II. SONNET--RYDAL WITH WORDSWORTH (part 2 of 2)

II. SONNET--RYDAL WITH WORDSWORTH (part 2 of 2)

“Now,” continues Father Tondini, “the charges brought in the present case against the Catholic Church are so heavy, and the mere probability of their being founded on truth of such vital importance to the whole Christian world, … that to require something more than the ordinary amount of theological science which is in general to be found in men involved in worldly affairs of the most distracting kind, is only acting in accordance with the most ordinary laws of prudence. All this will become evident if we only suppose that the ‘Declaration’ had appeared without the signatures of Dr. von Döllinger and the above-mentioned professors.” In looking over the latter we find that none of them can lay any claim to the same scientific authority and repute as that which he enjoys; and the same remark applies to all who have subsequently joined the Old Catholics.

With regard to Dr. von Döllinger himself, he has till now, if we are rightly informed, abstained from joining his fellow-subscribers to the German “Declaration” in their submission to Mgr. Reinkens, the Old-Catholic Bishop of Germany. “Thus the chief promoter of the opposition to the Vatican Council stands apart, and we should be grateful to any one who might tell us to what church he belongs and whom he recognizes as his legitimate bishop. We cannot suppose that he whom Mr. Gladstone calls ‘the most famous and learned theologian of the Roman communion’ has the pretension of forming a church in his own person.”

Father Tondini next notices the remarkable phenomenon presented by Old Catholicism during the first three years of its existence as body without a head, and calls the reader’s attention to the following passage in the French manifesto:

“If it be the will of God,” thus it runs, “that some Roman bishops have the courage to return publicly to the profession of the ancient faith, we will place them with joy at our head. And if none break publicly with heresy, our church, though essentially episcopal, will not for that reason be condemned to die; for as soon as it shall be possible to regularize its situation in this respect, we shall choose priests who will receive either in the West or in the East an episcopal consecration of unquestionable validity.”

“These,” he remarks, “are plain words. It evidently results from them that there was a time when the church, ‘unstained by any Roman innovation,’ was still looking for a bishop--in other words, for a head, which she did not possess as yet. How, in spite of this deficiency, the Old-Catholic Church could be termed essentially episcopal we are at a loss to understand. That which is essential to a thing is that without which it cannot possibly exist for a single moment; but here we are asked to believe in a miracle which at once destroys all our physical and metaphysical notions of things. A new-born warrior fighting without a head, and a being existing without one of its essential constituents--such are the wonders which accompanied the genesis of the so-called regenerated church of the Old Catholics.”

The German Declaration in like manner states the then headless condition of the Old-Catholic body. Its subscribers, and among them Prof. Reinkens, say they look forward to a time when “all Catholicity shall be placed under the direction of a primate and an episcopacy, which by means of science,” etc., etc., “and not by the decrees of the Vatican, … shall approach the crowning object assigned to Christian development--we mean that of the union of the other Christian confessions now separated from us,” etc.

Such was their language in June, 1871, when they were already nearly a year old. Their first bishop, Joseph Hubert Reinkens, was consecrated in August, 1873. These dates are very important. No power on earth will ever be able to annul them as historical facts, which prove that a body calling itself the true church of Christ has existed some time without a single bishop, although bishops are essential to the church of Christ, as Scripture, tradition, history, all antiquity agree. S. Cyprian says:

“The church is the people in union with the bishop--a flock adhering to its shepherd. The bishop is in the church and the church in the bishop. He who is not with the bishop is not in the church.”[194] And again: “He cannot be accounted a bishop who, in despite of the evangelic and apostolic tradition, has, of himself, become one (a se ipso ortus est, nemini succedens), and succeeds to none.”

Now, “to what bishop” (asks Father Tondini) “did Dr. Reinkens succeed? His first pastoral letter, dated August 11, 1873, is addressed ‘to the priests and faithful of Germany who persevere in the ancient Catholic faith.’ Who ever heard of the bishop and diocese of Germany before this letter?” Again: “That same Dr. Reinkens who in June, 1871, signed the ‘Declaration’ in which the Christian confessions outside the Roman Church were called ‘Christian confessions now separated from us,’ in August, 1873, saluted with the title of ‘Old Catholics,’ the Jansenists of Holland, and Mgr. Heykamp, the bishop by whom he was consecrated, with that of ‘bishop of the Old Catholics’!”[195]

III.

We now come to the consideration of Old Catholicism as an instrument of union between the Christian Episcopal churches. In accordance with their “Declaration,” the Old Catholics insist upon its being one of their main objects to reunite the Christian churches separated from Rome during the VIIIth and IXth centuries, and complacently boast of the marks of sympathy bestowed upon them by these churches.

From one of their manifestoes Father Tondini quotes the following important statements:

“The bishops of the Oriental Orthodox Church”--thus runs the manifesto--“and those of the Episcopal Church of England and the United States of America (!) encourage Old Catholicism with their most profound sympathy. Representatives of the Orthodox Church of Russia assist every year at its congress.… The interest displayed for it by governments is not inferior to that of the churches.… The governments of Russia and of England are disposed to recognize its rights when it shall be opportune to do so.”[196]

Upon which he points out the exceeding inexpediency, for their own sakes, of these governments or their bishops having any participation in the doings of Old Catholics; and this for the following reasons, which are worthy of careful consideration by the two governments in question, and which we give in his own words:

“In order, it would seem, to escape the stringent conclusion of S. Cyprian’s words, ‘He who does not succeed to other bishops, but is self-originated, cannot be reckoned among bishops,’ Mgr. Reinkens, in his above-quoted pastoral letter, … authoritatively declared not only that the ‘apostolic see of Rome was vacant,’ but that not one of the actually existing Roman Catholic bishops was legitimate.

“In support of this assumption the Old-Catholic bishop invokes some fathers of the church--not, indeed, what they said or did while living, but what they would say or do if they were to return to life: ‘If the great bishops of the ancient church were to return to life in the midst of us,’ says Mgr. Reinkens, ‘a Cyprian, (!) a Hilary, an Ambrose, … they would acknowledge none of the existing bishops of the Roman Catholic Church as validly elected.’[197]

“So much for the fact. As it can only be ascertained when those great bishops are restored to life, all we can do is to defer this verification until the great day of judgment.

“Now comes the general principle on which the assumed fact is founded. Let us listen again to Mgr. Reinkens: ‘They [the resuscitated bishops of the ancient church] would not acknowledge any of the existing bishops of the Roman Catholic Church as validly elected, because none of them were appointed in conformity with the immutable rule of the fathers of the church. Never! no, never! would they have received into their company, in the quality of a Catholic bishop, one who had not been chosen by the people and the clergy. This mode of election was considered by them as of divine precept, and consequently as immutable.’”

“How many bishops are there in existence at the present day,” asks Father Tondini, “either in the Anglican Church or in the Christian East, who have been chosen by the people and the clergy?”

In answer to this question we have, respecting the non-popular mode of election in the Oriental Orthodox Church, the following trustworthy information: In the Orthodox Church of the Turkish Empire the election of a patriarch is made by the members of its synod, which is composed of metropolitans, of one of their own number, and this election “is then made known to the people assembled in the atrium of the synodicon, who give, by acclamation and the cry of ἄξιος (worthy), their assent to the election.… This, however, is in fact an empty formality; the more so as the election itself is the result of previous secret understandings between the more influential members of the synod and the leading men among the people.”[198]

“The three patriarchs of Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem are elected by their respective synods, composed of metropolitans.

“The metropolitans and bishops of each patriarchate are elected by the respective patriarchs, together with their synods.”

Did the Patriarch of Constantinople, in agreeing, on the invitation of Dr. von Döllinger, to send representatives of the Greek Orthodox Church to the Old Catholic Church Congress at Bonn, forget that, according to Mgr. Reinkens, all bishops who have not been elected by the clergy and the people are illegitimate bishops, that their sees are all vacant, that this mode of election is of divine precept, and consequently immutable?

“We know not,” says Father Tondini, “which of the two is more to be wondered at: the boldness of the Old Catholics in inviting the patriarch to be represented at the congress, or the logical inconsistency of the patriarch in accepting the invitation.”

Next, with regard to the Orthodox Church of the Russian Empire.

No one who may have read “The Future of the Russian Church,” which recently appeared in the pages of THE CATHOLIC WORLD,[199] will need to be told how little voice either the inferior clergy or people of Russia have in the election of their bishops. The Most Holy Governing Synod proposes to his majesty two persons (on an eparchy becoming vacant), and that one of the two selected by the czar is chosen and consecrated.[200] (See Consett, Spiritual Regulation of Peter the Great.)

In the formula of the oath taken by the Russian bishops before being consecrated, they engage themselves to yield true obedience to the Holy Synod, “the legitimate authority instituted by the pious Emperor Peter the Great of immortal memory, and confirmed by command of his (or her) present imperial majesty,” and to obey all the rules and statutes made by the authority of the synod agreeably to the will of his (or her) imperial majesty, adding the following words: “Furthermore, I do testify that I have not received this province in consideration of gold or silver given by me, … but I have received it by the free will of our most serene and most puissant sovereign (by name), and by the election of the Holy Legislative Synod.[201] Moreover, at the beginning of the ceremony the bishop-consecrator thus addresses the newly-elected bishop: “Reverend Father N., the Most Serene and Most Puissant Czar N. N. hath commanded, by his own singular and proper edict, and the Holy Legislative Synod of all the Russias gives its benediction thereto, that you, holy sir, be bishop of the city of N.”; to which the future bishop is made to answer: “Since the Most Serene, etc., Czar has commanded, and the … synod … has judged me worthy to undertake this province, I give thanks therefor, and do undertake it and in nowise gainsay.”[202]

After similarly disposing (with regard to the remaining Oriental churches) of Mr. Gladstone’s extraordinary assertion that “the ancient principles of popular election and control exist in the Christian East”--an assertion of which also he makes use as a weapon against the Catholic Church[203]--Father Tondini passes on to the election of bishops in the Anglican Church. With regard to this, the following abstract from Stephen is amply sufficient to show how far “the principles of popular election” prevail in the nomination of the bishops of the Establishment:

“By statute 25 Henry VIII. c. 20 the law was altered and the right of nomination secured to the crown, it being enacted that, at every future avoidance of a bishopric, the king may send the dean and chapter his usual license to proceed to election, or congé d’elire, which is always to be accompanied with a letter missive from the king, containing the name of the person whom he would have them elect; and if the dean and chapter delay their election above twelve days, the nomination shall devolve to the king, who may by letters-patent appoint such person as he pleases. This election or nomination, if it be of a bishop, must be signified by the king’s letters-patent to the archbishop of the province; if it be of an archbishop, to the other archbishop and two bishops, or to four bishops, requiring them to confirm, invest, and consecrate the person so elected; which they are bound to perform immediately, without any application to the See of Rome. After which the bishop-elect shall sue to the king for his temporalities, shall take oath to the king and to none other, and shall take restitution of his secular possessions out of the king’s hand only. And if such dean and chapter do not elect in this manner by this act appointed, or if such archbishop or bishop do refuse to confirm, invest, and consecrate such bishop-elect, they shall incur all the penalties of a præmunire--that is, the loss of all civil rights, the forfeiture of lands, goods, and chattels, and imprisonment during the royal pleasure. It is to be observed, however, that the mode here described of appointing bishops applies only to such sees as are of old foundation. The five new bishoprics created by Henry VIII. … have always been donatives, and conferred by letters-patent from the crown; and the case is the same as to the bishopric of Ripon, now recently created” (Stephen’s Commentaries on the Laws of England, vol. iii. p. 61).

In concluding his essay, Father Tondini repeats Mgr. Reinkens’ words: “If the great bishops of the ancient church were to return to life in the midst of us, … never! no, never! would they have received into their company, in the quality of a Christian bishop, one who had not been chosen by the people and the clergy; this mode of election was considered by them as of divine precept, and consequently as immutable”; and then asks: “How can the support given by the state churches and governments of England and Russia to Old Catholicism be explained? Is it for the purpose of declaring that all the episcopal sees, both of England and Russia, are vacant and awaiting the choice of the people?”

