive feet high, immensely fat--stout is not the word--with a red\nscarf tied round the huge waist, the shirt-collar open,\nuntrammelled by any vestige of a cravat, and luxuriating in a\nsort of loose woollen jacket. There he stood, shaking his\nfriend's hand, slapping him on the back, a hearty, kindly,\npuffing, panting engine of humanity. When I heard him talk,\nhowever, I forgot his unpoetic exterior; the flashing eye, the\nwonderful power of mimickry, the modulating of the voice,\nfascinated me. I have seen many good actors, but none who\npossessed the art of bringing scenes, people, expressions, so\ncompletely before one, as M. Couture. Everything he touches upon\nbecomes a picture, color and truth everywhere. This is eminently\nthe case with his book; he himself could only be taught through\npictures--brought to his mind by the colors of the painter, the\nwords of a writer, or the harmonies of the musician; through\npictures he instructs others.\n\nBut to return to my visit. We were hospitably dragged into his\nden; a simple room joining the parlor, with no pretensions of\nbeing a studio about it. There was a picture on the easel, casts\nand drawings scattered around, an admirable portrait of his\nfather, for whom he had an unbounded admiration, and a charming\nlittle flower-piece which was the bouquet he presented to his\nwife on her birthday; a few flowers in a glass, nothing more, but\nthese few flowers, with the dewy softness and fragrance of nature\nabout them, revealed the master's hand to me, as clearly as the\nmore pretentious picture on which he was then working.\n\n{655}\n\n\"You have read my book, they tell me?\"\n\n\"Yes, M. Couture, and I admire it; for it is so simple, so easy\nto be understood.\"\n\nThis seemed to please him.\n\nBut I find I have allowed myself to gossip on, and have not given\nyou as yet any of those foretastes of the book which I promised\nmyself should be the staple of this article. I want, by these\nforetastes, to interest Americans in this work which, by the\nsimple wisdom of its maxims, the result of thirty years' work and\nexperience, is eminently fitted to be a guide to young artists.\nThen, too, it is dedicated to America. M. Couture has a real\nsympathy and admiration for our vigorous, ever-growing country.\nSome of his favorite pupils were Americans, and of late years,\nmost of the pictures which have left his easel have been\npurchased by our wealthy countrymen. I cannot resist the\ntemptation of telling you an anecdote _\u00e0 propos_, which I\nheard from a reliable source, and which is very characteristic:\n\nA New York amateur went to M. Couture, and bespoke a picture. But\nthe artist was probably in a lazy mood, and the picture lagged.\nSome friends of the New York gentleman warned him that it was\noften years before Couture would finish a commission, as he never\nworked unless the fancy took him.\n\n\"But,\" added one of them, \"he is a strictly honorable man; attack\nhim from that point, and you will have your picture.\"\n\nSo the amateur, writing a very polite note to the artist,\nenclosed the sum agreed upon as the price of the picture.\n\nBefore long, panting and puffing from the unusual exertion,\nCouture rushed to the gentleman's apartments, exclaiming, as soon\nas he could get breath:\n\n\"But you other Americans, you are a people of very singular\ncustoms! Here; what for you send me the pay before you get the\npicture?\"\n\n\"O M. Couture! I have such perfect faith in your honor.\"\n\nThe artist stopped, seemed to think it over a few moments, then\nexclaimed:\n\n\"You shall have it, your picture!\"\n\nAccordingly, shortly after, the picture was finished and\ndelivered.\n\nIn his original and clever introduction he says:\n\n\"I am an unlearned man; I know nothing; having had no\ninstruction, I feel that I can inspire sympathy, only by a\nprofound sincerity. Can a man, owing what he has only to his\nbattle of life, his observations, and the shreds of knowledge and\nglimpses of books which came to him like real godsends, inspire\ninterest? I doubt it, and I am even pretty sure that many people\nwill find it preposterous that one should dare to write a book\nwithout having gone though the necessary studies. To these\npersons I will answer by my book itself wherein I try to prove\nthat in everything a simple, sincere expression of sentiment is\npreferable to a learned expression thereof; for this plain\nreason, that men, getting their instruction through books are apt\nto forget, in the multiplicity of documents which absorb them,\nthe good and true road--nature; to such I will say, 'You have the\nuniversity on your side; well, as for me, I have my God, and do\nnot fear you.' ...\n\n\"It would be well, I think, to reassure the humble. Therefore, I\nsay, have faith in your soul; follow your God who is within you,\nexpress what he inspires, and do not fear to oppose your divine\nlights to the horrible Chinese lanterns of the university.\nEnlighten and guide in your turn those who would restrain you by\nridicule.\n\n{656}\n\n\"If you are a farmer, speak of the products of the earth; if you\nare a business man, speak of that business which you understand;\nif you are an artist, speak of your art. Do not fear the\ninelegance of your language; it will always be excellent.\nWhatever you may say, you who understand that of which you speak,\nyou can never express yourself more foolishly than those who make\nan art of words. ...\n\n\"I compare myself, in my literary mishaps, to a man surprised in\na storm. He seeks a refuge to save the brightness of his boots;\nbut the hour of rendezvous is close at hand, and it still pours.\nHe makes a dash, keeping close to the houses; the rain redoubles\nits fury, and he is glad to find shelter under a\n_porte-coch\u00e8re_. There he stoops and examines himself; his\nboots have lost their lustre, his pantaloons are covered with\nmud; a porter, companion of his misfortune, has wiped the load of\nvegetables he carried, on his back. The irreproachableness of his\nattire is gone; he need no longer protect it; he accepts his fate\nbravely, and ceases to concern himself. He starts with a firm,\ngrave step, and, as a first success, obtains the admiration of\nothers less brave. Encouraged in his new resolution, he walks on\nunheeding the water which rises above the ankle; he comes to a\ntorrent; he throws himself in without hesitation, and swimming,\nreaches the other side; another step, and he pulls the doorbell.\nThe door opens. What a triumph! Misfortune has crowned him with\nher poetic charms. He is surrounded, cared for, and soon finds\nhimself clad in comfortable clothes, with his feet in the host's\nslippers; he enlivens the guests with the recital of his Odyssey.\n\n\"This is my portrait, dear reader; all bespattered with ink, I\ncome to ask you to take me in.\n\n ...\n\n\"Let us return now to that which has given me courage to write.\n\n\"I received my second lesson from the greatest writer of the age.\nMadame George Sand was good enough to give me a seat in her box,\nto hear the _Champi_. You know that in this charming play, a\nyoung lover wants to speak too well to her he loves; he has\nprepared his discourse with such care, and has so many fine\nthings to say, that, when the decisive moment comes, all his\nideas get inextricably mixed; the lover soon perceives that he is\ntalking very badly and that his defeat is owing to his unlucky\nhead; fortunately for him, however, his heart is on fire, and\nwill be heard; then he speaks as he feels, and you know if he\nspeaks well!\"\n\nSo much for the introduction; now let us turn to the real object\nof his book--artistic instruction. I am sure all those who have\nfelt the difficulties to be undergone by all beginners in art,\nwill feel grateful to M. Couture for the simple, concise way in\nwhich he explains what the experience of many years has taught\nhim. They will observe how carefully he avoids any fine phrases\nwhich seem to say much, and which in reality merely serve to\nbewilder the student. Listen to what he says of\n\n{657}\n\n          Elementary Drawing.\n\n\"What is to be done in order to draw well?\n\n\"Place yourself in front of the object to be represented; have\ngood tools, which must be kept neat and clean; look at what you\nsee with much greater attention than at your own reproduction of\nit; keep--pardon my arithmetic--three quarters of an eye for the\nmodel, and one quarter for the drawing.\n\n\"Commence your drawing from a first distance, compare those which\nfollow, making them subservient to the first.\n\n\"Establish either an imaginary or a real horizontal and\nperpendicular line before the objects to be represented; this\nmeans is an excellent guide which should always be adhered to.\n\n\"When, by slight indications, you have determined, established\nyour places, look at nature with your eyes half closed. This\nmanner of looking simplifies objects; details disappear; you then\nperceive nothing but the great divisions of light and shade. Then\nestablish your masses; when these are correctly placed, open your\neyes completely, and add the details, but with great moderation.\n\n\"Establish what I call dominants for your lights and shades. Look\nat your model attentively, and ask yourself which is its\nstrongest light, and place it on your drawing there, where it is\nin nature; as, by this means you establish a dominant, you must\nof course, not exceed it; all other lights must be subordinate to\nit. The same thing must be said, the same calculation must be\nmade, for the shadows; rub in your strongest vigor, your most\nintense black; then use it as a guide, a diapason, in order to\nfind the value of your different shadows and half-tints.\"\n\nNothing can be more to the point, more simple than this, and\nsurely M. Couture exemplifies what he says in his introduction:\nthat what is felt strongly, and understood clearly, will be\nexpressed with equal strength and clearness. He goes on to say\nwith regard to\n\n\n         Elementary Principles Of\n         Drawing From Nature.\n\n\"You will only be able to copy the mobile objects of nature, when\nyou are very certain of finding your places with rapidity; the\nmeans are always the same, but their application is more\ndifficult. Therefore constant practice is necessary. A musician\nwould say to you, Scales, more scales! and I say to you, Draw,\ndraw incessantly! Draw from morning to night, in order to\nexercise your eye, and to acquire a steady hand.\"\n\nThe practical part of his book, M. Couture enlivens and\nillustrates by anecdotes taken from his own experience; these are\nthe pictures by which, principally, he seeks to convey\ninstruction. I will translate one of them for you:\n\n\"A young German entered my _atelier_ to perfect himself, as\nhe said, in his art; he made, as a beginning, a drawing which\nshowed much technical ability.\n\n\"I complimented him on his cleverness, but at the same time told\nhim that he had not copied his model faithfully, and that it\nwould give me great pleasure to see his talent dedicated to the\nservice of nature.\n\n\"'But indeed, sir,' said the young man, 'I assure you that I\ncopied with the greatest exactitude.'\n\n\"'You think so; did you look at your model very attentively?'\n\n\"'Yes, sir, I did.'\n\n\"'It may be so,' and while talking, I turned his drawing around.\n'With whom did you study in Germany?'\n\n\"The conversation continued--then looking at the model who was\nstanding, I said to him:\n\n\"'That is a superb model of yours; beautiful form, fine color, is\nit not so, what think you?'\n\n\"'Yes, sir.'\n\n{658}\n\n\"'See now, how the light inundates the chest; evidently that is\nthe most luminous part of the body.'\n\n\"'Yes, sir.'\n\n\"'Are you certain of it?'\n\n\"'Yes, sir.'\n\n\"'Then show me.'\n\n\"'See,' said he showing me the part where the light struck most\nforcibly; 'it is evidently there, that the most brilliant spot is\nfound.'\n\n\"'I am willing to believe, and perceive with pleasure, that to a\nskilful hand you join a sound judgment. Decidedly you have a\ndelicate perception of the value of light and shade; you will be\nable to render me great services. Let us see now, which is the\nmost luminous point in your drawing.'\n\n\"Not seeing my purpose, he replied with great _naivete_ that\nit was found on the knee.\n\n\"'It is not possible.'\n\n\"'Yes, sir; permit me to observe to you that if one were to\ncompare that light to the other lights of the drawing, this one\nwould be found to be decidedly the brightest.'\n\n\"'Very well, then; why is your light not placed as it is in\nnature? You see very clearly that it is found on the chest, and\nyou put it on the knee; why not on the heel? And you will tell me\nthat you copy your model faithfully! You will allow me to tell\nyou that you have paid no attention to your differences of light.\n... Very well; one may easily make mistakes;' and I once more\nturned his drawing around. 'You have great painters in Germany.\nOverbeck, Cornelius, Kaulbach, all have talent of a high order.\n... Oh! just see how, at this moment, the model is well lighted;\nwhat brightness; what vigor in the shadows! See that hair; it is\nlike velvet, and the shadows of the head, how transparent and\nstrong; it reminds one of Titian; do you not think so? the\ncrisping hair, matted; the blood rising to the head and the\nthroat; all this is splendid in color, and is of far greater\nimportance than all the rest. What think you? Suppose we turn\nyour drawing to see if you have rendered the effect we have just\nbeen admiring. Let us see! Why, it is singular; you have\nforgotten that too!'\n\n\"'Yes, sir. I see it now.'\n\n\"'You see your head is colorless, and gives the idea, of\npapier-mache; you have the same fault in your shadows as in your\nlights. ... In your work you compared nothing; absorbed by\ndetails, you saw them only; drawing small parts, you forgot the\nrest, and went on blindly.'\n\n   ......\n\n     Occupations Of A Young Artist\n     Outside Of His Art.\n\n\"'You know it now; you are to draw morning, noon, and night; you\nhave to bedaub a great many canvases, to use up a great many\ncolors, and that for a long time. These exercises, these\ngymnastics not being very fatiguing, you can make good use of\nthis period, to improve your mind with reading good books; the\nold classics, and our French classics too, it is well to study.\nBut for you, artist, there are certain authors which I wish to\npoint out to you, and which you will find of great use. Homer,\nVirgil, Shakespeare, Moli\u00e8re, Cervantes, Rousseau, Bernardin de\nSainte Pierre.\n\n\"In the first three, you will find grand lessons, useful to your\nart. Homer gives us primitive simplicity; Virgil, rhythm;\nShakespeare, passion. Moli\u00e8re, too, will make you understand how\nyou may ally fine language, beauty of form, to the expression of\ntruth.\n\n{659}\n\n\"Read a great deal; absorb much; you are young, you will find\ndigestion easy.\n\n\"Keep good company, and frequent especially the society of young\nmen already advanced in art.\n\n\"Above all, beware of wanting to appear more than you really are;\nbeware especially of using the sentiments of others, instead of\nyour own; there is ruin; there, is darkness. Dare to be yourself:\nthere is light. Be truly Christian; soften your heart; above all,\nbe humble; in the art of painting, humility is your greatest\nstrength.\n\n  ......\n\n\"Being prepared by excellent reading, give your studies a good\ndirection. Be careful to avoid ugliness.\n\n\"You should always carry about with you a small sketch-book, and\ndash in, with a few lines, the beauties which impress you; any\nstriking effects, natural poses, etc. Do not forget to make\nyourself ant, bee; work indefatigably, and make for yourself, as\nsoon as possible, a treasure-house of abundance. Exercise\nyourself early in composition, but always with elements gathered\nfrom your own experience.\n\n\"Form the habit of absolute truth.\" ....\n\nNotice how in the foregoing admirable passages, the author\ninculcates the spirit of truth, as the fundamental principle of\nall art. This has proved the secret of his own success; his\nhonest, child-like faith in nature, and his simple earnestness in\ncopying it, are noticeable in all his works. It would be well if\nour young artists took this lesson to heart. We have talent in\nour country, great talent even; but it has no stamp of\nindividuality; it imitates, it is half afraid of being original,\ntherefore it stops short of greatness. This perhaps is the case\nwith other things beside painting, and plausible excuses are to\nbe found for it; we are a young nation, composed of heterogeneous\nelements; this is true, but we shall not thoroughly command the\nrespect of the nations, and take our proper place among them,\nuntil, as they say of young folks, our character is more formed.\nThen we shall see more earnest truthfulness in everything. Art\nwill take shape and consistency, and we shall hear people talk of\nthe American school as an established fact, like those of France,\nBelgium, England, etc. This exposition year has naturally been\none of comparison. It is a grand thought to have all the schools\nbrought together, to compete for superiority. Our place in the\nhuge building is a small one, and though there are clever\npictures in the American art department, yet we shall have to\nmake immense progress, before we conquer a place by the side of\nthe French and Belgians. But our time will come, I feel\nconfident.\n\nBut I must interrupt my patriotic prophecies, and let you enjoy,\nas I did, this anecdote of B\u00e9ranger. I select it from others, for\nI thought it would be interesting, both as giving an insight into\nthe artist's theory, and as affording a life-like glimpse of a\ngreat poet. Couture relates it _\u00e0 propos_ to his remarks on\nportrait-painting; of the necessity under which the artist\nlabors, of being two men in one; of amusing, enlivening his\nsitter, of bringing out his best expression, so that the light of\nthe inner man may shine through the features; and at the same\ntime of being the artist, watchful, eager, earnest, with his mind\nintent on his work; catching the gleams of intelligence he\nevokes, and transfixing them to the canvas.\n\nThere are but few who possess this quality.\n\n{660}\n\n                B\u00e9ranger.\n\n\"I was urged to paint a portrait of B\u00e9ranger. This I did not care\nto do. I had a great admiration for his talent and for his\ncharacter; I feared that seeing him, becoming acquainted with his\nperson, might lower the ideal I had formed of him. ...\n\n\"At last a charming letter from Madame Sand, which was to serve\nas an introduction, decides me; I start, and soon find myself in\nRue d'Enfer.\n\n\"I ask the _concierge_ for M. B\u00e9ranger. 'The right-hand\nstaircase, there, in the court.' I direct my steps toward said\nstaircase, ascend; before long I am stopped by a door; I. knock.\nShuffling steps are heard, an old man appears, wrapped in a gray\ndressing-gown made of some common stuff.\n\n\"'M. B\u00e9ranger?'\n\n\"'I am he.'\n\n\"While answering, he held his door tight, leaving but a small\nopening.\n\n\"'What do you want?'\n\n\"It would have been easy to present my letter of introduction;\nbut I had had the evil thought to keep it. It was a precious\nautograph, signed with a very celebrated name. In it, it is true,\nI was judged in terms far too flattering, but one willingly\nabides by such kindly exagerations. In it too, my favorite poet\nwas spoken of--the temptation was too strong to be resisted. I\nbegan to expiate my fault; I stammered a few words; I showed the\npaper and crayon which I had brought with which to make my\ndrawing, for it was necessary to add action to words, so hostile\nwas the aspect of the great man ... alas! my defeat was complete,\nthe door was closing. ...\n\n\"'No sir,' he said, 'it is disagreeable to me; there are many\nportraits of me: among the number some are excellent; make use of\nthese portraits, and leave me in peace.'\n\n\"Once more the door seemed on the point of being shut; all was\nlost.\n\n\"'Well, M. B\u00e9ranger, I only get what I deserve, for I have been\nguilty of a bad action; I was to have given you a letter; I kept\nit. I thought, so great was my vanity, that I could present\nmyself without its aid, and commit this petty theft. I am\npunished, and it is but just.'\n\n\"I turned to go, covered with confusion and shame; the door\nopens.\n\n\"'What is your name?'\n\n\"I turned to answer him.\n\n\"'My name is Couture.'\n\n\"'You are not Couture who painted the _D\u00e9cadence des\nRomains!_'\n\n\"'Yes, sir.'\n\n\"I felt myself seized by my waistcoat, pulled in violently, then\nI heard the terrible door close but this time I was inside,\npushed up against the wall of the entry.\n\n\"'You Couture? is it possible? you so young; why, what was I\nabout to do--I was going to shut the door in your face!'\n\n\"'It was already done, M. B\u00e9ranger.'\n\n\"'But don't you know that I adore you? don't you know that it is\none of the dreams of my old age to have my portrait by you? do I\nconsent to sit? why, I am entirely at your disposition!'\n\n\"Then, taking me by the hand, he presented me to his venerable\nwife, saying:\n\n\"'This is Couture, and I was on the point of sending him about\nhis business.'\n\n\"I was deeply touched by this reception. When we were both\nsomewhat calmed, I told him that I could make the drawing at his\nhouse, that I had brought all that was necessary, and that I\nshould be happy to spare him the trouble of coming to me.\n{661}\nHe would listen to nothing, put himself entirely at my service,\ninsisted that I should name my own day and hour; and at the\nappointed day and hour, he was at my room.\n\n\"It was no small affair, for an old man to come all the way from\nthe Rue d'Enfer to the Barri\u00e8re Blanche, where I then resided. He\nwas very tired, and said to me with a benevolent smile:\n\n\"'Dear child, for any other but you. ... But come, where shall I\nplace myself? what if I were to take a little nap?--for I have\ncome a very long way.'\n\n\"I pulled up an arm-chair; he sat down, and soon fell asleep. ...\n\n\"I walked about my painting-room on tiptoe, for fear of waking\nhim; then I came near him to examine him as he slept. He had a\nvast brain; by its size, by its form, it was easy to guess the\ngreatness of the mind. The lower part of the face, however,\nseemed out of harmony with the upper. ...\n\n\"My task was becoming difficult; to remain true to simple\nreality, to give to the public the image of an intelligence in\nits decline, was not what I wished. What should I do? I was\nmaking these reflections when he woke. I looked at him for some\ntime fixedly, and I saw his eyelids lift themselves one after the\nother, and then fall again over his eyes. ...\n\n\"However, let us not despair; let us try; ... this was my method.\n\n\"'Monsieur de B\u00e9ranger, are you acquainted with that new air\ncomposed for your _Vieux Caporal_?'\n\n\"'No,' said he, 'some fellows came to sing it to me; there were\nseveral of them; they said they had brought a piano in a\ncarriage. As I chose my airs myself, and I doubt whether others\ncan choose better than I, I do not wish to encourage these\nencroachments on my work. Therefore I refused to receive them.'\n\n\"'Oh! I know how you refuse like favors! Well, allow me to tell\nyou that you were in the wrong, for the air composed for the\nthing seems to me more dramatic than the one you chose; since\ncircumstances are favorable to it, and that it need not disturb\nyou, I will sing you the _Vieux Caporal.'_ And I sang.\n\n\"'Yes, you are right, it is very well; sing me the second verse.\n... Why, it is charming; sing it all to me; I like to hear you\nsing.'\n\n\"At the end of the song, his face had changed its character; his\neyelids were sustained, and let me see his bright eyes, which\nseemed to be the light of that fine mind. I kept him in this\natmosphere which made him young again; I made him live in the\npast; I spoke to him of Manuel, his friend. Ah! then, it was a\nveritable resurrection. We were then in 1850, but through the\nenchantment of memory, he returned to the struggles of the\nRestoration of 1820, thirty years' difference; well, I saw them\ndisappear as by magic. I saw this genius revive! He would get up,\nwalk about, come back to his seat, speaking of them, of the two\nhundred and twenty-one, as though they were still there; the\narrows of Charles X., the aim reached, the plaudits of the\ncrowds--he seemed to hear it all. B\u00e9ranger was before me. All I\nhad to do was to copy. ...\n\n\"I have not been able to resist the temptation of relating an\nanecdote, doubtless too flattering for me; but on reflection, I\nhave been so tormented by fools, that it is excusable in me to\ntake comfort in the praises of a great mind.\"\n\nNow let us turn once more to some of his practical instructions.\nOf color he speaks thus:\n\n{662}\n\n\"It must not be thought that he who reproduces color exactly is a\ncolorist.\n\n\"Like the true draughtsman, the true colorist purifies,\nembellishes.\n\n\"If he is a true artist, he will bring in his coloring all the\nlaws of art: Discrimination, development, idealization.\n\n\"I cannot help thinking of our critics who, in their innocence,\nalways make sharply defined divisions of colorists and\ndraughtsmen; being persuaded that a draughtsman cannot be a\ncolorist, and that a colorist can never be a draughtsman. They\ncarry this so far that when a picture seems to them detestable in\ncolor, they feel compelled to find great qualities of drawing in\nit; but if, on the contrary, a work is presented, with\nincontestable beauties of drawing, it is necessary, and you will\nnever be able to convince them of the contrary, that the picture\nshould be wanting in color.\n\n\"They do not know that all is in all, and that the value of\nexecution in a picture is in just proportion with its conception.\n\n\"With great artists, there is a certain choice, an impulse toward\na particular beauty which captivates them; like real lovers, they\nsacrifice every thing to their passion; but, understand it well;\nsacrifice is not abandonment.\n\n\"With great masters, such as Raphael, Poussin, the absence of\ncoloring is a voluntary surrender; besides, they have a coloring\npeculiar to themselves, and of a superior order. ...\n\n\"Now, let us turn toward the colorists. Rubens presents himself\nas their king; but king though he be, he is not the equal of\nRaphael, who is a veritable angel.\"\n\nIn their compositions, Couture would have his disciples follow\nnature, and the instincts of their own hearts. He wages war\nagainst what he calls dead art, as seen in the works of certain\nFrench artists who tried to imitate the Greeks exclusively. As he\nstrongly expresses it, they disinterred a dead body, and\ngalvanized it to give it the appearance of life. He would have\nthe pleasing scenes of common life represented and spiritualized;\nnature, in her dewy, morning aspect, studied and loved. He says\nto them: \"Be French, be patriotic, be of your own times; create a\nstrong, healthy, modern school; do not imitate the Greeks; become\ntheir equals.\" It must not be thought from this that the antique\nis not appreciated; on the contrary, the young artist is urged,\nafter he has become comparatively skilled in drawing--not\nbefore--to study the antique very seriously, and to take it as\nthe invariable basis of all his works. But what Couture urges\nprincipally is originality and truthfulness. While pressing the\nearnest study of nature, he says:\n\n\"Love, that is the great secret; love enlightens. We are often\nsurprised at the tenderness of parents for their children, and at\nthe qualities which they see in them. We think they are mistaken,\nwhereas it is we who are mistaken. ...\n\n\"Read a book with but little attention; look over the first few\npages; skip twenty pages, then forty; hasten to the conclusion at\nonce. What pleasure will you find in such reading? You would\ncertainly not have the audacity to judge of that work; you would\nsurely wait until you were more familiar with it. But now, when,\nwith a good will, you read page by page, the work captivates you,\nand you leave it only when it is finished; then you say this work\nis admirable!\n\n\"It will be the same with nature, if you read it page by page.\n\n{663}\n\n\"I do not think I am mistaken when I say that we are on the eve\nof seeing French high art spring into life. I see guarantees of\nit in the return of our young artists to nature; they are, if I\nmay so express myself, at the first stage of that road which\nleads to the highest beauties.\"\n\nSomewhere about the middle of his book, our original author stops\nfor a familiar chat, \"between the acts,\" as he calls it but,\nafter a few pages, the conversation gets more serious again, and\nhe gives a critique, or perhaps, more properly speaking, an\nessay, on various artists. After wandering in the sixteenth\ncentury with Jean Goujon--through the medium of a marvellously\nlearned coachman--he comes back to modern times, and speaks of\nIngres, Delacroix, and Decamps. It is not my province to question\nhis opinion of these artists; my task is to give you a correct\nidea of his manner of doing so; therefore, leaving the critic to\nbe criticised by his brother artists, which is pretty sure to\nhappen, I choose his essay on the last named, Decamps, for\ntranslation. It gives a good idea of his style, and in it he has\nput away his severity, and indulges in genuine admiration, which\nis certainly pleasanter to listen to.\n\n\n                Decamps.\n\n\"Let us now turn toward the light, toward the sunshine; let us\nspeak of Decamps--that abridgment of all picturesque qualities.\n\n\"In the grasp of his genius, he comprises everything; he makes\nhimself the echo of all.\n\n\"His pictures speak to me of Salvator, Teniers, Poussin, Titian,\nRembrandt, Phidias .... they tell the story of our world:\ninfancy, old age, poverty, sumptuous wealth, war in all its\nhorrors, smiling hills and dales, shady villas. Here, the\nintimacy of the home-circle, there the tempests of the\nimagination. The Shakespeare of painters, he translates\neverything into an adorable language of his own; he reminds one\nof the masters, without copying them; he sings of nature and\nexalts it; everything with him becomes lovable, charming, or\nterrible; a mere nothing, a simple knife on a table, painted by\nthis marvellous genius, will awaken in one's mind, a whole poem;\nless still, a simple line, a dash of his pencil, is enchanting.\n\n\"I had the happiness of seeing this great artist; he was very\nsimple. Living principally in the country, his dress was that of\na somewhat careless sportsman; he was rather below the medium\nheight; his head had great delicacy of outline, and was of rather\na nervous character; he was fair; our sous stamped with the\neffigy of Napoleon III., when somewhat worn, remind one\nstrikingly of Decamps. He was usually supposed to be a great\nsportsman; but I, who knew him, and observed him with the\nattention which my admiration of him inspired, noticed that his\nhunting was a mere pretext. I would often see him stop in a\nplain, lift his gun, take aim; one expected an explosion; not at\nall; after a short pause, he would replace the gun on his\nshoulder, and go on his way, to recommence the same game a little\nlater. He nearly always returned with an empty game-bag to the\ninn of the 'Great Conqueror,' in the little village of Verberie;\nthere he would take an old account-book, which he used as an\nalbum, and with whatever he happened to find, he would retrace\nthe effects which he had observed during his pauses. I had\nseveral of these precious pages in my possession, but,\nunfortunately for me, they were stolen.\n\n{664}\n\n\"I remember also, that when we were conversing, after the evening\nrepast, he would roll little balls of bread in his fingers, then,\nwith pieces of matches, which he added to his paste, kneaded in a\npeculiar manner, he would fashion charming little figures. I\nremember, in particular, a hunter followed by his dog; the man\nseemed weighed down by the game he carried; the tired dog\nfollowed his master with drooping ears. It was charming: this\nextraordinary artist gave life to everything he touched.\n\n\"He was fond of painting in the studios of his brother artists.\nIt was at the room of a mutual friend that I saw him make the\npreparation of his beautiful picture, Cheveaux de Hallage, which\nis now at the Louvre. His sketch was reddish, solidly massed in;\nhe used a great deal of brown, red, and burnt sienna in his\npreparations.\n\n\"He made a drawing before me, one day. The most adorable ass's\nhead sprang into life from under his fingers. As soon as one of\nthe creature's ears was abandoned by the artist, it seemed to\nquiver with impatience at having been restrained; all appeared by\ndegrees, progressively and completely formed. I saw in their\norder of succession, a real head, a real neck, a real body\ncovered with its roughened hair; the good creature seemed to have\na name, a real character; one might have written its history.\n\n\"I have been talking of his amusements; but when he attempted\nhigher productions, when, for example, he created his 'Bataille\ndes Cimbres'--I speak of the large drawing, that in which an\nenormous chariot is dragged by oxen--what energy! what grandeur!\nThose men live; one shares their ardor, or their fears; one wants\nto help, to push, to save the women and children. See them\nyonder: they come, they crush everything that comes in their way.\nWhat a formidable mass! clouds of dust arise from under their\nhorses' hoofs, and go to join the clouds in the heavens, which\nare numerous, and armed for combat, like the soldiers that cover\nthe earth. And up yonder, do you see? No. Where? There; no, still\nhigher ... that cloud of ravens ... they await the end of the day\nof slaughter.\n\n\"It is no longer a drawing; it is no longer a painting; it is an\nanimated world which appears as by magic, transformed into\nwondrous marble, gilded by the sun of Greece. One looks, admires;\none comes back to it many times, without ever tiring; one leaves\nso beautiful a thing with regret, to dream of it at night!\n\n\"I should like to be able to talk to you of his Joseph, of\nSampson, of the Caf\u00e9 Turc, of the Singes Cuisiniers, of the\nSupplice des Crochets, and of all his other wonders; but that\nwould lead me too far; so, regretfully, I stop.\n\n\"Decamps was of an organization rare in the art of painting; he\nhad the power of giving the qualities of greatness to small\npictures. One might cite the small works of Rubens and Rembrandt,\nand even of the great Italian painters; but all these geniuses\nseemed to grow less in proportion to the restricted dimensions of\ntheir canvases. But Decamps is as great in his small pictures as\nin his more important works.\n\n\"I might hesitate to pronounce myself for or against certain\nartists. But, as for this one, I maintain that he will always\nkeep a high place in the art of painting.\"\n\n  ......\n\n{665}\n\nIn the foregoing selections I have endeavored to give some idea\nof the author's manner; of his vigor, his clearness, his\noriginality. With all its irregularity, this book is, I feel\nsure, destined to take an important place in art-literature. As a\nhandbook of painting, it is most useful, and I trust soon to see\na clear, truthful translation make it familiar to our American\npublic. I should like it to be in the hands of every art-student.\n\nGood advice, critiques on various artists, critiques on the\nschools, familiar chit-chat, occasional reveries on nature, full\nof poetry, anecdotes--all thrown together with a certain\npicturesque confusion, warm from the author's heart and brain:\nsuch is this book. It is a mirror of the man. Couture talks as he\nwrites, and writes as he talks; if other merits are denied it, it\ncertainly has that of perfect sincerity, and surely, in these\ndays of artificiality, that is a great charm; so great a charm\nindeed, that many beside artists would find pleasure in reading\nit. And now, trusting that I have said enough to arouse some\ncuriosity and interest in this work, I will let the author say\nhis\n\n                Farewell!\n\n\"I have animated your courage; your sympathy, I feel, increases\nmy strength; I have within me what it is well to possess--hope.\nShall I live to see true French art born into this world? ... I\nsee it coming. Ah! how happy you are to be young! \"Everything\nannounces it to me, this art of which I dreamed; the indifference\nof the public for that which exists is a good sign; why, indeed,\nshould it, so full of life, feel an interest in this painting,\nissued from the grave?\n\n\"Look around you, and produce pictures. As for me, I have\nfollowed the order of nature; I have planted in you the good seed\nof truth; I doubt not but that it will germinate. By simplifying\nthe means, by shielding yourself from the embarrassment of\ncomplications, you will do a useful underground burrowing. When\nthe young shoot springs from the earth, cover it with a\nprotecting mantle; this shelter, this protection, this tutor,\nmust be your instinct. Grow, become strong, cover yourself with\nleaves and fruits, and give refreshment and shade.\"\n\n--------\n\n{666}\n\n\n       Magas; or, Long Ago.\n\n    A Tale Of The Early Times.\n\n\n          Chapter I.\n\nYes, long ago, about the year of grace 55, that is, about four\nyears after the great apostle of the Gentiles had preached at\nAthens, a small but evidently a select band of worshippers was\npouring forth from a small temple on the banks of the Illissus,\nsituated but a short distance from that renowned city. This\ntemple was dedicated to the sacred nine who preside over art,\nscience, music, poetry, and dancing. There had been a special\nfestival that day, and numerous pleasing exhibitions had been\nbrought before the gratified audience. The mystic dance of the\nsacred sisterhood had typified most gracefully the harmony and\nunion that reign among the muses; and _peace_ presiding,\nshowed that under her mild rule alone, the harmonies of earth\ncould work their glorious mission to civilize and cheer the\ndrooping heart of man. No sacrifice of blood was here admitted,\nbut music, choral song, and recitation; poems, plays, and\noratorical displays; tableaux and dances, symbolized alike the\nworship rendered, and the honor due to the chaste and favored\nnine. Therefore was it, that the audience was so select. The\npopulace, which at that time consisted mainly of slaves, were for\nthe most part too coarse and unrefined to appreciate the higher\nbranches of the muses' lore, which were to-day brought forward:\nthe games of the Saturnalia and the mysteries of Cybele were more\nin accordance with their taste, and, save the few slaves who\nattended on their masters as a matter of state, or for the sake\nof fashion, the spectators were of a dignified and refined\naspect.\n\nThe games or exhibitions were about to close; a solemn dance\naccompanied by song had proclaimed the benefits to earth, which\nthe sacred nine occasioned by their peaceful rule; and the last\nstrophe ran to the effect:\n\n  Here no strifes must warm the veins;\n    For the muses' sister band\n  Comes to lighten earthly chains,\n    Comes to greet you hand in hand:\n  Science lightens up the land\n    Where the muses' sceptre rules,\n  Skilful art instructs the hand,\n    Strife is banished from their schools.\n      Chorus: Choral sisters, intertwine,\n                Sing the praise of muses high;\n              For the muses are divine;\n                Swell the anthem to the sky.\n\nThe song had ceased when suddenly, as the audience rose, thinking\nthe performance concluded, a thrilling sweep of a lyre unseen\narrested their steps; and a voice sweeter and clearer than any\nheard before sang out these words:\n\n  The muse! a myth! is passed away,\n    With earthly types of things unseen:\n  'Twas but a cloud--refracting ray,\n    Rolling the hidden world between\n  And man's aspiring panting soul!\n    Man's soul's divine, and yearns to clasp\n  (Freed from the yoke of earth's control)\n    That truth, but which eludes the grasp\n  While veiled in mythic forms unreal!\n    Awake! the day-star is arisen!\n  No more shall error's veil conceal\n    The lustrous, brilliant, light of heaven,\n  Now streaming, glory to impart\n  To vivify each human heart.\n\nThe crowd which had suddenly paused, now wondered, and turned to\nevery side to look for the singer: in vain; the owner of that\nsplendid voice was not to be seen, any more than the player on\nthe silver-toned lute.\n\n{667}\n\nA strange influence had passed over the throng, unawares: it was\nhushed, awed, mesmerized as it were into another state of\nfeeling. Exultation had passed away; bewilderment, questioning\nfollowed. What did it mean? myth! truth! glory! was it\nphilosophy? was it poetry? or did an oracle speak? Man's soul\ndivine! that was Platonism; but Plato's school, at its height\nsome four hundred years previous, was now at a discount. Many\nsects discussed and disputed: but truth? Truth seemed as far off\nas ever; or rather it seemed a plaything or a something which men\nused to sharpen their wits on, that they might display their\nargumentative skill, in the intellectual arena; but for practical\nconclusions, for a real rule of life, which might be used as an\nevery-day necessity, pooh! this was not to be thought of!\n\nThe Grecian world, such of it as was free, that is, not actually\nenslaved, not actually held as another man's chattel, was\nspeculative and fond of discussion, but it does not appear that\nthese discussions did much in forwarding the progress of truth\namong the _majority_ of the population; for that majority\nwere slaves--slaves, held for the most part in bondage of mind as\nwell as of body. The dignity of manhood among these was unknown;\nand the purity, beauty, and loveliness of woman were sacrificed\nremorselessly to tyranny of the vilest description. We can but\nshudder as we recall doings even in the palmiest days of Grecian\nfreedom, over which modesty compels the historian to cast a veil;\nfor Grecian freedom even then meant freedom to the _few;_\nthe workers, the toiling multitude were slaves--slaves who, when\ntheir numbers increased so as to alarm their masters, might be\nsacrificed _en masse_, as was too often the case. They were\nslaves not only in body, but in intelligence, for it was deemed\ndangerous to develop mind. Plato himself had been of this\nopinion, giving as his reason, \"Lest they should learn to\nresist.\"\n\nPhilosophy was made for the few, for the free only, because only\nthe _free_ could carry out in practice the truths of the\nsoul's divinity which philosophy pointed to.\n\nThe words which the poet Lucan puts into the mouth of Caesar, had\nlong been acted upon even by the \"wise and good\" of the pagan\nworld, though they dared not so openly express it. \"_Humanum\npaucis vivit genus._\" (Lucan. Phar.) \"The human race exists\nbut for the few.\" The workers, (that is, the slaves,) in other\nwords, the majority, were utterly incapable of being benefited by\nthe teachings of the sages of ancient Greece, not only by\nposition, but in consequence of the dulness of intellect which\nthe long maintenance of that position had occasioned. Poetry and\nphilosophy condemned them as beings of an inferior order. Homer\nsays in his Odys. 17, \"that Jupiter has deprived slaves of half\ntheir mind;\" and in Plato we find the following: \"It is said that\nin the mind of slaves there is nothing sound or complete; and\nthat a prudent man ought not to trust that class of persons.\" The\nconsequence of this teaching was, that they were held to be a\nmean race, little elevated above the brute, and born for the\nconvenience of their masters, and subject to their caprices; so\nthe worship of the _muses_ was, to them, with rare\nexceptions, a thing out of the question. These rare exceptions\n_did_, however, exist, and produced anomalous positions not\nalways fruitful in morality.\n\n{668}\n\nThe congregation of worshippers issuing from the temple of the\nmuses was then composed almost entirely of the \"_free_,\"\nalthough some few of the slaves attended their masters for\npurposes of state or style. Among the throng were three young\nnobles thus attended; and, as they issued from the edifice, they\nmade their way to a grove in the rear, to which only a privileged\nfew had access, and stationing their attendants within call, yet\nat some little distance, they stretched themselves in the shade,\nand began to discuss the adventure. Their names were Magas,\nCritias, and Pierus.\n\n\"The voice was heavenly,\" said Critias, \"and the music faultless;\nbut who could be the player, who the singer?\"\n\n\"Nay, surely the divine Euterpe, aided by the equally divine\nErato,\" said Pierus; \"who but a muse could thus conceal herself?\"\n\n\"But,\" interposed Magas, \"you forget that the muse would not\nprophesy her own overthrow. The words we heard to-day portended\nthat the worship was to be supplanted by another of a higher\nkind; it pronounced the muse 'a myth,' a type of something\nunseen, unreal in herself, but pointing to a reality. Now, what\ncan this be?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" said Critias, \"unless it is also a revelation to\nmake known the unknown, as that strange man said who preached\nhere some four or five years ago; his words made an impression on\nme which haunts me still.\"\n\n\"What man? what did he say?\" asked Pierus.\n\n\"His name was Paul,\" said Critias. \"He was a small man; a Jew of\nTarsus, (think of a Jew pretending to philosophy!) He came here\nand preached at first in the streets; then he was brought to the\nAreopagus; my father was one of the council, and he took me with\nhim to hear what the new man would say. The place was thronged,\nbut most of the fathers took the matter lightly enough. The\nimpression he made was on the lowly, the slaves. They took his\nwords to _heart_ and _pondered_ them. I have caught\nsome of them at times repeating them to each other, as if they\nwere oracles. His theory seems made for them especially.\"\n\n\"But what good will it do them?\" asked Pierus.\n\n\"Or him who dares foment sedition among them?\" broke in Magas.\n\"He and others of his ilk had better beware. I remember something\nof the circumstance since you mention it, but my father thought\nit an attempt to raise an insurrection among the slaves. The\npreacher did well to take himself off.\"\n\n\"I do not see any harm he could do,\" said Critias.\n\n\"Harm!\" answered Magas. \"Harm! Epicurean that you are, will you\nnever see harm till you hear the house is on fire? I tell you\nthere is harm; he preaches 'equality' to slaves, and what good\ncan come of that?\"\n\n\"What harm, rather? The poor varlets know it for a fact that they\nare not the equals of their masters.\" \"They are not equal; no,\nthey are not equal,\" said Magas vehemently; \"and they must never\nbe permitted to think they are. Their numbers might give trouble\nto us if they imbibed such an idea, while to them it could be of\nno real service. They have muscle, but not intellect. Set them\nfree, they would soon be at loggerheads among themselves.\"\n\n\"Intellectual greatness,\" said Critias, \"is rare even among\nfreemen; but some slaves have manifested that there is no\ndeficiency in that respect.\"\n\n{669}\n\n\"Some rare exceptions, perhaps, but that proves nothing.\nAristotle says, and truly: 'The woman and the slave are\ndistinguished by nature herself.'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Pierus, \"I remember the passage. He says, 'If we\ncompare man to woman, we find that the first is superior,\ntherefore he commands; the woman is inferior, therefore she\nobeys. The same thing ought to take place among all men. Thus it\nis that those among them who are as inferior with respect to\nothers as the body is with respect to the soul, and the animal to\nman; those whose powers principally consist in the use of the\nbody, (the only service that can be obtained from them,) they are\nnaturally slaves.'\"\n\n\"There can be no doubt about it,\" said Magas. \"The very bodies of\nthe slaves are different from ours; they are strong, muscular,\nand fitted for labor; ours are slimmer, more refined, more\nsensitive.\"\n\n\"I cannot see how you can build any argument on that,\" said\nCritias; \"your grand philosopher, even while he asserts a\ndifferent conformation of body to exist between the freeman and\nthe slave, admits that it sometimes happens that to a freeman is\ngiven the body of a slave, and to a slave the soul of a freeman.\nI have often found it so. I know some very despicable citizens;\nand I have found some noble sentiments in slaves.\"\n\n\"Sentiments,\" said Magas; \"what business have slaves with\nsentiments?\"\n\nCritias laughed, and said, \"Slaves have sentiment, and memory,\nand reflection; by whose permission I do not know; but how are\nyou to get rid of it? That is the question.\"\n\n\"They must be kept in their place and made to work,\" said Magas.\n\n\"But,\" said Pierus, \"we are losing sight of the question as to\nwhat the last singer intended to convey. Who do you think it\nwas?\"\n\n\"Some follower of the Jew Paul; I know no other sect who would\ndare call the muse a myth.\"\n\n\"I would give something to know what the Jewish fellow did say;\ndo you remember?\" asked Pierus.\n\n\"I think I can summon some one who does.\" And Critias called\naloud to a slave, who drew near.\n\n\"Merion, do you remember the Jew preacher?\"\n\n\"I do, most honored master.\"\n\n\"Do you remember what he said?\"\n\n\"I have his words by heart, master,\" replied the slave.\n\n\"By heart!\" muttered Magas, \"by Jove; but, you _did_ worship\nthe fellow!\"\n\n\"Well,\" rejoined Critias, \"and what did he say?\"\n\nThe man addressed was a gray-headed, stolid-looking person; his\nintelligence on common matters was not deemed great; he was,\nhowever, esteemed faithful, trustworthy, and affectionate. A\nsudden glow lighted up his features, as his master spoke to him,\nand he became animated with an expression that puzzled his\nhearers: he stood forth, threw out his right arm, and, in the\nattitude of an orator impressed with the dignity and importance\nof the subject, delivered word for word the speech made by the\ngreat apostle of the Gentiles in the hall of the Areopagus.\n\n\"My masters,\" said the slave, \"when the preacher Paul was brought\nto the court of the Areopagites, and questioned concerning the\nnew doctrine he was giving out to men, he stood in the midst of\nMars' Hill and said:\n\n\"'Ye men of Athens, I perceive that, in all things, ye are too\nsuperstitious; for as I passed by, and beheld your devotions, I\nbeheld an altar with this inscription, To the unknown God; whom\ntherefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you.\n{670}\nGod that made the world and all things therein, seeing he is Lord\nof heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands;\nneither is worshipped with men's hands, as though he needed\nanything, seeing he giveth to all life and breath, and all\nthings; and hath made of ONE BLOOD all nations of men for to\ndwell on all the face of the earth; and hath determined the times\nappointed, and the bounds of their habitations; that they should\nseek the Lord, if haply they might feel after him, and find him;\nthough he be not far from every one of us. For in him we live,\nand move, and have our being; as certain also of your own poets\nhave said, For we are also his offspring.'\"\n\n\"Stop,\" said Magas; \"where did you find that written?\"\n\n\"It was not written, noble sir; it was _said_,\" returned the\nslave.\n\n\"Said! five years ago, and you repeat it now, word for word like\na task,\" said Magas; \"did you hear it more than once?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; some who can write, took it down, and read it to me\nmore than once.\"\n\n\"You cannot read?\"\n\n\"I cannot.\"\n\nMagas frowned and rose to his feet. \"A dangerous doctrine for our\nslaves to have by heart,\" he muttered; then turning to his\ncompanions he said, \"Send the varlets home; let us have our talk\nto ourselves.\"\n\nAt a sign from the masters, the servitors left the premises, and\nMagas resumed: \"Do you leave that slave at large, Critias, with\nsuch a doctrine as that in his bosom?\"\n\n\"And why not?\" asked Critias; \"poor, harmless old Merion, the\nunwearied attendant on my father's infirmities; his place could\nnot be supplied in our household for his weight in gold.\"\n\n\"You did not weigh that speech then; did not observe its\ntendencies?\"\n\n\"Well, yes, it is pretty poetry enough, rhapsodical enough, but,\nlike all rhapsody, harmless.\"\n\n\"Harmless! Did you watch the other slaves as the old man lighted\nup; as he said: '_All mankind_ were of one blood, all the\noffspring of God,' _master_ as well as _slave!_ I am\nsure these varlets understood it so. Such teaching as that must\nkindle fire in men's hearts, must engender rebellion. That one\nslave, as you see, has got that and more by heart; do you think\nit has no effect on him?\"\n\n\"No bad effect, at least; he is a good and faithful servant.\"\n\n\"No bad effect! why, man, do you not see that if our slaves once\nbelieve they are of one blood with their masters, that they are\nequally the offspring of God, they will arise and assert their\ndignity? Then who will do the work?\"\n\n\"You are troubling yourself very unnecessarily, my dear Magas;\nthere is no slave in our household who works so well or so\nfaithfully as Merion.\"\n\n\"He's but biding his time,\" said Magas; \"take care. The man that,\nbeing unlettered, got that doctrine by heart, did so because\n_he cherished_ it, made much of it; he has studied its\nmeaning, depend upon it; and the meaning to him must be freedom.\"\n\n\"You did not hear him out,\" said Critias; \"he believes in a\njudgment after death, which shall right the wrongs of earth; the\nfollowers of this Jew have the oddest ways in the world. You know\nthe Lady Damaris?\"\n\nMagas nodded assent.\n\n{671}\n\n\"Well,\" rejoined Critias, \"I have heard her assert that 'work'\nhas a sanctifying tendency, whatever that means; and they say she\ntakes pains to instruct her slaves in this singular philosophy;\nshe often works with them, and treats them as if they were poor\nrelations she was bound to see well provided for. Strange! isn't\nit?\"\n\n\"Strange enough,\" said Magas, \"but more dangerous than strange.\nThe woman must be looked to.\"\n\n\"Nay, leave her to regulate her own household,\" said Critias,\nlaughing: \"if you want to make war, try your skill with men.\nThere's Dionysius, who deserted the Areopagus soon after that\npreacher was here; he has freed some of his slaves, taught others\nto read, and teaches this new philosophy to all.\"\n\n\"The man must be crazed,\" said Magas; \"these strange notions must\nend by revolutionizing society if they are allowed to get to a\nhead. They must be put a stop to. Whom shall we have to work for\nus, when the slave thinks himself as good as his master?\"\n\n\"We will work for ourselves then,\" said Critias. \"And perhaps\nthat would not be so very hard, after all. In the early days of\nthe republic, our forefathers tilled their own fields; they were\nperhaps as happy as we are now.\"\n\n\"Are you also touched with this mania?\" asked Magas, stamping his\nfoot fiercely. \"I say the slaves are ours by right of conquest;\nand, for the glory of my ancestral race, I'll keep my feet upon\ntheir necks.\"\n\n\"As the Roman keeps his foot on ours, eh, Magas? Could we rouse\nthe slaves to noble deeds, through the working of noble thoughts,\nwe might free our country yet.\"\n\nMagas looked gloomier yet.\n\n\"Come not upon that strain,\" said he; \"we cannot overrule fate!\nHa! what was that?\"\n\n'Twas a sweep of the same lute, a silver chord of melody that\ncaught his ear. Breathlessly the trio listened, and soon these\nwords pealed forth:\n\n  He comes! He comes in clouds of glory!\n    Haste, oh! haste to meet thy God!\n  Angels, hymn the thrilling story,\n    How on earth his footsteps trod;\n  How those footsteps, faint and weary,\n    Tracked thy path, thy soul to save.\n  Quit, oh! quit sin's path, so dreary,\n    Plunge thee in the saving waves.\n  Ransomed is thy soul for ever,\n    Ransomed by his precious blood,\n  If but now from sin thou sever,\n    Cleansed in the redeeming flood.\n  Haste! oh haste! he comes to save thee,\n    Then no more let sin enslave thee!\n\n\"'Tis the same voice!\" Why did Magas turn pale as he said so? The\ntrio separated to search the glades, the bushes, the thickets;\nevery nook and corner was probed in vain. The muse, mentor,\ngenius, or spirit, whatever it might be, was not to be found.\n\n\n               Chapter II.\n\n\"Chione!\"\n\n\"Magas!\"\n\n\"Have I found thee at last?\"\n\n\"Alas!\"\n\nChione covered her face with her hands, her bosom heaved, tears\ntrickled through her fingers; it was no gladsome greeting that\nshe bestowed on her lover, yet it was she who had sought this\ninterview, or rather had given opportunity for it, even while\npretending to hide herself, and to shun the meeting she sought.\n\n\"A whole year have you been invisible, my Chione; a whole year\nhave I sought you in vain; and, now that we meet, you do not\nthrow your-self into my arms for very joy; you turn away, and\nyour eyes are filled with tears!\"\n\n\"Alas!\"\n\n\"You are not glad to see me, Chione; you have lost your love for\nme!\"\n\n{672}\n\n\"Oh! would it were so, Magas! would that the sight of you did not\nmove me thus; would I had never known you! Leave me, Magas!\"\n\n\"Leave you now when, after a year's search, I have found you!\nLeave you! What is the meaning of this altered tone? Are you no\nlonger Chione? Am I not Magas?\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said Chione, in a very low voice; \"it is true I am\nthe slave Chione.\"\n\n\"The slave! O Chione! have I not promised you freedom if you but\nreturn my love? Last year did I not bid you become to me what\nAspasia was to Pericles--my oracle, my inspirer, my divinity! and\nyou left me; and now that your glowing charms have become endued\neven with a higher lustre; that your voice can at will enkindle\neach noble emotion while it thrills the soul with ecstasy, now\nyour empire over me is all but overpowering.\"\n\n\"Yet you did not recognize me when I sang in the temple a week\nago.\"\n\n\"Not at first; the theme was so strange; it troubled me. But at\nthe first tone uttered in the grove I knew you; I felt that you,\nand you only, could cause such a thrill as then agitated my whole\nbeing. O Chione! you were ever to me as the tenth muse. Say what\nhas caused your absence?\"\n\n\"Did you heed the words of the last hymn?\"\n\n\"No, no. How should I? I knew the voice, the voice of my own\nChione, who had so long and so mysteriously disappeared, and I\nlistened in the hope of discovering her retreat. I searched, but\nsearched in vain; yet I felt sure it was to me she sang. Now tell\nme truly, did you not recognize me and address yourself to me?\"\n\n\"Had you heard the words, you would not have asked that\nquestion.\"\n\n\"But I did not hear them. Even of the first I heard nothing\ndistinctly, or at least, nothing that I could understand; of the\nlast, not a word; only the _tones_, the tones of my Chione,\nsinging as of yore to enchant me; it sounded like a wail for\nother days; a promise, perhaps, for happier ones to come.\"\n\n\"It was neither; it was an invitation to a higher life!\"\n\n\"A higher life! Yes, a life of love with thee, my Chione. A life\nof that sublime love where Cupid does honor to the muses, and\nbecomes himself the inspirer of sacred song. Yes, thou wilt not\ndeny it, though, for these eight days past, thou hast kept me on\nthe search for thee. Thou sawest me in the temple, and to me were\nthy songs directed. I am sure of it; for the serving maidens\nassured me 'twas a full year since thou hadst thyself ministered\nthere, and none had seen thee since save the daughter of the\nphilosopher of the day, save Lotis only! She acknowledged the\nlute accompaniment, and that it was thy voice it accompanied.\"\n\n\"The traitress!\"\n\n\"Nay, she was hard pressed; she could scarcely avoid the avowal.\nBut now, cease this dallying and confess the truth: was not thy\nsong for me?\"\n\nBut Chione answered no more. Perhaps she was asking that question\nof her own heart, and could not answer it. She leant against a\ntree in the grove in which they were standing and sobbed\nbitterly, but no reply issued from her lips. At this juncture a\nstately personage approached, whom Magas perceiving, saluted with\nthe respect due to his evident dignity. Chione, with her veil\ngathered around her, had her features turned toward the tree, her\nagitation betraying itself, however, by slight convulsions of her\nframe.\n{673}\nThe stranger paused, and looked from one to the other. Magas was\nevidently a stranger to him; but when, surprised at the sudden\nsilence, the maiden for an instant changed her posture, and the\nstranger uttered, in amazement, the name Chione, she started,\ngazed distractedly, and, in an instant, fled from the spot like\nan arrow shot from a bow, so swiftly did she disappear.\n\nMagas would have followed; but the stranger, speaking in a\ncourteous tone, yet with an authority he dared not disobey,\ninquired: \"Is that young damsel of your kindred, my son?\"\n\n\"Not so, my lord,\" said Magas; \"I knew her a year ago, when she\nministered in the temple of the muses. Her ravishing voice then\nenkindled all hearts; but she disappeared suddenly, and to-day I\nfirst encounter her after a long absence.\"\n\n\"She is a slave, as perhaps you know already.\"\n\n\"She would adorn a diadem,\" fiercely rejoined Magas.\n\n\"I see how it is,\" softly rejoined the elder man; \"beware, my\nson; set not your heart on one beyond your reach. Gold cannot\npurchase Chione. You will find others as fair, others who will\nserve you more readily in that very temple from which Chione has\nbeen taken. Pursue not one who belongs to another master.\"\n\n\"Who is her master now?\" asked Magas impetuously.\n\n\"You must forgive me for not answering you,\" replied the sage;\n\"in your present humor, it would but bring disorder to the\nstate.\"\n\n\"One word,\" said Magas, springing forward so as to prevent the\nold man from departing; \"one word Is it yourself?\"\n\n\"It is not, my son,\" replied the other gently, as, slightly\npushing by the young man, he left him with a passing salute.\n\nMagas remained rooted to the spot, knitting his brows and\ngnashing his teeth with vexation. \"So near the goal of all my\nhopes, and so suddenly foiled; but I will find her yet; and if\ngold will buy her, well! if not, why, other means must be tried.\"\n\n  ......\n\nIt is no longer a grove yielding its pleasant shades in the sunny\nlight of the beautiful climate of Greece; it is no longer the\nimpassioned tone of Magas pouring the honeyed tones of flattering\nlove into her ear; the slave is at the feet of her mistress, in\nthe women's apartment of a small but elegantly adorned dwelling\nnear unto the city, and again she is bathed in tears. Yet the\nvoice in which she is addressed is more sorrowful than angry; the\ntones are rather those of a grieving mother than of an enraged\nmistress. But there was a decision, a firmness in the voice that\ntold the lady was not to be trifled with.\n\n\"What is this I hear of thee, my poor child?\"\n\n\"Forgive me, dearest lady, forgive me, Lady Damaris.\"\n\n\"It is not a question of personal offence, my Chione; thou hast\ninjured thyself, not me. A year ago, thou didst put on Christ,\nand vow allegiance to the one true God. Wilt thou now forsake\nhim, to follow thy own passion?\"\n\n\"I have not forsaken Christ! I will never, never forsake him.\"\n\n\"No? then why dally with the tempter? why seek again what thou\nhast once abjured? When our holy bishop rescued thee from the\nservice of the pagan altars, at thine own earnest entreaty, and\nbrought thee here, to serve the Lord Jesus, didst thou not\nrenounce paganism, its vices, its crimes, its _sweets_ as\nwell as its _bitters?_\"\n\n\"I renounce them still.\"\n\n{674}\n\n\"And yet thou goest to a pagan temple, to attract the notice of a\nyoung pagan noble, the enemy of our faith!\"\n\n\"I went not for that purpose, madam, though it ended so. I went\nto see Lotis, as I told you; she was seeking instruction from me\nas of yore; you are aware she was my pupil in music.\"\n\n\"And you gave it her, by causing her to help you attract your\nformer admirer; fie! Chione, your tale hangs not well together.\"\n\n\"Lady, believe me, I knew not of the presence of Magas, until I\nsaw him there; I was not thinking of him, until he stood beside\nthe pillar within which I was concealed. It was on a sudden\nimpulse that I acted. Lotis was beside me with her lute; we were\nboth effectually concealed within one of those hollow, vaulted\nrecesses used for emitting the more mysterious sounds of the\ndeities, and which are known to so few that I felt myself doubly\nsecure, when the sight of him who could not see me caused a rush\nof blood to my head; I gave Lotis a signal, which she obeyed, as\nthinking, perhaps, I had again a part in the performance as I\nused to have, and I sang, not of the muse, save as a thing of the\npast.\"\n\n\"I know you cannot believe in paganism again, Chione,\" said the\nlady solemnly; \"it is not your _head_ that is likely to be\nmisled, at least not in the first instance. I fear your\n_passions_, not your understanding. The rush of blood was,\nmethinks, to your heart, rather than to your head.\"\n\n\"Lady, I love my religion, or I should not have desired to leave\nthe temple; I was honored there.\"\n\n\"Yes, Chione; and here you are not honored in a way that flatters\nyour self-love; and that is why, after a year of trial, you seek\nthe flattery of Magas, rather than the unimpassioned love of your\nChristian friends. Yet their love is less selfish, more sincere.\"\n\n\"It is cold, cold,\" muttered Chione. Aloud she said, \"Madam, I\ndare assure you, my faith is as vivid now as it was a year ago.\"\n\n\"My poor child!\" said the lady, laying her hand upon Chione's\nhead, \"go for to-night; another day, we will resume the subject.\nYou are under the influence of passion at this moment; you know\nneither your own strength nor your own weakness; you scarcely\nknow what you believe, what you doubt. Your passions are\nawakened, your self-love aroused, and perhaps wounded. These must\nbe _subdued_; not by the exercise of the understanding,\nwhich is powerless against such formidable enemies; but by\n_faith_, which is the exercise of the _heart_ in God;\nfor with the heart man believeth unto justice. [Footnote 58] If,\nas you say, your faith is as vivid now as it was a year ago, go\nand exercise it in prayer, and I too will pray with you, my poor\nchild, that our hearts may be fashioned after the pattern shown\nus in the mount.\"\n\n    [Footnote 58: Rom. x. 10.]\n\nPoor Chione! the tenth muse! with every pulse palpitating to the\ninspirations of poetical and musical genius--a genius which in\nher panted for expression, and nourished itself at the shrine of\nself-love. Poor Chione! bred an orphan in the temple of the\nmuses; gifted with more than ordinary powers of mind, which had\nbeen cultivated even by the residence which had been hers from\ninfancy; endowed with grace, beauty, and intelligence; fostered\nby the praises of Magas, who, from being the patron of the\nbeautiful and interesting child, had become the admirer of the\nstill and ever increasing loveliness of the maiden.\n{675}\nPoor Chione! The truths of Christianity unfolded to her by\nMerion, her uncle, also a slave, at a time when her understanding\nwas about to reject the mockeries of a worship beautiful and\nfanciful indeed, but sustained by no interior power, appealing to\nno standard on which she could rely unhesitatingly, had taken\nhold of her imagination, had captivated her by their beauty,\ntheir coherence, their consistency. They were the realization of\nher fondest dreams, the filling up of the most beautiful pictures\nthat her fancy had ever painted; they were a logical appeal to\nher understanding; and because they were all these, she adopted\nthem, not beginning to comprehend the _interior_ spirit, not\nfathoming even to the first degree, the mystery of the cross,\n_that stumbling-block to the Jews, and foolishness to the\nGreeks._ [Footnote 59] Chione's understanding was Christ's,\nand her imagination also, because the metaphysical propositions\nof the apostle met her approval, and the poetry and imagery of\nthe church claimed her admiration; but her _heart_ seemed\nstill untouched, her thoughts still centred in herself, her loves\nand her hatreds still found their source in human passion. She\njudged all things as yet by a mere outward, human standard; and\nthe tragic scenes recounted in the Gospels but moved her in the\nsame manner, though in a higher degree, as would a tragedy of\nSophocles or Euripides. They excited her feelings to admiration,\nnay to adoration; but for the regulation of the dispositions of\nher heart, they were not yet brought into play.\n\n    [Footnote 59: I Cor. i. 23.]\n\nIn fact, she was disappointed in religion, although she did not\nconfess her disappointment even to herself. Up to the time she\nhad become a Christian, all things had ministered to her\nself-love. When, yielding to the preaching of Merion, (for such\nit was, although addressed to so limited an audience,) she had\nbesought his intercession to be removed from a place where, as\nher years increased, her beauty and position as a slave exposed\nher to danger, she had counted on _being appreciated_ by the\nsociety which she entered; and as she had heard of many slaves\nhaving been set free by the Christians on account of the esteem\nin which they were held, she, fancying herself a very superior\nbeing to the generality of slaves, (her beauty, grace, and genius\nhaving ever called forth such unqualified admiration,) could not\nbut deem that she should soon be accounted well worthy of such an\nadvantage. When, then, she found herself at the age of sixteen,\nsecluded in the household of the Lady Damaris, treated kindly,\nbut not specially indulged; when she saw that her mistress, far\nfrom deeming her a prodigy, seemed to find in her serious\nfailings needing correction, and that a probation was deemed\nnecessary ere allowing her to profess the faith; she was more\nhurt than she permitted to appear: and the seclusion to which she\nhad committed herself, when requesting to be transferred from the\nmuses' temple to the silence and retirement practised by the\nhousehold of the Lady Damaris, weighed upon her spirit, for it\ngave no scope to the love of display which excited her genius to\npleasurable expression. Her intellectual convictions, indeed,\nremained unchanged, but her heart sought other interests than\nthose around her; and when it appeared that one after another of\nthe slaves attached to the lady received their freedom, according\nas they demonstrated to the satisfaction of their mistress that\nthey were likely to make a good use of it, but that no hint was\never given to herself that she might expect a like boon, she\nbegan to wax impatient, to tax her mistress with partiality, and\nfinally to raise the question whether she had not a right to free\nherself from tyranny.\n{676}\nTyranny! The only restraint exercised in her regard was such as a\ntender mother's vigilance would deem necessary. She saw not that,\nat her years, the protection of the Lady Damaris was the greatest\nbenefit this world could give her, accompanied as it was by\ngenuine kindness, and an earnest desire to cultivate her heart\nand her understanding in the right direction.\n\nFreedom! exterior, freedom for a girl of sixteen! this became her\ndream by night, her exclusive idea by day, and in acting upon the\nidea, she often violated the rules the noble and charitable lady\nhad laid down for the regulation of her household.\n\nOn an occasion of this kind it was that she had visited the\nmuses' temple, saying to herself that it was to give instruction\nto her former companion, whom she so much desired to meet again.\nThere the sight of Magas had brought back all the flatteries and\nself-exulting thoughts of former days. She had then refrained\nfrom making herself known, for--a slave! and the noble\nMagas!--her heart revolted at the thought of what such a\nconnection must be! A year ago she had fled from it; her pride\nhad sustained her then; she had called it her virtue. Now she\nfelt the need of his praises; now she longed for his sweet\nflatteries; the voice of truth had been too harsh for her\nself-love. She needed adulation, passionate adoration. Would\nMagas give it her? She had heard his exclamation recognizing her\nvoice: from her hiding-place she had seen the zeal with which he\nhad sought her; and eight days afterward, by dint of watching,\nshe had contrived to meet him as if by accident, as we have seen;\nand what was to be the result?\n\n\n              Chapter III.\n\n\"Chione, my niece; nay, my daughter in Jesus Christ, tell me, for\npity's sake, why do I find you here?\"\n\n\"Uncle, I weary of the tedious routine of our household. I come\nto woo the naiads and the fauns of early days, for a little\nrelaxation of my spirit.\"\n\n\"The naiads and the fauns! Strange worship for a Christian!\"\n\n\"Nay, uncle, do not cast religion at me for ever. I mean no harm\nby speaking in the language of my childhood; and, indeed, I need\nto recreate my soul; my spirit is fainting away amid the tedium\nof our ever immaculate household.\"\n\n\"What possible fault can you find with the Lady Damaris?\"\n\n\"None, none at all, absolutely none. Have I not just said she is\nimmaculate, faultless? too perfect, in fact, fair as the moon and\nas chaste; ay, and as cold too!\"\n\n\"Cold! Lady Damaris who has spent her fortune in relieving the\nindigent, in soothing the sorrows of the mourner, in setting free\nthe slave. Cold! Where, then, will you find the fire of charity?\"\n\n\"I wish she would set me free!\"\n\n\"You! Are you not too free already! as witness this unmaidenly\nstep of visiting these glades alone and unprotected? Free! Are\nyou not already as free as is safe for you? is not the Lady\nDamaris more a mother than a mistress to you? Go to, your labors\nare too light, your liberty too great, since you know not how to\nmake a better use of it. A Christian maiden should have more\nreserve.\"\n\n{677}\n\n\"What harm is there in sunning myself on the river-banks awhile?\"\n\n\"None, if that is your object, and that _alone_, though even\nso, for one in your condition there might be danger. But, Chione,\nyou do not come here either to woo the naiads or the fauns, or to\nsun yourself on the riverbanks. You come here to meet one you are\nbound to avoid, and I come to take you home again.\"\n\n\"By what right?\"\n\n\"Ay, by what right, base slave?\" asked the voice of Magas, as he\nsuddenly came upon the couple. \"By what right dare you to\ninterfere with the fairest muse of earth's bright temple? you who\nhave scarcely brains enough to know whether Apollo steers his\nchariot from east to west or from north to south.\"\n\n\"Noble sir,\" said Merion respectfully, as if unheedful of the\ninsulting tone in which he was addressed, \"I am this maiden's\nuncle, and seek but to conduct her to a place of safety.\"\n\n\"I will dispense with thine office, by fulfilling it myself; take\nthyself hence, I say.\"\n\nMerion looked at Chione, who, with an incomprehensible caprice,\nsettled the dispute by rapidly taking flight in the direction of\nthe abode of the Lady Damaris, thus again leaving Magas foiled at\nthe moment he thought himself certain of an interview; and, what\nwas still more perplexing, leaving him in a state of uncertainty\nas to whether she desired to grant him an interview or otherwise.\nHe turned fiercely upon Merion:\n\n\"Where is the girl flown to? Where does she live?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell you, noble sir,\" said the slave, turning away.\n\n\"For cannot, say will not,\" said Magas, arresting him. \"I insist\non knowing where Chione lives.\"\n\n\"You cannot know it from me, sir,\" said Merion, breaking away,\nwhile fortunately some persons appearing in sight, forbade the\nnoble Magas from renewing a contest with another person's\nservant; and thus the faithful guardian of Chione effected his\nescape.\n\nIt was, however, to the house of Dionysius he betook himself to\nconsult with him concerning the measures to be taken to insure\nthe safety of his wayward niece.\n\nIt was a difficult matter for the learned but simple-hearted\nbishop, known in the city as Dionysius the Areopagite, to\ninterfere in. The conversion of this noble-hearted prelate had,\nin his own case, been so sincere, so entire, it was difficult for\nhim to comprehend an adhesion given partly to the intellectual,\npartly to the moral bearings of the religion of Christ, an\nadhesion which more resembled a philosophical adoption of tenets,\nthan the surrender of the whole being into the keeping of his\ndivine Lord, such as he understood to be the requirement demanded\nof himself when, under the tuition of the great apostle, he had\nlearned to put on Christ. The gospel had come to him, not in word\nonly, but also in power, and in the Holy Spirit, and in much\nassurance. [Footnote 60] It filled his soul, not only with its\nintellectual delights, with its wondrous solutions of the dread\nmysteries of existence, with its harmonious developments and\nsublime manifestations, but with _interior_ light. \"Faith\"\nwas to him as, alas! it is to so few, \"the substance of things\nhoped for, the evidence of things not seen.\" [Footnote 61] It\nanimated him wholly; it was a part of himself; he could say with\nthe great apostle in very truth, \"I live, yet not I, but Christ\nliveth in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live\nby the faith of the Son of God who loved me, and gave himself for\nme.\" [Footnote 62]\n\n    [Footnote 60: Thes. i. 5.]\n\n    [Footnote 61: Heb. xi. 1.]\n\n    [Footnote 62: Gal. ii. 20.]\n\n{678}\n\nBut Dionysius was the pastor of souls; he dared not refuse to\ncome to the assistance of one of his flock, albeit, that one was\na child, a slave, and that the request for his interference came\nto him also from a slave. The true-hearted Merion was worthy of\nhis highest love; long since would he have redeemed him, and\nassociated him in his labors of love, but that the slave ever put\nhim off, pointing out to him others on whom the _material_\nchain weighed more heavily, so that its wearers were fainting\nunder the burden, while he walked erect. The truth had made him\nfree [Footnote 63] in soul, and he was not willing to encroach on\nthe limited means placed at the disposal of the bishop by the\nfaithful, while so many of the weaker brethren needed help to\nsustain their fainting steps. Besides, as a slave, bearing his\nown burden, Merion possessed a greater influence among his own\nclass than he would have done had he accepted the purchase of his\nliberty. \"The poor and lowly,\" said he to Dionysius, \"have many\nadvantages which you in higher stations wot not of. Truth is not\nveiled from them by politeness, or by the conventionalism of\nsociety; they see things as they are, unmasked, and view\nthemselves also by another light than that which is shed on the\nman to whom everybody bows. I have often thought, my lord, that\nthey need an extraordinary degree of grace, who are thus placed\nabove the multitude. Since our Lord has declared that it is the\n'_poor_ who are blessed,' and he himself asks, 'How can ye\nbelieve, ye who receive honor one of another?' [Footnote 64]\nBelieve me, then, my kind friend, there is a greater blessing in\na position to which no worldly honor is attached than to others;\nat least for poor souls like mine, who cannot claim the\nextraordinary graces needed to clear away the mists which obscure\nthe light from the great ones of this world.\" Thus pleaded Merion\nagainst his own advancement, to which the bishop replied:\n\n    [Footnote 63: St. John viii. 32.]\n\n    [Footnote 64: St. John v. 44.]\n\n\"It is true, my Merion, we must all become 'poor in spirit,'\ngiving all honor to God alone, for the good that is in us, since\nall that man has done is to pervert his gifts.\"\n\n\"And the more wonderful, the more exalted the gifts, the more\nthey are perverted. Chione's beauty and talent are already\nturning her away from the religion she has professed.\"\n\n\"Nay, not so bad as that, my Merion. Neither is it the beauty or\nthe talent that are in fault. These are God's gifts to Chione. It\nis the human self-love, the self-centralization which craves\nhomage and admiration, that are to blame. It is the repetition of\nthe primeval sin, the wilful separation of the soul from God, for\nthe sake of inordinate gratification. But Chione has worshipped\nChrist. She will see her error and repent.\"\n\n\"Would I could think so,\" sighed the slave.\n\n\"Nay, now it is you who are wanting in confidence, my good\nfriend. Chione is the child of your prayer. You begot her in the\nLord, and He will preserve her for you. How, is not so plain. May\nbe, she will _fall_. Gifts like hers too often lack\nhumility, and humility, the foundation of the Christian\ncharacter, sometimes needs a fall, in order to produce it. Faith\nyou have already won for her, from God. Now set yourself to\nintercede for her again, to win other gifts which shall render\nher faith available to salvation. Ask for her, humility, at any\nprice of suffering to yourself or her. God will grant your\nprayer, be assured of that, my friend. Now, as to what we can do\nfor the exterior circumstance, let me know your wishes.\"\n\n{679}\n\n\"Is it possible to remove her from the path of that Magas?\"\n\n\"We might try; though, rich and ardent as he is, he would be apt\nto trace her to any place within our power to send her. I have\nfriends at Corinth. Should you be satisfied to send her there?\"\n\n\"They are Christians?\"\n\n\"Else I would not have named them. But, reflect, to none is she\nas dear as she is to you. None will take the same interest in\nher, watch over her--\"\n\n\"But she will be out of the way of Magas.\"\n\n\"Her person will. How her mind will be affected, is another\nquestion. We cannot change the affections or annihilate desires\nby change of place. But it shall be as you wish.\"\n\n\"Will the Lady Damaris consent?\"\n\n\"You know, full well, that the welfare of her household, temporal\nand eternal, is the object of that lady's constant solicitude.\nShe will agree to anything she deems will promote it.\"\n\n  ......\n\nChione was scarcely surprised when she was told that she was to\nbe sent to Corinth. Nay, to do her justice, she was not\naltogether grieved. She knew her danger. Her pride and\nself-respect revolted from any degrading connection with Magas.\nAnd what other could she hope for? Neither as a slave nor as a\nfreed-woman could Magas elevate her to the rank of his wife. He\nhimself had proposed Aspasia for her model; but Aspasia to a\nChristian maiden! Dazzling as was the ideal, not for a moment did\nChione suffer herself to believe it could be hers. Why, then, did\nshe hover around her destruction, as a moth hovers around the\ncandle? Why did her thoughts perpetually dwell on Magas as the\nonly one who understood her, the sole being on earth who could\nappreciate her? Why had she endeavored, why did she still\nendeavor, to attract his attention the more that she knew the\nburning passion which fired his impetuous and vehement nature?\n\nChione felt but too truly the inward conflict of her soul. She\nloved Magas. She could not conceal herself from him if he were\nnear--could not even avoid him. The attraction was too great. But\nat Corinth she could forget him, at Corinth other objects would\noccupy her, at Corinth she would again learn to love Christ. So\nto Corinth she consented to go, making so little opposition to\nthe measure, that Merion half persuaded himself he had overrated\nher weakness.\n\nChione was conveyed away stealthily, in company with a Christian\nfamily who were making the journey homeward. Days elapsed; and\nMagas watched in vain, set spies in vain. Chione was not to be\nmet with.\n\n\"The girl must be ill, or bewitched,\" said he. \"Three\nappearances, and nothing heard of her! A whole year since I saw\nher before, and she so changed, beautified, and _silenced_\nwhen we met again! What can it mean?\"\n\n\"What can _what_ mean, Magas, that you are here talking to\nyourself, and flinging yourself about like a madman?\"\n\n\"Critias!\"\n\n\"Yes; it is long since we met. What have you been doing since?\"\n\n\"Tracing the girl who imposed upon us in the muses' temple.\"\n\n\"What! not forgotten that yet?\"\n\n\"No. It was scarcely an adventure to be forgotten, save by one\nwho cares for nothing, like yourself.\"\n\n\"Well, what have you discovered?\"\n\n{680}\n\n\"This much, at least: the girl is Merion's niece.\"\n\n\"So! Then we may suppose her rhapsodies referred to the new\nsect?\"\n\n\"Yes; and that they must be looked to. I wish you would let me\nquestion your slave awhile.\"\n\n\"Question all you like; but I warn you, Merion is not likely to\nanswer you unless _he_ likes.\"\n\n\"Then we can apply the torture?\"\n\n\"No! not to Merion! no! Not on a subject which interferes with no\none, even though you have assumed it as a cobweb to your brain.\nMerion is a faithful servant. I consent to no torture while he\ncontinues such.\"\n\n\"Not if you learn that he is concerned in hatching a conspiracy\nagainst the state?\"\n\n\"Magas, I think you are taking leave of your senses.\"\n\nBut Magas was in love, and would neither hear reason nor be\nturned away from his purpose. Merion would tell him nothing. He\nsaid only that he had not seen the girl for many days, and that\nit was not his business to inquire to what place she had been\nsent. Lotis, the daughter of the principal philosopher of the\nday, had been her frequent companion in early days, but of late\nhad seen her little, and, since the adventure in the temple, not\nat all. Lotis was suspected to know the name of Chione's owner;\nbut, if she did, she kept it to herself. Months passed; and then\nMagas disappeared also, and, for a while, was not again heard of\nin Athens.\n\n\n              Continued.\n\n--------\n\n      Philosophy Not Always Vain.\n\n\nThere are persons who think we err, and make our magazine too\nheavy by devoting so large a portion of it to quasi-philosophical\ndiscussions. All readers, we are aware, are not and need not be\ninterested in such discussions; but there are some who want them,\nvalue them, and profit by them. One of our contributors has\nreceived the following letter from a distinguished professor in a\nSouthern university, which proves that our heavy articles are\nread by some, at least, and have served the cause of truth.\n\n              October 26, 1867.\n\n  To The Author Of The Article On\n  \"The Cartesian Doubt,\"\n  Published In The November Number\n  Of _The Catholic World_:\n\n  Dear Sir:\n  I beg you to accept the presentation of this copy of a book I\n  published, as you see, in 1860.\n\n  I do not offer it with any idea that you will find in it\n  anything new or instructive to you, or with any expectation\n  that you will give it approval or praise. I have become\n  conscious of several of the errors it contains.\n\n  I send it to you under the influence of two motives: 1st. To\n  offer you a token of the deep gratitude I feel toward you for\n  the article on \"The Cartesian Doubt,\" and other articles (which\n  I take also to be from your pen) entitled \"Problems of the\n  Age,\" published in _The Catholic World_; this gratitude\n  being felt for the flood of religious and intellectual light\n  they have shed upon my mind and heart, and for their having\n  convinced me of the truth of many Catholic doctrines I had\n  obscurely perceived, and which, through the clearness and force\n  of your language and arguments, now shine to my eyes with\n  unsullied lustre. Second. I also offer you this token, that you\n  may thereby judge for yourself how far I was behind, and\n  therefore what great advance I must have made toward a clear\n  understanding of the true relation and subordination of\n  philosophy to Catholic doctrine, now that I admit that doctrine\n  as received through your articles, which I have no doubt are\n  approved by the Church.\n\n{681}\n\n  Hoping, sir, you will kindly receive this expression of my\n  heartfelt thanks, I subscribe myself, affectionately and\n  respectfully, yours.\n\nThe professor is mistaken in supposing that the article on T_he\nCartesian Doubt_ and those on _The Problems of the Age,_\nare from the same writer. This, however, is a matter of no\nconsequence; for in both the profoundest principles of philosophy\nare treated; and both, for the most part, set forth and defend\nthe same philosophical doctrine. We lay before our readers\nanother letter, from a distinguished lawyer, a recent convert to\nthe church, which shows that our philosophical articles are read\nby eminent men, and with respect, even when their doctrine is not\naccepted.\n\n                    December 10, 1867.\n  To The Editor Of The Catholic World:\n\n  Dear Sir: In _The Catholic World_ for December, you say,\n  on page 427, \"The school Sir William Hamilton founded ...\n  avowedly maintains that philosophy cannot rise above the\n  sensible, and that the supersensible, as well as the\n  superintelligible, must be taken, if at all, on the authority\n  of faith or revelation.\" Just before this, you also say, \"The\n  science neither of language nor of logic can be mastered by one\n  who holds Sir William Hamilton was a philosopher,\" etc. Again,\n  on page 424, you say, \"The tendency of all inductive\n  philosophy, as any one may see in the writings of ... Sir\n  William Hamilton and his school, is to restrict all science to\n  the phenomenal, and, therefore, to exclude principles and\n  causes, and consequently laws.\"\n\n  The ideas here advanced are new to my mind, and my object in\n  troubling you with this letter is to request you to refer me to\n  some philosophical work in which they are fully developed. I\n  came into the Catholic Church in the spring of 1865, as I\n  supposed by a process of induction, and by process of induction\n  I am thoroughly convinced that we have higher and better\n  evidence of the truth of the dogmas of the church, than of any\n  scientific fact; indeed, better than we have of any other fact,\n  save that of existence. But I have failed to discover in the\n  writings of Sir William Hamilton (the only one of the writers\n  you mention with whom I am even slightly acquainted) the\n  tendency you describe, and I cannot understand how such a\n  result could be produced by a legitimate inductive philosophy.\n  Sir William Hamilton shows that induction, when applied to\n  Deity, to the infinite or to the absolute, (he ought to have\n  said to any spiritual existence also,) fails to yield even\n  apparent truth, because it yields contradictions. It seems to\n  me that this must be a very near approach to a true catholic\n  philosophy, that is, to a definition of the field in which\n  induction is to operate; and I find it a weapon which silences,\n  if it does not convince, my Protestant friends; for if they\n  admit that their reasoning powers--those faculties which enable\n  them to make the boasted progress in physical science--give no\n  help in explaining the relation which exists between them and\n  their Creator, they then have to deny, with the deist, that any\n  such application exists; or if it does exist, admit that it\n  rests on authority, thus destroying the right of private\n  judgment, a result in either case fatal to Protestant\n  Christianity.