The reader, being now acquainted with much of the contents as well as with the general tenor of Father Tondini’s essay, may find some interest (possibly amusement also) in comparing the following remarks of the London Tablet (Sept. 18) with the confirmation of their accurate appreciation of the “British Philistine’s” pride in his own obtuseness so ingenuously furnished (Sept. 25) by a writer in the Church Review:

LONDON TABLET.

“We are a little afraid that the Anglican sympathizers with the Old Catholics will not be sharp enough to understand the keen logic of Father Tondini’s concise reasoning. The British Philistine rather glories in being impervious to logic or wit, and chuckles over his own obtuseness as a proof of the strength of the religion which he patronizes. It is provoking to a zealous controversialist to have to do battle with such a heavy antagonist, but we trust the good father will not cease to labor at the conversion of our illogical but worthy fellow-countrymen. We thank him for a well-timed and well-written pamphlet.”

(The Universe calls it “another fatal blow for the theology of our ex-prime minister; closely reasoned and perfectly terrible in its manner of grasping its luckless opponent.”--Universe, September 25, 1875.)

CHURCH REVIEW.

“The Rev. Cæsar Tondini, who is fond of linking Russian Orthodoxy and Anglican Catholicism in one sweeping condemnation, is by no means one of the Pope’s greatest controversialists. But this pamphlet is hardly worthy of even his reputation. Every point in it might be answered by a tu quoque. Fact might be set against fact, defect against defect, innovation against innovation, inconsistency against inconsistency, and error against error. But picking holes in our neighbor’s coat will never mend the rents in our own. So we forbear, content for the present to congratulate ourselves on the fact that, while Romanists are still utterly blind to their own nakedness, we have at least plucked a fig-leaf by the efforts already made to bring about reunion.” [Who could help thinking, “We would not give a fig for such a leaf as this”?]

IV.

We will conclude the present notice by some account of the recent Conference at Bonn, in which the Old Catholics have given abundant proof that they are no freer from variation than are any other of the Protestant sects.

Desirous of strengthening their position by alliance with other forms of schism, Dr. von Döllinger invited to a congress representatives of the schismatic Greek and Russian Church, the English and American Episcopalians, and the Old Catholics. The assembly was called the “International Conference of the Union of the Christian Churches,” and proposed as its object an agreement on the fundamental points of doctrine professed by Christendom before its divisions, with a view “to restore by a reform as broad as possible the ancient Catholic Church of the West.”[204]

In this International Conference, which began on the 12th of August and ended on the 16th, the principal Orientals, who numbered about twenty in all, were two bishops from Roumania; an archimandrite from Belgrade; two archimandrites, Anastasiades and Bryennios, from Constantinople, sent by the patriarch as being well versed in all the questions which have divided and which still divide the Greek and Latin Churches; there were also present the Archbishop of Syra and Tino, Mgr. Licourgos, well known in England, and six professors, among whom were Profs. Osinnin and Janischef, the latter being the gentleman who at the last Conference was so severe on Anglican orders. The Protestant Episcopalians were the most numerous, being about a hundred in number; but they had only one bishop among them--namely, the Bishop of Gibraltar. Those of Winchester and Lincoln, who had also given their adherence to the movement, found themselves at the last moment unable to attend. The most notable person in the Anglican group was Dr. Liddon, Canon of S. Paul’s. Dean Howson, of Chester, was also one of its members; his “views” on nearly every point of church teaching being diametrically opposed to those of Canon Liddon. The same group contained an Unitarian minister from Chesterfield (Mr. Smith), and a “Primitive Methodist” (Mr. Booth, a chemist and druggist of the same town), who on a late occasion was voted for and returned at the head of the poll as an advocate of secular education. The Americans sent only three delegates, and the “Reformed Church” one--the Rev. Th. de Félice. The Old Catholics, all of whom were Germans, numbered eighteen or twenty, with Dr. von Döllinger and Bishop Reinkens at their head, supported by Herr Langen, “Altkatholik”; Herr Lange, Protestant, and Herr Lang, the least orthodox of all. Close to this little group figured seven or eight more German Protestants. In all, the Conference was composed of about one hundred and fifty persons, of whom the Times observes that, “slender as the gathering was, it was forced to display an almost ludicrous caution in drawing up such articles of faith as would command the assent of the whole assembly”--articles “so vague that they might be made to mean anything or nothing”; and, further, that the few English divines who went to Bonn to play at a council no more represent the Church of England than Dr. von Döllinger represents the Church of Rome, but spoke in the name of nothing but themselves. It suggests to them, with scornful irony, that “charity begins at home,” and that in the present distracted state of the Church of England, “when nothing keeps the various and conflicting ‘schools’ of clergy in the same communion but the secular forces of the Establishment, there is surely there a magnificent field for the exercise of even a genius of conciliation.”

A Bavarian Protestant clergyman informed the assembly that, as there was no chance of their coming to an agreement by means of discussion about dogma, they had far better throw over dogma altogether, and trust to brotherly love to bring about union. Dr. von Döllinger, however, said that if they all shared this opinion, they had better have stayed at home. One reverend gentleman proposed to settle the difference by examining where the fathers all harmonize, and abiding by the result (a task which, as a looker-on observed, would give all the theological acuteness and learning in the world abundant work for about half a dozen centuries); whereupon Bishop Reinkens nervously tried to draw the debaters into the cloud-land of love and unity of purpose, etc., etc. But here Canon Liddon hastened to the rescue with a carefully-prepared scheme for effecting the reconciliation of the East and West, which was apparently received by the Orientals with a tranquil indifference, and was chiefly remarkable for its adroit semblance of effecting much, while it in fact does nothing. Yielding here and there a phrase of no special meaning, it declared in the next clause that it would retain its own form of the Creed until the dispute should be settled by “a truly œcumenical council.” This announcement was the signal for an outburst of disapproval, questions, and objections. “What did Canon Liddon mean by an œcumenical council?” “An assent of the whole episcopate.” This was too much for Lord Plunkett, who exclaimed that he would never have come to the Conference if he had known that it meant to confine the Christian Church within the bounds of episcopacy. What, he should like to know, was to hinder Presbyterian ministers from being admitted equally with bishops to take part in an œcumenical council?

On this the canon obligingly agreed to substitute “the whole church” for the obnoxious term; but while the assembly hesitated, some paragon of caution suggested the phrase “sufficient authority.” However, this masterpiece of conciliation--for nobody could say what it meant--was rejected for “the whole church,” this latter being equally ambiguous to those who were adopting it. On this they agreed. As the Times’ correspondent observes, “Everybody will agree with everybody else when all deliberately use words for the purpose of concealing what they mean. When men differ from each other essentially, it is childish folly to try to unite them by an unmeaning phrase.”

The great question was that of the procession of the Holy Spirit. On this M. Osinnin was the chief speaker on behalf of the Greeks, and he seems to have challenged every interpretation of the Westerns, maintaining even that procedit was not an exact rendering of ἐκπορεύεται. However, a committee was appointed, composed of the Germans, two Orientals, an Englishman, and an American; and Dr. von Döllinger announced to the Conference on its last sitting that an agreement had been arrived at on all essential points. The Greeks were to retain their version of the Nicene Creed, and the Westerns theirs; the latter were to admit that the Filioque had been improperly introduced, and that both were to agree that, whichever version they used, their meaning was that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father through the Son. With regard to the last point, however, the Orientals said that although they had personally no objection to the expression, yet they must decline to give any official assent to the article until it had been submitted to their synods or other competent authorities at home.

Judging from every account we have seen (all of them Protestant) of the Bonn Conference, it is evident that its members, in order to give an appearance of mutual agreement, subscribed to propositions which may be taken in various senses. The six articles agreed to by the committee were couched in the following terms:

“We believe with S. John Damascene, 1, that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father as the beginning, the cause, and the fountain of Deity. 2. That the Holy Spirit does not proceed from the Son ἐκ τοῦ υίοῦ, and that for this reason there is in the Godhead only one beginning, one cause, through which all that is in the Godhead is produced. 3. That the Holy Spirit is the image of the Son, who is the image of the Father, proceeding from the Father and resting in the Son, as the outbeaming power of the latter. 4. The Holy Spirit is the personal bringing forth of the Father, but belonging to the Son, yet not of the Son, since he is the Spirit of the Godhead which speaks forth the Word. 5. The Holy Spirit forms the connecting link between the Father and the Son, and is united to the Father through the Son. 6. The Holy Spirit proceeds [or, as amended by Mr. Meyrick, ‘issues’] from the Father through the Son.”

It is the supposed denial of that unity of the αρχή, or originating principle in the Most Holy Trinity, which has always been the ground of the Greek objections to the Latin form of the Creed.[205] “The double Procession[206] of the Holy Ghost has always been believed in the church, only to a certain number of minds it remained for a time obscure, and thus there are to be found in the writings of the fathers passages in which mention is made rather of the procession from the Father than of the double procession from the Father and the Son, but yet none which, although not formally indicating, exclude or contradict it.

“In recurring to the expressions employed by the fathers, the members of the Bonn Conference have made choice of some of those which are vague and least explicit, instead of others which convey to the mind a clear idea. We are fully aware that, from a historical point of view, the question of the Filioque presents some difficulties. At Nicæa, in 325, the question of procession was not even mentioned, from the fact of its not having up to that time been raised. At Constantinople, in 381, in order to cut short discussions which were tending to result in a denial of the Trinity, the addition had been made to the Creed that the Holy Ghost proceeds from the Father, without mention of the Son. At the Third Council of Toledo, in 589, the faith of the church in the double procession was clearly indicated by the addition of the Filioque--an addition, which was adopted by several particular councils, and which became general in France. The popes, however, foreseeing that the Orientals--always inclined to be ill-disposed towards the West--would make this addition an excuse for breaking off into schism, appeared at first but little in favor of a modification which, although expressing with greater accuracy the faith of the church, would furnish fresh fuel to theological disputes. It was a question of prudence. But when the truth was once placed in peril, they hesitated no longer. All the West chanted the Filioque; and the Greeks themselves, on repeated occasions, and notably at the Council of Florence in 1438, confessed the double procession to be an article of the Catholic faith.”

The Old Catholics of Bonn have thus made, as it seems to us, a retrogression on this question. Will this help to secure “the union of the Christian churches” which was the object of the Conference? In outward appearance possibly it may, because all the separated communities willingly join hand in hand against the true church of Christ; but in reality, no, for the Greeks will continue to reject the procession through the Son, as the Anglicans will continue to accept it; and we have no need to say that the Catholic Church will never cease to confess the double procession, and to sing: Qui ex Patre Filioque procedit.

With regard to other subjects discussed by the meeting at Bonn, we will briefly mention that Canon Liddon spoke against the invocation of saints, and Dr. von Döllinger talked of “making a clear sweep” of the doctrine of purgatory and indulgences; although, in stating the belief of his co-religionists, he was obliged to reaffirm the doctrine of purgatory in terms nearly equivalent to those of the Creed of Pope Pius IV. On this matter, whatever the Greeks might do, how many of the Anglicans would agree with the Old Catholics? Not only are the people who go to these conferences from England in no sense representatives of the body to which they belong, but even they themselves do not always abide by what they have agreed to.[207] Dean Howson, in a statement he read at the last Conference, put a Low-Church interpretation on the resolution of last year’s Conference about the Eucharist, which interpretation Canon Liddon immediately repudiated. Before Greek or German schismatics can unite with the Church of England, they will have to make up their minds as to which of at least four theological systems is Anglicanism, and then to get that admitted by the other three.

As to the validity of Anglican orders, Dr. von Döllinger appears to have considered it as resting on the certainty of Parker’s consecration, without going into the really more important questions of Barlow’s orders, or the sufficiency of form or intention, all of which are matters of such grave doubt as to be practically worthless to any one insisting upon the necessity of certainty that the communion to which he belongs possesses the apostolic succession.