\n\n  I don't think I am mistaken about what Sir William Hamilton\n  teaches, for I have his works before me; but it is very\n  possible that I do not comprehend the tendency of it; and I may\n  be entirely wrong in regarding him as a philosopher second to\n  but few since Aristotle. I am not seeking controversy, but\n  information; and if you can refer me to a book, not too large\n  for a hard-working lawyer to read, which will clearly define\n  what is regarded in the Catholic Church as the philosophy or\n  _rationale_ of religion, you will confer a favor which\n  will be long remembered.\n    Very respectfully.\n\nThe old controversy with heresy has lost its former importance,\nfor heresy in our time gives way to downright infidelity, or\ntotal religious indifference, and the intelligent Catholic, who\nunderstands his age, is more disposed to recognize and cherish\nthe fragments of Christian truth still retained by the sects\nrespectively, than to point out and refute their heresies. He\nwould be careful not to break the bruised reed or to quench the\nsmoking flax. In these times all who are not against our Lord are\nfor him.\n{682}\nThe field of controversy has changed. The non-Catholic world is\neither slowly retracing its steps toward the church, or rushing\nheadlong into rationalism, naturalism, humanitarianism,\npantheism, atheism. The modern atheists are a far more numerous\nclass than is commonly supposed. Virtually all naturalists,\nhumanitarians, and pantheists are atheists, and the God admitted\nby the rationalists is not the living God, an ever-present\nCreator and upholder of the universe, but an abstraction, a vague\ngeneralization, or a God so bound hand and foot by the so-called\nlaws of nature, as to be powerless, and incapable of a single\nfree movement, or an efficient act.\n\nThese several classes of unbelievers pretend to base their denial\nof divine revelation, the supernatural, the Christian religion,\nthe freedom, and even the very being of God, on science and\nphilosophy; and it is only on scientific and philosophical ground\nthat we can meet, and logically refute them. No doubt their\nobjections are sophistical, unscientific, and unphilosophical,\nyet we can show that fact only by means of true science and sound\nphilosophy. We say nothing here of what grace may do; for it\nworks by a method of its own, and by inspiring the will and\nenlightening the understanding, it enables one, by a single\nbound, to rise from the lowest deep of infidelity to the\nsublimest height of faith--to a faith that penetrates within the\nveil--lays hold of the unseen and the eternal, and conquers the\nworld. We speak now only of the human means of meeting and\novercoming the objections of unbelievers to our most holy faith.\nWe can meet and overcome them, and produce what theologians call\n_fides humana_, only by opposing the true philosophy to\ntheir false philosophy--genuine science to their pretended\nscience, real logic to their shallow sophistries.\n\nIs this a work that Catholics can prudently neglect? We think\nnot. Every age has its own special work to perform, its own\nspecial enemies to combat, and there is neither wisdom nor\nutility, nor true courage in turning our backs upon the enemies\nthat assail us, and dealing forth vigorous blows against enemies\nlong since vanquished, and now dead, and ready to be buried. We\nmust face the evil of to-day, the enemy that is actually in front\nof us, and with the arms that promise to be effective against\nhim. This is not only wisdom, but a necessity, if we would defend\nthe treasure committed to us. Error is constantly changing its\nforms, and we must attack it under the form it assumes here and\nnow. To-day it apes the form of science and philosophy. It will\navail us nothing to denounce philosophy as vain, or science as\nunreal or valueless. We must accept both, and oppose to the\nunreal or false the real and the true. We must meet and beat the\nenemy on his own ground, and with his own weapons. As the enemy\nchooses to attack us on the ground of science, reason,\nphilosophy, we must meet him on that ground, and show that on\nthat ground, as on every other, Catholicity is invincible, and\nable to command the victory.\n\nAll the great theologians of the church have been great\nphilosophers; St. Athanasius, St. Basil, St. Gregory Nazianzen,\nSt. Augustine, St. Thomas, St. Bonaventura, Suarez, Bossuet,\nF\u00e9n\u00e9lon, to name no others: and all the glorious ages of the\nchurch have been marked by profound and vigorous philosophical\nand theological studies, as the fourth, the twelfth, the\nthirteenth, and seventeenth centuries.\n{683}\nIf the decline of faith marks a decline of science and\nphilosophy, so also does the decline of science and philosophy\nmark usually a decline of faith. The revival of faith in our\ncentury has followed or been accompanied by a revival of the\nstrong masculine philosophy of the fathers and the mediaeval\ndoctors. In proportion as men cast aside the _frivolezza_ of\nthe eighteenth century, engage in serious studies, and learn to\nthink, and think deeply and earnestly, faith revives, and men who\nas yet are not believers look with reverence and awe on the\ngrandeur and beauty of the Catholic Church, over which time and\nplace have no influence, exempt from human vicissitudes, and on\nwhich the storms and tempests of the ages beat in vain. All\nserious and thinking men turn toward her, and she only is able to\ngive free and full scope to thought, and to satisfy its demands.\n\nWe do not, of course, fall into the absurdity of seeking to\nconvert faith into philosophy, nor to substitute philosophy, for\nfaith. Philosophy, strictly taken, is the rational element of\nfaith, or, more strictly still, the preamble to faith. It does\nnot give us supernatural faith, which is the gift of God; it only\nremoves the intellectual _prohibentia_ or obstacles to\nfaith, and establishes those rational or scientific truths or\nprinciples which faith or revelation presupposes, which precede\nfaith, and without which faith could have no rational basis or\nconnection with science. All faith in the last analysis is belief\nand trust in the veracity of God, or the affirmation, _Deus est\nverax,_ and presupposes that God is. We cannot talk of faith\ntill we have proved from reason with certitude the existence of\nGod. The immortality of the soul brought to light through the\nGospel is not the simple existence of the soul in a future life,\nbut the immortal life of the blest in glory, rendered possible\nand actual through the incarnation, and to which man by his\nnatural powers neither does nor can attain. This immortality\npresupposes what is commonly meant by the immortality of the\nsoul, an immortality common to the beatified and the reprobate.\nThe immortality or continued existence of the soul is a rational\ntruth, and was held by the heathen in all ages, and must be\ncapable of being proved with certainty by reason prior to faith.\nFaith reveals to us a state of future rewards and punishments.\nBut rewards and punishments presuppose free agency, or the\nliberty of man, which is a truth of reason, and to be proved from\nreason alone. Hence the Holy See required the traditionalists,\nwho seemed disposed to build science on faith, or to found faith\non scepticism, to subscribe a declaration that the existence of\nGod, the spirituality of the soul, and the liberty of man are\nprovable with certainty from reason alone prior to faith. These\nare philosophical truths, and the philosophy that denies them or\ndeclares itself unable to prove them is no philosophy at all. It\nis because these great truths are provable by natural reason that\nwe are morally bound to believe the revelation of God when duly\naccredited to us as his revelation, and that refusal to believe\nit when so accredited is a sin.\n\nIt is easy to see, therefore, that Christian faith not only\nleaves a wide field to reason or philosophy, but makes large\ndemands on philosophy, requires of natural reason the very utmost\nit can do; for the highest victory of reason is precisely in\nproving with certainty these three great scientific or\nphilosophical truths just named. How little do they understand of\nour religion, who pretend that it dwarfs the intellect, gives no\nscope to reason, and appeals only to the external senses and the\nignorance and credulity of the people! These considerations show\nthat reason, science, or philosophy has a great and important\npart in relation to Catholic faith, and must have; for all the\ntheologians agree that grace supposes nature, _gratia supponit\nnaturam._ It is to the rational soul that God speaks.\n\n{684}\n\nNow, it is an undeniable fact, that what passes for philosophy\nwith non-Catholics either denies those great truths which are\nprior to faith, or fails to prove them with certainty. With what\neffect, then, can we meet the errors of the age or of our\ncountry, and advance the cause of Catholic faith with those who\nreject it, without entering even deeply into scientific and\nphilosophical discussions? To restore faith, we must restore\nreason and philosophy, which is its expression; for reason is, at\npresent, more seriously assailed than faith. The controversy\nto-day is not, as it was a hundred and fifty years ago, between\ncatholicity and heresy, but between catholicity and infidelity,\nbetween the church and those who deny all religion deserving the\nname; and this controversy is precisely in the field of\nphilosophy. In denying the church and rejecting the Christian\nmysteries, the movement party of the age have lost reason, while\nprofessing to rely on it and to be guided by it. They have fallen\nbelow reason, and must be brought up to it, and be made to\nrespect it. The so-called advanced party of humanity, the\nmarch-of-intellect or the progress-of-the-species party, deny not\nthe faith only, but, in act, reason too. The party has no\ntolerable appreciation of the powers and capacities of natural\nreason; and the moment we can get its members to reason, to\nunderstand what reason can do, and is called upon to do,\ncontroversy is over. We have got their face turned toward the\ntruth, and themselves making their way toward the church. Hence\nthe great work immediately at hand is the defence of reason.\n\nThose Catholics who have not been in a position to learn, or who\nhave no call, in the way of duty, to study the wants and\ntendencies of the age, may not be aware of any necessity for this\ndefence of reason, and therefore, for the philosophical essays,\nwhich, from time to time, we publish, and may well think that we\nfill with them a space that could be better filled with matter\nless heavy and more attractive to the bulk of readers. But those\nwho, from their position or vocation, are obliged to study and\ncomprehend the age, whose duty it is to master the literature and\nscience of the non-Catholic world, and who are in habits of daily\nintercourse with fair-minded and liberal non-Catholics, feel the\nneed of such essays, both for themselves and for those who hold\nour religion to be illogical, unintellectual, unphilosophical,\nand hostile to science. The age is earnest, terribly in earnest\nin the pursuit of material gain, and even in the cultivation of\nthe material or inductive sciences; but, in spiritual matters, in\nthe higher philosophy which is the preamble to faith, it is sadly\ndeficient, and even indifferent; and this defect and this\nindifference must be overcome. We could not effect our purpose in\npublishing this magazine, or discharge our duty to our\ncountrymen, if we did not do our best to overcome them; to\nstimulate those we are able to influence to devote themselves\nwith greater earnestness to the study of the highest and gravest\nproblems of reason now up for solution. Our readers know well\nthat our aim is not simply to amuse or to render ourselves\npopular.\n{685}\nWe do not believe it necessary to piety to put on a long face, to\nspeak with a nasal twang, or to go about with the head bowed down\nlike a bulrush. We delight to see the flowers bloom and to hear\nthe birds sing; we love art and all the amenities of social life;\nbut, with all this, we publish our magazine with a serious and\nearnest purpose. _Ernst ist das Leben_. We aim to serve the\ncause of faith, morals, intellectual culture, freedom, and\ncivilization; to do what in us lies, God helping us, to restore\nour countrymen to faith in Christianity, and to Christianity in\nits unity and integrity; and to make them work with intelligence\nand zeal for the high destiny to which God, in his providence, is\ncalling our beloved country.\n\nThe two letters we publish, among many other evidences that reach\nus, prove to us that we do not err in devoting a large space to\nthe discussion of the highest and most difficult philosophical\nquestions of the day. These letters are from men of education,\nculture, and the first order of intellect and intelligence. The\nfirst, which the author of the article on _The Cartesian\nDoubt_ has kindly placed at our disposal, proves that our\nso-called heavy articles have cleared up the mind, at least, of\none soul, and enabled him to see and admit the Catholic truth.\nThe second letter proves equally the part that philosophy plays\nin bringing men of a high order of intellect to the faith, even\nwhen the particular system of philosophy followed is not\nprecisely that which we ourselves defend. His letter shows that\nits writer takes an interest in philosophy, and believes in its\nutility. This is enough to justify us in our course.\n\nThe writer of this letter appears to be a little startled at our\ncensure of the inductive philosophy, and especially of Sir\nWilliam Hamilton. We cannot call that eminent and erudite\nScottish professor a philosopher, for we understand by philosophy\nthe science of principles and causes. All real principles are\nontological, and Sir William Hamilton denies that ontology is or\ncan be any object of human science. The only things pertaining to\nphilosophy he admits are logic and psychology. But how can there\nbe psychology without ontology? a soul without being? or science\nof the soul without science of being, that is, without ontology?\nThe soul is not self-existent, has not its being in itself, but\nin God; \"for in him we live, and move, and are,\" or have our\nbeing. How, then, construct a real science of the soul, or\npsychology, without science of being, and of the relation of the\nsoul to real and necessary being, that is, of the divine creative\nact? Logic is both a science and art. Men may, no doubt, practise\nthe art without a scientific knowledge of its principles; but, to\nunderstand logic as a science, he must understand its principles,\nand these are ontological. No man fully comprehends logic as a\nscience till he has seen its type and origin in the\ntripersonality of God, and recognized its principle in the divine\ncreative act. Sir William Hamilton, then, by excluding ontology,\nexcludes from our science principles and causes, and leaves both\nlogic and psychology without any scientific basis.\n\nThe writer says, \"Sir William Hamilton shows that induction, when\napplied to deity, to the infinite, or to the absolute, (he ought\nto have said to any spiritual existence also,) fails to yield\neven apparent truth, because it yields contradictions.\" We say\nthe same, and therefore, while we admit inductive sciences, we do\nnot admit inductive science or philosophy.\n{686}\nPrinciples are given _\u00e0 priori_, not obtained, as Kant has\namply proved, by induction from the facts of experience, because\nwithout them no experience is possible. We agree with the writer,\nnot that this \"is a near approach to a true Catholic philosophy,\"\nbut, \"to a definition of the field in which induction is to\noperate.\" Induction is restricted to the analysis and\nclassification of facts, which fall or may fall under sensible\nobservation, or experiment, and therefore the inductive sciences\nare empirical, not apodictic. This is what we said, when we said,\n\"The tendency of all inductive philosophy, as any one may see in\nthe writings of Sir William Hamilton, is to restrict all science\nto the phenomenal, and therefore to exclude principles and\ncauses, and therefore laws.\"\n\nThe writer says, \"I came into the Catholic Church in the spring\nof 1865, as I supposed by a process of induction,\" etc., and very\nlegitimately too, we doubt not. We by no means exclude inductive\nreasoning in its place. We do not depreciate the inductive\nsciences, but we hold with Bacon that, while the inductive method\nis the true method of studying the facts of the external world,\nor of constructing the physical sciences, it is inapplicable in\nthe study of philosophy or metaphysics. Philosophy has been\nwell-nigh banished from the English-speaking world by neglecting\nthe admonition of Bacon, and attempting to construct philosophy\nby the inductive method very properly adopted in the construction\nof the physical sciences, thus reducing the philosopher to a\nsimple physicist, and philosophy simply to one of the physical\nsciences, instead of recognizing her as their queen, the\n_scientia scientiarum_. The difference between our friend\nand us is not that we differ from him with regard to induction or\nthe inductive sciences, but that we hold that there is a science\nabove them, which controls them, gives them their law, and\nrenders them possible, and which is not obtainable by induction.\nThis science, which corresponds to the _sophia_ or\n_sapientia_ of the ancients, and which Aristotle held to be\nnot empirical, and the science of first principles, is what we\ncall, and the only science that we call, philosophy. What our\nfriend understands by inductive philosophy lies below what we\ncall philosophy, and begins where our philosophy ends.\n\nIn proving the miracles as historical facts, or the historical\nidentity of the church in all ages, and her commission to teach\nall men and nations all things whatever our Lord has commanded or\nrevealed to her, we follow the inductive process, and must do so,\nfor no other is possible. But it must be observed that the\ninductive process would have even here no scientific value\nwithout the science of the principles, what we call the preamble\nto faith, namely, the existence of God, the spirituality of the\nsoul, and human liberty. Without this science, the induction\nwould conclude nothing, and our friend as well as we holds that\nthis science is not attainable by any inductive process. It must\nalso be observed that the inductions we draw from the historical\nfacts in the case do not give us divine faith, but simply a human\nfaith, or rational belief in the Catholic Church, as we have\nalready explained. The Catholic believer is more certain of the\ntruth of what the church teaches than he is of any historical\nfact; but this higher certainty is not the result of induction,\nfor induction can give no certainty greater than we have of the\nfacts from which it proceeds.\n{687}\nThe greater certainty is the result of the _donum fidei_, or\nthe supernatural gift of faith, by which the soul is born again\nor initiated into the order of regeneration, and begins its\nreturn to God as its final cause. The soul is thus really joined\nby grace to Jesus Christ, who is the real head of every man in\nthe order of regeneration, and lives his life, as really as, in\nthe order of generation, we live the life of Adam our progenitor.\nThis certainty or firm persuasion, which St. Paul tells us \"is\nthe substance of things to be hoped for, the evidence of things\nnot seen,\" _rerum substantia sperandarum, argumentum non\napparentium_, which is of grace, must not be confounded with\nthe _fides humana_, or certainty which is the product of\ninduction. This latter certainty, which results from the motives\nof credibility fairly considered, and fully comprehended, and\nwhich, after all, leaves us outside the door of the church, is as\ngreat as any historical or inductive certainty can be, but it can\nbe no greater.\n\nThe writer says he has failed to discover in the writings of Sir\nWilliam Hamilton the tendency we describe, and that he cannot\nunderstand how such a result could be produced by the inductive\nphilosophy; but he himself acknowledges that Sir William shows\nthat induction, applied to the infinite or the absolute, fails to\nyield even apparent truth, and says he should have added, \"or to\nany spiritual existence.\" This, with the proposed addendum,\nexcludes from the inductive philosophy all but finite and\nmaterial or sensible existences, as we asserted. Sir William\nmaintains expressly that the infinite, the absolute, the\nunconditional cannot even be thought, because, if thought, it\nwould be bounded and conditioned by our thought--an absurd\nreason, for it supposes that our thought affects the object we\nthink! We think things because they are, not they are because we\nthink them. The object conditions the thought, not the thought\nthe object. Sir William's reason proves not that the object\nthought is not infinite, absolute, unconditioned, but simply that\nour thought on its subjective side is finite, or, in other words,\nthat we are not infinite, and cannot think an infinite thought or\nperform an infinite act--no very novel assertion.\n\nExclude from philosophy the infinite, the absolute, the\nunconditional, you exclude God, and deny that the existence of\nGod can be proved with certainty by reason, prior to faith. If\nyou exclude all spiritual existences, you deny all but material\nexistences, and that the spirituality of the soul is provable\nwith certainty from natural reason. If you exclude God from your\nphilosophy, you exclude the _causa causarum_, and therefore\nall finite or second causes. Unable to assert any cause or\ncauses, your philosophy can recognize only, as we said, sensible\nphenomena; nay, not so much, but simply affections of the\nsensibility, without any power to refer them to any external\nobject or cause producing them. We think it very easy, therefore,\nto understand wherefore the inductive philosophy, as gathered\nfrom the school of Sir William Hamilton, should, as we said,\n\"tend to restrict all science to the phenomena, and therefore to\nexclude principles and causes, and consequently laws.\" Can our\nfriend name anything more that can be an object of knowledge with\nSir William Hamilton and his school? Will he say this is all\nphilosophy can give? that is, all that can be known or proved by\nnatural reason?\n{688}\nIf so, what answer shall we make to Saint Thomas and all Catholic\ntheologians who, with one accord, maintain that the existence of\nGod, universal, necessary, immutable, real, self-existent and\nmost perfect being, is demonstrable by reason? or to the Holy See\nwho has required the traditionalist to subscribe the declaration\nwe have already mentioned, namely, \"Ratiocinatio Dei existentiam,\nanimae spiritualitatem, hominis libertatem cum certitudine\nprobare potest\"? or to Saint Paul, who says, (Rom. i. 20,) \"The\ninvisible things of God, even his eternal power and divinity, are\nclearly seen from the creation of the world, being understood by\nthe things that are made, _per ca quae facta sunt\nintellecta?_\n\nWe have dwelt the longer on this point because Sir William\nHamilton happens just now to be esteemed by a large class of our\ncountrymen as a great philosopher, and his writings are exerting\na bad influence on philosophic thought. He, perhaps, had no\ncontemporary who surpassed him in the literature of philosophy or\nphilosophical erudition; he knew all systems, ancient, mediaeval,\nand modern, but he lacked the true _ingegno filosofico_, and\nthough a born critic, he cannot as an original and comprehensive\ngenius be compared even with Dr. Thomas Reid, the founder of the\nScottish school. His great merit was in completing the doctrine\nof perception left imperfect by Reid, by proving that we perceive\nin 'the sensible order things themselves, not merely their\nphantasms, and that perceiving and perceiving that we perceive\nare one and the same thing. So far he asserted real objective\nknowledge, but knowledge only in the external or sensible order.\nBut he undid all this again by maintaining that we see things\nunder the forms of our own understanding; not as they are in\nthemselves, but as we are intellectually constituted to see them.\nTo an intellect constituted differently from ours they would\nappear different from what they do to us. This has an ugly squint\ntoward the subjectivism of Immanuel Kant, and brings us back to\nthe apparent or purely phenomenal. This supposes that all our\nknowledge is only knowledge relatively to us, or in relation to\nthe present constitution of our minds. Hence, there is nothing\nabsolute or apodictic in our science. Things may be in reality\nvery different from what we see them, or from what they appear to\nus. This renders all our knowledge on its objective side\nuncertain, and opens the door to universal scepticism. We think\nwe have done no injustice to Sir William Hamilton.\n\nWe rank Sir William Hamilton with the Positivists, as we do Mr.\nHerbert Spencer and Mr. J. Stuart Mill, because he restricts our\nscience to the sensible and material order, and denies virtually\nthat we can know principles and causes. We do not pretend that\nhe, Mill, or Spencer agrees in all things with Auguste Comte, the\nfounder of Positivism; we have no reason to suppose that he\nsympathized knowingly with Comte's avowed atheism, or with his\ndeification and worship of humanity. But the fundamental\nprinciple of positivism, that which excludes ontology from the\ndomain of science, is common to them all; and it is impossible to\nestablish the existence of God, the spirituality of the soul, or\nthe liberty of man, or anything else without the aid of\nontological principles. Mr. Mansel, the ablest of Sir William\nHamilton's disciples, seems well aware of it, and attempts to\nfound science on faith, and faith on--nothing.\n\nWe would willingly comply with our friend's request, but we know\nof no philosophical work in our language such as he wishes us to\nname. The English-speaking world, since Hobbes and Locke, has had\nno philosophy, and we are aware of no English treatise on\nphilosophy that has any philosophical value, though some good\nthings may be found in old Ralph Cudworth, Henry More, and in\nReid and Beattie.\n{689}\nWe know nothing within a moderate compass in any other modern\ntongue that would meet the wishes of our friend much better.\nBalmes's Fundamental Philosophy, translated from the Spanish by\nH. F. Brownson, with an introduction by his father, Doctor O. A.\nBrownson, and published by the Sadliers in this city, is the best\nthat occurs to us. Several Latin text-books, used in our\ncolleges, such as Rothenflue's, Fournier's, Branchereau's, and\nthe Lugdunensis, are, though not free from objection, yet good\nintroductions to the study of philosophy. For ourselves, we\ncollect our philosophy from Plato, Aristotle, the fathers and\ntheologians, more especially from the mediaeval doctors of the\nchurch, aided by various modern writers, and our own reflections.\nWe follow no one author, but regard St. Augustine and St. Thomas\nas the two greatest masters of Catholic philosophy that have yet\nappeared. As philosophy is the science of reason, we depend on\nthe reason common to all men to confirm or to reject such\nphilosophical views as we from time to time put forth.\n\n--------\n\n        Father Lacordaire.  [Footnote 65]\n\n    [Footnote 65:  The Inner Life of the Very Reverend P\u00e8re\n    Lacordaire, of the Order of Preachers. Translated from the\n    French of the Rev. P\u00e8re Chocarne, O.P., with the author's\n    permission. By a Religious of the same Order. With preface by\n    the Very Rev. Father Aylward, Prior Provincial of England.\n    Small 8vo, pp. 556. Dublin: William B. Kelly. New York: The\n    Catholic Publication Society.]\n\n\nA complete biography of the eloquent Dominican whose name is one\nof the most brilliant in the history of the modern French Church\nis yet to be looked for. If it is ever adequately written, it\nwill be a work of singular fascination. Rich, however, as Father\nLacordaire's life was in materials for such a book, it was a life\ncomparatively poor in striking incidents--a life whose best side\nlay apart from the world, and whose beauty could be clearly seen\nonly by the light of a genuine religious spirit. In a word, it\nwas his _inner_ life which best merits our notice and\nawakens our sympathy. We shall hardly be going too far if we say\nthat the history of his soul is a positive romance. This romance\nFather Chocarne has endeavored to relate in his excellent\nnarrative of \"The Inner Life of the Very Rev. P\u00e8re Lacordaire.\"\nAs a biography, it is defective; but it does not pretend to be a\nbiography. It is, rather, a description of the mental and\nspiritual progress of the man, and a picture of his virtues.\n\nHenry Lacordaire was the son of a village doctor of\nRecey-sur-Ource, in Burgundy, where he was born in 1802. The\ngentleness of temper for which he was afterward remarkable,\ndistinguished him from his cradle, and the fiery eloquence by\nwhich he was to work such wonders may almost be said to have been\na gift of his boyhood. As a child, his favorite amusement was to\nplay at being priest, and from his mimic pulpit to inveigh\nagainst the sins of the world with an energy which often became\nalarming.\n{690}\nAn incident, which he relates himself, and which may be found in\nhis \"Letters to Young Men,\" published by the Abb\u00e9 Perreyve,\nillustrates at once the remarkable delicacy of feeling which\nformed, through life, so important an element of his character,\nand the piety which distinguished his early youth. At the age of\nten he had been sent to school at the Lyceum of Dijon.\n\n  \"From the very first day,\" says he, \"my schoolfellows selected\n  me as a kind of plaything or victim. I could not take a step\n  without being pursued by their brutality. For several weeks\n  they even deprived me, by violence, of any other food than my\n  soup and bread. In order to escape their ill-treatment, I used,\n  as often as possible, to get away from them during the time of\n  recreation, and, going into the schoolroom, conceal myself\n  under a bench from the eyes alike of my masters and companions.\n  There, alone, without protection, abandoned by every one, I\n  poured out religious tears before God, offering him my childish\n  troubles, as a sacrifice, and striving to raise myself, by\n  tender sentiments of piety, to the cross of his divine Son.\"\n\nFather Chocarne's remark upon this story, though it may seem not\naltogether free from French fancifulness, is, after all, a just\none.\n\n  \"This little sufferer, hidden under a bench in the college of\n  which he was afterward to be the honor, and taking refuge at\n  the feet of the Great Victim, gives the key to the entire life\n  of Father Lacordaire. He was not to be raised by God until he\n  had been abased. He was to know glory, but only at the price of\n  hard humiliations and bitter disappointments; and in the hour\n  of success, as in that of trial, his refuge, his resource, his\n  life, his very passion, was to be the cross, the cross of Him\n  who sought the little schoolboy hidden under his bench.\"\n\nThere was nothing at Dijon to keep alive the fervor of his\nreligious sentiments, and it was a time indeed when, in the\nconfusion of the political upheaval which was soon to wreak havoc\nin the social life of France, faith was an unfashionable\nweakness, devotion was an exclusively feminine accomplishment,\nand piety was supplanted by a pinchbeck philosophy. What wonder,\ntherefore, that he left college at the age of seventeen, with his\nfaith practically destroyed--not an open infidel, but only a\nnominal Christian? At the age of twenty he went to Paris to\ncommence the practice of the law. It may readily be supposed that\nin the society of the metropolis, which was then seething with\npolitical excitement, and intoxicated with dreams of impossible\nliberty, in the stirring occupations of his career at the bar\nwhere he achieved at once a very signal success, his religious\nimpressions would be still further weakened. At first this\ncertainly was the case; yet there was one peculiarity of his\ndisposition which preserved him from a good many of the dangers\nof his way of life, and probably contributed, under God, to his\nconversion. He was one who thirsted for love, yet was without a\nsingle bosom friend. He never was attracted by the society of\nwomen; but he longed for the affection of some congenial\ncompanion of his own sex, who could enter into all his hopes and\nfeelings, and share his disappointments and his pleasures.\nWithout this--and his natural reserve long debarred him from it--\nParis was to him a desert. He was forced to withdraw into\nhimself. Solitude and habits of reflection begot an abiding\nmelancholy. \"There are in me,\" he writes at this time, \"two\ncontrary principles, which are always at war, and which sometimes\nmake me very unhappy--a cold, calm reason, opposed to a burning\nimagination--and the first disenchants me of all the illusions\nwhich the second presents.\n{691}\nNobody would commit more follies than I should do on one side of\nmy being, were I not withheld by a habit of reflection which\npresents things to me in all their aspects. I have played the\ngame of the material interests of this world, and, without having\nmuch enjoyed its pleasures or been intoxicated with its delights,\nI have tasted enough to be convinced that all is vain under the\nsun; and this conviction comes both from my imagination, which\nhas no limits save the Infinite, and from my reason, which\nanalyzes all it touches. I have a most religious heart, and a\nvery incredulous mind; but, as it is in the nature of things that\nthe mind must at last allow itself to be subjugated by the\naffections, it is most likely that I shall one day become a\nChristian. I am alike capable of living in solitude, and of\nplunging into the vortex of human affairs: I love quiet when I\nthink of it, and bustle when I am in it, sometimes making my\nCastle in the air to consist in the life of a village cur\u00e9, and\nthen saying good-by to my day-dream as I pass the Pont-Neuf--held\nin my present position by that force of reason which convinces me\nthat to try everything and to be always changing one's place is\nnot to change one's nature, and that there are wants in the heart\nwhich earth is powerless to satisfy.\"\n\nBy what process he was led out of this darkness into the light of\nreligious happiness, we do not know. Probably he never knew\nhimself the precise means by which the grace of God wrought his\nconversion. \"Would you believe it,\" he wrote in 1824, \"I am every\nday growing more and more a Christian? It is strange, this\nprogressive change in my opinions. I am beginning to believe, and\nyet I was never more a philosopher. A little philosophy draws us\nfrom religion, but a good deal of it brings us back again.\" His\nprogress toward the truth was rapid. He shunned the society of\nhis acquaintances. Sometimes he was detected on his knees behind\nthe columns of silent churches. Sometimes his friends surprised\nhim wrapt in sorrowful meditation among his books. At length the\nclouds broke away. The divine light burst upon him in all its\nmagnificence. The loving friend whom he had sought so long he\nfound in the person of his Saviour. The affectionate heart which\nhad yearned for an object upon which to pour out its wealth found\none in Jesus Christ. The eloquent lips had at last a theme worthy\nof their powers. He resolved to become a priest, and at the age\nof twenty-two accordingly entered the Seminary of St. Sulpice.\n\nThe serenity and peace of mind which came upon him in his new\nlife was like the reaction after long restraint. He seemed\ncreated for the priesthood, for he had all the natural gifts most\nfitting the sacred calling; but his life had been forced into the\nwrong channel, and now that the pressure was removed, his soul\nrebounded with an elasticity at which his directors now and then\nstood aghast. The strict formalism of St. Sulpice, with its\nrigorous rules of propriety, was but little suited to his\nindependent character; yet it was something more than a natural\nrepugnance to unnecessary restraint which inspired him with a\ngaiety little known in the prim precincts of the seminary.\n\n  \"It sometimes happened that his lively and original nature, not\n  yet under much control, betrayed itself in sallies which\n  manifested something of the _gallica levitas_, seasoned\n  with Burgundian love of fun. The good directors were astounded,\n  and hastened to repress this boisterous levity. He never could\n  accustom himself to the square cap, that strange head-dress,\n  the shape of which is so grotesque that one dares not call it\n  by its true name. Against these caps Lacordaire declared war, a\n  war at first carried on by epigrams, but which soon became one\n  of extermination.\n{692}\n  He would snatch them out of the hands of his friends and throw\n  them into the fire. This gave rise to a great commotion, and\n  very lively discussions ensued, some declaring in favor of the\n  square cap, and others for the biretta, which was then a\n  novelty. But novelty and argument were two things which St.\n  Sulpice held in equal abhorrence. In the evening, therefore, at\n  the hour of spiritual reading, the superior addressed them a\n  grave reproof, and order was once more restored.\n\n  \"The Abb\u00e9 Lacordaire always displayed perfect submission to his\n  directors; and if they were sometimes puzzled by the contrasts\n  of his singular character, they never had occasion to complain\n  of his want of humility, modesty, or obedience. He was beloved\n  by all his companions: his deep and earnest nature, wholly\n  given up to his new and sacred duties, was adorned with a\n  certain freshness of poetry, with the fragrance of worldly\n  refinement, and the grace of a character long pent up within\n  itself, but now freely poured forth; and all this gave an\n  indescribable charm to his personal intercourse which made him\n  generally loved and sought after. All his masters, however, did\n  not understand him; the singularity of some of his ways, his\n  liberal opinions, and his instinctive repugnance to certain\n  points of ordinary routine, doubtless now and then deceived\n  their observant eyes, and prevented them from at once\n  appreciating at its just value the pure gold which lay hidden\n  at the bottom of the vessel.\"\n\nThe consequence of all this was that his superiors remained a\nlong time in doubt about his vocation, and he was not allowed to\nreceive holy orders at the usual time.\n\n  \"They felt uneasy when they observed his ardor for debates, and\n  the large claims which he made for reason. When he opened his\n  lips in class to raise any objection, his words took so lively\n  and original a turn, and his conclusions were so bold, that\n  they often proved somewhat embarrassing to the professors. At\n  last, in order to save time, they begged him to put off his\n  difficulties till the end of the lecture. He forgot this\n  sometimes; perhaps it was to relate a story, but the story\n  generally ended in some treacherous question, or some\n  home-thrust at the thesis of the master.\"\n\nA project which he seriously began to entertain of becoming a\nJesuit put an end to this hesitation, and in 1827 he was ordained\npriest. Very soon afterward an appointment as auditor of the Rota\nat Rome was offered him. It was an office pretty certain to lead\nto the episcopacy, but he refused it, and accepted the humble\npost of chaplain to a convent of visitation nuns in Paris, where\nhis widowed mother came to live with him. The abundant leisure\nwhich remained to him in this humble position he diligently\nemployed in study. At one time he had nearly made up his mind to\nbecome a missionary in the United States, and he had an interview\nrespecting the project with Bishop Dubois, of New York, when that\nvenerable prelate visited France in 1830. The bishop offered him\nthe post of vicar-general. It would be curious to speculate what\neffect his acceptance of this proposal would have had upon the\nhistory of either the French or the American Church. Had he been\nvicar-general, he would probably have been the coadjutor and\nsuccessor of Bishop Dubois, and the brilliant career of\nArchbishop Hughes would have been missed from our annals. In no\nother diocese than New York would Archbishop Hughes have found a\nproper field for the full exercise of his remarkable powers; in\nno other position than the one he actually occupied could he have\ndone such good service to the church as he effected in this chief\ncity of the new world. On the other hand, there can be no\nquestion that Henry Lacordaire was but imperfectly fitted for the\nhard and laborious work required in those days of an American\nbishop. It was rough work, and the tools needed to be not\ndelicate but strong. To one who had refused a tempting offer from\nRome, the prospect of a vicar-generalship in America cannot be\nsupposed to have held out strong inducements; but there were some\nreasons why a career in this country presented itself to his mind\nin a strangely enticing light.\n{693}\nHe had not forgotten his early aspirations for political\nindependence. He had already given deep thought to the problem\nwhich was afterward to bring him into such prominence before the\nworld, of associating society and the church, and breaking the\nunholy alliance between democracy and infidelity. Politically he\nwas an earnest liberal; religiously he was a devout priest. In\nFrance, men did not readily see how the two characters could be\nunited; but in America he believed that Catholicism was placed\nunder conditions of development and action more favorable than in\nany country of Europe. \"Who is there,\" he exclaimed, \"who, at\nmoments when the state of his own country saddens him, has not\nturned his eyes toward the republic of Washington? Who has not,\nin fancy, at least, sat down to rest under the shadow of her\nforests and her laws? Weary with the spectacle I beheld in\nFrance, it was on that land that I cast my eyes, and thither I\nresolved to go to ask a hospitality she has never refused to a\ntraveller or a priest.\" Having obtained the consent of his\narchbishop, he went to Burgundy to bid farewell to his family.\nBut while there, he received a letter from his friend, the Abb\u00e9\nGerbet, which changed his course and determined him to remain in\nFrance.\n\nIn the spring of 1830, he had become intimate with the Abb\u00e9 de la\nMennais, in whom the hopes of so many of the most zealous of the\nreligious party in France then centred. He was fascinated by the\ngenius of that remarkable man; he believed in many of his\ntheories; he tried, with only incomplete success, to accept his\nphilosophy; but De la Mennais was an absolutist in politics, and\nLacordaire was an earnest liberal. The revolution of 1830,\nhowever, swept away this barrier which had hitherto kept the two\nmen apart. De la Mennais frankly accepted the great changes which\nfollowed the abdication of Charles X., and, in conjunction with\nsome of his disciples, prepared to discuss the same problem of\nthe church and society of which Lacordaire was about to seek the\nsolution in America. In this work Lacordaire was invited to take\npart. \"Nothing,\" says Father Chocarne, \"could have caused him\ngreater joy; it amounted to a sort of intoxication. ... And thus\nthe same enthusiastic love of liberty which was carrying this\nardent and generous soul to a country blest with a larger freedom\nthan his own, stopped him at the very moment of his departure,\nand fixed him for ever to take part in the destinies and\nstruggles of his native land.\"\n\nThe _Avenir_ newspaper, which was to be the vehicle of this\ndiscussion, was founded on the 15th of October, 1830. The noise\nof it had no sooner gone abroad than a young French gentleman of\nbrilliant parts, then in Ireland, hastened home to claim a share\nof the labor. This was Montalembert, and in him Lacordaire found\nthe friend for whom he had long sought, and a worthy object for\nthe affection which he was burning to bestow. They met for the\nfirst time at the house of De la Mennais, and loved each other\nfrom the first with a love such as knit together the souls of\nJonathan and David. De la Mennais, Lacordaire, and Montalembert\nwere three of the principal editors of the new journal.\n\n{694}\n\n  \"They declared their object plainly enough: it was to claim\n  back for the church of France every privilege of liberty,\n  whilst rejecting none of its burdens. The revolution had just\n  made a clean sweep of all ancient traditions. Since the\n  restoration of order and public worship at the beginning of the\n  century, the clergy had learnt to their cost the real value of\n  that protection granted by a power which was ill-informed as to\n  the real nature of its relations with the church; they had\n  found out by experience what they had gained in consideration\n  under the empire, under the restoration, and under the recently\n  established _r\u00e9gime_ of the _bourgoisie._ What\n  attitude were they to assume toward the new government? Would\n  the old endeavors to form an alliance between the throne and\n  the altar now recommence? The _Avenir_ was founded to\n  preserve them from this temptation. Its programme was, respect\n  for the charter and for just laws; but for the rest, an\n  absolute independence of the civil government. It consequently\n  advocated liberty of opinion for the press, and war against\n  arbitrary power and privilege; liberty of education, and war\n  against the monopoly of the university; liberty of association,\n  and war against the old anti-monastic laws revived in evil\n  times; the liberty and moral independence of the clergy, and\n  war against the budget of public worship. Very vague and\n  uncertain limits were assigned to these different liberties,\n  and the reserves stipulated for in the declarations of doctrine\n  disappeared often enough when the writers were carried away by\n  the ardor of discussion, and the vehemence of invective. They\n  were more frequently engaged, we must confess, in obtaining the\n  thing they sought than in preventing its abuse. Far too radical\n  in their principles, the polemics of the journal were yet more\n  so in the course of action which they recommended. 'Liberty is\n  not given, it is taken,' was a phrase continually repeated; nor\n  did they scruple to add example to precept. Every morning the\n  charge was sounded, and every day witnessed some new feat of\n  arms. The clergy were addressed as an army drawn up in battle\n  array. Every means was tried to kindle their ardor; the zeal of\n  the tardy was stimulated, and deserters were set in the\n  pillory. The chiefs of the party were harangued, the plan of\n  campaign indicated beforehand, the enemy pointed out and\n  pursued to death. Philosophers, enemies of religion, ministers,\n  miserable pro-consuls, members of the university, citizens, and\n  Gallicans were all attacked at once. Resistance did but rouse\n  the spirit of the combatants; it seemed as though the sun\n  always set too early on their warlike ardor. Patience and\n  discretion were not much regarded in their system of tactics;\n  they wanted to have everything at once, and could not wait for\n  to-morrow, and what was not granted with a good grace was to be\n  snatched by force, and at the point of the sword. This haughty\n  and antagonistic attitude, this want of experience in men and\n  things, more excusable in the young disciples than it was in\n  their master, formed, in our opinion, the greatest fault of the\n  _Avenir_. Its errors and exaggerations of doctrine might\n  have been corrected with time, good advice, and the practical\n  teaching of facts. But those haughty accents, so strange when\n  heard from the lips of priests, alarmed even their friends, and\n  created a certain consternation at Rome--Rome ever calm as\n  truth, and patient as eternity. The responsibility of this\n  false attitude must be charged chiefly on the Abb\u00e9 de la\n  Mennais and the Abb\u00e9 Lacordaire. It was the latter who drew up\n  the most incendiary harangues, and opened the most difficult\n  questions.\n\n  ......\n\n  \"The philosophic opinions of M. de la Mennais, and the absolute\n  theories of his journal, particularly those which represented\n  the state payment of the clergy as the badge of shame and\n  slavery, had excited a certain feeling of distrust among the\n  episcopacy, which daily increased. The young disciples of M. de\n  la Mennais were never afraid of a combat; but their faith and\n  loyalty could not endure the vague suspicions raised against\n  their orthodoxy. They began to desire a clear, open\n  explanation, and they determined to go and demand it from the\n  judge of all ecclesiastical controversies, the successor of St.\n  Peter.\"\n\nThe first suggestion of this course came from Lacordaire. He\nreached Rome, with his two companions, about the end of December,\n1831, and besought an audience with the Holy Father Gregory XVI.\nfor the purpose of explaining their views and intentions, and, we\nmay suppose, of defending their orthodoxy. But Rome is not\nreadily moved by the dreams of young enthusiasts, and their\nreception was a cold one. They were denied a personal interview,\nand were required to put what they had to say into writing. At\nthe end of two months, Cardinal Pacca condescended to notice\ntheir memorial, promised that it \"should be examined,\" and\ncourteously bade them go home.\n{695}\nThe effect of this treatment upon De la Mennais and Lacordaire\nrespectively, is a remarkable illustration of their characters.\nThe one, deeply wounded in his pride, is sullen under the reproof\nand at last throws away for ever the precious gift of faith. The\nother acknowledges his errors, bows humbly to the command of God,\nand, delivered from \"the most terrible of all oppressions, that\nof the intellect,\" starts afresh upon a more glorious career than\nthe one he is forced to abandon. \"When I arrived at Rome,\" he\nwrites, \"at the tomb of the holy apostles, St. Peter and St.\nPaul, I knelt down and said to God, 'Lord, I begin to feel my\nweakness, my sight fails me, truth and error alike escape my\ngrasp; have pity on thy servant, who comes to thee with a sincere\nheart; hear the prayer of the poor.' I know neither the day nor\nthe hour when it took place, but at last I saw what I had not\nbefore seen, and I left Rome free and victorious. I had learned\nfrom my own experience that the church is the deliverer of the\nhuman intellect; and as from freedom of intellect all other\nfreedoms necessarily flow, I perceived the questions which then\nagitated the world in their true light.\" \"It was at this moment,\nas I venture to believe,\" says Montalembert, \"that God for ever\nmarked him with the seal of his grace and laid up for him the\nreward due to his unshaken fidelity, so worthy of a priestly\nsoul.\"\n\nLacordaire now resolved to return at once to France, and abandon\nthe _Avenir_ entirely. De la Mennais persisted in remaining\nat Rome longer and resuming the suspended periodical; but when\nthe pope decided at last in his Encyclical Letter of August 15th,\n1832, and decided against him, he made a temporary submission,\nand withdrew to his country-house at La Chesnaie. In this\nsolitary retreat, where, in the days of his greatness, a knot of\nfavorite disciples used to sit at his feet, he was once more\njoined by Lacordaire, who had more confidence in the reality of\nhis master's obedience to the Holy See than after events\njustified. Before long, others of the young school gathered under\nthe roof of the lonely manor-house. De la Mennais chafed daily\nmore and more under the affront to his intellect. He gave signs\nof rebellion. His heart was torn by passion, and his lips let\nfall dark threats and alarming murmurs. \"The harrowing\nspectacle,\" says Lacordaire, \"became too much for me to bear.\" He\nwrote M. de la Mennais an affecting letter of farewell; and left\nLa Chesnaie alone and on foot. It was not long before the\napostasy of De la Mennais brought the sad history to an awful\nclose.\n\nThe young priest, who had escaped from the snare, hastened to\npresent himself to the Archbishop of Paris, Mgr. de Qu\u00e9len. He\nwas received with open arms, as a son who had returned wounded\nand weary from some dangerous adventure. \"You want another\nbaptism,\" said the archbishop, \"and I will give you one.\" He\nreappointed him to the chaplaincy of the Visitation, and in the\nretirement of that peaceful retreat he found rest for his\ndisturbed soul, and girded up his loins for a fresh battle with\nthe world.\n\nHe spent about a year in this solitude, and then accepted an\ninvitation from the officers of the Stanislaus College in Paris,\nto preach a series of conferences to the students. Here, at last,\nwas the vocation for which God had designed him. The pulpit was\nhis proper sphere. After the first day, the pupils had to give up\ntheir places to crowds of strangers, and the chapel could not\ncontain the numbers who flocked to listen to his indescribable\neloquence.\n{696}\nIt was an eloquence not restricted by rules. The orator trampled\nunder foot the artificial forms which for centuries had cramped\nand confined the utterances of the pulpit. He outraged at\npleasure all the canons of the schools. His conferences were\nneither lectures, nor homilies, nor sermons, but rather were\nbrilliant discourses on sacred subjects in which all the\nsympathies of the audience were by turns engaged. He spoke not\nmerely as a priest, but as a citizen, a poet, a philosopher, as a\nman of the day, appreciating the spirit and the wants of his own\ntime. But, like all men who strike out in a new path, and are not\nsatisfied to follow exactly in the footsteps of their\ngrandfathers, he encountered bitter opposition from a certain\nclass of purblind formalists. His style, they said, was too\nhuman; his rhetoric was too erratic; his disrespect for the\ntext-books of the schools of eloquence was positively appalling.\nNay, was he not one of that pestiferous brood which De la Mennais\nhad hatched in the woods of La Chesnaie, and which the Pope had\nsolemnly condemned? Was he not a liberal in politics, a friend of\nliberty, an admirer of American republicanism? He had recanted\nhis errors; but that was forgotten. He had given the strongest\nproofs of the steadfastness of his faith and the completeness of\nhis submission to the Holy See; but these were overlooked. He was\nnot merely an orator, but an accomplished theologian, for he had\nalways been a hard student; but to this his opponents resolutely\nshut their eyes. They denounced him as a dangerous man, a\nfanatic, an innovator, and a corrupter of youth. Their clamor at\nlast prevailed, and by order of the archbishop the conferences\nwere suspended. This second humiliation, which he accepted with\nthe same docility as the first, was of short duration. M. Affre,\nafterward Archbishop of Paris, pleaded so earnestly for his\nreinstatement that he was not only restored to the pulpit but\nappointed a series of conferences in the great cathedral of Notre\nDame. We shall tell in his own words how, after a brief\nhesitation, he entered upon this important duty:\n\n  \"The day having come, Notre Dame was filled with a multitude\n  such as had never before been seen within its walls. The\n  liberal and the absolutist youth of Paris, friends and enemies,\n  and that curious crowd which a great capital has always ready\n  for anything new, had all flocked together, and were packed in\n  dense masses within the old cathedral. I mounted the pulpit\n  firmly but not without emotion, and began my discourse with my\n  eye fixed on the archbishop who, after God, but before the\n  public, was to me the first personage in the scene. He listened\n  with his head a little bent down, in a state of absolute\n  impassibility, like a man who was not a mere spectator, nor\n  even a judge, but rather as one who ran a personal risk by the\n  experiment. I soon felt at home with my subject and my\n  audience, and as my breast swelled under the necessity of\n  grasping that vast assembly of men, and the calm of the first\n  opening sentences began to give place to the inspiration of the\n  orator, one of those exclamations escaped from me which, when\n  deep and heartfelt, never fail to move. The archbishop visibly\n  trembled. I watched his countenance change as he raised his\n  head and cast on me a glance of astonishment. I saw that the\n  battle was gained in his mind, and it was so already in that of\n  the audience. Having returned home, he announced that he was\n  going to appoint me honorary canon of the cathedral; and they\n  had some difficulty in inducing him to wait until the end of\n  the station.\"\n\nThe effect of these discourses was irresistible. All Paris came\nto hear them; and over the young men especially, into whose\nwants, tastes, feelings, hopes, aspirations, disappointments\nFather Lacordaire entered so thoroughly, because he had\nexperienced them all himself, his influence was almost unbounded.\n\n{697}\n\n  \"What above all distinguished his preaching, and marked its\n  providential mission, whilst it formed the chief reason of his\n  success, was its adaptation to social needs. It gave to society\n  what society was hungering and thirsting after; that Living\n  Bread, the long privation of which had brought it to the verge\n  of death; it spoke to the world of God, and of his Son, our\n  Lord and Saviour. Christianity has a social existence, not only\n  in the sense that it is itself a society, the most united, the\n  most universal, the most ancient, the most Catholic, and the\n  most perfect of all societies; but also in this, that all\n  societies depend on and live by it, as the body depends on the\n  soul, and draws its life from thence, and as man depends and\n  lives on God. Now the society which the Abb\u00e9 Lacordaire\n  addressed was remarkable precisely in this, that it was\n  _without_ God. For the first time, perhaps, since\n  civilized nations have had a history, men were to be seen\n  endeavoring to progress without the aid of any positive\n  commerce with heaven. But if it is with difficulty that an\n  individual can live without religious faith, much more is it\n  impossible for a nation to do so. What, in fact, is a nation\n  but a great community of sufferings, miseries, weaknesses, and\n  maladies of mind and body? Without religion, and above all,\n  without Christianity, where is the remedy for all these evils,\n  the consolation for all these misfortunes? The Abb\u00e9 Lacordaire,\n  himself brought back to Catholicism by his deep conviction that\n  society could not do without the church, received as his\n  peculiar mission the task of developing this truth to the eyes\n  of his countrymen. 'The old state of society,' he said,\n  'perished because it had expelled God; the new is suffering,\n  because God has not yet been admitted into it.' His constant\n  aim, the thought which ran through all his instructions, his\n  labors, and his entire career, was to contribute what he could\n  in order that he might reenter into the faith and life of the\n  age.\"\n\nThe conferences went on for two years without interruption, and\nwith constantly increasing success. The archbishop bestowed upon\nthe preacher the title of \"the new prophet.\" All at once, in May,\n1836, without any ostensible reason, he resigned his pulpit and\nwent to Rome. The fact was, he had not succeeded in living down\nthe misrepresentations and misconceptions which had embarrassed\nhim before. He was still regarded in many quarters as a dangerous\nman, whose zeal was too rash, and whose orthodoxy was, at the\nbest, but unfirm. What better could he do than seek refuge from\ndetraction in the very bosom of the church? How could he better\nprove his devout obedience to the Holy Father than by seating\nhimself at the very foot of the papal throne? In the retirement\nof the Christian capital, he pondered upon his future career. A\nlife such as he had hitherto led he saw was impossible; whatever\ngood he might effect by his preaching would hardly counterbalance\nthe evil of the opposition he aroused among those who could not\nor would not understand him. Moreover, the archbishop had kindly\nintimated to him that there was no line of duty open to him\nexcept in the routine of regular parochial duty. For this he had\nneither fitness nor vocation. His only resource was consequently\nin one of the religious orders. None of them except the Society\nof Jesus had yet been restored in France. What a glorious task\nfor him to bring back some of them to his native country! After\nlong deliberation, his choice settled upon the Dominicans. The\ndifficulties to be overcome were enormous; and not the least of\nthe obstacles which he had to place under his foot was his own\ncharacter, his independence of spirit, his love of liberty, his\nboldness in stepping out of the beaten path. We have no space to\nrelate in detail how he fought and conquered. He made his\nnovitiate at Viterbo, pronounced his vows in May, 1840, and the\nnext day set out for Rome, where the convent of Santa Sabina had\nbeen consigned for his use and that of the six companions who\nwere to join him in his mission.\n\n{698}\n\nHis stay here was but brief, for he was eager to get back to\nFrance. In December, he reappeared in his native country, wearing\nthe habit which had been banished from the kingdom for half a\ncentury.\n\n  \"Here and there he met with a few marks of astonishment, and\n  sometimes of hostility. At Paris, where he was expected by no\n  one excepting his most intimate friends, many rejoiced to see\n  him. His former enemies had no time to think of their old\n  rancors, nor the lawyers their musty statutes. Everything else\n  gave way before the sentiment of curiosity. All the world\n  wished to see the friar, the spectre of past ages, the son of\n  _Dominic the Inquisitor;_ and especially to know what he\n  was going to do and to say. Mgr. Affre, the new Archbishop of\n  Paris, received P\u00e8re Lacordaire with delight, saw no difficulty\n  in his preaching at Notre Dame in his new habit, and only\n  begged him to name whatever day he liked. We must leave P\u00e8re\n  Lacordaire himself to relate the story of this bold adventure.\n\n  \"'I appeared in the pulpit of Notre Dame with my white tunic,\n  gray-black mantle, and my tonsure. The archbishop presided, the\n  keeper of the seals, and minister of public worship, M. Martin,\n  (du Nord,) was also present, as he wished to observe for\n  himself a scene of which no one could tell the issue. Many\n  other distinguished persons concealed themselves in the\n  assembly, in the midst of the crowd which filled the church\n  from the doors to the sanctuary. I had chosen for the subject\n  of my discourse the _Vocation of the French Nation_, in\n  order to veil the audacity of my presence under the popularity\n  of my theme. In this I succeeded, and next day the keeper of\n  the seals invited me to a dinner-party of forty persons, which\n  he gave at the chancellor's mansion. During the repast, M.\n  Bourdain, formerly minister of justice under Charles X., leant\n  toward one of his neighbors, and said, \"What a strange turn of\n  events! If, when I was keeper of the seals, I had invited a\n  Dominican to my table, my house would have been burnt down next\n  day.\" However, the house was not burnt, and no newspaper ever\n  invoked the secular arm against my _auto-da-f\u00e9_.'\n\n  \"This was, in fact, one of his happiest strokes--one of those\n  surprises which he was fond of, and which suited the\n  adventurous side of his character. The effect of this\n  reappearance was immense; the religious standard had been\n  planted in the very heart of the stronghold; but the victory\n  was not yet completely gained, and many of those who had been\n  dazzled and disconcerted by the brilliancy and unforeseen\n  character of the attack, were not long ere they turned against\n  him, and demanded an explanation of his illegal triumph, in the\n  name of the state.\"\n\nThe establishment of the order in France was not effected without\na good many troubles. There was trouble at Rome, where he was\nsuspected and misunderstood until he proved his humility and\nobedience. There was trouble in France, where the government\nopposed the introduction of an order which was still forbidden by\nlaw, and threatened him with penalties which, after all, they\nlacked the courage to enforce; and where the timid and\nshort-sighted among the clergy would rather have had him submit\nto wrong than compromise a sleepy sort of tranquillity by\nstanding up boldly for the right. There was even a tedious\ncontroversy which, at this distance of time and place, seems\nwonderfully trivial, whether he should be permitted to preach in\nhis white habit. But his courage conquered. One or two houses of\nthe order were soon opened; and, when the revolutionary troubles\ncame in 1848, the eloquent Dominican was one of the most popular\nmen in France. With the establishment of the republic, a somewhat\nembarrassing question presented itself for his decision. It was\nnot easy for him, occupying such a position as he did in the\npublic eye, to stand aloof from the great public questions of the\nday. The good of religion seemed to require that he should mingle\nin the turmoil of politics. He tells how his determination was at\nlast effected:\n\n  \"Whilst I was thus deliberating with myself, the Abb\u00e9 Maret and\n  Frederic Ozanam called on me. They spoke to me of the trouble\n  and uncertainty that reigned among Catholics; all old\n  rallying-points were disappearing in what seemed likely to\n  become a hopeless anarchy, which might render the new\n  _r\u00e9gime_ hostile to us, and deprive us of all chance of\n  obtaining those liberties which had been refused by preceding\n  governments.\n{699}\n  'The republic,' they added, 'is well-disposed toward us; we\n  have no such acts of barbarity and irreligion to charge it with\n  as disgraced the Revolution of 1830. It believes and hopes in\n  us; ought we to discourage it? Moreover, what are we to do?--to\n  what other party can we attach ourselves? What do we see before\n  us but ruin? and what is the republic, but the natural\n  government of a society that has lost all its former anchors\n  and traditions?'\n\n  \"To these reasons, suggested by the situation of affairs, they\n  added higher and more general views, drawn from the future of\n  European society, and the impossibility that monarchy should\n  ever again find any solid resting-place. On this point I did\n  not go so far as they. Limited monarchy, in spite of its\n  faults, had always seemed to me the most desirable of all forms\n  of government, and I only saw in the republic a momentary\n  necessity until things should naturally take another course.\n  This difference of opinion was serious, and hardly allowed of\n  our working together in concert. Nevertheless, the danger was\n  urgent, and it was absolutely necessary either to abdicate at\n  this solemn moment, or frankly to choose one's party, and bring\n  to the help of society, now shaken to its very foundations,\n  whatever light and strength each one had at his command.\n  Hitherto I had taken a definite position with regard to public\n  events; ought I now to take refuge in a selfish silence because\n  the difficulties were more serious? I might indeed say that I\n  was a religious, and so hide myself under my religious habit;\n  but I was a _religious militant_, a preacher, a writer,\n  surrounded by a sympathy which created very different duties\n  for me from the duties of a Trappist or a Carthusian. These\n  considerations weighed on my conscience. Urged by my friends to\n  decide, I at length yielded to the force of events, and though\n  I felt a strong repugnance to the idea of returning to the\n  career of a journalist, I agreed, in concert with them, to\n  unfurl a standard on which should be inscribed together the\n  names of Religion, the Republic, and Liberty.\"\n\nThis was the origin of a new political journal, the _Ere\nNouvelle_, of which he commenced the publication in the spring\nof 1848. Nor was this all. The city of Marseilles elected him a\nrepresentative in the constituent assembly; and, in his white\nDominican habit, he took his seat there on the extreme left. We\nneed hardly say that his political career was a bitter\ndisappointment to himself, and a disappointment, too, to many of\nhis friends. There was only one party with which his principles\npermitted him to ally himself; but that party, as he saw it in\nthe assembly, could not enlist his sympathies. \"I could not sit\nthere,\" he said, \"apart from democracy, and yet I could not\naccept democracy as I saw it there displayed.\" He held his seat\nonly two weeks. On the 15th of May, a mob invaded the hall of\nmeeting, and for three hours held their representatives\nintimidated. The next day Lacordaire resigned in disgust. \"I\nfound out,\" said he afterward, \"that I was nothing but a poor\nlittle friar, and in no way a Richelieu; a poor friar, loving\nnothing but retirement and peace.\" Very soon afterward he\nwithdrew likewise from the _Ere Nouvelle_, and here it may\nbe said that his public life came to a close. He preached for\nsome time longer in Notre Dame, but the boldness of his language\ngave offence, and, after the _coup d'\u00e9tat_ of December,\n1851, he resisted all entreaties to appear again in the cathedral\npulpit. The strengthening and propagation of his order now took\nup all his attention. He visited his brethren in other countries,\nand made a short trip to England. Then, at the age of fifty, he\nresolved to devote himself to the education of the young. He\nfounded houses of the third order of Dominicans for the express\npurpose of carrying on this important work, and in one of them,\nat Sor\u00e8ze, he finally settled down to pass the remainder of his\ndays. Here, with powers yet unimpaired, the man whose eloquence\nhad stirred all France applied himself to teaching the Greek and\nLatin grammar. He had no fixed system of education, but his\npersonal magnetism made up for other defects; he gathered around\nhim the best instructors; he lived like a father in the bosom of\nhis family; he filled the place with the odor of gentleness and\npiety. Here, on the 21st of November, 1860, after an illness of\nnearly a year, he preached his last.\n\n{700}\n\nImportant as the labor was in which Father Lacordaire had spent\nthe closing years of his life, we cannot help feeling that it was\nnot the labor for which he had been specially endowed, nor was it\nthat in which his heart was most deeply engaged. It is rather as\nthe preacher of Notre Dame than as the president of Sor\u00e8ze,\nrather as the reconciler of religion and society than as a\nteacher of boys, that he stands before us in the page of history.\nWhat a bitter comment is it upon the condition of affairs in\nFrance, fifteen or twenty years ago, that such a man could be\nstopped in such a career! The story of Lacordaire often reminds\nus of a passage in one of George Eliot's novels, where the life\nof one who had gone through bitter sorrow and disappointment is\ndescribed as being \"like a spoiled pleasure-day, in which the\nmusic and processions are all missed, and nothing is left at\nevening but the weariness of striving after what has been failed\nof.\" It was partly so with his life; not wholly, of course, for\nthe reward of the striving came at evening, though the object of\nthe struggle had been missed. Disappointment and weariness were\nthe burdens which God laid upon him, and he leaves a brighter\nrenown, as well as reaps a brighter reward, for the sweetness\nwith which he bore them.\n\n--------\n\n    Sayings Of The Fathers Of The Desert.\n\n\nAbbot Isaac said: I know a brother who was reaping, and who\nwished to eat an ear of corn, and he said to the master of the\nfield: Are you willing I should eat one ear of corn? And he,\nhearing these words, was astonished and said: The field is thine,\nFather, and dost thou ask me? So scrupulous was the brother.\n\n\nAbbot Sisois once said in confidence: Believe me, I have been\nthirty years without praying to God on account of my sins; but\nwhen I pray I say this: O Lord Jesus Christ, save me from my\ntongue. And yet it causes me to fall every day, and be\ndelinquent.\n\n\nAbbot Pastor said: As the bees are driven from their hives by\nsmoke so that their honey may be obtained, even so does bodily\nrest banish the fear of the Lord from the soul, and take from it\nevery good work.\n\n\nA certain old man determined that he would drink nothing for\nforty days. Whenever he was tormented by burning thirst, he took\na vessel, and, having filled it with water, placed it before him.\nAnd when his brethren asked why he did this, he answered: In\norder that, seeing what I greatly desire, and yet not tasting it,\nmy suffering may be the more intense, and hence that the reward\nwhich God shall give me may be greater.\n\n--------\n\n{701}\n\n\n            Providence.\n\n\n  When I remember all my days,\n  And note what blessings each displays,\n  What words can speak my grateful praise?\n\n  What varied beauty thrills my sight!\n  What sounds my listening soul delight!\n  What joys of touch and appetite!\n\n  And, more than any joy of sense,\n  The happiness serene, intense,\n  That comes to me, I know not whence,\n\n  Unless it be that He is near,\n  And speaks some words I cannot hear,\n  But which unto my soul are clear.\n\n  For there are times--ah! who can tell\n  The gladness inexpressible\n  With which my soul doth overswell!\n\n  Ev'n sorrows that once seemed to press\n  My soul to brinks of wretchedness,\n  I know were but his means to bless.\n\n  Out of the deeps of pain and fear,\n  He led me to a higher sphere,\n  Where all his purpose is made clear.\n\n  Had not such sorrow struck my ways,\n  I had lived out my earthly days,\n  Barren of either prayer or praise.\n\n  Wherefore each day, when I recall\n  The blessings which his hands let fall,\n  For _this_ I thank him most of all;\n\n  And would not, if I could, forego\n  The sorrow which he made me know,\n  For unto it so much I owe.\n\n{702}\n\n  This happy life, this lovely earth,\n  These joys which every day brings forth,\n  Are now to me of tenfold worth.\n\n  Such wondrous love all things disclose,\n  Such joy through all my being glows,\n  That in my soul a longing grows\n\n  That I might see this One All-Good,\n  And tell him all my gratitude,\n  In words however weak and rude.\n\n  But ah! I fear it cannot be\n  That I this loving God can see,\n  For he fills out infinity;\n\n  And out of him there is no place\n  Where I can stand to see his face:\n  Enough, I lie in his embrace,\n\n  And sometimes, albeit dimly, feel\n  That he is near, and doth reveal\n  Himself in joy unspeakable.\n\n  I said, indeed, 'I shall not see\n  Him face to face;' yet it may be\n  That joy of joys awaiteth me.\n\n  For when this grossness, that doth fence\n  My being in the bonds of sense,\n  Falls off when I am taken hence,\n\n  New powers of which I do not know\n  May be revealed in me, and show\n  The One to whom myself I owe,\n\n  And I may see him face to face.\n  Lord, grant it of thy boundless grace,\n  The crown of all my happiness!\n\n--------\n\n{703}\n\n    From The Etudes Religieuses,\n    Historiques Et Litteraires,\n    Par Des Peres De La Compagnie De Jesus.\n\n\n    The Pre-historical Congress Of Paris.\n\n\nAn \"_International Congress of Anthropology and Pre-historical\nArchaeology_\" assembled in the amphitheatre of the _Ecole de\nM\u00e9decine_, at Paris, on the 17th of last August, and held\nsessions until the 30th. The meaning of the terms anthropology\nand archaeology is familiar; but the word _pre-historical_,\nbeing of recent origin, requires an explanation. It is used to\ndesignate either material objects, or events and epochs, or even\nmen, _anterior_ not only to written history, but also to all\noral tradition and to every monument having a certain date and an\norigin historically determined.\n\nIn the lowest strata of the earth which we tread, in caverns\nunknown for centuries, under the _tumuli_ or heaps of shells\nand fossils; in the bottom of lakes where formerly dwellings and\nvillages were built on piles; and in cromlechs and raths, are\nfound, with the bones of animals now extinct, arms, instruments,\nand utensils of stone, evidently fashioned by the hand of man. In\nthe next stratum above, the same stone objects are found; but\nthis time the stone is polished and accompanied with bones of a\ndifferent character--most frequently the bones and horns of the\nreindeer. Human remains, skulls, jaw-bones, and teeth, begin to\nappear in greater quantity. But in these two first layers of the\nearth no metal is discovered. It is only in the third stratum\nthat brass, then iron, often all the other metals, are met. These\nsingular fossils, and the invariable order of their existence, in\nFrance as well as in other countries, are the facts of which the\npresent essay treats.\n\nThe epoch in which iron begins to appear in the layers of the\nearth is one the date of which is known to us either by the\nrelations of historians, or by traditional recollections, or by\ninscriptions and medals found in the soil. These strata,\ntherefore, and their antiquities, belong to the historical epoch.\nBut the lower strata, of more ancient formation, all the fossils\nfound in them, curious specimens of primitive industry, monuments\nof the social state and manners of the first men; human remains\nalso which bear testimony to man's physical conformation; all\nthese, anterior to history, belong to _pre-historical_\narchaeology and anthropology. These sciences are very young in\nyears and manners, but very old by their object and the age to\nwhich they carry back our thoughts.\n\nThe Paris Congress met to compare the discoveries of different\ncountries, and thus obtain a more perfect knowledge of the\n_pre-historical_ period, and draw more general inferences\nfrom it.\n\nA first congress assembled in 1866, at Neufch\u00e2tel, in\nSwitzerland; the second is that of Paris, last August; the third\nwill meet this year in England. The Congress of Paris was\nsingularly favored by the Universal Exposition. The most eminent\nrepresentatives of European science were there. Russia alone was\nnot represented. Among the foreign members who spoke were Franks,\nSquier, Vorsaae, Nilsson, Desor, Cl\u00e9ment, Virchow, and especially\nCarl Vogt, the learned naturalist.\n{704}\nIt was this outspoken and venturesome _savant_ who at\nNeufch\u00e2tel declared himself a partisan of the _man-monkey_.\nFrance had there her Lartet, President, De Mortillet, Secretary,\nDe Longperier, the learned antiquarian of the Louvre, and De\nQuatrefages, the eminent naturalist of the museum. These two last\nillustrious members of the French Institute had a preponderating\ninfluence in the congress, for the interest of science and the\nglory of their country. The Abb\u00e9 Bourgeois, the Marquis de\nVibraye, Alexander Bertrand, Alfred Maury, Henry Martin, and\nDoctor Broca, were also present and addressed the assembly.\n\nIf we are to believe certain reports, of which the positivist\nsheet _La Pens\u00e9e Nouvelle_ is the organ, it was proposed to\nprove satisfactorily that the appearance of man on the earth\ndates from one hundred to sixty, or at least from forty thousand\nyears; that this appearance is not the result of a creation\nproperly so called, but the term of a slow and necessary\nevolution, as would be, for instance, the progressive\ntransformation of the monkey type into the human; imperceptibly\ntaking place for thousands or rather millions of ages! In this\nway the authority of the Bible would be set at naught, as being\nold, and gradually falling to pieces; but more especially because\nit is revealed and undoubtedly true. We could then do without the\n_hypothesis_ of a God, Creator of man, since our learned men\nwould show that they could do without the _hypothesis_ of a\nGod, Creator of heaven and earth.\n\nWas this the real aim of the Paris Congress? If so, it was the\nsame as that which well-informed men allege to have been the\nobject of the first hall of the history of labor in the French\nExposition. It is certain that, for several years, many books,\nreviews, journals, and even so-called official discourses which\nevery one may read, have openly tended in this direction.\n\nBut let us confine our remarks to the congress. We dislike to\naffirm that such was the fixed thought of the majority of the\nforeign and French members. The love of science, the praiseworthy\ndesire of collecting information, or of giving it regarding facts\nvery ancient in themselves, but very new in regard to us; these\nmotives gathered in Paris important strangers, and Frenchmen of\ndifferent classes and opinions. On the other hand, it seems\nimpossible to deny that an ardent minority had the intention of\noverthrowing the biblical theory of creation both as to time and\ncharacter; of this minority all except one were Frenchmen.\n\nYet--let us hasten to say it--the minority did not succeed. The\nscandal did not take place. The majority was not convinced of the\nfalsity of the traditional teaching. The new doctrines were not\nfound to be certain. A few affirmations and eccentric theories\nwere expressed. But they were so justly, learnedly, and wittily\nanswered, that the theorists had to doubt their ill-judged\nsystems. This is a very important result, in such an affair.\n\nA programme of all the excursions to be made in common to the\nExposition, to the Museum, to the Palace of Saint Germain, to the\nmegalithic monument at Argenteuil, to the environs of Amiens, to\nthe Museum of Artillery, and to the Museum of the Anthropological\nSociety, was traced in advance. Six principal questions occupied\nthe six evening sessions at the _Ecole de M\u00e9decine_.\n{705}\nThe day after these sittings, the members met again in the same\nplace, in free session, each to propose his difficulties, hear\nthe written communications of absent members; examine packages\narriving daily, containing new specimens of the primitive works\nof man, arms, utensils, different instruments in stone, in bone,\nin bronze, or in iron found in the bowels of the earth, in\ncaverns, or lakes and in Druidical cromlechs, raths, or mounds,\nin France, Switzerland, Italy, Germany, Great Britain,\nDenmark--in short, everywhere.\n\nThe six fundamental questions formed six theses, comprising the\nentire domain of _pre-historical knowledge_. \"What are the\nmost ancient vestiges of man's existence? In what geological\nconditions, among what _fauna_ and _flora_ have they\nbeen found in the different parts of the globe; and what changes\nhave taken place since then, in divisions of land and water?\"\nThis was the first question. Next question: \"Has the dwelling of\nthe primitive man in caverns been general? Is it true of one race\nalone, referable to one and the same epoch?\" Third question:\n\"What relations are there between the men to whom we owe the\nmegalithic monuments, and those who formed the lake dwellings?\"\nThe fourth was: \"Is brass the product of indigenous industry, the\nresult of a violent conquest, or the effect of new commercial\nrelations?\" This had reference to the use of brass in the west.\nFifth question: \"What are, in the different countries of Europe,\nthe chief characteristics of the first epoch of iron? Is this\nepoch anterior to the historical period?\" The sixth and last was\nthe most important question: \"What are the notions acquired\nregarding the anatomical characteristics of man in the\npre-historical times, from the most remote times to the\nappearance of iron? Can the succession of several races, and\ntheir traits, be discovered, especially in Western Europe?\"\n\nIt is easy to see that the five first questions are delicate,\ndifficult, and important, though they all centre in a point of\nchronology. But chronology in this case is the history of man. It\nis the Bible and revelation. It is tradition. It is faith. We\nmust assign a reasonable date for those ancient _d\u00e9bris_ of\nlabor, or of the human beings whom we certainly meet in all the\nstrata called _quaternary_; and probably also in the last\nlayers of the _tertiary_ strata, much more ancient than the\nquaternary. This date must in no wise change the sacred text.\nThis date once found and demonstrated, would settle the dispute\nwhich still exists regarding the chronology of the Bible. We know\nthat the Catholic Church gives us full liberty on this point. But\nthe moment has not yet come for pre-historical archaeology to\ndefine the limits of the ages or years which it calls _the age\nof cut stone; the age of polished stone_, or of the\n_reindeer;_ the age of _brass_, and the _age_ of\n_iron_. The congress understood this well. Only two or three\norators were bold enough to speak of thousands of years or of\nmillions of years. Some _savans_ have wonderful\nimaginations! But in general, no one ventured to determine or\ndefine the time. Almost always the gentlemen used the words\n_epoch, age, period,_ without wishing to be more precise.\nThey were afraid to compromise their reputations.\n\nWithout doubt, for the same reason, no _savant_ or person of\nconsequence wished in the beginning to sign his name to the\ncatalogues of the Exposition, relating to the pre-historical\nantiquities, or hold himself personally responsible for them.\n{706}\nBut behold! after five months, when the _Exposition_ was\nnear its close, on Thursday, August 29th, M. de Mortillet offered\ntimidly to the congress a little volume of his composition,\nentitled, _Pre-historical Promenades in the Universal\nExposition_. M. de Mortillet is also the author of an other\nbook, _The Sign of the Cross before Christianity_. He is\nalso collecting materials for the _positive_, or rather\n_positivist_ and philosophical history of man. For M. de\nMortillet imagines that it is necessary for men of genius to\nastonish others, if not by discoveries in truth, at least by\ntheir eccentricities. M. de Mortillet is a man of genius. The\nworld may deny it. But M. de Mortillet is a better authority on\nthe subject than any one else. This learned gentleman concludes\nhis _Promenades_ with these beautiful phrases: \"The\nchronology taught in all our schools is _terribly\ndistanced_. It hardly comprises the historical period. The law\nof the progress of humanity, the law of the development of races,\nand the great antiquity of man, are three consequences which\nfollow clearly, distinctly, precisely, and irrefragably from the\nwork which we have made on the Exposition.\" In these three\nphrases we perceive the wonderful wit, profundity, brilliancy,\nand genius of the author. It is astonishing how a gentleman of\nhis extraordinary science, although he was secretary of its\ndeliberations, could not exercise the smallest influence on the\ncongress, either by his speeches or his books!\n\nPre-historical archaeology was enriched by many new discoveries\nat the congress. The Abb\u00e9 Bourgeois, among other important facts,\nobserved that traces of man were found in the tertiary stratum.\n\nThe anthropological question came last. Eight days before the\nclose of the congress, M. de Quagrefages proposed that question,\nin presenting to it the first copy of his fine work, _Rapport\nsur les Progr\u00e8s de l'Anthropologie_. With great science,\nclearness, and modesty, the illustrious naturalist, in rendering\nan account of his investigations, held the whole assembly\nattentive. The applause which he received showed the esteem in\nwhich the author was held, and the value of his book.\n\nOther incidents formed a prelude to the final thesis; but some in\nan opposite direction. We cite a single example. It was asked\nwhether the first men had been anthropophagi or not. It is well\nknown that there is a school in France, as well as elsewhere,\nwhich deems it no dishonor to be descended from cannibals or\nmonkeys. A member of the congress made a profession of faith on\nthis point. The admitted head of this school (Doctor Broca) asked\nleave to speak on primitive anthropology. He began by saying that\nhe had long hesitated before adopting the affirmative, and that\nthe proofs so far given did not satisfy him; but a human bone,\nwhich he showed to the assembly, had finally convinced him. This\nbone had scratches at the end of it made by a flint. A man of the\nage of _cut stone_ had tried to break the bone at this spot.\nHe could not succeed. He had then tried to saw the bone in the\nmiddle with a flint, in order to obtain the marrow, with which he\nwished to regale himself. Some of the members laughed, especially\nwhen one, interrupting the orator, remarked that the pretended\nmarks made by the stone saw seemed fresh, and produced by recent\nrubbing. When the demonstration was finished, the eminent\narchaeologist, M. de Longp\u00e9rier showed, from the example of\nseveral historical races, and by specimens which are found in\npublic museums, that objects of luxury, as well as utensils, were\noften made out of human bones.\n{707}\nInstances were given of mallets, bodkins, and musical\ninstruments. As to the bone in question, nothing showed that the\ncuts and scratches on it pointed out by Doctor Broca were not\ncaused by _some one trying to make a whistle!_ The reader\nmay guess the impression left on the congress by this remark, and\nthe expression of the doctor's physiognomy.\n\nIn anthropology as in archaeology the celebrities of the congress\nalleged well-proven facts; either real fossils of the human body,\nbones, skulls, jaw-bones, teeth; or signs naturally connected\nwith the subject, as hilts of swords, or bracelets fitting hands\nor arms much smaller than ours. But it was first required to\nprove the authenticity of these antique objects. Theories could\nnot be established until after the discussion of these facts. So\nthe theorists were not at ease. They may have complained of\nhaving been troubled or gagged. By whom? By men too learned to be\nthe slaves of a system. If such complaint were made--and such is\nthe rumor--they are the highest eulogium of those eminent men.\n\n  \"Si forte virum quem\n  Conspexere, silent.\" [Footnote 66]\n\n    [Footnote 66: The vulgar herd in silence awestruck scan The\n    face of him whom nature marks a man!]\n\nAt the closing session some human skulls, very ancient or\nsupposed to be, were ranged on a table. Those heads were\nremarkable for the extraordinary length of the occiput, by their\nretreating foreheads, high cheek-bones, and prominent jaw-bones.\nThe object of these skulls was to show the great similarity\nbetween the primitive man and the monkey. Doctor Broca, standing\nbefore the table, made a speech more than an hour long about\nthose skulls, discussing the authenticity of some and reasoning\non the others. He spoke also of a singular jaw-bone. He said a\nfew words about the small hands. He should logically have\nconcluded that the primitive man was a brother of the ape. Every\none expected this. But at the decisive moment, he wheeled about,\nand confessed that there were not yet proofs enough to justify\nsuch a conclusion, and that it should not be urged. Was he afraid\nof ridicule or was he really convinced in making this concession?\nLet us say that it was conviction on his part. But the doctor's\npremises were not as inoffensive as his conclusion. M. de\nQuatrefages made short work of them. He so pulverized the\narguments of Doctor Broca, that Carl Vogt, summoned against his\nwill to help the doctor, admitted the conclusion of his\ncolleague.