We cannot conclude this sketch of the Bonn Conference without presenting our readers with a portrait of its chief, Dr. von Döllinger, drawn by a friendly hand--that of a French apostate priest, and one of the members of the Conference--which we reproduce from the pages of the Indépendance Belge.

“M. Döllinger,” he writes, “pronounced three long and eloquent discourses, marked by that seriousness and depth which so especially characterize his manner of speaking; but notwithstanding their merit, they have not resulted in any new conclusion. May not the blame be in some measure due to M. Overbeck, who … introduced into the discussion authorities posterior to the epoch of the separation of East and West, and mingled the question of the seven œcumenical councils with that of the Filioque?… At all events, both obscurity and coldness found their way into the debates.…

“Truly, this excellent M. Döllinger seems fated to go on from one contradiction to another, and to accept one year that which he refused in the preceding. For instance, in 1871, at the congress at Munich, he energetically opposed the organization of Old-Catholic parishes; afterwards he resigned himself to consent to this. In 1871 he desired the Old Catholics to confine themselves, after his example, to protesting against the excommunication they had incurred; but later on he is willing that their priests should take upon themselves the full exercise of their ministry. In 1871 and 1872 he wished to maintain the decisions of the Council of Trent; in 1873 he decided to abandon them, as well as the alleged œcumenicity of this council. In 1872 … he considered the attempts made to establish union between the Old Catholics and the Oriental churches as at any rate imprudent, if not even compromising. In 1874 he adopted the idea of which he had been so much afraid, and has since that time used every endeavor to promote the union of the churches. Last year a proposal [for a committee to examine on what points the earliest fathers harmonized] was rejected by M. Döllinger with a certain disdain, as impracticable and even childish. Now, however, we find him obliged to come back to it, at least in part.”[208] “It is by no means in reproach but in praise that we say this,” continues the writer, adding: “He accepted with the best grace possible, in one of the sittings of the Conference this year, the observations of Prof. Osinnin on the manner of studying texts; and when an erudite and venerable man like M. Döllinger knows how to correct himself with such humility, he does but raise himself in the esteem of sincere men.”

We would here venture to observe that when “so erudite” a man as Dr. von Döllinger, and one who is acknowledged by an entire sect as its most distinguished doctor and its leader, is so little sure of his doctrine that he is continually altering it, he and his followers are surely among the last people who ought to refuse to the Pope the infallibility which he in fact arrogates to himself in setting himself above an œcumenical council, as was that of the Vatican.

If the head is represented by one of the members as being in a chronic state of uncertainty, so are the members themselves represented by another. In the Church Review (Anglican) for Sept. 18, 1875, is an article entitled “Old-Catholic Prospects,” the greater part of which consists of one of the most abusive and malignant attacks against the Catholic Church, and in an especial manner against the Jesuits, that it has ever been our lot to come upon, even in the journal in which it appears. After informing his readers that “Jesuitism has led the Pope into the egregious heresy of proclaiming his own infallibility,” and that “the Spirit of Christ, who would not rest in the Vatican Council, where all was confusion, restraint, and secrecy, (!) has brooded over the humble (?) Conference of trusting hearts” at Bonn, etc., etc., this person, with a sudden sobriety, ventures on a closer inspection of the favored sect for which he had just profanely claimed the guidance of the Eternal Spirit, while denying it to the œcumenical council where the whole episcopate of the Catholic Church was assembled with its head, the Vicar of Christ.

This writer perceives that, “on the other hand, there are dangers in the future. At present,” he says, “the Old-Catholic body is kept in order by two master minds--Dr. Döllinger and Prof. Schulte. There are innumerable elements of discord” (he adds) “manifest enough, but they are as yet subdued by reverence for Dr. Döllinger, and beat down by the sledge-hammer will of the lay professor. If either of these pilots were removed, it is impossible to say into how many fragments Old Catholicism might split. Its bishop has no means of control over minds, as have Schulte and Döllinger. Michaelis is simply abusive and violent, ready to tear down with hands and teeth, but incompetent to build. Repulsive in personal appearance, his work is that of detraction, denunciation, and destruction. To human eyes the movement is no movement at all; it contains in itself no authority to hold its members personally in check; and yet, in spite of every disadvantage, the Old-Catholic society is the expression of true feeling,” etc., etc.

But we have dwelt long enough on this picture; let us in conclusion turn to a very different one. “Rome accepts no compromise; she dictates laws,” says M. Henri Vignaud,[209] contrasting her in no friendly spirit with the sect we have been contemplating, but yet in a spirit of calmness and candor.

And this, which he intends as a reproach, is in reality a commendation. It is the true church only which can accept no compromise when the truth is in question, of which she is the faithful depository; and whatever laws she dictates are to guard the truth, dogmatic or moral, issued in God’s name and with his authority.

M. Vignaud acknowledges this in the following remarkable manner: “That cannot be conciliated which is by nature irreconcilable. There can be no compromise with faith.… Either man forges to himself the truths which must illuminate his path, or he receives them from the Deity, in which case he must submit to accept the dogma of infallibility; for without this the whole theory falls. It is for this reason that the apostolic Roman Catholicity is so strong. Subordinating reason to faith, it does not carry within it the germ of any scepticism. There can be no transacting with it, and whoever goes out of it enters, whether he is aware of the fact or not, into rationalism, of which the logical outcome is the elimination of the divine action in human affairs.”[210]

It would be scarcely possible to show more clearly that there are but two logical positions in the world of intelligences--namely, Catholicity and scepticism, or, as it is called in the present day, positivism. The next step after refusing God all action in human affairs is to refuse him existence.

The Conference at Bonn, however little it may have done in other respects, has already produced one result which was far from the intention of its promoters. It has furnished an additional proof that there is one church only which is capable of resisting the invasion of scepticism and unbelief, and that this church is the Catholic and Roman.

“Either Jesus Christ never organized a church, or the Catholic is the church which he organized.”[211]

MIDNIGHT MASS IN A CONVENT.

I have lately been reading some remarks on the curious association existing between certain tastes and odors and an involuntary exertion of the memory by which the recurrence of those tastes or odors recalls, with a vividness not otherwise to be obtained, a whole series of incidents of past life--incidents which, with their surrounding scenes, would otherwise be quite forgotten and buried out of sight by the successive overlaying of other events of greater interest or importance. Montaigne has some singular illustrations of this peculiar fact of consciousness, and there is a brief reference to the subject made in some recently republished recollections of William Hazlitt. Connected with this is the powerful influence known to be exercised in many well-authenticated cases upon the nervous sensibilities by the exhalation of particular perfumes or the scent of certain kinds of flowers harmless or agreeable to all other persons. There is a reciprocal motion of the mind which has also been noted, by which a particular train of thought recalls a certain taste or smell almost as if one received the impression from the existing action of the senses. An illustration is given in the discussion just noted, where a special association of ideas is stated to have brought back to the writer, with great vividness, the “smell of a baker’s shop in Bassorah.” Individual experiences could doubtless be accumulated to show that this mysterious short-hand mind-writing, so to term it, by means of which the memory records on its tablets, by the aid of a single sign imprinted upon a particular sense, the history of a long series of associated recollections, is not confined to the senses of taste and smell alone, but makes use of all.

The recollection of one of the happiest days of my life--a day of strong excitement and vivid pleasure, but not carried to the pitch of satiety--is inseparably associated with the warm, aromatic smell of a cigar which I lighted and puffed, walking alone down a country road. In this case the train of thought is followed by the impression on the sense. But in another instance within my experience the reciprocal action of thought and sense is reversed; the sight of a particular object in this latter case invariably bringing back to my mind, with amazing distinctness, a scene of altogether dissimilar import, lying far back in the memory. The circumstances are these:

’Tis now some years since I visited the seaport town of Shippington. It is, or was, one of those sleepy provincial cities which still retain an ante-Revolutionary odor about its dock-yard and ordnance wharves. A group of ragged urchins or a ruby-nosed man in greasy and much-frayed velveteen jacket might be seen any sunny morning diligently fishing for hours off the end of one of its deserted piers for a stray bite from a perch or a flounder. The arrival of the spring clipper-ship from Glasgow, bringing a renewal of stock for the iron merchants, or of a brig with fruit from the Mediterranean, used to set the whole wharf population astir. Great changes have taken place of late years. Railroads have been built. Instead of a single line of ocean steamships, whose fortnightly arrival was the event of the day, half a dozen foreign and domestic lines keep the port busy. Fashion, which was once very exclusive and confined to a few old families, has now asserted its sway over wider ranks, and the officers of her majesty’s gallant Onety-Oneth, and the heavy swells of Shippington society whose figures adorn the broad steps of the Shippington Club-House, have now the pleasure of criticising any fine morning a (thin) galaxy of female beauty and fashion sweeping by them, whose modes rival those of Beacon Street or Murray Hill.

But at the time of which I write--when I was a school-boy, a quarter of a century ago--it had not been much stirred by the march of these modern improvements. Her Britannic majesty was then young to the throne, and a great fervor of loyalty prevailed; and when the Royal Welsh Fusileers used to march down to the parade-ground for morning drill, with the martial drum-major and its great bearded Billy-Goat, presented by the queen, dividing the honors of the head of the regiment, it would be hard to exaggerate the enthusiasm that swelled the bosoms of the small boys and African damsels who stepped proudly along with the band. Those were grand days, quorum pars magna fui, when I too marched down the hill from the citadel, with a mind divided between awe and admiration of the drum-major--curling his mustache fiercely and twirling his staff with an air of majesty--and a latent terror of the bearded pet of the regiment, whom report declared to have destroyed three or four boys in Malta. But rare indeed were those holidays, for I was impounded most of the time in a college, where the study of the Latin Delectus gave little opportunity for the pursuit of those more attractive branches of a liberal education. About half a dozen of the boys, of whom I was one, were proficients at serving Mass. It was therefore with great joy at the distinction that we found ourselves named, one frosty Christmas Eve, to accompany Father W---- to the Convent of the Sacred Heart, about a mile distant, where he was to celebrate midnight Mass. Oh! how the snow crisped and rattled under our feet as we marched along, full of importance, after Father W----, each boy with his green bag, containing his surplice and soutane, swung over his arm! What a jolly night it was; and how the stars twinkled! We slapped our hands together, protected by our thick blue mitts, and stamped our feet like soldiers on the march to Moscow. It was after ten o’clock, and the streets were dark and nearly deserted. To us, long used to be sound asleep at that hour in our warm dormitory, each boy in his own little four-poster, with the moonlight streaming in through the windows on its white counterpane--and not daring, if we were awake, so much as to whisper to the boy next to us, under pain of condign punishment in the morning--there was something mysterious and almost ghostly in this midnight adventure. As we passed the guard-house near the general’s residence, the officer of the night, muffled in his cloak, came along on the “grand rounds.” The sentry, in his tall bear-skin hat, stops suddenly short in his walk.

“Who goes there?” he calls out in a loud, fierce voice, bringing down his bayonet to the charge.

We clung closer to Father W----’s skirts. “Rounds,” replies the officer in a voice of command, his sword rattling on the ground, iron-hard with the frost. “What rounds?” “Grand rounds!” “Advance, grand rounds, and give the countersign!” Then the sergeant of the guard, the alarm being given, rushes out into the street with his men, all with bayonets drawn and looking terrible in the moonlight. They form in line, and the officer advances. A whispered conversation takes place; the soldiers present arms and march back into the warm guard-house; and the officer passes silently on to the next guard.

While this scene was going on we stood half terrified and fascinated, hardly knowing whether to take to our heels or not. But the calm voice of Father W----, as he answered “A friend” to the sentry’s challenge, reassured us. Soon we reached the convent gate, and, entering the grounds, which were open for the occasion, found the convent all ablaze with lights. The parents and friends of the young lady pupils were permitted to attend the midnight Christmas Mass. The convent, and convent chapel which communicated with it, stood in the midst of winding walks and lawns very pretty in the summer; but the tall trees, now stripped of their leaves, swung their bare branches in the wind with a melancholy recollection of their faded beauty. Groups, in twos and threes, walked silently up the paths, muffled in cloaks and shawls, and disappeared within the chapel. We were received by the lady-superior, Mme. P----, whose kind voice and refined and gentle manners were sadly maligned by a formidable Roman nose, that struck our youthful minds with awe. What unprincipled whims does Nature sometimes take thus to impress upon the countenance the appearance of a character so alien to our true disposition! Nor is it less true that a beautiful face and a form that Heaven has endowed with all the charms of grace and fascinating beauty may hide a soul rank with vice and malice. The Becky Sharpes of the world are not all as ferret-featured as Thackeray’s heroine, whom, nevertheless, with much truth to art, he represents as attractive and alluring in her prime. But dear Mme. P----’s Roman nose was not, I have reason to believe, without its advantages; the fortuitous severity of its cast helping to maintain a degree of discipline among her young lady boarders, which a tendency to what Mr. Tennyson calls “the least little delicate curve” (vulgo, a pug), or even a purely classical Grecian, might have failed to inspire. Forgive me the treason if I venture even to hint that those young ladies in white and blue who floated in and out of Mme. P----’s parlors on reception-days, like angels cut out from the canvas on the walls, were ever less demure than their prototypes!

We altar-boys were marshalled into a long, narrow hall running parallel with the chapel. There we busied ourselves in putting on our red soutanes and white surplices, and preparing the altar for Mass. But we had a long time to wait, and while we stood there in whispering silence, and the chapel slowly filled, suddenly appeared Mme. P---- with a lay sister, carrying six little china plates full of red and white sugar-plums, and some cakes not bigger than a mouthful, to beguile our tedium. To this day the sight of one of those small plates, filled with that kind of sugar-plums, brings back to my mind with wonderful minuteness all the scenes I have described and those that followed. The long walk through the snow, the guard-house, the convent grounds, the figures of Mme. P---- and her lay sister advancing towards us, rise before me undimmed by time; and even now as I write the flavor of the sugared cassia-buds seems to be in my mouth, though it is over twenty years ago since I cracked them between my teeth with a school-boy’s relish for sweetmeats.

The feeling of distant respect engendered by the sight of Mme. P----’s nose gave way all at once to a profound sympathy and admiration for that estimable lady, as she handed us those dainties. Yet, as they disappeared before our juvenile appetites, sharpened by the frost, we could not help feeling all a boy’s contempt for the girls that could be satisfied with such stuff, instead of a good, solid piece of gingerbread that a fellow could get two or three bites at! We had no doubt that the convent girls had a congé that day, and that this was a part of the feast that had been provided for them.

We marched gravely into the sanctuary before Father W----, and took our places around the altar-steps while he ascended the altar. A deeper hush seemed to fall on the congregation kneeling with heads bowed down before the Saviour born on that blessed morning. The lights on the altar burned with a mystical halo at the midnight hour. The roses around the Crib of the infant Redeemer bloomed brighter than June. We heaped the incense into the burning censer, and the smoke rushed up in a cloud, and the odorous sweetness filled the air. Then along the vaulted roof of the chapel stole the first notes of the organ, now rising, now falling; and the murmuring voice of the priest was heard reading the Missal. Did my heart stand still when a boy--or is it touched by a memory later?--as, birdlike, the pure tones of the soprano rose, filling the church, and thrilling the whole congregation? Marvellous magic of music! Can we wonder to see an Arion borne by dolphins over the waves, and stilling the winds with his lyre? Poor Mme. L----! She had a voice of astonishing brilliancy and power. Her upper notes I have never heard excelled in flute-like clearness and sustained roundness of tone. When I heard her years later, with a more experienced ear, her voice, though a good deal worn, was still one to be singled out wherever it might be heard. She is since dead. She was a French lady of good family. Her voice had the tone of an exile. She sang the Adeste fideles on that Christmas morning with a soul-stirring pathos that impressed me so much as a boy that the same hymn, sung by celebrated singers and more pretentious choirs, has always appeared to me tame.

It would not serve my present purpose to pursue these recollections farther. Enough has been said to show how quickly the mind grasps at some one prominent point affected by sense, to group around it a tableau of associated recollections. That little china tea-plate with its blue and gilt edge, heaped over with sugar-plums, brings back to me scenes that seem to belong to another age, so radical is the change which time makes in the fortunes and even emotions of men.

When the lights were all out in the chapel, except those that burned around the Crib, and the congregation had silently departed, we wended our way back to the college with Father W---- in the chill morning air more slowly than when we started; sleepy, but our courage still unabated by reason of the great things we had shared in, and the still greater things separated from us by only one more, fast-coming dawn. We slept like tops all the morning, being excused from six o’clock Mass on account of our midnight excursion. When we joined the home circle on Christmas morning, you may be assured we had plenty to talk about. Nor was it until after dinner, and all the walnuts had been cracked, and our new pair of skates--our most prized Christmas gift--tried on and admired, that the recollection of our first Christmas Mass began to fade from our minds. Pure hearts and innocent joys of youth! How smooth the stream--nescius auræ fallacis--on which it sails its tiny craft! How rough the sea it drifts into!

S. LOUIS’ BELL.[212]

S. Louis’ bell! How grandly swell Its matin chime, Its noonday peal, Its vesper rhyme! How deeply in my heart I feel Their solemn cadence; they to me Waft hymns of precious melody.

S. Louis’ bell! What memories dwell Enshrined among Each lingering note And tuneful tongue!

As on the quivering air they float, Those sweet vibrations o’er and o’er Bear tidings from a far-off shore. S. Louis’ bell! What clouds dispel, What doubts and fears Dissolve away, What sorrowing tears, Like mists before the rising day! While on the waiting, listening air Rings out S. Louis’ call to prayer.

S. Louis’ bell! Ring on and tell In matin chime, And noonday peal, And vesper rhyme, And let thy joyful notes reveal The story loved of mortals best-- Of Holy Child on Virgin’s breast, While herald angels from above Sang anthems of eternal love!

S. Louis’ bell! When earth’s farewell Upon my parting lips shall dwell, And when I rise On angel wing To seek the gates of Paradise, And stand before the Heavenly King, Though in that realm of perfect peace All other earthly sounds should cease, Methinks ’twould be A joy to me Once more to hear, With bended ear, The music loved on earth so well-- The echoes of S. Louis’ bell!

FROM CAIRO TO JERUSALEM.

Seated in the spacious hall of the new hotel in Cairo, we discussed a tour through the Holy Land. We had quitted our comfortable and home-like dahabéeah, wherein we had lived for nearly four months upon the waters of the historical Nile. A sad farewell had been said to our trusty sailors, and even those of them who had lingered around the hotel for days after our arrival, to kiss our hands as we came out, had now taken their departure. Old Abiad, our funny man, had for once worn a sober look as he bade us God-speed on our homeward voyage. Said--the indefatigable, hard-working, muscular Said, ever ready for the hardest work, and ever foremost in action--had left us with tearful eyes, and had started on his upward voyage to Keneh, to marry the young Moslem maiden to whom he had pledged his troth some few months before.

Yes, the Nile trip was really over, but on the tablets of memory was painted a most bright and beautiful picture, which time alone could efface. Still another separation: one of our party, having been in the Holy Land the previous year, was about to remain in Egypt, while the rest of us visited Syria. Father H----, Mme. D----, and the writer made the travelling party. The plans were soon settled, and a day was appointed upon which we should depart from Cairo to meet the Russian steamer which was advertised to leave Alexandria on Monday, April the 13th, A.D. 1874. One of the greatest difficulties in travelling in the East is to obtain accurate information concerning the arrival and departure of steamers and trains. When inquiring what time the train would leave Cairo for Rhoda, the terminus of the railway along the Nile, I was informed that it would leave somewhere about seven o’clock in the morning, and would reach Rhoda between six and eight in the evening; this was the most accurate information I could possibly obtain. In point of fact, the train left Cairo at nine A.M., and reached Rhoda at half-past ten at night. On Monday morning, April 13, there was a general clearing out of travellers from the hotel. At nine A.M.--and, for a wonder, punctual to the minute--we left the station at Cairo on the train going to Ismailïa. We passed through some of the richest country of the Delta, teeming with life and activity. The Sagéars, or Persian water-wheels, were sending their streams of life-giving water through the numberless little canals on every hand. Here a line of laden camels march along with stately step. There a family--father, mother, and son--accompanied by the omnipresent donkey, called to mind the flight of the Holy Family into Egypt. And well they may; for here we are in the land of Goshen, at Rameses, the home of the Israelites, the starting-point of their long, dreary wanderings. Now the railroad marks the line between the cultivated land and the sandy plains of the desert; on one side rich vegetation, nurtured by the fresh-water canal, on the other, sandy hillocks stretching away to the line of the horizon; and in a few moments we see the deep, rich blue of the water of Lake Timsah, contrasting most strikingly with the golden sand of its desert bank. Ismailïa! Ere the train has stopped we are surrounded by a crowd of Arabs thirsting for their spoil. A score of them pounce upon our baggage. After considerable shouting and threatening, we compromise, and a truce is proclaimed. We engaged two of them to carry our baggage to the steamer on the lake. O porters of the United States! how you would blush and hang your heads in shame to see these Arabs handle baggage. In my childish and untravelled simplicity I thought it most wonderful to see you lift those heavy boarding-houses, miscalled trunks, and carry them to the fourth story of a hotel. But hereafter, for porters, commend me to the Arabs. We had four or five heavy valises, one of them weighing nearly one hundred pounds, and numberless small parcels. One of the men hung these valises from his neck, and tying the smaller parcels in among them, as though by way of ornament, started off, followed by his brother porter, with our only trunk, a large and very heavy one, strapped on his back. They walked at a brisk pace to the boat, about one mile distant, and did not seem in the least fatigued when they arrived there. As we started to walk down the long avenue leading to the lake, we were beset as usual by the importunities of three or four donkey-boys, each one recounting the praises of his own animal, and speaking disparagingly of the others, yet all in the best possible humor. Running here and there, dragging after them the patient donkey, they cried out: “Him good donkey, sah; look him. Oder donkey no good; him back break. Him exquisite donkey, sah! Him Yankee Doodle!” Suddenly, in a fit of indignation, I turned upon them and howled at the top of my voice:

“Empshy Ya Kelb” (“Get out, O dog!”), when, with a roar of laughter, one little imp jumped in front of me, and exclaimed: “Oh! Howadji can speak Arabic. Him good Arab donkey. Take him, sah; him speak Arabic.” Notwithstanding this great inducement, I did not take him.

Like Aladdin’s palace, Ismailïa has sprung up almost in a single night. In 1860 the site of the present town was a barren waste of sand; but when the fresh-water canal was completed to this place, and the magic waters of the Nile were let loose upon it, the golden sands of the desert gave place to the rich verdure of vegetation; gardens, filled with the choicest fruits and flowers, sprang up on every hand. Indeed, it seems but necessary to pour the waters of the Nile on the desert to produce a soil which will grow anything to perfection. Here we see the pretty little Swiss châlet of M. de Lesseps, and a short distance beyond the palace of the viceroy, built in a few months, for the purpose of entertaining his illustrious guest at the opening of the Suez Canal.

What singular fellows these Arabs are! Our two porters demand three rupees (a rupee is worth about fifty cents) for their services. I quietly take one rupee from my pocket and offer it to them. Indignantly they reject it; and if I will not give them what they ask, they will accept nothing at all; and with loud words and angry gestures they shout and gesticulate most vehemently, complaining of the insignificant pittance I offer them for the hard work they have just gone through. I repocket the rupee, and proceed very leisurely to arrange our places on the little postal boat, which is to leave in about an hour. Having purchased tickets, and seen that everything was properly arranged, I again return to the attack, as I am now upon the offensive, and offer them the rupee. No, they will not have it; but now they will accept two rupees. Well, it being the rule of Eastern negotiations that as one party comes down the other should go up, like a balance, I increase the rupee by a franc, and after much talking they agree to accept it. But now what a change comes over them! Finding that they have extracted from me all that they possibly can, their whole manner changes, and they become as polite and affable as you please. They thank me, proffer their services to do anything for me that I may wish, kiss their hands in respectful salutation, and are off.