\n\nVogt began by declaring himself a Darwinian. Although the theory\nof Darwin cannot satisfy the best naturalists, it knocks the\nman-monkey completely off his legs. Vogt admitted that it was\nimpossible, in the actual condition of science, to hold the\nman-monkey opinion; so great is the distance between the lowest\nhuman type and the highest ape type. The Genevan Darwinian indeed\nadded, that we might _imagine_, or might discover at some\nfuture day a common type of both races; but he was not very\nsanguine on this point. Only one thing, said he in conclusion,\nremains indisputable after all our discussions on the capacity of\nskulls and the shape of the head, namely, the progressive\ndevelopment of the brain and of the human skull, in proportion to\nthe increasing development of intelligences.\n\nWe shall not dispute this double progress. It has the sanction of\nthat most eminent naturalist and anthropologist M. de\nQuatrefages. We even admit a third progress with this\n_savant_; that made from Congress of Neufch\u00e2tel to the\nCongress of Paris. Even though we the should be accused of\noptimism, we shall even hope for greater progress in the future\ncongresses. Yes, we expect it. Pre-historical studies will add to\nthe facts already known others more significative still; and the\nlearned will finally and unanimously adopt, in default of\ncertitude, theories more probable and more convincing as they\napproach nearer to the truth.\n\n------\n\n{708}\n\n             Miscellany.\n\n\n_Singular Effects of Lightning_.--Sir David Brewster has\npublished an account of the effects of lightning in Forfarshire,\nwhich is of much interest. In the summer of 1827, a hay-stack was\nstruck by lightning. The stack was on fire, but before much of\nthe hay was consumed the fire was extinguished by the farm\nservants. Upon examining the hay-stack, a circular passage was\nobserved in the middle of it, as if it had been cut out with a\nsharp instrument. This circular passage extended to the bottom of\nthe stack, and terminated in a hole in the ground. Captain\nThomson, of Montrose, who had a farm in the neighborhood,\nexamined the stack, and found in the hole a substance which he\ndescribed as resembling lava. A portion of this substance was\nsent by Captain Thomson to Sir David's brother, Dr. Brewster, of\nCraig, who forwarded it to Sir David, with the preceding\nstatement. The substance found in the hole was a mass of silex,\nobviously formed by the fusion of the silex in the hay. It had a\nhighly greenish tinge, and contained burnt portions of the hay.\nSir David presented the specimen to the Museum of St. Andrew's.\n\n----\n\n_Ancient Glacier in the Pyrenees_.--M. Charles Martens, who\nwas present at the meeting of the British Association, read a\npaper on the ancient glacier of the Valley of Argelez. This\nglacier and its affluents descended from the crest of the\nPyrenees, whose summits now reach an altitude varying from 6000\nto 9000 feet. The roots of the glacier were in the _cirques_\nof Gavarnie, Troumouse, Pragn\u00e8res, etc., and the glacier extended\ninto the plain as far as the villages of Peyrouse, Loubajac, Ade,\nJuloz, and Arcisac-les-Angles. Along the valley, polished and\nstriated rocks, scratched pebbles, glacial mud, moraines, and\nerratic boulders, are the proofs of its existence. At Argelez,\nthe thickness of the glacier was about 2100 feet, and, at the\nopening of the valley at the foot of the Pic de Geer, near\nLourdes, 1290 feet. Between Lourdes and the village of Ade, the\nrailway runs across seven moraines; and the railway from Lourdes\nto Pau is cut, as far as the village of Peyrouse, through glacial\ndeposits. The Lake of Lourdes is a glacial lake, barred by a\nmoraine, and surrounded by numerous erratic boulders proceeding\nfrom the high Pyrenean mountains. Some of the boulders are of\nlarge dimensions: thus one of them, between the lake and the\nvillage of Poueyferr\u00e9, is thirty feet in length, twenty-three\nfeet in width, and eleven feet in height. This lake of Lourdes,\nsurrounded by hills covered with briars, reminds one, in many\nrespects, of the small lakes of Scotland.\n\n-----\n\n_A Burning Well_.--While some artisans were engaged in\nmaking borings for an artesian well at Narbonne, France, the\nwater rushed forth with great violence, and soon burst into\nflame. The flame, which arises from the combustion of carburetted\nhydrogen, is reddish and smoky, and does not emit a smell either\nof bitumen or sulphuretted hydrogen.\n{709}\nThe \"sinking\" for the spring was made on the left branch of the\nAude, in a plain situate about two metres above the sea-level,\nand composed of alluvial mud. The alluvial mud extends to a depth\nof six metres; then follow tertiary limestones and marls, with\nthe remains of marine shells. At the depth of seventy metres, the\nspring containing the inflammable gas was met with.\n\n----\n\n_Comets and Meteors_.--In a paper on this subject, laid\nbefore a late meeting of the Astronomical Society, Mr. G. J.\nStony, Secretary to the Queen's University in Ireland, makes the\nfollowing interesting observations, which tend to show, as\nSchiaparelli has already pointed out, that there is a very\nnatural relationship between comets and meteors. If interstellar\nspace, external to the solar system, be, as is most probable,\npeopled with innumerable meteoric bodies independent of one\nanother, a comet while outside the solar system would in the\nlapse of ages collect a vast cluster of such meteorites within\nitself. Each meteorite which approached the comet would in\ngeneral do so in a parabolic orbit; and, if it came near enough\nto pass through a part of the comet, this parabolic orbit would,\nby the resistance of the matter of the comet, be converted into\nan ellipse. The meteor would, therefore, return again and again,\nand on each occasion that it passed through the comet its orbit\nwould be still further shortened, until at length it would fall\nin, and add one to whatever cluster had been brought together by\nthe previous repetitions of this process. In this way a comet,\nwhile moving in outer space, beyond the reach of the many\npowerful disturbing influences which prevail within the solar\nsystem, would inevitably accumulate within itself just such a\nglobular cluster of meteors as the November meteors must have\nbeen before they became associated with the solar system.\n\n----\n\n_How the Earth's Rotation affects Gunnery_.--Some may be\nfound to doubt that the movement of the earth affects the\ndirection of a ball expelled from a cannon; nevertheless, the\nfact is correct. In the _Astronomical Register_, Mr. Kincaid\nsays that a simple illustration of this effect may be made by\nattaching to the same axis two wheels of different diameters, so\nthat both shall rotate together. If the one have a diameter of\nthree feet, and the other of one foot, it is evident that any\npoint on the circumference of the larger will, during a\nrevolution, move through three times as much space as a similar\npoint on the periphery of the lesser circle, and will, therefore,\nmove with three times the velocity. The figure of the earth may\nbe considered as made up of an infinite number of such wheels,\ndiminishing in size from the equator to the poles, and all\nrevolving in twenty-four hours. Now, if a gun be fired from the\nequator in the direction of the meridian, which is obviously that\nof maximum deviation, at an object nearer the pole, it is plain\nthat that object, being situated on a smaller circle than the\ngun, but revolving in the same interval of time, will move,\nduring the flight of the projectile, through less space eastward\nthan the shot, which will have imparted to it the greater\nvelocity of the larger circle from which it started, and the\nlatter will therefore tend to strike eastward from its butt.\n\n----\n\n_Dodo-like Birds of the Mascarene Islands_.--The Committee\nappointed in 1865 to investigate this group, has produced little\nresult beyond the collection of a number of bones from Rodriguez.\nProfessor Newton made some general remarks upon the specimens\ncollected, and he especially dwelt on an unexpected confirmation\nof the testimony of Leguat, by the discovery of an extraordinary\nbony knob near the extremity of the wing. Leguat, whose account\nof the \"Solitaire's\" habits was the only one we possessed,\nmentioned a curious \"ball,\" as big as a \"musket-bullet,\" which\nthe male birds possessed under their wing-feathers. Now, the\nexistence of this ball was proved by the bony knob exhibited, and\nthus the veracity of old Leguat, on this point, as on so many\nothers, was confirmed. In conclusion, Professor Newton called\nattention to the fact that at present we only knew of the didine\nbird of the island of Reunion, _that it was white_.\n{710}\nIn the course of last year, Mr. Tegetmeier had shown him an old\nwater-color painting of a white dodo, and this, he was inclined\nto believe, might represent this lost species, of which he\ntrusted the French naturalists in that island would succeed in\nobtaining actual relics.\n\n----\n\nMr. Foley's model for the O'Connell National Monument in Dublin\nhas been unanimously adopted by the Committee. The work will be\nforty feet high, executed in bronze and granite. \u00a310,000 is\nalready subscribed toward the cost of its erection.\n\n----\n\n_A Slander Refuted_.--A work has lately appeared in England,\nin which everything Spanish is spoken of with the greatest\ncontempt. In reply to the accusations made against the queen's\nchaplain, the Reverend Canon Dalton writes thus to the\n_Athenaeum_: \"Will you allow me to _protest_ against\nthe character drawn by Miss Edwards of Padre Claret in her recent\nwork entitled, _Through Spain to the Sahara_, which was\nreviewed in your last number, December 14th? When I was in Spain\nlast year, I had several interviews with the queen's confessor.\nThe estimate which I was then enabled to form of his character\nwas the very _opposite_ to that drawn by the authoress. I\nshould like to know if Miss Edwards ever spoke a single word to\nPadre Claret, or even ever saw him. Then there is the testimony\nof Lady Herbert, in her work entitled _Impressions of Spain_\nin 1866, (London, Bentley, 1867,) at pages 211-12; her ladyship\ndraws a very different character of the Padre, taken from a\npersonal interview with the illustrious prelate. Again I should\nlike to know what reasons Miss Edwards has for styling Claret's\nwork, _La Clave de Oro_, a _coarse_ work? All the works\nwhich he has published are purely of a devotional or literary\ncharacter, and I am quite confident that nothing 'coarse' or\nunbecoming can be found in any one of them. Lastly, I never heard\nof Padre Claret's coach being driven by _four splendid\nmules_, because I believe he is not possessed even of a cab!\nJ. Dalton.\"\n\n--------\n\n      New Publications.\n\n\n  Lectures On Reason And Revelation.\n  Delivered in St. Ann's Church, New York,\n  during the Season of Advent, 1867.\n  By the Rev. Thomas S. Preston.\n  New York: The Catholic Publication House, 126 Nassau Street.\n\nThe Lectures published in this volume were delivered during the\nSunday evenings of Advent, in St. Ann's Church. They are five in\nnumber, on the following subjects: The Office of Reason,\nRelations of Reason and Faith, Conditions of Revelation,\nRevelation and Protestantism, Revelation and the Catholic Church.\nThe author's thesis may be thus stated: The Catholic Church is\nproved by reason alone, from the evidences of credibility by\nwhich the Christian revelation is demonstrated. The Introduction,\nwhich is a distinct essay in itself, disposes of two objections;\nfirst, that the evidence of Christianity can be applied to pure\nProtestantism, and second, that the Catholic Church ought to be\nproved by miracles occurring in every age of her history, as well\nas at the outset. The Rev. author has handled his topics with\ngreat ability, in a clear, neat, and attractive manner, and with\na brevity and simplicity which detract nothing from the force of\nthe reasoning, while they lighten very much the task of the\nreader. These Lectures will be of great service both, to\nCatholics and to well-disposed inquirers after truth. The\ntypographical execution of the volume is in the best style. As a\nspecimen of our author's method and style, we extract the\nfollowing passage from the introduction.\n\n{711}\n\n  \"In the following lectures it is the aim of the author to set\n  forth, in a clear and concise manner, a simple argument whereby\n  the claims of the Catholic Church are substantiated by reason\n  alone. In the midst of the excitements of our day some of the\n  plainest truths are forgotten, and men hold opinions or pass to\n  conclusions without any logical grounds whatever. They even\n  sometimes contradict the propositions which are self-evident to\n  reason in their zeal for intellectual progress and emancipation\n  from the thraldom of the past. That which is new is sought\n  after, even though it overthrow the belief of truths heretofore\n  generally admitted. We are not believers in total depravity,\n  and have, therefore, great confidence in the good which still\n  remains in human nature. And as we know that God's grace is\n  ever with man to assist him to the knowledge of the truth, and\n  to lead him in the way of virtue, we have great hopes that the\n  intellectual and moral movements of our day will guide the\n  honest and sincere mind to the true light which is its only\n  illumination. It is a great mistake to suppose that the\n  Catholic Church requires of any man that he should do away with\n  his reason, or cease to exercise those powers which God has\n  given him for the proper appreciation of truth and goodness. To\n  man's intelligence revelation is addressed, and every new light\n  from above only serves to enlarge the thirst for knowledge. The\n  divine ways are ever harmonious, and the supernatural truth\n  will never contradict the natural. The argument of these\n  lectures depends upon the force of reason alone. We briefly\n  explain the nature of human reason and the sphere of its\n  operation. We show how the divine revelation gives its unerring\n  evidence, to which a just intelligence must submit. We\n  vindicate all the natural powers, and defend the exercise of\n  their just prerogatives. God, speaking to man, is bound to give\n  him unmistakable signs that he is speaking, and that no\n  deceiver is imposing upon us. When these signs are given, then\n  we are bound to believe the divine testimony, and entirely to\n  accept truths which the veracity of our Maker vouches for.\n  Private judgment has its full scope, as to it are clearly\n  presented the tokens of every supernatural intervention. The\n  extrinsic credibility of doctrines proposed to faith is thus\n  assured to the full conviction of the understanding. If we go\n  on to say that reason assured of a revelation cannot then be\n  the judge of the intrinsic credibility of a dogma clearly\n  revealed, we only say that reason must act in its own sphere,\n  and that the finite must not venture to measure the infinite.\n\n  \"It seems to us that no logical objection can be made against\n  such a restriction of private judgment. If man, by his unaided\n  powers, could find out all necessary truth, there would be no\n  need of a revelation. Of things beyond the scope of his\n  understanding, man can certainly be no judge, while it is\n  equally certain that the word of God can never deceive.\n\n  \"It is also a great misunderstanding to suppose that Catholics\n  are not allowed to use their reason, or that faith has taken\n  the place of our ordinary intelligence. So far from the truth\n  is this supposition, that the aim of the present work will be\n  to show that Catholics alone are the followers of true reason,\n  always yielding obedience to its just dictates, and never\n  swerving in any way from its rigid conclusions. The Catholic\n  faith presents all its unanswerable claims before the mind, and\n  then, as it appeals to our natural sense of truth and justice,\n  it cannot contradict itself by doing away with the very faculty\n  which is made the judge of its pretensions. Reason, rightly\n  understood, leads with certainty to the light of revelation,\n  and that light does in no way extinguish the spirit or vitality\n  of nature. There is full scope for the play of the highest\n  intelligence, not in the contradiction of evidence clearly\n  established, nor in doubting truth already manifest, but in the\n  constant and daily increasing appreciation of the beauties of\n  God's revelation whereby all our faculties are brought into\n  perfect harmony. There is neither manliness nor wisdom in the\n  state of perpetual doubt which appears to be chosen by many as\n  the exercise of a precious liberty. The Catholic believes\n  because he has evidence of the divine power and goodness, and\n  in the very highest exercise of reason bows down to God and him\n  only. No human organization has a right to bind our\n  consciences, and no body of men can form or direct our faith.\n  God alone is our master, whose word is a law to our\n  understandings and our hearts. The church is recognized by us\n  because he has established it, and given to it authority to\n  teach in his name, and we are ever ready to give to any honest\n  mind a reason for the faith we hold and profess.\"\n\n\n----\n\n{712}\n\n  Poems.\n  By Ellen Clementine Howarth.\n  Newark: Martin R. Dennis & Co. 1868.\n\nPoets are said to deal in fiction, which does not, however, imply\nthat what they sing is false. One may relate a purely fictitious\nstory, and it be \"an ower-true tale\" for all that. In fact,\npoetry is the most beautiful form of the expression of truth.\nTell the truth in honest plain prose, and the chances are that\nyou tell something very unpalatable. Facts are proverbially hard.\nOn the contrary, poetry (if it deserves the name) is ever\ncharming, winning, and popular. We say without hesitation, few of\nour living lyric poets have wreathed more charming verses than\nMrs. Howarth. Simple and unaffected as they are, every line\nbreathes the purest sentiment, and sends its touching pathos\nstraight to the heart. The reason is plain. She reveals the truth\nas her own heart has known it. Here she guilelessly tells more of\nher own life, with all its struggles, toil, and bitter sorrows,\nthan we think she intended. In a word, it is a volume not for the\neye of strangers, but for the loving perusal of friends to whom\nshe would wish to speak \"eye to eye and soul to soul.\" We do not\nwonder, therefore, that, when these poems appeared a few years\nago under the title of \"The Wind Harp,\" without any prefatory key\nto their origin, a few careless critics should have failed to\npenetrate the hidden depths of their meaning. Our space does not\npermit us to quote as freely as we could wish. There are some\nundoubtedly better than others, but there is not one which our\nreaders would not find worthy of particular choice and of special\nmerit.\n\nThe first, \"The Passion Flower,\" well deserves its place of\nhonor. We give the opening verse:\n\n  \"I plucked it in an idle hour,\n   And placed it in my book of prayer;\n   'Tis not the only passion flower\n   That hath been crushed and hidden there.\n   And now through floods of burning tears\n   My withered bloom once more I see,\n   And I lament the long, long years,\n   The wasted years afar from Thee.\"\n\nFrom a poem entitled \"Gethsemane\" we cull this most beautiful and\ntruly sublime thought.\n\n  \"'Tis said that every earthly sound\n   Goes trembling through the voiceless spheres,\n   Bearing its endless echoes round\n   The pathway of eternal years.\n   Ah! surely, then, the sighs that He\n   That midnight breathed, the zephyrs bore\n   From thy dim shades, Gethsemane,\n   To thrill the world for evermore!\"\n\nAnd who can read the following without emotion?\n\n      My Soldier Comes No More\n\n  \"Yes, many a heart is light to-day,\n     And bright is many a home,\n   And children dance along the way\n     The soldier heroes come:\n   And bands beneath the floral arch\n     The gladdest music pour;\n   While beats my heart a funeral march--\n     My soldier comes no more.\n\n   One morn from him glad tidings came,\n     Joy to my heart they gave;\n   At night I read my hero's name\n     Amid the fallen brave.\n   I know not where he met the foe,\n     Nor where he sleeps in gore;\n   Enough of woe for me to know,\n     My soldier comes no more.\n\n   Now here they come with heavy tramp,\n     And flags and pennons gay,\n   Who were his comrades in the camp,\n     His friends for many a day.\n   The music ceases as they pass\n     Before my cottage door;\n   The flags are lowered; they know, alas!\n     My soldier comes no more.\n\n   What care I for the seasons now?\n     The world has lost its light:\n   No spring can clothe my leafless bough,\n     No morn dispel my night;\n   No longer may I hopeful wait\n     For summer to restore:\n   My heart and home are desolate--\n     My soldier comes no more.\n\n\nJudging from such poems as \"The Tress of Golden Hair,\" \"Adrift,\"\n\"The Stranger's Grave,\" and other pieces suggested by some\nordinary accident in life, Mrs. Howarth possesses one of those\nfinely strung natures which, like the AEolian harp, are moved to\ngive forth harmony at the slightest breath that passes. The\nformer title of her book, \"The Wind Harp,\" was, to our thinking,\nsingularly appropriate. The present volume is published in\nfirst-class style.\n\n----\n{713}\n\n  An Epistle Of Jesus Christ To The Faithful Soul.\n  Written in Latin\n  by Joannes Lanspergius, a Charter-House Monk,\n  and translated into English by\n  Lord Philip, XIXth Earl of Arundel.\n  New York: Catholic Publication Society.\n\nThis little book will be hailed by the faithful soul who desires\nto increase very much in the love of God, as if it were, what its\ntitle expresses, a letter written by the Saviour of the world\nhimself, and addressed to him personally. It embodies the very,\nspirit and life of his instructions, and teaches us practically\nhow to carry out in a systematic way the teaching of the Sermon\non the Mount. It is easy to read that divine sermon in a\nsentimental way, to feel somewhat good while reading it, but\nwithout gathering much of its meaning, or with any desire to\npractise it any more than may be convenient. This book will not\nbe very palatable to such persons. It contains the strong meat\nfor vigorous and earnest souls, rather than the light and\nunsubstantial froth which merely nourishes a sickly\nsentimentalism. We do not doubt there are thousands of devout\npersons in this country who would find in this little work an\ninvaluable treasure, and, once possessing it, they would on no\naccount be willing to part with it. They would find its\ndirections plain and simple, and eminently fitted to lift them up\nout of a low spirituality to the highest state of religious peace\nand perfection. Would to God this notice may meet their eye, so\nthat they may not be without it. We need just such books now in\nthis country, to serve to make a number of saints and saintly\npersons, who shall draw down from heaven a benediction on not\nonly themselves, but on the church of God and all our\nfellow-citizens. May more of them be drawn out of the storehouse\nof old true Catholic piety and devotion, for our spiritual joy\nand edification.\n\nIt is only necessary to add, that the English of the translation\nis delightful, while the mechanical getting up of the book, its\npaper and type, render it most agreeable to read.\n\n----\n\n  1. Napoleon And The Queen Of Prussia.\n  An Historical Novel, by L. M\u00fchlbach.\n  Translated from the German, by F. Jordan.\n  Complete in one volume, with illustrations.\n  New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1867. 8vo, pp. 265.\n\n  2. The Daughter Of An Empress.\n  An Historical Novel, by L. M\u00fchlbach;\n  translated from the German by Nathaniel Greene.\n  Complete in one volume, with illustrations.\n  New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1867, 8vo, pp. 255.\n\n  3. Marie Antoinette And Her Son.\n  An Historical Novel, by L. M\u00fchlbach.\n  Complete in one volume, with illustrations.\n  New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1867. 8vo, pp. 301.\n\nOn a former occasion we noticed three of the M\u00fchlbach books, all\nwe had then read, as favorably as our conscience would permit;\nfor we wish to be thought capable of recognizing literary merit\nin books written by others than Catholics. Now, Catholics have at\nleast nature, and, though we do not recognize the sufficiency of\nnature without grace, we yet do not hold it to be totally\ncorrupt, or count it good for nothing. We are always ready to\nrecognize merit in literary works, by whomsoever written, if\nable, and true to genuine nature. The M\u00fchlbach novels are written\nwith spirit and ability, a talent almost approaching to genius,\nwith some touches of nature, and with considerable historical\ninformation. Having said so much, we have exhausted our praise.\nThe works are true throughout neither to nature nor to history,\nand their moral tone is low and unwholesome--pagan, not\nChristian. Their popularity, which can be but short-lived--for\nit is hardly possible to read one of them a second time--speaks\nvery little in favor of the taste, the knowledge of history, or\nthe moral tone of our American reading public, as far as\npublished. The least faulty, and to us the least repulsive of the\nseries, is _Napoleon and the Queen of Prussia_, though it\nshows less ability than _Joseph II._ and his Court. We broke\ndown before we got half through _The Daughter of an\nEmpress_, and we have read only a few pages of _Marie\nAntoinette and her Son_. We have had no desire to have our\nfeelings harrowed up by a fresh recital of the horrors of the\nFrench Revolution, especially of the wrongs of the beautiful and\nlovely Queen of France, and the young Dauphin. _Napoleon and\nthe Queen of Prussia_ is, however, a book we can read, and\nsome portions of it with deep interest; but even this is\ndisfigured by namby-pamby sentiment.\n{714}\nAdulterous love, self-murders, and horrors of all sorts, enough\nboth to disgust the Christian reader, and to give even a reader\nof strong nerves the nightmare for weeks after reading it. The\nM\u00fchlbach is in ecstasy of delight when Napoleon overcomes the\nvirtue of the Countess Walewski, and has no doubt that the\nself-murderer has ended all his troubles and rests in peace. She\nseems, through all her books, not to regard adultery, if prompted\nby love, or suicide either, if inspired by disappointed\npatriotism, as a sin. Indeed, throughout she writes as a\nlow-minded pagan, not as a high-minded Christian. She\napotheosizes persons who die with imprecations of vengeance on\ntheir enemies in their mouths, and by their own hands; and even\nthe beautiful and slandered Queen Louisa has no higher\naspirations than those of patriotism.\n\nWe have heretofore said of the M\u00fchlbach books that they have too\nmuch fiction for history, and too much history for fiction; but\neven a great part of her history is itself fiction, in the sense\nof being untrue, which fiction never need be. Scott, in his\nhistorical novels, commits a thousand anachronisms, mistakes one\nperson for another, and is rarely accurate in the minuter\ndetails; but he never falsifies history, and the impression he\ngives of an epoch or a historical person is always truthful. The\nimpression the M\u00fchlbach gives, even when historically correct as\nto details, is unhistorical and untrue. We are no believers in\nthe immaculate virtue or high-mindedness of the royal and\nimperial courts of the eighteenth century, but no one who\nreflects a moment can believe that the M\u00fchlbach gives a true\npicture of them. There is no doubt at all times much illicit\nlove, cunning, intrigue, cruelty, vice, and crime, in the ranks\nof the great, but our experience proves that there is something\nelse there also. At the time of the French Revolution the\nnobility were corrupt enough, but were they more so than the\npeople who warred against them? Were the murderers and applauders\nof the murder of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette superior to them\nin either public or private virtue? If the great are bad, the\nlittle are seldom better; and nothing can have a more unwholesome\neffect on society than the multitude of novels poured forth by\nlittle women and less men, professing to describe the manners and\nmorals, but really traducing the manners and morals of the upper\nclasses. Such novels are untrue in fact, and serve only to\ngratify the mean curiosity and malice of the envious and the\nmalignant. Whoever reads the late book of the Queen of Great\nBritain and Ireland will find that she and her husband furnished\na model of the domestic virtues and affections. Even when the\nM\u00fchlbach professes to write history, she does not write it, and\nperverts it quite unnecessarily when by no means demanded by the\naesthetic exigencies of her story. We pass over the calumnies of\nthe Jesuits and the private life of Ganganelli, Pope Clement XIV.\nThey please us better than would her praise. But she represents\nCharles III., King of Spain, as refusing his consent to the\nsuppression of the Society of Jesus after he had expelled the\nJesuits from his own dominions, and when he was most urgent of\nall the Bourbon princes for their suppression. She represents\nFrance as in favor of the suppression, but holding back her\nformal assent till she could secure that of Spain, when it is\nwell known, that the King, Louis XV. and Choiseul, then at the\nhead of the French government, were rather favorable to the\nJesuits than otherwise, and gave them up only after a decree of\nparliament had been rendered against them, and even then only in\norder to obtain from the parliament, always their bitter enemies,\nthe registering of certain edicts in which the minister believed\nFrance was more interested than in preserving the society. The\nSpanish, French, Portuguese, and several of the Italian princes,\ndemanded of the pope, under threats of schism, the suppression of\nthe order before the Empress Marie Theresa reluctantly consented,\nat the order of the pope, to allow the Bull suppressing the\nsociety to be published in her dominions, as the M\u00fchlbach has\nherself described in her _Joseph II. and his Court._\n{715}\nThese works are not only not trustworthy in their history, not\nonly in their grouping and coloring falsify it, but they pervert\nthe judgment, prejudice the mind so against the truth that it is\nable only with great difficulty to recognize it when it comes to\nbe presented by learned and faithful historians.\n\nThe real name of the writer of the M\u00fchlbach books is no secret.\nShe is a widow, said to be personally a very estimable lady; and\nit has been reported that she intends coming to this country and\ntaking up her residence with us, and certainly we would not treat\nher uncourteously. But if the report be true, it is a good proof\nthat her works are not very popular in Germany, and bring her but\nsmall pecuniary remuneration. Her works will not long be popular\neven in this country; for their popularity here has, to a great\nextent, been due to their supposed value as truthful pictures of\nthe courts of Berlin, Vienna, St. Petersburg, Paris, and Rome, in\nthe last century, not to their weak and sickly sentimentalism,\ntheir low moral tone, their worship of Venus or Anteros, or their\ncynicism in religion. The American people are excessively fond of\nreading about courts, kings and queens, emperors and empresses,\ndukes and duchesses, counts and countesses; and chiefly because\nthey have no such things among themselves, they see them only as\nshrouded in mystery. But when they find that the M\u00fchlbach books\ndo not, after all, raise the veil, or give any trustworthy\naccount of them, they will drop them; for they adopt as their\nmotto, _Ernst ist das Leben_, and can never be long\nfascinated by the debased paganism of the M\u00fchlbach. We would by\nno means do the author the slightest harm in character or purse,\nbut we advise her in the future not to make her novels sermons or\nmoral lectures, but to animate them with a real ethical spirit,\nso that they will make the reader stronger and better, not weaker\nand worse even in the natural order.\n\n------\n\n  Two Thousand Miles On Horseback.\n\n  Santa Fe And Back.\n\n  A Summer Tour Through Kansas,\n  Nebraska, Colorado, And New-Mexico,\n  In The Year 1866.\n\n  By James F. Meline.\n  New York: Hurd & Houghton. 1867.\n\nReally good books of travel have been found so entertaining and\nsuccessful in time past, that more recently every quarter of the\naccessible globe has spawned tourists, and journals, and diaries,\nand \"notes,\" and \"visits,\" of a thousand varieties of vapidness.\nEngland, as usual in matters of _superficial_ mediocrity,\nhas been completely distanced by America. We have dozens of\ndiarists who are promising candidates for the compliment some\nwicked spirit once paid Bayard Taylor--of having travelled more\nand seen less than any man living. Singularly enough, our own\ncountry has fared the worst at our own hands; singularly,\nbecause, full of natural wonders of its own, it has not to send\nits Winwood Reades to Senegambia for interesting material, and\nits charming, boy-beloved Captain Mayne to swear at the luckless\n\"closet-naturalist\" from all the corners of the world. We could\nturn all the Royal Societies loose along the Mississippi, and\nfurnish them matter for a quarto to each F.R.S. Yet since Porte\nCrayon sharpened the lead-pencil into the war-spear, and his\ncharming cousins stepped finally out of the carriage, and \"Little\nMice\" sank to the level of a \"man and a brother, and possible\nCongressman,\" only one traveller worth following has kept the\nfield--the inimitable, the perennial Ross Browne, in Washoe, or\nItaly, or St. Petersburg, still the prince and paladin of\ntourists. Thus there is wondrous great room in the upper story of\nthis literature, with a whole fresh young continent to hold the\nmirror to. Mr. Meline has challenged boldly and well for a good\nplace in the front rank of our books of travel. He has great\nadvantages and great aptitude for the task. His advantages are\nthat, unless our spectacles and his artifice deceive us, he is a\nthorough good fellow--the _sine qua non_ of the traveller\neverywhere--the shibboleth of the brotherhood of cosmopolites.\nBut besides this, _mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes_.\n{716}\nIf we are not mistaken in remembering Mr. Meline as the same\ngentleman who was formerly French Consul in Cincinnati, he is a\nman who has known European capitals and landmarks, and, what is\nbetter, galleries and sculptures, and not known them in vain. And\napt he certainly is. In the difficult art not to harp on\nanything, this book displays consummate judgment, and the choice\nof subjects shows a tact and skill most remarkable in what we\nunderstand to be a first book. There is just about enough fact to\nmake the work decently solid, a good deal of fancy and\nimpression, and above all, a light hand. The style as a whole is\nreally good, because it does pretty evenly just what it attempts\nand professes--sometimes more, seldom less. The descriptions of\nDenver and Central City, and the account of the Pueblos of New\nMexico interested us especially the former for its manner, the\nlatter for its interesting and curious facts. But another reader\nwould call our selection invidious, and cite quite another set of\nincidents. The fact is, Mr. Meline is everywhere vivid, easy, and\nsuggestive, and we do think we like those two parts best because\nwe have friends in Denver, and take a special interest in the old\nPoltec question.\n\nOnly one thing, barring a little pedantry here and there, we have\nto growl at in taking a grateful leave of a beguiling book. The\nauthor feels it his duty at painfully short intervals to say\nsomething funny, and has preserved and dished up the selectest\nassortment of aged, stale, and stupid jests we ever saw. We\nsuspect him to be one of those terrible people who enjoy a\nwitticism not wisely but too well. The moment he tries humor, his\nwonted taste and sparkle seem to take flight, and he grows to a\ndotage of inane merriment. It is hard to say whether the jokes he\ncracks himself, or those which he rehashes, ready cracked, are\nthe more benumbingly dismal. The most provoking thing is, that\nthe man is not at all wanting in play of wit; there are a hundred\ngood and a few clever little side-hits in his volume. Only he\nmust not force it. The moment he sets out systematically to be\njocose, he is flatness itself.\n\nBut take him for all in all, Mr. Meline has written no\ncommonplace book on a subject where commonplace has been achieved\nfrequently and fully; and if he will learn to sketch like Ross\nBrowne, or half so well, or else hire one of those private\nubiquities, a \"special artist,\" make no more jokes, quote some,\nif quote he must, that others have made within twenty years, and\nrely more on his liveliness of style, he has a future before him\nas a writer of travels.\n\n------\n\n  Golden Truths.\n  Boston: Lee & Shepherd. 1868.\n\nThe aim of the above volume is a good one. The purpose of its\nauthor is to aid the soul on its way in Christian perfection. The\n\"truths\" which it contains are taken from various Protestant\nauthors, and a few from Catholic sources. The selections struck\nus at first as having been made without any sectarian bias or\nbigotry. Had we found it so unto the end, we should have given it\nour approval. But on page 166 we find the following:\n\n  \"Will the martyrs, who sowed the seed of the church in their\n  blood, have no part in the final harvest? The mighty reformers,\n  who battered down the walls of tyrant error about the ears of\n  wicked priests,\" etc.\n\nWho G. W. Bethune is, from whose writings the above is extracted,\nwe know not; we would, however, advise him, whoever he may be,\nwhen writing for the public, to respect its intelligence more,\nrant less, and remember there is a commandment which reads as\nfollows,\n\n  \"Thou shalt not bear false witness.\"\n\nThe aim of this volume was to be acceptable to all readers; the\nquotations from the above writer omitted, would remove at least\nwhat is offensive to some.\n\nIt is not often that a neglected catholic truth finds so\nbeautiful an expression as in the following passage by the\n\"Country Parson:\"\n\n  \"There are few who have lived long in this world, and have not\n  stood by the bed of the dying; and let us hope that there are\n  many who have seen a Christian friend or a brother depart--who\n  have looked on such a one as life, but not love, ebbed away as\n  the eye of sense grew dim, but that of faith waxed brighter and\n  brighter.\n{717}\n  Have you heard such an one, in bidding you farewell, whisper\n  that it was not for ever? have you heard such an one tell you\n  so to live, as that death might only remove you to a place\n  where there is no dying? And as you felt the pressure of that\n  cold hand, and saw the earnest spirit that shone through those\n  glazing eyes, have you not resolved and promised that, God\n  helping you, you would? And ever since have you not felt that,\n  though death has sealed those lips, and that heart is turning\n  back to clay, _that_ voice is speaking yet, _that_\n  heart is caring for you yet, _that_ soul is remembering\n  yet the words it last spoke to you? From the abode of glory it\n  says, 'Come up hither.' The way is steep, the ascent is\n  toilsome; it knows it well, for it trod it once; but it knows\n  now what it knew not then, how bright the reward, how pleasant\n  the rest that remaineth, after the toil is past. And if we go\n  with interest to the grave of a much-loved friend, who bade us\n  when dying, sometimes to visit the place where he should be\n  laid when dead; if you hold a request like _that_ sacred,\n  tell me, how much more solemnly and earnestly we should seek to\n  go where the conscious spirit lives, than where the senseless\n  body moulders! If day after day sees you come to shed the\n  pensive tear of memory over the narrow bed where that dear one\n  is sleeping; if, amid the hot whirl of your daily engagements,\n  you find a calm impressed as you stand in that still spot where\n  no worldly care ever comes, and think of the heart which no\n  grief vexes now; if the sound of the world melts into distance\n  and fades away on the ear, at that point whence the world looks\n  so little; if the setting sun, as it makes the gravestone glow,\n  reminds you of evening hours and evening scenes long since\n  departed, and the waving grass, through which the wind sighs so\n  softly, speaks of that one who 'faded as a leaf' and left you\n  like 'a wind that passeth away and cometh not again,' oh! how\n  much more should every day see you striving up the way which\n  will conduct you where the living spirit dwells, and whence it\n  is ever calling to you, 'Come up hither!' It was a weak fancy\n  of a dying man that bade you come to his burying-place; but it\n  is the perpetual entreaty of a living seraph that invites you\n  to join it _there._\"\n\n----\n\n  The Layman's Breviary.\n  From the German of Leopold Shefer.\n  By C. T. Brooks.\n  Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1868.\n\nWhatever may be the merit of the original German, certain it is,\nthis English version flows like a free rivulet. Mr. Brooks is\nsingularly happy in his versification. It might, however, just as\nwell have been entitled by the author, the \"Priest's Breviary\" as\nthe \"Layman's Breviary,\" for it is quite plain he thinks both of\nthose terms convertible. We search in vain for any trace of faith\nin the supernatural, and, considering the beauty of the\nsentiments, are sorry to find it wanting. The lack of it jars\nupon our Catholic nerves from the beginning of its perusal to its\nending.\n\n----\n\n  The Young Fur Traders, A Tale Of The Far North;\n\n  The Coral Island, A Tale Of The Pacific;\n\n  Ungava, A Tale Of Esquimaux Land;\n\n  Morgan Rattler; or,\n  A Boy's Adventures in the Forests of Brazil.\n\n  By R. M. Ballantyne.\n  New York: Thomas Nelson & Sons.\n\nIn these \"books for boys\" amusement and instruction are admirably\ncombined, the adventures met with being varied and thrilling,\nwhile the local descriptions embody so thoroughly the natural\nfeatures of the regions visited, the productions, atmospheric\nphenomena, etc., as to render them not unworthy the perusal of\nchildren of a larger growth; they are also well got up; good\npaper, neat binding, numerous illustrations.\n\nWhere so much is praiseworthy, we are sorry their universal\ndiffusion should be so seriously impeded, or rather utterly\ndestroyed, by a most wanton display of sectarian rancor. In the\n_Young Fur Traders_, for instance, we meet with the\nfollowing definitions, certainly not according to Webster:\n\"Papist, a man who has sold his liberty in religious matters to\nthe pope;\" \"Protestant, one who protests against such an\nineffably silly and unmanly state of slavery.\" And in _Morgan\nRattler_, a virulent attack on the Brazilian clergy, who, we\nare told, \"totally neglected their religious duties; were no\nbetter than miscreants in disguise, teaching the people vice\ninstead of virtue a--curse not a blessing to the land,\" etc.\n\n{718}\n\nWe regret this pitiful outpouring the more that, as books of\nadventures for boys, they are otherwise all that could be\ndesired.\n\n----\n\n  The Spirit Of St. Vincent De Paul;\n  Or, A Holy Model Worthy Of\n  Being Imitated By Ecclesiastics,\n  Religious, And All The Faithful.\n\n  Translated from the work of the learned M. Andre--Joseph\n  Ansart, converted Priest of the Order of Malta, etc.\n  By the Sisters of Charity,\n  Mount St. Vincent, New York.\n  New York: P. O'Shea, 27 Barclay street. 1868.\n\nIt is a valuable service to present to the public, as the author\nof the above translation has done, the pith of other and more\ncompendious lives of the great St. Vincent de Paul. The life of\nour Saint cannot be read too often by priests, by the people, and\nby all lovers of their race. His zeal for religion and his love\nof the poor were unbounded almost; and the extent of his labors,\nand the good he did to the poor and distressed of humanity, were\nnever perhaps equalled by any other man. To our non-Catholic\nreaders we would say, read the life of this man, great in\ngoodness, if you would obtain a true idea of the genuine and\nperfect fruit of the catholic faith. No one, whatever may be his\ncreed, can read the life of St. Vincent de Paul without feeling\nhis love for God and his fellow-men increased and inflamed. May\nit please God to raise up in his holy church in our own country a\npriest like St. Vincent de Paul!\n\n----\n\n  Rome And The Popes.\n  Translated from the German of Dr. Karl Brandes,\n  by Rev. W. J. Wiseman, S.T.L.\n  Benziger Brothers. 1868.\n\nThis is a volume containing, within a small compass, and in a\npopular style, suited to the generality of readers, a history of\nthe temporal power of the popes, by an author well acquainted\nwith his subject. The translator has done a service to the\npublic, in giving them the chance of reading it in English. Just\nat present it is quite appropriate as an offset to the ignorant\nand silly abuse of the papal sovereignty with which the public\nears are filled. We recommend it to all our readers who wish to\nget some solid information on this subject. We must repeat, once\nmore, in regard to this volume, a criticism we have to make too\noften, that its generally neat appearance is marred by many\ntypographical errors. Cannot our Catholic publishers wake up to\nthe importance of correcting their proofs properly?\n\n----\n\n  Selections From Pope, Dryden, And Various Other Catholic Poets,\n  who preceded the Nineteenth Century: with biographical and\n  literary notices of those and other British Catholic Poets of\n  their class, comprising a brief history of British Catholic\n  Poetry, from an early period. Designed not only for general\n  use, but also as a text-book or reader, and a prize-book for\n  the higher classes in Catholic educational institutions.\n  By George Hill, author of the \"Ruins of Athens,\" \"Titania's\n  Banquet,\" and other poems.\n  Examined and approved by competent Catholic authority.\n  New York. 1867.\n\nMr. Hill expresses so succinctly in this old-fashioned title-page\nthe real character and aim of his useful compilation that he\nleaves us, in fact, nothing further to say than that he has made\nhis title good.\n\n----\n\n  The Life Of St. Francis Of Assist,\n  and a sketch of the Franciscan Order.\n  By a Religious of the Order of Poor Clares,\n  (in England.) With emendations\n  and additions, by Very Rev.\n  Pamfilo da Magliani, O.S.F., (Superior\n  of one of the branches of the\n  Franciscan Order in the U. S.)\n  New York: P. O'Shea, 27 Barclay street. 1867.\n\nMany beautiful lives of the Saints have been written in England\nwithin the last few years. This one deserves to be classed among\nthem, and is, on the whole, the best history of the romantic and\npoetic life of St. Francis we have ever read. The sketches of the\nhistory of the Order, especially those relating to missions in\nheathen countries, and the short biographies of distinguished\nFranciscans, are of great value. The Life of St. Francis has a\ncharm entirely its own, which never wears out, and his pious\ndaughter has narrated it well. Such a book cannot be too warmly\nrecommended in this age of avarice, worldliness, and luxury. We\nwish, however, that the proofs had been more carefully corrected.\n\n----\n\n{719}\n\n  Claudia.\n  By Amanda M. Douglas,\n  author of \"In Trust,\" \"Stephen Dane,\" etc.\n  Boston: Lee & Shepard.\n\nIn this novel, the characters are strongly drawn, the incidents\nvaried and striking, the dialogue well sustained, but the general\neffect somewhat marred by a vein of moralizing, which, in light\nliterature, unless of absolute necessity and of a high order,\nalways degenerates into prosiness, causing in that vast majority\nof readers who seek amusement only, weariness, if not disgust.\n\n----\n\n  The Queens Of American Society.\n  By Mrs. Ellet, author of \"The Women\n  of the American Revolution,\" etc.\n  New York: Charles Scribner & Co.\n\nThis volume is a signal illustration of one of the prevailing\npassions of the nineteenth century; a craving which brushes the\nbloom from the lives of our lovely young girls, and makes our\ncharming matrons _common_; a passion for notoriety; a morbid\ndesire to peep into other people's windows, or engage them in the\nimproving occupation of looking into ours. Here we have the\n_entr\u00e9e_ not only into the _minutiae_ of the\ndrawing-rooms of these _queens_, but into their bedchambers,\nand stand beside their toilet-tables, and descend into their\nkitchens; in short, there is no part of the houses of these\nladies living and moving in our midst, unransacked by the\ngossiping pen, save the _nurseries_, and we are left to\ndoubt if these sumptuous homes contain such old-fashioned\napartments. But the gossiping spirit of this book is not the only\nexceptionable feature; it is extremely snobbish. To have\ndescended from the nobility, to have a thick volume of genealogy\nto fall back upon, (by the way, we may all have even a more ample\nchronicle than is here given us of these noble scions, if we will\nlook at the records of the garden of Eden for our pedigree,) to\nbe decked in velvets, point-lace, and diamonds, to have given\n\"select dinners,\" or \"lavish and gorgeous suppers,\" seems to be\nthe most apparent end and aim of the majority of these living\n\"queens.\" A sprinkling of pietism and charitable deeds is\ninterpolated through the volume, apparently to give an \"odor of\nsanctity\" to the otherwise sensuous details. A catechism for the\nuse of the rising generation of queens might be compiled from the\npages before us. Here are two or three questions and answers\ntaken at random from the proposed text-book:\n\n  \"Q. What is the chief end of one aspiring\n      to be a queen in American society?\n\n  \"A. To be clothed in purple and fine\n      linen, and to fare sumptuously every day.\n\n  \"Q. How many gods are there in the 'best society'?\n\n  \"A. Three.\n\n  \"Q. Which are they?\n\n  \"A. Genealogy, gold, and good eating.\n\n  \"Q. What directions are given for dress?\n\n  \"A. Whose adorning let it be the outward adorning, wearing\n      of gold and pearls, and putting on of apparel.\"\n\nOther questions and answers will readily suggest themselves.\n\n----\n\n  The Comedy Of Convocation, in the\n  English Church. In two scenes.\n  Edited by Archdeacon Chasuble, D.D.\n  New York: Catholic Publication Society.\n\nThis unique work, of which a notice appeared in the last issue of\n_The Catholic World_, is without doubt one of the most\nremarkable satires ever penned. The thorough knowledge it\ndisplays of the Anglican establishment, its incisive\nargumentation, the purity of its style, and its irresistible\nhumor have never been surpassed in any essay of its kind.\n\n{720}\n\nThese characteristics have led many critics in England and in\nthis country to attribute its authorship to Dr. Newman; but while\nwe think it in every respect worthy of that great writer, we feel\ndisposed, from a more careful study of it, to believe that it has\nnot emanated from his mind, while at the same time we are obliged\nto confess that we know of no other man in England who wields\nsuch a mighty pen. It has given the Anglican Church an herculean\nblow, and we cannot see how an honest member of the English\nChurch or of its sister denomination, the \"Protestant Episcopal\nChurch of the United States,\" can rise from its perusal without\nan utter loss of confidence in the discordant, illogical, and\nunauthoritative system to which they have hitherto given their\nadherence. The baseless fabric crumbles at the touch of this\nliterary giant, and sinks to a level where it can hardly elicit\nthe admiration of its most zealous partisans.\n\n----\n\n  Sadlier's Catholic Directory, Almanac, And Ordo For The Year Of\n  Our Lord 1868: with a full report of the various Dioceses in\n  the United States and British North America, and a list of the\n  Archbishops, Bishops, and Priests in Ireland.\n  New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co.,\n  31 Barclay street. 1868.\n\nThe Catholic Almanac for this year makes its appearance a little\nearlier than it has for some years past. From a cursory glance at\nits contents, we think it is more correct in its details than\nsome of its predecessors. It is gotten up with an eye to the\nstrictest kind of economy.\n\n----\n\nWe have received from THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE, where they\nare for sale, the following new works just published in England:\n\n  _The Monks of the West_, by Count Montalembert,\n  Vols. IV and V.\n\n  _Saint Louis, King of France_. The curious and\n  characteristic life of this monarch,\n  by De Joinville, translated from the French.\n\n  _The Story of Chevalier Bayard_, from the French\n  of the loyal servant, M. de Berville and\n  others.\n\n  _The Life of Las Casas_,\n  by Arthur Helps.\n\n  _Learned Women and Studious Women_,\n  by Bishop Dupanloup.\n\n  _Cradle Lands: Egypt, Syria, and the Holy Land_.\n  By the Right Hon. Lady Herbert of Lea, illustrated.\n\n  _The Round Towers of Ancient Ireland_, by Marcus Keane.\n\n  _The History of Irish Periodical Literature_, from the end\n  of the seventeenth century to the middle of the nineteenth\n  century: its Origin, Progress, and Results.\n  By Richard Robert Madden.\n  2 vols. 8vo.\n\n----\n\n  Seek And Find; Or, The Adventures Of A Smart Boy.\n  By Oliver Optic.\n\n  Tommy Hickup; Or, A Pair Of Black Eyes.\n  By Rosa Abbott.\n  Boston: Lee & Shepard.\n\nTwo handsome volumes of pleasantly told though rather marvellous\nadventure.\n\n----\n\n        Books Received.\n\nFrom Leypoldt & Holt, New York:\n\n  Nathan the Wise.\n  A dramatic poem, by Gotthold Ephraim Lessing.\n  Translated by Ellen Frothingham, preceded by a brief account of\n  the poet and his works, and followed by an essay on the poem by\n  Kuno Fischer.\n\n  La Litt\u00e9rature Fran\u00e7aise contemporaire,\n  recueil en prose et en vers de morceaux emprunt\u00e9s, aux\n  \u00e9crivains les plus renomm\u00e9s du XIXe Si\u00e8cle.\n\n  Histoire d'une Bouch\u00e9e de Pain:\n  L'Homme, par Jean Mac\u00e9. With a French and English vocabulary,\n  and a list of idiomatic expressions. A Manual of Anglo-Saxon\n  for Beginners; comprising a grammar, reader, and glossary, with\n  explanatory notes.\n  By Samuel M. Shute, Professor in Columbian\n  College, Washington, D. C.\n\n  Condensed French Instruction, consisting of\n  grammar and exercises, with cross references.\n  By C. J. Delille.\n\nFrom Harper & Brothers, New York:\n\n  Lives of the Queens of England, from the Norman Conquest.\n  By Agnes Strickland, author of Lives of the\n  Queens of England. Abridged by the Author.\n  Revised and edited by Caroline G. Parker.\n\n  Manual of Physical Exercises.\n  By William Wood, Instructor in Physical Education.\n  With one hundred and twenty-five illustrations.\n\n  Home Fairy Tales. By Jean Mac\u00e9.\n  Translated by Mary L. Booth, with engravings.\n\n  Folks and Fairies.\n  Stories for Little Children.\n  By Lucy Randall Comfort.\n  With engravings.\n\n  French's First Lessons in Numbers.\n  French's Elementary Arithmetic.\n  By John H. French, LL.D.\n\n  The Lover's Dictionary.\n  A Poetical Treasury of Lover's Thoughts, Fancies, Addresses,\n  and Dilemmas, indexed with nearly ten thousand references, and\n  a Dictionary of Compliments, and a Dictionary of the study of\n  the Tender Passion.\n\n--------\n\n{721}\n\n        The Catholic World.\n\n   Vol. VI., No. 36. March, 1868.\n\n----\n\n      Canada Thistles.\n\n\nThe accident of a heavy snowstorm detained me, a little while\nago, at the house of a friend in the country. It was certainly a\npleasant place to be cast away in. My friend was a\ngentleman-farmer, who united a strong taste for rustic pursuits\nwith an equally strong as well as an intelligent fondness for\nliterature and art. In the matter of books and pictures,\nphilosophy and religion, we were in sympathy with each other; but\nwhen he came to milch cows and turnips, my city education got the\nbetter of me. I could neither understand his conversation nor\nappreciate his enthusiasm. It was agreed, therefore, that as soon\nas he put on his long boots and set out for the barnyard, I\nshould retire into his cheerful library, where a blazing fire of\nhickory-logs, shelves well stored with all that is best in\nliterature, and a great green-covered table, on which papers,\nreviews, and magazines were piled in pleasant confusion, kept me\nin excellent spirits while he was attending to the daily duties\nof the farm. How I enjoyed those idle hours! Throwing myself back\nin a wide arm-chair, I passed the winter mornings skimming over\nthe pages of my favorite authors, half reading them and half\ndreaming; and when my friend returned from his rounds, and\nstretched himself in another chair on the opposite side of the\nfire-place, we used to chat over the various subjects that had\noccupied my mind since breakfast. After dinner, we usually went\nback to the library with our cigars. The evening we always spent\nwith the rest of the family in the parlor.\n\nMy friend read a great deal, and was also something of an author.\nHe contributed essays on agricultural subjects to one or two\nmagazines. He had even published a book or so in the course of\nhis life; and he still amused himself by penning literary\ncriticisms, for a periodical printed in New York. I was not\nsurprised, therefore, to find his table burdened with a good many\nvolumes, newspapers, and pamphlets, which I knew he would never\nhave been at the trouble of ordering.\n\n\"Yes,\" said he, when I made a remark about the worthless\ncharacter of some of these publications; \"there is trash enough\nhere to make a man melancholy.\n{722}\nPeople send me these things for their own purposes, and I read\nthem sometimes for mine. I should be tempted to be sorry for the\ninvention of printing, only if we lost the bane, we should lose\nthe antidote with it. Besides, I have little faith in the\nnegative sort of virtue which is founded on ignorance. We ought\nto grow wiser, day by day, with the number of our teachers; but\nwhat I see here often makes me doubt it. You will find that\nmankind have the same propensity to use calumny instead of\nargument that they had two or three hundred years ago. In matters\nof religion and history, I believe that lies are very much like\nCanada thistles: let them once take root, and it is next to\nimpossible to get the field clear of them. You may cut them all\ndown to-day, and to-morrow their ugly heads will be as high as\never. Now, here,\" he continued, picking up a handful of pamphlets\nand newspapers, \"is a crop of Canada thistles. These are all\nphilippics against the Catholic Church. I suppose their authors\ncall them polemical publications; but there is not an argument in\none of them. They are nothing whatever but slanders which have\nbeen demolished a hundred times; and yet here they are, as bold\nas ever. It is consoling to be told, as we often are, that 'Truth\ncrushed to earth will rise again;' but if a lie crushed to earth\nhas not an incorrigible habit of rising again, then I am no\nreader of current literature. You and I may go out into the field\nof theological controversy, and, being well armed and on the\nright side, we may cut down every one of the calumnies which are\nmarshalled against the church; but we know that they will jump\nright up again as soon as our backs are turned, and swear that\nthey never went down. It is rather discouraging to fight against\na man who doesn't know when he is dead. To answer these things\nnow, that I hold in my hand, would be like running around the\nbattle-field in chase of a rabble of lively corpses.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"you are partly right and partly wrong. We have\ngot to cut away at the Canada thistles, as you call them, whether\nwe root them out or not; if we don't, they will stifle the grain.\nBesides, your lively corpses cannot run for ever. You may\ngalvanize a dead body into spasmodic activity, but you cannot\nbring it to life again; and I believe that, every time a lie is\nexposed, there is good done to somebody, though the exposure may\nhave been made a hundred times before. Take the old fiction of a\nfemale pope; one of the most preposterous of anti-Catholic\ncalumnies, and one of the easiest to demolish, because the\nadmitted facts of history were so plain against it. That was an\nincredibly long time dying; but it is dead at last--so dead that\neven Mr. Murphy, of Birmingham, probably does not believe it.\nWell, that lie would never have been laid on the shelf if\nCatholics had not hammered away at it until they forced their\nenemies to listen to them. Take the St. Bartholomew massacre--\"\n\n\"I don't know about that,\" interrupted my friend; \"there is a\ngood deal of vitality in that thistle yet. Two things have been\nproved, and are now admitted by the most candid Protestant\nhistorians--that the massacre was the crime of a political, not a\nreligious, party, and that the number of the slain has been\nfrightfully exaggerated. The old story used to be that 100,000\nfell, and Lingard has shown that the number, in all probability,\ndid not exceed 1500.\n{723}\nNotwithstanding this, I have a volume here, called _Willson's\nOutlines of History_, which, I learn, is used as a text-book\nin the College of the City of New York, and which represents the\nmassacre as a rising of the 'Catholics of Paris' against their\nHuguenot brethren, declares that it lasted in the capital 'eight\ndays and eight nights without any apparent diminution of the fury\nof the murderers,' and estimates the number of the victims at\n50,000. Then the writer goes on to say that the pope caused\nmedals to be struck in commemoration of the auspicious event, and\nreturned public thanks to heaven. A student would never suspect\nfrom this that the assassins were not the Catholic inhabitants,\nbut the hirelings of the queen mother. Besides, the massacre\nlasted, not eight days and nights, but three days and two nights.\nThis fact is of more importance than at first appears. If the\nslaughter had lasted so long, and so many persons had been\nkilled, it could hardly have been the work of a band of\ncutthroats; but if we remember that, as all reputable historians\nadmit, it was over on the third day, and that the number of\nvictims, according to Froude, who is the latest Protestant\nauthority, certainly did not exceed 2000 in Paris, and 10,000 in\nall France, or, according to Lingard, 1500 in the whole kingdom,\nit is evident that it _could not_ have been shared in by the\nCatholic inhabitants.\"\n\n\"Froude, you say, puts the number at 10,000?\"\n\n\"Yes, and admits that the French Catholics cried out with horror\nat the outrage. Yet Froude is a most unwilling witness in our\nfavor. His bias, as you know, is all the other way. The\nCalvinistic author of the martyrology of the Huguenots, published\nonly ten years after the massacre, made careful search, and was\nable to find the names of only 786 persons who perished. Froude's\nestimate is too high, and Willson's is altogether preposterous.\nThen about that medal and the _Te Deum_ at Rome; everybody\nknows that, as soon as the horrible deed was over, the first care\nof the French king was to justify himself at the other European\ncourts by false accounts of what had taken place. His ambassador\ninformed the pope that his majesty had discovered a Huguenot\nconspiracy against his life and throne, and had overcome it by\npromptly executing the criminals. It was in the belief of this\nlie that the pope caused public thanks to be given for the king's\nvictory. This is a fact as well established as any other of the\n16th century. Yet Mr. Willson, and men like him, choose to go on\nquietly disregarding it. I think it simply a sin that anybody so\ngrossly ignorant or so shamefully perverse should be allowed to\ndeceive the young with what they presume to call 'history.'\"\n\n\"How does Froude stand in this matter of the rejoicings at Rome?\"\n\n\"Froude has too melodramatic a mind, if I may use the expression,\nto be a good historian. He has a dangerous gift of sarcasm and\ninvective, and a fatal knack of putting things together so as to\nmake an effective situation. If an inconvenient truth pops up to\nmar the scene, he quietly knocks it on the head, and arranges the\nstage to suit himself. For instance, he wants to paint the\nduplicity of Charles, so he mentions his lying bulletins to the\npope and the other sovereigns; but he also wants to impress us\nwith the heartless bigotry of the pontiff; so, after showing on\none page that the pope could not know the truth, he coolly\nassumes on the next that he did know it.\"\n\n\"I think the best account of the massacre I ever read in a\nProtestant publication is that in _The New American\nCyclopaedia_. Not a perfect book, of course, but upon the\nwhole, very honest.\"\n\n{724}\n\n\"Yes, if you want to get a plain statement of facts, without\nparty coloring, you must go to some work in which many heads and\nhands have worked together. You know an ordinary refracting\ntelescope of the old sort shows distant objects, not as they\nreally are, but tinged with prismatic colors, because no one lens\nhas the power of transmitting all rays with equal impartiality;\nbut by a combination of lenses we get at the exact truth; one\ncorrects another. So, if you want a thoroughly impartial,\nachromatic account of anything, let a number of men work at it\ntogether For this reason, a good cyclopaedia is better than a\nvolume of history; it is perfectly cold-blooded.\"\n\n\"Our friend Willson,\" I said, turning over the leaves as I spoke,\n\"is certainly a telescope of the old sort. His book is as gay\nwith prismatic colors as a parlor candelabrum. See here: 'The\ndoctrine of infallibility means _the pope's entire exemption\nfrom liability to err;_' 'Indulgences are billets of\nsalvation, professing to remit the punishment due to sins even\nbefore the commission of the contemplated crime.' Mr. Willson\nknows that neither of these definitions is correct.\"\n\n\"No, I don't believe he does. Remember what we said just now\nabout thistles. To you and to me these statements seem--I don't\nknow whether to say ludicrous or shocking. We know, as well as we\nknow the alphabet, that while the church cannot err in defining\ndogmas, the pope, as a private individual, is as liable to err as\nMr. Willson himself; that no sin can be forgiven before it is\ncommitted, and no past sin pardoned so long as the culprit\npurposes committing another; but I dare say Mr. Willson is\nignorant of all this. There is a certain class of unfortunate\nChristians, now happily dying out, who are catechised in their\nyouth into a hatred of the pope and all his works. They look upon\nhis holiness as a superior sort of devil, rather more wicked and\ndangerous upon the whole than Satan, and not half so much of a\ngentleman. Willson was crammed full of these sentiments when he\nwas a boy, and now he is trying to cram the coming generation.\nHere is a specimen of the moral nutriment which men of his stamp\nare brought up on. I cut it out of an old number of _The\nSunday-School Advocate_, where it appeared as a comment on a\npicture of a Spanish flower-girl. There must be a funny twist in\nthe mind of the writer who could get a lesson against popery out\nof that.\n\n          \"'SELLING FLOWERS.\n\n  \"'You never saw such a flower-seller, did you? You have not\n    unless you have lived in Spain. The picture is meant to show\n    you a Spanish lady, a Spanish flower-dealer, and a Spanish\n    mule.\n\n  \"'Spain is a beautiful land, but the people are not as happy as\n    they are here. Why? Because they are Roman Catholics. Once\n    they were a brave, powerful, rich, liberty-loving people; but\n    a set of priests, called Jesuits, stole into the country,\n    quenched their love of liberty, put out the lights of\n    learning, trampled upon the true religion, and made the\n    Spaniards boasters, bigots, and almost slaves to their kings\n    and queens. Pity the Spaniards, my children, and pray to your\n    heavenly Father to save this glorious land from ever being\n    ruined by that great enemy to all that is good--the Roman\n    Catholic Church.\n           x. x.'\n\n\"How can you wonder that a man who learns such nonsense in his\nchildhood should say foolish things when he grows up? Still, Mr.\nWillson's ignorance does not excuse him. Any one who undertakes\nto write history is bound _not_ to be ignorant. He cannot\nplead the prejudices of education in justification of his\nblunders.\n{725}\nTo teach calumny and religious error is as much a crime as to\nadminister medicines without knowing the properties of drugs. We\nhave little tenderness for an ignorant chemist's boy who poisons\nus by mistake, and I don't know why we should have any more for\nan ignorant historian who lies out of prejudice. Besides, even if\nMr. Willson did not know the truth, he knew there were two sides\nto the story, and he was bound to study and weigh them both,\nwhich he evidently has not done. His ignorance was not\ninvincible.\"\n\n\"I think, however, that the faculty of the College of New York\nare more to blame for adopting this work as a text-book than the\nauthor was for writing it. You know, I suppose, what that college\nis. It is a part of our common school system, designed for the\nyouth of every faith, and supported by tax on all citizens alike.\nTo allow a word taught there which could offend the religious\nfeelings of either Catholics or Protestants is a gross outrage\nupon public right. It only shows, what wise men of our church\nhave all along maintained, that Catholics need hope for no good\nfrom state education. We must be taxed for what we don't approve,\nand support our own schools and colleges besides.--But enough of\nthis. Let us see the rest of your thistles.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said he, laughing, \"there are enough of them, I can assure\nyou. Here, for example, is _The Free-Will Baptist Quarterly_\nfor January, 1868. It contains an article on 'The Perversions of\nthe Gospel a Proof of its Divinity,' and in the course of it\noccurs this sentence about the pope: 'He can remit sins _or\npermit them_, and _his pardon_ and indulgences have been\n_purchased with money_.' Now, a quarterly is supposed to be\nedited with care and deliberation, and when such a periodical\nstates that the holy Father has power 'to permit sins' it is\nguilty of a misstatement which I hardly know how to distinguish\nfrom a deliberate falsehood. The editor of _The Baptist\nQuarterly_ is utterly inexcusable for not knowing that the\ndoctrine which he attributes to the church is repudiated with\nhorror by every theologian who ever wrote on our side. It has\nnever been either maintained in theory or acted upon in practice.\nThe statement of _The Quarterly_ is one of the most\natrocious calumnies ever uttered, and the editor was bound to\nknow it. If he is so ignorant as not to know it, he is criminally\npresumptuous in undertaking the functions of a popular teacher.\nThen, again, he says that the pope's 'pardon and indulgences have\nbeen purchased with money.' This, too, is a positive falsehood,\nthough we are willing to believe not an intentional one. In no\ncase, and under no color, can pardon be obtained for money. The\nonly price ever required, the only price which can ever suffice,\nis hearty repentance. After pardon has been granted, there\nremains, as we all know, a temporal penalty to be exacted by way\nof satisfaction, and for this the pope may decree the\ncontribution of money for a charitable object or any other good\ndeed. If the editor of _The Baptist Quarterly_ does not know\nthat this is the extent of an indulgence, then he has no business\nto be an editor. Ignorance does not excuse him. But let this\npass. We were speaking just now of education here is an article\nquite _\u00e0 propos_ to that subject in _The Churchman_. It\nis called 'Rome and the Scriptures.' The writer begins by\nwondering at the insolence of 'Romanists' in denying that the\nchurch withholds the Bible from the laity; and how do you think\nhe proceeds to prove that she does withhold it?\n{726}\nWhy, by showing that she lays some very necessary restrictions\nupon the _indiscriminate_ circulation of _translations_\nof the Bible. But, it is objected, every English-speaking\nCatholic family has a copy of the Douay Bible in the house. Yes,\nsays _The Churchman_, because the church lets you have it;\nshe could forbid it if she chose. What do you think of that as a\nspecimen of argument? The church forbids the Bible, because she\nmight, if she pleased, only she doesn't. Besides, this writer\ncontinues, the English of the Douay version is so bad that it is\npractically not the vernacular; the book is as much sealed to the\ncomprehension of the common reader as if it remained in the\noriginal Hebrew and Greek. Thus, he says, 'in Galatians v. 19-23,\nwe have a list of the \"works of the flesh,\" and the \"fruits of\nthe Spirit.\" In our version occur the words, \"lasciviousness,\ndrunkenness, revellings, long-suffering.\" But in the Douay\nversion instead of such honest English, which any person of\nordinary attainments can understand, we have the words,\n\"impudicity, elrieties, [ebrieties?] comessations, and\nlonganimity.\" In Hebrews ix. 23, our version reads, \"the patterns\nof things in the heavens;\" but the Douay has it, \"the exemplars\nof the celestials.\" Again, in Hebrews xiii. 16, instead of \"to do\ngood, and to communicate, forget not; for with such sacrifices\nGod is well pleased,\" as in our version, the Douay reads,\n\"Beneficence and communication forget not, \"for with such hosts\nGod is promerited.\" Is this what the Romanists call the Bible in\nthe vulgar tongue?' Now, in point of fact, not a single one of\nthe preceding texts is given in the form he quotes in the\nCatholic Testaments now in use. The passage from Galatians reads,\n'immodesty, drunkenness, revellings.' Instead of 'the exemplars\nof the celestials,' we have 'the patterns of heavenly things;'\nand the verse from Hebrews xiii. runs thus: 'And do not forget to\ndo good and to impart; for by such sacrifices God's favor is\nobtained.' In the first edition of the Douay Bible there were\nmany obscure expressions which have since been amended. If the\ntranslators knew English but imperfectly, whose fault was it? The\nEnglish government would not allow Catholics to get an education\nin their native country--hanged them if they caught them at it.\nThat we have corrected their shortcomings is proof enough that we\nare anxious to facilitate the study of the sacred books. What\nwould _The Churchman_ say if we accused the Anglican\nestablishment of trying to conceal the Scriptures from the common\npeople, because the translations of Wickliffe and Coverdale\ncontain many antiquated expressions? That would be every whit as\njust as to found a similar charge against us upon the\nimperfections of the first editions of Douay and Rheims, (which\nare older, it should be remarked, than the Bible of King James.)\"\n\n\"After all,\" said I, \"I cannot regard the authorized English\nProtestant Bible as a model of what a popular translation ought\nto be.\"\n\n\"Of course not. Don't you remember what Hallam says about it?\nHere is the passage: 'It is held to be the perfection of our\nEnglish language. I shall not dispute this proposition; but one\nremark as to a matter of fact cannot reasonably be censured,\nthat, in consequence of the principle of adherence to the\noriginal versions, which had been kept up ever since the time of\nHenry VIII., _it is not the language of the reign of James\nI._\n{727}\nIt may, in the eyes of many, be a better English, but it is not\nthe English of Daniel, or Raleigh, or Bacon, as any one may\neasily perceive. _It abounds, in fact_, especially in the\nOld Testament, _with obsolete phraseology, and with single\nwords long since abandoned_ or retained only in provincial\nuse.' (_Literature of Europe_, vol. ii. chap. 2.) The early\nProtestant versions are proof enough of the wisdom of our church\nin setting bounds to the license of careless or incompetent\neditors. You know there is one edition which is called by\nbook-collectors '_the Breeches Bible_,' on account of its\nrendering of a passage in the third chapter of Genesis, where\nAdam and Eve are said to have 'sewed together fig-leaves and made\nthemselves _breeches._' The king's printers, in 1632, were\nfined for publishing a Bible in which one of the commandments\nappeared in this form, 'Thou shalt commit adultery.' During the\nCommonwealth, a large impression of the Bible was confiscated on\naccount of its corruptions, many of which were the result of\ndesign. One edition contained 6000 errors. Archbishop Usher, on\nhis way to preach once, bought a London Bible in a bookseller's\nshop, and was dismayed to find that the text he had selected was\nomitted! In one of the English Bibles the first verse of the\nfourteenth (or in our Bible the thirteenth) Psalm is printed,\n'The fool hath said in his heart, there is a God,' instead of 'no\nGod.' Just see what that famous old Protestant divine, Thomas\nFuller, says of this matter: 'Considering with myself the causes\nof the growth and increase of impiety and profaneness in our\nland, amongst others this seemeth to me not the least, viz., the\nlate many _false_ and _erroneous_ impressions of the\nBible. Now know, what is but _carelessness_ in other books\nis _impiety_ in setting forth of the Bible. As Noah, in all\nunclean creatures, preserved but two of a kind, so among some\nhundreds in several editions, we will insist only on two\ninstances. In the Bible printed at London in 1653, we read, \"I\nCorinthians vi. 9, Know ye not that the unrighteous shall inherit\nthe kingdom of God?\" for \"not inherit.\" Now, when a reverend\ndoctor in divinity did mildly reprove some libertines for their\nlicentious lives, they did produce this text from the authority\nof this corrupt edition in justification of their vicious and\ninordinate conversations. The next instance shall be in the Bible\nprinted at London in quarto (forbearing the name of the printer,\nbecause not done wilfully by him) in the singing Psalms, Psalm\nlxvii. 2:\n\n  \"That all the earth may know\n   The way to worldly wealth,\"\n\nfor \"godly wealth.\"' Such blunders too are by no means confined\nto early impressions. Why, there is an edition of the Anglican\nLiturgy printed at Oxford, of all places in the world, in 1813,\nin which occurs this dreadful blunder: 'Lamb of God, who takest\naway the sins of the _Lord_.'\"\n\n\"After this, it looks well, doesn't it, for _The Churchman_\nto blame us for repressing the indiscriminate circulation of wild\nversions of the Scriptures?\"\n\n\"My dear friend, if all men were consistent, the whole world\nwould be Catholic. Protestantism from beginning to end is nothing\nbut a huge inconsistency. But come: have we any more weeds to\nlook at?\"\n\n\"Here is a copy of _The Observer_; if we don't find\nsomething startling in it, it will be strange. Yes; here is a\nletter from the well-known _Irenaeus_ on 'the relics at\nAix-la-Chapelle.' Read what he says:\n\n{728}\n\n  \"'I found that pictures of the relics were for sale in all the\n    shops, and I bought a few as souvenirs of my accidental\n    pilgrimage; particularly I sought for a good representation\n    of that one which is first on the list, and first in the\n    admiration of the people. _As the Virgin Mother Mary is\n    held in higher honor by all good Catholics than the Son of\n    God himself,_ so they likewise venerate, with a deeper\n    reverence, the linen garment that she wore, than the cloth\n    which was around the loins of the Saviour on the cross.'\n\nWhat do you say to that? For my part, I cannot believe that a man\nso well informed on most subjects as _Irenaeus_ is really\nthinks that 'Catholics hold the Virgin Mary in higher honor than\nthe Son of God himself.' If he knows anything at all about the\nCatholic Church, he must know that this is a downright slander.\"\n\n\"In point of fact, I suppose he does know it; but he belongs to a\nclass of persons who seem to think it no harm to say anything\nevil of Catholics for the sake of producing a sensation. The\nchurch in their eyes is merely a convenient subject for turning\nan eloquent sentence; a sort of _corpus vile_, upon which it\nis allowable to try all manner of oratorical experiments.\nBesides, you know _The Observer_ is nothing but a\njournalistic stuffed Guy Faux, brought out periodically for the\npurpose of reminding mankind of the wickedness of the bloody\npapists.\"\n\n\"Do you know I pity the editor of that paper? he must have such\nawful nightmares. Just think of perpetually dreaming that the\npope sits scowling on your stomach ready to strangle you, and a\ngrand inquisitor lurks under the bed! I suppose _The\nObserver_ never goes up-stairs in the dark without dread of\nstumbling over a rack, or running his hand into a thumbscrew, and\nnever falls asleep without apprehensions of a popish massacre\nbefore morning. Has he any special bugaboo to-day?\"\n\n\"'The Confessional.' I will not read the whole article. Some of\nit is too nasty. But here is a specimen:\n\n  \"'The confessional in the Roman Catholic Church, and in every\n    church that becomes corrupt enough to introduce it, and\n    slavish enough to submit to it, is an engine of tyranny over\n    the social, domestic, and private life of the people, with an\n    extent, power, and wickedness it is hardly possible to conceive.\n\n  \"'It operates chiefly through the women. In most of the Roman\n    Catholic countries men have substantially deserted the\n    confessional. They go once a year, at Easter, if at all. Many\n    of them, nominally Catholics, do not take the communion, and\n    therefore do not come under the ecclesiastical necessity of\n    confessing. But women are more religious, more superstitious,\n    and more submissive to priestly domination than men. Men have\n    their business to think about, and often worship mammon.\n    Religion is the highest of all mental occupations for women;\n    their life is in it; it is their life--this and that to come.\n    In Protestant as well as Roman churches women are the most\n    and the best of the members. It has been so from the time\n    they outnumbered the disciples at the cross and the grave of\n    the Saviour. The confessional has its grasp on the women of\n    the Roman Catholic Church; and through them it rules the\n    households where those women are wives, mothers, sisters,\n    children, or servants. It is enough for the purpose of the\n    priests that they have one spy in a house; but the more the\n    better, and the nearer that spy is to the head of the house\n    the more valuable her service. The conduct of servants is\n    carefully watched; and they are changed from time to time by\n    the direction of priests, when the family has not the\n    slightest suspicion of the cause. The priests often select\n    willing and capable agents, who, in the capacity of servants,\n    male and female, act as spies and emissaries in households\n    they wish to supervise. The information thus obtained is\n    recorded, transmitted to higher powers, and used, without\n    scruple, in the secret and constant operations of the church\n    to get control over the political and material interests of\n    the state.'\n\n\"There is no excuse for this sort of thing. There is an untruth\nin almost every line. I don't charge _The Observer_ with\ndeliberate falsehood, but it needs a good deal of charity, in a\ncase like this, to remember the difference between a mistake and\na lie.\n{729}\nMark you, the writer does not say: 'I believe the confessional to\nbe used for purposes of oppression,' 'I suspect that the priests\nkeep spies in every household.' 'I dare say the church interferes\nwith our servants,' 'I take it for granted that the priests\nrepeat what is said to them in confession;' but all these vague\nand ridiculous notions are stated in the broadest manner, as\nadmitted historical facts. That is to say, _The Observer_\nmakes the most atrocious charges against us without a particle of\nevidence to support them. 'I guess they are true,' says the\nwriter; 'any way, I will make them.' The less the proof, the more\nemphatic the assertion. Suppose I have a vague suspicion that my\nneighbor has stolen money, and on the strength of that suspicion,\nnot knowing whether it is well-founded or not, and having no\nmeans of knowing, I proclaim him as a thief all over town.\nWhether he is one or not, I commit a grave sin by defaming him on\nmere suspicion; and if he turn out to be an honest man after all,\nthe fact that I believed my own story will not save me from the\nconsequences of uttering slander. The old grannies of\nProtestantism act upon the principle that it is quite fair to\nascribe any imaginable sin either to the pope or the devil. The\nwickedness of both being infinite, it is impossible to overshoot\nthe mark.\"\n\n\"Even if all priests were demons, I don't see why they must also\nbe described as idiots. 'Spies in the household!' Can you imagine\nanything more childish than listening to Bridget's and Mary Ann's\nreports of the daily life of their master and mistress? Can you\nimagine any use to which such information could be turned by the\nchurch? _The Observer_ no doubt supposes that the archbishop\nof New York has daily morning audiences with his domestic\nemissaries, who tell him what time _The Observer_ editor got\nup, how many eggs he ate for breakfast, what remarks he made at\nfamily prayers, whether the children were good, and how much\nbutcher's meat was used in the house during the previous week.\nThen just think of the Roman Catholic Church being a vast\nintelligence-office, through which servants are changed about\nfrom house to house! You flatter yourself that you chose your\ncook out of a number of applicants for the place. Nothing of the\nkind she was sent to your house by the priests, and forced on you\nby a kind of legerdemain, just as a juggler forces a card. You\nthink you discharged your last chambermaid. Oh! no; she went away\nbecause the priests had duties for her elsewhere. And the reports\nof all these spies, _The Observer_ assures us, are actually\nwritten out, and transmitted to headquarters! I believe there is\nno limit to the credulity of a no-popery zealot.\"\n\n\"I am glad to see, however, that some Protestants have recognized\nthe value of the confessional to society, and have spoken warmly\nof its sacred influence. I suppose you know how much attention\nhas lately been drawn to the great appalling sin of modern\nAmerican women--the murder of their offspring yet unborn. It is a\nsin so prevalent that, as I remember reading some time ago in\n_The Congregationalist_, it is said that in a certain\npopulous district in a large western city, not a single\nAnglo-American child had been born alive in three years! It has\nnot escaped the notice of physicians that no such practice\nprevails among the Catholic population.\n{730}\nDr. Storer, of Boston, (a Protestant,) explains this difference\nin his well-known essay on the subject, by the influence of the\nconfessional; and _The Congregationalist_ took the same\nview. Indeed, both virtually admit that, if it were not for the\nconfessional, the natural increase of population in the United\nStates would be almost entirely checked.\"\n\n\"That is a good thing for _The Observer_ to meditate upon;\nbut I am afraid the venerable old alarmist is incorrigible. It is\nhard to reason with a man whose hair perpetually stands on end\nwith fright.\"\n\n\"Yes, or with a professional dealer in bugaboos. But even if he\nbelieves all his stories, I don't see what good he can possibly\nexpect to come of telling them. They are only irritating.\"\n\n\"Irritating! they are criminally dangerous. The greatest enemy to\na community is the man who stirs up the animosity of religious\ndenominations against each other. The natural effect of such\nstories is to inspire the ignorant and passionate on the one side\nwith contempt and hatred, on the other with resentment; and how\nlong can society be sure of peace when it is filled with such\ndangerous elements? Of course, the Catholics are not so silly or\nso wicked as to fly to arms whenever an insult is uttered against\nthe church, neither are Protestants going to defend Luther and\nHenry VIII. with fire and riot; but suppose some unforeseen\ncircumstance produces an outbreak, what a terrible responsibility\nwill rest upon those who prepared the materials of combustion!\nMr. Froude, speaking of the St. Bartholomew massacre, says, the\nguilt was the queen's, but her plan could never have been carried\nout, had not theological frenzy already been heated to the\nboiling-point. He is wrong in this case, for it is proved that\ntheological frenzy had nothing to do with the slaughter;\npolitical frenzy is sometimes quite as dangerous; but I wish\nthose who think he is right would apply his principle to the\nregulation of their own conduct. The frenzy which instigated the\nburning of the Charlestown convent, the bloodshed and\nincendiarism of the Native American movement in Philadelphia, and\nthe Know-Nothing riots in different parts of the country, had\nbeen gathered up and nursed long beforehand by preachers like\n_The Observer_. They did not know what they were doing, I\nsuppose, but others foresaw and predicted the consequences. Rant\nis always the forerunner of riot. The periodical excitement on\nthe subject of popery which breaks out in the United States, like\nthe cholera or yellow fever, has always been followed by\nlamentable disturbances. The man who makes his living by\nthundering at the corruptions of the Church of Rome, is an\nincendiary in fact, though he may not be in intention. Of course,\nit is a pity that men should be prone to anger. It is a pity that\nwe are not always meek, and long-suffering, and forgiving; that\nwe do not bear reproaches with patience, and repay calumnies with\ngood deeds. Our Lord tells us to love our enemies, but only a few\nof us are good enough to obey him. If all Catholics were perfect\nChristians, _The Observer_ might shout hard names at us\nuntil it was black in the face, and there would be no danger; but\nthere is a good deal of human nature in us, after all, and it is\nbetter not to go near gunpowder with a lighted candle. I do not\nmean to say, of course, that there is danger of our deliberately\nresenting such attacks. We are far too sensible for that. No\namount of abuse would, of itself, provoke us to break the peace.\n{731}\nBut such calumnious harangues tend first to draw a broad line of\ndistinction between Catholics and Protestants, and keep them\napart, which, alone, is a social evil; then they inevitably fill\nthe two parties with mutual dislike, and, in time, drive them to\nantipathy; the bad feeling gets worse and worse; and some day\naccident brings about a clash, and there is a terrible explosion,\nnobody knows exactly how, and nobody knows who is most to blame.