Our steamer is somewhat larger than a man-of-war’s boat, and our little company is soon assembled in the cabin. Besides ourselves, there are, first, a voluble young Russian who came with us from Cairo, and who precipitates himself most desperately into the strongest friendships that the time will allow with every one he meets, telling you all about himself and his family, and then finding out as much as he can about you and yours; next, a stolid Saxon, Prussian vice-consul at Cairo, a very pleasant and intelligent young man; and, lastly, a quiet, retiring young Italian lady, who, unable to speak any language besides her own, cannot join in the general conversation, which is carried on principally in French. At six o’clock we left the landing-place at Ismailïa, and, passing out the northeast corner of Lake Timsah, we entered the narrow cutting of El Guisr. The surface of these heights is the highest point in the Isthmus of Suez, being from sixty to sixty-five feet above the level of the sea. In cutting the canal through this part they were obliged to dig down some ninety feet, in order to give the canal its proper depth below the sea level. Just after we entered this cutting, the strong north wind which was blowing at the time caught madame’s parasol, whirled it out of her hand, blew it overboard, and the last we saw of it it was floating placidly along toward Suez. One sees here how perceptibly the sand is filling up the hard-won trench, and the dredging-machines are kept in constant operation to keep the channel clear. At dusk we passed a large English steamer tied up for the night--as large steamers are never allowed to travel in the canal after dark.

We soon entered Lake Menzaleh, and continued through it some twenty-seven miles to Port Said. Fifteen years ago a belt of sand, from six to nine hundred feet in width, occupied the place where Port Said now stands. Here in April, 1859, M. de Lesseps, surrounded by a handful of Europeans and a score of native workmen, gave the first blow of the spade to that great channel of communication between the East and the West. Soon the ground for the future town was made, houses erected, gardens laid out, and to-day Port Said is a town of nearly ten thousand inhabitants, with streets, squares, gardens, docks, quays, mosques, churches, and a very safe and easily-approached harbor. The name Port Said was given to it in honor of the then viceroy, Said Pasha. The next morning, when I went to the office to purchase tickets, I was informed, by the not over-polite clerk in the Russian Steamship Co.’s office, that notwithstanding it was advertised that the steamer would leave Alexandria on Monday, it would not leave until Tuesday, and consequently would not leave Port Said until Wednesday afternoon--another illustration of the uncertainty of travelling information in the East. In the afternoon I determined to go down to the lake and endeavor to shoot some flamingoes or pelicans, both of which abound here in great numbers. Leaving the town, I started to cross the wide, level plain which separated it, as I supposed, from the lake. Some distance ahead I saw numerous birds disporting themselves amid the glistening and sparkling waters of the lake. After walking for nearly an hour, I reached the spot, but no lake was there, and turning around, I saw it at the point from which I had started. Somewhat confused, I turned towards the sea, and there I saw, high up in the air, a sand-bank with women walking upon it, and a little further on two gigantic figures like light-houses moving toward me in the air. In a moment the truth flashed upon me--it was a mirage; and retracing my steps to the town, I found that the lake was in a different direction from the one I had taken. The next day we went on board the steamer, which arrived from Alexandria about ten in the morning. There is considerable excitement on board, and a number of smart-looking boats with trim crews rapidly approaching us announce the arrival of M. de Lesseps with his wife and her two nieces, en route for a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. M. de Lesseps is a man of medium height, rather stout, and with a very good-natured and jovial-looking countenance. He wears a heavy gray mustache, and his hair is silvery white. His appearance is that of a man of great energy and determination, and one to project and carry through the colossal work he has so successfully executed. The ship was very much crowded, or perhaps it would be more correct to say that the accommodations were very limited, as we did not have more than fifty first-class passengers on board, and yet there were not sufficient accommodations for them in the first cabin. Father H---- and I, together with a young Austrian with whom we had become acquainted at Port Said, were obliged to sleep in a second-class cabin. We were told that they would so arrange it that we could eat in the first saloon, and at dinner-time we found a small work-table set for four of us to eat from. However, it was quite large enough for me; for I had not been seated many minutes before I felt an unaccountable desire to go on deck and inhale the fresh air.

Having done so, I retired for the night. Bright and early the next morning I was upon deck, but I found Father H---- there before me. Madame, having a very comfortable room in the first cabin, had not yet risen. The sea was still and calm as a pond, and, turning my face toward the east, I beheld for the first time the mountain ranges of Judæa. Yea, there before me was Judæa, the land promised and given to the seed of Abraham. There, among those hills, Samson had performed his exploits of power. There the royal David and the wise Solomon had lived and reigned. Ay, and there One greater than them all, the Man-God, was born, lived, and laid down his life for the salvation of mankind. And was it really true that I, an inquisitive Yankee of the XIXth century, was soon to tread those sacred spots, hallowed with reminiscences so dear to the heart of every Christian? I could scarce believe it. Was I not in a dream, and would I not soon awake to find it all a beautiful but fleeting vision? No, it was true, and it was made most painfully apparent by the harsh clangor of the Arab boatmen, and their frantic endeavors to take possession of us, as our ship dropped anchor off the town of Jaffa. There is no harbor of any kind here, and when the sea is calm the steamers anchor about one mile from the shore, and passengers and their baggage are landed in small boats. Immediately in front of the town, and but a short distance from it, a series of partially-covered rocks forms a wall, broken only by two channels or gateways, one about ten feet in width, and the other a little wider. Through these the sea dashes with tremendous fury, and as the little boat approaches it is caught upon the summit of some breaker, and dashed through the opening into the quiet haven behind. When it is stormy, the steamers do not stop here at all, but land their passengers a short distance farther up the coast. The bright, genial face of Father Guido (president of the Casa Nuova) soon welcomed us to Palestine. He had come down from Jerusalem to meet M. de Lesseps, and to offer him the hospitality of their convent, which was thankfully accepted. We soon disembarked and entered a small boat, accompanied by our trusty dragoman, Ali Aboo Suleyman, who had travelled with one of our party the previous year, and whom I believe to be one of the best dragomans in the East. Our boat, propelled by the strong arms of a half-score of powerful Arabs, soon brought us alongside of the town. Passing through a narrow gateway, and giving a substantial and material wink to the revenue official, we, with our baggage, were soon deposited at the door of the Latin convent. After greeting the kind and hospitable fathers, and arranging terms with Ali, we started out for a short walk. Traversing the narrow, tortuous streets and filthy alleys, jostled by camels, horses, donkeys, and preceded by Achmud, Ali’s youngest son--a lad of fourteen years, who, with a pompous and authoritative air, pushed aside old men and young, women and children, and would have done the same with the camels had he been able, to make room for the Howadji--we reached the spot where stood in former days the house of Simon the tanner. Here the Apostle Peter resided many days, and here he saw the vision of the clean and unclean beasts, wherein the voice commanded him saying: “Arise, Peter, kill and eat.” A small mosque now occupies the site of the house. The streets were thronged with Russian pilgrims returning from their Easter pilgrimage to the Holy City. Many of them will leave in the afternoon on the steamer which has brought us from Egypt, and in a few short days will be at Odessa, whence the railway will carry them to St. Petersburg. About three in the afternoon, accompanied by an Irish priest who had lived in Malta for several years, we mounted our horses and started for Jerusalem. We had been most hospitably entertained by the kind fathers at the convent; a large room and an excellent breakfast had been provided for us, but no remuneration asked. We, of course, made a donation, which was thankfully received. We rode through the narrow streets, passed out the gate, and in a few moments were among the world-famous orange-groves of Jaffa. The sky was cloudless, the weather like a beautiful May day at home, and the air heavy with the delicious fragrance of the oranges. We rode for nearly a mile through these beautiful groves. Meanwhile, Ali provided himself with numbers of these large oranges, and soon for the first time I tasted an orange that I really enjoyed. Just plucked from the tree, with skin half an inch in thickness, and without seeds, this luscious fruit seems almost to dissolve in the mouth like ice-cream. Ali owns a large grove, from which he gathers about one hundred and fifty thousand oranges per annum. These he sells in large quantities at the rate of two pounds sterling per thousand, yielding him a very nice income, as the expense of taking care of them is very small. Now we are riding along the level plain which separates the Judæan hills from the bright blue waters of the Mediterranean, and a little after six o’clock we drew rein at the Latin convent in Ramleh. It is almost useless for me to speak of the kindness and hospitality of these good Franciscan fathers of the Holy Land, as it is known throughout the world, and abler pens than mine have endeavored, but in vain, to praise them as they deserve. Unselfish, kind, burying self completely in the great work they have undertaken, they have given up their homes, families, and all that was dear to them, to live a monastic life among these sacred spots, to guard these holy places, and, like ministering angels, to assist pilgrims from every clime and of every Christian race and nationality. Clad in the humble garb of their order, they go quietly and unostentatiously through life, sacrificing themselves at every turn for the benefit and comfort of others. They have stood through centuries, a devoted band of chivalrous knights guarding the spots rendered sacred by the presence of their God. May he in his goodness reward them by permitting them to stand as a noble guard of honor around his celestial throne in the heavenly hereafter! After a comfortable night’s rest and a good breakfast, we started at six o’clock, in order to avoid the intense heat of midday. M. de Lesseps and party had preceded us by nearly two hours. As we rode out the convent gate, numbers of lepers, with shrunken limbs and distorted countenances, clamored piteously for alms. We dropped some small coins into their tin boxes, which they carry so that there may be no possibility of contact with the compassionate passer-by who may bestow alms upon them. We rode for some time across a level plain, and near ten o’clock reached Bab-el-Wady (Gate of the Valley), at the foot of the mountain range. Here we found a very comfortable house, which has been erected for the sake of affording accommodation to pilgrims. We lunched here, took a short nap, and started on our way about two in the afternoon. The whole distance from Jaffa to Jerusalem is not over thirty-six miles; but fast riding is not practicable on account of the baggage, which is transported on mules at a very slow pace; consequently, it generally requires two days to make the trip, whereas a moderately fast horse could easily accomplish the journey in seven or eight hours. We now enter Wady Ali. One could scarcely imagine a more suitable place for lurking bandits to conceal themselves in than among the thick undergrowth here. Their musket-barrels might almost touch their unconscious victim’s breast, without being visible, and many a tale has been told and retold around the Howadji’s camp-fire of their exploits of robbery and murder in this place. But now, thanks to the strict though tardy vigilance of the sultan, the pass is free from danger.

What feelings of emotion now fill my breast! The dreams of my childhood are being realized--I am in the Holy Land! Reaching the summit of one of the ridges, a beautiful panorama is spread out before us. At our feet lies the valley of Sharon, dressed in the richest green, and ornamented with the bright, beautiful wild flowers of early spring; beyond lies the plain of Ramleh, and in the distance, like a silver frame, sparkles and glistens the bright waters of the Mediterranean. Anon we see beneath us the beautiful valley of Beit Hanina, and Ali, laying one hand on my shoulder, points to a little village nestled amid the olive-groves in the valley. Yes, that is Ain-Karim, the place of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin--the spot where was born the “greatest of men.” We check our horses but for a moment; we have no eyes for that now. Every gaze is fixed upon that small yellow house upon the top of the opposite hill; for has not Ali told us that from that point we shall see the Eternal City? Riding rapidly down the mountain-side, we do not even stop as we cross the brook--where David gathered the pebbles with which he slew his gigantic adversary--and push rapidly up the opposite mountain. Father H---- and I are in advance, while madame rides behind with the Irish priest. The shades of evening are now falling, and I fear lest night may come on before we reach the city. Scarce a word is spoken; my heart beats with excitement, such as it has never known before, and seems as though it would break through its prison-house, so eager, so anxious, is it to move quickly on. Unable to restrain my impatience, I give my horse a blow with my riding-whip, and he starts on a full run. Father H---- calls me back. We have travelled so long and shared so many pleasures together, let us together share the great pleasure of the first sight of Jerusalem. I rein in my horse, and ride by his side. Now the top of the hill is reached, and it is yet light; but we have mistaken the house--it is another one still farther on. It is now twilight. We speak not a word, but, bent forward, we scan the horizon with piercing eyes, as though we would penetrate the mountains themselves, so eager are we to see the city. I hail a passing boy: “Fin el Kuds?” (“Where is Jerusalem?”), but with a stupid stare he passes on. A few moments more the house is reached, and Sion, royal city of David, lies before us! Waiting until the rest of the party ride up, we dismount, kneel, kiss the ground, and then recite aloud the psalm Lætatus Sum, a Pater Noster, and an Ave Maria, remount, enter the city by the Jaffa gate, ride to our comfortable quarters at the Latin Hospice, and are in Jerusalem.

At the convent we were entertained in the most hospitable manner, and provided with the neatest and tidiest of rooms. Early the next morning Father H---- and I sallied forth to call on Père Ratisbonne. Following the Via Sacra, we stopped before an iron gate a short distance below the arch Ecce Homo, and little Achmud, picking up a large stone, pounded upon it as though he were repaying a grudge which he had cherished against it for centuries. I ventured to remonstrate, suggesting that they might be displeased at so much noise being made. But he answered very coolly--meanwhile continuing the pounding as if his future happiness depended upon making a hole in the door--that he wanted to inform those inside that some visitors wished to call upon them. I said nothing, but doubted seriously whether that would be the impression produced on their minds. Had it been in America, and had I been inside, I should have imagined that it was an election row, or a fire during the reign of the volunteer fire department. But notwithstanding all this, no one appeared, and we moved away disgusted, only to find that we had been at the wrong place, and to be farther informed that Père Ratisbonne was in Paris.

What shall I say of the sacred spots of Jerusalem, which so many abler pens than mine have attempted to describe?--vainly endeavoring to portray the inexpressible emotions that crowd the breast of every Christian as he kneels before them for the first time! Perhaps I can convey to my readers some idea of the feeling which continually pervaded my whole being. It was as if the curtain of the past had been rolled back, placing me face to face with the living actors in that great tragedy of our Redemption eighteen hundred years ago. What contributed in a great measure to this was that we had lived during the winter in an atmosphere of three or four thousand years ago. We had scarcely esteemed it worth while to look at the ruins of the Ptolemys, they seemed so recent after the massive temples of the Rameses and the Ositarsens, and now the beginning of the Christian era appeared but an affair of yesterday. The Adamic and Mosaic dispensations seemed a little old, ’tis true, but the Christian dispensation was yet to us in all the glory of its early morn. I felt, as I crossed the Kedron and read the Holy Gospels seated beneath the olive-trees in the garden of Gethsemane, as if even I had been a personal follower of the Man-God, and in imagination could hear the hosannas of praise as he rode past me on the ass on the way from Bethany. Before this religion had seemed to me more like an intellectual idea. Now I felt that I knew Him as a friend, and my heart beat earnest acquiescence to Father H----’s remark: “Coming from Egypt, Christ appears a modern personage; and the visit to the sacred places of Palestine adds to the intellectual and moral conviction of the truth of Christianity, the feeling and strength of personal friendship with its Author.”

On Sunday Father H---- celebrated Mass at the altar erected on the spot where the Blessed Virgin stood during the Crucifixion. The hole in the rock wherein the sacred cross was planted belongs to the Greeks, and over it they have erected an altar, loaded down, like all their other altars, with tawdry finery. On another occasion I had the happiness to serve Father H----’s Mass on the spot where our Lord was nailed to the cross. But the greatest happiness of all was reserved for the morning we left the Holy City, when madame and I received Holy Communion from the hands of Father H----, who celebrated Mass, which I served, in the Holy Sepulchre itself. Hic Jesus Christus sepultus est. In that little tomb the three of us, who had shared together the pleasures and dangers of a long voyage in Egypt and Nubia--here on the very spot where He was entombed, we alone, in early morn, received his sacred body and blood, giving fresh life and courage to our souls for our future struggles with the world. How much better, instead of incrusting the sepulchre with marble and gems, to have left it as it was, rude and simple as when the Man-God was laid in it! But one sacred spot is left in its primitive state--the grotto of the Agony. A simple altar has been erected in it, and a marble tablet let into the wall with this inscription upon it: “Hic factus est sudor ejus sicut guttæ sanguinis decurrentis in terram.” The walls and roof of the grotto are to-day as they were that terrible night when they witnessed the sweat as drops of blood rolling down his sacred face.

The limits of this article will not permit me to tell how we wandered reverentially along the Via Sacra, or gazed in admiration from Olivet’s summit on Jerusalem the Golden lying at our feet; of our interesting visit to the residence of the Princesse de La Tour d’Auvergne, on the spot where the apostles were taught the Lord’s Prayer, which she has inscribed on the court-yard walls in every written language. I could tell of our visit to the Cœnaculum to the Temple, the tomb of the Blessed Virgin, our walks through the Valley of Jehoshaphat; but these descriptions are so familiar to every Christian that I will content myself with relating more of the personal incidents which befell us than general descriptions of what we saw.

Father H---- and I left Jerusalem on Tuesday morning, and, after riding several hours, camped for the night near the Greek convent of Mars Saba. No woman is allowed to enter this convent, and men only with permission of the Greek Patriarch of Jerusalem. We visited the tomb of S. Saba, model of anchorites, and saw in one room the skulls of fourteen thousand of his brethren, most of them massacred by the Bedouins. Rev. Mr. Chambers, of New York, with two young friends, was encamped near us, and we spent a very pleasant evening in their tent. At five o’clock the next morning we were in the saddle, en route for the Dead Sea. We had a Bedouin escort, who was attired in a dilapidated, soiled night-shirt, and was scarcely ever with us, either taking short cuts down the mountain-side--as he was on foot--and getting far in advance of us, or lagging equally as far in the rear. Nevertheless, it was a powerful escort--had we not paid the sheik of the tribe five dollars for it? and did it not represent the force and power of a mighty tribe of Bedouins? In sober earnest, this hatless, shoeless escort was a real protection; for if we had been attacked while he was with us, his tribe, or the sheik of it, would have been forced by the authorities to make good our loss, and, moreover, the attacking tribe would have incurred the enmity of our escort’s tribe--a very serious thing in this part of the world, and among men whose belief is: Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed. The Bedouins find this way of robbing travellers more profitable than the old-time system of taking their victim’s property vi et armis, for in the latter instance they are liable to be pursued, caught, and punished; while in the former, by exacting a fee from the traveller and furnishing an escort in return, they make considerable money without fear of punishment. While riding along toward the Dead Sea, I frequently dismounted to shoot partridges, and on remounting I took out the cartridges which had not been used, before handing my gun to the escort, who carried it for me. On one occasion, when near the Dead Sea, I had pursued several partridges, but did not get a shot at them, and returning to my horse, held by the escort, I was about to draw out the cartridges when he requested me to let them remain, so that I should not have the trouble of reloading for the next shot. I shook my head with a negative motion, when he replied in an humble tone: “Very well. I am a Bedouin, and of course you cannot trust me.” And then flashed across my mind that terrible curse pronounced upon Ishmael and his descendants: “His hand shall be against every man, and every man’s against him.” Feeling sorry for the poor fellow, I looked him straight in the eye, as though expressing my confidence in him, and handed him the loaded gun. I was alone with him now, as the rest of the party had ridden on a mile or two in advance. But I felt perfectly safe, because he was walking ahead of me, and, had he meditated treachery, I had my revolver in my belt, and could have killed him before he could raise the gun to shoot. However, I presume that he simply wanted to play sportsman himself; for when he returned me the gun, some hours afterwards, both barrels were empty. About ten o’clock we reached the barren shores of the Dead Sea, passing, very close to it, numberless heaps of cinders, indicating a recent Bedouin encampment. We took a long bath in these buoyant waters. I sank as far as my neck, and then walked through the water as though on land. I remained nearly an hour in the water without touching the bottom. It is very difficult to swim, as, when one assumes the swimming position, the legs are thrown half out of the water. These waters, covering the site of Sodom and Gomorrha, are clear as crystal, yet to the taste are bitter as gall. Riding along the plain for a short hour, we entered the luxurious vegetation on the banks of the Jordan, and dismounted near the place where S. John baptized our Lord. Swift-flowing, muddy, turbulent Jordan! shall I ever forget thee or the pleasant swim I had in thy sweet waters? Father H---- and I dozed for about an hour, took a lunch, and then, remounting, rode across the level plain of Jericho, and about five o’clock reached our tent, pitched on the site of ancient Jericho, at the foot of the Mount of Temptation, where Satan would tempt our Lord with the vain, fruitless riches of this world. After dinner we walked a short distance, and sat down on the limb of a tree overhanging the sweet waters of the heaven-healed fountain of Elisha. Surrounded by armed Bedouins, who watched our every motion with eager curiosity, and occasionally in plaintive tones requested backsheesh, we passed a delightful hour recalling the sacred reminiscences connected with the spots around us. Behind us a crumbling ruin marks the site of once proud Jericho--the city to which the warlike Joshua sent the spies from the Moabitish hills beyond the Jordan; the city destroyed by the Israelitish trumpet-blast, and against which the terrible curse was pronounced: “Cursed be the man before the Lord that riseth up, and buildeth this city Jericho: he shall lay the foundation thereof in his first-born, and in his youngest son he shall set up the gates of it”--a curse which was most fearfully fulfilled. Yonder Elijah went up to heaven in a whirlwind. Far away in the distance the Dead Sea, hemmed in by its mountain banks, lies calm and placid in the dying sunset. At our feet is the broad plain of Jericho, and at our back the mountains of Judæa. How singular it must have seemed to the Israelites when they first saw mountains covered with trees and verdure! In their old Egyptian home they had seen but sand-mountains, the vegetation in no place extending beyond the level ground; and now for the first time after their dreary desert wanderings they saw the vegetation creeping up the mountain-side even to its summit, and thousands of sheep browsing upon it on every hand. Early the next morning we were in the saddle, en route for Jerusalem, and, passing the spot where the good Samaritan ministered to the poor man who had fallen among thieves, we reached Bethany about noon. Procuring some tapers from an old woman, we descended into the tomb from which the voice of his God had called forth the dead Lazarus. A flight of steps leads down some distance into a small chamber, which is to-day in the same condition as when Martha’s brother, arising from the dead, testified to the assembled crowd the power of Jesus of Nazareth. From here we ascended Olivet, and from its summit looked with admiration upon the beautiful panorama spread out beneath us, and lunched under the venerable olive-trees, which perhaps had cast their shade upon the weary form of our Saviour, and had witnessed the glorious miracle of his Ascension. Soon after we reached our convent home.

The Jews in the Holy City are much fairer than their brethren in America. They wear the old-time gabardine, belted at the waist and extending to the ankles; on the head a high black felt hat with broad brim, while two curls hang down the cheek on either side. They are a sorrowful-looking race, fascinating to gaze upon as connected with the great Drama, yet inspiring me at the same time with a feeling of disgust which I could not control. How striking a picture of their degradation and fall from their once proud estate as the chosen ones of God, is shown as they gather on Fridays to their wailing-place; five courses of large bevelled stones being all that remain of Solomon’s grand Temple! Here are Jews of all ages and of both sexes, crying bitterly over fallen Jerusalem. Old men, tottering up, bury their faces in the joints and cavities, and weep aloud as though their hearts were breaking, while in chorus comes the low, plaintive wail of the women. In and among, and around and about them, with shouts of mirth and laughter, play the children of the Arab conquerors. The Jews are permitted to weep here unmolested.