\nAll we can determine about it is, to use Froude's words, that it\ncould not have happened 'had not theological frenzy already been\nheated to the boiling-point.' I think it is high time that all\ndecent citizens, all honest theological disputants, should set\ntheir faces against the Gospel of Frenzy. I am willing to meet\nany man in a fair controversy, but there is nothing but danger\nand aggravation in bandying hard names. The only legitimate\nobject of controversy is to make converts, and you can't do that\nwithout good temper and honest argument. The apparent purpose of\nsuch tirades as those of _The Observer_, is merely to show\nthe preacher's own party how much better they are than the rest\nof the world. Nobody but a fool could expect them to do any good\nto the Catholics; you can't make friends with a man by abusing\nhis mother. It ought to be clearly understood that calm\ntheological discussion over points of discipline or dogma is\nalways in order; but atrocious charges, unsupported by a tittle\nof evidence, deserve no name but that of sheer calumny, and all\ngood men ought to detest them. If Protestant preachers only\ncarried into the pulpit and the editorial chair the same rules of\nmorality which, I am happy to believe, they generally practise in\nprivate life, they would observe this cardinal principle, not to\npublish infamous accusations against their neighbors unless they\nhave personal knowledge of their truth.\"\n\n--------\n\n          Abscondita.\n\n\n  Flower of the forest, that, unseen,\n    With sweetness fill'st the vernal grove,\n  Where hid'st thou? 'Mid the grasses green,\n    Or those dim boughs that mix above?\n\n  Thou bird that, darkling, sing'st a song\n    That shook the bowers of paradise,\n  Thou too art hid thy leaves among:\n    Thou sing'st unseen of mortal eyes.\n\n  Of her thou sing'st whose every breath\n    Sweetened a world too blind to heed;\n  Of Him--Death's Conqueror--that from death\n    Alone would take the crown decreed.\n\n  Thou sing'st that secret gifts are best;\n    That only like to God are they\n  Who keep God's secret in their breast,\n    And hide, as stars are hid by day.\n\n                         Aubrey De Vere.\n\n--------\n\n{732}\n\n         Translated From The French.\n\n          The Story of a Conscript.\n\n\n                    XV.\n\nWhen I returned to myself, I looked around. I was in a long hall,\nwith posts all around. I was in a bed, and beside me was an old\ngray-mustached soldier, who, when he saw my eyes open, lifted up\nmy head and held a cup to my lips.\n\n\"Well,\" said he cheerfully, \"well! we are better.\"\n\nI could not help smiling as I thought that I was yet among the\nliving. My chest and arm were stiff with bandages; I felt as if a\nhot iron were burning me there; but no matter, I lived!\n\nI gazed at the heavy rafters crossing the space above me; at the\ntiles of the roof, through which the daylight entered in more\nthan one spot; I turned and looked to the other side, and saw\nthat I was in one of those vast sheds used by the brewers of the\ncountry as a shelter for their casks and wagons. All around, on\nmattresses and heaps of straw, numbers of wounded lay ranged; and\nin the middle, on a large kitchen-table, a surgeon-major and his\ntwo aids, their shirt-sleeves rolled up, were amputating the leg\nof a soldier, who was shrieking in agony. Behind them was a mass\nof legs and arms. I turned away sick and trembling.\n\nFive or six soldiers were walking about, giving drink to the\nwounded.\n\nBut the man who impressed himself most on my memory was a surgeon\nwith sleeves rolled up, who cut and cut without paying the\nslightest attention to what was going on around; he was a man\nwith a large nose and wrinkled cheeks, and every moment flew into\na passion at his assistants, who could not give him his knives,\npincers, lint, or linen fast enough, or who were not quick enough\nsponging up the blood.\n\nThey had just laid out on the table a Russian carbineer, six feet\nin height at least; a ball had pierced his neck near the ear, and\nwhile the surgeon was asking for his little knives, a cavalry\nsurgeon passed before the shed. He was short, stout, and badly\npitted with the small-pox, and held a portfolio under his arm.\n\n\"Ha! Forel!\" cried he cheerfully.\n\n\"It is Duch\u00eane,\" said our surgeon, turning around. \"How many\nwounded?\"\n\n\"Seventeen to eighteen thousand.\" Our surgeon left the shed to\nchat with his comrade; they conversed tranquilly, while the\nassistants sat down to drink a cup of wine, and the Russian\nrolled his eyes despairingly.\n\n\"See, Duch\u00eane; you have only to go down the street, opposite that\nwell, do you see?\"\n\n\" Very well indeed.\"\n\n\"Just opposite you will see the canteen.\"\n\n\"Very good; thank you; I am off.\"\n\nHe started, and our surgeon called after him--\n\n\"A good appetite to you, Duch\u00eane!\"\n\nThen he returned to his Russian, whose neck he had laid open. He\nworked ill-humoredly, constantly scolding his aids.\n\n{733}\n\nThe Russian writhed and groaned, but he paid no attention to\nthat, and at last, throwing the bullet upon the ground, he\nbandaged up the wound, and cried, \"Carry him off!\"\n\nThey lifted the Russian from the table, and stretched him on a\nmattress beside the others; then they laid his neighbor upon the\ntable.\n\nI could not think that such horrors took place in the world; but\nI was yet to see worse than this.\n\nAt five or six beds from mine was an old corporal with his leg\nbound up. He closed one eye knowingly, and said to his neighbor,\nwhose arm had just been cut off:\n\n\"Conscript, look at that heap! I will bet that you cannot\nrecognize your arm.\"\n\nThe other, who had hitherto shown the greatest courage, looked,\nand fell back senseless.\n\nThen the corporal began laughing, saying:\n\n\"He did recognize it. It always produces that effect.\"\n\nHe looked around self-approvingly, but: no one laughed with him.\n\nEvery moment the wounded called for water. When one began, all\nfollowed, and the old soldier had certainly conceived a liking\nfor me, for each time he passed, he presented the cup.\n\nI did not remain in the shed more than an hour. A dozen\nambulances drew up before the door, and the peasants of the\ncountry round, in their velvet jackets and large black, slouched\nhats, their whips on their shoulders, held the horses by the\nreins. A picket of hussars arrived soon after, and their officer\ndismounting, entered and said:\n\n\"Excuse me, major, but here is an order to escort twelve wagons\nof wounded as far as Lutzen. Is it here that we are to receive\nthem?\" '\"Yes, it is here,\" replied the surgeon.\n\nThe peasants and the ambulance-drivers, after giving us a last\ndraught of wine, began carrying us to the wagons. As one was\nfilled, it departed, and another advanced. They had given us our\ngreat-coats; but despite them and the sun, which was shining\nbrightly, we shivered with cold. No one spoke; each was too much\noccupied thinking of himself.\n\nAt moments I was terribly cold; then flashes of heat would dart\nthrough me, and flush me as in fever; and indeed it was the\nbeginning of the fever. But as we left Kaya, I was yet well; I\nsaw everything clearly, and it was not till we neared Leipsic\nthat I felt indeed sick. The hussars rode beside us, smoking and\nchatting, paying no attention to us.\n\nIn passing through Kaya, I saw all the horrors of war. The\nvillage was but a mass of cinders; the roofs had fallen, and the\nwalls alone remained standing; the rafters were broken; we could\nsee the remnants of rooms, stairs, and doors heaped within. The\npoor villagers, women, children, and old men, came and went with\nsorrowful faces. We could see them going up and down in their\nhouses; and in one we saw a mirror yet hanging unbroken, showing\nwhere dwelt a young girl in time of peace.\n\nAh! who of them could foresee that their happiness would so soon\nbe destroyed, not by the fury of the winds or the wrath of\nheaven, but by the rage of man!\n\nEven the cattle and pigeons seemed seeking their lost homes among\nthe ruins; the oxen and the goats scattered through the streets,\nlowed and bleated plaintively. At the last house an old man, with\nflowing white hair, sat at the threshold of what had been his\ncottage, with a child upon his knees, glaring on us as we passed.\nHis furrowed brow and stony eyes spoke of despair.\n{734}\nHow many years of labor, of patient economy, had he passed to\nmake sure a quiet old age! Now all was crushed, ruined; the child\nand he had no longer a roof to cover their heads.\n\nAnd those great trenches--fully a mile of them--at which the\ncountry people were working in such haste, to keep the plague\nfrom completing the work war began! I saw them, too, from the top\nof the hill of Kaya, and turned away my eyes, horror-stricken.\nRussians, French, Prussians were there heaped pell-mell, as if\nGod had made them to love each other before the invention of arms\nand uniforms, which divide them for the profit of those who rule\nthem. There they lay, side by side; and those of them who could\nnot die knew no more of war, but cursed the crimes that had for\ncenturies kept them apart.\n\nBut what was sadder yet, was the long line of ambulances, bearing\nthe agonized wounded--those of whom they speak so much in the\nbulletins to make the loss seem less, and who die by thousands in\nthe hospitals, far from all they love; while at their homes\ncannon are firing, and church-bells are ringing with joyous\nchimes of victory.\n\nAt length we reached Lutzen, but it was so full of wounded that\nwe were obliged to continue on to Leipsic. Fatigue and weariness\noverpowered me, and I fell asleep, and only awoke when I felt\nmyself lifted from the ambulance. It was night, the sky seemed\ncovered with stars, and innumerable lights shone from an immense\nedifice before us. It was the hospital of the market-place at\nLeipsic.\n\nThe two men who were carrying me ascended a spiral stairway which\nled to an immense hall, where beds were laid together in three\nlines, so close that they touched each other. On one of these\nbeds I was placed, in the midst of oaths, cries for pity, and\nmuttered complaints from hundreds of fever-stricken wounded. The\nwindows were open, and the flames of the lanterns flickered in\nthe gusts of wind. Surgeons, assistants, and nurses came and\nwent, while the groans from the halls below, and the rolling of\nambulances, cracking of whips and neighing of horses without,\nseemed to pierce my very brain. While they were undressing me,\nthey handled me roughly, and my wound pained me so horribly that\nI could not avoid shrieking. A surgeon came up at once, and\nscolded them for not being more careful. That is all I remember\nthat night; for I became delirious, and raved constantly of\nCatharine, Monsieur Goulden, and Aunt Gr\u00e9del, as my neighbor, an\nold artilleryman, whom my cries prevented from sleeping,\nafterward told me. I awoke the next morning at about eight\no'clock, and then learned that I had the bone of my left shoulder\nbroken. I lay in the middle of a dozen surgeons; one of them a\nstout, dark man, whom they called Monsieur the Baron, was opening\nmy bandages, while an assistant at the foot of the bed held a\nbasin of warm water. The baron examined my wound; all the others\nbent forward to hear what he might say. He spoke a few moments,\nbut all that I could understand was, that the ball had struck\nfrom below, breaking the bone and passing out behind. The\nsurgeon, passing to another bed, cried:\n\n\"What! You here again, old fellow?\"\n\n\"Yes; it is I, Monsieur the Baron,\" replied the artilleryman,\nproud to be recognized; \"the first time was at Austerlitz, the\nsecond at Jena, and then I received two thrusts of a lance at\nSmolensk.\"\n\n{735}\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said the surgeon kindly; \"and now what is the matter\nwith you?\"\n\n\"Three sabre-cuts on my left arm while I was defending my piece\nfrom the Prussians.\"\n\nThe surgeon unwound the bandage, and asked:\n\n\"Have you the cross?\"\n\n\"No, Monsieur the Baron.\"\n\n\"What is your name?\"\n\n\"Christian Zunnier, second _artillerie-a-cheval._\"\n\n\"Very good!\"\n\nHe dressed the wounds, and went to the next, saying,\n\n\"You will soon be well.\"\n\nThe old artilleryman's heart seemed overflowing with joy; and, as\nI concluded from his name that he came from Alsace, I spoke to\nhim in our language, at which he was still more rejoiced. He\ncalled me _Josephel_, and said:\n\n\"Josephel, be careful how you swallow the medicines they give\nyou, only take what you know. All that does not taste well is\ngood for nothing. If they would give us a bottle of\n_Rikevir_ every day, we would soon be well.\"\n\nWhen I told him I was afraid of dying of the fever, he laughed\nlong and loud, and said:\n\n\"Josephel, you are a fool. Do you think that such tall fellows as\nyou and I were born to die in a hospital? No, no; drive the idea\nfrom your head.\"\n\nBut he spoke in vain, for every morning the surgeons, making\ntheir rounds, found seven or eight dead. Some died in fevers,\nsome in a deadly chill; so that heat or cold might be the presage\nof death.\n\nZunnier said that all this proceeded from the evil drugs which\nthe doctors invented. \"Do you see that tall, thin fellow?\" he\nasked. \"Well, that man can boast of having killed more men than a\nfield-piece; he is always primed, with his match lighted; and\nthat little brown fellow--I would send him instead of the emperor\nto the Russians and Prussians; he would kill more of them than a\n_corps d'arm\u00e9e_.\"\n\nHe would have made me laugh with his jokes if the litters were\nnot constantly passing.\n\nAt the end of three weeks my shoulder had begun to heal, and\nZunnier's wounds were also doing well, and they allowed us to\nwalk in the large garden, full of elms, behind the hospital.\nThere were benches under the trees, and we walked the paths like\nmillionaires in our gray great-coats and forage-caps. The\nincreasing heat presaged a fine year, and often, when looking at\nthe beautiful scenery around, I thought of Phalsbourg, and the\ntears came to my eyes.\n\n\"I would like to know what makes you cry so,\" said Zunnier.\n\"Instead of catching a fever in the hospital, or losing a leg or\narm, like hundreds of others, here we are quietly seated in the\nshade; we are well fed, and can smoke when we have any tobacco;\nand still you cry. What more do you want, Josephel?\"\n\nThen I told him of Catharine; of our walks at Quatre-Vents; of\nour promises; of all my former life, which then seemed a dream.\nHe listened, smoking his pipe.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said he; \"all this is very sad. Before the\nconscription of 1798, I too was going to marry a girl of our\nvillage, who was named Margr\u00e9del, and whom I loved better than\nall the world beside. We had promised to marry each other; and\nall through the campaign of Zurich, I never passed a day without\nthinking of her. But when I first received a furlough and reached\nhome, what did I hear? Margr\u00e9del had been three months married to\na shoemaker, named Passauf.\n\n{736}\n\n\"You may imagine my wrath, Josephel; I could not see clearly; I\nwanted to demolish everything; and, as they told me that Passauf\nwas at the _Grand-Cerf_ brewery, thither I started, looking\nneither to the right nor left. There I saw him drinking with\nthree or four other rogues. As I rushed forward, he cried, 'There\ncomes Christian Zunnier! How goes it, Christian! Margr\u00e9del sends\nyou her compliments.' I seized a glass which I hurled at his\nhead, and broke to pieces, saying, 'Give her that for my wedding\npresent, you beggar!' The others, seeing their friend thus\nmaltreated, very naturally fell upon me. I knocked two of three\nof them over with a jug, jumped on a table, sprang through a\nwindow, and beat a retreat.\"\n\n\"It was time,\" I thought\n\n\"But that was not all,\" he continued, \"I had scarcely reached my\nmother's when the gendarmerie arrived, and they arrested me. They\nput me on a wagon and conducted me from my brigade to my\nregiment, which was at Strasbourg. I remained six weeks at\nFinckmatt, and would probably have received the ball and chain,\nif we did not have to cross the Rhine to Hohenlinden.\n\n\"From that day, Josephel, the thought of marriage never troubled\nme. Don't talk to me of a soldier who has a wife to think of.\nLook at our generals who are married, do they fight as they used\nto?\"\n\nI could not answer, for I did not know; but day after day I\nwaited anxiously to hear from home, and my joy can be more easily\nimagined than described when, one day, a large, square letter was\nhanded me. I recognized Monsieur Goulden's handwriting.\n\n\"Well,\" said Zunnier, laughing, \"it is come at last.\"\n\nI did not answer, but thrust the letter in my pocket, to read it\nat leisure and alone. I went to the end of the garden and opened\nit. Two or three apple-blossoms dropped upon the ground, with an\norder for money, on which Monsieur Goulden had written a few\nwords. But what touched me most was the handwriting of Catharine,\nwhich I gazed at without reading a word, while my heart beat as\nif about to burst through my bosom. At last I grew a little\ncalmer and read:\n\n\"My Dear Joseph: I write you to tell you I yet love you alone,\nand that, day by day, I love you more.\n\n\"My greatest grief is to know that you are wounded, in a\nhospital, and that I cannot take care of you. Since the\nconscripts departed, we have not had a moment's peace of mind. My\nmother says I am silly to weep night and day, but she weeps as\nmuch as I, and her wrath falls heavily on Pinacle, who scarcely\nnow dares come to the market-place. When we heard the battle had\ntaken place, and that thousands of men had fallen, mother ran\nevery morning to the post-office, while I could not move from the\nhouse. At last your letter came, thank heaven! to cheer us. We\nhope now to see you again, but God's will be done.\n\n\"Many people talk of peace, but the emperor so loves war, that I\nfear it is far off.\n\n\"Now, Monsieur Goulden wishes to say a few words to you, so I\nwill close. The weather is beautiful here, and the great\napple-tree in the garden is full of flowers; I have plucked a\nfew, which I send in this letter. God bless you, Joseph, and\nfarewell!\"\n\n{737}\n\nAs I finished reading this, Zunnier arrived, and in my joy, I\nsaid:\n\n\"Sit down, Zunnier, and I will read you my sweetheart's letter.\nYou will see whether she is a Margr\u00e9del.\"\n\n\"Let me light my pipe first,\" he answered; and having done so, he\nadded: \"Go on, Josephel, but I warn you that I am an old bird,\nand do not believe all I hear; women are more cunning than we.\"\n\nNotwithstanding this bit of philosophy, I read Catharine's letter\nslowly to him. When I had ended, he took it, and for a long time\ngazed at it dreamily, and then handed it back, saying:\n\n\"There! Josephel. She is a good girl, and a sensible one, and\nwill never marry any one but you.\"\n\n\"Do you really think so?\"\n\n\"Yes; you may rely upon her; she will never marry a Passauf. I\nwould rather distrust the emperor than such a girl.\"\n\nI could have embraced Zunnier for these words; but I said:\n\n\"I have received a bill for one hundred francs. Now for some\nwhite wine of Alsace. Let us try to get out.\"\n\n\"That is well thought of,\" said he, twisting his mustache and\nputting his pipe in his pocket. \"I do not like to mope in a\ngarden when there are taverns outside. We must get permission.\"\n\nWe arose joyfully and went to the hospital, when the\nletter-carrier, coming out, stopped Zunnier, saying:\n\n\"Are you Christian Zunnier, of the second\n_artillerie-\u00e0-cheval_?\"\n\n\"I have that honor, monsieur the carrier.\"\n\n\"Well, here is something for you,\" said the other, handing him a\nlittle package and a large letter.\n\nZunnier was stupified, never having received anything from home\nor from anywhere else. He opened the packet--a box appeared--then\nthe box--and saw the cross of honor. He became pale; his eyes\nfilled with tears, he staggered against a balustrade, and then\nshouted \"_Vive l'Empereur!_\" in such tones that the three\nhalls rang and rang again.\n\nThe carrier looked on smiling.\n\n\"You are satisfied,\" said he.\n\n\"Satisfied! I need but one thing more.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\"\n\n\"Permission to go to the city.\"\n\n\"You must ask Monsieur Tardieu, the surgeon in chief.\"\n\nHe went away laughing, while we ascended arm-in-arm, to ask\npermission of the surgeon-major, an old man, who had heard the\n\"_Vive l'Empereur!_\" and demanded gravely:\n\n\"What is the matter?\"\n\nZunnier showed his cross and replied:\n\n\"Pardon, major; but I am more than usually merry.\"\n\n\"I can easily believe you,\" said Monsieur Tardieu; \"you want a\npass to the city?\"\n\n\"If you will be so good; for myself and my comrade, Joseph\nBertha.\"\n\nThe surgeon had examined my wound the day before. He took out his\nportfolio and gave us passes. We sallied forth as proud as\nkings--Zunnier of his cross, I, of my letter.\n\n\n                  XVI.\n\nI walked dreamily through the streets, led by Zunnier, who\nrecognized every corner, and kept repeating:\n\n\"There--there is the church of Saint Nicholas; that large\nbuilding is the university; that on yonder is the _H\u00f4tel de\nVille_.\"\n\nHe seemed to remember every stone, having been there in 1807,\nbefore the battle of Friedland, and continued:\n\n{738}\n\n\"We are the same here as if we were in Metz, or Strasbourg, or\nany other city in France. The people wish us well. After the\ncampaign of 1806, they used to do all they could for us. The\ncitizens would take three or four of us at a time to dinner with\nthem. They even gave us balls, and called us the heroes of Jena.\nLet us go in somewhere and see how they will treat us. We named\ntheir elector King of Saxony, and gave him a good slice of\nPoland.\"\n\nSuddenly he stopped before a little, low door, and cried:\n\n\"Hold! Here is the Golden Sheep Brewery. The front is on the\nother street, but we can enter here. Come!\"\n\nI followed him into a narrow, winding passage, which led to an\nold court, surrounded by rubble walls. To the right was the\nbrewery, and in a corner a great wheel, turned by an enormous\ndog, which pumped the beer to every story of the house.\n\nThe clinking of glasses was heard coming from a room which opened\non the Rue de Tilly. The sweet smell of the new March beer filled\nthe air, and Zunnier, with a look of satisfaction, cried:\n\n\"Yes, here I came six years ago with Ferr\u00e9 and Rousillon. Poor\nRousillon! he left his bones at Smolensk; and Ferr\u00e9 must now be\nat home in his village, for he lost a leg at Wagram.\"\n\nAt the same time he pushed open the door, and we entered a lofty\nhall, full of smoke. I saw, through the thick, gray atmosphere, a\nlong row of tables, surrounded by men drinking--the greater\nnumber in short coats and little caps, the remainder in the Saxon\nuniform. They were mostly students, and the oldest of them--a\ntall, withered-looking man, with a red nose and long flaxen\nbeard, stained with beer--was standing upon a table, reading the\ngazette aloud. He held the paper in one hand, and in the other a\nlong porcelain pipe. His comrades, with their long, light hair\nfalling upon their shoulders, were listening with the deepest\ninterest; and as we entered, they shouted \"_Vaterland!\nVaterland!_\"\n\nThey touched glasses with the Saxon soldiers, while the tall\nstudent bent over to take up his glass, and the round, fat brewer\ncried:\n\n\"_Gesundheit! Gesundheit!_\"\n\nScarcely had we made half a dozen steps toward them, when they\nbecame silent.\n\n\"Come, come, comrades!\" cried Zunnier, \"don't disturb yourselves.\nGo on reading. We do not object to hear the news.\"\n\nBut they did not seem inclined to profit by our invitation, and\nthe reader descended from the table, folding up his paper, which\nhe put in his pocket.\n\n\"It is finished,\" said he, \"it is finished.\"\n\n\"Yes; it is finished,\" repeated the others, looking at each other\nwith a peculiar expression.\n\nTwo or three of the soldiers rose and left the room, and the fat\nlandlord said:\n\n\"You do not perhaps know that the large hall is on the Rue de\nTilly?\"\n\n\"Yes; we know it very well,\" replied Zunnier; \"but I like this\nlittle hall better. Here I used to come, long ago, with two old\ncomrades, to empty a few glasses in honor of Jena and Auerstaedt.\nI know this room of old.\"\n\n\"Ah! as you please, as you please,\" returned the landlord. \"Do\nyou wish some March beer?\"\n\n\"Yes; two glasses and the gazette.\"\n\n\"Very good.\"\n\n{739}\n\nThe glasses were handed us, and Zunnier, who observed nothing,\ntried to open a conversation with the students; but they excused\nthemselves, and, one after another, went out. I saw that they\nhated us, but dared not show it.\n\nThe gazette spoke of an armistice, after two new victories at\nBautzen and Wurtschen. This armistice commenced on the sixth of\nJune, and a conference was then being held at Prague, in Bohemia,\nto arrange on terms of peace. All this naturally gave me\npleasure. I thought of again seeing home. But Zunnier, with his\nhabit of thinking aloud, filled the hall with his reflections,\nand interrupted me at every line.\n\n\"An armistice!\" he cried. \"Do we want an armistice, after having\nbeaten those Prussians and Russians three times? We should\nannihilate them! Would they give us an armistice if they had\nbeaten us? There, Joseph, you see the emperor's character--he is\ntoo good. It is his only fault. He did the same thing after\nAusterlitz, and we had to begin over again. I tell you, he is too\ngood and if he were not so, we should have been masters of\nEurope.\"\n\nAs he spoke, he looked around as if seeking assent; but the\nstudents scowled, and no one replied.\n\nAt last Zunnier rose.\n\n\"Come, Joseph,\" said he; \"I know nothing of politics, but I\ninsist that we should give no armistice to those beggars. When\nthey are down, we should keep them there.\"\n\nAfter we had paid our reckoning, and were once more in the\nstreet, he continued:\n\n\"I do not know what was the matter with those people to-day. We\nmust have disturbed them in something.\"\n\n\"It is very possible,\" I replied. \"They certainly did not seem\nlike the good-natured folks you were speaking of.\"\n\n\"No,\" said he. \"The students, long ago, used to pass their time\ndrinking with us. We sang _Fanfan la Tulipe_ and 'King\nDagobert' together, which are not political songs, you know. But\nthese fellows are good for nothing.\"\n\nI knew, afterward, that those students were members of the\n_Tugend-Bund_. No wonder they hated Frenchmen!\n\nOn returning to the hospital, we learned that we were to go, that\nsame evening, to the barracks of _Rosenthal_--a sort of\ndepot for wounded, near Lutzen, where the roll was called morning\nand evening, but where, at all other times, we were at liberty to\ndo as we pleased. We often strolled through the town; but the\ncitizens now slammed their doors in our faces, and the\ntavern-keepers not only refused to give us credit, but attempted\nto charge double and triple for what we got. But my comrade could\nnot be cheated. He knew the price of everything as well as any\nSaxon among them. Often we stood on the bridge and gazed at the\nthousand branches of the Pleisse and the Elster, glowing red in\nthe light of the setting sun, little thinking that we should one\nday cross those rivers after losing the bloodiest of battles, and\nthat whole regiments would be submerged in the glittering waters\nbeneath us.\n\nBut the ill-feeling of the people toward us was shown in a\nthousand forms. The day after the conclusion of the armistice, we\nwent together to bathe in the Elster, and Zunnier, seeing a\npeasant approaching, cried:\n\n\"Holloa! comrade! Is there any danger here?\"\n\n\"No. Go in boldly,\" replied the man.\n\n{740}\n\nZunnier, mistrusting nothing, walked fifteen or eighteen feet\nout. He was a good swimmer, but his left arm was yet weak, and\nthe strength of the current carried him away so quickly that he\ncould not even catch the branches of the willows which hung over\nhim; and were it not that he was carried to a ford, where he\ngained a footing, he would have been swept between two muddy\nislands, and certainly lost.\n\nThe peasant stood to see the effect of his advice. I rushed at\nhim, but he laughed, and ran, quicker than I could follow him, to\nthe city. Zunnier was wild with wrath, and wished to pursue him\nto Counewitz; but how could we find him among four or five\nhundred houses?\n\nReturning to Leipsic, we saw joy painted on the countenances of\nthe inhabitants. It did not display itself openly; but the\ncitizens, meeting, would shake hands with an air of huge\nsatisfaction, and the general rejoicing glistened even in the\neyes of servants and the poorest workmen.\n\nZunnier said: \"These Germans seem to be merry about something.\nThey do not always look so good-natured.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I replied; \"their good humor comes from the fine weather\nand good harvest.\"\n\nBut when we reached the barracks, we found some of our officers\nat the gate, talking eagerly together, and then we learned the\ncause of so much joy. The conference at Prague was broken off,\nand Austria, too, was about to declare war against us, which gave\nus two hundred thousand more men to take care of.\n\nThe day after, twelve hundred wounded were ordered to  rejoin\ntheir corps. Zunnier was of the number--I accompanied him to the\ngates. My arm was yet too weak for duty. My existence was them\nsad enough, for I formed no more close friendships, and when, on\nthe first of October, the old surgeon, Tardieu, gave me my orders\nto march, telling me I was fully recovered, I felt almost\nrelived.\n\n\n                   XVII.\n\nIt was about five o'clock in the evening, and we were approaching\nthe village of Risa, when we descried an old mill, with its\nwooden bridge, over which a bridle-path ran. We struck off from\nthe road and took this path, to make a short cut to the village,\nwhen we heard cries and shrieks for help, and, at the same\nmoment, two women, one old, and the other somewhat younger, ran\nacross a garden, dragging two children with them. They were\ntrying to gain a little wood which bordered the road, and, at the\nsame moment, we saw several of our soldiers come out of the mill\nwith sacks, while others came up from a cellar with little casks,\nwhich they hastened to place on a cart standing near; still\nothers were driving cows and horses from a stable, while an old\nman stood at the door, with uplifted hands, as if imprecating\nHeaven's malison upon them.\n\n\"There,\" cried the quartermaster, who commanded our party, an old\nsoldier named Poitevin, \"there are fellows pillaging. We are not\nfar from the army.\"\n\n\"But that is horrible!\" I cried. \"They are robbers.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" returned the quartermaster coolly; \"it is contrary to\ndiscipline, and if the emperor knew of it, they would be shot\nlike dogs.\"\n\nWe crossed the little bridge, and found the thieves crowded\naround a cask which they had pierced, passing around the cup.\nThis sight roused the quartermaster's indignation, and he cried:\n\n{741}\n\n\"On what authority do you commit this pillage?\"\n\nSeveral turned their heads, but seeing that we were but three,\nfor the rest of our party had gone on, one of them replied:\n\n\"Ha! what do you want, old joker? A little of the spoil, I\nsuppose. But you need not curl up your mustaches on that account.\nHere, drink a drop.\"\n\nThe speaker held out the cup, and the quartermaster took it and\ndrank, looking at me as he did so.\n\n\"Well, young man,\" said he., \"will you have some, too? It is\nfamous wine, this.\"\n\n\"No, I thank you,\" I replied.\n\nSeveral of the pillaging party now cried:\n\n\"Hurry, there it is time to get back to camp.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" replied others; \"there is more to be had here.\"\n\n\"Comrades,\" said the quartermaster, in a tone of gentle reproof\nand warning, \"you know, comrades, you must go gently about it.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, old fellow,\" replied a drum-major, with half-closed\neyes, and a mocking smile; \"do not be alarmed; we will pluck the\nchicken according to rule. We will take care; we will take care.\"\n\nThe quartermaster said no more, but seemed ashamed on my account.\nHe remained in a meditative mood for some time after we started\nto overtake our companions, and, at length, said deprecatingly:\n\n\"What would you have, young man? War is war. One cannot see\nhimself starving, with food at hand.\"\n\nHe was afraid I would report him; he would have remained with the\npillagers but for the fear of being captured. I replied, to\nrelieve his mind:\n\n\"Those are probably good fellows, but the sight of a cup of wine\nmakes them forget everything.\"\n\nAt length, about ten o'clock, we saw the bivouac fires, on a\ngloomy hill-side. Further on, in the plain, a great number of\nother fires were burning. The night was clear, and as we\napproached the bivouac, the sentry challenged:\n\n\"Who goes there?\"\n\n\"France!\" replied the quartermaster.\n\nMy heart beat, as I thought that, in a few moments, I should\nagain meet my old comrades, if they were yet in the world.\n\nTwo men of the guard came forward to reconnoitre us. The\ncommandant of the post, a gray-haired _sous-lieutenant_, his\narm in a sling under his cloak, asked us whence we came, whither\nwe were going, and whether we had met any parties of Cossacks on\nour route. The quartermaster answered. The lieutenant informed us\nthat Sonham's division had that morning left them, and ordered us\nto follow him, that he might examine our marching-papers, which\nwe did in silence, passing among the bivouac fires, around which\nmen, covered with dried mud, were sleeping, in groups of twenty.\nNot one moved.\n\nWe arrived at the officers' quarters. It was an old brick-kiln,\nwith an immense roof, resting on posts driven into the ground. A\nlarge fire was burning in it, and the air was agreeably warm.\nAround it soldiers were sleeping, with happy faces, and near the\nposts stacks of arms shone in the light of the flames. One\nbronzed old veteran watched alone, seated on the ground, and\nmending a shoe with a needle and thread.\n\nThe officer handed me back my paper first, saying:\n\n\"You will rejoin your battalion tomorrow, two leagues hence, near\nTorgau.\"\n\n{742}\n\nThen the old soldier, looking at me, placed his hand upon the\nground, to show that there was room beside him, and I seated\nmyself. I opened my knapsack, and put on new stockings and shoes\nwhich I had brought from Leipsic, after which I felt much better.\n\nThe old man asked:\n\n\"You are rejoining your corps?\"\n\n\"Yes; the sixth at Torgau.\"\n\n\"And you came from--\"\n\n\"The hospital at Leipsic.\"\n\n\"That is easily seen,\" said he; \"you are fat as a beadle. They\nfed you on chickens down there, while we were eating cow-beef.\"\n\nI looked around at my sleeping neighbors. He was right; the poor\nconscripts were mere skin and bone. They were bronzed as\nveterans, and scarcely seemed able to stand.\n\nThe old man, in a moment, continued his train of questions:\n\n\"You were wounded?\"\n\n\"Yes; at Lutzen.\"\n\n\"Four months in the hospital!\" said he whistling; \"what luck! I\nhave just returned from Spain, flattering myself that I was going\nto meet the _Kaiserliks_ of 1807 once more--sheep, regular\nsheep--but they have become worse than guerrillas. Things are\nspoiling.\"\n\nHe said the most of this to himself, without according me much of\nhis attention, all the while sewing his shoe, which from time to\ntime he tried on, to be sure that the sewn part would not hurt\nhis foot. At last he put the thread in his knapsack and the shoe\nupon his foot, and stretched himself upon a truss of straw.\n\nI was too fatigued to sleep at once, and for an hour lay awake.\n\nIn the morning I set out again with the quartermaster Poitevin,\nand three other soldiers of Sonham's division. Our route lay\nalong the bank of the Elbe; the weather was wet and the wind\nswept fiercely over the river, throwing the spray far on the\nland.\n\nWe hastened on for an hour, when suddenly the quartermaster\ncried:\n\n\"Attention!\"\n\nHe had halted suddenly, and stood listening. We could hear\nnothing but the sighing of the wind through the trees, and the\nsplash of the waves; but his ear was finer than ours.\n\n\"They are skirmishing yonder,\" said he, pointing to a wood on our\nright. \"The enemy may be toward us, and the best thing we can do\nis to enter the wood and pursue our route cautiously. We can see\nat the other end of it what is going on; and if the Prussians or\nRussians are there, we can beat a retreat without their\nperceiving us.\"\n\nWe all thought the quartermaster was right; and, in my heart, I\nadmired the shrewdness of the old drunkard, for such he was. We\nkept on toward the wood, Poitevin leading, and the others\nfollowing, with our pieces cocked. We marched slowly, stopping\nevery hundred paces to listen. The shots grew nearer; they were\nfired at intervals, and the quartermaster said:\n\n\"They are sharp-shooters reconnoitering a body of cavalry, for\nthe firing is all on one side.\"\n\nIt was true. In a few moments we perceived, through the trees, a\nbattalion of French infantry, about to make their soup, and in\nthe distance, on the plain beyond, platoons of Cossacks defiling\nfrom one village to another. A few skirmishers along the edge of\nthe wood were firing on them, but they were almost beyond\nmusket-range.\n\n\"There are your people, young man,\" said Poitevin. \"You are at\nhome.\"\n\n{743}\n\nHe had good eyes to read the number of a regiment at such a\ndistance. I could only see ragged soldiers with their cheeks and\nfamine-glistening eyes. Their great-coats were twice too large\nfor them, and fell in folds along their bodies like cloaks. I say\nnothing of the mud; it was everywhere. No wonder the Germans were\ngleeful, even after our victories.\n\nWe went toward a couple of little tents, before which three or\nfour horses were nibbling the scanty grass. I saw Colonel Lorain,\nwho now commanded the third battalion--a tall, thin man, with\nbrown mustaches and a fierce air. He looked at me frowningly, and\nwhen I showed my papers, only said:\n\n\"Go and rejoin your company.\"\n\nI started off, thinking that I would recognize some of the\nFourth; but, since Lutzen, companies had been so mingled with\ncompanies, regiments with regiments, and divisions with\ndivisions, that, on arriving at the camp of the grenadiers, I\nknew no one. The men seeing me approach, looked distrustfully at\nme, as if to say:\n\n\"Does _he_ want some of our beef? Let us see what he brings\nto the pot!\"\n\nI was almost ashamed to ask for my company, when a bony veteran,\nwith a nose long and pointed like an eagle's beak, and a worn-out\ncoat hanging from his shoulders, lifting his head, and gazing at\nme, said quietly:\n\n\"Hold! It is Joseph. I thought he was buried four months ago.\"\n\nThen I recognized my poor Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9. My appearance seemed to affect\nhim, for, without rising, he squeezed my hand, crying: \"Klipfel!\nhere is Joseph!\" Another soldier, seated near a pot, turned his\nhead, saying:\n\n\"It is you, Joseph, is it? Then you were not killed.\"\n\nThis was all my welcome. Misery had made them so selfish that\nthey thought only of themselves. But Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 was always\ngood-hearted; he made me sit near him, throwing a glance at the\nothers that commanded respect, and offered me his spoon, which he\nhad fastened to the button-hole of his coat. I thanked him, and\nproduced from my knapsack a dozen sausages, a good loaf of bread,\nand a flask of _eau-de-vie_, which I had the foresight to\npurchase at Risa. I handed a couple of the sausages to Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9,\nwho took them with tears in his eyes. I was also going to offer\nsome to the others; but he put his hand on my arm, saying:\n\n\"What is good to eat is good to keep.\"\n\nWe retired from the circle and ate, drinking at the same time;\nthe rest of the soldiers said nothing, but looked wistfully at\nus. Klipfel, smelling the sausages, turned and said:\n\n\"Hollo! Joseph! Come and eat with us. Comrades are always\ncomrades, you know.\"\n\n\"That is all very well,\" said Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9; \"but I find meat and drink\nthe best comrades.\"\n\nHe shut up my knapsack himself, saying:\n\n\"Keep that, Joseph. I have not been so well regaled for more than\na month. You shall not lose it.\"\n\nA half-hour after, the recall was beaten; the skirmishers came\nin, and Sergeant Pinto, who was among the number, recognized me,\nand said:\n\n\"Well; so you have escaped! But you came back in an evil moment!\nThings go wrong--wrong!\"\n\n{744}\n\nThe colonel and commandants mounted, and we began moving. The\nCossacks withdrew. We marched with arms at will; Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 was at my\nside and related all that passed since Lutzen; the great\nvictories of Bautzen and Wurtzen; the forced marches to overtake\nthe retreating enemy; the march on Berlin; then the armistice,\nthe arrival of the veterans of Spain--men accustomed to pillaging\nand living on the peasantry.\n\nUnfortunately, at the close of the armistice, all were against\nus. The country people looked on us with horror; they cut the\nbridges down, and kept the Russians and Prussians informed of all\nour movements. It rained almost constantly, and the day of the\nbattle of Dresden, it fell so heavily that the emperor's hat hung\ndown upon his shoulders. But when victorious, we only laughed at\nthese things. Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 told me all this in detail; how after the\nvictory at Dresden, General Vandamme, who was to cut off the\nretreat of the Austrians, had penetrated to Kulm in his ardor;\nand how those whom we had beaten the day before fell upon him on\nall sides, front, flank, and rear, and captured him and several\nother generals, utterly destroying his _corps d'arm\u00e9e_. Two\ndays before, owing to a false movement of Marshal Macdonald, the\nenemy had surprised our division, and the fifth, sixth, and\neleventh corps on the heights of Luwenberg, and in the\n_m\u00e9l\u00e9e_ Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 received two blows from the butt of a\ngrenadier's musket, and was thrown into the river Katzbach.\nLuckily he seized the over-hanging branch of a tree, and managed\nto regain the bank. He told me how all that night, despite the\nblood that flowed from his nose and ears, he had marched to the\nvillage of Goldberg, almost dead with hunger, fatigue, and his\nwounds, and how a joiner had taken pity upon him and given him\nbread, onions, and water. He told me how, on the day following,\nthey had marched across the fields, each one taking his own\ncourse, without orders, because the marshals, generals, and all\nmounted officers had fled as far as possible, in the fear of\nbeing captured. He assured me that fifty hussars could have\ncaptured them, one after another; but that by good fortune,\nBl\u00fccher could not cross the river, so that they finally rallied\nat Wolda, and further on at Buntzlau their officers met them,\nsurprised at yet having troops to lead. He told me how Marshal\nOudinot and Marshal Ney had been beaten; the first at\nGross-Beeren, and the other at Dennewitz.\n\nWe were between three armies, who were uniting to crush us; that\nof the north, commanded by Bernadotte; that of Silesia, commanded\nby Bl\u00fccher; and the army of Bohemia, commanded by Schwartzenberg.\nWe marched in turn against each of them; they feared the emperor\nand retreated before us; but we could not be at once in Silesia\nand Bohemia, so march followed march, and countermarch,\ncountermarch. All the men asked was to fight; they wanted their\nmisery to end. A sort of guerrilla, named Thielmann, raised the\npeasantry against us, and the Bavarians and Wurtemburgers\ndeclared against us. We had all Europe on our hands.\n\nOn the fourteenth of October, our battalion was detached to\nreconnoitre the village of Aken. The enemy were in force there\nand received us with a scattering artillery fire, and we remained\nall night without being able to light a fire, on account of the\npouring rain. The next day we set out to rejoin our division by\nforced marches. Every one said, I know not why:\n\n\"The battle is approaching! the fight is coming on!\"\n\n{745}\n\nSergeant Pinto declared that he felt the emperor in the air. I\nfelt nothing, but I knew that we were marching on Leipsic. The\nnight following, the weather cleared up a little, millions of\nstars shone out, and we still kept on. The next day, about ten\no'clock, near a little village whose name I cannot recollect, we\nwere ordered to halt, and then we heard a trembling in the air.\nThe colonel and Sergeant Pinto said:\n\n\"The battle has begun!\" and at the same moment, the colonel,\nwaving his sword, cried:\n\n\"Forward!\"\n\nWe started at a run, and half an hour after saw, at a few\nthousand paces ahead, a long column, in which followed artillery,\ncavalry, and infantry, one upon the other; behind us, on the road\nto Duben, we saw another, all pushing forward at their utmost\nspeed. Regiments were even hastening across the fields.\n\nAt the end of the road we could see the two spires of the\nchurches of Saint Nicholas and Saint Thomas in Leipsic, rising\namidst great clouds of smoke through which broad flashes were\ndarting. The noise increased; we were yet more than a league from\nthe city, but were forced to almost shout to hear each other, and\nmen gazed around, pale as death, seeming by their looks to say:\n\n\"This is indeed a battle!\"\n\nSergeant Pinto cried that it was worse than Eylau. He laughed no\nmore, nor did Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9; but on, on we rushed, officers incessantly\nurging us forward. We seemed to grow delirious; the love of\ncountry was indeed striving within us, but still greater was the\nfurious eagerness for the fight.\n\nAt eleven o'clock, we descried the battle-field, about a league\nin front of Leipsic. We saw the steeples and roofs of the city\ncrowded with people, and the old ramparts on which I had walked\nso often, thinking of Catharine. Opposite us, twelve or fifteen\nhundred yards distant, two regiments of red lancers were drawn\nup, and a little to the left, two or three regiments of\n_chasseurs-\u00e0-cheval_, and between them filed the long column\nfrom Duben. Further on, along a slope, were the divisions Ricard,\nDombrowski, Sonham, and several others, with their rear to the\ncity; and far behind, on a hill, around one of those old\nfarm-houses with flat roofs and immense outlying sheds, so often\nseen in that country, glittered the brilliant uniforms of the\nstaff.\n\nIt was the army of reserve, commanded by Ney. His left wing\ncommunicated with Marmont, who was posted on the road to Halle,\nand his right with the grand army, commanded by the emperor in\nperson. In this manner our troops formed an immense circle around\nLeipsic; and the enemy, arriving from all points, sought to join\ntheir divisions so as to form a yet larger circle around us, and\nto inclose us in Leipsic as in a trap.\n\nWhile we waited thus, three fearful battles were going on at\nonce; one against the Austrians and Russians at Wachau; another\nagainst the Prussians at Mockern on the road to Halle; and the\nthird on the road to Lutzen, to defend the bridge of Lindenau,\nattacked by General Giulay.\n\n\n                 XVIII.\n\nThe battalion was commencing to descend the hill, opposite\nLeipsic, when we saw a staff-officer crossing the plain beneath,\nand coming at full gallop toward us. In two minutes he was with\nus; Colonel Lorain had spurred forward to meet him; they\nexchanged a few words, and the officer returned. Hundreds of\nothers were rushing over the plain in the same manner, bearing\norders.\n\n{746}\n\n\"Head of column to the right!\" shouted the colonel.\n\nWe took the direction of a wood, which skirts the Duben road some\nhalf a league. Once at its borders, we were ordered to re-prime\nour guns, and the battalion was deployed through the wood as\nskirmishers. We advanced, twenty-five paces apart, and each of us\nkept his eyes well opened, as may be imagined. Every minute\nSergeant Pinto would cry out:\n\n\"Get under cover!\"\n\nBut he did not need to warn us; each one hastened to take his\npost behind a stout tree, to reconnoitre well before proceeding\nto another. We kept on in this manner some ten minutes, and, as\nwe saw nothing, began to grow confident, when suddenly, one, two,\nthree shots rang out. Then they came from all sides, and rattled\nfrom end to end of our line. At the same instant I saw my comrade\non the left fall, trying, as he sank to the earth, to support\nhimself by the trunk of the tree behind which he was standing.\nThis roused me. I looked to the right and saw, fifty or sixty\npaces off, an old Prussian soldier, with his long red mustaches\ncovering the lock of his piece; he was aiming deliberately at me.\nI fell at once to the ground, and at the same moment heard the\nreport. It was a close escape, for the comb, brush, and\nhandkerchief in my shako were broken and torn by the bullet. A\ncold shiver ran through me.\n\n\"Well done! a miss is as good as a mile!\" cried the old sergeant,\nstarting forward at a run, and I, who had no wish to remain\nlonger in such a place, followed with right good-will.\n\nLieutenant Bretonville, waving his sabre, cried, \"Forward!\"\nwhile, to the right, the firing still continued. We soon arrived\nat a clearing, where lay five or six trunks of felled trees, but\nnot one standing, that might serve us for a cover. Nevertheless,\nfive or six of our men advanced boldly, when the sergeant called\nout:\n\n\"Halt! The Prussians are in ambush around. Look sharp!\"\n\nScarcely had he spoken, when a dozen bullets whistled through the\nbranches, and, at the same time, a number of Prussians rose, and\nplunged deeper into the forest opposite.\n\n\"There they go! Forward!\" cried Pinto.\n\nBut the bullet in my shako had rendered me cautious; it seemed as\nif I could almost see through the trees, and, as the sergeant\nstarted forth into the clearing, I held his arm, pointing out to\nhim the muzzle of a musket peeping out from a bush, not a hundred\npaces before us. The others, clustering around, saw it too, and\nPinto whispered,\n\n\"Stay, Bertha; remain here, and do not lose sight of him, while\nwe turn the position.\"\n\nThey set off to the right and left, and I, behind my tree, my\npiece at my shoulder, waited like a hunter for his game. At the\nend of two or three minutes, the Prussian, hearing nothing, rose\nslowly. He was quite a boy, with little blonde mustaches, and a\ntall, slight, but well-knit figure. I could have killed him as he\nstood, but the thought of thus slaying a defenceless man froze my\nblood. Suddenly he saw me, and bounded aside. Then I fired, and\nbreathed more freely as I saw him running, like a stag, toward\nthe wood.\n\nAt the same moment, five or six reports rang out to the right and\nleft; the sergeant, Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, Klipfel, and the rest appeared, and a\nhundred paces further on, we found the young Prussian upon the\nground, blood gushing from his mouth. He gazed at us with a\nscared expression, raising his arms, as if to parry\nbayonet-thrusts, but the sergeant called gleefully to him:\n\n{747}\n\n\"Fear nothing! Your account is settled.\"\n\nNo one offered to injure him further but Klipfel took a beautiful\npipe, which was hanging out of his pocket, saying:\n\n\"For a long time I have wanted a pipe, and here is a fine one.\"\n\n\"Fusilier Klipfel!\" cried Pinto indignantly, \"will you be good\nenough to put back that pipe? Leave it to the Cossacks to rob the\nwounded! A French soldier knows only honor!\"\n\nKlipfel threw down the pipe, and we departed, not one caring to\nlook back at the wounded Prussian. We arrived at the edge of the\nforest, outside which, among tufted bushes, the Prussians we\npursued had taken refuge. We saw them rise to fire upon us, but\nthey immediately lay down again. We might have remained there\ntranquilly, since we had orders to occupy the wood, and the shots\nof the Prussians could not hurt us, protected as we were by the\ntrees. On the other side of the slope we heard a terrific battle\ngoing on; the thunder of cannon was increasing, it filled the air\nwith one continuous roar. But our officers held a council, and\ndecided that the bushes were part of the forest, and that the\nPrussians must be driven from them. This determination cost many\na life.\n\nWe received orders, then, to drive in the enemy's tirailleurs,\nand as they fired as we came on, we started at a run, so as to be\nupon them before they could reload. Our officers ran, also, full\nof ardor. We thought the bushes ended at the top of the hill, and\nthat then we could sweep off the Prussians by dozens. But\nscarcely had we arrived, out of breath, upon the ridge, when old\nPinto cried:\n\n\"Hussars!\"\n\nI looked up, and saw the _Colbacks_ rushing down upon us\nlike a tempest. Scarcely had I seen them, when I began to spring\ndown the hill, going, I verily believe, in spite of weariness and\nmy knapsack, fifteen feet at a bound. I saw before me, Pinto,\nZ\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9, and the others, making their best speed. Behind, on came\nthe hussars, their officers shouting orders in German, their\nscabbards clanking and horses neighing. The earth shook beneath\nthem.\n\nI took the shortest road to the wood, and had almost reached it,\nwhen I came upon one of the trenches where the peasants were in\nthe habit of digging clay for their houses. It was more than\ntwenty feet wide, and forty or fifty long, and the rain had made\nthe sides very slippery; but as I heard the very breathing of the\nhorses behind me, without thinking of aught else, I sprang\nforward, and fell upon my face; another fusilier of my company\nwas already there. We arose as soon as we could, and at the same\ninstant two hussars glided down the slippery side of the trench.\nThe first, cursing like a fiend, aimed a sabre-stroke at my poor\ncomrade's head, but as he rose in his stirrups to give force to\nthe blow, I buried my bayonet in his side, while the other\nbrought down his blade upon my shoulder with such force, that,\nwere it not for my epaulette, I believe that I had been well-nigh\ncloven in two. Then he lunged, but as his point touched my\nbreast, a bullet from above crashed through his skull. I looked\naround, and saw one of our men, up to his knees in the clay. He\nhad heard the oaths of the hussars and the neighing of the\nhorses, and had come to the edge of the trench to see what was\ngoing on.\n\n\"Well, comrade,\" said he, laughing, \"it was about time.\"\n\n{748}\n\nI had not strength to reply, but stood trembling like an aspen\nleaf. He unfixed his bayonet, and stretched the muzzle of his\npiece to me to help me out. Then I squeezed his hand, saying:\n\n\"You saved my life! What is your name?\"\n\nHe told me that his name was Jean Pierre Vincent. I have often\nsince thought that I should be only too happy to render that man\nany service in my power; but two days after, the second battle of\nLeipsic took place; then the retreat from Hanau began, and I\nnever saw him again.\n\nSergeant Pinto and Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 came up a moment after. Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 said:\n\n\"We have escaped once more, Joseph, and now we are the only\nPhalsbourg men in the battalion. Klipfel was sabred by the\nhussars.\"\n\n\"Did you see?\" I cried.\n\n\"Yes; he received over twenty wounds, and kept calling to me for\naid.\" Then, after a moment's pause, he added, \"O Joseph! it is\nterrible to hear the companion of your childhood calling for\nhelp, and not be able to give it! But they were too many. They\nsurrounded him on ail sides.\"\n\nThe thoughts of home rushed upon both our minds. I thought I\ncould see grandmother Klipfel when she would learn the news, and\nthis made me think too of Catharine.\n\nFrom the time of the charge of the hussars until night, the\nbattalion remained in the same position, skirmishing with the\nPrussians. We kept them from occupying the wood; but they\nprevented us from ascending to the ridge. The next day we knew\nwhy. The hill commanded the entire course of the Partha, and the\nfierce cannonade we heard came from Dombrowski's division, which\nwas attacking the Prussian left wing, in order to aid General\nMarmont at Mockern, where twenty thousand French, posted in a\nravine, were holding eighty thousand of Bl\u00fccher's troops in\ncheck; while toward Wachau a hundred and fifteen thousand French\nwere engaged with two hundred thousand Austrians and Russians.\nMore than fifteen hundred cannon were thundering at once. Our\npoor little fusilade was like the humming of a bee in a storm,\nand we sometimes ceased firing, on both sides, to listen. It\nseemed as if some supernatural, infernal battle were going on;\nthe air was filled with smoke; the earth trembled beneath our\nfeet; old soldiers like Pinto declared they had never seen\nanything like it.\n\nAbout six o'clock, a staff-officer brought orders to Colonel\nLorain, and immediately after a retreat was sounded. The\nbattalion had lost sixty men.\n\nIt was night when we left the forest, and on the banks of the\nPartha among caissons, wagons, retreating divisions, ambulances\nfilled with wounded, all defiling over the two bridges--we had to\nwait more than two hours for our turn to cross. The heavens were\nblack; the artillery still growled afar off, but the three\nbattles were ended. We heard that we had beaten the Austrians and\nthe Russians at Wachau, on the other side of Leipsic; but our men\nreturning from Mockern were downcast and gloomy; not a voice\ncried _Vive l'Empereur!_ as after a victory.\n\nOnce on the other side of the river, we marched on amid the din\nof the retreat from Mockern, and at length reached a\nburial-ground, where we were ordered to stack arms and break\nranks.\n\n{749}\n\nBy this time the sky had cleared, and I recognized Schoenfeld in\nthe moonlight. How often had I eaten bread and drank white wine\nwith Zunnier there at the Golden Sheaf when the sun shone\nbrightly and the leaves were green around? But those times had\npassed! I sat against the cemetery wall, and at length fell\nasleep. About three o'clock in the morning, I was awakened.\n\nIt was Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9. \"Joseph,\" said he, \"come to the fire. If you\nremain here, you run the risk of catching the fever.\"\n\nI arose, sick with fatigue and suffering. A fine rain filled the\nair. My comrade drew me toward the fire which smoked in the\ndrizzling atmosphere; it seemed to give out no heat; but Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9\nhaving made me drink a draught of brandy, I felt at least less\ncold, and gazed at the bivouac fires on the other side of the\nPartha.\n\n\"The Prussians are warming themselves in our wood,\" said Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9.\n\n\"Yes,\" I replied; \"and poor Klipfel is there too, but he no\nlonger feels the cold.\"\n\nMy teeth chattered. These words saddened us both. A few moments\nafter, Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9 resumed:\n\n\"Do you remember, Joseph, the black ribbon he wore the day of the\nconscription, and how he cried that we were all condemned to\ndeath, like those who had gone to Russia?\"\n\nI thought how Pinacle had held out the black ribbon for me; and\nthe remembrance, together with the cold, which seemed to freeze\nthe very marrow in our bones, made me shudder. I thought Pinacle\nwas right; that I had seen the last of home, and I cursed those\nwho had forced me from it.\n\nAt day-break, wagons arrived with food and brandy for us. The\nrain had ceased; we made soup, but nothing could warm me; I had\ncaught the fever. I was not the only one in the battalion in that\ncondition; three fourths of the men were suffering from it; and,\nfor a month before, those who could no longer march had lain down\nby the roadside weeping and calling upon their mothers like\nlittle children. Hunger, forced marches, the rain, and grief had\ndone their work, and happy was it for the parents that they could\nnot see the miserable end of their cherished sons.\n\nAs the light increased, we saw to the left, on the other side of\nthe river, burnt villages, heaps of dead, abandoned wagons, and\nbroken cannon, stretching as far as the eye could reach. It was\nworse than at Lutzen. We saw the Prussians deploy, and advance\ntheir thousands over the battle-field. They were to join with the\nRussians and Austrians and close the great circle around us, and\nwe could not prevent them, especially as Bernadotte and the\nRussian General Benningsen had come up with twenty thousand fresh\ntroops. Thus, after fighting three battles in one day, were we,\nonly one hundred thousand strong, seemingly about to be entrapped\nin the midst of three hundred thousand bayonets, not to speak of\nfifty thousand horse and twelve hundred cannon.\n\nFrom Schoenfeld, the battalion started to rejoin the division at\nKohlgarten. All the roads were lined with slow-moving ambulances,\nfilled with wounded; all the wagons of the country around had\nbeen impressed for this service; and, in the intervals between\nthem, marched hundreds of poor fellows with their arms in slings,\nor their heads bandaged--pale, crestfallen, half dead.\n\nWe made our way, with a thousand difficulties, through this mass,\nwhen, near Kohlgarten, twenty hussars, galloping at full speed,\nand with levelled pistols, drove back the crowd, right and left,\ninto the fields, shouting as they pressed on:\n\n{750}\n\n\"The emperor! the emperor!\"\n\nThe battalion drew up, and presented arms; and a few moments\nafter, the _grenadiers-\u00e0-cheval_ of the guard--veritable\ngiants, with their great boots, their immense bear-skin hats,\ndescending to their shoulders and only allowing their mustaches,\nnose, and eyes to remain visible--passed at a gallop. Our men\nlooked joyfully at them, glad that such robust warriors were on\nour side.\n\nScarcely had they passed, when the staff tore after. Imagine a\nhundred and fifty to two hundred marshals, generals, and other\nsuperior officers, mounted on magnificent steeds, and so covered\nwith embroidery that the color of their uniforms was scarcely\nvisible; some tall, thin, and haughty; others short, thick-set,\nand red-faced; others again young and handsome, sitting like\nstatues in their saddles; all with eager look and flashing eyes.\nIt was a magnificent and terrible sight. But the most striking\nfigure among those captains, who for twenty years had made Europe\ntremble, was Napoleon himself, with his old hat and gray\nover-coat; his large, determined chin and neck buried between his\nshoulders. All shouted, \"_Vive l'Empereur!_\" but he heard\nnothing of it. He paid no more attention to us than to the\ndrizzling rain which filled the air, but gazed with contracted\nbrows at the Prussian army stretching along the Partha to join\nthe Austrians.\n\n\"Did you see him, Joseph?\" asked Z\u00e9b\u00e9d\u00e9.\n\n\"I did,\" I replied; \"I saw him well, and I will remember the\nsight all my life.\"\n\n\"It is strange,\" said my comrade; \"he does not seem to be\npleased. At Wurzen, the day after the battle, he seemed rejoiced\nto hear our \"_Vive l'Empereur!_' and the generals all wore\nmerry faces too. To-day they seem savage, and nevertheless the\ncaptain said that we bore off the victory on the other side of\nLeipsic.\"\n\nOthers thought the same thing without speaking of it, but there\nwas a growing uneasiness among all.\n\nWe found the regiment bivouacked near Kohlgarten. In every\ndirection camp-fires were rolling their smoke to the sky. A\ndrizzling rain continued to fall, and the men, seated on their\nknapsacks around the fires, seemed depressed and gloomy. The\nofficers formed groups of their own. On all sides it was\nwhispered that such a war had never before been seen; it was one\nof extermination; that it did not help us to defeat the enemy,\nfor they only desired to kill us off, knowing that they had four\nor five times our number of men, and would finally remain\nmasters.\n\nToward evening of the next day, we discovered the army of the\nnorth on the plateau of Breitenfeld. This was sixty thousand more\nmen for the enemy. I can yet hear the maledictions levelled at\nBernadotte--the cries of indignation of those who knew him as a\nsimple officer in the army of the republic, who cried out that he\nowed us all--that we made him a king with our blood, and that he\nnow came to give us the finishing blow.\n\nThat night, as we drew our lines still closer around Leipsic, I\ngazed at the circle of fires which surrounded us, and it seemed\nas if the whole world was bent on our extermination. But I\nremembered that we had the honor of bearing the name of\nFrenchmen, and must conquer or die.\n\n\n     To Be Concluded In Our Next.\n\n------\n\n{751}\n\n         The Old Roman World. [Footnote 67]\n\n  [Footnote 67: _The Old Roman World:\n  the Grandeur and Failure of its Civilization._\n  By John Lord, LL.D.\n  New York: Charles Scribner & Co. 1867.]\n\n\nDid Doctor Lord dream that the world would pronounce him immortal\nfor having formed an ill-assorted museum of effete ideas gathered\nfrom all the kingdoms of thought? While he was writing the sheets\nof _The Old Roman World_, was he thinking of a political\nworld, or an ecclesiastical world, or a literary world, or a\nmilitary world, or conjuring up a visionary world? Did he base\nhis claims to an imperishable name on his faculty to extract\nphilosophical truth from historical facts, or on his powers of\ndescribing facts and communicating truths so as to be useful to\nhis fellow-man, or on his irrepressible fluency in saying again\nand again, what had been better said again and again by others\nbefore? Did he intend to write a book; or are the sixteen\nchapters of his volume sixteen independent and unrelated\npamphlets, or sixteen stump speeches, or sixteen lectures, or\nsixteen spiritualistic effusions in a meandering mood of mind?\n\nDid he write to instruct the student, or amuse the indolent, or\ndelight the world, or add to the lore of the learned? Did he ever\nread, in the original languages, the historians, the\nphilosophers, the critics, the poets, the scientific writers on\nwhose minds and merits he wrote; or has he seen them only as in a\nmirror, by means of encyclopedian dissertations, hand-books, and\nsuch second-hand depositories? Did he think that the world would\nregard his compilations as a faithful reflector of ancient minds\nand ancient life?\n\nThere is, however, in Dr. Lord's _Old Roman World_ food for\nthought. No one denies the importance of the high and momentous\nquestions connected with the Roman name. It is an unquestionable\nfact that, in the history of the human race, the Romans occupy\nthe most prominent position. To the eyes of the historian, the\nRoman world is, amongst the nations of bygone centuries, what, to\nthe eyes of the astronomer, the sun is amongst the heavenly\nbodies. The generative causes of that outshining social edifice\nhave occupied the most splendid intellects in past ages, and have\nbeen analyzed anew in our day, according to his generalization,\nby Dr. Lord. To his mind it seems that the nations of the earth\nwere welded into one body by the superior military mechanism of\nthe Romans, and that the impaired efficiency of this military\nmachinery, together with a certain mysterious fatality, produced\nthe disintegration of the Roman empire, by destroying the\ncohesive qualities of Roman rule. Such is the pervading idea of\nhis chapters. We know that vast empires have been born of the\nsword; but we have yet to learn that an empire embracing the\nnations, religions, and languages of the earth, could have been\nfounded on, and conserved for centuries by, military mechanism.\nThe Romans, like Attila, or Genghis Khan, or Alexander, or\nSesostris, might have gone forth, and, either by bravery, or\nsuperior tactics, or vast levied armies, have overrun the nations\nof the earth; but military mechanism could never have raised and\nsustained through a long lapse of ages a mighty empire built on\nvanquished peoples.\n{752}\nAnd yet Rome not only conquered and incorporated independent\nraces, but glued them to the centre Rome; so much so, that they\nlost animosity, language, institutions, and nationality to become\nRomans. Rome not only romanized Italy, but italianized the then\nknown world. In the days of Hadrian and Trajan, the waves of the\nMediterranean knew no lord but the Roman; from the margin of\nthose seas were wafted the wealth and the produce of the world\ntoward Rome; and far beyond that margin, through hundreds of\nmiles, the genius and power of Rome were transforming the\nnations, building roads and palaces, founding cities, subdividing\nprovinces, spreading the Latin language, and stamping the mind of\nLatium on the human race. From the Padus to Japugium the names of\nthe Italian tribes were merged into the name of Rome. The men of\nMesraim bowed before the Roman eagle, and saw the traditions of\ntwo thousand years vanish away before the institutions of Rome.\nThe Asiatic cities renounced their pride of birth, and Greece\nyielded up a rich heritage of literary and military glory. The\nfiery valor of the Gauls and the martial memories of western\nnations were surmounted by the unconquerable energy of the Roman\nmind. To Rome the known nations of the world became as handmaids,\nand paid homage through a dozen generations. Whatever had been\ngreat in the world, whatever powerful, whatever beautiful,\nwhatever renowned, whatever ennobling, was swallowed up in the\nmighty name of Rome. And when, amid the upheaving of humanity and\nthe undulations of races, Rome sank as a ship in a troubled\nocean, her spirit lived to elevate the Italian, the Frank, the\nSpaniard, the Norman, to be the princes of the families of\nmankind. Could military mechanism have accomplished such results?\nCould military mechanism, when it was no more, possess a\nrenovating influence? Does not Sallust assert the superiority of\nthe Gauls to the Romans in war? Besides, it is a questionable\npoint whether the military systems of the Greeks are not\npreferable to the war tactics of the Romans. The Thessalian\ncavalry, and the Macedonian phalanx with its adaptability to\nevolutions, can stand a strict critical comparison with the Roman\nequites and Roman legion. The variety of movements in the\nphalanx, despite its inflexible and inseparable character, may\nwell compensate for the individual and displayed energy of the\nRoman combination. That Polybius judges the mechanism of the\nRoman superior to that of the Greek, may be ascribable to the\nfact that he preferred attributing the subjugation of his\ncountrymen, not to a superiority of valor, but of military\nmanoeuvres. Does any one suppose that the army of Pompey, twice\nas numerous as that of Caesar, was worsted through the defect of\ntheoretic military mechanism, rather than through the deficiency\nof the qualities which make a soldier? If any one will take the\ntrouble of writing, in parallel columns, the organization, the\nsub-organizations, the war habiliments, the aggressive and\ndefensive weapons, the laws of army management in sieges, in\nmarch, in battle, and in the tent, as they existed in Italy and\nGreece, we would leave to his candid judgment the decision on the\nspeculative excellence of Grecian and Roman war systems,\nconsidered as a whole. And on the sea, the Romans were tyros when\nthe Greeks had attained considerable perfection. The Romans\ndefeated the Carthaginians, not on a system indigenously reared\non the waters of Latium, but with a fleet formed after the\nfashion of an inimical craft wrecked on the Italian shore.\n{753}\nIn the progressive days of Rome, the nomenclature of the parts\nand naval acts of a Roman vessel was suggested by, or adopted\nfrom, the preexisting terminology of Greece. What thence? Do we\ndepreciate the military mechanism of Rome? By no means. But we\nunhesitatingly object to placing it as the primary cause of the\nelevation of Rome to the pinnacle of power. Where Doctor Lord\nplaced Roman military mechanism, he should have mentioned Roman\ncharacter and Roman institutions. In no place did character and\ninstitutions more powerfully concur to elevate the individual\nthan in the city of old Rome, in the state of Latium, on the\nbanks of the Tiber. The kings imparted a multifold and vigorous\ndevelopment to the martial, the religious, the aesthetical, the\ngovernmental, the utilitarian tendencies of the people. These\nfountains of grandeur poured their united streams of glory during\nthe five centuries of the republic into a magnificent reservoir,\nto empty which there was demanded the lapse of five hundred years\nof enfeebling despotism. It would be long to trace the single\ndevelopments. But we can see, and might explain by facts that, in\nas far as Rome incorporated with an equalization other powers, so\nfar did she strengthen and aggrandize herself; whereas,\nincorporations subject to inequality were co-causes of her\ndestruction. In the books of the Machabees we see that the Jews,\nin their emergency, called in the Romans as the justest amongst\nthe Gentiles. In his preface Livy says: \"Caeterum aut me amor\nnegotii suscepti fallit, aut nulla unquam respublica nec major,\nnec sanctior, nec bonis exemplis ditior fuit; nec in quam tam\nserae avaritia luxuriaque immigraverint: nec ubi tantus tamdiuque\npaupertati ac parsimoniae honos fuerit: adeo quanto rerum minus\ntanto minus cupiditatis erat. Nuper divitiae avaritiam at\nabundantes voluptates desiderium per luxum atque libidinem\npereundi perdendique omnia invexere.\" It is always safer to\naccuse those that are dead than those with whom we live; and\nsurely, the historian that did not dread to attack the living,\nwould not have failed to arraign the dead, had the dead deserved\nit. The expulsion and cause of expelling Tarquin, consecrated an\nindividual self-respect which evermore remained an important\nelement in the Roman character. This self-respect is the bulwark\nof individual freedom, and the most indestructible foundation of\na social edifice. From it arose the acquisition by the populace\nof the _jus suffragii, jus commercii, jus connubii, jus\nhonorum_. It was the mine which blew up, first, the\npatricians, and then the nobles. Where did Dr. Lord learn that\npatricians and nobles are synonymous terms? This self-respect\nimparted fortitude to the soldier, wisdom to the statesman, honor\nto the merchant. The individual was clothed with the majesty of\nhis country. To uphold that majesty was the first duty of the\nRoman. Allied with self-respect, unchangeableness of purpose\nappears as a trait of the Roman character. Athens might have been\na Rome, had the Athenian spirit the persistency of the Roman.\nThere was, perhaps, no formative element of the Roman character\nso prominent as the practical common sense which made them\nlearners in all the departments of life. The Romans admitted the\nperfectibility of their institutions and practices, so as to\nadopt from foreigners whatever they deemed an improvement.\n{754}\nThe Spartan loved his country as intensely and as devotedly as\nthe Roman, but Sparta, rejecting the eclecticism of Rome,\nremained cramped and undeveloped in its exclusiveness. These\nqualities of the mind, together with a physical strength, such as\nappears from the saying of Pyrrhus, \"Had I the Romans for\nsoldiers, I could conquer the world,\" led Rome along the highway\nof glory and power.\n\nIt would be folly to follow Dr. Lord through the many subjects on\nwhich he speaks. We take the first chapter of his work as a\nspecimen of the wild, thoughtless, rambling manner in which he\nwrites. It is headed \"The Conquests of the Romans;\" but in it one\nfinds a paragraph on \"the lawfulness of war,\" a paragraph on \"the\nevils of war,\" a few pages on \"Providence,\" a disquisition on the\nimmediate and ultimate consequences of the Crusades, a paragraph\non Providence again, something on the aspirations of the South, a\nparagraph to show \"how petty legends indicate the existence of\ngreat virtues,\" a paragraph to show \"how petty wars with\nneighboring states develop patriotism,\" something on morals and\nCato, whom he characterizes as \"a _hard, narrow_ statesman,\"\na _chronicon Romanum_, the history of the helepolis, a\nparagraph to show the necessity for the empire. Would any one\nimagine that the same man wrote of Rome under the emperors the\nfollowing passages: \"The real (page 13) grandeur of Rome is\nassociated with the emperors. Great works of art appear, and they\nbecome historical. The city is changed from brick to marble, and\npalaces, and theatres, and temples become colossal. There are\nmore marble busts than living men. A liberal patronage is\nextended to artists. Medicine, law, and science flourish. ... The\n_highest state of prosperity is reached_ that the ancient\nworld knew.\" Again \"Rome (p. 69) yields her liberties, and\nimperial despotism begins its reign--hard, immovable, resolute--\nunder which genius is crushed. Empire is added, _but prosperity\nis undermined_. The _machinery is perfect_, but life is\nfled.\" Dr. Lord tells us that he loves to ponder on the sacred\ngeese, but we would respectfully direct his pondering to the\ninconsistencies, contradictions, and false pronouncements with\nwhich his volume teems. He considers the Crusades the worst wars\nin history, uncalled for, unscrupulous, fanatical; but, though\nthey were uncalled for, unscrupulous, and fanatical, he styles\nBernard, Urban, Philip, and Richard, great men, far-sighted\nstatesmen, and asserts that \"the hand which guided that warfare\nbetween Europe and Asia was the hand that led the Israelites out\nof Egypt across the Red Sea;\" and those wars which he pronounces\nworst he declares to have developed the resources of Europe,\nbuilt free cities, opened the horizon of knowledge, and given a\nnew stimulus to all the energies of the European nations. There\nare few who will agree with Dr. Lord when he says that the Romans\n\"despised literature, art, philosophy, agriculture, and even\nluxury when they were making their grand conquests.\" He need only\nread his own description of the heroes who made the conquests to\nsee the falsehood of his statements. There are few, too, who will\nsay that he describes the characters of the ancients with\naccuracy. We would especially notice his defect of appreciation\nin the case of Homer, of Sophocles, and of the Latin historians.\nThe grand excellence of Homer remains unseen by him.\n{755}\nThe raising up of hero after and over hero, and the transference\nof a collective glory to Achilles may be said to constitute the\ngreatest marvel of the Iliad. This generates the oneness which\nhas been noticed and praised by all the ancients. The Doctor\npraises extravagantly Virgil's epic, but every candid reader will\nconfess that he feels unconcerned, and, it may be, weary, as he\nwades though the last half of the AEneid, whereas he becomes more\nand more enraptured as he advances through the books of the\nIliad. Diomedes is as grand a warrior as AEneas, and we doubt\nvery much whether Virgil could have raised a higher model than\nAEneas, whereas Homer has worked the climax through four or five\nto Achilles. Who believes, or has believed, that Demosthenes'\nPhilippics are more brilliant than his De Corona? To us Dr. Lord\nseems, in judging of the ancients, to have acted as a compiler\nrather than to stand boldly before the extant originals and\npronounce his own judgment. When he does speak for himself, he\nseems to be more anxious to make himself singular than to see and\ntell the truth with accuracy. Speaking of \"the solitary grandeur\nof the Jewish muse and the _mythological myths_ of the\nante-Homeric songsters,\" he looks rather in the light of a\n_foolish fool_ than a serious writer communicating truth to\na criticising world.\n\nIt is curious, touchy, and, we might say, laughable, to read over\nDr. Lord's notions of the connection of the old Roman world with\nthe church. Bossuet's idea of the old Roman empire being an\ninstrument in the hands of God to propagate Christianity, has a\ndeep fascination for our author; but Bossuet never gets the\ncredit of it. We err very much if, in writing _The Old Roman\nWorld_, Dr. Lord did not intend to elaborate this conception\nin a work which the world would recognize as the rival of\nGibbon's _Decline and Fall_. How does he do it? He discovers\nthat there had existed an ineffable fatalism, according to which\nthe Roman empire was doomed to die. What was old and heathen\nshould disappear, that what was new and Christian might arise.\nThe fading away of the Roman reign was unworthy to be compared\nwith the glories about to be manifested. What were they? Were\nthey the beauties of a grand society whose teaching authority as\nto the things of eternity was to be the Holy Spirit, whose head\nand sanctifier was to be Christ--of a society to be sustained by\nthe hand of God, elevated above all societies, extended and\nvisible through the world such as Bossuet conceived? Dr. Lord\nopines that, when Christianity is embraced by all, it is\ncorrupted, and may be said to be dead except with a few chosen\nspirits; and when Christianity is embraced only by a few and is\npure, it is valueless for the mass of mankind, being limited and\nuninfluential. On either horn of the dilemma, Christianity may be\nregarded as an unimportant and unprofitable school for the\nmultitude. Yet he says that the world marches on in Christian\nprogress. There are always some revivalists, some believers, as\nthe Puritans, in a pure and personal God; and Providence, which\n\"grandly and mournfully\" eliminates the Roman world, consoles the\nhuman race by casting up, here and there, some select ones, some\npure ones, some godly ones. But, if Dr. Lord merely wished to act\nthe part of a noonday somnambulist or a dreamy rhapsodist, we\nwould fain permit him to revel undisturbed in his reveries. We\nhave, however, a right, as Catholics, to object to\nmisrepresentations of Catholic doctrine. There are many honest\nand righteous Protestant minds whose vision may become jaundiced\nby the assertions of this writer.\n{756}\nWhere has he learned that the Virgin has been made the object of\nabsolute worship? When he speaks of ceremonies, and festivals,\nand pomps, he ought to look upon them as those do who use them.\nWe have always been at a loss to understand what special enmity\nsome people have against a special sense. If the senses are\nchannels for communicating thought, why decry the legitimate use\nof any one of them performing its own function? Why instruct\nthrough the ear and not through the eye? Does not a map surpass\nall language in communicating geographical knowledge? Logically,\none ought to praise God through the intuition of spirit\n_vis-a-vis_ spirit and disown corporeal agents, eyes,\ntongue, ears, hands, physical actions; or recognize all, provided\nthey be means of communicating thought. There is not and there\nnever has been in the church, any imposing altar typical of\nJewish sacrifices. As to the monks, either Lord admits the truth\nof what are called evangelical counsels, or he does not; if he\ndoes, he should not be at war with the monks for actuating what\nis true; if he does not, how does he get rid of the texts of the\nBible which contain them? Did the monks effect nothing for the\ngood of humanity? Were all the monks in pursuit of a purely\ncontemplative life? Were there no teachers, no benefactors of the\npoor, no cultivators of deserts, and woods, and wildernesses\namongst them? Were there no founders of cities, no evangelizers\nof savages? Surely, the disciples of Columbanus, of Benedict, of\nBasil, deserve something better than the following turgid\nrigmarole of a visionary _fanfaron_: \"Monastic life (p. 559)\nripened also in a grand system of penance and expiatory rights,\nsuch as characterized oriental asceticism. Armies of monks\nretired to gloomy and isolated places, and abandoned themselves\nto rhapsodies, and fastings, and self-expiations in opposition to\nthe grand doctrine of Christ's expiation. They despaired of\nsociety and abandoned the world to its fate--a dismal and\nfanatical set of men overlooking the practical aims of life. They\nlived more like beasts and savages than enlightened\nChristians--wild, fierce, solitary, superstitious, ignorant,\nfanatical, filthy, clothed in rags, eating the coarsest food,\npractising gloomy austerities, introducing a false standard of\nvirtue, regardless of the comforts of civilization, and careless\nof those great interests which were entrusted to them to guard.\n...\n\nThe monks and hermits sought to save themselves by climbing to\nheaven by the same ladder that had been sought by the soofis and\nfakirs, which delusion had an immense influence in undermining\nthe doctrines of grace. Christianity was fast merging itself into\nan oriental theosophy.\" It is a sad thing to see, and a\ntormenting thing to have to follow, through over six hundred\npages, a man, rushing madly from subject to subject. We have no\ninterest, except in the cause of truth and right, to censure Dr.\nLord; and could we fairly, in the capacity of critic, have\nawarded him praise, we should have, without reluctance, and with\nwarmth, performed the task. We should say that he must have\nlabored long to compile his work; but if anything distinguishes\nthat work, it is an unlikeness to the sources from which it is\npresumed to have been gotten up. The ancients conceived of a\nwhole, and elaborated the natural component parts to form that\nwhole; in the work before us the formative materials produce as\ngrotesque a union as that in the minotaur, or centaur, or gorgon,\nor chimaera, or hydra, or sphinx. In the ancients, we are pleased\nwith a modesty which dreads alike the overstatement or the\nwithholding of the truth; Dr. Lord astounds us with an unblushing\nand unthinking recklessness of assertion. In presenting their\nthoughts to the world, the Greeks and Romans were scrupulous down\nto the collocation of a particle; Dr. Lord's production is\novergrown with expletives, ambiguities, redundancies, and\nrepetitions. To any one accustomed to gaze on the chaste,\ncrystal, and refreshing pages of classic lore, his volume is an\nunendurable eyesore.\n\n--------\n\n{757}\n\n                   The Divine Loadstone.\n\n\n       \"And I, if I be lifted up from the earth,\n       will draw all things to myself.\"\n\n\n                   The Disciple.\n\n  \"Ah me! what doth my feet restrain,\n     That I thy cross behold--\n     A loadstone all divine--\n   Drawing men's hearts with mystic chain\n     As misers lured by gold,\n     And yet it draws not mine?\"\n\n\n                   The Master.\n\n  \"My word is very truth, my son;\n     All hearts to me should freely run;\n     And if I draw not thee\n       As sweetly as the rest,\n   'Tis thou who wouldst the loadstone be,\n   And draw the hearts of men to thee--\n     Their love doth mine contest.\"\n\n\n                   The Disciple.\n\n  \"Nay, Lord; 'tis only for thy heart I pine.\"\n\n\n                   The Master.\n\n  \"Say'st so? Then give me, also, all of thine.\"\n\n----------\n\n{758}\n\n         Translated From The German.\n\n           The Rival Composers.\n\n\nLate one afternoon, in the autumn of the year 1779, a gentleman,\nwalking in the garden of the Tuileries, was observed by the guard\nnear the gate of the palace private grounds, gesticulating in a\nmanner to excite suspicion. He was plainly dressed, and advanced\nin years. When the sentinel saw him, after walking briskly to and\nfro, and muttering half aloud, stop and lift his hand in a\nthreatening manner toward the royal abode, he promptly arrested\nhim. Calling two _gens d'armes_, he put the suspected man,\nsupposed guilty of designs against the king, into their hands, to\nbe conveyed to prison.\n\nAt the gate they met a richly gilded open carriage, in which sat\ntwo ladies, with a child and nurse. The taller of the ladies wore\na hat of dark velvet, with drooping plumes, and a mantle of the\nsame, with a flowing dress of satin, the sleeves trimmed with\nrich lace. The soldiers stopped to salute the young Queen Marie\nAntoinette, and the prisoner removed his hat and bowed low. At\nthe same instant the lady leaned from the carriage, exclaiming,\n\"Ah! Master Gluck!\"\n\nThe queen laughed heartily when she heard her old music-master\nhad just been arrested for disloyal practices near the palace;\nwhen he was only declaiming a passionate recitative out of his\nnew opera! She insisted on his entering the carriage and going to\nthe palace with her; while the astonished guards went to report\ntheir mistake.\n\nNot unfrequently had the celebrated composer been the guest of\nthe royal lady. He was wont to visit her in the garden of the\nTrianon, talking German with her, and exchanging reminiscences of\nVienna. When the opera-house in Paris had resounded with the\napplause called forth by the representation of one of his operas,\nand he was sent for to the royal box, the queen's own hand had\ncrowned him with the chaplet his genius had won.\n\nAt this period the music-loving population of Paris was divided\ninto partisans of the two rival composers, Gluck and Piccini. The\nmerits of each were discussed in every circle, and comparisons\nwere made, often with a confused war of tongues; the dispute\nbeing, to whom the palm of superior greatness should be awarded.\nEach had composed a piece on the same subject, which was shortly\nto be represented; the success deciding which of the two should\nkeep the field.\n\nLate the same evening a number of the Parisian connoisseurs and\nartists were assembled in the brilliantly illuminated\n_salon_ of the Caf\u00e9 du Feu. Many of the _noblesse_ were\nto be seen, surrounded by critics, amateurs, etc., and the\ncompany was in a Babel of declamation and argument; the\nbattle-cries all over Paris being \"Gluck\" and \"Piccini.\" Three\nyoung men, who had just entered, secured a place in a quiet\nside-room, where three others were seated; one in a corner, deep\nin the shadow of a pillar. Comfortably ensconced in an arm-chair,\nthis man sat with head leaning back, drumming with the fingers of\none hand on the table, and taking no notice of anything that\npassed.\n{759}\nAnother occupant of the room was a handsome young Frenchman, with\ndeep blue eyes shaded with heavy brown lashes, and complexion of\nthe rich brown of Provence; he was poorly dressed, but his manner\nwas graceful and spirited. His companion at the table was a long,\nthin, middle-aged man, with an air of discontent and spite in his\nwhole demeanor. He wore a rough brown peruke; his features were\nheavy, and he had a pair of keen, squinting eyes, with a peevish,\nsinister twist about the mouth. He spoke French badly, his accent\nbetraying the Saxon. He was speaking of Gluck, and ended his\nremarks by saying: \"I cannot understand what a people of so much\njudgment and taste as the French find so great in this man!\"\n\n\"Are you speaking,\" cried the young Frenchman, \"of the creator of\n_Armida_, of _Orpheus_, of _Iphigenia?_\"\n\n\"Ahem! yes. He is not esteemed highly among us in Germany, for he\nknows little or nothing of art-rules, as the learned Herr Forhel\nin G\u00f6ttingen and other distinguished critics have proved.\"\n\n\"And you, a musician, a composer, a German, speak thus!\"\nexclaimed the young man. \"I know little of art-rules; but one\nthing I know and feel, the Chevalier Gluck has a grand and noble\nspirit. His music awakens elevated feeling; no low or common\nthought can approach me while I listen to it; even when\nspiritless and dejected, my despondency takes flight before the\nlofty joy I feel in Gluck's creations.\"\n\n\"And think you,\" cried young Arnaut, who belonged to the other\nfaction, \"that the great Piccini would enter into a contest with\nyour chevalier, did he not know he was to strive with a worthy\nadversary!