On Sunday afternoon, accompanied by Father Guido, we went to Bethlehem. We passed the night in the Latin convent, and the next morning madame and I received Holy Communion from the hands of Father H----, who celebrated Mass in the Crib of the Nativity, on the spot where the Wise Men stood when adoring the new-born Babe. The very spot where Christ was born is marked by a silver star, with this inscription upon it: “Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus Natus est.” The star belongs to the Latins, but the altar over it to the Greeks, who have several times attempted to carry off the star, but unsuccessfully. They, of course, will not permit the Latins to celebrate Mass upon the altar. The Greeks, being more powerful, are continually harassing and heaping all sorts of indignities upon the Latins, who are obliged to submit to them. Shame upon the Catholic nations of Europe--nations which in bygone times sent forth those noble bands of Crusaders, sacrificing their lives to rescue the holy places from infidel hands! But Easter a year ago they destroyed the valuable hangings in the Holy Crib, presented to the Latins by the French government, and stole two pictures from their altars valued at six thousand dollars apiece. Nay, more than this: they even severely wounded with a sword the Franciscan brother who endeavored to prevent the execution of their nefarious designs. And again the past Easter, but a few days before we were there, witnessed another of these terrible scenes of barbarism and inhumanity. A number of unoffending pilgrims, just returned from their annual Easter visit to the Jordan, were denied entrance by the Greeks to the basilica over the Holy Crib. And when they insisted upon entering the church--which is common property, and in which they had a perfect right to go--and attempted to force their way in, they were arrested by the Turkish governor of Bethlehem--who is in league with the Greeks--under the pretext that they were inciting to riot, and cast into a loathsome dungeon in Jerusalem. But, thanks to the exertions of M. de Lesseps, they were subsequently released.

I rode over to the hill where the shepherds watched their flocks that eventful night when the angels announced to them the “glad tidings of great joy.” In the afternoon we rode across the mountains to Ain-Karim, the birth-place of S. John the Baptist.

The women in this part of the country, but particularly in Bethlehem and its vicinity, carry all their fortunes on their heads. Dressed in the picturesque garb of the Moabitish women, their coins are hung in great numbers from their caps. One young mother, with her babe in her arms, and with her cap almost covered with rows of gold coins, approached me at Ain-Karim, and begged me in a piteous tone for a copper, and appeared delighted when I gave it to her. They would almost sooner starve than part with these coins, in which they take great pride; but I imagine that after they are married their husbands find means of obtaining possession of them, and then they get into general circulation again. We went to see the scene of the Visitation, over which an altar had been erected in the early ages of Christianity, but which had been concealed for centuries, and only accidentally discovered of late by the Latins in renovating their church. Alongside the altar is the impression of a baby in the rock. It is said that when Herod’s soldiers came to the house of S. Elizabeth to execute their master’s murderous commands to massacre the little innocents, the saintly mother pressed her infant against the wall, which opened, received him, and then, closing again, hid him from view; and thus was he saved to grow up a voice crying in the wilderness, “Make straight the way of the Lord.” We spent the night in the convent built on the site of the house where was born this “greatest of men.” The next day we returned to Jerusalem, visiting en route the Greek church on the spot where grew the tree from which the sacred cross was made.

Shortly after this we left the Holy City, soon bade farewell to our trusty dragoman, and embarked on the Tibre at Jaffa, bound for Marseilles. Oh! what impressions were made upon me by my short sojourn among those sacred places. How my faith was strengthened, and my love and devotion increased, and how earnestly and often I wished, and still wish, that each and every one I know could see what I have seen and feel as I now feel!

A CHRISTMAS VIGIL.

“One aim there is of endless worth, One sole-sufficient love-- To do thy will, O God! on earth, And reign with thee above. From joys that failed my soul to fill, From hopes that all beguiled, To changeless rest in thy dear will, O Jesus! call thy child.”

Exeter Beach was divided into two distinct parts by a line of cliff jutting far out into Exeter Bay. Below the eastern face of the cliff lay the Moore estate, and then came the town; but on the west side was an inlet, backed by dense woods, and bounded on the farther extremity by another wall of rock. This was known as Lonely Cove, and deserved its title. From it one looked straight out to the open sea; no island intervened, nor was anything visible on shore save the two long arms of frowning rock, the circuit of pine coming close to the edge of drift-wood that marked the limit of the tide, and, at the far distance, a solitary house. This had once been occupied by a man who made himself a home apart from every one, and died as lonely as he lived; since then it had been deserted, and was crumbling to decay, and many believed it to be haunted.

Along this beach, about three o’clock one Christmas Eve, Jane Moore was walking. It was a dull afternoon, with a lowering sky, and a chill in the air which foreboded rain rather than snow; but, wrapped in her velvet cloak and furs of costly sable, Jane did not heed the weather.

Her heart was full to overflowing. From the first Christmas that she could remember to the one previous to his death, she had taken that walk with her father every Christmas eve, while he talked with her of the joy of the coming day, sang to her old Christmas carols, and sought to prepare her for a holy as well as a merry feast. He had tried to be father and mother both to his motherless girl, but his heart ached as he watched her self-willed, imperious nature, often only to be curbed by her extreme love for him.

“Be patient, my friend,” the old priest who knew his solicitude used to say. “It is a very noble nature. Through much suffering and failure, it may be, but surely, nevertheless, our Jane will live a grand life yet for the love of God.” And so James Moore strove to believe and hope, till death closed his eyes when his daughter was only thirteen years old.

Heiress of enormous wealth, and of a beauty which had been famous in that county for six generations, loving keenly all that was fair, luxurious, and intellectual, Jane Moore was one of the most brilliant women of her day. Dancing and riding, conversation and music--she threw herself into each pursuit by turn with the same whole-hearted abandon which had ever characterized her. Yet the priest who had baptized her, and who gave her special, prayerful care and direction, laid seemingly little check upon her. Such religious duties as were given her she performed faithfully; she never missed the daily Mass or monthly confession; not a poor cottage in the village in which she was not known and loved, though as yet she only came with smiles and money and cheery words, instead of personal tendance and real self-denial. No ball shortened her prayers, no sport hindered her brief daily meditation. The priest knew that beyond all other desires that soul sought the Lord; beyond all other loves, loved him; and that she strove, though poorly and imperfectly and with daily failure, to subject her will to the higher will of God. To have drawn the curb too tightly then might have been to ruin all; the wise priest waited, and, while he waited, he prayed.

This Christmas Eve on which Jane Moore was speeding along the beach was the last she would ever spend as a merry girl in her old home. As a wife, as a mother, she might come there again, but with Epiphany her girlhood’s days must end. Her heart, once given, had been given wholly, and Henry Everett was worthy of the gift; but the breaking of old ties told sorely upon Jane, who always made her burdens heavier than need be by her constant endeavor to gain her own will and way. Her handsome face looked dark and sallow that afternoon; the thin, quivering nostrils and compressed lips told of a storm in her heart.

“I cannot understand it,” she said aloud. “Why must I go away? Surely it was right to wish to live always in my old home among my father’s people. Why should God let Henry’s father live and live and live to be ninety years old, and he be mean and troublesome? and why should my dear father die young, when I needed him? I cannot bear to go away.”

And then came to her mind words said to her that very day--few words, but strong, out of a wise and loving heart--“God asks something from you this Christmas, in the midst of your joy, which I believe he will ask from you, in joy or sorrow, all your life long until he gets it. He wants the entire surrender of your will. I do not know how he will do it, but I am sure he will never let you alone till he has gained his end. Make it your Christmas prayer that he will teach you that his will is better and sweeter than anything our wills may crave.”

She flew faster along the beach, striving by the very motion to find relief for the swelling of her heart.

“I cannot bear it,” she cried--“to have always to do something I do not want to do! I cannot bear it. Yes, I can, and I will. God help me! But I cannot understand.”

On, on, faster still, sobs choking her, tears blinding her. “I wanted so much to live and die here. God must have known it, and what difference could it make to him?”

“Don’t ye! Don’t ye, Tom! Ye’ve no right. Ye mustn’t, for God’s sake.” The words, in a woman’s shrill voice, as of one weak with fasting or illness, yet strong for the instant with the strength of a great fear or pain, broke in upon Jane’s passion, and, coming to herself, she found that she was close to the Haunted House. Fear was unknown to her; in an instant she stood within the room.

Evidently some tramp, poorer than the poorest, had sought shelter--little better than none, alas!--in the wretched place. A haggard woman was crouching on a pile of sea-weed and drift-wood, holding tightly to something hidden in the ragged clothing huddled about her, striving to keep it--whatever it might be--from the grasp of a desperate, half-starved man who bent over her.

“Gie it to me,” he cried. “I tell ye, Poll, I’ll have it, that I wull, for all ye. And I’ll trample it, and I’ll burn it, that I wull. No more carrying o’ crucifixes for we, and I knows on’t. Gie us bread and butter, say I, and milk for the babby there.”

“Nay, nay, Tom,” the woman pleaded. “It’s Christmas Eve. He’ll send us summat the night, sure. Wait one night, Tom.”

“Christmas! What’s him to we? Wait! Wait till ye starve and freeze to death, lass; but I’ll not do’t. There’s no God nowhere, and no Christmas--it’s all a sham--and there sha’n’t be no crucifixes neither where I bes. Ha! I’s got him now, and I’ll have my own way, lass.”

“Stop, man!” Jane stood close beside him, with flashing eyes and her proud and fearless face. “Give me the crucifix,” she said.

But she met eyes as fearless as her own, which scanned her from head to foot. “And who be you?” he asked.

“Jane Moore,” she answered, with the ring that was always in her voice when she named her father’s honored name.

“And what’s that to me?” the man exclaimed. “Take’s more’n names to save this.” And he shook the crucifix defiantly.

“Stop, stop!” Jane cried. “I will pay you well to stop.”

“Why then, miss?”

“Your God died on a cross,” Jane answered. “You shall not harm his crucifix.”

“Speak for yourself, miss! Shall not? My wull’s as strong as yours, I’ll warrant. God! There’s no God; else why be ye in velvets and her in rags? That’s why I trample this ’un.”

In another moment the crucifix would have lain beneath his heel; but Jane flung herself on her knees. All pride was gone; tears rained from her eyes; she, who had been used to command and to be obeyed, pleaded like a beggar, with humble yet passionate pleading, at the feet of this beggar and outcast.

“Wait, wait,” she cried. “Oh! hear me. Truly your God was born in a stable and died upon a cross. He loves you, and he was as poor as you.”

“There be no God,” the man reiterated hoarsely. “It’s easy for the likes o’ ye to talk, all warm and full and comfortable.”

Jane wrung her hands. “I cannot explain,” she said, “I cannot understand. But it must be that God knows best. He sent me. Come home with me, and I will give you food and clothes and money.”

“Not I,” cried the man defiantly. “I knows that trick too well, miss. Food and clothes belike, but a jail too. I’ll trust none. Pay me here.”

Jane turned her pocket out. “I have nothing with me,” she said. “Will you not trust me?” But in his hard-set face she read her answer while she spoke.

“Very well,” she continued. “Take a note from me to my steward. He will pay you.”

“Let’s see’t,” was the brief reply. Hastily she wrote a few words in pencil, and he read them aloud.

“Now, miss,” he said, “it’s not safe for me to be about town much ’fore dark, and, what’s more, I won’t trust ye there neither. Here ye’ll bide the night through, if ye means what ye says.”

“O Tom!” the woman exclaimed, breaking silence for the first time since Jane spoke, “’twull be a fearful night for the like o’ she.”

“Let her feel it, then,” he retorted. “Wasn’t her Lord she talks on born in the cold and the gloom to-night, ’cording to you and she, lass? Let her try’t, say I, and see what she’ll believe come morn.”

Like a flash it passed through Jane’s mind that her last midnight Mass among her own people was taken from her; that, knowing her uncertain ways, no one would think of seeking her till it was too late, any more than her steward, well used to her impulses, would dream of questioning a note of hers, no matter who brought it. Yet with the keen pang of disappointment a thrill of sweetness mingled. Was not her Lord indeed born in the cold and the gloom that night? “I am quite willing to wait,” she said quietly.

The man went to the door. “Tide’s nigh full,” he said, “and night’s nigh here. I’ll go my ways. But mark ye, miss, I’ll be waiting t’other side, to see ye don’t follow. Trust me to wait patient, till it’s too dark for ye to come.”

Jane watched him till he had reached the further line of the cliff; then she buried her face in her hands. Space and time seemed as nothing; again, as for years she had been used to do, she strove to place herself in the stable at Bethlehem, and the child-longing rose within her to clasp the Holy Infant in her arms, and warm him at her heart, and clothe him like a prince. And then she remembered what the man had said: “It’s easy for the likes o’ ye to talk, all warm and full and comfortable.”