\"\n\nThe German, nettled at the question, shuffled a little as he\nanswered, \"Hem! I suppose not; I only maintain that M. Gluck is\nnot the best composer, as the learned Herr Forhel has proved.\nWith regard to a church style--\"\n\n\"Who is talking of church styles!\" interrupted the brown youth,\nwith vivacity. \"The point is, a grand opera style! Would your\nlearned critics change Gluck's _Armida_ into a nun's hymn,\nor have his wild motets of _Tauris_ sung in the style of\nPalestrina?\"\n\nThe squinting man moved in his seat, sipped his orangeade, and\nmuttered: \"The learned Herr Forhel has proved that the Chevalier\nGluck understands nothing of songs.\"\n\n\"Nothing of songs!\" echoed all the company, in surprise. The\nGerman continued: \"He cannot carry through an ordinary melody\naccording to rule; his song is but an extravagant declamation.\"\n\nThe brown youth started to his feet in glowing indignation. \"You\nare not worthy to be a German, sir,\" he cried, \"thus to speak of\nyour great countryman. All Paris acknowledges in Gluck a mighty\nartist; the dispute is only whether he or Piccini is the greater.\nGluck's music is the true expression of feeling, alike removed\nfrom the cold constraint of rules and from capricious innovation!\nWhether he would excel in church or concert music--or would\nattempt it--we cannot tell! He has set himself one glorious task,\nand pursues that with all the strength of a great spirit!\"\n\n\"What is your name, young man?\" sounded a sonorous voice from the\ncorner behind him.\n\nThe stranger, whom all turned to look at, had risen from his\nseat, and the light of the candles shone full upon his face.\n\n{760}\n\n\"The Chevalier Gluck!\" exclaimed several voices. Gluck smiled and\nbowed; then turning to the brown youth, he repeated his question.\n\n\"My name is Etienne Mehul,\" was the modest reply.\n\n\"You are a musician, I perceive,\" said Gluck. \"Will you call at\nmy house? Here is my address.\"\n\nHanding him the card, he turned to the squinting German, who sat\nembarrassed, and spoke to him with undisguised contempt:\n\n\"Mr. Elias Hegrin! It is an unexpected pleasure to see you in\nParis; yet a pleasure--for I like to tell you honestly what a\nmiserable rascal you are! You think I understand nothing of the\nrules of music or of songs--eh! You thought differently in\nVienna, when you almost lived at my house, and received\ninstructions in music from me, and took what I procured for you\nfrom patrons, and what I gave you out of my own pocket! You\nbecame my enemy because I candidly told you you could master only\nthe lifeless form, not the spirit. You seek what you can never\nobtain--not for the sake of art, but for your own temporary\nadvantage. You would do better as an honest tailor or shoemaker,\nthan a mean musician! You could not forgive my telling you this!\nand so you go and abuse me in G\u00f6ttingen! Go and do better, if you\ncan; but I think that will be difficult; for he who belies art\nbecause he cannot compass her, will be likely to remain the\nrascal he has shown himself! Adieu, Messieurs!\"\n\nGluck nodded to young Mehul, and went out.\n\nQueen Marie Antoinette had a private morning reception of her\nfriends at her favorite Trianon. Comte d'Artois, just returned to\nParis from his hunting castle, had come with his brother, the\nComte de Provence, to pay his respects to his beautiful\nsister-in-law. They talked of the latest news in the capital, the\nballs, flirtations, witticisms, spectacles, etc., and of the new\nentertainment expected in the contest between Gluck and Piccini;\nthe anticipations of which kept all Paris in dispute.\n\nD'Artois declared himself for Gluck. \"Your countryman,\" he cried\nto the queen, \"is a splendid fellow! He went on the chase with\nme, and made five shots one after the other. As to the Italians,\nthey do not know how to hold a gun!\"\n\n\"I like the Italian music best,\" said the Comte de Provence. \"You\ncannot well sing or dance to the German, as Noverre justly\nobserves.\"\n\n\"Noverre had to dance to German music, though!\" cried the queen,\nlaughing. Then she told the story of the great dancing-master's\nvisit to Gluck, and how he had ventured to tell him that no\ndancer in the grand opera could dance to his music in the\nScythian ballets; and how Gluck, enraged, had seized the little\nman, and danced him through the whole house, up-stairs and\ndown-stairs, singing the Scythian ballets; and had asked him,\nwhen the breath was nearly knocked out of Noverre, \"Well, sir,\nthink you, now, a dancer in the grand opera can dance to my\nmusic?\" to which the poor panting victim had gasped out an eager\naffirmative! The story was much laughed at, and the arrogance of\nthe opera artists commented on.\n\nA page entered and announced, \"The Chevalier Gluck, come to give\nthe queen a lesson on the piano.\"\n\nMarie Antoinette ordered him to be admitted.\n\n\"We were talking of you, M. Gluck,\" said the Princess Elizabeth;\n\"and her majesty praised you for an excellent dancing-master.\"\n\n\"And my brother thinks you an expert in hunting, and on that\naccount he belongs to your party,\" remarked the Comte de\nProvence.\n\n{761}\n\n\"Come,\" cried the queen, \"you must not tease my good master!\nLeave him to save all his patience for his pupil--myself! He will\nhave need of it, I assure you!\"\n\n\"Because, Antoinette,\" said Gluck gravely, speaking in German,\n\"you do not play half so well as queen, as when you were\narchduchess.\"\n\nThe queen laughed as she answered in the same language, \"Wait but\na little, Christophe! your ears shall ring presently. Ladies and\ngentlemen, will you be quiet?\" She spoke to them in French, as\nshe went to open the piano.\n\nShe inserted the key and turned it, perhaps too hastily; for she\ncould not open the instrument. After several vain attempts, she\ncalled impatiently:\n\n\"Come hither, Gluck, and help me!\"\n\nGluck tried, but with no better success; the others took their\nturn; but the lock resisted all their efforts. The queen looked\nvexed.\n\n\"What fool can have made such a lock?\" exclaimed Gluck.\n\n\"Take care, chevalier, what you say,\" said the Comte de Provence;\n\"the lock is of the king's own making--of a new sort, I\nbelieve.\"\n\nD'Artois went out, and in a few moments returned with the king.\nLouis XVI. wore a short jacket, his head covered with an\nunsightly leathern cap, his face glowing and begrimed with soot,\nhis hands were rough as those of a locksmith, and a bundle of\nkeys and picklocks were fastened to his belt. He went up to the\npiano, and examined the lock with the earnest manner of an\nartisan, tried several keys without success, shook his head\ndissatisfied, and tried others. Finding the right one at last,\nthe lock yielded, and with an air of triumph, as if he had won a\nbattle, he said, smiling on his wife,\n\n\"There, the piano is open! Now, madame, you can play!\"\n\nBut so long a time had passed, that the queen had lost the\ninclination. As she would not take her lesson, the Princess\nElizabeth asked Gluck to play them something from his\n_Iphigenia_. He played the frenzy scene of Orestes. When he\nhad finished it, the king exclaimed: \"Excellent, chevalier! I am\ndelighted. I will have your opera produced first, with all the\ncare you like; and I hope the success will gratify you.\"\n\nTwo more visitors were announced--Signor Piccini and the\nChevalier Noverre, who started and colored in some embarrassment\nwhen he saw Gluck. The king commanded the two composers to salute\neach other, which they did with dignity, cordiality, and easy\ngrace. After the queen had spoken to them, the Chevalier Noverre\nreminded her majesty that she had been pleased to grant\npermission to Signor Piccini to play some new airs from his\n_Iphigenia_ before her.\n\nMarie Antoinette assented, and asked Piccini what selection he\nhad made; to which he replied that Noverre had wished him to play\nthe first Scythian dance.\n\nD'Artois burst into a laugh; but the others restrained their\nmirth. At the queen's command, Piccini seated himself at the\npiano, the Comte de Provence and Noverre beating time to his\nmusic. All the company thought Piccini's Scythian dance more\npleasing and better adapted to the grace of motion than that of\nGluck. But D'Artois whispered to the king that the dance, though\nadmirable and full of melody, was better suited for a masked ball\nin the _salon_ of the grand opera than for a private abode\nin Tauris.\n{762}\nGluck listened with earnest attention, evidently appreciating the\nmerits of his opponent; but a light curl of his lips was seen,\nwhen Piccini indulged too freely in his pretty quaverings and\ntinklings. There was great applause when it was ended. Noverre\npraised the performance as displaying the inspiriting rhythmus\nwhich alone would enable the dancer to give true expression to\nhis _pirouettes_ and _enterchats_.\n\n\"I agree with you, Monsieur Noverre,\" interrupted Louis, \"that\nSignor Piccini's music is admirable; but I hope you will also\nmake yourself acquainted with the music of the Chevalier Gluck.\"\n\nNoverre replied timidly, that the Chevalier Gluck and he\n_were_ on the most friendly terms.\n\nAfter the artists had left the royal abode, Gluck and Piccini\ntook a courteous leave of each other. As Gluck stepped into his\ncarriage, he said to Noverre: \"Do not, chevavalier, forget his\nmajesty's command. If I made you dance against your will, it was\nto introduce you to my music. I regret I am not a proficient in\nthe art of dancing; yet I am, like yourself, chevalier of the\norder _de l'Esprit_, and in that character I wish you a good\nmorning.\"\n\nPiccini laughed at this, but Noverre looked vexed as Gluck drove\naway.\n\nThe rehearsals and preparations for the representation of the two\n_Iphigenias_ were nearly complete, and the day was appointed\nwhen the masterpiece of Gluck was to receive the sentence of the\nParisians. It was to be performed first; the preference having\nbeen yielded to him as the oldest of the two composers. He was at\nthat time sixty-five.\n\nTreatises, learned and superficial, were published, upon Gluck\nand Piccini, the differences in their style and in the two\noperas; all tinctured with party spirit, and many showing gross\nignorance of music. The performers, too, fell into dissension.\nPiccini had hard work to propitiate, by attentions and favors,\nsome who were opposed to him, that his work might not be spoiled\nby their perversity. Gluck resorted to threats, and made his\nenemies afraid of him. He trusted to the excellence of his motto,\n\"Truth makes its way through all things;\" and reflected that the\nworst success would not make a good work a bad one.\n\nOn the morning of the final rehearsal, the day before the first\nrepresentation, young Mehul was announced. Gluck cordially\nwelcomed him, and asked why he had not seen him before.\n\n\"I feared to disturb you,\" answered the young man. \"But to-day my\nanxiety brings me.\"\n\n\"Anxiety?\" questioned Gluck.\n\n\"You have enemies; your opera is to be produced to-morrow! Should\nthe success fall short of its merits--\"\n\n\"Then be it so,\" said the master, smiling.\n\n\"You can say that so calmly?\"\n\n\"Why not? Do you think of devoting yourself to dramatic\ncomposition?\"\n\n\"It is my wish to do so.\"\n\n\"Work, then, with bold heart! Lay hold on what glowing\ninspiration brings you, and mould it with earnest heed! The great\nthing is, to stand firm, and go on with spirit and strength. The\nworld makes this hard for the artist, and many fall in the\nconflict.\"\n\n\"You have won!\"\n\n\"If I have gone through life neither a fool nor a knave, still I\nhave my faults. To some the All-Benevolent has granted to know\nbut little, till what they have attained is wasted, or in danger\nof being lost. Happy he who apprehends the better part, and holds\nit fast, though his heart be torn in the struggle!\n{763}\nWhat will you say when I confess to you, that perception of the\nhighest--the _only_ good, came late--fearfully late to me!\nMusic was all to me from earliest youth. When a boy, in lovely\nBohemia, I heard her voice in the dense forest, the gloomy\nravine, or the romantic valley; on the bold, stark cliff; in the\ncheerful hunter's call, or the hoarse song of stream and torrent.\nI thought there was nothing so great and glorious, that man,\nimpotent man, could not achieve it. Too soon I learned that\nsomething was impossible. How soon are the spirit's wings\nclipped! Then come harassing doubts, false ambition, thirst of\ngain, envy, disappointed vanity, worldly cares; the hateful\ngnomes of earth, that cling to you and drag you downward, when\nyou would soar like the eagle toward the sun. Thus it is in\nyouth, in manhood, in old age. One among many, redeemed from\nfolly, discerns and appreciates the right, and might create the\nbeautiful. But by that time the ardor and vigor of youth are\ngone; and to his enthusiasm, his newly acquired knowledge, there\nremains a grave!\"\n\n\"More--much more--to you!\" cried Mehul in deep emotion.\n\n\"Perhaps it is true; for when I burst the fetters of the unworthy\nand the base, there came to me a radiant vision from the pure,\nbright Grecian age. The work of holding it fast, and shaping it\nin the external world, is my last. And melancholy it is that a\nwhole vigorous lifetime could not be consecrated alone to such a\ntheme--or to yet higher ones. But I must submit in repentance\nand humility, for my shortcomings! I will bear it, whether these\nParisians adjudge me fame and wealth, or hiss down my work.\"\n\nThe hour struck for the rehearsal, and Gluck, accompanied by his\nyoung friend, went to the Royal Academy of Music.\n\nNicolo Piccini, morose and out of humor, was walking up and down\nhis room, glancing now and then at the manuscript of his opera\nthat lay upon his writing-desk. At times he would go to the desk\nas if a happy thought had struck him, to add something to the\nnotes; but the next instant he would let fall the pen, shake his\nhead with a dissatisfied and melancholy air, and resume his walk\nthrough the room.\n\nA knocking was heard; and after it was repeated twice, Piccini\nopened the door. Elias Hegrin came in. The composer seemed\ndisturbed at his presence, and gloomily asked what he wanted.\nHegrin answered that the Chevalier Noverre had informed him\nSignor Piccini wished to see him.\n\nAfter a pause, Piccini admitted that he had sent for him.\n\n\"And in what can I serve my honored patron?\" asked Elias.\n\n\"By speaking the _truth!_\" sternly answered Piccini.\n\"Confess that you spoke falsely, when you told me Gluck stirred\nup all his friends to make a party against me!\"\n\nElias Hegrin changed color, but he collected himself, and\nanswered, \"I spoke the truth.\"\n\n\"It is _false_, Elias! It was the same when you told me you\nhad read the manuscript of my adversary, and that the work hardly\ndeserved the honors of mediocrity.\"\n\n\"It was the truth, Signor Piccini, and I repeat my opinion of the\nopera of the Chevalier Gluck.\"\n\n\"So much the worse for your judgment! I have heard five\nrehearsals, and I must--ay, and _will_ declare before all\nthe world, that Gluck's _Iphigenia_ is the greatest opera I\nknow, and that in its author I acknowledge my master.\"\n\n{764}\n\nElias stared in amazement.\n\n\"I believed I had accomplished something worthy in my own work,\"\ncontinued Piccini; \"and, indeed, my design was pure; nor is my\nwork altogether without merit; but oh! how void and cold, how\nweak and insignificant does it seem to me, compared with Gluck's\ngigantic creation! Yes, creation! mine is only a work! a work\nthat will vanish without a trace; while Gluck's _Iphigenia_\nwill endure as long as feeling for the grand and the beautiful is\nnot dead in the hearts of men!\"\n\n\"But, Signor Piccini,\" stammered Elias.\n\n\"Silence!\" interrupted Piccini. \"Why have you slandered the noble\nchevalier, and striven to bring down his works and his character\nto your own level? Are you not ashamed of such pitiful behavior?\nIn spite of Noverre's recommendation, I have never fully trusted\nyou; for I know that Noverre hated Gluck for having wounded his\nridiculous vanity. But I never thought you capable of such\nmeanness as I find you guilty of. Gluck stir up his friends to\nmake a party against me! Look at these letters in Gluck's own\nhand, written to Arnaud, Rollet, Maurepas, wherein he judges my\nwork thoroughly, dwelling upon the best parts, and entreats them\nto listen impartially to my opera as to his own, and to give an\nimpartial judgment, as he is anxious only for the truth! My\npatron, the Comte de Provence, persuaded those gentlemen to send\nme these letters, to remove my groundless suspicions. I am deeply\nmortified that I ever condescended to make common cause with you!\nYou have deceived me! Now, tell me, what induced you to act in\nthis dishonorable manner toward your benefactor?\"\n\nElias, shrunk into himself, replied in a lachrymose tone, \"Ah! I\nam an unhappy man, and deserve your sympathy! From boyhood I\nheard it said at home that I had extraordinary talent for music,\nand would become a great composer, and win both wealth and fame.\nI studied zealously; my first work was praised in the town where\nI lived; but when I went to Vienna, I could do nothing.\"\n\n\"Gluck took you by the hand in Vienna, supported you, gave you\ninstruction, and corrected your works.\"\n\n\"He did so; but he likewise told me I had no genius, and that I\nnever could be a great composer.\"\n\n\"And did he deceive you? What have you proved yourself? You hate\nand slander him, then, because he honestly advised you to desist\nfrom useless efforts?\"\n\nElias squinted sullenly, and shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"Yes, I hate him!\" he exclaimed fiercely. \"Confound him! All the\nfame and gold are for him, and none for me! I will do him all the\nharm I can! I will embitter his life!\"\n\n\"Begone!\" cried Piccini, full of horror. \"We have nothing more in\ncommon. Honor, religion, guide the true man; your divinities are\nvanity, envy, cowardly malice! Such as you deserve no sympathy!\"\n\nFull of spite and vexation, Elias Hegrin left the house.\n\nPiccini's opera was admired, but that of Gluck obtained the\nvictory, awakening universal enthusiasm. After its third\nrepresentation, Gluck left the opera-house, followed by the\nacclamations of the enraptured multitude. Mehul was with him,\ngoing to sup at his house.\n\nWhen they entered Gluck's drawing-room, both started with\nsurprise to see a man wrapped in his mantle standing at the\nwindow and looking out. As they came in, he turned round and\nfaced them.\n\n{765}\n\n\"Signor Piccini!\" exclaimed Gluck in surprise.\n\n\"I am not an unwelcome guest, I hope?\" said the composer, with a\nsmile.\n\n\"Most welcome!\" cried Gluck cordially, taking the offered hand\nand warmly pressing it, \"I esteem and honor so noble an\nadversary!\"\n\n\"We are no longer adversaries!\" exclaimed Piccini. \"Our strife is\nat an end. I acknowledge you as my master, and shall be happy and\nproud to call you my friend! Let the Gluckists and Piccinists\ndispute as they like; Gluck and Piccini understand each other!\"\n\n\"And love each other, too!\" cried Gluck, with vivacity. \"Indeed\nit shall be so!\"\n\nThe supper was enjoyed by the whole party.\n\n--------\n\n      The Irish In America. [Footnote 68]\n\n    [Footnote 68: _The Irish in America_.\n    London: Longman, Rees & Co.\n    New York, Boston, and Montreal: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1868.]\n\nThis is the title of a book recently published simultaneously in\nLondon and New York, and which bids fair to excite considerable\nattention east and west of the Atlantic. The author, Mr. John\nFrancis Maguire, M.P., has long since attained to honorable\ndistinction not only in Ireland, his own country, but in the\nBritish House of Commons. His visit to this country during the\npast year strengthened the favorable impression already made on\nthose who had known him only through his published speeches and\nthe prominent part he has taken for many years in the affairs of\nhis native country. Heart and soul devoted to the best interests\nof that country, and of the Irish race everywhere; thoroughly\nacquainted with the Celtic nature, its capabilities for progress\nand improvement, and fervently devoted to the faith which is the\nrichest inheritance of Catholic Ireland, Mr. Maguire felt anxious\nto see with his own eyes the actual condition of the Irish in\nAmerica, what advantages they had gained by emigration, and how\nfar they had retained and carried out in their new country the\nChristian traditions of the old. He accordingly visited America,\navailing himself of the interval between the sessions of\nparliament, and, in so far as his limited time permitted, took\npersonal observations on the state of \"the Irish in America.\" The\nbook before us is the result of these observations.\n\nIn the main, Mr. Maguire has given his readers a fair and correct\nview of his subject, vast and comprehensive as it is; he has\ntaken pains to find out the exact condition of the people of whom\nhe writes, in the new home across the wave to which they have\ncarried their broken fortunes as a race. The opening paragraph of\nthe first chapter is well adapted to interest the general reader.\nIt is as follows:\n\n  \"Crossing the Atlantic, and landing at any city of the American\n  seaboard, one is enabled, almost at a glance, to recognize the\n  marked difference between the position of the Irish race in the\n  old country and in the new. Nor is the condition of the Irish\n  at both sides of the ocean more marked in its dissimilarity\n  than are the circumstances and characteristics of the country\n  from which they emigrated and the country to which they have\n  come.\n{766}\n  In the old country, stagnation, retrogression, if not actual\n  decay--in the new, life, movement, progress; in the one\n  oppression, want of confidence, dark apprehension of the\n  future--in the other, energy, self-reliance, and a perpetual\n  looking forward to a grander development and a more glorious\n  destiny. That the tone of the public mind of America should be\n  self-reliant and even boastful, is natural in a country of\n  brief but pregnant history--a country still in its infancy,\n  when compared with European states, but possessing, in the\n  fullest sense, the strength and vigor of manhood--manhood in\n  all its freshness of youth and buoyancy of hope. In such a\n  country man is most conscious of his value: he is the architect\n  of his country's greatness, the author of her civilization, the\n  miracle-worker by whom all has been or can be accomplished.\n  Where a few years since a forest waved in mournful grandeur,\n  there are cultivated fields, blooming orchards, comfortable\n  homesteads, cheerful hamlets--churches, schools, civilization;\n  where but the other day a few huts stood on the river's bank,\n  by the shore of a lake, or on some estuary of the sea, swelling\n  domes and lofty spires and broad porticoes now meet the eye;\n  and the waters but recently skimmed by the light bark of the\n  Indian are ploughed into foam by countless steamers. And the\n  same man who performed these miracles of a few years since--of\n  yesterday--has the same power of to-morrow achieving the same\n  wondrous results of patience and energy, courage and skill. But\n  for him, and his hands to toil and his brains to plan, the vast\n  country whose commerce is on every sea, and whose influence is\n  felt in every court, would be still the abode of savage tribes,\n  dwelling in perpetual conflict, and steeped in the grossest\n  ignorance. Labor is thus a thing to be honored, not a badge of\n  inferiority.\"\n\nMr. Maguire commences his American _tour_ at Halifax, which,\nhe says, \"an enthusiastic Hibernian once described as 'the wharf\nof the Atlantic.'\" He finds that, in that city, and indeed,\nthroughout the provinces generally, the Irish form an important\nand influential element in the population. Of Halifax he says in\nparticular:\n\n  \"This Irish element is everywhere discernible; in every\n  description of business and in all branches of industry, in\n  every class and in every condition of life, from the highest to\n  the lowest. There are in other cities larger masses of Irish,\n  some in which they are five times and even ten times as\n  numerous as the whole population of Halifax; but it may be\n  doubted if there are many cities of the entire continent of\n  America in which they afford themselves fuller play for the\n  exercise of their higher qualities than in the capital of Nova\n  Scotia, where their moral worth keeps pace with their material\n  prosperity.\"--P. 3.\n\nSpeaking of the progress of the faith in Nova Scotia, and of the\narduous labors of the devoted missionaries of years past and\npresent, our author relates some facts that will no doubt\nastonish his European readers. In America they are neither new\nnor strange; for what is told of Nova Scotia either applies, or\nhas applied, within the memory of some living, in a greater or\nless degree, to every part of the new world.\n\n  \"Within the last ten years a Nova Scotia priest has discharged\n  the duties of a district extending considerably over one\n  hundred miles in length; and while I was in Halifax, the\n  archbishop appointed a clergyman to the charge of a mission\n  which would necessitate his making journeys of more than that\n  many miles in extent. And when a missionary priest, in 1842,\n  the archbishop would make a three months' tour from Halifax to\n  Dartmouth, a distance, going and returning, of 450 miles; and\n  would frequently diverge ten or even twenty miles from the main\n  line into the bush on either side, thus doing duty for a\n  population of 10,000 Catholics who had no spiritual resource\n  save in him and a decrepit fellow-laborer on the brink of the\n  grave.\n\n  \"It is not three years since a young Irish priest, then in the\n  first year of his mission, received what, to him, was literally\n  a death-summons. He was lying ill in bed when the 'sick call'\n  reached his house, the pastor of the district being absent. The\n  poor young man did not hesitate a moment; no matter what the\n  consequence to himself, the dying Catholic should not be\n  without the consolations of religion. To the dismay of those\n  who knew of his intention, and who remonstrated in vain against\n  what to them appeared to be an act of insanity, he started on\n  his journey, a distance of thirty-six miles, which he\n  accomplished on foot, in the midst of incessant rain.\n{767}\n  It is not possible to tell how often he paused involuntarily on\n  that terrible march, or how he reeled and staggered as he\n  approached its termination; but this much is well ascertained--\n  that scarcely had he reached the sick man's bed, and performed\n  the functions of his ministry, when he was conscious of his own\n  approaching dissolution; and there being no brother priest to\n  minister to him in his last hour, he administered the viaticum\n  to himself, and died on the floor of what was then, indeed, a\n  chamber of death. Here was a glorious ending of a life only\n  well begun.\n\n  \"Bermuda is included within the jurisdiction of the Archbishop\n  of Halifax, and to this fact is owing one of the most\n  extraordinary instances of a 'sick call' on record. A Catholic\n  lady in Bermuda was dying of a lingering disease, and knowing\n  that further delay might be attended with consequences which\n  she regarded as worse than death, she availed herself of the\n  opportunity of a vessel then about to sail for Halifax to send\n  for a clergyman of that city. The day the message was delivered\n  to the clergyman, a vessel was to sail from Halifax to Bermuda,\n  and he went on board at once, arrived in due course at the\n  latter place, found the dying lady still alive, administered to\n  her the rites of the church, and returned as soon as possible\n  to his duties in Halifax; having, in obedience to this\n  remarkable 'sick call, 'accomplished a journey of 1600\n  miles.\"--P. 16.\n\nNot quite so interesting as this is the somewhat prolix account\nMr. Maguire gives of his visit to Pictou, N. S., where he took\npassage for Prince Edward's Island. We do not think his readers\nwould have sustained any loss by his omission of several pages in\nwhich a certain \"Peter,\" resident in those parts, acted as his\n_cicerone_. \"Peter\" may have interested Mr. Maguire, but he\nwill not interest his readers. There is one paragraph, however,\nin connection with the visit to Prince Edward's Island that we\nmay not pass over here, for the reason that it, too, is of\ngeneral application. Mr. Maguire is speaking of St. Dunstan's\nCollege in Charlottetown:\n\n  \"This college is supplied with every modern requirement and\n  appliance, and is under the able presidency of the Rev. Angus\n  McDonald, a man well qualified for his important task, and\n  whose title of 'Father Angus' is as affectionately pronounced\n  by the most Irish of the Irish as if it were 'Father Larry,' or\n  'Father Pat.' The Irish love their own priests; but let the\n  priest of any other nationality--English, Scotch, French,\n  Belgian, or American--only exhibit sympathy with them, or treat\n  them with kindness and affection, and at once he is as\n  thoroughly 'their priest' as if he had been born on the banks\n  of the Boyne or the Shannon. 'Father Dan' McDonald, the\n  vicar-general, is a striking instance of the attachment borne\n  by an Irish congregation to a good and kindly priest; and I now\n  the more dwell on this thorough fusion of priest and people in\n  love and sympathy, because of having witnessed with pain and\n  sorrow the injurious results, alike to my countrymen and to the\n  church, of forcing upon almost exclusively Irish congregations\n  clergymen who, from their imperfect knowledge of the Irish\n  tongue, could not for a long time make themselves understood by\n  those over whom it was essential they should acquire a\n  beneficial influence.\"--Pp. 46, 47.\n\nVery interesting is our author's account of the Irish settlements\nin Prince Edward's Island and New Brunswick; one of the latter,\nJohnville, commenced within a few years, under the auspices of\nRight Rev. Dr. Sweeny, Bishop of New Brunswick, furnishes a\nstriking proof of the advantages to be gained by settling on the\nland, instead of congregating in the over-crowded cities. The\nbeneficent effect on their morals, the cultivation of kind\nfeeling and fraternal charity amongst the settlers by the\nformation of these rural colonies is happily described in the\nfollowing passage:\n\n  \"The settlers of Johnville are invariably kind to each other,\n  freely lending to a neighbor the aid which they may have the\n  next day to solicit for themselves. By this mutual and\n  ungrudging assistance, the construction of a dwelling, or the\n  rolling of logs and piling them in a heap for future burning,\n  has been quickly and easily accomplished; and crops have been\n  cut and gathered in safety, which, without such neighborly aid,\n  might have been irrecoverably lost. This necessary dependence\n  on each other for mutual help in the hour of difficulty draws\n  the scattered settlers together by ties of sympathy and\n  friendship; and while none envy the progress of a neighbor,\n  whose success is rather a subject for general congratulation,\n  the affliction of one of these humble families brings a common\n  sorrow to every home.\n{768}\n  I witnessed a touching illustration of this fraternal and\n  Christian sympathy. Even in the heart of the primitive forest\n  we have sickness, and death, and frenzied grief, just as in\n  cities with histories that go back a thousand years. A few days\n  previous to my visit a poor fellow had become mad, his insanity\n  being attributed to the loss of his young wife, whose death\n  left him a despairing widower with four infant children. He had\n  just been conveyed to the lunatic asylum, and his orphans were\n  already taken by the neighbors, and made part of their\n  families.\"--P. 68.\n\n\"On our return to St. John,\" says Mr. Maguire, \"we met the\npostmaster-general--a Scotchman--who had recently paid an\nofficial visit to the settlement; and he was loud in the\nexpression of his astonishment at the progress which the people\nhad made in so short a time, and at the unmistakable evidences of\ncomfort he beheld in every direction. The settlement of\nJohnville,\" he goes on, \"is but one of four which Dr. Sweeny has\nestablished within a recent time. He has thus succeeded in\nestablishing, as settlers, between 700 and 800 families, or, at\nan average of five persons to each family, between 3500 and 4000\nindividuals.\"\n\nThis one fact shows what might be done in that way for the social\nand moral improvement of many, many thousands of \"the Irish in\nAmerica,\" who need some favorable change in their condition, if\nthey are to be saved from total destruction. If the vast\nsuperfluous populations of the cities could only be induced to\nscatter abroad through the rural districts, and work as laborers\nuntil they could afford to purchase land, much misery and\ndegradation would be avoided. The Irish are chiefly an\nagricultural people at home; why will they not understand that\nthose who were farmers or laborers \"in the old country\" would be\nmost likely to succeed by following the same pursuits here? All\nthe portions of Mr. Maguire's book relating to these Irish\nsettlements are both useful and interesting. Of the progress of\nthe Irish and their cherished faith in St. John's, the capital of\nNew Brunswick, our author says:\n\n  \"Forty years since, an ordinary room would have afforded\n  sufficient accommodation to the Catholic worshippers of that\n  day: now congregations of two thousand or three thousand pour\n  out on Sundays and holidays through the sculptured portals of\n  the Church of the Immaculate Conception. On All Saints' Day I\n  beheld such a congregation issuing from an early mass, filling\n  the street in front of the splendid building; and from the\n  appearance of the thousands of well-dressed,\n  respectable-looking people, who passed before me, I could\n  appreciate not only the material progress of the Irish in St.\n  John, but the marvellous development of the Catholic Church in\n  that city.\"--P. 89.\n\nPassing on into the Canadas, Mr. Maguire finds the Irish\noccupying as prominent a position as in any of the Lower\nProvinces. \"Entering Canada at Quebec,\" he says, \"the presence of\na strong and even influential Irish element is at once\nobservable. In the staple industry of this fine old city--the\nlumber trade--the Irish take a prominent part. . . . It is\npleasant to hear that not only are the Irish in Quebec, and\nindeed along the St. Lawrence, among the most industrious and\nenergetic portion of the population, but that they are thrifty\nand saving, and have acquired considerable property. Thus, along\nthe harbor, from the Champlain market westward to the limits of\nthe city, an extent of two miles, the property, including\nwharves, warehouses, and dwelling-houses, belongs principally to\nthe Irish, who form the bulk of the population in that quarter.\nAnd by Irish I here mean Catholic Irish.\"\n\nFollowing the course of the St. Lawrence, he reaches Montreal,\nand he thus describes the position of the Irish there:\n\n{769}\n\n  \"In no part of the British Provinces of North America does the\n  Catholic Irishman feel himself so thoroughly at home as in the\n  beautiful and flourishing city of Montreal. He is in a Catholic\n  city, where his religion is respected, and his church is\n  surrounded with dignity and splendor. In whichever direction he\n  turns, he beholds some magnificent temple--some college, or\n  convent, or hospital--everywhere the cross, whether reared\n  aloft on the spire of a noble church, or on the porch or gable\n  of an asylum or a school. In fact, the atmosphere he breathes\n  is Catholic. Therefore he finds himself at home in the thriving\n  commercial capital of Lower Canada. In no part of the world is\n  he more perfectly free and independent than in this prosperous\n  seat of industry and enterprise, in which, it may be remarked,\n  there is more apparent life and energy than in any other\n  portion of the British Provinces. It is not, then, to be\n  wondered at that the Catholic Irish are equal in number to the\n  entire of the English-speaking Protestant population, including\n  English, Scotch, and Irish. It is estimated that the Irish\n  Catholics are now not less than thirty thousand. Of these a\n  large proportion necessarily belong to the working classes, and\n  find employment in various branches of local industry. Their\n  increase has been rapid and striking. Fifty years since, there\n  were not fifty Irish Catholic families in Montreal. It is about\n  that time since Father Richards, an American, took compassion\n  upon the handful of exiles who were then friendless and\n  unknown, and gathered them into a small sacristy attached to\n  one of the minor churches, to speak to them in a language which\n  they understood. In thirty years afterward their number had\n  increased to eight thousand, and now they are not under thirty\n  thousand.\"--P. 96.\n\nMuch more than he has said, Mr. Maguire might have said about the\nIrish in Montreal, and the positions of honor and emolument to\nwhich many of them have attained. Of the city itself, he\ndigresses to speak as follows:\n\n  \"It is foreign to the purpose of this book to describe the\n  public institutions and buildings of any place; but I cannot\n  refrain from expressing my admiration of Montreal, which is in\n  every respect worthy of its high reputation. It has an air at\n  once elegant and solid, many of its streets spacious and alive\n  with traffic and bustle, its places of doing business\n  substantial and handsome; its public buildings really imposing,\n  and its churches generally splendid, and not a few of them\n  positively superb. This description of the churches of Montreal\n  is not limited to the Jesuits' Church, the stately\n  _Paroisse_, and the grand church of St. Patrick, of which\n  the Irish are deservedly proud; it applies with equal propriety\n  to the Episcopalian Cathedral, and more than one church\n  belonging to the dissenting bodies. Montreal is rich in all\n  kinds of charitable, educational, and religious institutions;\n  and such is the influence and power of the Catholic element,\n  that this beautiful city, which is every day advancing in\n  prosperity and population, is naturally regarded by the\n  Catholic Irishman as a home. The humble man sees his\n  coreligionists advancing in every walk of life, filling\n  positions of distinction--honored and respected; and, instead\n  of mere toleration for his faith, he witnesses, in the\n  magnificent procession of Corpus Christi, which annually pours\n  its solemn splendor through the streets, a spectacle consoling\n  alike to his religious feeling and his personal pride.\"\n\nAlthough it is not exactly germane to our subject, we must be\npardoned for giving in this connection Mr. Maguire's observations\non the admirable system of education, of which Catholic Lower\nCanada may well be proud.\n\n  \"Education in Lower Canada is entirely free. Each denomination\n  enjoys the most complete liberty, there being no compulsion or\n  restriction of any kind whatever. And the magnificent Laval\n  University, so called after a French bishop, enjoys and\n  exercises every right and privilege possessed by the great\n  universities of England. This university, which is eminently\n  Catholic, obtained a charter conferring upon it all the powers\n  that were requisite for its fullest educational development.\n\n  \"The rights of the Protestant minority are protected in the\n  amplest manner, as well by law as by the natural tendency and\n  feeling of the majority; for there are no people more liberal\n  and tolerant, or more averse to any kind of aggression on the\n  faith or opinions of others, than the French Canadians; and the\n  Irish Catholics too well remember the bitterness caused by\n  religious strife in the old country, to desire its\n  introduction, in any shape or form, or under any guise or\n  pretence, into their adopted home. There are abundant means of\n  education within every man's reach; and it is his own fault if\n  his children do not receive its full advantage.\n{770}\n  But the Irishman, whatever may be his own deficiencies as to\n  early training, rarely neglects that of his children; and in\n  Canada, as in the States, the fault attributed to him is not\n  that he neglects to educate them at all, but that he is tempted\n  to educate them rather too highly, or too ambitiously, than\n  otherwise.\"--Pp. 95, 96.\n\nFollowing the widely-scattered Irish race along the rivers and\nthrough the forests of the great northern countries, Mr. Maguire\nhappily describes what they have done and are doing in Upper\nCanada, as Protestant, nearly, as Lower Canada is Catholic. Even\nthere, he shows us, Catholicity is making as rapid progress as in\nany part of America, and there, as in many other parts of the\nworld, its marvellous growth corresponds with that of the Irish\nrace. Mr. Maguire's account of his travels in Upper or Western\nCanada is, indeed, highly interesting. It was his good fortune to\nmeet in Hamilton, C. W., a well-known and much-honored\npatriarch-priest, Very Rev. Mr. Gordon, vicar-general of that\ndiocese, from whom he obtained much valuable information\nconcerning the Irish Catholic people of Western Canada. Mr.\nMaguire says in this connection:\n\n  \"There is still living in Hamilton, Western Canada, as\n  vicar-general of the diocese, an Irish priest--Father Gordon,\n  from Wexford--who has witnessed astonishing changes in his\n  time. He has seen the city founded, and the town spring up, the\n  forest cleared, and the settlement created; the rude log\n  chapel, in which a handful of the faithful knelt in the midst\n  of a wood, replaced by the spacious brick church in which many\n  hundreds now worship. And not only has he witnessed astonishing\n  changes, but has himself done much to effect the changes which\n  he has lived to see accomplished. ... Father Gordon had charge\n  of the back townships, twenty-four in number. We must\n  appreciate the extent of his spiritual jurisdiction when we\n  learn that a township comprised an area of twelve miles square\n  and Father Gordon had to attend twenty-four of these. ...\n  Father Gordon spent half his time in the saddle; and though he\n  spared neither himself nor his horse--but himself much less\n  than his horse--it was with the utmost difficulty that he could\n  visit the more distant portions of his mission oftener than\n  twice or thrice a year; many a time did the active missionary\n  lose his way in the midst of the woods, and after hours of\n  weary riding find himself, in the dusk of the evening, in the\n  very same spot from which he set out in the morning!\"--Pp. 112,\n  117.\n\nSome of Father Gordon's early adventures in the wild Canadian\nforests, are extremely interesting, but for them we must refer\nthe reader to the book itself. Father Edward Gordon is nearly the\nlast of the noble band of Irish missionaries who went to those\nremote regions with the first instalments of the Irish exodus\nthat reached there. Another, his friend and fellow-laborer, Very\nRev. Mr. McDonagh, died but a year or two ago at Perth, in the\ndiocese of Kingston, of which diocese he was vicar-general. A\nthird, if we mistake not, is still living, namely, Father\nBrennan, of Bellville, C. W. These are the men who laid the\nfoundations of the Catholic Church in those parts of Upper\nCanada. In the Scotch settlements farther east, there are still a\nvery few of the old Scotch missionaries remaining, chiefly\nMcDonalds. One of the most thrillingly interesting portions of\nthe book is that devoted to the account of the terrible\nship-fever brought to Canada by the Irish emigrants in the\never-memorable years of 1847-8. Our author's description of its\nravages at Grosse Isle, the quarantine station of Quebec, at\nPoint St. Charles, Montreal, and in the cities of Upper Canada,\nis of deep and painful interest. The adoption of the orphan\nchildren of the poor Irish emigrants--of whom twelve thousand\nperished at Grosse Isle alone--by the friendly French Canadians,\nis beyond expression touching. How the good Canadian priests and\nbishops took charge, and induced their people to take charge of\nthese \"children of the faithful Catholic Irish,\" as they\nexpressively called the poor orphans, is told by Mr. Maguire with\nthe grace of a poet and the skill of a dramatist.\n{771}\nYet the picture is nothing overdrawn, as the writer of this, and\nmany others yet living, can bear witness from their own sad\nmemories of those sorrowful days.\n\nOutside the Catholic Church no such spectacle of charity was ever\nseen as that which met the eyes of the Canadian people in\nMontreal and their other cities in those two disastrous years,\nbut especially the first. The following passage will give some\nidea of the extent to which Christian heroism was carried then\nand there:\n\n  \"The horrors of Grosse Isle had their counterpart in Montreal.\n\n  \"As in Quebec, the mortality was greater in 1847 than in the\n  year following; but it was not till the close of 1848 that the\n  plague might be said to be extinguished, not without fearful\n  sacrifice of life. During the months of June, July, August, and\n  September, the season when nature wears her most glorious garb\n  of loveliness, as many as eleven hundred of 'the faithful\n  Irish,' as the Canadian priest truly described them, were lying\n  at one time in the fever-sheds at Point St. Charles, in which\n  rough wooden beds were placed in rows, and so close as scarcely\n  to admit of room to pass. In these miserable cribs the patients\n  lay, sometimes two together, looking, as a Sister of Charity\n  wrote, 'as if they were in their coffins,' from the box-like\n  appearance of their wretched beds. Throughout those glorious\n  months, while the sun shone brightly, and the majestic river\n  rolled along in golden waves, hundreds of the poor Irish were\n  dying daily. The world outside was gay and glad, but death was\n  rioting in the fever-sheds. It was a moment to try the devotion\n  which religion inspires, to test the courage with which it\n  animates the gentlest breast. First came the Grey Nuns, strong\n  in love and faith; but so malignant was the disease, that\n  thirty of their number were stricken down, and thirteen died\n  the death of martyrs. There was no faltering, no holding back;\n  no sooner were the ranks thinned by death than the gaps were\n  quickly filled; and when the Grey Nuns were driven to the last\n  extremity, the Sisters of Providence came to their assistance,\n  and took their place by the side of the dying strangers. But\n  when even their aid did not suffice to meet the emergency, the\n  Sisters of St. Joseph, though cloistered nuns, received the\n  permission of the bishop to share with their sister religious\n  the hardships and dangers of labor by day and night.\n\n  \"'I am the only one left,' were the thrilling words in which\n  the surviving priest announced from the pulpit the ravages that\n  the 'ocean plague' had made in the ranks of the clergy. With a\n  single exception, the local priests were either sick or dead.\n  Eight of the number fell at their posts, true to their duty.\n  The good Bishop, Monseigneur Bourget, then went himself, to\n  take his turn in the lazar-house; but the enemy was too mighty\n  for his zeal, and having remained in the discharge of his\n  self-imposed task for a day and a night, he contracted the\n  fever, and was carried home to a sick-bed, where he lay for\n  weeks, hovering between life and death, amid the tears and\n  prayers of his people, to whom Providence restored him after a\n  period of intense anxiety to them, and long and weary suffering\n  to him.\n\n  \"When the city priests were found inadequate to the discharge\n  of their pressing duties, the country priests cheerfully\n  responded to the call of their bishop, and came to the\n  assistance of their brethren; and of the country priests not a\n  few found the grave and the crown of the martyr.\"--Pp. 145,\n  146, 148.\n\nAfter a glance at the Irish in Newfoundland, where, in proportion\nto their numbers, and the extent of the island, they have done\nfully as much for their own advancement and that of religion, as\nin any other part of America, Mr. Maguire, before crossing the\ngreat waters that separate British America from the United States\nmakes these pertinent remarks on the Irish exodus generally:\n\n  \"There are few sadder episodes in the history of the world than\n  the story of the Irish exodus. Impelled, to a certain degree,\n  by a spirit of adventure, but mainly driven from their native\n  land by the operation of laws which, if not opposed to the\n  genius of the people, were unsuited to the special\n  circumstances of their country, millions of the Irish race have\n  braved the dangers of an unknown element, and faced the perils\n  of a new existence, in search of a home across the Atlantic. At\n  times, this European life-stream flowed toward the new world in\n  a broad and steady current; at others, it assumed the character\n  of a resistless rush, breaking on the shores of America with so\n  formidable a tide as to baffle every anticipation, and render\n  the ordinary means of humane or sanitary precaution altogether\n  inadequate and unavailing.\"--P. 179\n\n{772}\n\nHaving crossed into the territory of the United States, Mr.\nMaguire very judiciously prefaces his account of what he saw\namongst the Irish there, by a long and carefully written account\nof the dangers to which emigrants and their pockets are exposed\nin New York, the great centre of emigration. This is one of the\nmost useful portions of the work, and should be read, if\npossible, by every intending emigrant to the United States. The\ngreater part of Chapter X. is devoted to it, comprising some\namusing and characteristic anecdotes and some very important\ndirections for the guidance of newly-arrived emigrants.\n\nMr. Maguire next turns his attention to the tenement-houses of\nNew York, and the sanitary condition of their inhabitants. He\ndevotes much space to this, and his remarks are clear, practical,\nand judicious. He evidently examined the condition even of the\npoorest and most wretched of the Irish in this metropolis. He\nspeaks, in this connection, earnestly and feelingly on the great\nmistake, the terrible mistake made by those emigrants who, being\nfarmers or country people at home, remain huddled together in the\ngreat cities here, instead of spreading abroad over the fertile\nregions of America, where land is to be had cheap, in some places\nalmost for the asking.\n\n  \"Let it not be supposed that, in my earnest desire to direct\n  the practical attention of my countrymen, at both sides of the\n  Atlantic, to an evil of universally admitted magnitude, I\n  desire to exaggerate in the least. From the very nature of\n  things, the great cities of America--and, in a special degree,\n  New York--must be the refuge of the unfortunate, the home of\n  the helpless, the hiding-place of the broken-down, even of the\n  criminal; and these, while crowding the dwelling-places of the\n  poor, and straining the resources and preying on the charity of\n  their communities, multiply their existing evils, and add to\n  their vices. Still, in spite of the dangers and temptations by\n  which they are perpetually surrounded--dangers and temptations\n  springing even from the very freedom of republican\n  institutions, no less than from the generous social habits of\n  the American people--there are thousands, hundreds of\n  thousands, of Irish-born citizens of the United States,\n  residing in New York and in other great cities of the Union,\n  who are, in every respect, the equals of the best of American\n  population--honorable and upright in their dealings;\n  industrious, energetic, and enterprising in business;\n  intelligent and quick of capacity; progressive and go-ahead;\n  and as loyally devoted to the institutions of their adopted\n  country as if they had been born under its flag. Nevertheless,\n  I repeat the assertion, justified by innumerable\n  authorities--authorities beyond the faintest shadow of\n  suspicion--that the city is not the right place for the Irish\n  peasant, and that it is the worst place which he could select\n  as his home.\"--Pp. 235-236.\n\nMr. Maguire's limited time did not permit him to travel much in\nthe interior of any State; he could but visit the principal\ncities. His account of the Middle, Southern, and great Western\nStates, is written in general terms; he speaks at some length of\nthe Irish settlements in the new States and territories, of the\nvast resources of the country, and the enormous quantity of\npublic lands at the disposal of the United States government.\nAfter describing the progress of the Irish in the West and\nNorth-west, he adds:\n\n  \"It is not at all necessary that an Irish immigrant should go\n  West, whatever and how great the inducements it offers to the\n  enterprising. There is land to be had, under certain\n  circumstances and conditions, in almost every State in the\n  Union. And there is no State in which the Irish peasant who is\n  living from hand to mouth in one of the great cities as a\n  day-laborer, may not improve his condition by betaking himself\n  to his natural and legitimate avocation--the cultivation of the\n  soil. Nor is the vast region of the South unfavorable to the\n  laborious and energetic Irishman. On the contrary, there is no\n  portion of the American continent in which he would receive a\n  more cordial welcome, or meet with more favorable terms. This\n  would not have been so before the war, or the abolition of\n  slavery, and the upset of the land system, which was based upon\n  the compulsory labor of the negro.\n{773}\n  Before the war, the land was held in mass by large proprietors,\n  and, whatever its quantity, there was no dividing or selling\n  it--that is, willingly; for, when land was brought to the hammer,\n  the convenience of the purchaser had to be consulted. But there\n  was no voluntary division of the soil, no cutting it up into\n  parcels, to be occupied by small proprietors. Now, the state of\n  things is totally different.\"--P. 252.\n\nOur author seems much impressed with the advantages offered by\nthe \"magnificent State of California\" to Irish emigrants. Of it\nhe says:\n\n  \"There is not a State in the Union in which the Irish have\n  taken deeper and stronger root, or thriven more successfully,\n  than California, in whose amazing progress--material, social,\n  and intellectual--they have had a conspicuous share. For nearly\n  twenty years past, this region has been associated in the\n  popular mind with visions of boundless wealth and marvellous\n  fortunes; and it may be interesting to learn under what\n  circumstances the Irish became connected with a country of such\n  universal repute, and of whose population they form a most\n  important and valuable portion.\"--P. 262.\n\nMr. Maguire waxes eloquent over the benefits conferred on his\ncountrymen, in all the cities of America, by temperance\nsocieties. He deplores, over and over again, the fatal propensity\nto spirituous liquors, of which he everywhere saw lamentable\ninstances amongst his countrymen in America. He says, in many\nplaces, that drink, and drink alone, is the cause why so many of\nthe Irish do not find in the new world that success which crowns\nthe efforts of so many thousands and even millions of their race.\n\"Drink, accursed drink,\" he says, \"is the cause why so many of\nthe Irish in America fail, and fail miserably.\" On the other\nhand, he saw, wherever he went, east, west, north, and south,\nthat those among them who attained to wealth and position were\nall sober men, many of them \"teetotalers.\"\n\nThe love of home and kindred, which is one of the most beautiful\nas it is one of the strongest traits in the Irish character, is\nduly noted by Mr. Maguire as distinguishing them in America. The\nmany and great sacrifices made by Irish emigrants here, and\nespecially by servant-girls, are thus described by our author:\n\n  \"The great ambition of the Irish girl is to send 'something' to\n  her people, as soon as possible after she has landed in\n  America; and, in innumerable instances, the first tidings of\n  her arrival in the new world are accompanied with a remittance,\n  the fruits of her first earnings in her first place. Loving a\n  bit of finery dearly, she will resolutely shut her eyes to the\n  attractions of some enticing article of dress, to prove to the\n  loved ones at home that she has not forgotten them; and she\n  will risk the danger of insufficient clothing, or boots not\n  proof against rain or snow, rather than diminish the amount of\n  the little hoard to which she is weekly adding, and which she\n  intends as a delightful surprise to parents who, possibly, did\n  not altogether approve of her hazardous enterprise. To send\n  money to her people, she will deny herself innocent enjoyments,\n  womanly indulgences, and the gratifications of legitimate\n  vanity; and such is the generous and affectionate nature of\n  these young girls, that they regard the sacrifices they make as\n  the most ordinary matter in the world, for which they merit\n  neither praise nor approval. To assist their relatives, whether\n  parents, or brothers and sisters, is with them a matter of\n  imperative duty, which they do not and cannot think of\n  disobeying, and which, on the contrary, they delight in\n  performing. And the money destined to that purpose is regarded\n  as sacred, and must not be diverted to any object less\n  worthy.\"--P. 315.\n\nA very important and deeply interesting portion of Mr. Maguire's\nbook is that which treats of the share the Irish have had in\nbuilding up and sustaining the church in America. In all the\ncheckered history of the Irish race, there is no page more\nglorious than that which records their fidelity to the faith, in\nforeign lands as well as at home; their heart-warm attachment to,\nand profound reverence for, their clergy; the mighty sacrifices\nthey make, and have made to promote the interests of religion,\nand the important part they have played in the propagation of the\nfaith:\n\n{774}\n\n  \"It has been confidently stated, that the moment the Irish\n  touch the free soil of America, they lose the old faith--that\n  there is something in the very nature of republican\n  institutions fatal to the Church of Rome. Admitting, as a fact\n  which cannot be denied, and which Catholics are themselves the\n  first to proclaim, that there has been some, even considerable,\n  falling off from the church, and no little indifferentism, it\n  must be acknowledged that there has been less of both than,\n  from the circumstances of the country, might have been\n  reasonably expected; and that the same Irish, whose alleged\n  defection _en masse_ has been the theme of ungenerous\n  triumph to those whose 'wish was father to the thought,' have\n  done more to develop the Church, and extend her dominion\n  throughout the wide continent of North America, than even the\n  most devoted of the children of any other of the various races\n  who, with them, are merged in the great American nation. This\n  much may be freely conceded to them, even by those who are most\n  sensitively and justly proud of what their own nationality has\n  done to promote the glory of the Universal Church. Fortified by\n  suffering and trial at home, and inheritors of memories which\n  intensify devotion rather than weaken fidelity, the Irish\n  brought with them a strong faith, the power to resist as well\n  as the courage to persevere, and that generosity of spirit\n  which has ever prompted mankind to make large sacrifices for\n  the promotion of their religious belief.\"--P. 346.\n\nIn order to give a more correct idea to his European readers of\nthe services rendered by the Irish in America to the cause of\nreligion, our author gives a retrospective view of the rise and\nprogress of Catholicity in the United States. This he illustrates\nby extracts from the writings and correspondence of various\nbishops and priests of the elder time, and also the later, and\nwith interesting data from other sources. He dwells at some\nlength on the foundation or introduction into these countries of\nthe two great orders of Charity and Mercy, the one founded in\nDublin by Mrs. McAuley, the other at Emmettsburg, Maryland, by\nMrs. Seton, an American lady and a convert. _A propos_ to\nthe latter, he relates the following:\n\n  \"It may be remarked, that this holy woman, this model wife and\n  daughter, was deeply impressed with the religious demeanor of\n  the poor Irish emigrants of that day--the opening of the\n  present century--who were detained in quarantine at Staten\n  Island, and attended by her father, as Health Physician to the\n  port of New York. 'The first thing,' she says, 'these poor\n  people did, when they got their tents, was to assemble on the\n  grass, and all kneeling, adored our Maker for his mercy; and\n  every morning sun finds them repeating their praises.' The\n  scenes then witnessed at Staten Island remind one of those\n  which were so fatally frequent in subsequent years. Even at\n  that time--1800, and the years following--large numbers of\n  emigrants arrived at the port of New York, suffering from the\n  dreadful scourge of fever, so calamitous to the Irish\n  race.\"--P. 363.\n\nFor all that relates to the illustrious prelates, Bishop England\nand Archbishop Hughes, their lives and their works, we must refer\nthe reader to the book itself. An anecdote, in which Bishop\nEngland and one of his zealous priests were actors, will be found\npeculiarly interesting:\n\n  \"One evening the bishop, who was on this occasion accompanied\n  by one of his few priests--Father O'Neill; it need scarcely be\n  added, a countryman of his own--drew up at a house of rather\n  moderate dimensions, whose master was a marked specimen of the\n  species surly. Negotiations were entered into for a dinner,\n  which the liberal host was willing to give on certain\n  conditions, somewhat exorbitant in their nature; but there was\n  to be no further accommodation. 'You cannot stop the night,\n  nohow,' said the agreeable owner of the mansion; and his look\n  of dogged dislike was quite as emphatic as his words. After\n  dinner, Dr. England sat on a chair in the piazza, and read his\n  'office;' while Father O'Neill, having no desire to enjoy the\n  company of his unwilling entertainer, sauntered toward the\n  carriage, a little distance off, where the boy was feeding the\n  horses; and taking his flute from his portmanteau, he sat on a\n  log, and commenced his favorite air, 'The Last Rose of Summer,'\n  into which he seemed to breathe the very soul of tenderness.\n{775}\n  From one exquisite melody to another the player wandered, while\n  the negro boy grinned with delight, and the horses enjoyed\n  their food with a keener relish. That\n\n    'Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,'\n\n  was here exemplified. As the sweet notes stole on the soft\n  night air of the South, and reached the inhospitable mansion, a\n  head was eagerly thrust forth, and the projecting ears thereof\n  appeared eagerly to drink in the flood of melody. Another\n  lovely air, one of those which bring involuntary tears to the\n  eyes, and fill the heart with balm, was played with lingering\n  sweetness, when a voice, husky with emotion, was heard uttering\n  these words, 'Strangers! don't go! do stay all night! don't go;\n  we'll fix you somehow.' It was the voice of the charmed host!\n  That evening the two guests enjoyed the snuggest seats at the\n  hearth, Father O'Neill playing for the family till a late hour.\n  Next morning the master of the house would not accept of the\n  least compensation. 'No, no, bishop! no, no, Mr. O'Neill! not a\n  cent! You're heartily welcome to it. Come as often as you\n  please, and stay as long as you can. We'll be always glad to\n  see you; but,' specially addressing Father O'Neill, 'be sure\n  and don't forget the flute!'\"--P. 323.\n\nMr. Maguire's account of the Irish in the late civil war is long\nand interesting. He tells many interesting anecdotes of their\nheroism, their fidelity to their flag, whether Confederate or\nFederal, and also of the influence they, their religion, and its\nministers exercised on the non-Catholics with whom they were\nbrought in immediate contact. Here are one or two extracts:\n\n  \"A Southern general said to me, 'The war has worn away many a\n  prejudice against Catholics, such was the exemplary conduct of\n  the priests in the camp and the hospital, and the Christian\n  attitude of the church during the whole of the struggle. Many\n  kind and generous acts were done by the priests to persecuted\n  ladies, who now tell with gratitude of their services. Wherever\n  an asylum was required, they found it for them. I wish all\n  ministers had been like the priests, and we might never have\n  had this war, or it would not have been so bitter as it\n  was.'\"--P. 480.\n\nExceedingly honorable to the Irish soldiers of the Union is the\nfollowing testimony:\n\n  \"The Irish displayed a still nobler quality than courage,\n  though theirs was of the most exalted nature; they displayed\n  magnanimity, generosity--Christian chivalry. From one end of\n  the South to the other, even where the feeling was yet sore,\n  and the wound of defeat still rankled in the breast, there was\n  no anger against the Irish soldiers of the Union. Whenever the\n  feeble or the defenceless required a protector, or woman a\n  champion, or an endangered church a defender, the protector,\n  the champion, and the defender were to be found in the\n  Irishman, who fought for a principle, not for vengeance or\n  desolation. The evil deeds, the nameless horrors, perpetrated\n  in the fury of passion and in the license of victory whatever\n  these were, they are not laid at the door of the Irish. On the\n  contrary, from every quarter are to be heard praises of the\n  Irish for their forbearance, their gallantry, and\n  _chivalry_--than which no word more fitly represents their\n  bearing at a time when wanton outrages and the most horrible\n  cruelties were too frequently excused or palliated on the\n  absolving plea of stern necessity.\"--Pp. 552, 553.\n\nOf the Philadelphia riots and church-burning, and of the\nmemorable struggle for the freedom of Catholic education in New\nYork, Mr. Maguire gives interesting accounts. From this portion\nof the work we select the following. The author has been speaking\nof the beneficent effects exercised by convent schools; he goes\non to say:\n\n  \"What is true of convent schools is equally true of schools and\n  colleges under the care of the great educational\n  orders--Jesuits, Sulpicians, Vincentians, Redemptorists,\n  Brothers and Sisters of the Holy Cross, Christian Brothers,\n  Franciscans, and others.\"--P. 504.\n\nWhen Mr. Maguire comes to speak of the Fenians, he generally\ntakes a fair and impartial view of the subject. We must, however,\nobject _in toto_ to one remark of his. He says, on page 592:\n\n  \"So far as I have been able to learn, my belief is, that among\n  the Fenians in almost every State of the Union there are many\n  thousands of the very cream of the Irish population.\"\n\n{776}\n\nSo far is this from being the case, as it must have been\nrepresented to Mr. Maguire, that it was, and is, the constant\ncomplaint of the Fenians themselves, precisely that the \"cream of\nthe Irish population\" kept widely aloof from them.\n\nThe concluding pages of the book are devoted exclusively to the\nstrange phenomenon presented by the fondly-cherished,\nnever-dying, hatred of England found among the Irish in every\npart of America; the deep-seated, burning thirst for vengeance on\nthe power whose baneful influence has for many ages blighted the\ngenius, the hopes, the energies of the Irish at home--whose\ncolossal shadow has thrown into the shade the fairer and more\ngraceful genius of the Celtic race, and made \"the oldest\nChristian nation of Western Europe,\" the proud Celto-Iberian\nrace, the poorest, the most abject of European nations, with all\nits wealth of genius, of poetry, of energy, of all that gives\nhistoric fame.\n\nMr. Maguire has given a good \"bird's-eye view\" of the Irish in\nAmerica; he has shown them in various lights, and under various\naspects; still his book has left much untold, much that would\nhave interested the Irish and the friends of the Irish\neverywhere. There is, moreover, a want of method in the\narrangement of this book--a certain haziness and indistinctness,\nthat detracts considerably from its value as a book of reference.\nToo much is said of some things and some persons, too little of\nother things and persons; and these omissions unfortunately\ninclude what we here consider most honorable to \"The Irish In\nAmerica.\"\n\n--------\n\n         The Double Marriage.  [Footnote 69]\n\n    [Footnote 69: From _The Diary of a Sister of Mercy_.\n    By Mrs. C. M. Brame. Now in press,\n    by the Catholic Publication Society.]\n\n\n\n               Chapter I.\n\nJust before vespers, as I came in from a visit to the hospital,\nMother Frances, our superioress, called me to her, and said:\n\n\"Dear sister, you have been out nearly all day, and were up last\nevening; you can go into the church for vespers, and then you had\nbetter go to your cell.\"\n\nAfter the service was ended, I remained a few minutes to say my\nprayers. When my time had expired, I went through the cloisters\nto my cell; and, just as I opened the door, I heard from the\ngate-bell a loud peal that rang through the silent house. I heard\nthe door opened, and a hurried message delivered.\n\n\"Another call,\" I thought; and then came a quiet tap at my door.\nI opened it quickly, and Mother Frances entered, saying:\n\n\"I am grieved, sister, to disturb you so soon; but that poor\ngirl, Mary MacNeal, is dying at the hospital, and she wishes most\nearnestly to see you.\"\n\n\"Is she indeed dying? why, I left her so much better.\"\n\n\"Yes; but a fatal change has taken place, and she has not long to\nlive.\"\n\n{777}\n\nThere was no time to think of my aching head and wearied limbs. I\ndressed again hastily, and, together with the messenger, soon\narrived at the hospital.\n\nAt the entrance of the ward where Mary lay I met the nurse. \"Oh!\nGod be praised, sister, that you're come at last! Poor Mary's\nonly cry is for you.\"\n\nThis Mary MacNeal was a young girl who had been brought up in our\nschools, and afterward maintained herself by dressmaking. Hard\ntoil, poor fare, and want of exercise did their work; and Mary\nlay dying in the last stage of consumption. She was a good girl,\nand had been long under my especial care. That very afternoon she\nhad implored me to be with her during her last moments. When I\nreached her bed, a calm, happy smile welcomed me, and the feeble,\nfaint voice spoke a few words of greeting, \"And ye'll say the\nrosary, sister?\"\n\nI knelt down and complied with her request. When we said the last\nGloria, Father Bernard came, and Mary received the last\nsacraments. I have stood by many a death-bed: I have seen the\nstrong man in his agony expire; I have seen the atheist, fearing,\ndreading God, die, with despair in his glazing eye and faithless\nheart; I have seen infants die with the smile of an angel on\ntheir little faces; in every form I have met with death; but I\nnever knew a soul leave this world that seemed more fit for\nheaven than that of this young girl. The rosary in one hand, the\ncrucifix in the other, she lay so calm and still. Ever and anon,\nas I wiped the death-damp from the pale brow, she lifted her eyes\nas though to thank me. She seemed desirous to speak. I stooped\nover her to catch the few struggling words, and they were:\n\n\"Thank God, I have always loved the Blessed Mother; she is with\nme now.\" And she murmured the sweet names of Jesus and Mary.\n\nThen the slight breath stopped; anon it came again; again it\nwent, and without a struggle that happy soul took flight. I\nclosed the eyes, still wearing the lingering look of gratitude\nand love; I crossed the hands, and twined the beads around them,\nand then knelt down and said the litany for the dead. I was now\npreparing to leave the hospital, when the nurse came, and asked\nme if I would step for a minute into the next ward, just to speak\nto a poor old woman who seemed to be getting worse. This ward was\nquite full; but I noticed a bed I had seen empty in the morning,\noccupied; when I had finished talking to the old woman, I asked\nwho the fresh comer was.\n\n\"Ah! sister, she's in an awful way, let her be who she may. I\nasked her this afternoon if she would see you, or the priest; and\nI declare the look of her frightened me--it was so wild and\nfierce. But she's a lady, I am sure; for, though the poor feet of\nher were bare and bleeding, the few ragged clothes she had on\nwere of the finest, and when she is in her senses, she speaks so\nlady-like; but she went on in a dreadful way, and told me not to\ntalk to her of sisters or priests, but to do her the only\nkindness I could, and let her die alone; so there she lies, and\nnot one bit or drop can I get down her.\"\n\n\"But, nurse, I must see her, poor thing! Perhaps I can help to\nsoothe her.\"\n\nI approached the bed carefully, shading the lamp with my hand. I\nset the light down on the table, and drew a chair close to the\nbedside, and sat down upon it. Loud, heavy breathing, and quick,\nfrightened starts, told me the patient slept. I gently drew aside\nthe sheet, with which she had covered her face and head, and\nstarted at the picture that met my gaze.\n{778}\nIt was a woman, seemingly about two-and-twenty years of age; her\nface and neck were covered with a perfect mass of thick, glossy\nhair; it spread in its rich profusion over the pillow and the bed\nclothes. I took one of the tresses in my hand, and wondered at\nits length and softness. One small white hand was thrown above\nher head, and it grasped a portion of the hair so tightly that I\ncould not move it, lest I should wake her. Before I had sat many\nminutes, the sleeper awoke with a loud, piercing scream, and a\nquick, fearful start. I laid my hands on her, to soothe her.\n\n\"Do not be frightened,\" I said; \"you are quite safe.\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" she replied abruptly and sharply.\n\n\"I am a Sister of Mercy, and I am anxious to assist you.\"\n\n\"I don't want you; go away; you only torment me.\" She turned from\nme, and concealed her face.\n\n\"I am afraid you mistake me,\" I said very gently; \"indeed, I only\nwish to do you good.\"\n\n\"Do me good? You cannot; leave me alone! Let me die as I have\nlived.\"\n\n\"God is good, and very merciful, my poor sister.\"\n\n\"Don't mention his name to me. Leave me! Let me be forgotten by\nGod and man. Let me die, and do not torment me.\"\n\n\"God loves you with an infinite love--a love more tender than you\ncan imagine.\"\n\n\"I tell you to go! I am cursed? hated! I want no good; I will\nlisten to none. Your words are all in vain; save them, and go!\"\n\nWith these words she resolutely turned from me, and covered her\nface with the clothes, so that she could neither hear nor see me.\nI took my rosary, and knelt down, and said it for her; and\nardently did I pray that the poor heart might be turned to God.\nWhen I had knelt above an hour, she turned fiercely round, and\nsaid\n\n\"Are you still there? what are you doing?\"\n\n\"I am praying for you, my sister.\"\n\n\"Praying for me!\" and a wild, fearful laugh sounded through the\nquiet room. \"Praying for me; my name is forgotten in heaven.\nDon't do that. My mother is in heaven. Don't let my name be heard\nthere, or she will know; but go away, and leave me. Heaven and\nearth have abandoned me; why need you care for me?\"\n\nThe delirium and fever seemed to increase so rapidly, that I\nfeared my longer stay would be useless. A torrent of words were\npouring quickly from the parched lips; now a wild appeal, a\nfearful cry to God for mercy; then a dreadful outburst of\nreproaches and contempt against heaven; then a wild snatch of\nsong, and a laugh so unearthly, it almost chilled the blood in my\nveins. Once, and once only, the loud voice grew calm and sweet,\nand a quiet look came upon the flushed face when she fancied she\nwas a girl at home again, and her mother was speaking to her.\n\nI went home, for I was of no use, and the nurse gave the poor\nsufferer an opiate before I left. I could not rest; that wild,\nbeautiful face was before me, and those pitiful cries rang in my\nears all night. The following morning I hastened to the hospital.\nI found my patient more quiet, and a good deal exhausted.\n\n{779}\n\nI procured a basin of cold water, and wetting a handkerchief,\nplaced it upon her burning brow. Its coolness seemed to revive\nher; for after I had bathed her forehead for some minutes, she\nopened her eyes, and said, in a faint voice, \"Is that you,\nmother? bless you, thank you;\" but after looking earnestly at me,\nshe turned away with a despairing sigh I never shall forget.\nAfter I had well bathed her face and head, I gathered the long\nhair and arranged it neatly under a cap. How beautiful she\nlooked! the red flush had gone, and her face was fair and white\nas marble. The slight eyebrows were marked so clearly and arched\nso beautifully, and the noble open brow was so fair, I could\ndistinguish every vein. Again my tears fell upon her face as I\nstooped over her. She gave a quick start, and said, \"Who are\nyou?\"\n\n\"I am a Sister of Mercy, one who loves you.\"\n\n\"Loves me! and is that tear for me?\"\n\n\"Yes, not only one, but many more I have shed for you.\"\n\n\"O sister!\" and she turned and threw herself on my breast, \"that\nis the first tear any one has shed over me since my mother died.\nMy heart has been so proud, so full of bitter anger and hatred,\nthat I thought nothing could ever again soften it; that tear was\na dew-drop from heaven. A few moments since, I fancied you were\nmy mother, for your hand lay upon my head just as hers did when\nshe used to come, night after night, and bless me; just as it did\nthe night before I left her. O sister! do not let me lie in your\narms, you are so good, and I have been so wicked and sinful.\"\n\n\"Nay, rest here; none are so sinful but there is love and mercy\nleft for them.\"\n\n\"Mercy! can I, dare I hope for it?\"\n\n\"Hush, my child, you are tiring yourself out; now rest.\"\n\n\"And do you promise never to leave me till I die? Say, will you\nstay with me?\"\n\n\"I will indeed do all I can; for the present I must go. Will you\nlet me put this around you?\" (It was a medal of the Immaculate\nConception.)\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied, and took it with a trembling hand.\n\n\"Are you a Catholic?\" I asked, startled by the haste with which\nshe seized it.\n\n\"I am, sister,\" and then a burning blush came over her face. \"I\nam, but a guilty, ungrateful one.\"\n\n\"Then will you say some short prayers, while I go and visit my\nother patients?\"\n\n\"I will, but it is long since I have said a prayer.\"\n\nAt the end of an hour I returned, and found her weeping bitterly.\nShe took my hand and kissed it. I tried to quiet her excessive\ngrief. I said, \"Do not cry, my child. Tell me, can I help\nyou--can I do anything for you? My name is Sister Magdalen; what\nshall I call _you?_\" She looked up with a sad face, and\nreplied, \"My name is Eva.\" \"Well, then, Eva, be comforted; if you\nhave sinned, there is mercy and hope for you; if you are unhappy,\nthere is comfort. Look at this;\" and I gave her my\ncrucifix--\"does not this teach you to love and hope?\" There was\nno answer, nothing but bitter sobs. I knelt down, and said the\n_Memorare_, and then, taking Eva's hand, I was about to\nspeak, when she said, \"Sister, sister, when I am better, and have\nstrength to talk, I will tell you my history, and you shall teach\nme to be better.\"\n\nDay after day passed on, and she became so ill that we thought\nshe must die; but God so willed it that she began to improve,\nand, at last, was able to speak and think rationally again. One\nevening I sat by her bed, saying the rosary while she slept,\nwhen, looking suddenly at her, I found her eyes open, and fixed\nupon me intently.\n\n{780}\n\n\"Sister Magdalen,\" she said, \"I want to tell you my history; it\nis a very sad one. I have sinned and suffered--will you hear me?\"\n\n\"With pleasure, because, when I understand you, I can the better\nhelp you.\"\n\nAnd as she told it to me, I here give it.\n\n\n              Chapter II.\n\n\"I need not trouble you with the history of my childhood; it was\nspent alone with my dear mother, in a pleasant little village\nnear Bristol, and was a very happy and innocent one. My father\ndied before I was born, but he left an ample fortune to my\nmother. I was her sole care and treasure; next to me she loved\nand cared for our little church. The mission in our village was\nbut a poor one; my mother was its chief support. To our care was\ngiven the sacristy, the chapel, the altar-linen and flowers. I\nused to spend hours in dressing the altar and arranging the\nflowers. The memory of those hours has never died; it has lived\nwith me ever; and even amid scenes of vanity and passion, it has\nhung about me like the fragrance of a flower.\n\n\"My mother was the sweetest and most gentle of women; the early\nloss of her husband gave her a shock from which she never\nrecovered; and she made a resolution at his death to devote her\nwhole life to my education and to works of charity. I cannot\nthink of her without tears; she was so patient and good, nor did\nI ever hear one unkind or hasty word from her.\n\n\"I grew up well skilled in all the accomplishments my mother\nloved and taught. One I was passionately fond of, and that was\npainting. I had a talent for it, and a cultivated taste.\n\n\"Imagine, sister, the course of a streamlet, with scarcely a\nripple upon it, glittering in the bright sunlight, ever flowing\ncalmly and gently, and you have a perfect image of my childhood.\n\n\"This lasted until I was sixteen. A few days after my birthday, a\nletter came from my mother's agent, a solicitor in London,\nrequesting her immediate presence. Not liking to leave me behind,\nlest I should be dull, my mother offered to take me with her. I\nwas overjoyed at the proposal. London was a distant fairyland to\nme, and I knew no rest or peace until we started. We were to stay\nat Mr. Clinton's, a distant relative of my father's, who kindly\noffered us the use of his house. He was married, but his wife was\ndead, and he had one only daughter, with whom I soon became\nintimately acquainted. Bella Clinton was an elegant girl, and\nforemost among the leaders of fashion. I had not been there long\nbefore I began to blush for my country dresses, and astonished my\ngentle, yielding mother by the extravagant demands I made upon\nher purse. Ah! there I learnt the fatal truth that I was gifted\nwith beauty. I had heard strangers say at home, \"What a handsome\nchild! how like her father;\" but I never realized the fact until\nI stood ready dressed for my first ball, where Bella had\npersuaded my mother to accompany us.\n\n\"Bella had chosen for me a robe of pale pink satin and a rich\nlace skirt; she twined pale pink flowers in my long black hair,\nand golden bracelets around my arms, and then led me to her\nmirror, and said, 'I am almost jealous, Eva!'\n{781}\nAh! the lace pictured there was very fair, the eyes were flashing\nwith light, the cheek was tinged like a rose, the white neck and\narms shamed even the pearls that gleamed upon them. Beautiful,\nbright, and sparkling the picture was; but would to heaven I had\ndied as I stood there, for I was then innocent and good.\n\n\"You, perhaps, sister, never saw or cared to see a ball-room; on\nme the effect was electrical. Just as we entered, the sweet,\nfascinating melody of a popular waltz was floating round the\nroom; the room itself was radiant with light and beauty; jewels\nwere shining, feathers waving, rich satins were gleaming; and the\nwearers, to my novice's gaze, were like beings from fairyland.\n\n\"Miss Clinton was soon surrounded with friends, and I listened\nwith astonishment to her witty repartees and animated\nconversation. I was introduced to many of her friends; our group\nor party was, I could not fail to perceive, the most select in\nthe room. I sat by my mother, endeavoring to give my attention to\nsome officer who was detailing a striking adventure, when a face\nand form suddenly attracted my attention; it was that of a\nnoble-looking man, with a head remarkable for the extreme beauty\nof its contour and the richness of its dark curls. The face, too,\nthough not exactly handsome, was irresistibly attractive, from\nits aristocratic mould of feature and melancholy expression. His\neyes were a singularly dark gray, shaded with long eyelashes;\nthey had a tired, listless look. I watched this gentleman some\nfew minutes, and then turning to my companion, said: 'Can you\ntell me who is that distinguished looking man standing just\nbeneath the chandelier?'\n\n\"'Lord Montford. He is a clever man; but a very reserved, haughty\ncharacter; he is known by the name of Le Grand Seigneur. I know\nhim well, intimately; but I never can penetrate the veil of\nmelancholy that hangs over him.'\n\n\"'Perhaps he is unhappy,' I said simply; 'is he married?'\n\n\"'No; he is one of the best _parties_ of the season. Some\nsay an early disappointment is the cause of his want of\nsociability; others say he has a distaste for the society of your\ncharming sex.' And my informant made a low bow.\n\n\"A dozen more questions trembled on my lips; but not liking to\ncontinue the conversation, I remained silent. Suddenly looking\nup, I saw Lord Montford's eyes fixed upon me. I blushed, feeling\nlike a guilty culprit. In a few minutes Miss Clinton came to me,\nand said:\n\n\"'Eva, you have made a splendid conquest. Here is Lord Montford\nasking to be introduced to you. Come with me.'\n\n\"'Indeed I cannot,' I replied, shrinking, scarcely knowing why.\n\n\"'Mrs. Leason, make her come,' said Bella, smiling to my mother.\n\n\"'Go, Eva,' my mother said; and I went. My first impulse was to\nrun away when I saw that tall, stately form bending before me;\nbut he looked at me with so kindly an expression of interest and\nadmiration that I accepted the invitation for the next quadrille\nwith less of fear and restraint than I had hitherto felt. When\nthe quadrille was over, Lord Montford took me into the\nrefreshment-room.\n\n\"'It is no idle compliment to tell you, Miss Leason, that I\nenjoyed that dance more than I have done anything for years.'\n\n\"'Why?' I answered innocently, looking up with astonishment. He\nsmiled and answered:\n\n{782}\n\n\"'If I wished to flatter you, I should say because you are more\nbeautiful and graceful than any lady I have seen for some time;\nbut the real truth is, that I can perceive this is your first\nball, and the freshness of your ideas is something novel to me.'\n\n\"'Are not my ideas like other people's?'\n\n\"'Far from it.'\n\n\"'I am very sorry,' I began, half hesitatingly; 'indeed, I wish\nto be like every one else.'\n\n\"'Never wish so again, Miss Leason; wish always to be just as you\nare now.'\n\n\"Just at this moment my mother and Bella joined us, and he\nrelinquished my arm.\n\n\"'Why, Eva,' said Miss Clinton, 'Surely you have some charm. I\nhave known Lord Montford for years, and I never saw him so\nanimated or so happy before.'\n\n\"But I need not dwell longer on this part of my life. Day after\nday, evening after evening, Lord Montford was by my side; and yet\nso quietly were these meetings conducted, that it always seemed\nthat chance directed them. As Bella ceased jesting, my mother did\nnot notice his attentions. I soon began to look upon seeing him\nas the only thing worth living for. I had no thought save for\nhim. As yet no _word_ of love passed his lips, though I\ncould not but perceive that he regarded me with no common\ninterest.\n\n\"One day, as we were all in the drawing-room, my mother suddenly\nannounced her intention of returning home--almost directly. I\nlooked at Lord Montford, and saw an expression of pain upon his\nface. I rose and went to the window to hide the tears that were\nstarting to my eyes. In an hour after this, a servant brought me\na note from Lord Montford, filled with expressions of love, and\nasking for an interview, and praying that I would not mention it\nto any one, even to my mother. I knew this was wrong, and this\nwas the first false step in my career. I knew concealment from my\nmother was, in such a case, wrong; but stronger than the voice of\nconscience, stronger than the whispers of my angel guardian,\nstronger than the promptings of faith and obedience was the\npassion that reigned in my heart. I wrote a few words. My mother,\nMr. Clinton, and Bella were going out to dine. I pleaded\nindisposition, and remained at home. I promised in the afternoon\nto grant Lord Montford the interview he desired. I went, when\nthree o'clock came, to the library, and I left it in an hour the\naffianced bride of Lord Montford. One thing surprised me, and\nthat was, that he used the most urgent entreaties that I would\nnot mention our interview, or its result, to any one. Imprudently\nI promised.\n\n\"The day came when we left London, and yet no word would Lord\nMontford suffer to be spoken of our engagement. He stood in the\nhall as we passed from the house, and he hastily whispered to me:\n\n\"'You shall hear from me soon, Eva, and my letter shall explain\nall.'\n\n\"I could scarcely bear the quiet, tranquil beauty of home; my\nwhole time was spent in wishing for and thinking of the promised\nletter.\n\n\"At length it came, and I went with it tightly held in my hand,\nto my own room. I cannot now remember all it said, but the\nconcluding words I remember, and they were these: 'And now, Eva,\nI have told you how dear you are to me, how you have come across\nmy dark dreary life like a bright sunbeam; without you I shall\nagain become a dull, melancholy misanthrope; with you I may\nbecome a good and useful man. Will you refuse, Eva, to help me:\nOne thing more.\n{783}\nA reason of the utmost importance prevents me from at present\nmaking public our engagement and marriage--a reason so potent\nthat, if you refuse secrecy, we must part. Say, Eva, shall this\nbe? Will you sacrifice my love, my hope, my happiness, for a\nscruple?'\n\n\"And so with a prayer for my consent, the letter ended; and then\nI laid it down and wept--ay, wept--for there was a calmer,\nholier feeling in my heart than I had known for a long time; and\nthe struggle was hard. My mother, could I leave her thus? How had\nshe nursed me, loved me! and with what pleasure and pride had she\nlooked forward to my settling in life! Her sweet face came before\nme with all its goodness and purity. No; I could not leave her, I\ncould not thus deceive and disappoint her. There was the church,\ntoo, with its altars and flowers; who would tend them? I could\nnot go, and so I resolved--a resolution, alas! too soon to be\nbroken.\n\n\"At this moment a hand was gently laid upon my shoulder, and\nlooking up hastily, I saw my mother.\n\n\"'Eva, are you ill, my darling, or unhappy? Why are you here\nalone, and miserable?'\n\n\"I made no reply, but laid my head upon my mother's breast and\ncried aloud. Those were the last tears I ever shed there. I even\nfeel now her soft hand caressing me, and drawing back the hair\nfrom my brow, while she soothed me as though I had been a little\nchild.\n\n\"'I am ill and tired, mother,' I said, at length.\n\n\"'I see you are, Eva.' And she laid me down gently, and sat by me\nuntil I slept. Two days afterward I was out, and turning round\nthe road that led to the wood, I met Lord Montford. I found he\nhad arrived that day, and had been waiting many hours for a\nchance of seeing me; but he looked so pale and ill I scarcely\nknew him. Let me tell the result in few words. I promised him to\nleave home, mother, and all things, and to accompany him wherever\nhe would.\n\n\"'It is but for a short time, Eva,' said he, 'and then we will\nreturn, and your mother will forgive us and bless us.'\n\n\"'Why not wait the short time?' I said, for my face burned where\nmy mother's tears had fallen.\n\n\"'I cannot; you do not know the reasons, Eva. But do not refuse\nme. You are the last tie that binds me to life and hope.'\n\n\"And he arranged that early the next morning I should meet his\ncarriage in the park; that we should go straight to London, and\nthere be quietly married; and then go on the same day to Paris.\n\n\"That night, sister, I never slept. Many times I half knelt to\npray, and perhaps had I prayed, God would have heard me; but\nthere was that in my heart that would not let me: and so, in\nwearily pacing my room, in bitter weeping and grief for my\nmother, in passionate tears, when I remembered my promise, in\nhard struggle and indecision, did I pass my last night under my\nmother's roof. When morning dawned, I tried to go and look at my\nmother; twice, thrice, I half opened the door, and, shuddering,\nclosed it; and with my heart half breaking at leaving her, and\nyet drawn on irresistibly, I passed from my home a guilty\nfugitive, a cruel, wilful child. I went out into the pure, sweet,\nmorning air, and it fanned so softly my burning face; the birds\nwere singing such glorious carols of praise; the flowers were\nlifting their fair heads, drooping with dew; peace and beauty and\njoy were all around me; but in my heart were darkness and sorrow,\ngrief and remorse. Suddenly a strong arm twined around me, and a\nlow voice, whose tones I knew and loved too well, poured into my\nears a rapture of love and thanks.\n{784}\nAnd in a whirl of time that seems to me now a dream, I was\nmarried, and in Paris. Immediately on our arrival at Paris, my\nhusband wrote to my mother, telling her of our marriage,\nconjuring her for a time not to reveal it, and begging her\nforgiveness and blessing. An answer came, and my mother's gentle\nlove spoke in every line, yet her heart seemed broken as she\nwrote. Trusting that time would reveal the mystery of my\nhusband's strange desire for concealment. I threw myself into the\nvortex of pleasure and gayety. The hours passed like golden\nmoments. I knew no wish, no caprice, that my husband did not\nimmediately gratify. The most devoted love and ardent affection\nwere lavished upon me; he was ever with me: if for one hour we\nwere separated, he flew to me the next. Smiles chased the\nmelancholy and languor from his brow, and the light in his eyes\nwas to me brighter than the rarest jewel he loved to adorn me\nwith. It was short but brilliant, this dream of mine; its bliss\nwas dearly purchased. You will think the story that I am going to\ntell you strange, but there are stranger in the world.\n\n\n              Chapter III.\n\n'I told you, sister, how devoted I was to painting; and this\ntaste my husband spared no pains to gratify. He took me, one day,\nto one of the most splendid picture-galleries in Paris, and\nthere, amongst other _chef d'oeuvres_, I noticed a most\nbeautiful picture of St. Mary Magdalen. I stood entranced before\nit: it represented a graceful, slender figure kneeling fore a\nrustic altar. The hands were clasped in prayer, and the face was\nslightly raised toward heaven; but anything so exquisite as the\nblended look of remorse and love upon those splendid features I\nnever saw; it was as though the raining tears had softened the\ndazzling beauty and brightness of the large, liquid eyes, and had\nblanched the roses on both cheek and lip, and had left over the\nfair face a lingering light, soft and spiritual. Long golden\ntresses waved over her shoulders, and lay (even as she knelt)\nupon the ground in their profusion and luxuriance. Hope and love\nwere written on the noble brow, while such humility, such\nself-abasement were expressed in the prostrate, kneeling figure,\nthat at one glance the history was read. I forgot time, place,\nand all things--my whole soul absorbed in the wondrous beauty of\nthe picture. My husband had left me to procure a catalogue, when\nsuddenly a heavy hand was laid upon my shoulder, and a voice\nhissed, rather than spoke, into my ear: 'Ay, look--for the sin\nthat branded her is marked upon your brow!' The hot breath of the\nspeaker flushed upon my cheek--a low, scornful laugh, and it was\ngone. Bewildered, I turned round, but saw no one who seemed\nlikely to have addressed me or who seemed to notice me. A few\npaces from me, looking intently upon a small painting, there\nstood a tall, stately lady, and no one else was near. I hastened,\nwhen I recovered the use of my faculties, to ask her if she had\nseen any one speak to me, when she quickly arose, and left the\nroom. As she turned to pass to the door, I saw her face; it was\nhandsome, but so cold and haughty, and with so fierce an\nexpression of self-will, that the words froze upon my lips; it\nwas a strange face, too, and it haunted me all day. I was\nbewildered; but I did not tell my husband.\n{785}\nI did not wish to trouble or annoy him. I was frightened and out\nof spirits, and when evening came, my husband would insist upon\nmy going to the opera. I went; but I could not forget those\ndreadful words. The opera was beautiful; but my attention would\nwander. Looking round the boxes, I suddenly saw the same lady I\nhad met in the picture-gallery. Her handsome, haughty face bore\nan expression that surprised me; her large, glittering eyes were\nfixed upon me, and a smile of triumph, malicious and revengeful,\ncurled her lip. I turned to my husband and said: 'I do wish,\nPercy, you would tell me who that lady is there opposite with the\npink dress.' He turned, at my request; but when he saw her, his\nface became deadly pale, and convulsed with emotion. 'Do you know\nher?--are you ill?--what is the matter, Percy?' I cried.\n\n\"'Nothing,' said my husband, 'but the heat is too great; will you\ncome home, Eva?'\n\n\"I rose, terrified, to leave the box, and turning again to look\nat the lady, I found her gone. As we were driving home, when my\nhusband became more composed, I told him of my adventure in the\npicture-gallery, and asked him if he could possibly conjecture\nthe meaning of it.\n\n\"'Why, why, Eva, did you not tell me this before? Now, do not be\nfrightened; but I have decided to leave Paris by the midnight\ntrain: it is now ten o'clock; will you be ready?'\n\n\"'Yes; but why this haste?'\n\n\"'Ask me no questions, Eva; only hasten, and let us be gone.'\n\n\"My husband's manner was stern, and he became so silent that I\ndared not interrupt him. Directly we arrived at home, he left me\nto arrange for our journey, and, ringing for my maid, I told her\nto prepare for instant departure. I was tired, and my head ached\nwith useless conjectures. I felt a foreboding of coming misery\nthat I could not account for. I was in the drawing-room, packing\na few books, when a servant entered and told me I was wanted. I\nsaid I could not see any one, I was engaged; but in a few minutes\nthe man returned, and said the lady insisted upon seeing me, and\nbefore he had finished speaking, the lady I had seen at the opera\nstood before me.\n\n\"'You are leaving Paris,' she said, with a sneering smile; 'but\nit is important that you should grant me a few moments; perhaps I\nmay alter your plans.'\n\n\"I bowed and the servant withdrew. She stood and surveyed me for\nsome minutes with a strange, glittering look in her wild eyes;\nand then coming to me, she said:\n\n\"'You are passing fair. Percy Montford's second choice speaks\nwell for his taste.'\n\n\"'I do not understand you, madam,' I said proudly; 'nor do I see\nby what right you intrude upon me or use my husband's name.'\n\n\"'Your husband, girl!' and a mocking laugh rang in my ears. 'Nay,\nPercy Montford is no husband of yours.'\n\n\"'You are mad,' I replied. But she interrupted me--\n\n\"'Mad! No; and yet, I tell you, I am Lady Montford! You do not\nbelieve me? I will tell you again. Sixteen years ago, when I was\nyoung, and the world said beautiful, I became the lawful wife of\nthe man who has deceived you.'\n\n\"I rose indignantly, and grasped the bell-rope.\n\n{786}\n\n\"'Nay,' said she, 'pause one minute before you summon aid or\nassistance. I repeat--sixteen years ago I was married. My husband\nhad then no title; he was simply Mr. Ingram; he lived with me one\nyear, and then, finding my temper hot and my spirit bitter, he\nleft me, (amply provided for, it is true,) and has never seen me\nsince. I have followed him, I have tracked him from city to city.\nI found out his admiration for you; I knew he would marry you\nsecretly--openly he dared not, for fear of me. I could have\nsaved you then, but I would not; I hated you because you were\nbeautiful and good, and I have watched and waited with a fierce\nlonging for the moment when your cup of joy was full, that I\nmight dash it from your lips, and turn it to the poisoned chalice\nI have so long drunk. You still disbelieve me? Look,' and she\ntook some papers and laid before me. My hands shook, and my sight\nfailed me when I tried to read them; but I saw enough; and\ncovering my face, I sank on my knees.\n\n\"I remember now, sister, that in my madness and my grief I knelt\nto that woman, and I prayed to her to unsay her fearful words. I\ncan remember how she rejected me, how she scorned me and my wild\nprayers, and how proudly she stood over me, gloating in my\nmisery.\n\n\"'No, Eva Leason! you broke your mother's heart--you had no mercy\nupon her, and I have none upon you. I am claiming only justice, I\nam speaking only truth.'\n\n\"'Percy!' I cried, 'come and save me!'\n\n\"'Ah! Percy, save her! You are so noble and good! You never\ndeceived her, never betrayed her!' And then I remember no more,\nsave that darkness seemed to come upon me until I lost all sense\nand feeling.\n\n\"When I recovered in some degree my recollection, I was lying\nupon a sofa, and my husband--ah! mine no longer!--knelt beside\nme, his face and head hidden, and yet I knew that he was weeping.\nShe was gone.\n\n\"I sprang to my feet.' Percy,'I cried, 'tell me, is this true?\nYou found her here. Has she told me the truth?' And I waited for\nhis answer with my life depending on it.\n\n\"'I will deceive you no more, Eva. Alas! she has told you true.'\n\n\"'And you have deceived me, stolen me from my mother and my home,\nand made me an outcast!' My heart seemed on fire. I tore the ring\nfrom my finger and the jewels from my hair, and threw them at his\nfeet; but he knelt, and passionately implored me not to leave\nhim, to listen to his story, to have mercy on him. But no, I\nheeded no word; I tore my dress from his hands; I rushed from\nhim; I took no time; I had but one thought, and that was to fly.\nI was delirious with grief and anger; my cloak and bonnet were in\nthe hall; I threw them on; and before Lord Montford knew where I\nwas, I had taken a carriage, and was on my road to the station.\nMy heart ached for my mother. I remember but very little else. I\ncrossed the Channel, and my passage took nearly all my money: I\nhad just enough to reach London, and then I was penniless. It\nseemed to me that I wandered for hours in the dreary streets, and\nat last I fell. I was picked up and carried here. Now, tell me,\nsister, was not my punishment bitter? Can you wonder that I\ncraved to die, and hide my shame and misery?\"\n\n\"You are much sinned against, Eva; but tell me how could Lord\nMontford marry you when he knew his first wife was living?\"\n\n\"I do not know, sister; I cannot think; yet now I remember, that\nnight he told me that he had married her when he was quite young,\nand had never known peace or rest since; and that, when he knew\nme, he loved me so and feared to lose me, he could not resist the\ntemptation.\n{787}\nDid I tell you, sister, that the first thing I heard when I came\nto England was that my mother was dead? I saw it in a paper.\"\n\nBut, dear reader, I shall weary you if I repeat all poor Eva's\nlong history; I must hasten and finish my story.\n\nSome weeks after this, I was sitting with her, reading to her,\nwhen Mother Frances called me hastily from the room. I had told\nher Eva's history, and I felt from her manner that she had\nsomething of importance to say concerning her.\n\n\"Sister,\" said the superioress, \"there is a gentleman in the\nconvent parlor, and he has sent in his card. See, it is Lord\nMontford.\"\n\n\"O Mother Frances! what shall we do? what can we say to him? He\nhas, then, traced poor Eva here!\"\n\n\"Let us first discover his errand, and then we will act as seems\nbest.\"\n\nWhen we entered the parlor, Lord Montford rose, and when he\naddressed us, his voice trembled.\n\n\"May I ask,\" he began, \"if a lady who some time since obtained\nshelter at the hospital, is still here? I have traced her here;\ncan I be allowed to see her?\"\n\n\"Lord Montford,\" said Mother Frances, \"Eva's history is well\nknown to me; and I have no hesitation in saying that, while this\nroof shelters her, she shall be safe from your further\ndeceptions.\"\n\n\"Nay, you mistake, Rev. Mother, I am come to offer Eva the only\nreparation in my power. As you know my errors, concealment is\nuseless. My first wife is dead, and I am come to make her my own\nagain.\"\n\nIt took a long time to prepare Eva for this news; I dreaded it.\nShe was so near the verge of the grave, that I feared the least\nagitation would be fatal. She bore it calmly; and when I had told\nher, Lord Montford entered the room, and I left them together.\n\nWould, dear reader, that I could tell you, as the old story-books\ndo, that Eva lived long and happily; but alas! no; she died three\nweeks after this, reconciled to God and to the church.\n\nEva Lady Montford lies in her quiet grave; violets are growing\nwhere her bright head was laid low. The winds chant drearily\namong the trees that shelter her tomb; and if you visit it when\nthe morning sun gilds the flowers, or the moon silvers the\nleaves, you will always meet there one who, if he sinned deeply,\nhas repented more deeply still.\n\nFrom the wind that sighs over Eva's grave, comes there, my dear\nyoung reader, no warning to you? Is there no secret hoarded in\nthat heart of yours, that a mother's eye has never penetrated;\nand if so, will it lead to your happiness in this world or the\nnext? Ah! no; concealment or deception in the end works misery,\nlet the cause be what it may. A pure and open heart before God,\nand a just and blameless one before the world, is my prayer for\nyou.\n\n--------\n\n{788}\n\n         The Church and Her Attributes.\n\n\nThe heterodox of all shades recognize, in some form or in some\nsense, what they call the church of Christ, and hold it in some\nway necessary, or at least useful, to salvation. The Anglicans\nprofess to believe in a church founded by Christ himself, of\nwhich they claim to be a pure or purified branch; the\nPresbyterians profess to believe that there is a church, out of\nwhich there is no salvation; the Methodists and Baptists call\ntheir organizations churches, and hold them to be parts or\nbranches of one universal or catholic church; and even Socinians,\nUnitarians, and Universalists, who deny the incarnation, speak of\nthe church, though precisely what they mean by it is not easy to\nsay. So far as we know, there is no sect, school, or party, not\nincluded among those whom our theologians call infidels or\napostates, that does not profess a belief, of some sort, in the\nholy catholic and apostolic church of the creed.\n\nIn a controversy between us and the heterodox, the question is\nnot, _An sit ecclesia?_ but, _Quid sit ecclesia?_ The\ncontroversy hinges, not on the existence of the church, but on\nwhat the church is, and only rarely on which is the true church;\nfor when all have once come to agree as to what the church is,\nthere will be little dispute as to which she is. We start, then,\nwith the assumption that there is something to be called the\nchurch of Christ, and proceed at once to point out what she is.\n\nThe church of Christ, taken in its most comprehensive sense, in\nall states, places, and times, is, says Billuart: \"_Congregatio\nfidelium in vero Dei cultu adunatorum sub Christo capite_--the\ncongregation of the faithful, united under Christ the head, in\nthe true worship of God.\" Most of the heterodox, as well as all\nCatholics, will accept this definition. But this definition\nincludes the faithful who lived before Christ; as well as those\nwho have lived since, and as those who lived and died before the\nincarnation could not enter into heaven before the way was opened\nby our Lord himself, who is the first-born from the dead, and the\nresurrection and the life, a definition more particularly adapted\nto the state of the church since the coming of Christ is needed.\nThe church has indeed existed from the beginning; but before the\nWord was actually incarnated, she existed by prophecy and promise\nonly; but Christ having come and fulfilled the promise, the\nchurch exists now in fact, in reality, for the reality foretold\nand promised has come. Hence St. Paul, in referring to the\nfaithful of the Old Testament, says, \"And all these being\napproved by the testimony of faith, received not the promise\"--or\nthe fulfilment of the promise--\"God providing something better\nfor us, that they should not be perfected without us.\" Heb. xi.\n39, 40. The church, before Christ, was incomplete, and needed\nfurther fulfilment or perfecting; the church in the state in\nwhich she exists since Christ, is the church realized, completed,\nor perfected. According to this state, and as the kingdom of God\non earth, she is, as Billuart again defines: \"Societas fidelium\nbaptizatorum ejusdem fidei professione, eorumdem sacramentorum\nparticipatione, eodem cultu inter se adunatorum sub uno capite\nChristo in coelis, et sub ejus in terris vicario summo\npontifice--the society of the faithful, baptized in the\nprofession of the same faith, united in the participation of the\nsame sacraments and the same worship, under one head, Christ in\nheaven, and on earth under his vicar, the supreme pontiff.\"\n[Footnote 70]\n\n    [Footnote 70: Billuart, _De Reg. Fid._ Dissert. III.\n    _De Eccl._ Art. I.]\n\n{789}\n\nAll will not accept the whole of this definition; but all will\nagree that the church is a society embracing all the faithful,\nunited in the true worship of God under one head, Jesus Christ in\nheaven; but the heterodox deny the union under one head or one\nregimen on earth. But what is a congregation or society of the\nfaithful under Christ its head? A congregation or society under\none head implies both unity and multiplicity, either many made\none, or one manifesting or explicating itself in many, and in\neither sense supposes more than the heterodox in general\nunderstand by the church. The faithful, congregated or associated\nunder one head, Christ, are one body, for Christ is the head of\nthe congregation or society, not merely of the individuals\nseverally; but the heterodox generally, in our times at least,\nmake the church consist solely of individuals aggregated to the\ncollective body of believers, because already united as\nindividuals by faith and love to Christ, as their head; which\nsupposes Christ to be the head of each individual of the church,\nbut not of the church herself. According to this view, men are\nregenerated outside of the society or church, and join the church\nbecause supposed to be regenerated or born again, not that they\nmay be born again. The church in this case is simply the\naggregate of regenerated persons, and derives her life from\nChrist through them, instead of their deriving their life from\nChrist the head through her. The one view makes the church a\ngeneral term, an abstraction, performing and capable of\nperforming no part in the regeneration and sanctification of\nsouls; the other makes the church a reality, a real existence,\nliving a real life not derived from her members, and the real\nmedium through which our Lord carries on his mediatorial work;\nand therefore union with her is not only profitable to spiritual\nlife, but necessary to its birth in the soul, and therefore to\nindividual salvation. This must be the case if we suppose Christ\nto be the head of the congregation or society called the church,\nand of individuals severally only as they are affiliated to her.\n\nThere is, we suspect, a deeper philosophy in the church than the\nheterodox in general are aware of. \"The church,\" it was said in\nthis magazine, in one of the essays on _The Problems of the\nAge_, \"is the human race in its highest sense,\" that is, the\nregenerated human race, the human race in the teleological order,\nnot in the order of natural generation, which is simply cosmic\nand initial. This supposes in the church something more than\nindividuals, as, indeed, does society itself. With nothing but\nindividualities brought together there is no society, there is\nonly aggregation, because there is no unity, nothing that is one\nand common to all the individuals brought together. In all real\nsociety there is a social principle, a social life, in which\nindividuals participate, but which is itself not individual, nor\nderived from the individuals associated. Thus in every real\nnation, not a pseudo nation made up of the forced juxtaposition\nof distinct and often hostile communities, there is a real\nnational life.\n{790}\nAn insult to the nation each one feels is an insult to himself;\nand if the existence of the nation is threatened, every one in\nwhose heart throbs the national life, rises, and all, in the fine\nBiblical expression, \"march as one man\" to the rescue, prepared\nto save the nation or die in its defence.\n\nThe unity of social life is still more manifest when we come to\nthe race. We are aware of the old quarrel between the nominalists\nand conceptualists on the one hand, and the old realists on the\nother; but we disposed of that controversy in the article\nentitled _An Old Quarrel_, in the Magazine for May of last\nyear, and established, we think, the reality of genera and\nspecies, while we denied that of abstractions, or simple mental\nconceptions. If we deny the reality of genera and species, we\nmust deny the fact of generation, and the Catholic dogmas of the\nunity of the species and of original sin. If all men have not\nproceeded from Adam by way of natural generation, there can be no\nunity of the species; and if no unity of the species, there can\nbe no original sin, which is \"the sin in which we are born,\" the\nsin of origin, the sin of the race, transmitted by natural\ngeneration from Adam to all his posterity. To deny the reality,\nof the species is to deny this, is to deny generation, that we\nare born in any sense of Adam; to deny generation is to deny\nregeneration; and to deny regeneration is to deny the whole\nChristian or teleological order. We cannot then logically be\nnominalists or conceptualists and Christian believers at one and\nthe same time.\n\nWe do not pretend that the species subsists without\nindividualization any more than we do that the individual can\nsubsist without the species. What we contend for is, that in\nevery individual there is that which is not individual, but\ndistinguishable from the individuality, which is common to all\nthe individuals of the species, and which in men binds all men,\nfrom the first to the last, together in the unity of their\nnatural head or progenitor. The species is more than the\nindividual, operates in the individual, determines his specific\nnature, and separated from which the individual is nothing; but\nthe species does not subsist without individualization, and could\nnot be explicated by natural generation if not individualized.\nYet the entire race was individualized in Adam.\n\nWe can now understand the assertion that \"The church is the human\nrace in the highest sense,\" the regenerated race in its\nprogenitor, its unity and reality, therefore in its real head, in\nthe supernatural order. The head of the regenerated race, or the\nrace in the supernatural or teleological order, is Christ\nhimself, the second Adam, the Lord from heaven. Hence the apostle\nsays, (i Cor. xv.,) \"As in Adam all die, so in Christ all shall\nbe made alive.\" The apostle, in this fifteenth chapter of his\nEpistle to the Corinthians, draws a parallel between the first\nAdam and the last Adam, which must hold good be the race as born\nof the first Adam, and the race as born anew of the last Adam;\nand, therefore, the race born anew must hold to Christ in the\norder of regeneration a relation strictly analogous to that borne\nby it in the natural or initial order, to the first Adam. The\ndifference is, that in the natural order the race is explicated\nby natural generation, and in the supernatural or teleological\norder by the election of grace. But the relation between the\nmembers and the head is no less real in the one case than in the\nother, and we live in the order of regeneration, if born again,\nthe life of Christ as really and truly as in the natural order we\nlive the life of Adam. The church, then, proceeds as really\nthrough grace from Christ, the supernatural head, as the race\nitself proceeds from Adam, the natural head.\n\n{791}\n\nThis view of the church is sustained by Saint Augustine, who\nrepresents Christ as both the head and the body of the church,\nand says Christ and his members are the whole Christ--_totus\nChristus_. If we view the church in her origin, her principle,\nher life, that is, in her head and soul, she is Christ himself;\nif we view her as the congregation or society of the faithful,\nmade one in the unity of the head, the church is the body of\nChrist. Hence, Saint Paul teaches, (Colossians i. 18,) that\nChrist \"is the head of the body; the church, who is the\nbeginning, the first-born from the dead;\" \"the head, from which\nall the body, by joints and bands being supplied with nourishment\nand compacted groweth unto the increase of God.\" (Ib. ii. 19.)\n\"Christ is the head of the church; he is the Saviour of his\nbody.\" (Eph. v. 23.) \"Now you are the body of Christ, and members\nof member.\" (i Cor. xii. 27.) \"We are members of his body, of his\nflesh, and of his bones.\" (Eph. v. 30.) \"And if one member suffer\nanything, all the members suffer with it: or if one member glory,\nall the members rejoice with it.\" (i Cor. xii. 26.) Nothing can\nmore clearly or unequivocally assert Christ as the head of the\nchurch, the church as the body of Christ, or the members of the\nchurch as members of his body and members of one another, or the\nperfect solidarity of Christ and the church, and of the members\nof the church in Christ, and with one another, as implied in the\ndefinition of the church quoted from Billuart.\n\nThe men of the world do not understand this, because they\nrecognize no existence but that of individual things, and have no\nconception of unity. What transcends the individual or\nparticular, is, for them, an empty word, or a pure abstraction,\ntherefore nothing. They have never asked themselves how\nindividuals or particulars can exist without the general or\nuniversal, nor how there can be men without the generic man. What\nhas not for them a sensible existence is, indeed, no existence at\nall. They seem never to reflect that, if there were no\nsupersensible reality, there could be no sensible reality. The\nsensible is mimetic, depends on the intelligible or noetic which\nit copies or imitates. Take away the intelligible or\nnon-sensible, and the sensible would be a mere appearance in\nwhich nothing would appear--less than a vain shadow.\n\nWe have defined the church in her origin, principle, and life, to\nbe Christ himself; as the society of the faithful, to which all\nthe faithful are affiliated, to be the body of Christ. But the\nprinciple on which we have asserted this union of the faithful\nwith Christ, applies only to those who are in the order of\nregeneration; for in that order only is Christ our head, or are\nwe, as individuals, affiliated to him, and included in him, as\nthe father of regenerated humanity; and hence they who die\nunregenerated, suffer the penalty of original sin and of such\nactual sins as they may have committed. How then do we enter that\norder? By the new birth; by being born of Christ into it, as we\nenter the natural order by being born of Adam. The Pelagians,\nSocinians, Unitarians, and Universalists reject the distinction\nof the two orders, and recognize no regenerated humanity; the\nCalvinists, Congregationalists, Baptists, Presbyterians,\nMethodists, Evangelicals, etc., hold that we are translated from\nthe order of nature into the order of grace by the direct,\nimmediate, and irresistible operation of the Holy Ghost.\n{792}\nBut the Holy Ghost, in his immediate operations, is God acting in\nhis divine nature, and the medium of our regeneration is God in\nhis human nature, the Man Christ Jesus, who, on this view, would\nbe superseded as the mediator of God and men. The order of\nregeneration originates in the Man Christ Jesus, the Word made\nflesh, or God in his human nature, not in God in his divine\nnature; and therefore, to be in that order, we must be born of\nGod in his humanity. If we could be regenerated by the Holy\nGhost, or God in his divine nature alone, without the\nintervention of God in his human nature, or the Man Christ Jesus\nas the medium or mediator, the incarnation would go for nothing,\nand we should be made by the new birth, sons of God in his divine\nnature; since neither the Father nor the Holy Ghost assumed\nflesh; as the eternal Word is himself the son of God, and God as\nhe is God; which, we need not say, is simply impossible and\nabsurd. By the hypostatic union with the Word, man becomes God in\nhis personality, but not in his nature, for the human nature\nremains always human nature. The two natures remain, as we are\ntaught in the condemnation of the Monophysites, for ever distinct\nin the unity of the one divine person. By regeneration we are\nelevated, indeed, to be sons of God, but sons of God by\nparticipation with the Eternal Son in his human, not in his\ndivine nature. We are made joint-heirs with Christ, and sons of\nGod by adoption, not by nature.\n\nThere is no act conceivable without principle, medium, and end.\nIn the creation of man and the universe, the three persons of the\nholy and indivisible Trinity concur, but in diverse respects--the\nFather as principle, the Son or Word as medium, and the Holy\nGhost as end or consuminator. In the regeneration, which St. Paul\ncalls a \"new creation,\" the whole Trinity also concur, the Father\nas principle, the Son as medium, and the Holy Ghost as end,\nconsummator, or sanctifier; but here it is the Son in his human\nnature, not in his divine nature, that is the medium; for St.\nPaul says, \"There is one God, and one mediator of God and men,\nthe man Christ Jesus.\" The Son, in his human nature, is the\nmedium of the whole order of regeneration, or of our redemption,\nnew birth, and return to God as our final cause or last end. We\nmust then be begotten of him in his humanity by the Holy Ghost,\nas the condition of being born into the regeneration, and\nbecoming members of the regenerated human race. The heterodox\noverlook this fact, and even when asserting the incarnation,\nleave it no office in the regeneration and sanctification of\nsouls, or, at best, no continuous or permanent office. According\nto them, the mediatorial work was completed when Christ died on\nthe cross, at least, when he ascended into heaven; and now the\nsalvation of souls is carried on by the Holy Ghost without any\nmedium or any participation of God in his human nature, as if one\nperson of the indivisible Trinity could operate alone, without\nthe concurrence of the other two! This, if it were possible,\nwould imply the denial of the unity of God, and the assertion of\nthe three persons of the Godhead as three Gods, not three persons\nin one God. The heterodox, the supernaturalists, as well as the\nnaturalists, really deny the whole order of grace as proceeding\nfrom God in his human nature, its only possible medium, and hence\nthe reason why they so universally shrink from calling Mary the\nMother of God, and accuse of idolatry the devotion which\nCatholics pay to her.\n{793}\nThough the eternal Word took the flesh he assumed from her, yet,\nas that flesh is not in their view the medium of our spiritual\nlife, they cannot see in her, more than in any other pure and\nholy woman, any connection with our regeneration, and our\nspiritual or eternal life. They cannot see that, in denying her\nclaims, they virtually reject the whole Christian order.\n\nThe difficulty, though not the mystery, disappears the moment we\nrecognize the sacramental principle, which it was the prime\nobject of the Reformers to eliminate from the Christian system.\nIn the definition of the church, she is said to be \"the society\nof the faithful baptized in the profession of the same faith, and\nunited _inter se_ in the participation of the same\n_sacraments_.\" The sacraments are all visible signs\nsignifying, that is, communicating grace to the recipient. Among\nthese sacraments is one, which is the sacrament of faith, the\nsacrament of regeneration, that is, baptism, in which we receive\nthe gift of faith, and are born members of Christ's body, and\nunited to him as our head, and as the head of the regenerated\nrace. In baptism we are regenerated, born into the supernatural\norder, the kingdom of heaven, and have the life of Christ infused\nby the Holy Ghost into us, so that henceforth we become flesh of\nhis flesh, bone of his bone, one with him, and one with all the\nfaithful in him, as really united to him in the spiritual order,\nas we are to Adam in the natural order, and derive our spiritual\nlife from him as really as we derive from God, through Adam, our\nnatural life. This is what we understand St. Paul to mean when he\nsays, \"It is written, the first man, Adam, was made a living\nsoul; the last Adam a quickening spirit.\" The sacraments are all\neffective _ex opere operato_, and through them the Holy\nGhost infuses the grace special to each, when the recipient\nopposes no obstacle to it. Infants are incapable of offering any\nobstacle, and are regenerated by baptism in Christ and joined to\nhim. In the case of adults who have grown up without faith, the\n_prohibentia_, or obstacles to faith, must be removed, by\nreasons that convince the understanding and produce what\ntheologians call _fides humama_, or human faith, such faith\nas we have in the truth of historical events; but this faith is\nwholly in the natural order, although it embraces things in the\nsupernatural order as its material object, and does not at all\nunite us to Christ as our head. It brings us, when faithful to\nour convictions, to the sacrament of baptism, but cannot\nintroduce us into the order of regeneration; the faith that\nunites us to the body of Christ, and through it with Christ\nhimself, or divine faith, is the gift of God, and is infused into\nthe soul by the Holy Ghost in the sacrament of baptism itself.\n[Footnote 71]\n\n    [Footnote 71: Theologians generally teach that an act of\n    supernatural faith, elicited by the aid of a special\n    transient grace, precedes the infusion of the habit of\n    faith.--Ed. Catholic World.]\n\nHence, in her present state, only the baptized belong to the\nsociety called the church of Christ, and only the baptized are\nunited as one body under Christ, their head in heaven, or under\nhis vicar on earth. The satisfaction or atonement made by our\nLord to divine justice, though it was made for all, and is ample\nfor the sins of the whole world, avails individuals, or becomes\npractically theirs, only as through baptism, _vel in re, vel in\nvoto,_ they are really united to Him, and are in Him as their\nhead, as we were in Adam; and hence the dogma, _extra ecclesiam\nnulla salus,_ judged by the world to be so harsh and\nilliberal, is founded in the very nature and design of the\nchurch, of the whole mediatorial work of Christ, and in the very\nreason of the incarnation itself.\n{794}\nTo say a man can be saved out of the church, is saying simply a\nman can be saved out of Christ, without being born of Him,--as\nimpossible as for one to be a man and, in humanity, without being\nborn of Adam. The justice, the sanctity, the merits, the life of\nChrist, can be really ours, only as we are really assimilated to\nHis body, and are in Him as our living head, our Father in the\norder of grace; and hence it was not idly or inconsiderately,\nthat St. Cyprian, one of the profoundest of the fathers, said:\n\"He cannot have God for his father, who has not the church for\nhis mother.\" It lies in the very nature of the case.\n\nThe other sacraments are channels of grace from the head to the\nbody and its members; and are all means of sustaining or\nrestoring the life begotten in baptism, preserving, diffusing, or\ndefending the faith, bringing up children in the nurture of the\nLord, augmenting the life and compacting the union of the body of\nChrist, and solacing individuals in their illnesses, and\ncomforting and strengthening souls in their passage through the\ndark valley of death. The sacramental system is complete, and\nprovides for all our spiritual wants. Baptism initiates us into\nthe life of Christ; the Holy Eucharist nourishes that life in us;\nPenance restores it when lost by sin; Confirmation gives strength\nand heroic courage to withstand and repel the assaults of Satan;\nOrders provide priests for offering the unbloody sacrifice, the\nstewards of the mysteries of Christ, intercessors for the people,\nteachers, directors, and defenders, in the name of Christ, of the\nChristian society; Matrimony institutes and blesses the Christian\nfamily; and Extreme Unction heals the sick, or sustains,\nstrengthens, and consoles the departing. Indeed, the sacraments\nmeet all the necessities of the soul, in both the natural and the\nsupernatural orders, from its birth to its departure, and even\nleave us not on the brink of the grave, but accompany us till\nreceived into the choir of the just made perfect.\n\nThe medium of all sacramental grace is the Man Christ Jesus, the\nWord made flesh, and the sacraments are the media through which\nthe grace of our Lord Jesus Christ flows out from him, the\nFountain,--the grace that begets the new life, justifies,\nsanctifies, and makes pleasing to God, we mean,--is infused by\nthe Holy Ghost into the soul, and constitutes alike the vital\nprinciple of the individual, and of the whole body, quickening\nand sustaining each. In rejecting sacramental grace, the\nheterodox separate the individual soul, and also the church\nherself, from all real communion or intercourse with Christ, or\nGod in his human nature, and accept the seminal principle of\nrationalism, into which we see them everywhere falling. They\ndissolve Christ, and render the Word efficient only in his divine\nnature. The sacraments are the media of our union with God in his\nhuman nature, through which the hypostatic union is, in some\nsort, repeated in us, or made by the Holy Ghost practically\neffectual to the justice and sanctity of believers, and the\nperfecting of the church, which is the body of Christ; and as\nthis grace, in its principle and medium, is Christ himself, all\nwho are born of it are born of him, and the life which they live\nin and by it is the one life of God in his humanity.\n{795}\nLooking at the church, in what theologians call her soul, she is\nliterally and truly the man Christ Jesus, and looking at her as\nthe whole congregation of the faithful, she is the body of\nChrist, and related to him as the body to the soul. It is this\nintimate relation of the church to God in his human nature, that\nled Moehler to represent the church as in some sort the\ncontinuation on earth, in a visible form, of the Incarnation; and\nshe is certainly so closely united to his divine personality,\nthat we may say truly, that he is her personality, as really as\nhe is the personality of the flesh he assumed and hypostatically\nunited to himself. Perrone says that, if we exclude from this\nview all pantheistic conceptions, it is scriptural, and,\nmoreover, sustained by the fathers, especially St. Athanasius,\nwho says, in writing of the Incarnation, \"Et cum Petrus dicat:\ncertissime sciat ergo omnis domus Israel, quia et Dominum eum, et\nChristum fecit Deus, hunc Jesum quern vos crucifixistis: non de\ndivinitate ejus dicit, quod Dominum ipsum et Christum fuerit, sed\nde humanitate ejus, quae est UNIVERSA ECCLESIA, quae in ipso\ndominatur et regnat, postquam crucifixus ipse est: et quae\nerigitur ad regnum coelorum, ut cum illa regnet, qui seipsum pro\nilla exinanivit et qui induta servili forma, _ipsam\nassumpsit_.\" [Footnote 72] Christ, in his humanity, is the\nuniversal church, which rules and reigns in him. We cannot study\nthe great fathers of the church too assiduously, and we wish we\nhad earlier known it. The doctrine we are trying to set forth is\nthere.\n\n    [Footnote 72: Edit. Maur. opp. tom. i. p. 2, p. 887; apud\n    Perrone, Praelect. Locis Theolog. p. I. c. 2; _De Anima\n    Ecclesiae_, Art. I.]\n\nThere is nothing here that favors pantheism:\n  1. Because the hypostatic union is by the creative act of God,\n     as much so as the creation of Adam.\n  2. Because, although God is really the church, regarded in her\n     soul, it is God in his human, which is for ever distinct\n     from his divine nature, and therefore in his created nature.\n  3. Because the Word was incarnated in an individual, not in the\n     species, as some rationalists dream, save as the species was\n     individualized in the individual nature he assumed; and,\n  4. Because, though Christ is identically the soul, the\n     informing principle, the life of the church, the individuals\n     affiliated to the body of the church retain their\n     individuality, their human personality, and therefore their\n     own free-will, personal identity, activity, or their\n     character as free moral agents.\nNot all individuals apparently affiliated to the body of the\nchurch are really assimilated to her, and vitally united to the\nbody of Christ. They pertain to the society externally, but not\nby an inward union with Christ, the head and soul. They are, as\nSt. Augustine says, \"_in_ not _of_ the church,\" as the\ndead particles of matter in the human body which receive not, or\nhave ceased to receive, life from it, and are constantly flying\nor cast off. _Gratia supponit naturam._ All the operations\nof grace presuppose nature, and nature has always the power to\nresist grace. Without grace nature cannot concur with grace; yet\neven they who have been born again, and have entered into the\norder of regeneration, are always able to fall away, or back,\npractically, into the natural order. Not every individual in the\nchurch is assimilated to her, nor every one who is assimilated to\nher will continue to the end. But she herself survives their loss\nand remains always one and the same body of Christ.\n\n{796}\n\nWe have dwelt at great length on this view of the church, not\nbecause we have any special partiality or aptitude for mystic\ntheology, but because we have wished to show that the church is\nnot something purely external and arbitrary. We hold that all the\nworks of God are real, and have a real and solid reason of being\nin the order of things which he has seen proper to create. He\ndoes nothing in the supernatural order, any more than in the\nnatural order, without a reason, and a good and valid reason. We\nhave wished to get at the reality, and to show that Catholicity\nis not a sham, a make-believe, a reputing of things to be that\nare not; but a reality, as real in its own order as the order of\nnature itself, and, in fact, even more so, as nature is mimetic,\nand Catholicity, to borrow a term from Plato, is _methexic_,\nand participates of the divine reality itself. All heterodox\nsystems are shams, unphilosophical, sophistical, and incapable of\nsustaining a rigid examination. Their abettors do not, and dare\nnot, reason on them. The age supposes Catholicity is no better,\nis equally unsubstantial, unreal, dissolving and vanishing in\nthin air at the first glance of reason. We have wished to show\nthe age its mistake, and to let it see that Catholicity can bear\nthe most thorough investigation, and that it has nothing to fear\nfrom the most rigid dialectics. We do not pretend to divest it of\nmysteries, or to explain the mysteries so as to bring them within\nthe comprehension of our feeble understandings, but to show that\nthe church, with all her attributes and functions, has a reason\nin the divine mind and in the order of things of which we make a\npart, and is a real, inward life, as well as an outward form.\n\nFrom the view of the church which we have presented, it is easy\nto deduce her attributes. She is in some sort, according to St.\nAthanasius, the human nature of Christ, or Christ in his\nhumanity, and he is her divine personality, for his humanity is\ninseparable from his divine person. That she is one, follows,\nnecessarily, from the unity of Christ's person, from the fact\nthat, in her soul, she is Christ and, in her body, is his body.\nHer unity is the unity of Christ himself, and the unity of the\nlife she lives in him. There are individual distinctions and even\nvarieties of race or family among men in the natural order, but\nall men are men only in that they are one in the unity of the\nspecies. Jesus Christ is not only the individual man Christ\nJesus, but also in the order of regeneration the species, as Adam\nwas both an individual man and the entire species in the order of\ngenesis or generation. The church as growing out of the\nincarnation, and, in some sense, continuing it, and in her body\ncomposed of individuals born of him and affiliated to him, must\nnecessarily be one, one in her faith, one in her sacraments, one\nin her worship, one in her love, one in the life that flows\nthrough her, animates and invigorates her, from the one Christ,\nwho is her _forma_, or informing principle, as the soul is\nthe informing principle of the body--_anima est forma\ncorporis_, as the holy Council of Clermont defines. Diversity\nin any of these respects breaks the unity of the body and\ninterrupts communion with the head, and the communion of the body\nwith the soul, whence is derived its life. It is therefore all\nChristians have always held heresy and schism to be deadly sins,\nand the most deadly of all. They not only sever those guilty of\nthem from the body or external communion of the church, but from\nher internal communion, from Christ himself, the only source of\nsupernatural and divine life.\n{797}\nThere is not only the grossest ingratitude and baseness in heresy\nand schism, but there is spiritual death in them. By them we die\nto Christ as, in the natural order, we should die to Adam, or\nlose our natural life, if we were deprived of our humanity or cut\noff from communion with its natural head. It is not from bigotry\nor intolerance that the church regards heresy and schism with\nhorror; it is because they necessarily separate the soul from\nChrist, and destroy its spiritual life; because they reject\nChrist, and crucify him afresh. It is so in the very nature of\nthe case, and she can no more make it not so, than the\nmathematician can make the three angles of a triangle _not_\nequal to two right angles. It is not, therefore, without reason\nthat the church has always insisted that to keep the unity of the\nfaith is the first of Christian duties, or that St. Paul bids St.\nTimothy to keep the deposit, and to hold fast the form of sound\nwords; for without the faith it is impossible to please God. We\nknow men may err without being heretics; we know that invincible\nignorance, an ignorance not culpable in its cause, excuses from\nsin in that whereof one is invincibly ignorant; but there is no\ninvincible ignorance where one may know the truth, but will not;\nand invincible ignorance itself cannot regenerate the soul, and\nelevate it to the supernatural order, which can be done only by\nfaith given in baptism.\n\nThe church is holy, holy in her doctrines, her worship, her life,\nand in her living members. This follows necessarily from the\nfact, that in her soul she is Christ, and her body the body of\nChrist. She is holy as he is holy, and because he is holy, as she\nis one because he is one. Doubtless all individuals in her\ncommunion are not holy; for men may, as we have seen, be\n_in_ the church and not _of_ the church. Regeneration,\nor the infused habits of faith, justice, and sanctity, do not\ndestroy one's individuality, or take away one's free-will; men\nmay, if they will, profane the sacraments, eat or drink\nunworthily, even fall from grace, and become gross sinners\nagainst God and criminals before the state. These are not holy,\nbut the reverse; yet all who are born again, and are united by a\nliving bond to the church, may derive, if they will, life from\nChrist through her, and all who do so are holy in her holiness,\nas she is holy in the holiness of Christ. His life, the life of\nGod in his humanity, is their life.\n\nThe attempt to disprove the sanctity of the church from the bad\nconduct of some, if you will many, of her members, overlooks the\nreal character of the church, supposes her to be simply an\naggregation of individuals, living only the life she derives from\nthem; and it also starts from the false assumption that grace is\nirresistible and inamissible. Poor Luther, in the morbid state\ninto which he fell in his convent, could find relief only in\nassuming that, as he had once been in grace, he must be still in\ngrace, and sure of salvation; for grace, once had, can never be\nlost, however one may sin after having received it. Yet this\ndoctrine was false, and but for his morbid, half insane state of\nmind, he would never have entertained it for a moment.\nProtestantism sprang from the diseased state of Luther's soul. A\nsad origin.\n\nThe church is _visible_ as well as invisible. This also\nfollows necessarily. The internal life of the church is\ninvisible, hidden with God; but the body of the church is\nvisible, as was the body of Christ when on earth.\n{798}\nThe church is composed, as we have seen, of body and soul, and\neverybody living on earth in space and time, is by its own nature\nvisible, and would not be body if it were not. The body of the\nchurch is composed of individuals united in the profession of the\nsame faith, and in the participation of the same sacraments,\nunder one head, and is therefore, since the individuals are\nvisible, a visible body. The whole analogy of the case supposes\nher to be both invisible and visible, as are all the sacraments,\nwhich are visible signs or media of invisible grace. The church\nis the medium through which the soul is regenerated and comes\ninto communion with Christ, the head, and derives life from his\nlife; and how if not visible could we know where to find her, or\nbe able to approach her sacraments, and through them be born\nagain, and be united in the supernatural order to Christ, as in\nthe natural order we are united to Adam? No: the church is as a\ncity set on a hill, and cannot be hidden; and is set on a hill,\nmade visible, that all may behold her, and flock within her\nwalls.\n\nThe church is indefectible. This follows from the fact that\nChrist himself whose body she is, is indefectible, and dies no\nmore, but ever liveth and reigneth. No matter whether you call\nthe rock on which he said he would build his church, and against\nwhich the gates of hell shall not prevail, Peter, the truth that\nPeter confessed, or Christ himself, her indefectibility is\nequally asserted. He himself in every case, is the chief\ncorner-stone, is, in the last analysis, the rock; and the church\ncannot fail, not because men may not fail, but because he who is\nher support, her life, cannot fail, since he is God, and as truly\nGod in his human nature as in his divine nature. The heterodox of\nall shades, however they may err as to what she is, hold, as we\nhave seen, that the church is, in some form, indefectible.\n\nThe church is authoritative. Her authority is the authority of\nChrist; and his authority is the authority of God in his human\nnature. \"All power is given unto me,\" he said, \"in heaven and in\nearth,\" and therefore is he exalted to be \"King of kings and Lord\nof lords,\" so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow.\nThe church is Christ in his humanity, and his authority is hers,\nfor it is in and through her that he exercises his authority. To\nresist her, is to resist him, and to resist him is to resist God.\n\"He that despiseth you, despiseth me, and he that despiseth me,\ndespiseth him that sent me.\" This is no arbitrary authority, or\nauthority resting solely on an external commission or\nappointment. It is internal and real in the church, as the body\nof Christ, because he is in her, lives in her, and governs in and\nthrough her. It is, then, no light thing to resist the authority\nof the church; for to do so, is not to resist the authority of\nfallible men, but the authority of God--is to resist the\nauthority of the Holy Ghost himself. The age feels it, and seeks\nto justify itself in rejecting the church by denying the Divine\nsovereignty, or that God has any rightful authority over the\ncreatures he has made. It demands liberty, and M. Proudhon, a man\nof iron logic, maintained that to assert liberty in the sense\nthis age asserts it, we must dethrone God, and annihilate belief\nin his existence. \"Once admit the existence of God,\" he said,\n\"and you must admit the authority claimed by the church, the\npapal despotism and all.\" We have met this denial of the Divine\nsovereignty in the essay on _Rome and the World_, in the\ncurrent volume of the Magazine, and proved, we think\nconclusively, that God is sovereign Lord and Proprietor of all\nhis works.\n{799}\nVery few people are willing to avow themselves atheists, however\natheistic may be their speculations; and most people have, after\nall, a lurking belief that God is sovereign, and has plenary\nauthority over all the creatures he has made. Concede this, and\nthe authority of the Son is conceded; and if the authority of the\nSon is conceded, that of the church cannot be denied or\nquestioned.\n\nThe church is infallible. This follows necessarily, if our Lord\nhimself is infallible, which it were impious to doubt. Our Lord\nis God in his human nature indeed; but God in his human nature is\nGod no less than in his divine nature. In this is the mystery of\nthe incarnation--that God should humble himself, assume the form\nof a servant, annihilate himself, as it were, become man, and be\nobedient unto death, even the death of the cross, and yet be God,\nhave all the fulness of the Godhead dwell in him bodily; this is\na mystery that only God himself can fathom. We know from\nrevelation the fact, and can understand its relation to our\nredemption, justification, sanctification, and glorification; but\nit remains a fact before which we do, and always must, stand in\nawe and wonder. If Christ is God, God in his humanity and also in\nhis divinity, for he includes both natures in the unity of his\ndivine person. He has all the attributes of divinity, while he\nhas also all the attributes of humanity, what the fathers mean\nwhen they say, \"he is perfect God and perfect man.\" He knows all\nthings, and can do all things, and can neither deceive nor be\ndeceived. He is the divine personality of the church, who is not\nthe individual man, but the human nature hypostatically united to\nhimself, as we have seen from St. Athanasius. His life is her\nlife, and she must, therefore, be infallible as he is infallible.\nHe who is infallible as God is infallible lives in her, and she\nlives, breathes, moves, and acts by him and in him. How then, can\nshe be not infallible? How could she err? She could no more err\nas to the truth that lives and speaks in her than God himself,\nfor she is all in him, and in her soul indistinguishable from\nhim. She is not infallible by external appointment or commission\nalone, but really so in herself, in her own life and\nintelligence. We speak of the soul of the church, but as her soul\nand body are not separated or separable, she must be equally\ninfallible in her body, or as the body of Christ, who is the life\nand informing principle of the body. The body of the church, by\nvirtue of its union with Christ is, and must be, infallible. But\nthe body of the church is a society of individuals; and is it\nmeant that all individuals in the communion of the church are\ninfallible? There is in the church regenerated humanity which,\nthough it subsists not without individualization, is not\nindividual. This regenerated humanity is united to Christ, its\nregenerator, and derives its life from him. In all the\nindividuals affiliated or assimilated to the body of the church,\nthere is both this regenerated humanity and their own\nindividuality. As regenerated humanity, no one can err, but in\ntheir individuality all individuals do or may err more or less.\nReason is in all men, and reason within its sphere is infallible;\nbut all men are not infallible in their understanding of what is\nreason, or what reason teaches. Individuals who are in the\ncommunion of the church, so far as made one with her body and one\nwith the indwelling Christ, are infallible in his infallibility;\nbut in their individuality they are not infallible.\n{800}\nHence, when it is said the church is infallible, the meaning is,\nthat she is infallible in the universal, not in the particular,\nor in the sense in which she is one, not in the sense in which\nshe is many. Our faith as individual believers is infallible only\nin believing with the church, what she in her unity and integrity\nbelieves and teaches.\n\nThe church, we should have said before, is catholic. This follows\nfrom her unity and completeness. _Catholic_ means the whole,\nor universal; and since the church is one, and is the body of\nChrist, who is \"the way, the truth, and the life,\" she cannot but\nbe catholic. She is catholic, in the words of the catechism,\n\"because she subsists in all ages, teaches all nations, and\nmaintains all truth.\" She is catholic because in her soul she is\nChrist himself; because in her body she is the body of Christ;\nbecause she is the whole regenerated human race in their head,\nthe second Adam. Having Christ, who, in the order of\nregeneration, is at once universal and individual, she has the\nwhole, has the universal life of Christ, has all truth, for he is\nthe truth itself and in itself, and is the only way of salvation;\nfor there is no other name given under heaven among men whereby\nwe can be saved--neither is there salvation in another. She\nsubsists in all ages, prior to the incarnation, as we have seen,\nby prophecy and promise; since the incarnation, in fact and\nreality; and has authority to teach all nations, and is set to\nmake all the kingdoms of this world the kingdom of God and his\nChrist. Whatever is outside of her is outside of Christ, and is\nnecessarily non-catholic.\n\nThe church is apostolic. This means that she is endowed with\nauthority to teach and govern, not merely that she descends in\nthe direct line from the apostles, the chief agents in founding\nand building her up, though, of course, that is implied in her\nunity and catholicity in time no less than in space. It means\nthat she is clothed with apostolic authority; that is, authority\nin doctrine and discipline. This authority is distinguishable\nfrom the sacerdotal character conferred in the sacrament of\norders. Men may have valid orders, be real priests, and actually\nconsecrate in schism, or even heresy, as is the case with the\nclergy of the schismatic Greek Church and some of the Oriental\nsects. But these schismatic or heretical priests have no\napostolic authority, no authority to teach or govern in the\nchurch, no authority in doctrine or discipline, and all their\nsacerdotal acts are irregular and illicit. This authority, which\nwe have seen the church derives from the indwelling Christ, and\npossesses as his body, we call the apostolate. It is inherent in\nChrist himself, and is and can be exercised only in his name by\nhis vicar, the supreme pontiff, and the pastors of the church\nunder him and in communion with him. All the arguments that prove\nthe visibility of the church prove equally the visibility of the\napostolate, or, as Saint Cyprian calls it, the episcopate; all\nthe arguments that prove the unity of the church prove the unity\nof the apostolate or episcopate; and, therefore, with those which\nprove the visibility of the church, prove a visible centre of\nauthority, in which the episcopate takes its rise, or from which\nthe whole teaching and governing authority under Christ radiates\nand pervades the whole body. The visible church being one,\ndemands a visible head; for if she had no visible head, she would\nlack visible unity; and would be, as to her teaching and\ngoverning authority, not visible, but invisible. Hence Saint\nCyprian, after asserting the episcopate or apostolate, held by\nall the bishops _in solido_, says, that the unity might be\nmade manifest, or the apostolate be seen to take its rise from\none, our Lord established one cathedra and gave the primacy to\nPeter.\n{801}\nSaint Cyprian evidently assumes the necessity of a visible centre\nof authority, so that we may as individual members of the church,\nor as persons outside the church seeking to ascertain and enter\nher communion, know what is her authority and where to find it.\nHence in the definition of the church we began by saying she is\ndefined to be \"the society of the faithful, baptized in the\nprofession of the same faith, and united _inter se_ in the\nparticipation of the same sacraments, and in the true worship of\nGod, under Christ the head in heaven, and under his vicar, the\nsupreme pontiff on earth.\" The papacy is the visible origin and\ncentre of the apostolate, as Christ is himself its invisible\norigin and centre, and is as essential to the being of the\nvisible church as are any of the attributes we have seen to be\nhers. To make war on the supreme pontiff is to make war on the\nchurch, and to make war on the church is to make war on Christ,\nand to make war on Christ is to make war on God and man.\n\nIt is no part of our present purpose to discuss the constitution\nof the hierarchy or external organization of the church, which,\nto a certain extent, is and must be a matter of positive law, and\nwhich, though having its reason in the very nature and design of\nthe church as founded by the incarnation, lies too deep in that\nmystery of mysteries for us to be able to ascertain it by way of\nlogical deduction. The idea of one living God includes the three\npersons in the Godhead; the idea of the incarnation includes the\nchurch; and the idea of the church includes unity, sanctity,\ncatholicity, visibility, indefectibility, infallibility,\napostolicity; and the idea of apostolicity includes authority in\nits unity and visibility; and, therefore, the papacy is the\nvisible origin and centre of the authority of the church as the\nvisible body of Christ. So far we can go by reasoning from the\nideas, principles, or data supplied by revelation. The rest\ndepends on authority, and is not ascertainable by theological\nreason.\n\nWe know from the New Testament that our Lord has set in his\nchurch some to be apostles, some to be pastors, etc.; but these\nare all included in the supreme pontiff, who possesses the\npriesthood, the episcopate, the apostolate, the pastorate, in\ntheir plenitude; and all, except what is conferred in the\nsacrament of orders, is derived directly or indirectly from him,\nas its origin and source under Christ, whose vicar he is. This is\nenough for our present purpose, and it is worthy of remark that\nalways has the papacy been the chief point of attack by the\nenemies of the church; for they have had the sagacity to perceive\nthat it is the keystone of the arch, and that if it can be\ndisplaced, the whole edifice will fall of itself. It is the pope\nthat heresy and schism today war against, and the whole\nnon-catholic world seek to deprive him of the last remains of his\ntemporal authority, because they foolishly imagine that the\ndestruction of the prince will involve the annihilation of the\npontiff. It is the pontificate, and Garibaldi avows it, not the\nprincipality, that they seek to get rid of. But they may despoil\nthe prince; they cannot touch the pontificate. He who is King of\nkings and Lord of lords has pledged his omnipotence to sustain\nit. Our Lord has prayed for Peter that his faith fail not.\n\n{802}\n\nIt were easy for us to cite the commission of our Lord to the\nteaching church, and from that to argue her authority to govern\nunder him, and her infallibility in teaching; but we have had\nanother purpose in view. We have wished, by setting forth the\nrelation of the church to the incarnation, and deducing from that\nrelation her essential attributes, to show how the church can be\nholy and yet individual Catholics can be unholy, and how\nindividuals, all individuals in their individuality, can be\nfallible and err, and yet she be infallible. The heterodox argue\nagainst the church from the misconduct of individual Catholics.\nThey ransack history and collect a long list of misdeeds, crimes,\nand sins, of which Catholics have been guilty, and then ask, How\ncan a church who has done such things be holy or be the church of\nGod? In the first place, we answer, none of the things alleged\nhave been committed by the church, but, if committed at all, it\nhas been by individuals in the church; and in the second place,\neven rebirth in baptism does not, as we have seen, destroy the\npersonality of the individual, or take away his free-will. He can\nsin after grace as well as before, and glorification is promised\nonly to those who persevere to the end. The church is holy by her\nunion with Christ, as his body; individuals are so by their\nassimilation to her, and by living through her the life of\nChrist.\n\nIt is asked again how, if the church is infallible, can\nindividuals be fallible; and if individuals are fallible, and do\nnot unfrequently err, how can the church be infallible? How from\nany possible number of fallibles get an infallible? The answer is\nin principle the same. The church is infallible, for he who\nassumed human nature, and whose body she is, is her personality,\nfor she is individualized in the individual human nature he\nassumed; but the individual is not in himself infallible, for he\nretains his own personality with all its limitations and\nimperfections. The infallibility is in Christ, and proceeds from\nhim to the regenerated race, not to the individual member in his\nindividuality. Our Lord assumed human nature without its human\npersonality, though human nature individualized; but individuals\nassimilated to Christ through the church retain their proper\nhuman personality, and are infallible only in the church, only so\nfar as they think and speak her thoughts, and believe what she\nbelieves and teaches. The pope himself is not personally\ninfallible, but at most only when speaking _ex cathedra_, in\nunion with the mind of the church, and declaring her faith. Hence\nsome theologians maintain that the papal definitions themselves\nare reformable till expressly or tacitly accepted by the\nuniversal church, though we do not agree with them; for we regard\nthe pope as the vicar of Christ in teaching as well as in\ngoverning, and, therefore, as expressing, when speaking\nofficially, the infallible faith of the universal church. For us,\nin the language of St. Ambrose, _ubi Petrus, ibi ecclesia_.\nWhenever the church speaks, she speaks the words of her Lord, and\nis infallible and authoritative; whenever the individual speaks\nin his own individuality, he is fallible, and his words, as his,\nhave no authority. The church can then be infallible and\nindividuals fallible. Consequently, any arguments drawn from the\nerrors and misdeeds of individuals have no weight against the\nchurch.\n\n{803}\n\nIf non-Catholics would pay attention to this, they would write\nfewer books, publish fewer essays, and preach fewer sermons,\nagainst the church, for they have hitherto alleged little or\nnothing against her but the errors and bad conduct of churchmen.\nWhen they wish for examples of the purest and most heroic\nsanctity, they are obliged to seek them in her communion, and the\nmost anti-Catholic among them feel that they may assert without\nproof any doctrine they happen to like, if the church has taught\nand teaches it. It is remarkable with what confidence and mental\nrelish they assert particular doctrines for which they feel that\nthey have her authority. Is it because a secret conviction of her\ninfallibility lurks in the minds of all who are Catholic by their\nreminiscences? and would they not be far less enraged against\nwhat they call \"the seductions of Rome,\" if it were not so, if\nthey did not feel themselves constantly tempted to return to her\ncommunion? They resist her influence, in fact, only by a constant\neffort, by main strength.\n\nBut it is time to bring our remarks to a close. We have opened a\nvast subject, one to which we could do scant justice in a\nmagazine article, even if we were otherwise able, as we are not,\nto treat it not altogether unworthily. No mortal can speak\nworthily of the church of Christ, in which the power, the wisdom,\nthe justice, the love, and the mercy of God, of the indivisible\nand ever Blessed Trinity, in all their infinitude are, so to\nspeak, embodied and displayed. Even God himself cannot do more or\nbetter than he has done in the church, for he gives in her\nhimself, and more than himself even he cannot give. How great,\nhow glorious, how awful is the church! How great, how exceeding\ngreat, the loving-kindness of God, who permits us to call her our\nmother, to draw life from her breasts, and to rest on her bosom!\nWe love the church, who is to us the sum of all things good and\nholy, and we grieve daily over those who know her not; we grieve\nwhen her own children seem to treat her with levity or\nindifference; we are pained to the heart when we hear men, who\nhave souls to save, for whom Christ died, and whom she longs to\nclasp to her loving bosom, railing against her, calling her \"the\nmystery of iniquity,\" and her chief pontiff \"the man of sin.\" We\nseem to see our Lord crucified afresh on Calvary, and to hear her\nsweet voice pleading, \"Father, forgive them, for they know not\nwhat they do.\"\n\n--------\n\n{804}\n\n           Magas; or, Long Ago.\n\n         A Tale Of The Early Times.\n\n\n              Chapter IV.\n\nFour years are past since the incidents above related took place.\nThe scene is neither at Athens nor at Corinth, but at Nauplia.\n[Footnote 73] Here, suddenly, a new school had been opened by a\nlady, which attracts a vast concourse of disciples. The lady is\nyoung, eloquent, beautiful, and the favor she meets with is\nalmost unbounded. Powerful protectors are around her; and\nphilosophy and science bow to her, though they hardly as yet\ndetermine to what school the doctrines she propounds belong.\nAmong those who are attracted by her fame is a lady, just arrived\nfrom Athens to be enrolled among the followers of the new\nAspasia, or Leontium as she is more generally called. Lotis is\nherself no mean or obscure daughter of those muses which this new\nprofessor has worshipped to such advantage. But Lotis is\ndisappointed in her expectations; the entrance to the academy is\nguarded with such jealous care, that admission is not easy; in\nvain she sends her name as daughter of a citizen of Athens of\nsome distinction in the philosophic world; strangers, and above\nall those from Athens, are carefully excluded. Yet the city\ncontinues to derive new lustre from this new propounder of\nexalted themes; and those who were fortunate enough to gain\nadmission to her lectures, rang with applauses of the lucid\ndoctrines taught; they compared her eloquence to that of Plato,\nher music to that of Amphion; and contended that, while all other\nsects were tending to the destruction of ancient truth, this lady\ndemonstrated its existence in every nation, and brought it home\nto the heart and feelings. Lotis heard of nothing throughout the\ncity but praises of the new exponent of wisdom who had travelled\nthroughout the earth, and had learnt to harmonize the teachings\nof all philosophies.\n\n    [Footnote 73: The Napoli di Romania.]\n\n\"'Tis strange she will not admit you,\" said Lydon, a young\ndisciple, to whom Lotis was complaining of her exclusion; \"and\nthe more to be regretted as she is preparing for departure; it\nseems she did not intend to stay so long at Nauplia in the first\nplace; she was waiting for her protector, who had business at\nAthens. They will both set out for Rome when he returns.\"\n\n\"And is he expected soon?\"\n\n\"It is not easy to say. Magas is uncertain in his movements; he\noften acts from mere caprice. He may be here shortly.\"\n\n\"Magas!\"\n\n\"Yes, do you know him?\"\n\n\"I knew one of that name formerly. He was of noble birth; of\nAthens.\"\n\n\"Likely it is the same. He has been travelling for these few\nyears past, and in his travels picked up this philosopheress, who\nhas so enchanted him.\"\n\n\"Is she really so beautiful as they say?\"\n\n{805}\n\n\"Words cannot describe her. She has the attractions of Venus with\nthe majesty of Minerva. When in repose, her calm dignity demands\nour homage; but when she speaks, her features are lighted up with\nan expression which defies description; her eyes, deeply set as\nthey are, dazzle with the intensity of their fire; she does not\ndeclaim, she speaks in a low yet in a distinct and earnest tone\nwhich all hear, words which seem to have been gathered at the\nvery fount of wisdom. There is an indescribable melody in her\nvoice, which melts the heart, and communicates the persuasion\nthat she knows more than she says; that she holds back something\nas fearing the light would be too bright for our unaccustomed\neyes: she infuses the desire to know the truth, the certainty\nthat there is a truth; yet somehow, on reflection, the truth\nitself seems withheld, and we hope next time to hear a fuller\nexposition of that which no one doubts she possesses.\"\n\n\"What is her doctrine?\"\n\n\"It would take herself to expound it, in the clear, musical,\nirresistible manner with which she enforces conviction. I am\nafraid I should only spoil her discourse by repeating it.\"\n\n\"Try, nevertheless.\"\n\n\"She teaches that truth is one--an immutable, eternal essence,\ncontaining within itself all good, all beauty, all harmony, all\nbeing; and that in it resides the creative power.\n\n\"She says this creative power is an emanation of the Deity, or\nrather the Deity himself made manifest. It is termed the Word.\n\n\"And the Word or creative power made the universe--made all those\norbs which we see move around us by night and by day; and\nmoreover, breathed life and intelligence into organic forms, that\nthey might become conscious of, and enjoy existence. But for man\nshe claims a higher life; she says he was created in harmony with\nthe eternal essence, that he might know and enjoy a higher life\nthan that of animals, but that he disregarded the conditions on\nwhich this higher life was held, and by violating them brought\nthe disorder into the world which now oppresses it. Man is the\nonly animal unfaithful to his instincts; the only one who does\nnot trust his own nature; the only one who is unhappy in the\nnon-realization of his aspirations.\"\n\n\"But what remedy does she propose?\"\n\n\"She does not _propose_ one; she _declares_ one. She\nsays the Word became flesh, to communicate to man the Holy Spirit\nhe had lost, and by losing which his misery was occasioned. This\nHoly Spirit comes alike from the Eternal Essence, and from the\nWord which is its manifestation, and purifies the heart of man,\nand so restores it to its primal state, or to a more holy one\nyet.\"\n\n\"But how is this to be effected for ourselves?\"\n\n\"That is just where she disappoints us. She gives glowing\ndescriptions of truth, beauty, beneficence in every sort of\nmanifestation, material and mental, and shows how the aspirations\nof the poets prove that a sublime ideal raises man above the\npractical existence we see him lead every day; but how to obtain\nthis Holy Spirit we have not yet learnt.\"\n\n\"Has she given no rule?\"\n\n\"None but material ones; and according to her, material rules are\nonly types of spiritual ideas. She says, as the body has assumed\ntoo much sway, it must be subdued by violence--that is, by\nmaceration, fasting, and such like. She says passion must give\nway to reason, and the affections be rightly governed. This we\nknew before; but what we want is '_power_' to carry out in\npractice the precepts we admire; or as she would say, 'how to\nobtain that Holy Spirit which is to live in us and direct us.'\"\n\n\"And you think she knows how?\"\n\n{806}\n\n\"I feel satisfied she does; we all feel satisfied she does. Her\nwords come forth as oracles; we question not--we believe. She has\nbeen in India, in Cathay, in Tartary; and everywhere she says the\nsame truth lies hidden under some material form, and needs but\nthe light of the Holy Spirit to pierce through the veil and make\nitself manifest.\"\n\n\"Would I could see her!\"\n\n\"You would be carried out of yourself. Yesterday she spoke on\n_Light_. Material light, with her, is but a type of a far\nhigher light, which penetrates the spirit with beauty, harmony,\nand love, and makes it pure, holy, eternal, and capable of\nreceiving true knowledge. Light, material light, was created at\nthe same moment that intelligences and harmonies of a high\nspiritual order sprang to life, to enjoy it. She went off into\nsomething of this strain;\n\n  God said: Let there be light!\n    Effulgent light!\n  As the wild watery mass chaotic lay;\n  While o'er it did the Holy Spirit move.\n  Obedient to the WORD, the glorious day\n    Sprang into being; and effulgent light,\n      Intelligence all bright\n    Of seraph holy and of angel sweet,\n    In glorious ecstasy their Maker greet,\n  And the deep bliss of their creation prove.\n\n  Spirits of beauty, spirits of power\n  Then wakened to welcome the wonderful hour\n  That gave them existence, with light for their dower!\n  All dazzling the brightness illuming space,\n  Investing all matter with beauty and grace--\n  All lustrous the beauty, the grandeur divine\n  That did in full glory resplendently shine:\n    The Truth--though revealed--\n    As in Type, yet concealed.\n  The rays of the sun are less dazzling to sight,\n  Than the sparkles begemming the pinions so bright\n  Of the spirits who bowed at that mystical shrine,\n  When first with an impulse or instinct divine\n  They blent their sweet voices throughout every sphere,\n  To worship in love that doth worship endear.\n\n  Entrancing and entranced in love to greet,\n    These beauteous spirits kindled into glow,\n    And shed their lustre all that chaos through.\n  And as those rays the harder mediums greet,\n  The sleeping atoms wake as from a trance;\n  The sparks electric shoot in mystic dance,\n  Rousing the power inert to onward move;\n  Impelled by rays of light, create by love,\n  Light's piercing gleams evolve material day\n  And angels' glances brighten up the clay;\n  Refracted rays, the types of virtue bright,\n  Enkindled atoms with their dazzling light;\n\n  Splendor and brightness caught from angels' wings,\n  Infuse their action; and such beauty springs\n  From forth the atoms that, erst void and dark,\n  Had lain awaiting th' ethereal spark,\n  That now material beauty wears a grace\n  In which a type of heaven itself we trace.\n    All hail! material light!\n    Emblem of seraph bright.\n  Glowing with intelligence, the mirror of our God,\n    Still dost thou bless our sense.\n    Vesture of Omnipotence;\n    Still with thy visions bright\n    Dost dispel our darksome night,\n  Thou image bright of heaven, on earth's else dreary sod.\n\n\"You must hear her to catch her fire, to glow with her\nenthusiasm. I give her words imperfectly; but her action, her\ndelivery, the way in which she sounds the very depths of her\nhearers' hearts--_that_ I cannot give you an idea of.\"\n\n\"I must hear her, Lydon; cannot you smuggle me into her\npresence?\"\n\n\"I will try, but it will be difficult; the old door-keeper,\nstationed to keep her company select, will not take a bribe; and\na list of names is daily handed to him of those who are to be\nadmitted. But I will try.\"\n\n\"Has she ever been to Athens?\"\n\n\"I think not. I have heard her speak of Egypt, India, and Cathay,\n[Footnote 74] but of Athens, never. To-morrow I will try to get\nadmission for you as a resident of the city.\"\n\n    [Footnote 74: The ancient name for China.]\n\nBut neither Lydon, nor Lotis, nor any disciple was to be admitted\non the morrow. The report was, that Leontium was ill, very ill; a\nsudden attack of one of those autumnal fevers to which Nauplia is\nsubject, rendered her unable to appear in public. As days went\non, the accounts became even more unfavorable; her delirium\nalarmed her attendants, who spoke of her being given over to the\nfuries, and seemed to shrink from their duties. The arrival of\nMagas, after a few days, enforced attendance on the lady; the\nfever left her; but, weak and subdued, and laboring under the\ninfluence of the evil tongues of her attendants, Leontium awoke,\nto find much of her former prestige taken from her--nay, she even\nfancied Magas himself grown cold.\n{807}\nBut this last was a mere fancy; the intellectuality, the poetic\nfire with which she was endowed, and which never left her,\nanimated her features unconsciously, and the pallor and loss of\nflesh were more than compensated for by the ethereal expression\nwhich exalted her countenance to something beyond the human,\nalbeit there were times when it became a question whether the\n_genius_ that animated them were of Elysium or Tartarus.\nMagas paid homage to the mind, and was held captive; he asked not\nwhence proceeded the charm that entranced him, he yielded to its\ninfluence, and was blest; the altered tone he attributed to the\neffects of fever; and the signs of mental disturbance, reported\nby the attendants, were laid to the account of the delirium\nusually attending such fever; he little dreamed that it was the\nmind acting on the body, not the body acting on the mind, that\ncaused the derangement. . . .\n\n\n              Chapter V.\n\nLotis was a woman, with a woman's curiosity and a woman's\npertinacity. She was one who had risen superior to the prejudices\nof her age and nation. She reverenced, nay, she worshipped\ngreatness; but greatness, with her, meant power of intellect,\nstrength of character, genius; thus, herself a free woman, she\nhad not disdained to form an intimacy with a slave, when, in that\nslave, she recognized superior qualities. She had been the pupil\nof Chione in poetry, music, and eloquence, and had been aware of\nthe passion Magas entertained for the beautiful slave. She was\ncurious to see who had replaced her image in his heart; for she\nremembered enough of Magas to feel assured that, to ensure his\nconstancy, he must worship as well as love; as also, that it\nrequired a woman of commanding genius to hold his mind in bonds.\n\nTherefore was it, that she set a watch upon the house that\ncontained the famed Leontium, that she diligently informed\nherself of her convalescence, and sought to know her daily\nmovements.\n\nOne day, she heard that the lady's litter was being borne from\nthe house to outside the city. Hastily she commanded a litter to\nbe got for herself, and desired the bearers to follow\nwhithersoever the other litter was borne. This was not, however,\naltogether so easy a matter; for the litter was no sooner out of\nthe city gates, than the bearers proceeded rapidly across the\nplains for upward of a mile and a half, when they entered on a\nmore sandy district. Gray, craggy rocks, of a dreary aspect,\nutterly devoid of verdure, began to hem in the prospect, and, at\nlength, the bearers set down the litter in a heap of ruins of\nvery astonishing character. Large stones, measuring twelve or\nfifteen feet in length, four or five in width, and of an equal\nlength, rough and unhewn, were built into walls, without mortar,\nin the most solid manner, the walls being from twenty to\ntwenty-five feet thick. Ruined gateways of unequal size, one\nlooking toward Argos, the other northward, toward the mountain,\npeculiar in shape and construction, attested a workmanship of a\nrace who had long since disappeared, since their work was\nmodelled on another form than that which is termed Grecian, and\nwas beyond the physical strength of the present race. Evidently,\nit was a citadel in ruins.\n{808}\nThe site, an abrupt rock, commanding the adjacent country, was\nadmirably fitted for the purpose; but the city it was to protect,\nthe inhabitants to whom it was to guarantee security, where were\nthey to be found? The enclosure, about seven hundred and fifty\nfeet long by one hundred and sixty broad, was nearly filled with\nrubbish, or rather with stupendous stones; and outside of the\nenclosure all traces of the former city were completely\nobliterated. It was difficult to account for the invalid lady's\nchoice of such a site for her meditation; but certain it is, she\ngot out, clambered over the stones, motioned her attendants to\nkeep themselves at a distance, and disappeared within the\nenclosure.\n\nLotis was now at a loss what to do. She descended from her\nlitter; but to plunge at once into that unknown abyss of sand and\nruin, she had hardly courage. Then what excuse could she frame\nfor intruding? Hesitatingly she proceeded; but curiosity got the\nbetter of every other feeling; she climbed up the ruined citadel\nand looked down. It was not possible! yes, it was true--it could\nbe no other! There, seated on a fallen column, leaning against\nthe ruined arch, sat--_Chione_, the very picture of\ndespair!\n\nTo descend softly, so as not to alarm her--to glide to her side\nas gently as the rugged pathway would allow, was the next idea,\nand this Lotis accomplished, though with some difficulty; she\nstood beside her former friend, unseen, unheard. Chione's\ndistraction was too intense, her reverie too deep; her eyes were\nturned upward, tearless from the very depth of her emotion, and\nher hollow voice sounded at intervals but these sad words:\n\n\"My God! to know thee only by my loss! My God! can it be\npossible? My God! may I never, never love thee again? Thou first,\nthou fairest, thou only love!\"\n\nThe despair of these accents, the deadly pallor of Chione's\ncheeks, the attitude, the site, the recollection of the past,\nstruck a pang through the frame of Lotis; her tongue seemed to\ncling to the roof of her mouth; in her excitement she could but\nadvance one step, lay her trembling hand on her friend's\nshoulder, and utter one word, \"Chione!\"\n\nThe lady started, and gazed earnestly at the form before her. It\nwas some minutes before she spoke; when she did so, the tone of\nher voice was very low and soft; she simply said, \"And what\nbrings Lotis to the ruins of Tiryns?\"\n\n\"To see the famed philosopher of the east. Three weeks have I\nbeen in the city, awaiting an introduction. This morning I\nfollowed the litter, that I might at least see the celebrated\nlady who has made all Nauplia ring with her name.\"\n\n\"And you are punished for your curiosity by finding only Chione.\"\n\n\"I should have been yet more earnest, had I known it was Chione I\nwas seeking. Your disappearance made a great sensation among your\nfriends, and none missed you more than myself. You had bidden me\nhope, after that day at the temple, that our intercourse was to\nbe renewed, but my hope was cheated. Why did you leave without\ntelling me you were going?\"\n\n\"I did not know it myself. My mistress disposed of me to a friend\nof hers at Corinth. I was taken away in the night.\"\n\n\"And how came you with Magas again?\"\n\n\"I led a dreary life at Corinth. The people I was with were good\nenough, but unlettered, and the woman was entirely given to\nhousekeeping. She put a distaff into my hands, and thought badly\nof me that I would not spin from morning to night. I could not;\nmy heart had been devoted to philosophy, to poetry, to art; this\ndrudgery revolted me, though, as I said, the people were good,\nand of the true religion.\"\n\n{809}\n\n\"And what religion was that?\" asked Lotis, with a smile.\n\n\"Nay, ask me not; I cannot tell you now. I will tell you how I\ngot away, or rather was forced away. One day, when on a errand\nfor my mistress, I encountered Magas, and he seized me. He would\nhear no remonstrance; his boat was in the bay; he hurried me off.\nI went with him through Asia, visiting the temples, the schools\nof philosophy, the halls of art, the academies of science. Magas\nhas been to me a patron, friend, encourager; he has brought me\nout, induced me to appear in public; and in fact, done all he\ncould to make my life an elysiun. Impetuous as he is, to me he\nhas been faultless.\"\n\n\"And yet you are not happy?\"\n\n\"Happy! Happiness is scarcely a plant of this earth, Lotis!\"\nsighed Chione.\n\n\"Then why have you spoken as if it were attainable? Why have you\nfired all hearts, in speaking to them of an indwelling God, who\nis to restore all things to more than primitive order and\nhappiness? Why have you called the human soul the divine image,\nif it is not capable of happiness?\"\n\n\"I said not that the human soul is not capable of happiness. I\nsaid only that supreme happiness is not a plant of this earth,\nand that is true. The earth has been cursed through the fault of\nman; it cannot yield us this happiness.\"\n\n\"But you give your hearers to understand that, through some means\nor other, happiness may dwell in our hearts; therefore I say,\nChione, why dwells it not with you? Have you the means, or have\nyou not?\"\n\n\"I _had_,\" said Chione sadly. \"Once I had the means of\nhappiness; once I was blest. I have forfeited the means, I am\nhappy no more.\"\n\n\"Are they not recoverable then?\" asked Lotis.\n\n\"I hardly know. Sometimes I think on certain conditions they\nmight be; but those conditions, those conditions, O Lotis!\"\n\n\"Are they so very hard?\"\n\n\"They bid me renounce all! This life of excitement, this love of\nMagas, this applause of the multitude, this luxury of\nexistence--to become again a slave. You know it well, Lotis, I am\nbut a runaway slave.\"\n\n\"Your philosophy must be false, Chione, which implies such hard\nconditions. Slavery is a necessary evil, I grant; but still it is\nan evil to such as you, whose mind is exalted above the level of\nthe herd. I cannot think that you are bound to slavery by any\ndivine law; and as for human law, why, if you can keep clear of\nthat, as you have done lately, who on earth will blame you?\"\n\n\"You do not understand, you cannot understand how I am bound.\nMagas, you are aware, is not--can never be my husband.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't see why he _might_ not be, if he paid the\npurchase-money for you, freed you, and then married you.\"\n\n\"He is too proud to marry a nameless slave!\"\n\n\"But you are not nameless; you have made yourself a name in all\nthe cities through which you have passed. We have heard of your\nfame at Smyrna, at Halicarnassus, at Ephesus, at--\"\n\n\"Stop! Unconsciously you are paining me. It was at Ephesus I\nreceived the blow which is destroying me.'\n\n{810}\n\n\"At Ephesus!\"\n\n\"O Lotis! if I could but tell you of the hollowness of this\nphilosophy the world so much admires; if I dared speak to you of\nthe light that shineth in darkness, though the darkness\ncomprehendeth it not; if my lips were not profane; if my life\nwere not blighted like a tree struck by lightning; then I might\ntell you of that wisdom which is not in man's speech, but 'in the\npower of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.' But I\ndare not; I am unhallowed, unworthy. Leave me, Lotis. Seek\nanother teacher.\"\n\n\"What did you hear at Ephesus that has so unnerved you?\"\n\n\"I will tell you, though to you the words will bear no meaning.\nBut my heart must ease itself. I was walking through the streets,\nwhen I observed a crowd entering one of those temples frequented\nby the new sects. I entered with the rest. The preacher was\ndilating on the necessity of his auditors having the\n_spirit_ of Christ, which if ye have not, he said, ye are\nnone of his. He then proceeded to show how the world's sin had\ncrucified the Lord of heaven; how essential purity, truth, virtue\nare to the Christian character; how every Christian's body was to\nbecome the temple of the Holy Spirit; and how impossible it was\nfor the Holy Spirit to dwell with aught unholy, or aught not in\nunion with God. Hence the absolute necessity of sanctity to be\nwrought in us by the _power_ of God, to whom we must\nsurrender our being. He then went on to speak of such Christians\nas had apostatized; and the words, he used burned into my heart\nlike words of fire. 'It is impossible,' he said, 'for those who\nwere once enlightened, and have tasted of the heavenly gift, and\nwere made partakers of the Holy Spirit, and have tasted the good\nword of God, and the powers of the world to come, if they fall\naway, to renew them again unto repentance; seeing they crucify to\nthemselves the Son of God afresh, and put him to an open shame.'\n[Footnote 75] I heard no more; I fainted away. When I waked from\nmy trance, I was at home, and Magas was standing over me. His\nanxiety respecting my health scarce enabled him to suppress his\nanger at my having been seen in a Christian assembly.\"\n\n    [Footnote 75: Hebrews vi 4-6.]\n\n\"That I can easily believe; nor do I see what you wanted with\nsuch low company, who have evidently bewitched you; for what need\nyou care what was said in such an assembly as that?\"\n\n\"What indeed, what indeed! O my God! that it should come to this,\nthat I dare no longer pronounce thy name, that I should be\nashamed of thee!\" And Chione buried her face in her hands, and\ngave way to an excessive fit of weeping.\n\nLotis was puzzled. \"Is this the great philosopher?\" thought she;\n\"the new Sappho, the Aspasia of the age? Is it illness or magic\nthat has worked this mental derangement? for derangement it\nevidently is.\"\n\nLotis bent over her friend, endeavoring to console her, yet not\nknowing how, when she was suddenly relieved by the sound of\nhorses' hoofs. She climbed to the top of the ruins. Magas was in\nsight. She returned to whisper the news to Chione. Chione rose,\ndried her tears by a strong effort of her will, and prepared to\ngreet her protector with a smile. He was evidently in an\nill-humor.\n\n\"What sudden caprice is this? What possessed you to come out here\nto a city of the past? A fine place this for a sick woman!\"\n\n\"You said you were going to Argos. I knew not that you would\nrequire my presence.\"\n\n{811}\n\n\"I was going to Argos, but was hindered when setting out; and\nwhen I inquired for you, and heard you had come hither, I put off\nmy journey to learn what attraction could draw you to this\nplace.\"\n\n\"The attraction of the past. Who raised these walls, Magas?\"\n\n\"How should I know? The Cyclops, I presume. Who else could have\nlifted these immense stones? What have you to do with who raised\nthem or who destroyed them?\"\n\n\"The place was in harmony with my feelings, with the meditation I\nwas about to make on the transitory nature of human grandeur. It\nwill be my next theme.\"\n\n\"You might choose a livelier one to advantage, Leontium,\" said\nMagas. \"You are destroying your own mind by cherishing these\ngloomy thoughts. If, however, you want a fallen city to meditate\non, Mycenae is but seven miles ahead; and there you may ruminate,\nif you will, on all the incidents of the Homerian epoch; and the\nwild, savage waste may be the savage emblem of the royal\nAgamemnon; while the ruins, which are absolutely magnificent, may\nprove another puzzle--as to how the mighty stones that form the\nedifices could have been lifted there. I measured two myself.\nThey were immense. One single stone extends across a wide\npassage, and rests on the massive walls, forming the lintel.\nAnother extends from the lintel to the interior of the edifice.\nIt is thirty feet long, five feet thick, and twenty in width. It\nis becoming fashionable to doubt the existence of the Cyclops.\nBut, I'd like to know, if _they_ did not lift these stones\ninto their places, who did do it? No mortal men of the present\nrace would be able. So I go in for the old tradition of Cyclopean\nworkers.\n\n\"Ah! Lotis, I did not observe you. I inquired for you at Athens,\nbut was told you were travelling. Did you come out here with\nLeontium? Our secret will be safe with you, of course?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" answered Lotis. \"But I think you are somewhat too\nnear Athens for safety from other tongues. You will not be able\nto keep the secret long from the public.\"\n\n\"I shall not try. We are bound for Rome shortly, and there we\nshall be safe. I would _purchase_ safety, if safety were to\nbe bought; but the mistress who held my Chione will not part with\nher right. Many offers have been made to her. She still hopes to\nreclaim Chione, and will not listen to money proposals. When you\nreturn, you may renew the offers, if you will favor me so much. I\nshould prefer a legal release, if I could get one; but it matters\nlittle.\"\n\n\"You have not told me to whom I am to apply.\"\n\n\"I thought you knew. To the Lady Damaris.\"\n\n\"Why, she is said to be a Christian.\"\n\n\"That does not invalidate her rights.\"\n\n\"No; but it causes me surprise that it should be herself who\nrefuses freedom to Chione. I know many cases where she has freely\ngranted it.\"\n\n\"She is an enigma, and so are all these people. It is not worth\ntalking about. I don't believe she'd prosecute her claim to\nChione, did she know Chione and Leontium were one and the same\nperson.\"\n\nDuring this colloquy Chione had sat motionless as a statue, and\nhad seemed so absorbed in her own thoughts as to be unmindful of\nwhat was said. On its being ended, she rose, and requested Magas\nto call for her litter. When he had departed to do so, she turned\nto Lotis, and said earnestly:\n\n{812}\n\n\"Lotis, when you return to Athens, will you do me a favor?\"\n\n\"Assuredly, I will.\"\n\n\"Let the Bishop Dionysius know, in _confidence_, who\nLeontium is, and what I said to you of Ephesus today.\"\n\n\"The Christian bishop?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"For what earthly purpose?\"\n\n\"No matter. Magas is coming back. Do you promise me?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"And you will keep the secret to all the rest of the world?\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\n\"Even to Magas?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Thanks, thanks. We will return home now.\"\n\n\n              Chapter VI.\n\n\"Chione in grief, and a prey to despair!\"\n\nIt was the Christian bishop who spoke, and his interlocutor was\nLotis.\n\n\"Even so, my lord. During her illness the report was that she was\nbeset by the furies. When I saw her, it seemed as though the hand\nof some avenging god lay heavy on her. If, my lord, you\nChristians are adepts in magic, as many people believe I would\nask you to disenthrall her from the influence under which she\nsuffers, whatever it may be.\"\n\n\"And it is Chione who is this famous Leontium, who has made so\ngreat a sensation in the eastern cities?\" continued Dionysius, as\nif not hearing the last speech of Lotis.\n\n\"It is so.\"\n\n\"From what I have heard, her eloquence is something unusual.\"\n\n\"I too have heard so; but for myself, I was never present at one\nof her instructions. I saw her alone, bowed down as it were\nbeneath the weight of the truth she was carrying; but unable to\nspeak the last word, that word which promised to be the key to\nall the rest, the solution of mystery, the harmonizer of ideas.\nThat last word was not spoken at Nauplia; her pupils awaited it,\nbut her tongue was as it were paralyzed. Some powerful influence\nseemed ever to prevent her from speaking it.\"\n\n\"Poor Chione!\"\n\n\"My lord, may I venture to ask of you, do you believe, as some\ndo, that Chione is in possession of a truth she dare not declare?\nthat some divine hand is pressing down within her the word that\nis panting for expression? Is Chione bewitched?\"\n\n\"She is suffering from a supernatural influence, that is\ncertain.\"\n\n\"And can you deliver her? Why else did she send me to you?\"\n\n\"If she so _will_, she may be delivered; but the\nsupernatural Word she cannot speak has been offended; the\nsacrifice he demands is great; will she make it?\"\n\n\"If in her power, I think she will. She is a mystery to me, as\nall life seems to be. What is that Word Chione has offended? how\ndid she offend? what must she do to appease the divine wrath?\"\n\n\"My child,\" said the old Areopagite solemnly, \"truth is not a\nplaything wherewith to amuse the intellect, not a toy to while\naway a tedious hour with. Truth is the manifestation of the\neternal harmonies, those harmonies which man has interfered with,\ninto which he has introduced a discord, the discord of sin. The\n_humility_ of man, the recognition of sin, such a\nrecognition as brings the voluntary humiliation of self, must\nprecede his admission to the kingdom where those harmonies are\nrestored. The vainglory of philosophy, the pride of science,\nhowever correct may be their surmises, are without _life_.\n{813}\nThey can neither restore these harmonies, nor catch a glimpse of\nthe glory of that eternal comprehensive Unity, in which all\nbeauty, melody, and good reside; that eternal idea of which\nmatter is the varied type. A type now deranged by man's act so\nhopelessly, that human power is utterly inadequate to its\nrestoration.\"\n\n\"But the restorer comes; the expectation of nations points to\nthis,\" said Lotis; \"and that expectation is everywhere; in India\nas in Cathay, in Greece and among the barbarians.\"\n\n\"The deliverer is come already,\" said Dionysius.\n\n\"Then why is he not proclaimed? Is this the unspoken word that\nChione might not utter? Why, if the deliverer is here, is he not\nannounced?\"\n\n\"Because, before the disorder of exterior things can be remedied,\nthe _interior_ remedy must be applied to the soul. Exterior\nforms obey the interior impulse. Man is lord of matter, and man's\ndisordered soul reflects itself upon the material subject to him.\nThe disorder manifest throughout exterior creation will be\nremedied when the disordered spirit of man is healed. Therefore\nis it that, now that the restorer is come, he is not recognized;\nfor he insists on the purification of the spirit, on the\nannihilation of selfishness, on the necessity of being reunited\nin spirit with the essential good as a precursor of other\nrenovations. That done, exterior good follows as of course.\"\n\n\"Even as wealth follows industry, and health the practice of\ntemperance,\" said Lotis.\n\n\"Natural virtue brings its results sometimes,\" said the venerable\nteacher, \"when justice rules; but as matters stand now, the\nwinner of wealth has often the least share. Oppression is one of\nthe inevitable results of making self-love the centre of action\ninstead of taking the justice of the eternal God for our guide.\nMan's soul was created in the image of God. Hence its affinity\nfor beauty, its appreciation of lofty idea, its glowing\nenthusiasm at recital of heroic deeds: but man's will snapped the\ncord that bound it to the eternal will. Enamored of his own\ncharms, he forgot the source of his beauty; proud of his mighty\nintellect, he has ceased to adore the God of all understanding;\nfreeing himself from the shackles of duty, he cast away alike the\nnourishment of his beauty and the food of his towering intellect.\nMan's _will_ must be directed to DESIRE God ere he can\nregain good. Hence the work of the Redeemer is interior; it is\nthe implanting of the Holy Spirit as the necessary step to the\ntrue redemption.\"\n\n\"Chione's philosophy resembles this in some degree,\" said Lotis.\n\nDionysius did not answer, Lotis resumed.\n\n\"Who is this _Word_ of whom Chione speaks?\"\n\nThe answer came slowly, solemnly, deliberately, and it fell on\nthe ear of Lotis, as if a divine power accompanied it:\n\n\"Jesus Christ.\"\n\n\"The Saviour anointed,\" whispered she to herself, as she\ntranslated the words: \"The Saviour of men, anointed by God.\"\nThere was evidently a revelation to her, conveyed by the words;\none of those miraculous influences which, in the early days,\n\"long ago,\" were so common among truth-seeking souls. Her reverie\nlasted long, and the good bishop did not interrupt her. He knew\nthat the Holy Spirit was shedding his influence upon her.\nSuddenly she turned upon him with the question:\n\n{814}\n\n\"And is Jesus Christ an inspired man, or is he God?\"\n\n\"Jesus Christ is the Word of God, and the Word was made flesh,\nand dwelt among us,\" answered the bishop.\n\nLotis replied not. The bishop continued in a very low voice:\n\n\"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and\nthe Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All\nthings were made by him: and without him was not anything made\nthat was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of\nmen: and the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness\ncomprehended it not.\" (St. John i. 1-5.)\n\nAnd Lotis fell on her knees, saying, \"Lead me to him, to the\nDivine Word, to Jesus Christ, for I will have no other master.\"\n\n\"It is well, my child,\" said the good bishop, laying his hand\nsolemnly on her head. \"It is well. May he who has thus directed\nyour choice give you the further grace to continue unto the end.\nBut, Lotis, you must learn the price of redemption; you must know\nwho the Master is you have chosen.\"\n\nAnd the venerable bishop, in a few short but impressive words,\ntraced the history of the world from Adam's fall, through the\nline of patriarchs, through the perversion of morals which called\nforth the deluge. He spoke of the call of Abraham, of the mission\nof Moses, of the succession of the prophets unto John the\nBaptist; and finally, of the advent of our Lord himself; of his\ncoming to his own, and of his own receiving him not; of his life,\nmiracles, and crucifixion; of his death, resurrection, and\nascension; and finally, of the descent of the Holy Spirit.\n\nLotis listened and believed, and demanded to be washed from her\nsins, that she might understand. She, yet a neophyte, seemed to\ncomprehend that sin forms the darkness which hinders the soul\nfrom contemplating God. \"Wash me from my sins,\" she said, \"that I\nmay see the light.\"'\n\n\n\n  To Be Continued.\n\n---------\n\n            Affairs In Italy.\n\n\nThough the disgraceful part which the Italian monarchy has played\nin the late invasion of Rome by marauding bands is now a matter\nof common notoriety, elaborate efforts are still being made by a\nmajority of the Italian, and a certain portion of the European,\npress to deny the well-known facts of the case. These organs are,\nhowever, only following the illustrious example set to them by\nVictor Emmanuel and Count Menabrea, whose official declarations\nthat the revolutionists had acted entirely without the authority\nand knowledge of the Italian government are certainly the most\npitiful subterfuges to which the king and the premier of a great\npower could possibly have been reduced. Indeed, we can hardly\nconceive a more humiliating spectacle than that which the Italian\ngovernment presents in solemnly assuring the world that it had\nnot been secretly leagued with filibusters, while, to crown the\ndisgrace of the spectacle, nobody believes a word of its denial.\n{815}\nBut General Menabrea has attempted even more than this. In his\nanswer to the invitation to the European Conference, dated\nNovember 19th, 1867, he had the assurance to state that Rome, not\nItaly, was the real cause of the present trouble. On another\noccasion he ventured upon a somewhat similar statement by saying\nthat experience had taught Italy the impossibility of maintaining\nfriendly relations with her neighbor on the Tiber! It is\ndifficult to believe that any public man should care so little\nfor his reputation for truth as to utter such reckless\nfalsehoods. The whole history of the past eight years gives him\nthe lie, for it proves clearly that every provocation has come\nfrom that Piedmont which is now styled Italy. Provocations by\nresort to the revolution, as in the seizure of the Legations in\n1859, and again in that of the Marches and Umbria in 1860, when\nViterbo, the capital of the patrimony, was also taken by force;\nprovocations by resort to legislation, as in the breach of the\nconcordats, in the civil marriages in an unchristian form, in the\nsuppression of the spiritual orders, in the confiscation of the\necclesiastical property, in the violent measures adopted against\nthe episcopate, and in the parliamentary resolutions about Rome;\nprovocations by the personal speeches and acts of King Victor\nEmmanuel, whom neither the sense of his exalted station nor the\ntraditions of his strictly orthodox dynasty have deterred from\nexpressions which he will yet have cause to deplore when the\nfruits they are destined to bear become fully apparent; in a\nword, all the provocations have come from the side of Italy. All\nthe evidences of moderation and conciliation (as was seen to the\nvery last in the case of the bishoprics) have come from the side\nof the Holy Father; but they were always repaid with the blackest\ningratitude. The piratical raid against the church state was\nmerely the fit ending and the logical result of that long series\nof aggressive measures which furnishes the counts in the\nindictment against the Italian monarchy. We need not recapitulate\nthe provocations that have for years preceded the invasion of\nGaribaldi's filibusters; for everybody will readily recall to\nmind the machinations to excite a spirit of discontent in the\nholy city and the surrounding districts; the aid and comfort\nextended to the self-styled Roman Revolutionary Committee, which\nhas its seat at Florence; the libels against the person of the\nsupreme pontiff and his sacred office, which have disgraced not\nonly the press, but the floor of the two chambers; the\nencouragement afforded to every incendiary and fugitive from\nRoman justice, and the marked favor shown to all such characters\nby the authorities. Indeed, but for the agency which the Italian\nmonarchy had in bringing about the invasion, that demonstration\nwould never have become what it is, one of the most flagrant\noutrages known to the law of nations in modern days. In the midst\nof profound peace, without a shadow of an excuse or a pretext on\nthe other side, Italy has not only tolerated, but sanctioned, the\npublication of the most indecent attacks on the head of the\nchurch. She has permitted the circulation of revolutionary\nmanifestoes and appeals against a neighboring state, whose\nintegrity the honor of the nation was pledged to respect and\nenforce.\n{816}\nShe has suffered the raising of money and arms for avowedly\nhostile and unlawful purposes; the opening of recruiting stations\nin public places, and under the direct patronage of high\nofficials; the discussion of general plans for the campaign; the\nconcentration of armed bands along her frontiers, and that under\nthe eyes of troops ostensibly stationed there to disperse and\nprevent all such gatherings. She has enacted a farce, as foolish\nas it was discreditable, in regard to the chief conspirator\nhimself, and carried this so far as to order her navy to blockade\na deserted rock, while he was held in reserve, to be turned loose\nwhen the loyalty of the pope's subjects and the incapacity of the\nminor chiefs threatened to defeat the whole enterprise. All these\nare well-authenticated facts, and have since been proved by the\nadmissions made by the Italian press. Thus, for instance, the\nFlorence _Diritto_, of November 25th, 1867, uses the\nfollowing significant language: \"All the world,\" says this\npopular organ of the Italian democracy, in an article sharply\ncriticising the past policy of Ratazzi's cabinet, \"will remember\nthat the Garibaldian movement, _which was openly tolerated in\nits last phase by the government_, had given rise to the\ngeneral belief that the authorities were aware of everything\ngoing on, and fully prepared to assume all the consequences.\nPublic opinion and the public press, as they beheld the\ngovernment borne along by the mighty popular torrent, unanimously\napproved of the supposed determination of the ministry, and\nrejoiced to think that such a patriotic and exalted object as the\nacquisition of Rome should at once have the support of\nGaribaldi's irregular action and the avowed sanction of the\ngovernment. The whole nation fancied that the ministry had taken\nall the precautions necessary to attain its ends in one way or\nother, and in any case. .... It is therefore impossible for us to\ndescribe how bitter the disappointment was when France intervened\nat the most critical moment. Rome remained quiet, Prussia gave no\nsign of moving, and the Italian army proved entirely unprepared\nfor the emergency.\" It is in the face of such admissions as these\nthat King Victor Emmanuel has ventured to issue a manifesto\ndenouncing the invasion of St. Peter's patrimony as having been\nundertaken without the authority and knowledge of his government,\nand that his prime minister has dared to say it was Rome, not\nItaly, which should be blamed for the renewed interference of\nFrance.\n\nIt is the perfidy and lawless ambition of the Italian monarchy\nwhich have brought the French back to Rome. If this be regarded\nas a misfortune--as, no doubt, in a certain sense it is, for a\nforeign occupation always gives rise to an abnormal condition,\nwhose evils are great and whose effects often prove lasting--to\nwhom does the guilt attach? Not to the Holy Father, not to the\nRomans, who have turned a deaf ear to the whispers of treason,\nalthough their temptation was not great when we take into account\nthe present state and prospects of the monarchy! But there is no\nneed for us to indulge in sinister prognostications. Even had the\nItalian forces stationed on the line, where they neither\nprotected the papal territory nor indicated the good faith of\ntheir own government, really prevented the invasion, the crisis\nmust have come sooner or later. It was unavoidable from the very\nnature of the relations between the two neighbors. But it is\nextraordinary that the party who is alone to blame for it should\nclaim as a reward to be released from the obligations contracted\nby the September convention.\n{817}\nWe cannot bring ourselves to believe for a moment that the recent\noutrage will result to the advantage of its authors and abettors.\nIn the sense of the parliamentary resolutions passed at Turin and\nFlorence, the solution of the Roman problem means nothing less\nthan the destruction of the papal rights, and the spoliation and\nthe oppression of the church. It will be well to bear this fact\ndistinctly in mind. The new monarchy has unmistakably shown how\nit means to respect its most solemn obligations and the vested\nrights of others; and, above all, it has shown how it would like\nto treat the head of the church. And this Italy dares to demand\nthat the gate of the papacy should be intrusted to her\nsafe-keeping? Were it possible to obliterate the whole history of\nthe last eight years from men's recollection, the occurrences of\nthe last few months would alone suffice to warn Christendom\nagainst listening to such a proposition. The Roman Catholic\ncommunity will hardly feel disposed to see Victor Emmanuel the\nintestate heir of Garibaldi at Rome, as it has seen him once\nbefore at Naples.\n\nThe Roman problem requires, no doubt, a solution, for the French\nare merely a momentary expedient. The subject is one that\ninterests the whole world, and which demands a settlement that\nwill not again expose the supreme pontiff to the danger of being\nbesieged at the Vatican, as was his handful of defenders in the\nBicoque Monte Rotondo, where they fought one against ten. We\nshall not even touch here upon the claims of the pope as a mere\ntemporal ruler, and the most ancient on earth at that. Our\nreligious sentiment rebels against dragging a question whose two\ncomponent elements are indivisible into the narrow sphere of\npolitics, and still more into the sphere of revolutionary\npolitics which has made the nationality idea its god. The\nCatholic sentiment resents the base suggestion of peril to the\nindependence of the church and its head. It cannot conceive a\npopedom like the one to which the Byzantine exarchs have been\nreduced. It wants no repetition of a Greek patriarchate among\nGreeks and Turks. This is a question which concerns the entire\ncivilized Christian world, and not the Roman Catholic powers\nalone. The royal speech from the throne to the North German Diet\ncontained a passage alluding to the important interests which\nGermany and Italy are supposed to hold in common, and the chances\nof Prussia's support in the case of a war with France about Rome\nhave, no doubt, entered largely into the calculations of the\nFlorence cabinet. But Prussia alone has over eight millions of\nRoman Catholic subjects, who will never consent to the total\ndestruction of the foundation on which the independence of their\nchurch rests, and who will therefore oppose every attempt to rob\nthe pope of his temporality. Such, at least, is the inference\nwhich we are warranted in drawing from the spirit displayed\nduring the last month in Germany, and especially at the Mainz\nmeeting, where two thousand leading Catholics from all parts of\nthe country discussed the dangers of the church state. The\nfollowing are the resolutions which were passed unanimously on\nthat occasion:\n\n{818}\n\n  \"1. Divine Providence has made the successor of St. Peter the\n  sovereign of the Roman church state, and raised him above all\n  mere national interests, that he might be the subject of no\n  political power, but manage the religious affairs of all\n  Christian nations in perfect independence. This sovereign\n  right, conferred by God and confirmed  by more than ten\n  centuries possession, is neither to be surrendered by the\n  Catholic Church, nor to be taken away from it by diplomatic\n  treaties or a revolutionary popular vote. The arbitrary and\n  chimerical scheme to make Rome the capital of Italy can never\n  be considered in comparison with the rights and interests of\n  Catholic Christendom.\n\n  2. The assertion that the pope, as a priest, is unfit to be the\n  head of a political government, and therefore unable to promote\n  the temporal welfare of his subjects, is an untruth\n  sufficiently refuted by the history of a thousand years. The\n  maintenance and restoration of the pope's political authority\n  in its original integrity is the only means to save Italy from\n  the demoralization which threatens her from the secret\n  societies and King Victor Emmanuel's policy. To have the Holy\n  Father in her midst constitutes to-day, as it has during her\n  whole Christian past, the highest honor, the true greatness,\n  and the blessing of Italy.\n\n  3. It is the duty of princes, and of every sovereign power, to\n  protect the independence of the head of the church to which\n  their Catholic subjects belong; and the Catholics of all\n  nations are entitled to demand that these obligations should be\n  sacredly observed. A government which countenances the\n  violation of the supreme pontiffs rights makes itself the\n  accomplice of the revolution. To suffer the government of\n  Victor Emmanuel to encourage with impunity or to undertake\n  itself enterprises tending to imperil the security of the Roman\n  church state, is to undermine all respect for the law of\n  nations and the principles of justice.\n\n  4. Love gifts, raised by the free, unanimous, and untiring\n  devotion of all Catholics, must supply the Holy Father with\n  that assistance which is indispensable for the government of\n  the church, as long as treachery and force withhold from him\n  the enjoyment of the estates bestowed on him in the past for\n  the advantage of all Christendom. For this purpose a general\n  organization must be formed.\n\n  5. In view of the present crisis, the maintenance of the army\n  which the Holy Father requires for the protection of his own\n  person and that of his loyal subjects is a matter which\n  profoundly concerns the whole Catholic world. It should be a\n  question of honor for every nation to be represented among its\n  ranks, and Germans could not dedicate their lives to a nobler\n  cause.\"\n\nBut apart from the influence of these eight millions of Roman\nCatholics in Prussia, no state which recognizes the binding force\nof its own civilizing mission, and claims to be governed by law,\ncould take part in such a dangerous violation of international\nunity, whatever its political affinities and antecedents might\notherwise happen to be. Germany may or may not have vast\ninterests in common with the Italian nationality, and may even\ndesire their realization. But the interests of religion rank far\nabove those of Italian nationality, with which, as we have seen,\nthe Roman question is constantly being confounded. The Italian\nmonarchy, as at present constituted, can inspire little\nconfidence and respect at home or abroad. Independent of all\nother considerations, it is difficult to perceive how any true\nfriend of Italy, any patriot, could, even from a purely\npolitico-national stand-point, approve of the Garibaldian raid,\nand the policy pursued by the Florence government in relation to\nit. What the new monarchy stands most in need of at present is\nsomething quite different from the Utopian completion of its\nunity.\n{819}\nIf this object has not been reached already because Rome and its\nhalf a million of people are ruled by the pope, it will never be\naccomplished. The monarchy wants to strengthen itself internally,\nnot to extend externally. A strong, able, and honest government,\nan efficient administration, a restored finance, a thorough\nsystem of public instruction, a development of its commerce,\nagriculture, and industry, and, above all, peace and\nharmony--these are the indispensable conditions to its future\nwelfare, even to its existence. Nothing could therefore have been\nmore fatal, even from the narrowest and most selfish point of\nview, than the breach of the September convention. It was, upon\nthe whole, the most statesmanlike programme which the Italian\ngovernment has yet adopted during its brief life, and should have\nbeen sacredly observed. Neither the treaty of alliance with\nPrussia, which gave Italy the chance to acquire Venetia, nor the\npeace of Vienna, which ratified that acquisition, could have\nexerted so far-reaching an influence on the domestic and foreign\nposition of the country. The alliance with Prussia, it is true,\ncontained the germs of advantages which might eventually have\nextended much beyond the settlement of the Venetian question and\nthe abandonment of the Quadrilateral by the Austrians. But the\nfruition of these promises required time; for, as soon as Venetia\nwas disposed of, it became evident that the connection between\nItaly and Prussia would have to remain long less intimate and\nimportant than the connection between Italy and France. As long\nas the latter power remained at Rome, the attention of the\nItalian statesmen would have to continue fixed rather on Paris\nthan on Berlin. According to the intentions of its Italian\nframers, the convention of September 15th was to serve gradually\nto loosen the ties which bound Italy to France, and which began\nthen already to be borne with impatience by the nation. By the\nevacuation of the Eternal City the Roman question was to be\nchanged into an exclusively Italian question. But this project\nthe conduct of the Italian monarchy, or, to speak more precisely,\nthat of the statesmen who succeeded in office those who had\ndevised the programme, has defeated, as we shall hereafter fully\nexplain; and the result is, that the Roman problem has once more\nassumed a diplomatic, international phase, pending again between\nFlorence and Paris.\n\nThe September convention has failed to put an end to these\nfurther pretexts for foreign interference in the domestic affairs\nof Italy, because its terms were never observed, and because its\nauthors were not afforded a chance to carry their policy out.\nNothing could have been more inauspicious than the fact that the\nstatesmen who concluded the convention should have been driven\nfrom office on account of the Turin difficulties, at the very\ntime when their measures had received the approbation of a large\nmajority of the nation, and the sanction of the majority of the\ntwo chambers. The fall of the Minghetti ministry was an anomaly\nutterly contrary to all ideas of constitutional government. An\nimportant programme, which changed the entire policy of the\ncountry and committed it to a new one for the next future, had\nbeen accepted. It could never have been adopted without the\nsanction of the sovereign, nor without the approval of the\ncountry and its representatives in parliament. And yet those who\nhad originated it and assumed all its responsibilities were\ncompelled to resign power to men that accepted the legacy only\nbecause they could not help themselves, and whose views differed\ntotally from those of their predecessors in office.\n{820}\nThe Minghetti cabinet, which had to retire in consequence of the\nexcitement caused among the people of Piedmont by the transfer of\nthe national capital stipulated for in the September convention,\nwas succeeded by the La Marmora, composed chiefly out of\nPiedmontese elements, although it repudiated all the principles\nof the Minghetti, while pretending to recognize the obligations\nresulting from the convention itself. It is easy to conceive the\nprofound agitation produced by this change in the ranks of the\nmoderate party, which had hitherto constituted the parliamentary\nmajority. The most energetic element of this party had been the\nPiedmontese. Through its intimate relations with the reigning\nhouse, its long parliamentary experience, its business knowledge,\nits marked predominance in the administration and the army, the\nPiedmontese had always been the most trustworthy supporters of\nthe moderate cause, the strongest bulwark against the incessant\nencroachments of radicalism. It was the majority of this element\nthat now coalesced with the radicals for the purpose of fighting\nby their side against the late moderate leaders, whom they could\nnot pardon for having severed the hegemony of Piedmont and Turin\nby the transfer of the capital to Florence. In addition to the\ndesertion of the bulk of the Piedmontese, the remainder of the\nmoderates split among themselves. Some refused to desert their\nfallen leaders; others, and especially such as had joined the new\nadministration, while still content to adhere to a moderate\npolicy and to accept the September convention as a part of it,\nyet thought they might safely venture to sacrifice the authors of\nthe latter to the prejudices of Piedmont, and that without\nserious injury to the material features of the programme. This\ndivision between the supporters of the old cabinet, the so-called\n\"Consorteria,\" and the new, became most conspicuous at the\nelections in the autumn of 1865, when the latter opposed, or\npermitted its followers to oppose, the candidates of the former,\nwhich resulted in large accessions to the radicals. The Ricasoli\ncabinet, formed in the spring of 1866, also hoped to strengthen\nitself by conciliating the radicals, while it continued to\nmaintain the unfriendly attitude of its predecessors toward the\nConsorteria. But the result was, that the Ricasoli ministry\nfailed to secure a majority when it dissolved parliament in\nFebruary, 1867.\n\nIs the steady decadence of the Italian monarchy due to the\ndisintegration of the moderate party, or is this disintegration\nof the party of order merely a symptom of the general decline of\nthe old country and the new kingdom? It will suffice to throw out\nthese queries, and to contestate at the same time the\ncircumstance that the influence of the government has diminished\nin the same ratio as that of the radicals has increased; that the\nconfusion and disorder in all departments of the public service\nhave kept pace with the financial embarrassment. Although every\nministry called to office since 1864 has been more or less\nrecruited from the _d\u00e9bris_ of the old moderate party, each\nsucceeding administration has proved itself less capable of\nresisting the advances of the radicals and the Piedmontese\nopposition, and the last Ratazzi ministry was forced at the start\nto depend altogether on their support and forbearance.\n{821}\nThese being the facts, it is only natural that the programme of\nthe moderates in relation to the Roman and the ecclesiastical\nquestions should have lost authority year after year, session\nafter session, until it has finally become impracticable of\nexecution. The non-intervention policy presupposed first of all a\ngovernment strong and honest enough to enforce a pacific course\ntoward the pope. But no such government has ever yet been known\nin Italy. The secret negotiations with Rome, conducted by the La\nMarmora and the Ricasoli cabinets, (through Vegezzi and Tonello,)\nrelated only to spiritual affairs; but even these were defeated\nby the machinations of the radicals in parliament and in the\npress. This party desires no dealings whatever with the papal\ngovernment, neither in relation to temporal nor spiritual\nmatters. It is an uncompromising opponent of Cavour's maxim,\n_Libero chiesa in libero stato_, which it considers the\ngreatest misfortune that could befall the country. Between the\nradicals of Italy and the Church of Rome the war is one of life\nand death. They charge the papacy with having caused the division\nand subjugation of the peninsula. They hold up the whole\ninstitution as the mortal foe of every national aspiration for\nunity and independence. They say that only doctrinarians and\ndisguised clericals can draw a line of demarcation between Rome's\ntemporal and spiritual rule, and openly boast that it is their\nmission to complete at once the unity of Italy, and to free the\nworld from papacy. These are the leading points in the radical\nprogramme, and they are, therefore, the exact opposite to those\nlaid down in the September convention.\n\nBut, despite the disintegration of the moderate party, despite\nthe feebleness of the consecutive ministries in office since\n1864, a programme which substitutes the subjugation of the church\nfor its freedom, the physical conquest of Rome for its moral,\nwould perhaps have less rapidly gained ground, had not an\nentirely new factor entered into the relations between the\nItalian and the papal governments--between church and state; and\nthis factor was the all-engrossing financial question. The\nradicals cunningly used it to hasten the solution of the Roman\nproblem by advocating the confiscation of the ecclesiastical\nproperty, and they succeeded in persuading the moderates to\ncountenance a policy which was felt to be an outrage to all\njustice. The latter, instead of acting in accordance with the\nprinciple of a free church in a free state, accepted the radical\npostulates. The influence of the radicals constantly grew,\nbecause they were perfectly united, decided, and logical on all\nquestions relating to church and state, while, the moderates only\nreluctantly, and with the secret consciousness of their own\ninconsequence, assented to measures which endangered both the\ndiscipline and possessions of the church. A party which fights\nboldly under its own colors may be vanquished to-day, yet rally\nagain to-morrow and conquer at last; but a party which is\ncompelled to hide its colors and to hoist those of its foes\nresigns all hopes of resuming the contest after the first\nreverse. As far as the interests of the papacy are, therefore,\nconcerned, there is very little difference between the radicals\nand the moderates of Italy. Both would like to obtain Rome, only\nthat the latter differ in regard to the means. While the radicals\nwould resort to brute force, the moderates would trust to cunning\nand plotting; for they know that the Roman question is not, like\nthe Venetian, a mere question of national independence and unity,\nwhich can be solved permanently by war or revolution.\n{822}\nTheir object is not simply the destruction of the worldly power\nof the pope and the annexation of the small strip of territory\nstill left to him. The supreme pontiff has more than once lost\nhis temporality; but his ascendency over the minds of men was\nrather strengthened than weakened by his adversity, and with the\naid of his moral authority, his spiritual influence, he has every\ntime regained what he had lost. To deprive him, once for all, of\nhis worldly power, he must first be reduced to a condition which\nwill not allow him to avail himself again of his moral authority\nas the head of the church, and it is to this end that the\nmoderates have been working in various ways.\n\nIn relation to the proposed European congress we have nothing to\nsay, except that it is an impossibility. As the pastoral letter\nof the Bishop of Orleans forcibly remarked, such a conference\ncould only be composed of kings; for the fate of the supreme\npontiff should never be left to the decision of a Gortschakoff or\na Bismarck.\n\nSince the above article was written, the debates in the Italian\nchambers have shown to us anew that the Holy Father can expect\nnothing from the monarchy. They have proved again that the Roman\nquestion is considered by them to be a mere political question,\nand this without the slightest reference to its religious and\ninternational features. Cavour once announced, with the\napprobation of parliament, that Italy _must_ have Rome; but\nGeneral Menabrea knows full well the pressure under which the\nmodern Machiavelli, the man of impromptu and chicane, was forced\nto resort to this expedient. Menabrea may, perhaps, never make\ncommon cause with Garibaldi as Ratazzi has done, not even for the\nsake of Rome; but he is equally destitute of moral principles.\nItaly, it appears, has not been rendered one whit the wiser or\nmore honest by the deep humiliation which she has recently\nundergone; otherwise, she would not have the audacity to ask that\nthe Catholic world should confide the fate of the church to a\nstate which has for years persistently derided, oppressed, and\nplundered the church. Italy has too recently been leagued with\none who never ceases to utter the vilest invectives and threats\nagainst the papacy, and she is quite ready to avail herself again\nof the next opportunity to outrage the law of nations by\nproclaiming the law of the revolution. Italy, even had she the\nwish, which she has not, would not have the power to protect the\nchurch, for she has unchained every element most hostile to it,\nand can now herself only exist by a chain of negations. To a\nstate like this, to which nothing has been sacred since Charles\nAlbert's revolt against Austria, in May, 1848, and which is so\nfeeble internally, the Catholic world could never dream of\nintrusting its holiest and highest interests. Whole Europe would\nfirst have to take leave of its senses. It is not solely the\nCatholic powers which--unless, indeed, they aim, like Russia, at\nthe total destruction of Catholicism--are profoundly concerned in\nthis question. Every existing state has a vital interest in\nopposing this openly avowed scheme to unsettle all fundamental\nprinciples of equity and justice. Should the Italian doctrine\ntriumph, as Menabrea dares to prophesy, the old feudal times,\nwhen might made right and brute force ruled supreme, would return\non earth in this nineteenth century. The church state exists\nsince eleven centuries, the Italian monarchy not yet as many\nyears; the church state owes its rise to the consent of its\npopulations, the Italian monarchy to a series of intrigues and\nviolence, rendered successful through foreign support.\n{823}\nAnd now the Italian monarchy comes again, in the midst of peace,\nwithout cause or provocation, without the wish of those most\ndeeply interested in the question, the Romans themselves, to\ndeclare once more, \"Rome is mine!\" Hers? how? Through those\nboasted moral means, which have turned out to be a band of\nfilibusters, the accomplices of the banditti who selected the\nevening of the twenty-second day of October, 1867, for the\npurpose of inaugurating their heroic achievements with deeds of\nmurder and arson? This is the policy--these are the\nprinciples--which General Menabrea, the putative father of the\nSeptember convention and of a \"moral solution\" of the Roman\nquestion, has the unblushing hardihood to proclaim in the face of\ncivilized and christianized Europe! What answer will the two\nhundred millions of Roman Catholics return?\n\n--------\n\n         The Love Of The Pardoned.\n\n\n       \"He to whom less is forgiven,\n       the same loveth less.\"\n\n\n         Disciple.\n\n  \"Sweet Lord,\n  'Tis true thy love no measure knows;\n    And yet thou must agree,\n  A love within my bosom glows\n    Thou canst not feel for me--\n  The love that springs in pardoned hearts\n  With all the joy such love imparts.\n  I long, but why I do not know,\n  That thou, dear Lord, couldst love me so.\"\n\n\n         Master.\n\n  \"My child,\n  Thy brethren are my images.\n    Wherefore I said to thee:\n  Whate'er thou doest unto these\n    Thou doest unto me.\n  Shall I have joy if thou dispense\n    Thy bounty on their need,\n  And if thou pardonest their offence\n    Feel not the loving deed?\n  That which _thou_ doest is divine.\n  Doubt not; _their_ love is also mine!\"\n\n--------\n\n{824}\n\n\n         What Doctor Marks died of.\n\n\nSome one at our camp-fire had chanced to mention Dr. Marks, which\ncalled forth the comment that the doctor had died of\nheart-disease--been found dead in his bed.\n\nMajor Arnold lifted his dark, bright eyes from dreaming over the\ncoals, and looked steadily at the last speaker. \"Died of\nheart-disease?\" he repeated, with a slightly sceptical\ninflection.\n\n\"Yes, sir!\"--very positively.\n\nThe major looked into the fire again, and thoughtfully thridded\nhis beard through his fingers, while he appeared to weigh the\npros and cons of some impulse in his mind. The pros tilted the\nbeam, and the major spoke. But he first drew his hand down across\nhis eyes, and swept away, with that pass, the present scene of\nmyriad tents, ghostly-white in the moonlight, or shining crimson\nin the light of scattered fires; of closely-crowding,\nshadow-haunted southern crags and forests that lifted themselves\nfrom our feet to the horizon, their black and ragged rim standing\nboldly out against a sky that was flooded with the mellow\nradiance of the full moon, all its stars and all its purple\nswamped in that silent and melancholy tide.\n\n\"Poor Anne Atherton!\" I had not thought that our rough major\ncould speak so softly. \"I had been going to the door every day,\nfor weeks, to ask how she was, hoping in spite of the doctors.\nBut one morning, when I reached the steps, I saw a strip of crape\ntied round the bell-knob. No need of questions that day. Poor\nlittle Anne was gone!\n\n\"I call her little; but she was eighteen, and well-grown. It is\nonly a fond way of intimating that she crept into all our hearts.\nPeople liked her for her honest beauty, her ready smile, and her\ncheerful voice. Anne was not one of your bilious-sublime sort,\nbut a strong, sweet, sensible girl, with an apple-blossom\ncomplexion and a clear conscience. Her family were old friends of\nmine, and Anne was engaged and about to be married to my\nparticular crony--John Sharon--one of the best fellows that ever\ntrod shoe-leather. Poor John! My heart ached for him as I went\ndown-town that day.\n\n\"There's a little Scottish poem that reminded me, the first time\nI read it, of John Sharon's loves and hates:\n\n  'Tweed said to Till,\n  \"What gars ye rin sae still?\"\n  Till said to Tweed,\n  \"Though ye rin wi' speed,\n  And I rin slaw,\n  Whar ye droon ae man,\n  I droon twa.\"'\n\n\"The current of John's feelings was like the current of Till\nriver.\n\n\"That evening I went up to the house with my arms full of white\nflowers. Minnie Atherton wanted me to go in to see her sister;\nbut I hesitated. I had always disliked to look at a corpse, and I\nhated to lose from my mind the picture it held of that\nrosy-cheeked girl, and take in its place ever so fair an image of\ndeath.\n\n\"'She looks very peaceful,' Minnie said tearfully, seeing my\nunwillingness. 'And you may be able to comfort John. We can't get\nhim away from her.'\n\n{825}\n\n\"I never was much at comforting people. All that I know how to\nsay to a crying woman is, 'Now, don't, my dear!' and to a crying\nman I couldn't utter a word. Since then I have marched up to a\nbattery with less shaking of the nerves than I felt on that day\nwhen I went into the darkened room where Anne Atherton lay dead,\nand John Sharon sat looking at her. There were no tears in his\neyes, there was no trembling in his lip or voice. He looked as\nthough he had so long gazed upon and studied that face of hers\nthat his own had learned the secret of its frozen calm. I could\nnot tell which of the two was whiter.\n\n\"How beautiful she was! There was still a faint pink in her lips;\nbut where that marvellous rich color had bloomed in the cheeks,\nand a fainter tint in the small ears and rounded chin, there was\nnow only pure white. But that pallor revealed many an exquisite\noutline which had been unnoted when her color dazzled the eyes.\nHer head was turned aside, with one hand under the cheek, and her\nlong, fair hair was put back from the face, and lay in shining\nripples down her shoulders and back. She wore her bridal dress\nand veil, some filmy, frosty stuff, that looked as though it\nmight melt, being so near the cluster of candles that burned at\nher head. There was no light in the room but from those candles.\n\n\"Minnie scattered my flowers over her sister's hair and dress. 'I\nam glad that you brought tuberoses,' she said, 'Anne always loved\nthem.'\n\n\"A long, slow sigh heaved John Sharon's breast. He carefully took\nup one of the blossoms and looked it all over--the flower that\nAnne had loved! Then he laid it tenderly back again. Not all the\nblooms of earth could, for any other reason, have won a glance\nfrom him at that moment; but I know that he has a tuberose\nengraven as sharply upon his memory as you ever saw any white\nflower cut upon a tomb-stone.\n\n\"Presently Minnie left the room, glancing at me as she went. I\nventured to lay my hand on John's shoulder. I know it, Arnold,'\nhe said quietly. 'You would help me if you could. But there is no\nhelp on earth. Don't worry about me. I can't leave while she is\nabove ground. There will be time enough, by and by, for rest.'\n\n\"'I have no word of consolation to offer,' I said.\n\n\"'But I have a thought that consoles me,' he replied, leaning\nforward with tender passion to lay his hand on hers; 'I have not\naltogether lost her. I shall meet her again, my darling! I shall\nmeet her again!'\n\n\"I turned away and left them there hand in hand.\n\n\"When I went up the next morning I found John trembling with\nexcitement. 'I have just restrained myself from taking Dr.\nMarks's life!' he said, his teeth fairly chattering. 'What do you\nthink that the brute dared to propose to me? He wants to make a\n_post-mortem_ examination of Anne! That young form that the\nhand of man has never touched, to be cut up for the gratification\nof a mere professional curiosity! I told him to run for his life,\nor I would strangle him.'\n\n\"Telling this, John panted like a man out of breath.\n\n\"I tried to soothe him. 'These doctors get used to everything,' I\nsaid. 'Marks could have no idea how you feel about it.'\n\n\"He wrung his hands, still shivering with loathing of the thought\nthat had been forced on him. 'I can't get over it!' he said. 'I\nam sorry that he was called in at the consultation. If I had\nknown in season, he should not have come.\n{826}\nHe is a coarse-grained fellow, who, for the sake of gratifying\nhis curiosity about a disease, would outrage all the decencies of\nlife. 'I believe, Arnold--' here John choked with the words he\nwould have uttered.\n\n\"'My dear fellow, try to forget it,' I said. 'He has asked, and\nyou have refused, and there's an end of the matter.'\n\n\"'I don't believe that it is ended,' John said, looking at me\nstrangely.\n\n\"'You don't mean--' I began.\n\n\"But he lifted his hand as though he could not bear to have the\nthought put into words. 'I shall watch her grave every night for\na week,' he said. 'Will you watch with me tonight, Arnold?'\n\n\"I promised, and we parted.\n\n\"Anne Atherton's case was a peculiar one. They had called it\nquick consumption, for want of a better name. She always\npersisted in saying that she had swallowed something sharp like a\npin, and that it had entered her left lung; but of all her\nphysicians, Doctor Marks was the only one who believed it\npossible that she might be right. On the strength of this half\nagreement he had proposed the examination.\n\n\"The South cemetery, just outside the city, used to be the\nparadise of body-snatchers. It was in a lonesome neighborhood,\nand two sides bordered on the open country. Many a grave in that\ncemetery had given up its dead to the dissecting-knife, while the\nbereaved ones at home little dreamed that its sacred rest had\nbeen disturbed. The Athertons had a lot there, and Anne was\nburied in it. We covered the new-made grave with evergreens,\nwreath linked in wreath, the whole sprinkled with white\nflowers--a pretty counterpane for the fair sleeper below.\n\n\"It was five minutes past nine in the evening when I vaulted over\nthe stone wall, and walked down the central avenue. The Atherton\nlot was not far from the entrance, and instead of a high fence,\nwith gate and lock like the others, it was surrounded only by a\nlow rim of granite. As I approached, I saw the tall, white\nmonument in the centre, and John Sharon leaning against it, and\nlooking down on the wreath-covered mound at his feet. He started\nwhen he heard my step, and came to meet me, taking my hand in a\nstrong, cold clasp.\n\n\"'We will sit here,' he said, leading me to a shady nook at the\nother side of the avenue.\n\n\"The place he had selected was a grove of Norway spruces which\nformed a half-circle, the open side facing the Atherton lot, and\nnot more than two rods distant from it. Thoughtful for my\ncomfort, though indifferent to his own, John had thrown a shawl\nover the horizontal slab of marble in the centre of this grave,\nand on that we seated ourselves. He had brought, too, a little\nflask of brandy, which he pressed into my hand, but would not\ntaste of himself. It did not come amiss; for the season was the\nlast of October, and the night chilly, though clear and calm.\n\n\"I asked John what he meant to do if the doctor should make his\nappearance.\n\n\"'I shall frighten him,' he said. 'I have my pistol here, and\nmean to fire it. I couldn't bear to have a fight over her grave.'\n\n\"We sat there and awaited in silence, John with his eyes fixed on\nthe mound across the way. The last ray of the setting moon\ntouched with a white lustre its wreaths, and every little ghost\nof a flower, then slipped up the shaft of marble near by, pointed\nwith a luminous finger to the 'rest in peace,' engraven there,\nshowed name after name, and date after date, stole up the cross\nat the top, lingered an instant on its summit, then melted into\nthe air.\n{827}\nFollowing its flight with my glance, I saw that the sky was of a\npale, transparent gray, with a few large stars in it. Clearly out\nagainst this background stood the roofs and spires of that\nsleeping city that breathed while it slept, and more clearly yet\nthe monuments, and a fine tracery of the bare trees, branch,\nstem, and twig showing delicate as lace-work, of that nearer city\nwhich slept in awful, breathless silence, never stirring for\nsunrise nor sunset, never starting at any alarm, nor opening its\neyes, let who would go by.\n\n\"The evening had been calm, but as it grew toward midnight a\nfaint and fitful breeze came now and then, like a sigh, setting\nthat net-work of branches in a shiver, and sweeping the dry\nleaves about with a low and mournful rustling. The place and\ntime, the silence that was only broken by that weird and\nspirit-like wind, and yet more, the face of my companion,\naffected me strongly. John sat leaning slightly forward, his\nhands clasped on his knees, his gaze fixed on that grave he had\ncome to watch, and as motionless as any stone about us. The\nfrozen look of his face chilled me. I could not see nor hear that\nhe breathed; and there was no movement of an eyelid even. I would\nhave spoken to him if I had dared. I longed for some sound which\nwould startle him out of that trance; but there he sat\nmotionless, apparently lifeless.\n\n\"I took a swallow of brandy and tried to occupy my thoughts\notherwise. I looked through the interstices of the trees near me\nand counted grave-stones. Close by were two old sunken graves\nwith slate stones leaning awry at their heads, where lay, or had\nlain, grandfather and grandmother Sawyer--a later John Anderson\nand his wife, who had gone, hand in hand, up and down the hill,\nand now slept thegither at the foot. I say they had lain there;\nfor, in the fifty odd years since their burial, it was most\nprobable that their dust had left its place beneath those\ntumble-down slate stones and gone about other business, rising,\nmay be, in grasses and flowers. Not much of the old couple left\nin their coffins, be sure. Perhaps the children had carried the\nlast of them away in violets and mayweed, that very summer.\nPossibly the birds had pecked them up, in one shape or another.\n\n\"Would John Sharon never move?\n\n\"I turned and peered back to where a small white cross stood,\nlooking like a child in its night-gown, with arms extended. I\ncould fancy some dear little frightened thing coming to me in\nthat lonely place, silent from fear, or only faintly whimpering,\nall of a tremor, poor babe! till I should reach and clasp it\nsafe. The rustling of the leaves was its little bare feet in\nthem, the sigh of air was its sobbing breath.\n\n\"I gave myself a shake. Well, to be sure! a white marble cross to\nmark where a child had been buried a year or two before. I\nremembered having seen, in June, a red-ripe strawberry on that\ngrave, looking as though the little creature's mouth were put up\nthrough the sod to be kissed.\n\n\"I turned to John Sharon again. He had not stirred. I looked at\nthe grave he watched, and wondered if, with that steadfast gaze,\nhe could pierce the sod, as clairvoyants tell, and see Anne\nlying, cold and lovely, far below, with one hand under her cheek\nand the other on her breast, and her hair flowing down unbound,\nnever again to float on any breeze, to toss with any light motion\nof hers, to be twisted about his fingers.\n\n{828}\n\n\"I turned quickly to touch him, but, as I raised my hand, he\nstarted. A sough of air had arisen, faint but far-reaching; the\nleaves rustled and crept all about the many graves; and through\nthat sound I heard a step.\n\n\"John's form came erect, as though stiffened by a galvanic shock,\nand he sharply turned his head aside to listen. For one moment\nthere was silence again, then a sound of feet carefully treading\ndown the avenue toward us. I heard the breath shiver through\nJohn's teeth, and saw him take something from his breast. Then\ntwo men came stealing across our view, their forms, as we sat\nlow, defined against the sky. One was unknown to me, but the\nother was easy to recognize--Dr. Marks's large, athletic form\nloomed against the stars. Both men carried spades, and the doctor\nhad a sack hanging over his arm. They went directly to the\nAtherton lot, and, after whispering together for a moment, the\nsmaller man stooped to pull away the wreaths from the grave, and\nDr. Marks set his spade to the earth and his foot to the spade.\n\n\"'We must make haste,' I heard him say. 'Our time is short.'\n\n\"His was shorter than he knew.\n\n\"Without looking directly at John, I had seen him come forward\nwith his knee to the ground, and raise his hand level with his\neyes, and I was aware of a flicker before his face, as of light\non polished metal. There was a faint sound of the spade thrust\nthrough loose gravel, and, as he heard it,' John started, and\ncried out as if the thrust had been through his heart. At the\nsame instant a flame leaped out from the gloom wherein we lurked,\nthe silence cracked with a sharp report, and both men dropped\ntheir spades and ran.\n\n\"John started to his feet, hastened to the grave which he had\nsaved from profanation, and, after having removed from it, with\nloving care, every sign of disturbance, threw himself upon it,\nand sobbed as though his heart would break.\"\n\nThe major paused, brushed his hand across his eyes, and gazed a\nmoment longer into the coals, in which he had seemed to read that\nstory. Then he looked up quickly, straightened himself, and\nbecame aware again of the southern night, the many tents, and the\nfire-lighted faces of soldiers listening toward him.\n\n\"I had my suspicions,\" he resumed, in a changed voice, \"that\nJohn's shot was not so harmless as he had intended it to be; but\nI said nothing to him, and when he told me to go home, I went.\nWhen I reached the street, I saw two men walking slowly away, one\nsupporting the other. The next day I heard that Dr. Marks was\ndead. Strangely enough, we were able to keep the knowledge from\nJohn. He never left the house, except at night, till after a\nweek, when we joined our regiments; and since then he has had\nenough to think of and to do without inquiring after Dr. Marks's\nhealth.\n\n\"The doctor's family said he died of heart-disease; and I don't\nblame them for putting the best face they could on the affair.\nThe hearts of most people, when they die, have something the\nmatter with them--they are likely to stop.\"\n\n--------\n\n{829}\n\n       Bartoleme Las Casas. [Footnote 76]\n\n    [Footnote 76: _The Life of Las Casas_,\n    \"_The Apostle of the Indies_.\"\n    By Arthur Helps.\n    London: Bell & Daldy. 1868. 12mo, pp. 292.\n    For sale by the Catholic Publication Society, New York.]\n\n\n  Is The Charge In History Against Him Sustained?\n\n\nOf all the great men of the Spanish race who ever visited the\nshores of the American continent, it may with truth be said that\nBartoleme de las Casas, Bishop of Chiapa, was the greatest. His\npersonal virtues, in which he surpassed others, were only\nequalled by the exalted purpose to which his long life was\nexclusively devoted. His career was beset with perils that would\nhave appalled one who had not the courage and the constancy of a\npaladin; his toils, privations, and sufferings were without\nnumber. The insults, contumely, scorn, and malice to which he was\ndaily, hourly exposed, not from a few only, but from all of his\ncountrymen in the new world, were enough to crush the stoutest\nheart. He was, preeminently, the most hated, the most despised,\nthe most universally unpopular being that crossed the broad\nAtlantic from Spain. Sometimes they denied him shelter; sometimes\nthey refused him food; sometimes they threatened his safety, in\npremeditated assaults for his assassination; they fled from his\npresence at the altar as they would flee from a pestilence; and\nthey compelled him often to become a fugitive in order to\npreserve his life.\n\nNot only in America, but in Europe also, was he subjected to\nabuse and ridicule; but in Europe these were not universal.\nPublic opinion was there divided. Those who had returned from the\nWestern Indies, covered with renown and rolling in riches, who\nwere celebrated in story, not only after the manner of\nknights-errant in romance, but in the very words, phrases, and\nlanguage of romance--those who went forth from home, poor, needy,\nplebeian, and came back with untold wealth, to intermarry with\nthe families of the highest grandees, to intermix their blood\nwith the purest hidalgo, poured, forth their concentrated wrath\nupon his devoted head. But, on the other hand, courtiers\nall-powerful, prime ministers, and sovereigns received him with\nopen arms, granted him prolonged audience, and commiserated his\ntroubles, sympathizing deeply in his noble undertaking. In\nsecret, however, they had often to regret their inability to\nrender him the aid required for its success. With the clergy, and\nespecially among the highest prelates, the confessors of royalty,\nthe professors of the universities, the bishops, the archbishops,\nthe primates, and cardinals, his return was greeted with the same\nsatisfaction. From the lowly cloister to the imperial palace the\nsame good wishes for him prevailed.\n\nIn the respectable classes of society at large, a singular\nreception awaited him. Although they venerate him as one among\nthe best of mankind, they manifested their regard in the most\nopposite deportment. When he ascended the pulpit to discourse\nbefore the pious upon the unheard-of outrages, the fiendish\nwickedness, the appalling cruelties inflicted by Christians, and\nmoreover, Christians who were their countrymen, upon simple,\nconfiding, weak, inoffensive thousands and tens of thousands of\nIndians in the new world, the horror and abhorrence of\ncongregations knew no bounds.\n{830}\nTheir fears of Divine vengeance falling upon themselves rose in\nthe same proportion, until they stood aghast lest a national\ncalamity should come upon them, like unto that which swept away\nof old the cities of the plain. On the other hand, that portion\nof the public which is light-minded, full of levity, and for ever\nin search of novelty, encountered him elsewhere, on the plaza, in\nthe college court, on the prado, where he walked under the trees,\nor at a posada where he dined; and they paused to listen to his\ntalk, for he talked much and too often on the same theme--the\nrapacity and brutality of the cavaliers to the helpless, the\ninnocent, the ignorant, defenceless aborigines--the adopted\nchildren of the holy father at Rome, the accepted wards confided\nto the tender keeping of the good Queen Isabella of blessed\nmemory, to christianize and to civilize. While the monk poured\nforth an eloquent statement of their wrongs, the when, the where,\nand on what occasion, he named no names, in charity to the bad\nmen; but his hearers made the proper application, well knowing\nthe persons from common report; those millionaires just returned,\nwhose mushroom bloom of dunghill beauty, outshone the roseate\nlustre of the ancient Guzmans and Colonas.\n\nThe successful adventurers to the Indies of the West had already\nreceived the popular and insulting nickname of the Cachopins of\nLaredo; they were of the same breed with the Indian nabobs of\nEngland in afterdays, and of the shoddy in our own. While,\ntherefore, the single-minded monk, in the fervor of his\neloquence, in the overflowing zeal for his cause, narrated what\nthese people had done to the natives, his audience were learning\nhow these men had made their money; and the more facts and\nindignation exhibited by the speaker, the more highly were they\namused, the more heartily did they shake with silent laughter.\nThe monk saw the scenes in the most serious light; they saw them\nin the most ludicrous aspect; for they were quietly in their mind\ncontrasting the world-wide extent between Cachopin pretensions\nand Cachopin merit. And these, thought they, these baseborn and\nbrutish fellows, who are receiving patents of nobility by the\nscore, who aspire to quarter their crests upon the aristocratic\nescutcheon possessed by grandees of the first class, emblazoned\nwith heraldic bears, eagles, lions, elephants, and leopards,\nborne, centuries before, upon banners of that chivalry who fought\nfor Christendom at the cave of Covodonga, and for the preeminence\nof Spanish honor, courage, and courtesy over France at the rough\nvale of Roncesvalles--these are the fellows who wish to blend\nthose proud emblematic animals with their new coats of arms, the\ntobacco leaf, the tomata, the roasting ear of Indian corn, the\nsweet potato, perhaps, the appropriate devices for the conquerors\nclubbed with a title taken from a miserable fish-town, in the\nmeanest, poverty-stricken, peddler-producing province in the\nrealm. [Footnote 77]\n\n    [Footnote 77: The Cachopin figured in the comedies, farces,\n    romances, and lively pastorals of that age.\n\n    In the beautiful pastoral of the _Diana_, by Jorg\u00e9\n    Montemayor, in a scene between Fabio, the page, and\n    Felismena, who is disguised as a boy, Fabio says:\n\n    \"I promise you on the faith of a hidalgo, (which I am, for my\n    father is a Cachopin of Laredo,) that my master has better\n    terms.\"--_See Book_ 2, p. 87; _the edition of_\n    1542.\n\n    Don Quixote met the travellers on the road, and of course\n    described the beauty of his Dulcinea, and when asked who she\n    was--\n\n    \"Her lineage, race, ancestry,\" answered the Don, \"is not of\n    the old Roman Curtius, nor the modern Colonas, nor the\n    Moncadas of Catalonia, the Guerras of Aragon, nor Gusmans of\n    Castile, but of Tobosa de la Mancha.\"\n\n    \"And mine,\" said the traveller, \"is of the Cachopins of\n    Laredo.\"]\n\n{831}\n\nThe great object which Las Casas desired to attain was, in its\nmagnitude, commensurate with the mighty convulsions produced in\nthe minds of his own nationality. It was not to protect or defend\na parish, or a diocese, or a state from oppression, but to save\nfrom destruction a continent, a hemisphere of the habitable\nglobe; it was to snatch and to shield millions of the natives in\nthe Indies of the West from slavery to the white race; for,\nenslaved, the feeble Indian was sure to sink under the burdens\nimposed, most of them perishing within two months, and none of\nthem surviving two years. If they went down to the grave in their\nignorance and infidelity, their souls might be without the pale\nof salvation in their unregenerate state; if they were civilized,\nbelieved in Christ, and were baptized, what glory would redound\nto God, what treasure laid up in heaven for those aiding in their\nconversion, what myriads of communicants added to the church!\nNatural commiseration for their hard lot in this world, spiritual\nconsiderations for their fate in the next, along with reward held\nout to those who alleviated their distress now and prepared them\nfor eternal happiness hereafter, were the exalted motives that\nprompted Las Casas to undertake the herculean task.\n\nWith such sublime intentions, his ardor was strengthened to\nundergo every toil and privation the body can suffer, to endure\nevery agony, every indignity the spirit can receive. The measures\nhe adopted for success, the means he employed to sustain them,\nthe instruments he made use of, constitute the materials for his\nlife. These were numerous, varied, dissimilar, and seemingly\ndiscordant. One was the simple being, almost in a state of nature\nin the rudest hut, living upon roots, sheltered by a frail canopy\nof leaves, clothed with a rabbit-skin or a yard of cotton, or\nwithout any covering at all, and possessed of an intellect just\ndawning into consciousness of its faculties, so that the common,\nalmost universal opinion was that he did not as yet belong to the\nhuman species, but was born to live, to be worked, and to die\nlike beasts of the field. On the other hand, Las Casas invoked\nthe assistance of the most illustrious of the age, the refined\nand intellectual in the most powerful state in Europe. He\nimpressed his thoughts upon the august Cesar, seated upon his\nimperial throne, who claimed legitimate succession in the divine\nline from the celestial deity.\n\nFor fifty years was his time devoted to this cause, with varied\nhope of success and disaster; but before he lay down to die, much\nhad been achieved, and with the encouragement that more could be\naccomplished in the future. The life of Las Casas is yet to be\nwritten. Those who have essayed it so far have only furnished a\nfew facts, mixed with many errors. They have not attempted to\ncombine the materials into general principles, and to analyze the\nincentives of those who were his enemies, or who were his\nfriends, and thus reduce the conduct of all into a general\nconsistency. Sympathizing with him in his exertions, they\nconclude that those who opposed him were all bad men, and those\nwho encouraged him were all good men. But that is not the temper\nin which biography and history ought to be written. Facts or\nevents are only one part of the work; the causes which preceded\nor influenced them should be investigated. Nothing should be left\nto ignorant conjecture, to idle inference or gratuitous\nsuspicion.\n{832}\nAll the surroundings must be explained. In writing his biography\nsome insight into the learning of that period and into the state\nof science at the time should be gained, especially in the\ndepartments of history, of moral philosophy, of the civil law, of\nthe canon law, and international jurisprudence. Not even the\nlighter literature, including the popular poetry, the drama, and\nromances, can with safety escape observation. Above all, being at\nthe era of the revival of learning, along with the first\nimprovements in the art of printing, the changes made in modern\nlanguages are to be noted. In these transformations, the\nsignificance of many words and phrases was often doubtful.\nSometimes they had to be taken according to their old meaning;\nsometimes again in the new. When astrology was banished, its\ntheory was discarded; but at least two thirds of its terms were\nretained: when alchemy suffered the same fate, its vocabulary, as\nwell as its crucibles, retorts, and alembics, were transferred to\nthe chemical laboratory: when the practice of medicine was\nrelinquished, physicians took possession of its expressions for\ncomments, and wrote out their prescriptions in many of its\nhieroglyphics. These mutations were progressing when Columbus was\nsailing due west in search of a route to the east. Whether words\nwere to be interpreted according to science, or according to\nsuppositions which had prevailed before science, was often a\ndifficult question to solve.\n\nIllustrations would indicate how far research must go to\nunderstand the times and transitions taking place. It is needless\nto add, that nothing of the kind has been noted; nor, from\nappearances, will it ever be thought of. His writings have been\nglanced at to elucidate some point controverted, and then hastily\nthrown aside. What was learned, moreover, was in a confused mass\nof facts and dates, which were difficult to comprehend, and more\ndifficult to reduce to a consistent form. The consequence has\nbeen that, instead of a knowledge of the learning and science at\nthe period when he lived, to enlarge the circle of their literary\nreputations, they have embarrassed some historical subjects, and\nwell will it be for them if they have not endangered their\nlaurels. It would seem that many who have treated of Las Casas,\nor even touched upon his character, have fallen into some\nmistake, error, or curious blunder. Nor is their number confined\nto writers of an inferior order; it embraces some names renowned\nin Europe and America for justly merited historical excellence.\nThey learned a few facts; they guessed the rest; and their\nguessing, like all loose conjectures in general, leads to false\nconclusions, with the consequent danger therefrom.\n\nLas Casas commenced his _History of the Indies_ in 1527.\nwhen he was in his fifty-third year; he concluded it in 1559,\nwhen he was in his eighty-fifth. He had in his possession some\nvaluable documents obtained from Columbus; but beyond these he\nrelied for the most part on his own knowledge of events, along\nwith accredited rumors and reports in circulation. In his will he\ndirects that the _Historia_ shall not be made public for\nforty years after his decease. But reasons exist for the belief\nthat it was read by Philip the Second, in the Escorial; and it is\ncertain Antonio de Herrera availed himself of its information\nbefore the year 1600, when he completed his _Description of the\nIndies of the West_. The _Historia_ by Las Casas still\nremains in manuscript in the Royal Academy of Madrid.\n{833}\nHerrera, being the chief royal chronicler of the Indies, and\nchronicler for Castile, was ordered by the supreme council of the\nIndies to prepare his _Description_. It is presented in the\nform of annals, where events are recorded in the year in which\nthey transpired. Consequently the breaks are incessant in the\nregular sequence, to conform to chronological arrangement. But\nhistorical effect was not designed; historical accuracy in the\nstatement of facts being all that was demanded.\n\nTo this end, Herrera consulted every book, in print or in\nmanuscript, known to him, and had access to every official\ndocument in the archives of Simancas and Seville, to insure\naccuracy and verify every assertion. He does not often explain\nthe policy or intentions of the government; because statecraft,\nin those days, enjoined the silence of Italian diplomacy and\npractised the secrecy of the Venetian Council of Ten. The royal\npurpose in what was done or ordered, was above the sphere of the\nannalist; the introduction of personal or private biography was\nbelow it. He took for his model and guide, through the intricate\nmaze of voyages, discoveries, and adventures, the _Historia_\nof Las Casas. He adopted that part only, however, which his duty\nrequired; he rejected that which was uncertain, untrue, or purely\nof personal interest. In rejecting, he did not discredit Las\nCasas, believing him to be of undoubted veracity, and in general\nvery accurate. But Las Casas had unavoidably fallen into errors,\nfrom defect of memory, with advancing years, and from\nmisinformation, or from facts misunderstood by the manner in\nwhich they reached him. That Herrera should improve upon him or\ndefer to his accuracy as a historian is not singular, and\nexpresses a high appreciation of his excellence. Nor can it be\nsurprising, when called upon to pronounce, in his\n_Description_, between the statements of Las Casas and his\nenemies, Oviedo and Gomara, he should decide that Las Casas had\ngood cause for much feeling against them. When the voluminous\nwork of Herrera was printed, it was found to be a masterly\nproduction; nor has its authority been seriously questioned\nsince. At the present day it stands as imputing perfect verity.\nIt ranks with the _Annual Register_ and _National\nAlmanac;_ it is of the same class of publications, but far\nmore extensive in its design.\n\nThe imperfections of Las Casas in his _Historia_ and those\nportions not quoted by Herrera are the parts which first claim\nattention. In understanding his peculiar position toward those\nwith whom he was thrown in contact, his inferences of the motives\nby which they were actuated cannot be implicitly relied on. He\ndid not comprehend fully their situation; he could not account\nfor their conduct, because explanations were not made which at a\nflash would have revealed the difficulties. In the absence of\nthose he could not refrain from ascribing bad motives to some\nofficials, such as Fonseca, Bishop of Burgos. Others he honored,\nbecause they were disinterested, pure, virtuous personages, with\ntheir sensibilities excited at the wrongs done to the aborigines,\nand who sympathized with him in his praiseworthy enterprise.\nSuch, in his opinion, were Cesneros, Cardinal Ximenes, and\nAdrian, Cardinal de Tortosa. These prelates were in turn prime\nministers, but their mode of receiving Las Casas was different.\nXimenes was cold and austere in general, with his thoughts\nabsorbed in affairs of state.\n{834}\nTo Las Casas his deportment was not reserved; he was genial in\nhis reception, and could read his traits at a glance; his\nfeelings, too, were all on the same side, and it happened the\ninterests of the crown were in accordance with his feelings. The\ncardinal, therefore, received him with unusual cordiality, and\nwith much consideration; he listened to the facts communicated,\nto think them over, and to act upon them. He was thankful and\nconsiderate to Las Casas for the valuable information imparted,\nand sometimes relieved his poverty from his private purse. When\nthe cardinal had learned all that Las Casas could tell about the\ncondition of the Indies, he was graciously and quietly bowed out.\nFor Ximenes had not the time nor inclination to hear more, which\nwas sure to follow, if he could, with any decency, avoid the\ninfliction.\n\nCardinal Adrian, subsequently Pope Adrian, was of a mild, quiet,\ndisposition. He gave to Las Casas longer interviews, because he\nhad more to learn, having recently come to Spain for the first\ntime, from the Low Countries. Adrian therefore was more gracious\nstill; but when Las Casas, in his nervous excitability,\ndiscoursed upon the never-ending theme of the injustice of Indian\nslavery, its sinfulness, its impolicy, its danger to the souls of\npersons in high places who tolerated it, and began on the\nScriptures, the fathers, the decretals, the bulls, and the canon\nlaw, and the civil law, and the moral law, with interminable\ncitations and iterations, the patience of even the meekest of\ncardinals would sometimes give way. For both Adrian and Cesneros\nunderstood these matters better than he did; and while assenting\nto the truth of what was uttered, they were not inclined to hear\nit so often and at such length repeated.\n\nXimenes, when not wishing to see him, time being too precious,\nturned him over to some dean or bishop; but Adrian, when desirous\nof more explanations, sent some friend among the Flemish counties\nto search for Las Casas, to converse with him, in order to\nacquire a thorough knowledge of the Indies, and of his opinions\nand plans. One day he met Se\u00f1or De Bure by appointment, who felt\nan interest in the Indies. Las Casas was delighted to find the\nFlemish gentleman felt for the poor Indians, and forthwith his\nhopes rose that the government would do something. De Bure, in\nhis eyes, was the very best of human beings. De Bure would listen\nto all that could be said, and soon took him to his uncle, De\nLaxao, who was the young sovereign's chamberlain, with\ninexpressible influence. De Bure was a buffer for Adrian, nothing\nmore, to keep off Las Casas from that cardinal when he did not\nwant to see him, but wished to be kept duly advised on Indian\ntopics.\n\nFonseca was of a different mould; he was a man of business, rude,\nabrupt, with little delicacy in his manners to suppliants. He had\na better acquaintance with the Indies; knew all about the\ncondition of the natives; and if he had any sympathy for Las\nCasas, he did not permit it to be seen, nor for one moment would\nhe countenance his proposals or listen to his plans. He deemed\nthem as visionary as he had once viewed the scheme of Columbus to\ndiscover a new continent. He now was equally sure Las Casas could\nnot civilize that continent when it was discovered. Consequently\nLas Casas loved Ximenes and Adrian, and heartily despised the\nBishop of Burgos.\n{835}\nEvery school-boy who ever read of Columbus or Cortez has learned\nwhat a very bad man was Fonseca, and all modern authors know what\nwas in their school-books; but they know nothing more. Every life\nof Columbus, of Cortez, of Las Casas is written in the same vein.\nThe Bishop of Burgos is abused in all of them. He treated the\ndiscoverer of America shamefully; he insulted the Protector of\nthe Indians; he persecuted the conqueror of Mexico. These\nillustrious men denounced him, and their biographers are in sworn\nbiographical fealty bound to denounce him also. Their heroes are\nnever wrong; for what hero in biography or romance can ever be\nwrong? In the very nature of such compositions it is an utter\nimpossibility. Fonseca was never in the right; for what opponent\nof their idols could have any reason or justice on his side?\n\nNow, the best of reasons may be found for his policy to Columbus\nand Las Casas. They both wanted funds from the treasury when he\nwas minister, and when no funds could be spared; for the nation\nwas insolvent--a secret well known to him, but which it was\nall-important should not be known to the public. He would not\ngive a ducat for any exploring voyage or prospective discovery,\nor for any expenses after a discovery was made. When Isabella\nbegged and implored the cold minister to yield to her\nimportunities for Columbus, he positively refused; nor could any\nentreaties induce him to relent. The queen, in consequence, had\nto pawn her jewels to equip the armada fitting out at Palos.\nFonseca was not disgraced for his obstinacy; and although nothing\nof a courtier, he was too useful to be removed. Las Casas was\nserved in the same way when Charles was anxious to aid him with\nfunds. Fonseca was again as surly, and when at last the sovereign\ndetermined in council that, come what might, Las Casas should\nhave aid, Fonseca washed his hands of the business, and soon\nafter met him with a smile. This unexpected amiability Las Casas\ndescribes as evincing \"some nobleness of nature.\" How many\nmeritorious subjects, with honest claims on the treasury, were\ndisappointed of a pittance thereby, is not considered. Knights\nwho had spent their estates in prosecuting the wars against the\nMoors, who had grown old and poor in the royal service, who had\nfought for Christendom at Alhama, conquered at Malaga, and\ncontributed to the siege and capture of Cordova, may have turned\naway heart-sick, in want of a maravedi, and only diminished the\nimportunate, unsuccessful crowd besieging the doors of ministers,\nto swell the number of daily beggars at the hatch of some\nconvent. In the novel of _Gil Bias_ a picture is presented\nof the neglect shown to meritorious subjects, whose necessities\nare no less imperative than their deeds were commendable. Captain\nChinchilla is a sample of thousands. He had lost an eye at\nNaples, an arm in Lombardy, and a leg in the Low Countries; but\nhis sovereign had not a ducat to spare. In such condition of the\nfinances, a minister required a heart of stone to turn away from\nstarving appeals for a bare pittance or the smallest pension.\nFonseca could not be just; how much less could he be generous? A\nman who would endure this for the crown deserved much of the\nroyal favor. For this was Fonseca invaluable; his nerve to save\nevery real to the state was a quality much wanted.\n\nBut Hernando Cortez never besought the royal bounty; why, then,\nshould Fonseca persecute him? It is said he exhibited uniform\nmalignity against all great men; he persecuted Cortez. To this\nlast instance a reason can be interposed.\n{836}\nFor some cause Fonseca took part in the private quarrel between\nhim and Velasquez, the Governor of Cuba. What was the minister's\nmotive is merely conjecture; but if true, it is not worthy of\nconsideration. Velasquez and Cortez were both villains; and a\ncontroversy between them arose about the division of the Mexican\nspoils. The governor furnished the funds for that expedition, and\nfitted out the ships on joint account. He complained that Cortez\nmade no return of the profits, Fonseca took the side of Velasquez\nand aided him in his suit. It was difficult to determine who had\nthe law in his favor; but the man who would cheat his patron and\npartner, as Cortez certainly did, who would torture to death an\ninnocent prisoner and that prisoner a dethroned monarch, as\nCortez in cold blood put Guatomotz to the torture, is not only a\ncontemptible knave, but a hideous monster in human form.\n\nVelasquez was another of the same breed; and if his infamy was\nless, the opportunity for the display of his propensities was\nwanting; his field was not so magnificent; but he cultivated to\nthe utmost extent the smaller space which Cuba presented. Bad\nfaith toward each other was the common practice among colonial\nchiefs. Velasquez owed his appointment to the judges of the\nAudiencia of Hispaniola, who fitted him out to do business for\nboth in the same way that he in turn had commissioned and\nsupplied Cortez, and as Cortez again nominated certain\nconfidential friends to govern Mexico when he undertook his\nunfortunate expedition to Honduras. Of course these friends\ncheated Cortez, as he had cheated Governor Velasquez, and as the\ngovernor had cheated the judges of the Audiencia, and as the\njudges were perpetually defrauding their sovereign. Not one spark\nof honor or honesty was exhibited by any of them. They were\nrapacious, reckless, restrained by no law or teaching or sense of\nmorality; while the temptation before their eyes was too splendid\nand overpowering to resist. The breach of a solemn promise was\ncheap as a dicer's oath; it was not even a venal offence; the\ntorture of the Indians was not a crime; the burning alive at a\nslow fire of the royal Aztec was at best only an indiscretion.\nThousands, including girls and boys, had been subjected to the\nsame treatment, and for the same purpose, to wring the last ounce\nof gold-dust from the unhappy creatures.\n\nThe proceedings of Governor Velasquez, in Cuba, were not unlike\nthe conduct of Cortez in Mexico. The governor enslaved, he\ntortured, he destroyed; and so did every cavalier who came in\ncontact with the natives. The only gentlemen in the Antilles were\nthe buccaneers, the British, Dutch, and French pirates. They, to\nbe sure, in search of booty, cut the throats of the Spaniards\nwhom they captured; but they were of too much principle to\nconceal the plunder from their companions or to divide unfairly.\nBut the Castilians did not stop with cutting throats of innocent\nIndians; they despoiled each other. They had not the proverbial\nhonor found among thieves. In such a delightful society, moral\nrectitude was not one of the cardinal virtues; and if Fonseca\ninclined to Velasquez while popular opinion is with Cortez, the\ndiscrepancy may be ascribed to the fact that popular opinion will\nin such cases decide in favor of him whose baseness is the\ngreater, the more magnificent and successful.\n{837}\nLas Casas detested Cortez, and preferred the governor; but he\ncomplains of the unjust policy of Ferdinand to Columbus. It is\nprobable Las Casas is mistaken again; he knew nothing of cabinet\nsecrets. The character of the great navigator deservedly stands\nhigh, not only for the splendor of his discoveries, but for the\npurity of his life. His fame cannot be assailed with any truth or\npropriety; while on the other hand, history does not accord much\ncredit to Ferdinand for his public or private worth. Yet it is\nimpossible, in considering all the circumstances, to avoid the\nconclusion that the king was right, and had at least equity to\nsustain him, or rather to justify his counsellors, for it was a\nmatter of state. It is true, the crown of Castile had entered\ninto a formal contract with Columbus to confer upon him a high\ncommand over all the countries he should discover. The king now\nrefused to make good this stipulation; he broke the contract, and\nproposed compensation by estates conferred in Castile. Columbus\nheld the crown to the bond and refused all compromise. He had set\nhis heart on becoming the man of greatest wealth in the world and\nto bestow it all to Christendom in a cruza for the recovery of\nthe holy places from the infidel. A more sublime purpose could\nnot be conceived; for at the time, Constantinople was captured,\nthe islands for the most part in the Levant overrun, Italy in\ndanger, a foothold gained in Sicily and Sardinia, France hastily\nsending troops to the frontiers of Austria, Hungary invaded, the\nKnights Templars of St. John far in advance at Rhodes under fire,\nand prayers daily offered up by the people in their churches at\nAmsterdam, imploring the Almighty to avert the Saracen from their\ngates; the crowning victory for the Christians was not gained for\na half-century later at the Gulf of Lepanto.\n\nThis brilliant scheme of Columbus to roll back the tide of war,\nengrossed his leisure hours. For its accomplishment, he hoped to\nobtain riches from the new world; and when made governor of\nHispaniola, was avaricious to amass a stupendous fortune. Among\nother measures he sent three hundred natives to Seville, to be\nsold as slaves. Queen Isabella, hearing of it, ordered that they\nbe sent back, declaring no one had a right to enslave her\nvassals. Although incensed, she did not reprimand Columbus. He\nhad enough of difficulties to contend with in his administration,\nwithout the further burden of her displeasure; for it was soon\nfound out he evinced an incapacity to govern men in civil\nsociety. Successful he might be in ruling sailors on the\nforecastle; but that had not taught him how to govern men on\nshore. He exacted implicit obedience; he pursued his own plans\nwithout consultation; he compelled cavaliers to assist in manual\nlabor. Worse than all, he was a foreigner, and it ended in a\nrevolt with open war. A royal commissioner was sent out to\ninstitute an investigation, which terminated in Columbus being\nsent to Seville in chains. Isabella, at this indignity offered to\nher favorite admiral, ordered the irons to be removed, but would\nnot consent, withal, to reinstate him in authority. After her\ndeath, he renewed his application, without a better result; the\nking refused to comply with the words of the royal contract. The\npromise had been made, but it was made for the state--for the\npublic benefit--and the opinion of lawyers was, that it could be\nbroken if it were for the common good not to carry out its\nprovisions. A proper equivalent could be awarded for the damage\ndone to the admiral.\n{838}\nThis was the theory of rights then; it is still the theory and\npractice of all governments at the present time. But Columbus\nrefused every offer in the nature of a recompense, which would\nhave left him rich, and placed him on a level with the highest\ngrandees in the realm. He nursed his wrongs in silence,\nlanguished in comparative poverty, and died of a broken heart.\n\nLas Casas never forgot this treatment of the great admiral, his\nwarm personal friend; he distrusted princes ever after. He fell\ninto the error common to most men soliciting court favor, that\nwhatever was done to promote his wishes was done from personal\nconsiderations to him, through his individual exertions and\ninfluence, and not out of any regard for the welfare of the\nIndians. On the contrary, the welfare of the Indians was all that\nrecommended him to the attention of the cardinals, or to royal\nnotice, and invested him with importance. The policy of the crown\nwas to save the aborigines from destruction. It might be a\nselfish policy, but it surely was, at the same time, enlightened\nand correct in every point of view. But every colonial official,\nevery special agent, every Spaniard was thwarting the\ngovernmental plan, to promote their own interests and their\nprivate emolument. The proceeds of the plantations, of the mines,\nof the pearl fisheries, were in great demand at fabulous values,\nwhile the labor of the Indians enslaved was cheap and abundant;\ntherefore, they were made slaves in the very face of the royal\nprohibition.\n\nIt is true these slaves sickened and died within a short period,\nbut plenty more were forthcoming at a low rate; and thus the\ndesolation went on. The crown had resolved to check the atrocity;\nbut how could it be accomplished? The clergy were not implicated\nin the guilt, but they were incapable of assisting at first, or\nadvising. The most of them, moreover, believed at one time that\nthe natives were not human. The Dominicans, who arrived out about\n1510, thought otherwise; and they, in turn, under the guidance of\nLas Casas, infused their opinion into the other brethren. His\ndiscussion before the young emperor with Quevedo, Bishop of\nDarien, was to settle their status; for Quevedo contended they\nwere not intellectual beings. Many doubts prevailed also among\nthe clergy, and it was the universal belief of the laity,\naccording to Remisal, until, in 1537, Paul III. issued his famous\nbull declaring they were human and free, capable of instruction\nand salvation. The crown had great difficulties in the matter,\nand the ministers were much perplexed in learning what to do; but\nthe imperial troubles were not disclosed to Las Casas, for the\ntroubles were diplomatic secrets which to none could be divulged.\nTheir confidence in his veracity, sincerity, and\ndisinterestedness, was unbounded; he was the only one they could\ntrust for a correct account. He was successively created\nProtector of the Indians, chaplain to the emperor, and Bishop of\nChiapa. While the sovereigns appreciated him, esteemed him, heard\nevery word he had to say bearing upon the subject, he mixed it up\nso often with so many extraneous remarks, observations, and\nquotations, that they must now and then have considered him an\nintolerable bore. With this comprehension of the principles\nmaintained by the Castilian cabinet, a clue is discovered to\nguide through the mazes and intricacies of Indian politics.\nEmergencies sometimes compelled deviations or exceptions for the\nmoment; but when the necessity passed away, the policy was\nimmediately restored.\n\n{839}\n\nIt is now time to turn to the new work of Mr. Arthur Helps. To\nthose who have read a page about Las Casas, this book can excite\nonly feelings of disappointment and regret. The public expected\nsome improvement at least on preceding biographies, which was\ncertainly a very moderate expectation; but it has not been\ngratified. The volume is written with the design to expatiate on\nthe great virtues of the bishop, to eulogize his actions, to\nexcuse his errors, to defend his fame. But the memory of Las\nCasas needs no aid of this kind in panegyric or palliation. His\ndeeds have passed into history, and by its calm, enlightened,\ndisinterested verdict he must stand or fall. So far he has not\nbeen favored with a dispassionate hearing, nor by any means with\nan enlightened public. A prejudice has prevailed against him,\nfrom one cause among his countrymen, from another source abroad;\nand Mr. Helps, without intending to do him harm, would strengthen\nthe prevailing impression abroad by his publication, if it were\ngenerally read, but which is doubtful. On the second page, in\nstating \"the character of Las Casas,\" he writes:\n\n  \"The utmost that friends or enemies, I imagine, could with the\n  slightest truth allege against him was an over-fervent\n  temperament. If we had to arrange the faculties of great men,\n  we should generally, according to our easy-working fancies,\n  combine two characters to make our men of. And in this case we\n  should not be sorry, if it might have been so, to have had a\n  little of the wary nature of such a man as King Ferdinand the\n  Second intermixed with the nobler elements of Las Casas.\n  Considering, however, what great things Las Casas strove after\n  and how much he accomplished, it is ungracious to dwell more\n  than is needful upon any defect or superfluity of his\n  character. If it can be proved he was on any occasion too\n  impetuous in word or deed, it was in a cause that might have\n  driven any man charged with it beyond all bounds of prudence in\n  the expression of his indignation.\"\n\nIt will be perceived, on perusal that, wherever the bishop has\nbeen charged with any fault, imperfection, failure, or\ninconsistency, this author readily admits it, and then proceeds\nto offer extenuating circumstances, or to petition for mercy for\nhis hero, on the plea that he had good intentions or had done\nimportant services. When, again, the author has some bright spot\nto dwell upon in his career, it is presented in a questionable\nshape, which deprives it of all lustre, leaving the suspicion on\nthe mind of readers that the bishop is a much overrated man. Mr.\nHelps furnishes no new facts, he explains none that are old, he\nstates very few correctly. About dates the author is most\ncommonly in error when given; but for the most part he does not\ndeign to notice them, which in this case is a blessing; for he\nseems as indifferent to their importance as if he were writing a\nnovel or a love-letter. In the composition, he has had recourse\nto two works only--the _History of the Indies_, by Las Casas\nhimself, and the _History of Guatemala and Chiapa_, by\nRemesal.\n\nThe _Historia_, by the bishop, is not the most important of\nhis many productions, nor are the selections from Remesal made\nwith much discrimination. _The Conversion of the Indians in\nVerapaz, or the Land of War_, is interesting; but Mr. Helps in\nhis account does not leave much of its glory to Las Casas, while\nLas Casas was for ever boasting, with truth, of that achievement\nas his first success, and claiming it justly as peculiarly his\nown. In the same _History of Guatemala_ it is narrated how\nLas Casas refused to visit the viceroy in Mexico, because he had\nordered the hand of a priest to be cut off at Antequera. Mr.\nHelps translates it, the priest's head at Antequera; probably he\ndoes not know that Antequera is the ancient Spanish name for the\nmodern city of Oaxaca.\n\n{840}\n\nWith this slender stock of material the book was written; and in\nconsequence, whenever a doubt arose about a fact, or a further\nreason was required for some elucidation, it will be seen, on\nevery page, that writing history was made easy by guessing, or\nmoral observations, of which some specimens are selected:\n\n  \"I do not know what transaction he alludes to.\"\n  \"I hardly see him without prophetic vision.\"\n  \"It moves our pity to think.\"\n  \"Probably being somewhat tired.\"\n  \"Perhaps not wishing to alarm.\"\n  \"I think with Las Casas.\"\n  \"There is no doubt.\"\n  \"I have scarcely a doubt.\"\n  \"If the writer of this narrative may be permitted\n  to fancy himself.\"\n  \"I conceive for a single day.\"\n  \"I fancy him sitting.\"\n  \"It may be doubted, however.\"\n  \"As it appears to me.\"\n  \"I suspect the wisest amongst us would.\"\n  \"I cannot but attribute.\"\n  \"We may very well imagine.\"\n  \"A young man, as I conjecture.\"\n  \"Probably on that account.\"\n  \"To me it seems.\"\n  \"Always I imagine.\"\n  \"We must not suppose.\"\n  \"And so I think.\"\n\nAnd so will every reader think. Mr. Arthur Helps has essayed to\nwrite history before. _The Spanish Conquest in America_\nstands to his literary credit. But he has a way peculiar to\nhimself in the gestation and parturition of his historical\noffspring. He explains, in the preface to the third volume of his\n_Spanish Conquest_, his obstetrical mode of doing this\nthing. It is thus accounted for:\n\n  \"In issuing this third volume, I take this opportunity of\n  making a statement, which perhaps it would have been well to\n  have made before.\n\n  \"The reader will observe that there is scarcely any allusion in\n  this work to the kindred works of modern writers on the same\n  subject. This is not from any want of respect for the able\n  historians who have written upon the discovery or the conquest\n  of America. I felt, however, from the first, that my object in\n  investigating this portion of history was different from\n  theirs, and I wished to keep my mind clear from the influence\n  which these eminent persons might have exercised upon it. ...\n  Moreover, while admitting fully the advantages to be derived\n  from the study of these modern writers, I thought it was better\n  upon the whole to have a work composed from independent\n  sources, which would convey the impression that the original\n  documents had made upon the author's mind.\"\n\nWith this explanation, nothing more remains to observe. If he has\nfounded a school in this method, or if his original plan upon\nwhich to write history will die out with him, is yet to be seen.\nThe _Spanish Conquest_, by Mr. Arthur Helps, is in thick,\nsolid, heavy form, and in volumes no less than four. Insatiate\nArthur! would not one suffice? His moral reflections and his\naxioms have one merit, if the number of ages in which they have\nbeen in common use can make them venerable. From the Pyramids\ncenturies may look down upon some of them.\n\nIn the _Life of Las Casas_, the author in the preface\ninforms the world that--\n\n  \"There are few men to whom, up to the present time, the words\n  which Shakespeare makes Mark Antony say of Caesar, would more\n  apply than to Las Casas:\n\n    'The evil that men do lives after them,\n    The good is oft interred with their bones.'\n\n  At one inauspicious moment of his life he advised a course\n  which has ever since been the one blot upon his well-earned\n  fame, and too often has this advice been the only thing, which,\n  when the name of Las Casas has been mentioned, has occurred to\n  men's minds respecting him. He certainly did advise that\n  negroes should be brought to the New World. I think, however, I\n  have amply shown in the _Spanish Conquest_, he was not the\n  first to give this advice.\"\n\nThis is the way Mr. Helps enters the lists to be his champion. We\ndo not know where the evils of Las Casas live on--when the\nossification of the good with his bones supervened.\n{841}\nInstead of quoting Shakespeare, a few lines written by the great\nBritish statesman, George Canning, for the Anti-Jacobin, in his\node to the \"New Morality.\" would be more applicable to Mr. Helps\nhimself:\n\n  \"Give me th' avowed, erect, the manly foe,\n  Bold I can meet, perchance avert his blow;\n  But of all plagues, good heavens! thy wrath can send,\n  Save, save, oh! save me from the candid friend.\"\n\nThe memory of Las Casas has suffered greatly from many of those\nunthinking, unsearching plagues, who are ever ready to confess\nwhat \"it is due to candor to state,\" etc. A dozen at least might\nbe counted of names high in the roll of literature: Llorente,\nWashington Irving, Mr. Prescott, are among the number. The time\nhas come to explode this bubble about his want of fixed\nprinciples. All are pleased to admit he was a good man, leading a\nvirtuous life, with a noble purpose in view; but that he was\ninconsistent in recommending negro slavery, while advocating the\nemancipation of the Indians. Now, if one be in his right mind,\nand yet inconsistent in opinions or conduct, he cannot be\nvirtuous in principle or practice. The expressions are\nincongruous. How can he be accounted virtuous, if at times he is\nvicious? How can he be received as good, when he has advised what\nis bad? Rectitude is wanting. In public life an inconsistent man\nis dangerous; because he destroys order and promotes disorder; he\ncreates distrust in the absence of integrity in purpose. In\nprivate life no dependence can be reposed in him; he is not\nrespected, and if the infirmity be great, his friends send him to\nan asylum for the insane.\n\nNavarete thus states the charge against Las Casas:\n\n  \"It is this expedient of Las Casas which has drawn down severe\n  censure upon his memory. He has been charged with gross\n  inconsistency, and even with having originated the inhuman\n  traffic in the new world. This last is a grievous charge; but\n  historical facts and dates remove the original sin from his\n  door, and prove that the practice existed in the colonies, and\n  was authorized by royal decree long before he took part in the\n  question.\" [Footnote 78]\n\n    [Footnote 78: Navarete, _Viages and Descubriamentos_.\n    Tom. iii. p. 418.]\n\nThis charge was first made against the bishop by Dr. Robertson,\nin his History of America, in 1777. The doctor therein contrasts\nhim with Cardinal Ximenes, Prime Minister of Spain, observing:\n\n  \"Cardinal Ximenes, when solicited to encourage this commerce,\n  peremptorily rejected the proposition, because he perceived the\n  iniquity of reducing one race of men to slavery, while he was\n  consulting about the means of restoring liberty to another.\n  (_Herrera Dec_. ii. _lib_. ii. _cap_. 8.) But\n  Las Casas, from the inconsistency natural to men who hurry with\n  headlong impetuosity toward a favorite point, was incapable of\n  making the distinction.\" (_Herrera Dec. lib_. ii.\n  _cap_. 20.)\n\nIf Ximenes had been living when this exalted morality was\naccorded to him, his astonishment would have been great; he\nclaimed no morality of that kind.\n\nIn turning to Herrera, at the eighth chapter, referred to by Dr.\nRobertson, it will be found the doctor has drawn upon his\nimagination for the paragraph on Ximenes. The cardinal was not\nthinking about morality, but about money. Herrera states it thus:\n\n  \"At the same time it was ordered that negro slaves should not\n  pass to the Indies; which order was understood at once; for, as\n  they went out, in the scarcity of Indians, and as it was known\n  that one negro did the work of four, whereby a great demand had\n  arisen for them, it appeared to the Cardinal Ximenes, that he\n  might place some tax on their exportation, from whence would\n  result a benefit to the treasury.\"\n\n{842}\n\nBut Herrera, in the twentieth chapter, does, with truth, connect\nLas Casas with the recommending of negro slaves. Every line of\nthis passage must be carefully noted, in order to understand what\nfollows. It is in these words:\n\n  \"The licentiate Bartoleme de Las Casas ... turned to another\n  expedient, advocating that the Castilians, living in the\n  Indies, might import negroes; for with them on the plantations\n  and in the mines, the Indians would be much alleviated; and\n  that it be advised to carry out a large number of workmen, with\n  certain privileges accorded to them. Adrian, Cardinal of\n  Tortosa, heard these suggestions with much pleasure. ... And in\n  order to know better the number of slaves required for the four\n  islands, Hispaniola, Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Jamaica, an opinion\n  was asked from the Royal House of Trade at Seville, and they\n  responding four thousand, persons were not wanting, who, to\n  gain favor, informed the Governor de la Bresa, a Flemish\n  gentleman of the council of the king, and his major-domo. De\n  Bresa begged the monopoly of it; the king granted it, and De\n  Bresa sold it to the Genoese for 25,000 ducats, on condition\n  that the king would not bestow another monopoly for eight\n  years. The grant was very injurious to the settlers of these\n  islands, and for the Indians, for whose alleviation it had been\n  ordered. Because when the traffic was free, as has been stated,\n  every Castilian carried out slaves. But as the Genoese sold the\n  privilege for each one for a large sum, few purchased, and thus\n  this benefit ceased.\"\n\nSearches were made in Herrera to prove that the traffic did not\ncommence with Las Casas' advice. This fact was easily\nestablished; but it did not meet the issue. The question was, did\nLas Casas, in 1517, recommend the importation of negroes? and the\nfact was made out. Several points were rendered clear, and made\nso from the bishop's own _History of the Indies_; that he\nrecommended the measure hastily; that it was an unfortunate\nrecommendation; that his remorse was great for it; that he hoped\nGod would forgive him, for he had done it in ignorance. Those who\nnever examined further, infer that the criminality of the\nslave-trade was deemed as sinful at that time in the first half\nof the sixteenth as it is now in the last half of the nineteenth\ncentury. Hence the mistakes among modern historians.\n\nWhen the investigation would appear to be concluded, and Las\nCasas condemned out of his own writings, the difficulty in the\ncase in reality only commences. The rubbish surrounding it is\nremoved; nothing more. What did Las Casas admit? Surely not the\ncharge that he was inconsistent; for two centuries elapsed before\nthe charge was made; but he accuses himself for having given the\nadvice hastily; that it eventuated unfortunately, (but not to\nhim;) that he gave it ignorantly; that he hoped to be forgiven.\nTo present the case in its opposite aspect: if the advice had\nproved beneficial instead of injurious to the Indians, he would\nnot have suffered remorse. He had given the advice without\nreflecting, without examination, consequently in ignorance; for\nif he had reflected for one moment, he would have foreseen what\nconsequences would follow, and which proved disastrous to the\nnatives.\n\nBut, while presented in this light, it is somewhat weakened by\nthe accompanying words of Las Casas. Mr. Ticknor, in his\nexcellent _History of Spanish Literature_, explains the\nremorse from another view. He concludes that the bishop, in\ngiving the advice, was ignorant of the fact that the African\nnegroes were captured in unjust war; and when he learns they were\nmade slaves, as the Indians were enslaved, his soul was filled\nwith horror for the sin he had committed in recommending the\nimportation. Some of the words of Las Casas will bear out this\nhypothesis--on the first impression it would appear conclusive;\nbut, unfortunately, other expressions must be explained, so as to\ngive effect to every line.\n{843}\nBesides this, why should the bishop feel remorse for what was\ndone ignorantly, when engaged in the holy work to promote the\nsalvation of souls? Las Casas was too well versed in casuistry to\ndeem himself criminal under these circumstances. Moreover, the\nbishop, when in the exercise of his sacred duties in his diocese\nof Chiapa, wrote out a rescript for his clergy, dated in\nNovember, 1546, wherein he charges them not to confess Christians\nholding Indian slaves, but does not include negro slaves. This,\nto be sure, might have been an oversight, were it not for a few\nlines written further down, where he cautions his clergy to guard\nwell the holy sacrament of marriage as well among the negroes as\nthe Indians. The document will be found in full in Remesal. From\nthis it appears Las Casas, thirty years later, had not discovered\nthat negroes were on the same footing with the Indians, being\nthen seventy-two years old.\n\nIn his _Historia_, one hundred and first chapter, he writes\nof himself:\n\n  \"This advice--that license be given to bring negro slaves to\n  these countries--the Clerigo Casas first gave, not\n  understanding the injustice with which the Portuguese take them\n  and enslave them, which, from what happened from it, he would\n  not have given for all he had in the world; for he always held\n  it unjust and tyrannical making them slaves; for the same right\n  as in them as in the Indians.\"\n\nThe translation of Mr. Helps is not followed; because he does not\ntranslate some of the words at all; and, in one instance, gives\nto a verb a wrong expression, inconsistent with the sentence and\nwith a subsequent paragraph. The line, \"After he had apprehended\nthe nature of the thing,\" is no more to be found in the passage\nthan in the Psalms. In the one hundred and twenty-eighth chapter\nof the _Historia_, Las Casas again refers to the subject,\nand states why, on the representation of the planters that they\nwould free their Indians if permission were given to them to\nimport negroes, he consented to recommend the measure to the\ncrown. He next alludes to the bad consequences flowing from the\n_monopoly_, and concludes thus:\n\n  \"Of this advice, which the clerigo gave, not a little did he\n  afterward repent, judging himself guilty from his haste,\n  (_inadvertenti;_) and because he saw, as it turned out to\n  be, as unjust, the capture of the negroes as of the Indians.\n  There was no other remedy than what he advised--to bring\n  negroes in order to free the Indians, although he might suppose\n  they were just captures, although he was not certain that his\n  ignorance and good intention would excuse him in the divine\n  wisdom.\"\n\nIt appears from the passage in Herrera, quoted above, that the\nadvice was bad; for a monoply of the traffic in negroes was\ngranted to De Bresa, who sold his speculation to the Genoese, and\nthey raised the price so high that the planters could not\npurchase Africans nor import Christian-born negroes from Spain as\nformerly. In consequence, the trade in Indian slaves, who were\ncheaper, increased, to the chagrin of Las Casas for his\ninconsiderate suggestion. His heedless conduct, in his own eyes,\nat last appeared sinful. In some part of it he had displeased\nGod; for the Deity permitted the Indian servitude to go on,\nwhich, in the mind of Las Casas, he would not have permitted had\nnot he incurred, in some way, the divine displeasure. Was it his\nprecipitancy of action in the measure? was it advising the\nimportation of Africans, some of whom might have been captured in\nan unjust war, which incensed the Deity? Las Casas could not\ndetermine, and hence his confusion of mind and forgetfulness of\nthe incidents in writing the _Historia_. Whatever view,\nhowever, may be taken of it, or which preferred, it is certain\nthat, under no aspect, can the charge of inconsistency made by\nDr. Robertson, and stated by Navarete, be sustained.\n\n{844}\n\nWashington Irving's note on Las Casas, in the appendix to his\n_Columbus_, evinces much commendable research, and a\ncollection of all the facts he could find. But unfortunately, he\nhad not studied the career of the bishop; he did not pursue his\nexamination deep enough; he also overlooked some evidence before\nhis eyes in Herrera. When Mr. Irving had finished his search and\nnoted the evidence, he stated confusedly what he had collected,\nwithout discriminating between inferences and facts; sometimes\ntreating facts as inferences or excuses in the biographies of\nXimenes; sometimes treating the inferences in Robertson and\nQuintana as facts. He entered upon the examination impressed with\nthe conviction that Las Casas had been inconsistent; that the\nmoral conscience of that age was against slavery as much as it is\nnow. He comes to no conclusion, and leaves the charge against the\nbishop in the same condition he approached it.\n\nMr. Prescott, in his excellent _History of the Conquest of\nMexico_, in a note on Las Casas, copies only from Quintana,\nand thereby copies also, many of the mistakes of that celebrated\nSpanish author. The singular spectacle, therefore, among the\ncuriosities of literature is presented in Mr. Prescott's\n_Conquest_, a work of sterling value, for its accuracy\nresting always upon respectable authorities, wherein a note is\nseen abounding in errors. Mr. Prescott is also a believer in the\ninconsistency of the bishop, and that the moral sense at that\ntime was against slavery.\n\nMr. Ticknor, too, in his _History of Spanish Literature_, a\nhistory renowned and properly admired everywhere, with all his\nrespect for the bishop, is not without his little literary\nimperfections. It is evident he is not familiar with the events,\nand their surroundings in the life of Las Casas. He places the\nfamous controversy of the bishop with Sepulveda in 1519. But in\nthat year was the well-known debate of Las Casas with Quevedo,\nthe Bishop of Darien, in the presence of the youthful sovereign.\nSepulveda was then a young man of twenty-six years. But Mr.\nTicknor wanders in good company, one of the most eminent of\nEngland, the celebrated Sir James Mackintosh, who, in his\n_Progress of Ethical Philosophy_, states Sepulveda met Las\nCasas in argument in 1542. That, however, was the year of the\nfamous assembly convoked by imperial order, at Barcelona and\nMolino del Rey, to take into consideration the bishop's _Brief\nAccount of the Destruction of the Indies._ Both of these able\nhistorians are wrong about the date of the Sepulveda discussion:\neven Mr. Helps knows better; it was in 1550. Mr. Ticknor further\nreports that the _Brief Account_ was written for the emperor\nand dedicated to the prince, afterward Philip the Second. It\nwould have been more proper to write that the _Brief\nAccount_ was written for the emperor, and ten years after\nprinted and dedicated to the prince, then in England, the Prince\nConsort with Queen Mary.\n\nThe state of public opinion, in regard to slavery at that period,\nrequires a few words in explanation in order to leave no\nuncertainty in the law, or stain on the crown, on the church, or\ncivilization. It differed much from the present, because the\ncondition of society was in many respects not analogous. Slavery\nwas not then considered immoral; but was actually, in its\npractice, indicative of progress, in ameliorating the calamities\nof war and the fate of captives by land and sea.\n{845}\nEvery war undertaken by a civilized nation, and declared in the\nusual forms, with the solemn religious ceremonies, was held to be\na just war. It was an appeal to the God of armies, as an umpire\nor judge; it was the ordeal by battle. When a victory was won, it\nwas held by the victors a divine decision in their favor; the\nvanquished were deemed criminals before high heaven; and as a\npunishment they were put to death. When the prisoners were too\nnumerous for a general massacre, they were led captive to\ncolonize some vacant territory, and to work for their masters.\nThese victims did not feel grateful to their enemies for their\nclemency; but poured forth their thanks to Providence for his\nmercy. Their offspring continued in slavery; for the sins of the\nfather were visited on the children to the third and fourth\ngenerations, for ever. Even in the course of time, when they\nintermixed in blood, language, and religion with the descendants\nof their conquerors, they were often held to servitude. This was\nthe theory and the practice under it; but subject to many\nexceptions. Exchange of prisoners was sometimes effected; some\nwere ransomed; some were released. At the date of the discovery\nof America, Spain had been at war with the Saracen for seven\ncenturies; it was not only a just war, but a holy crusade. When\ncaptures were made on either side, slaughter ensued without\ncompunction; but not invariably. Both armies and navies were\nacting on religious conviction; but both were better civilized,\nthe infidel being deemed the more refined of the two. It is true,\nthe old and young, the infirm and diseased, who were poor, were\nslain or pitched overboard; while the rich and the strong were\nheld for slaves or for ransom. When a parent learned that his\nchild or relation was spared, only enslaved, he felt the joy with\nwhich an American mother on the border hears the news that her\nlittle girl has not been scalped by the Camanches when captured.\n\nIn Europe, therefore, slavery was deemed a mitigation of the\nhorrors of war: an evil inflicted by the hand of Providence, but\na lesser evil. No one spoke or wrote against the institution;\nwhoever had dared would have been considered not much better than\na brute. Perhaps a few Moslem fanatics desired more Christian\nblood-letting; perhaps a few Christian fanatics wished a little\nmore of the fluid from the arteries of Moors. Yet in no period of\nthe world's history was it held just to retain slaves not\ncaptured in a just war. In Jerusalem, they were returned to the\nneighboring nations when acquired in private piratical forays.\nThis was the Hebrew law. The law of Moses forbade man-stealing,\nmentioned in Isaiah, and repeated by Saint Paul in Timothy; but\nman-stealing meant no more than any other stealing of movable\nproperty.\n\nIn Athens, the same morality was recognized. Aristotle laid it\ndown in his \"Politics\" that barbarians could not be held in\nservitude unless taken in a just war. Rome borrowed her\ninternational code from Greece, as she borrowed everything else\nintellectual. On the revival of learning in the west, the Roman\ncivil law was introduced through the continent of Europe. The\njustice of war, the property acquired under it, the moral power\nto enslave, when, where, and in what cases, was elaborately\ntaught at the universities. Its principles were as well\nunderstood in the canon law as in the civil law; teachers in\nethical philosophy also expounded the doctrine which prevailed in\nevery tribunal or judicature. They all agreed in their premises\nand maxims; they only differed in their application, as their\nminds were clear or obtuse.\n\n{846}\n\nThe rules for the interpretation of laws were the same in the\ncourts of civil or ecclesiastical jurisdiction. The presumption\nof law was that, as slavery of the foreign infidel existed in\nSpain, every infidel of a foreign nation was a slave. If one\nclaimed his freedom, the burden of proof lay upon him to prove he\nwas free. When negroes from Africa were brought by Portuguese\nslave-traders to the Seville market, the presumption arose that\nthese creatures were of that condition. If one of them could show\nthat he was not a slave, that he was not captured in war, but\nstolen from his tribe, he was adjudged a free man. It had always\nbeen known that men were stolen and sold; but every slave\nclaiming to be free had to prove it. The public did not inquire\ninto the fact when they purchased; they did not send to\nSenegambia. It is well known that mule-stealing is as common in\nKentucky as sheep-stealing in the State of New York. Yet no one\nin the city, purchasing either kind of animal in the open market,\nwill hesitate to buy mules or mutton from a regular drover or\nbutcher. Who could wait, when taking his seat at breakfast, until\nhis conscience was appeased to find out first whether the veal\ncutlet before him was not cut from a stolen calf? No one, high or\nlow, in Spain, had any misgiving in the traffic of slaves, either\nin importing them to Andalucia or in exporting them to Jamaica.\n\nBut the natives of the Western Indies stood on a different\nfooting, and when their question was first presented by Queen\nIsabella to the universities of Valladolid and Salamanca for a\njust opinion, whether the Indians could be enslaved, the\nprofessors unanimously decided they could not. The doctors of\ntheology, versed in the canon law, maintained the aborigines of\nthe western hemisphere were conceded to the crown by the bull of\nAlexander VI. granting the sovereignty of America to the kingdom\nof Castile and Leon, and the inhabitants, as wards to civilize\nand make Christians in express terms to be found in the\npontifical document; that the sovereign had accepted it on these\nconditions. To break the promise was to betray the trust. On the\nother hand, the civil jurists held the Indians were vassals of\nthe crown acquired in peaceful discovery and not reduced by war.\nTherefore they were never captured, and consequently could never\nbe enslaved.\n\nThe crown agreed with the lawyers on the question of title by\nwhich the Indies of the West were held. The crown also recognized\nthe stipulations in the bull to civilize and christianize the\nIndians. Consequently, it was resolved that just war could not be\nundertaken against them; but the government placed over them\nshould be a missionary government; with a political polity, at\nthe same time, for colonists only, from Castile. Hence, the\ninnumerable mission establishments in America and the\ncomparatively insignificant civil institutions for the Europeans;\nhence, also, the double aspect of formation in the vice-royalty--\nthe dual government under one head.\n\nThe royal officials sent out had no jurisdiction over the\nIndians, except the viceroy; the religious missionaries had no\ncharge over the Spaniards. As the natives greatly outnumbered the\nCastilians, the institutions, in a short time, inclined more to\nthe ecclesiastical than to the civil or political; and the\nreligious element continues predominant to the present day.\n{847}\nPresidents still govern in fact, although not in the same form as\nthe old viceroys; and as the viceroys represented the king in\ntemporal and spiritual matters, the republican presidents\nendeavor to imitate, in the plenitude of their power, both the\nsovereign and the pontiff.\n\nLas Casas understood the law as laid down by the civil jurists,\nand as understood also by the theologians. Sometimes he defended\nthe Indians under the civil code; sometimes under the canon law.\nIn one way he appealed to his countrymen's sense of justice; in\nanother, to their conscience. In general his arguments were based\non the bull of Alexander, contending that the natives were placed\nin charge of the sovereigns by the head of the church for a\nreligious purpose. Llorente considers this course the weaker side\nto take, because the pope has no prerogative to grant kingdoms,\nand principalities, and discoveries at pleasure; yet he excuses\nLas Casas, because this assumption of the pope's was generally\nrecognized in that age. But the excellent biographer overlooks\nthe words in the petition from Isabella to Alexander, desiring\nthe sovereignty. A saving clause will be found in it, which\nintimates: \"Distinguished lawyers are of opinion that the\nconfirmation or donation from the pontificate is not requisite to\nhold possession justly of the new world.\" In that it will be\nperceived a reservation is inserted against the very power to\ngrant that which it was requested to be granted.\n\nThe bishop was aware of this, but still preferred to appeal to\nthe conscience of the conquerors and colonists; to portray the\nwickedness in enslaving, where their religious convictions might\nbe touched, rather than rely upon the law of the case where every\nsecular law was continually broken, and where even divine law was\nnot much better respected. His policy was correct; its good\neffects ultimately were manifest, and at last eminently\nsuccessful.\n\nAt this time died Hernando Cortez, the conqueror and scourge of\nMexico. When his will was opened, one item directed, as Mr.\nPrescott translates:\n\n  \"It has long been a question whether one can conscientiously\n  hold property in Indian slaves. Since this point has not yet\n  been determined, I enjoin it on my son Martin and his heirs,\n  that they spare no pains to come to an exact knowledge of the\n  truth, as a matter which deeply touches the conscience of each\n  of them no less than mine.'\n\nThe historian, in a note on the same page, gives this extract in\nthe original, where it reads differently, thus:\n\n  \"Item, concerning the native slaves in New Spain, aforesaid;\n  those of war as well as of purchase, there have been, and are\n  many doubts,\" etc.\n\nThe term, \"by purchase,\" refers to those natives who were slaves\nbefore the arrival of the Spaniards, and sold to him. Mr.\nPrescott does not perceive the point for which Las Casas was\ncontending, and which touched the conqueror on his death-bed with\nall his mighty crimes fresh on his soul at the last moment,\nwhether Indians, although taken in war, could be enslaved. On the\nnext page Mr. Prescott remarks: \"Las Casas and the Dominicans of\nthe former age, the abolitionists of their day, thundered out\ntheir uncompromising invectives against the system, on the broad\nground of natural equity and the rights of man.\" This is a\nmistake; Las Casas and other Dominicans always held up the bull\nof Alexander VI., as our abolitionists pointed to the National\nDeclaration of Independence.\n{848}\nThe glamour perpetually before the eyes of modern biographers\nabout the natural equity and the rights of man prevailing in the\nsixteenth century has misled them into many errors.\n\nCortez had no scruples on the subject of his negro slaves! He\ndoes not provide for them. His man, Estevan, had the honor of\nintroducing the small-pox to this continent, at Vera Cruz. Many\nof the race, both African and Spanish-born, were brought to the\nIndies before 1500; but soon after their arrival, proving\nrefractory, they rebelled against the masters in what was called\nthe Maroon war. Others ran away to the mountains, enticing the\nsimple natives with them, where the negro lived in oriental\nleisure and luxury, in his harem, who worked for him, and\nprovided for all his wants. In 1502, Governor Ovando recommended\nthat further importation be prohibited; because they escaped, and\nwould not work for the planters. The clergy joined in the\nrecommendation, because the negroes took the Indians with them,\nwhereby the Indian could not be instructed in religion.\n\nIn 1506, Ovando's recommendation was adopted; but in part only.\nThe introduction of negroes from Africa was prohibited, while the\ncolonists were permitted to bring over Christian negroes born in\nSpain. The king gave a special license for a few Africans to work\nin the mines, where they would not come in contact with the\nnatives. Mr. Bancroft, in the fifth chapter of his _History of\nthe United States_, is quite indignant at the royal hypocrisy;\nhe, too, has the disease of natural equity and rights of man in\nthe cerebellum. This historian observes:\n\n  \"The Spanish government attempted to disguise the crime by\n  prohibiting the introduction of slaves who had been born in\n  Moorish families. ... But the idle pretence was soon abandoned.\n  ... King Ferdinand himself (1510) sent fifty slaves to labor in\n  the mines.\"\n\nThe same chapter fifth is full of precious reading to those who\nare curious to learn how facts sometimes may be interpreted, and\nhistory made up.\n\nThese are the reasons why Cardinal Ximenes was opposed to the\ntrade, as explained by his biographers; and these, also, for the\nrepugnance of Las Casas to it, as stated several times in his\nworks. But the cardinal determined to raise revenue from the\ntraffic; he thereupon, in 1516, stopped the trade until he could\narrange the duties to be levied. For this stoppage, Dr. Robertson\nfired off an eulogium, which was not applicable. Washington\nIrving eagerly sought out the chapter in Herrera, referred to by\nthe doctor, and was duly disgusted on finding that Ximenes was\nnot thinking about sublime moral sentiments, but about money. The\nbiographer of Columbus was much perplexed; he could only console\nhimself for the discrepancy by remarking that, \"Cardinal Ximenes\nin fact, though a wise and upright statesman, was not troubled\nwith scruples of conscience on the question of natural rights.\"\nHow a cardinal can be an upright man without an invariable\ndelicacy of conscience, wherewith to decide justly at all times,\nsurpasses common comprehension. The excuse for Ximenes is about\nequal to the compliment for John Smith, if it were said that the\nubiquitous John is an exemplary member of society when he is\nsober.\n\nOn second thoughts, Mr. Helps, after all, may be entitled to\nhigher rank, by comparison with other authors, than on first\nimpression is accorded to him.\n{849}\nHis home is in a hemisphere where historical questions, purely\nAmerican, are receding more and more from public consideration;\nwhile most of the other gentlemen belong to this side of the\nAtlantic, where such subjects are rising in the horizon, and\nclaiming greater attention. If facts, then, of the first\nmagnitude are Overlooked in the new world, how many more will be\noverlooked in the old? If they do these things in the green tree\nat Boston, what shall be done by a Dryasdust in London?\n\nSpace does not permit an examination of other faults of less\ngravity attributed to Las Casas. It is said that, when he wrote\nhis _Brief Account_, he exaggerated in over-stating the\nimmense extent of the destruction among the aborigines; that his\nexcited feelings and tender sensibilities had led him astray by\nthe unparalleled atrocities perpetrated in his presence. But on\nthe contrary, it was the magnitude of these atrocities which\nexcited his feelings and shocked his sensibilities. Every word in\nthe _Brief Account_ can be maintained; furthermore, it will\nbe found his statement in that tale of horror is not only true,\nbut falls short of all the truth. Foreign nations, jealous and\ndreading the greatness of Spain, eagerly translated and published\nthe _Account_. It soon appeared in print in English, in\nFrench, in Dutch, and Latin; it would have also been presented in\nGerman, if a German literature had been in existence: Caricature\npictures embellished the pages, depicting scenes in the many\nmodes of torture practised upon the Indians, upon the simple,\ninnocent, confiding, naked men and women, upon little boys and\ngirls, scarce beyond infancy.\n\nThese unheard-of crimes sent a thrill throughout Christendom, and\nset a stigma for cruelty on the Castilian name. The Spanish\npeople, proverbial for their honesty, humanity, and integrity,\nacting with little wisdom, denied the correctness of the account;\nconsequently, they were required to make good their denial. This\nbeing impossible, the nation took vengeance on the memory of Las\nCasas, when in his grave. But the conduct was foolish; the nation\nwas no more responsible for the outrage on the natives, than it\nis responsible for a gang of desperadoes and outlaws in the\nmountain, who let loose their bull-dogs on kids and lambs in the\nSierra Morena. Consequently, the name of Las Casas was held up to\nnational execration, wherever was spoken the beautiful idiom of\nCastile. The learned looked upon his virtuous exertions with cold\nsuspicion; literature became tinctured with it; the church,\ncatching the tone of public opinion in the Iberian peninsula,\nwithheld her recognition and recompense; thus ignoring perhaps\nher greatest ornament and benefactor in modern times. In the\ncourse of years, his name passed almost into oblivion in Spain\nwhen the asperity died out. But among the officials in Spanish\nAmerica, hatred to him was imperishable. So far down, even in\n1811, the Consulado of the City of Mexico denounced him as a\n\"most illustrious Spanish declaimer, who wished to make himself\nrenowned at the expense of the true national glory; and if he\nfollowed it some time, he gained at last the merited odium of\nposterity and the contempt of all honest and right-minded\nforeigners.\" At the same moment, nearly thirty millions of the\nnative population, the descendants of those whom he was mainly\ninstrumental in saving from slavery and consequent destruction,\nsent forth daily their grateful hymns in praise of his virtues,\nand in their orisons besought the heavenly grace to grant sweet\nrepose to his imperishable soul.\n\n{850}\n\nWell does he deserve their gratitude. At the beginning, Las Casas\nwas a missionary unto the missions; he taught the clergy first\nthat the natives were intellectual beings like themselves; he\norganized the movement for the extirpation of slavery; he\ninstructed them how to appeal to the conscience of the dying man\nholding fellow-men in bondage; he ordered them to refuse the\nsacraments to the strong, who approached the holy altar; he\nreported the plan for the missionary government to the sovereigns\nin Spain; he organized it in America; and originated the method\nby which the docile creatures were collected into communities or\npueblos, far removed from the white race; he laid down the rules\nfor the hours of labor and repose, for their instruction and for\ntheir civilization. He instituted the regulations for the\nguidance of the priests, and instilled into them the duty of\nwatching over their flock at all times, in all places; to shield\nthem from oppression; to alleviate their distress in sickness; to\nsoothe them in affliction; to counsel them when in health; to be\ntheir guide, comforter, and friend. Nor has one of his teachings\nbeen changed or set aside. They remain to this day in full vigor\nin every pueblo, from the furthest confines of California to the\nmost remote mission of Paraguay. When he passed away from earth,\nat the extreme age of ninety-two, the spirit with which his zeal\nwas animated, was caught up by the priesthood who sat at his feet\nto listen to his inspired words. The germ he planted in their\nbosom grew with their growth, strengthened with their strength. A\nworld was redeemed, and an humble monk from Seville, a truly\nGod-fearing man, Bartoleme Las Casas, was their redeemer.\n\nThe time has gone by when the European mind can do him justice.\nColonial affairs of the Western continent have no longer an\ninterest in that quarter. His native land has thrown him off. It\nis only in America the greatness of his achievement can be\nportrayed, the lustre of his fame renewed. Nor can this pleasing\ntask be accomplished in Spanish America, where as yet a\nprovincial literature prevails. It must come, if come at all,\nfrom out of our own republic. More than one half of the immense,\nwide-spreading territory of the United States once belonged to\nSpain; and Spanish missionary institutions, laws, customs, and\nmanners underlie the Anglo-Saxon historical, legislative, and\njudicial superstructure of a later period. Jurists are now in\nsearch, groping in the dark, for the clue to that seemingly\ninextricable labyrinth of civilization on which Spanish-American\nhistory is founded, and from whence contemporaneous laws and\ncustoms are derived, in order to elucidate intricate principles\ndaily arising in the adjudication of titles to lands.\n\nThe highest court approaches the deciding of such cases with some\ntrepidation and more distrust, lest they misapprehend a Spanish\ncolonial law or do not understand the reason for the enactment of\nthe law; or because, also, a contract may be misinterpreted from\nmisinformation of local institutions and local phrases, that\nthrow their atmosphere around expressed stipulations in legal\ndocuments. They now feel the necessity for an exposition dating\nback to the commencement of Castilian occupancy on this continent\nand the institution of missions. In vain have they sought for\nthat source of knowledge, for that corner-stone upon which to\nconstruct the true theory over again of viceregal domination.\n{851}\nAt last they will turn to the works of Las Casas, to master their\ncontents; and when understood, they will lay their hand on what\nremains of his noble intellect, and exclaim, \"Thou art the man.\"\nThen will be unfolded the mysteries of the Spanish colonial\ndouble codes, and advocates will expound them with the courage\nand confidence with which they expatiate upon the common law of\nEngland.\n\nIt was as idle to look among various races of peaceful\naborigines, for the founder of their civilization, clothed in the\ngarb of a warrior, wearing a sword at his side, as to expect to\nencounter the great protector and first chief magistrate of a\nmighty military nation under the cowl of a monk. Las Casas was to\nthe Spanish domain west of the Mississippi river what Washington\nwas to our English territory east of it; and as resort is\nconstantly had to the writings of the great general, to\nunderstand the principles of government in one portion of the\nrepublic, reference must be made to the essays of the great\nmissionary to explain the ideas and objects for which the other\nwas inhabited. American jurisprudence will be the channel through\nwhich a proper estimate of Las Casas will be attained. Then shall\nhis works be placed in the alcoves of libraries along with the\ndocumentary legacies of Washington, of Jefferson, of Hamilton,\nand Adams; and chapels will be erected to enshrine his relics in\nmarbles, in malachite and lazuli, in gems and in gold. For it\nwill then be established that Bartoleme Las Casas in America\ngained and preserved more souls to the church, than in Europe the\nheresy of Luther ever lost.\n\n---------------\n\n    Sayings Of The Fathers Of The Desert.\n\n\nThere were two brothers of great sanctity, living in the same\ncongregation, who, by their merits, saw in each other the grace\nof God. Now, it chanced that one of them went out on the sixth\nferia, apart from the rest of the congregation, and saw a person\neating at an early hour. \"Dost eat at this hour on the sixth\nferia?\" said he. The next day Mass was celebrated as usual, and\nwhen the other brother looked at him, and saw that the grace\nwhich had been given him was gone, he was sad. And when they had\nentered his cell, he said: \"What hast thou done, brother, for I\nno longer see the grace of God in thee as heretofore?\" \"I\nremember to have done nothing bad either in thought or in deed,\"\nwas the answer. \"Have you spoken to any one in an uncharitable\nmanner?\" asked the brother. Then recollecting himself, he\nreplied: \"Yes. Yesterday I saw some one eating at an early hour,\nand asked him whether he ate so early on the sixth feria. This,\nthen, is my fault. But come, work with me for two weeks, and let\nus pray God to forgive me.\" They did so, and after two weeks'\ntime he beheld God's grace again descending upon his brother,\nand, giving thanks to God, who alone is good, they were full of\nconsolation.\n\n-----------------\n\n{852}\n\n      New Publications.\n\n  The Friendships Of Women.\n  By William Rounseville Alger.\n  Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1868.\n\nMr. Alger has certainly given us a charming volume, and one which\nis distinguished for its freedom from the weak sentimentality and\ndoubtful moral tone that one fears to find in publications of our\nday, whose aim it is to treat of the passions of the human heart.\nHe has chosen the noblest and purest examples in history to\nillustrate his subject, and the incidents of life are selected\nwith good taste and judgment. The Catholic Church refines and\nelevates every genuine sentiment of the heart, and we should,\ntherefore, naturally look for the most shining examples of\nfriendship among those of her children who have instanced in\ntheir lives her divine power of purification and exaltation of\nthe soul. The best examples in this volume are such--St. Monica,\nand her great son, St. Augustine; St. Scholastica and her\nbrother, St. Benedict; St. Jerome and St. Paula; St. Francis of\nAssisi and St. Clara; St. Francis de Sales and St. Jane Frances\nde Chantal; St. Theresa and St. John of the Cross; Sir Thomas\nMore and his daughter, Margaret Roper; Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin and her\nbrother Maurice; Madame Swetchine and Father Lacordaire. In\nseveral places Mr. Alger recognizes this fact, and acknowledges\nthat the Catholic faith tends to foster pure and exalted\nfriendships. Noticing some very remarkable intimate friendships\nwhich sprung up between certain holy priests and their female\npenitents, he adds: \"Unquestionably there have been very numerous\nfriendships, worthy of notice, between clergymen and devout women\nin the Protestant sects. But they are different from those in the\nCatholic communion, which has, in this respect, great advantages.\nIn the Protestant establishment all are on a free equality, and\nthe religion is an element fused into the life. With the\nCatholics, the overwhelming authority of the church invests the\npriests with godlike attributes, while celibacy detaches their\nhearts from the home and family, leaving them ready for other\ncalls. The laity are placed in a passive attitude, except as to\nfaith and affection, which are more active for the restrictions\napplied elsewhere: and religion is pursued and practised as an\nart by itself. The church ritual, by its dramatic contents and\nmovements, peerless in its pathetic, imaginative power,\nintensifies and cleanses the passions of those who appreciatively\ncelebrate or witness it, and who are naturally attracted\ntogether, as, in blended devotional emotions and aims, they\ncultivate that supernatural act whose infinite interests make all\nearthly concerns appear dwarfed and pale. The instances already\ncited of the friendships thus originating, suffice to indicate\nthe wealth in this kind of experience which must remain for ever\nunknown to the public.\"\n\nThe fact is plain, although Mr. Alger makes sorry work in\nattempting to philosophize upon it. A month's experience in the\nconfessional, if that were possible for him, would teach him with\nwhom \"religion is an element fused into the life,\" and that the\nfaith of a Catholic is not a matter of sentiment only, and it\nmight reveal to him, also, the secret of that holy friendship of\nwhich, in truth, the world outside knows nothing. It certainly\ndoes surprise us that, from his close perusal of the lives of\nthese friends in God, he has failed to discover it. We can tell\nhim, however, the reason why he has not found the secret of their\naffection, for we read it plainly on every page of his book. He\nfails to recognize the reality of the supernatural, and therefore\nhas no appreciation of any friendship which is not wholly human\nin its foundation and motive. This is the fault we have to find\nwith modern non-Catholic literature, and which renders it so cold\nand sterile.\n{853}\nWe are not the ones to carp at human love and human friendship.\nBoth are of God, and blessed by him. The doctrines of Calvinism,\nwhich has darkened the spiritual life of those who have been\nnourished under its influence, and which stigmatizes the nature\nof man, with all its aspirations, as of the devil, devilish, is\nalone responsible for the degradation of the heart's affections,\nand that dearth of human friendship of which the author complains\nin his introduction, and the desire to reestablish which appears\nto have moved him to the composition of this work. The revolt\nagainst the doctrine of total depravity has resulted in pure\nnaturalism and transcendentalism. Hence, human reason is deified\ntogether with the instincts. Reason is the highest, for there is\nnothing above it; and \"act out thy instincts,\" is the holiest,\nfor they are divine.\n\nMay not this inordinate cultivation of the passions, and their\nunbridled gratification, which is the burden of the sensational\nliterature of our day, be a reaction from the unnatural\nrestraints of puritanism? The actual state of things we leave our\nauthor to give in his own words. \"The proportionate number of\nexamples of virtuous love, completing itself in marriage, will\nprobably diminish, and the relative examples of defeated or of\nunlawful love increase, until we reach some new phase of\ncivilization, with better harmonized social arrangements--\narrangements both more economical and more truthful. In the mean\ntime, everything which tends to inflame the exclusive passion of\nlove, to stimulate thought upon it, or to magnify its imagined\nimportance, contributes so much to enhance the misery of its\nwithholding or loss, and thus to augment an evil already\nlamentably extensive and severe.\" Why does not Mr. Alger ask\nhimself the reason of this increasing immorality, and the\ndiminution of the number of marriages? He says, again, \"There\nnever were so many morally baffled, uneasy, and complaining women\non the earth as now.\" And why? His answer confirms what we have\nbefore said. \"_Because never before did the capacities of\nintelligence and affection so greatly exceed their\ngratification_.\" Mr. Alger sees no other heaven than this\nearth, no \"better part\" than marriage; is blind to the\nsupernatural end of man; fails to appreciate the examples of\ndivine friendships he cites, and has no remedy to offer for the\nevils he deplores, but the stimulation of another human\nsentiment, purer in its conception, and less liable to abuse than\nthe more ardent passion of love, and the establishment and\ncultivation of \"woman's rights,\" to replace (we cannot help\nthinking it) the convent and its supernatural life of divine\nlove; and substituting personal friendships for that charity\nwhich embraces the whole race. For, he says: \"Now, the most\nhealthful, effective antidote for the evils of an extravagant\npassion, is to call into action neutralizing or supplementary\npassions; to balance the excess of one power by stimulating\nweaker powers, and fixing attention on them; to assuage\ndisappointments in one direction by securing gratification in\nanother.\" And, again: \"The good wife and mother fills a beautiful\nand sublime office--the fittest and the happiest office she can\nfulfil. If her domestic cares occupy and satisfy her faculties,\nit is a fortunate adjustment; and it is right that her husband\nshould relieve her of the duty of providing for her subsistence.\nBut what shall be said of those millions of women who are not\nwives and mothers; who have no adequate domestic life, no genial,\nprivate occupation or support? Multitudes of women have too much\nself-respect to be desirous of being supported in idleness by\nmen, too much genius and ambition to be content with spending\ntheir lives in trifles; and too much devotedness not to burn to\nbe doing their share in the relief of humanity, the work and\nprogress of the world. If these were but all happy wives and\nmothers, that might be best. But denied that function, and being\nwhat they are, why should not all the provinces of public labor\nand usefulness which they are capable of occupying, be freely\nopened to them! What else is it save prejudice that applauds a\nwoman dancing a ballet or performing an opera, but shrinks with\ndisgust from one delivering an oration, preaching a sermon, or\ncasting a vote?\n{854}\nWhy is it less womanly to prescribe as a physician than to tend\nas a nurse? If a woman have a calling to medicine, divinity, law,\nliterature, art, instruction, trade, or honorable handicraft, it\nis hard to see any reason why she should not have a fair chance\nof pursuing it.\"\n\nMr. Alger, however, catches some faint glimpses of the truth to\nwhich we have alluded, and we wish that he would ponder well the\nfull meaning of his own language, when speaking of the friendship\nof Madame Swetchine and Father Lacordaire--a friendship which\nappears to have been a subject of intense interest to him, and to\nhave awakened his unqualified admiration. \"No one who has not\nread their correspondence, reaching richly through a whole\ngeneration, can easily imagine the services rendered by this\ngifted and saintly woman to this holy and powerful man. Community\nof faith, of loyalty, of nobleness, joined them. It was in\nlooking to heaven together that their souls grew united. Drawn by\nthe same attractions, and held by one sovereign allegiance, such\nsouls need no vows, nor lean on any foreign support. _The\ndivinity of truth and good is their bond._\" What is this\n\"divinity of truth and good\"? Is it God, the living, personal\nGod, who redeems, inspires, regenerates, sanctifies, and\nglorifies humanity, or is it not? What is the character of the\nlife born of this communion in God? Are such friendships possible\noutside of revealed religion? We think not, and we regret that a\nmind of such culture as our author has shown his to be, should\nnot see that he has been forced to go outside of the bounds of\nhis own theory to find the realization of his ideal.\n\nThe final chapter of his work, \"On the present needs and duties\nof women,\" is not so foreign to the title of the volume as one\nmight be tempted to believe on a cursory reading. Mr. Alger\nfinds, as he says in his introduction, that the position of woman\nin society is descending. He looks for some \"new phase of\ncivilization\" to bring her back to a position of honor and\nusefulness equivalent to that which she is so rapidly losing. He\nblames Christianity and its traditions for making woman the\nweaker vessel, and reducing her to subjection under the rule of\nman, as the head of the divine institution of the family. It\nseems to us that this relative position of the man and the woman\nis established by pretty high authority.\n\n\"To the woman, also, he said, I will multiply thy sorrows and thy\nconceptions: in sorrow shalt thou bring forth children, _and\nthou shalt be under thy husband's power, and he shall have\ndominion over thee._\" This, however, Mr. Alger conveniently\nrejects as a legend. But does he forget that the Christian church\nemancipated woman, and redeemed her from that degraded condition,\ninto which, for want of the regenerating influence of the\nsupernatural life of that church, she is once again descending?\nWe are not surprised to see Mr. Alger throwing all revelation\naside, denying original sin and its consequences. But let him\nbeware. He will drag humanity back into the state of barbarism,\nor drown it in the sink of heathen licentiousness. This modern\nspirit of materialism, this throwing off the yoke of divine\nauthority, is the result of the old temptation, \"Ye shall be as\ngods, knowing good from evil,\" and we are present witnesses to\nthe curse that is falling upon those who give ear to the tempter.\nMen and women forget God, and there is a fearful resuscitation of\nthe basest forms of heathen immorality among them. Will Mr. Alger\ntell us to what principle (either of civilization or of religion)\nhe attributes the dying out of the non-Catholic native American\nstock in New England, and what new phase of civilization will\nprevent its total extinction?\n\nMr. Alger would regenerate the millions of women whose aimless\nlife he deplores, by making woman equal in all the duties of life\nto the man. No matter what the whole world has said before, no\nmatter what superstitious revelations have said, no matter if the\nteaching of the Bible distinctly shows the contrary, no matter if\nthe Christian church affirms by the mouth of St. Paul, \"I suffer\nnot a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to\nbe in silence; for Adam was first formed, then Eve.\"\n{855}\n\"We are led,\" says our author, \"by teachings of philosophy and\nscience which we cannot resist,\" to differ with the traditions of\nthe whole world and the Christian church, and as for the Apostle,\n\"his logic limps;\" for, \"did priority of creation confer\nauthority to govern, then man should obey the lower animals.\" (!)\n\nMr. Alger has a theory, and endeavors to illustrate it, and draw\nthe logical conclusions. We fear that those conclusions will\nharmonize but ill with the experience of the human race, and will\nbe found sadly wanting in their adaptability to its needs.\n\n------------\n\n  An Illustrated History Of Ireland.\n  With ten first-class full-page Engravings of Historical Scenes,\n  designed by Henry Doyle, and engraved by George Hanlon and\n  George Pearson; together with upwards of 100 woodcuts by\n  eminent artists, illustrating the Antiquities, Scenery, and\n  Sites of Remarkable Events.\n  1 vol. 8vo, pp. xiv., 581.\n  London: Longman & Co.;\n  New York: Catholic Publication Society, 126 Nassau Street.\n\nWe extend a most cordial welcome to this \"Popular Illustrated\nHistory of Ireland.\" It is precisely such a manual of that deeply\ninteresting and suggestive history, as should be in the hands of\nevery man or woman who claims connection with the ancient race of\nthe Gael, or who wishes to obtain a correct knowledge of that\npeople. Such a manual could only have been produced in our\ngeneration. Thirty or forty years ago, it were an impossibility.\nLittle was then known of the genuine materials of the history of\nIreland; of the vast body of annals, which Eugene O'Curry\ndeliberately affirmed, some twelve years since, must form the\nbasis of any really intelligible version of the story of \"ancient\nErinn;\" of the Genealogies and Pedigrees, the Historic Tales, the\nLaw Books, the Topographical Poems, and of the whole mass of\nmiscellaneous historical literature, which the national historian\nmust avail himself of, before he can give us anything more than a\ndry and meagre outline; before he can bring out in full relief,\nthe pregnant record of the colonization, conversion, invasions,\npersecutions, wars, struggles, triumphs and reverses; sufferings\nand sorrows of Innisfail; before he can supply those lights and\nshades, all those minute circumstances, \"which explain not only\nhistorical events, but those equally or even more important\ndescriptions, in which the habits and manners, the social ideas\nand cultivation, the very life of the actors in those events are\"\ndepicted for our instruction as well as entertainment. It is true\nthere were then as now accessible scores, even hundreds of\nso-called \"Histories of Ireland,\" from Dermod O'Connor's rude and\nruthless translation of the _Foras Feasa Ar Eirinn_ of Dr.\nGeoffrey Keating, down through the ponderous volumes of Leland,\nand Warner, and O'Halloran, and Plowden, and Ledwich, and\nMusgrave, to the crude compilations of Taaffe, and Gordon, and\nCrawford, and Commerford, and Lawless; to the more polished and\npretentious, but not practically more useful, rather more\npernicious epitome of Thomas Moore. There were Ogygias,\nItineraries, Collectanea, Chronicles of Eri, and such pedantic\nrubbish, in heaps on the shelves of public libraries, in old\nbook-stores, in the closets and chests of fossilized book-worms.\nAll of those pseudo-histories served rather to discourage than\nadvance the study of the real history of Ireland; to bring into\ndisrepute, rather than to exalt, the Irish name, and race, and\nnation, and the glorious church founded by the great apostle of\nthe faith.\n\nTo a learned and faithful, though almost forgotten representative\nof the venerable priesthood of Ireland belongs the high honor of\nhaving produced, in the language of the stranger, the first truly\noriginal work of an historical nature, an able, erudite, and\ninspiring history of the most devoutly cherished inheritance of\nthe race, the ancient church of his native land; and this, too,\nwithin the memory of men yet living, and not far past the prime\nof life. We allude to the _Ecclesiastical History of\nIreland,_ of the Rev. Dr. John Lanigan, which was issued in\nfour volumes octavo, from a Dublin press, in the year 1822.\n{856}\nIt commenced with the introduction of Christianity into Ireland,\nand closed with the era of the Anglo-Norman invasion. Half a\nlife-time was given to the preparation of the book, the\naccomplished author of which \"spared no pains in the collection\nand collation of such documents as materially\" bore on the\nsubject, and such as were in his time accessible in the British\nIslands, and on the continent. His aim was \"to exhibit a faithful\npicture of the doctrine and practice of the ancient Irish Church,\nand to show its connection, at all times, with the universal\nchurch of Christ.\" This he did as far as it was then in the power\nof a great and zealous scholar to do. But he felt, and his\ncontemporaries were by him taught to appreciate, the want of a\nfamiliar and critical knowledge of the immense stores of Celtic\nlore, the full magnitude and importance of which it has since\ntaken more than the average of a generation of unprecedentedly\ndiligent research, and of unsurpassed ability, to ascertain and\nmake clear.\n\nSoon after the publication of the really great work of Dr.\nLanigan--now altogether out of print--the famous Ordnance Survey\nof Ireland was fairly entered upon. In its prosecution, some of\nthe most profoundly learned men of the country were employed,\nunder the superintendence of Colonel Thomas A. Larcom and Dr.\nGeorge Petrie. It was in connection with this great national\nundertaking that the knowledge and skill of the lamented\nscholars, Dr. John O' Donovan and Professor Eugene O'Curry, were\nfirst utilized for the public good. Thenceforward, with and\nwithout the aid of government, these great men pushed earnestly,\nenthusiastically onward, in their investigations into the extant\nmaterials of their country's history; rescuing from oblivion and\ndecay priceless memorials of the past, in every form and shape,\nin Ireland and elsewhere whither they were called upon to exert\nthemselves; and classifying, systematizing, translating, editing,\nannotating, and publishing, with unremitting industry, and with\nmarvellous power and tact, until they ceased from their labors\nfor ever, and passed hence to their reward. Great, indeed\nirreparable, was the loss which the history and literature of\nIreland sustained in their deaths.\n\nWithout the impetus given to the investigation of the past of\nIreland by the great, single-handed enterprise of the Rev. Dr.\nLanigan, it is questionable whether the progress that was made in\nthe succeeding thirty years could possibly have been achieved in\nthe interest of the historical literature of the nation. Without\nthe help of O'Donovan and O'Curry and Petrie, the race could not\nhave had placed within its reach so vitally important a portion\nof that literature as has been given to the public in a\nthoroughly scholarly form and style, within the past twenty-eight\nyears, by the Irish Archaeological, Celtic, Ossianic, and kindred\narchaeological societies, by Messrs. Hodges & Smith, by Mr. James\nDuffy, of Dublin, and through various other agencies. Without the\nadvantages resulting from their labors, we could not have had the\nmany very able works on general and special topics of national\nhistorical interest which, within our own recollection, have\nproceeded from the pens of truly national writers. Without the\nvast stores of information acquired by O'Donovan and O'Curry\nthemselves, while prosecuting their fruitful studies and\nresearches, even the _Irish Grammar_ and the magnificent\nversion of the _Annals of Ireland_ of the former, and the\ncelebrated _Lectures on the Manuscript Materials of Ancient\nIrish History,_ the crowning work of the latter, could not\nhave been produced in our day and generation. And it is saying no\nmore than is frankly avowed by the vigorous writer of the\n_Popular Illustrated History of Ireland_, that, without the\nbenefit of the light that has been thrown upon bygone times in\nIreland, since Dr. Lanigan published his _Ecclesiastical\nHistory_, this latest and best of the modern histories of\nIreland could not have been prepared for publication, and issued\nin such an appropriate style.\n\nThe work before us, for a copy of which we are indebted to \"The\nCatholic Publication Society,\" makes a handsome octavo volume of\nover 600 pages, divided into 36 chapters, prefaced by an\nadmirably written and very timely disquisition on the Irish land\nand church questions, the most vital questions of reform in\nIreland in our time; and supplemented by a very full index.\n{857}\nIt is illustrated by ten full-page historical engravings, from\ndesigns by Mr. Henry Doyle, a worthy son of the noble Irish\nCatholic artist, Richard Doyle, who refused to prostitute his\ngenius in the interests of the assailants of his church through\nthe columns of the London _Punch_; and by over one hundred\nvery beautiful sketches on wood of the scenery, antiquities,\nsites of remarkable events, etc. etc. The illustrations, woodcuts\nand all, are in the very best style of the art which they\nrepresent. Mr. Doyle's contributions of themselves would form an\nattractive collection. The emblematic title-page, suggestive of\nall that is grand and noble in the period of the independence of\nthe nation, is an exquisite picture. Of rare merit, likewise, are\nmost of the other designs furnished by Mr. Doyle. The Emigrant's\nFarewell, opposite page 571, is a truthful, characteristic, and\npainfully suggestive sketch.\n\nThe narrative itself is as fine a specimen of comprehensive\nanalysis and condensation as we have any knowledge of. It\nfaithfully reflects the present advanced state of historical\nresearch in and relating to the country. It embodies all the\nascertained facts of the history of Ireland. The character of its\nearly inhabitants; their social, civil, and religious habits and\ncustoms; their martial, legal, literary, and--noblest, most\nglorious, most enduring of all--their missionary triumphs; all\nare accurately, though succinctly, portrayed. The tragic eras of\nthe history of the nation, from the Invasion to the achievement\nof Catholic Emancipation--more than 650 years--are also limned\nin vivid colors. No available source of information has been\nunheeded by the writer, who seems to have not merely read, but\nstudied earnestly, every published work of value or interest,\ndown to the very latest publication, bearing directly or\nindirectly on the subject, not even excepting the driest and most\nabstruse of the several society tracts and monograms of the\narchaeologists. The sketches of early Celtic literature are\nworthy of even O'Donovan or O'Curry, brief, precise, and\nsatisfactory. The book is trustworthy in all its peculiarities,\neminently so in its text and notes, which are presented in a\nclear, unaffected, but most interesting style, and with a\nconscientiousness which is not obtrusive, but which is\nrecognizable in every line of the writer.\n\nWe have been so interested in the details of the history, and so\ndelighted by the more purely narrative parts, that we find we\nhave marked for citation several peculiarly striking passages,\nfor which we have no room. One passage which we give will serve\nas the meetest conclusion to our notice of the work; as well as\nto indicate the spirit of the history, and illustrate the\nflowing, artless, and pathetic style of the writer. In treating\nof the extant memorials of St. Patrick, it is thus beautifully\nremarked:\n\n  \"One prayer uttered by St. Patrick has been singularly\n  fulfilled. 'May my Lord grant,' he exclaims, 'that I may never\n  lose his people, which he has acquired in the ends of the\n  earth.' From hill and dale, from camp and cottage, from\n  plebeian and noble, there rang out a grand 'Amen.' The strain\n  was caught by Secundinus and Benignus, by Columba and\n  Columbanus, by Brigid and Brendan. It floated away from\n  Lindisfarne and Iona to Iceland and Tarentum. It was heard on\n  the sunny banks of the Rhine, at Antwerp and Cologne, in\n  Oxford, in Pavia, and in Paris. And still the old echo is\n  breathing its holy prayer by the priest who toils in cold and\n  storm to the 'station' on the mountain-side, far from his\n  humble home. By the confessor who spends hour after hour, in\n  the heat of summer and the cold of winter, absolving the\n  penitent children of Patrick. By the monk in his cloister. By\n  noble and true-hearted men, faithful through centuries of\n  persecution. And loudly and nobly, though it be but faint to\n  human ears, is that echo uttered also by the aged woman who\n  lies down by the wayside to die in the famine years, because\n  she prefers the bread of heaven to the bread of earth, and the\n  faith taught by Patrick to the tempter's gold. By the emigrant,\n  who with broken heart bids a long farewell to the dear island\n  home, to the old father, to the gray-haired mother, because his\n  adherence to his faith tends not to further his temporal\n  interests, and he must starve or go beyond the sea for bread.\n  Thus, ever and ever, that echo is gushing up into the ear of\n  God, and never will it cease until it shall have merged into\n  the eternal alleluia which the often-martyred and ever faithful\n  children of the saint shall shout with him in rapturous voice\n  before the Eternal Throne.\"\n\n------------------\n\n{858}\n\n  Legends Of The Wars In Ireland.\n  By Robert Dwyer Joyce, M.D.\n  1 vol. 12mo, pp. 352.\n  Boston: James Campbell. 1868.\n\nThis handsome little volume is, we believe, the first\ncontribution of Dr. Joyce to Irish-American literature since his\narrival in this country. We have read several of his sketches,\nyears ago, in the Irish periodicals, and one of them, the\n\"Building of Mourne,\" appeared in one of the first numbers of\nthis magazine.\n\nThe stories Dr. Joyce has collated in this volume are told in an\neasy, racy style, and make pleasant reading for a winter's\nevening. They please us better than the majority of the sketches\nand stories about Ireland which have frequently appeared here and\nin England, as they are, with a few exceptions, free from that\nexaggeration of plot and detail which take away the moral effect\nof too many of the so-called legends. The book contains the\nfollowing stories:\n  A Batch of Legends;\n  The Master of Lisfinry;\n  The Fair Maid of Killarney;\n  An Eye for an Eye;\n  The Rose of Drimmagh;\n  The House of Lisbloom;\n  The White Knight's Present;\n  The First and Last Lords of Firmoy,\n  The Chase from the Hostel;\n  The Whitethorn Tree;\n  The White Lady of Basna;\n  The Bridal Ring;\n  The Little Battle of Bottle Hill.\n\n---------\n\n  Verses On Various Occasions.\n  By John Henry Newman, D.D.\n  London: Burns, Gates & Co.\n  For sale at the Catholic Publication House.\n\nDr. Newman has conferred a long-expected favor upon many friends\nin the collection and publication of his poems under the present\nform. Those who have known and honored his course will appreciate\nthe thoughtfulness which prompted him to subjoin the dates of\ntheir composition, as also the names of places where they were\nwritten. To such also those poems will, of course, be of the\ngreater interest, which are, in fact, the sighs of his troubled\nheart as God led him step by step toward the church. These were\ncomposed between 1830 and 1833, and make up a large part of the\nvolume. In the _Apologia_ we get an insight into the trials\nof his mind, as he faithfully held fast to truth, and fought for\nit, even against his own, for conscience' sake. Here we look into\nhis heart, and witness the communion of his spirit with God. Dr.\nNewman had many to doubt the sincerity of his course, the purity\nof his motives, and the singleness of his purpose. Who can read\nthese spoken thoughts, spoken rather to God than to man, and\ndoubt him still? We cannot refrain from transcribing one already\nwell known, which is remarkable for the expression it conveys of\nthe deep emotions of his soul at a time when his mind was torn\nwith anxious doubt concerning the truth of Anglicanism. He felt,\nas most converts feel in their journey to the Home of Faith and\nTruth, that they are on the way to a promised land, led by the\ncloud of desolation that God raises in the desert, and yet know\nnot where that Home is nor of what sort or fashioning it may be.\nThe poem we allude to is entitled,\n\n  \"THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD.\n\n  \"Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,\n        Lead thou me on!\n   The night is dark, and I am far from home--\n        Lead thou me on!\n   Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see\n   The distant scene--one step enough for me.\n\n  \"I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou\n        Shouldst lead me on,\n   I loved to choose and see my path; but now\n        Lead thou me on!\n   I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,\n   Pride ruled my will; remember not past years.\n\n  \"So long thy power hath blest me, sure it still\n        Will lead me on,\n   O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till\n        The night is gone:\n   And with the morn those angel faces smile\n   Which I have loved long since and lost awhile.\"\n\nWe think some one has said--and if not, we say it ourselves--that\nthe next difficult thing to writing a book is to give it a name.\nWhat every one has not failed to notice, who is conversant with\nthe sermons of Dr. Newman, we find equally true of these poems,\nthe felicity of his choice of titles.\n{859}\nIt is the touch of genius; and we venture to assert that Dr.\nNewman excels in this all living writers. There is no evidence\nthat these \"Verses\" were written or are published now for poetic\nfame, and yet no one can help but accord to them the praise due\nto poetry of a high order of merit; revealing at the same time,\nas they do, what a great deal of true poetry does not and need\nnot necessarily show, the mind of the scholar and of the master\nof language. The volume closes with the remarkable poem entitled,\n\"The Dream of Gerontius,\" which our readers have already enjoyed\nfrom the pages of _The Catholic World_.\n\n---------\n\n  The Blessed Eucharist Our Greatest Treasure.\n  By Michael M\u00fcller,\n  Priest of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer.\n  Baltimore: Kelly & Piet.\n\nThis work is written in plain and unaffected style to promote the\nnoblest, best, and most useful of objects, the devotion to our\nLord Jesus Christ present in the Most Holy Sacrament of the\naltar. Catholics are taught and believe this great mystery of\nlove; but many, though they believe, do not seem to realize\nsufficiently what it is they believe. They have not thought much\nupon it. They have, not penetrated its depths. Their knowledge is\nsuperficial, and their devotion consequently is cold. And this\nfor many reasons is particularly the case in this country. Here\nwe have immense congregations and few priests, and they loaded\ndown with the building of churches, and a variety of work which\nhas been already done in other countries. The people often are\neither out of reach of the church, or struggling for the means of\nliving, and therefore have grown careless, and failed to receive\nthe instruction which they require. Hence there is need, and\ngreat need, of all the means of instruction which can be brought\nto bear, and good books on the grand doctrines of religion are\ncalculated to do an incalculable amount of good. This book of\nFather M\u00fcller's is intended to supply much needed instruction on\nthe Blessed Sacrament, and we hope it will receive an extensive\ncirculation. In reading it, we are reminded of the _Visits to\nthe Blessed Sacrament_ by Saint Alphonsus, which have been so\nacceptable and useful throughout the whole church, and we do not\ndoubt many souls will derive great edification and pleasure from\nits perusal.\n\n-------------\n\n  The Cromwellian Settlement Of Ireland.\n  By John P. Prendergast, Esq. With three maps.\n  1 vol. pp. 228.\n  New York: P. M. Haverty. 1868.\n\nThis is the most thorough _expos\u00e9_ of the wholesale plunder\nand robbery of the unfortunate Irish by the English soldiers\nunder Cromwell yet published. It quotes the documents by the\nauthority of which the land was taken from its rightful owners,\nand parcelled out to the jail-birds of the \"protector.\"\n\nMr. Prendergast is a Dublin lawyer. He was in the circuit in the\ncounties of Wicklow, Wexford, Waterford, Kilkenny, and Tipperary\nfor ten years, when he received a commission to make pedigree\nresearches in the latter county. His search for documents\nrelating to Ireland was not confined to that country alone. He\nvisited England, and examined the extensive Irish documents in\nthe libraries there. But, he tells us, it was in the castle of\nDublin he found the most important ones. These, along with\nextracts from others, found elsewhere, make up his book. It is\nfull of historical materials on the confiscation of Ireland,\nnever before published, which make it an important work to be\nstudied by every student in Irish history. It throws a flood of\nlight on the manner in which the Irish were robbed, exiled,\nmurdered, and for no other purpose but to get their property for\nthe invaders. It tells a sad and sickening story of wrong and\noutrage, unknown in the history of any other country in Europe,\nmuch of which has been kept hidden, because the guilty parties\ndid not wish such things should see the light. But truth, like\nmurder, will out, and Mr. Prendergast, who, it is well to\nobserve, is not a Catholic, has done a good service to the cause\nof truth, in the volume before us.\n\n-----------\n\n{860}\n\n  Manual Of Physical Exercises.\n  By William Wood.\n  With one hundred and twenty-five illustrations.\n  New York: Harper & Brothers. 1867.\n\nThat physical education is absolutely necessary to a full and\nperfect development of the intellectual faculties, is now\nuniversally conceded. In this connection, therefore, we have but\nto add that the manual now before us gives, in simple phrase,\naided by, numerous appropriate illustrations, a vast amount of\ninformation by which our health may be preserved, our strength\nincreased, our mental powers as a consequence improved, and\ntherefore, not only our individual comfort promoted, but our\ngeneral usefulness as members of the body politic very materially\nenhanced.\n\n-----------\n\n  Lives Of The Queens Of England, From The Norman Conquest.\n  By Agnes Strickland, author of\n  _Lives of the Queens of England_.\n  Abridged by the author.\n  Revised and edited by Caroline G. Parker.\n  New York: Harper & Brothers. 1867.\n\nThis excellent abridgment presents us with a series of\npen-portraits, strikingly and impartially depicted, of the Queens\nof England, from Matilda of Flanders, wife of William the\nConqueror, to the present queen-regnant, Victoria. While giving,\nin a modified form, the more delicate facts of their history, it\ncarefully retains all that is essential to a complete knowledge\nof their lives, public and domestic, their political triumphs and\nreverses, their private joys and sorrows.\n\n-------------\n\n  Home Fairy Tales.\n  By Jean Mac\u00e9.\n  Translated by Mary L. Booth.\n  With Engravings.\n  New York: Harper & Brothers. 1868.\n\nIn its illustrations, binding, and typographical excellence, this\nvolume ranks first amongst the many which, during the holiday\nseason just passed, have attracted the favorable regard of the\nrising generation. But, while cheerfully according this meed of\npraise to the Messrs. Harper, and no less acknowledging the merit\nof Miss Booth's translation, a vivid remembrance of what best\npleased ourselves, in days gone by, compels us to add, that these\ntales, unlike many others we might enumerate, will never become\nhousehold words with children. Fairy tales intended, as these\nevidently are, to convey a moral, may be likened to sugar-coated\npills. The fault with these tales is, that the coating, so to\nspeak, is too thin, and, consequently, the unpalatable though\nsanative globule too easily detected.\n\n---------\n\n  The Lovers' Dictionary.\n  A Poetical Treasury of Lovers' Thoughts, Fancies, Addresses,\n  and Dilemmas, indexed with ten thousand references, as a\n  Dictionary of Compliments, and Guide to the Study of the Tender\n  Science.\n  New York: Harper & Brothers. 1867.\n\nOf this anonymous volume, if the author's judgment and good taste\nhad equalled his industry, mere mention on our part would\nsuffice. But even a cursory examination compels us to add that,\nwhile it contains many beautiful poems and elegant extracts, we\nfound very many indifferent, not a few objectionable from a want\nof appositeness, and some that should not have been inserted.\n\nShould the author compile another volume, intended for the\nimpressible of both sexes, we heartily wish him, in consideration\nof his zeal, \"a little more taste,\" the more fully to carry out\nhis good intentions.\n\n------------\n\n\"The Catholic Publication Society\"\nhas the following books in press, and\nwill publish them as follows:\n  March 10, _The Diary of a Sister of Mercy_;\n  April 1, _In the Snow; or, Tales of Mount St. Bernard_,\n  by Rev. Dr. Anderdon;\n  April 20, _Nellie Netterville; or, A Tale of\n  the Times of Cromwell_, by Miss Caddell;\n  May 10, _Problems of the Age_.","title":"The Catholic World, Vol. 06, October, 1867 to March, 1868.","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":511844}