There are natures still among us that cannot be content unless they lavish the whole box of ointment on the Master’s feet. Jane turned to the heap of sea-weed where the half-frozen woman lay. “Can you rise for a minute?” she asked gently. “I am going to change clothes with you. Yes, I am strong, and can walk about and bear it all; but you will freeze if you lie here.” And putting down the woman’s feeble resistance with a bright, sweet will, Jane had her way.

Half exhausted, her companion sank back upon her poor couch, and soon fell asleep; and when the baby woke, Jane took it from her, lest its pitiful wailing should rouse the mother, to whom had come blessed forgetfulness of her utter inability to feed or soothe it. She wrapped the child in her rags, and walked the room with it for hours that night. It seemed to her that they must freeze to death if she stopped. For a time the wind raged furiously and the rain fell in torrents; no blessed vision came to dispel the darkness of her vigil; no ecstasy to keep the cold from biting her; she felt its sting sharply and painfully the whole night through. The first few hours were the hardest she had ever spent, yet she would not have exchanged them for the sweetest joy this world had ever given her. “My Lord was cold,” she kept saying. “My Lord was cold to-night.”

By and by--it seemed to her that it must be very late--the storm passed over. She went to the door. The clouds were lifting, and far away the sea was glimmering faintly in the last rays of a hidden and setting moon. Below a mass of dark clouds, and just above the softly-lighted sea, shone out a large white star. Across the water, heaving heavily like one who has fallen asleep after violent weeping, and still sobs in slumber, came to her the sound of the clock striking midnight; and then all the chimes rang sweetly, and she knew that the Mass she had longed for had begun.

“I cannot bear it!” she cried; then felt the child stir on her breast, and, gathering it closer to her, she said slowly: “God understands. His way must be best.” And she tried to join in spirit with those in church who greeted the coming of the Lord.

Surely there was some reason for her great disappointment and for her suffering that night. Reason? Was it not enough to be permitted thus to share His first night of deprivation? And presently she began to plan for herself God’s plan--how the man would return, and find her there wet and cold and hungry, and would learn why she had done it, and would never doubt God again. She fancied them all at home with her, employed by her, brought back to a happy, holy life; and she prayed long and earnestly for each.

He did come, as soon as the gray morning twilight broke--came with haste, bade his wife rise, and take her child and follow him. He gave no time for the words Jane wished to speak; but when the woman said that she must return the garments which had kept her warm, and perhaps alive, that night, Jane cried “No, no! It is as if I had kept our Lady warm for once, and carried her Child, not yours.” And she clasped the baby passionately, kissing it again and again.

The man stood doubtful, then tore the rich cloak from his wife’s shoulders, seized the mean one which it had replaced, wrapped her in it, hiding thus the costly attire, that might have caused suspicion, then looked about the room.

“The crucifix?” he said.

“Is it not mine?” Jane asked.

He pointed to the woman. “It’s her bit o’ comfort,” he said. “Gie it to her, miss. Plenty ye’s got, I wot. I’ll ne’er harm ’un again.”

There was no more farewell than that; no more promise of better things. In a few minutes they had disappeared among the pines; and cold, suffering, disheartened, Jane made her way homeward. To her truest home first; for bells were ringing for first Mass, and Jane stole into church, and, clad in beggar’s rags beneath her velvet cloak, knelt in real humility to receive her Lord. “I do not understand,” she said to him, sobbing softly. “Nothing that I do succeeds as I like. But, my Jesus, I am sure thy will is best, only I wanted so much to help them for thee. Why was it, my Jesus?”

But the years went by, and though Christmas after Christmas Jane remembered with a pang that great disappointment, her longings and her questions remained unanswered.

And so it was in almost everything. Her life after that strange Christmas Eve was one of constant, heroic, personal service for others, in the love of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. The brilliant woman was never seen again at ball or hunt, but beside the beds of the sick and suffering she was daily to be found, making the most painful, repulsive cases her special care. And she, who had delighted in daintiest apparel, never wore again after that Christmas morning jewels or costly clothing. “I have tasted once the sweetness of faring like my Lord,” she said impetuously to her husband. “Do not break my heart by making me all warm and full and comfortable again.” And he, whose high soul answered nobly to her own, never tried to hold her back, but followed her eagerly in her earnest following of her Lord.

Yet the self-willed nature cost its owner many sufferings before it learned submission to the divine Master. It pleased God that Jane Everett should live to an advanced and very strong old age, and it also pleased him through all those years to conform her will to his by constant and peculiar trials. The husband whom she loved with an almost idolatrous love was taken from her, without an instant’s warning, by a fearful accident. Her sons, whom she dedicated to God’s holy priesthood, died in their cradles; her daughters grew into the fairest bloom of womanhood, only to become the brides of death. Yet nothing quenched the fire in her eye, and the cry of her heart for years was still its old cry: “O God! I cannot bear it. Yes, I can. God’s will is best. But I cannot understand.”

One Advent the last remaining friend of her youth sent to her, begging her to come with haste to pass with her the last Christmas they could expect to be together on earth; and the brave old woman, though craving to spend the holy season near her darlings’ graves, went forth to face the inclement weather with as stout a heart as in her youth she had sped along Exeter Beach under the threatening sky. In a little village, with no one near who knew her except her servants, Death laid his hand upon her who had desired him for many days.

“This is a serious illness,” the physician said to her. Then, reading rightly the spirit with which he had to deal, he added: “A sickness unto death, madam.”

“Harness the horses, then,” she said, lifting herself, “and let me get to Ewemouth and die there.”

“Send for a priest,” the doctor answered her. “You have no time to lose.”

“It has been always so, father,” Jane said, looking up pitifully into the face of the priest when at last he came. “From the time that I first earnestly gave myself to God, up to this time, he has thwarted me in every way. Sixty years ago this very Christmas Eve he did it. It all comes back to me as hard to bear as then; and all my life has been like that.” And slowly and with pauses Jane told the story of her night at Lonely Cove.

“It has always been so, father. Whenever I have loved any one or tried to help any one, I have failed or they have left me.”

“My daughter,” the priest replied, “God’s work in a life like yours is far more the subjection of the will than the number of holy actions for others. Be sure that what we think failure is often success in God’s eyes and through his power. He asks one last sacrifice from you. Madam, God has brought you here to add the crowning blessing to your life--the opportunity of a last and entire surrender of your will to his most blessed will. Will you offer to him your whole life, that to you seems so incomplete and marred, judged by your own plans and wishes, saying to him without reserve that you believe, certainly, that his way is far better than yours?”

He held the crucifix before her, and suddenly the long years seemed to vanish like a dream, and she felt once more the biting cold in the haunted house at Lonely Cove, and again a child nestled upon her heart, bringing with it the thought of the manger-bed, and the question, Why should so much suffering be? And from that manger her thoughts returned to the hard couch of the cross; and to all that mystery of suffering came the mysterious answer, “Not my will, but thine, be done.”

She took and kissed the offered crucifix. “Yes, father,” she said meekly. “May the most just, most high, and most amiable will of God be done, praised, and eternally exalted in all things. I had rather die here, O my God! since it is thy blessed will, than in any other place on earth.”

“Amen,” said the priest.

But when the last sacraments had been administered, and Jane lay calm and patient now, waiting her release, the priest drew near to her, and looked with a great reverence upon her face.

“My daughter,” he said “it is at times the will of God to show us even here the use of some part at least of what he has let us do for him. Be sure his Sacred Heart remembers all the rest as well. Sixty years ago this Christmas Eve my father was saved from a great sin, my mother and I from death, by a Christian woman’s love for her Lord. The first confession I ever heard was my own father’s last. He told me that from the time he saw that rich young girl in rags endure the biting cold for God, faith lived in his heart, and would not die. I saw him pass away from earth in penitence and hope. For more than thirty years I have labored among God’s poor as your thank-offering. Madam, my mother by the love of God, God sends you this token that he has worked his own work by means of you all your life long. He sends you this token, because you have given him the thing he most desired of you--your will.”

Jane folded her aged hands humbly. “Not unto us, O Lord!” she said, low and faint, and then a voice as of a son and priest at once spoke clearly, seeing her time had come: “Depart, O Christian soul! in peace.”

THE APOSTOLIC MISSION TO CHILI.

A CHAPTER IN THE LIFE OF PIUS IX.

Before entertaining ourselves with an account of the voyage and journeys, from Genoa to Buenos Ayres and across the continent to Valparaiso, of the first pope who has ever been to America, we shall enter into a few details to show the occasion of the apostolic mission which he accompanied in an official capacity.

The great reverses of Spain at the beginning of the present century, and the consequent weakening of the bonds that united her American colonies to their mother-country, besides some other causes silently working since the emancipation of the thirteen British provinces from England, finally led to a Declaration of Independence, which was established after several years of war. But the king to whose government these New-World possessions had been subject for nearly three hundred years refused to recognize the accomplished fact or to enter into diplomatic relations with rebels against his authority.[213]

The Congress of Verona, in 1822, took some notice of these revolted countries; but the European powers did not all agree to receive them into the family of nations by a formal recognition, and it is well known that the views expressed in that assembly gave rise on the part of the President of the United States to a declaration of policy which has been called the Monroe Doctrine.[214] The Holy See, having sublimer interests to deal with, could not act as indifferently in this matter as other governments, which looked only to temporal advantage, and wrangled over old systems of public policy regardless of recent events. By the quixotic obstinacy of Spain the South American republics suffered much inconvenience, particularly in point of religion, because Rome could not provide for their spiritual wants without risking an open rupture with his Catholic Majesty--such were royal pretensions of restricting the exercise of papal rights, even in merely nominal dominions.[215]

During the latter part of Pius VII.’s pontificate the government of Chili sent one of its distinguished citizens, the Archdeacon Don José Cienfuegos, envoy to Rome, with instructions to try to establish direct ecclesiastical relations between the Holy See and Santiago, the capital of his country. He arrived there on August 22, 1822, and was well received, but only in his spiritual capacity. The pope would not recognize him as a political agent. On the 7th of September following the Holy Father addressed a brief to the Bishop of Merida de Maracaybo, in which he expressed himself solicitous for the spiritual necessities of his children in those far-distant parts of America, and intimated his ardent desire to relieve them. A little later he formed a special congregation of six cardinals, presided over by Della Genga, who became his successor as Leo XII.; and after mature deliberation on the religious affairs in the ex-viceroyalties of Spain, it was determined to send a mission to Chili, that country being chosen for the honor as having made the first advances. This measure so displeased the Spanish government that the nuncio Monsignor--afterwards Cardinal--Giustiniani was dismissed; and although he was soon after permitted to return, the wound inflicted upon him left its sting behind, for, coming very near to the number of votes requisite to election in the conclave after Pius VIII.’s death, the court of Madrid barred his fortune by the exercise of that odious privilege called the Esclusiva; the ground of his exclusion from the Papacy being supposed at Rome to have been his participation in the appointment of bishops to South America. The right (?) of veto expires with its exercise once in each conclave; and Cardinal Cappellari (Gregory XVI.), who, as we shall see, had the most to do with these episcopal nominations, was elected pope.

The choice of a vicar-apostolic for the Chilian mission fell upon Prof. Ostini (later nuncio to Brazil and a cardinal), who, after having accepted the position, saw fit suddenly to decline it for reasons best known to himself. In his stead Don Giovanni Muzi, then attached to the nunciature at Vienna, was selected, and, having been recalled to Rome, was consecrated Archbishop of Philippi in partibus infidelium,[216] with orders to proceed immediately to Santiago. The mission, of which we shall speak more particularly hereafter, embarked on October 4, 1823, and reached Rome on its return the 7th of July, 1825.

Leo XII. succeeded Pius VII. In 1824 the republic of Colombia sent Don Ignacio Texada to Rome with an application for bishops and apostolic vicars in that immense region; but the Spanish ambassador, Chevalier Vargas, a haughty diplomate, brimful of Españolismo, went to the pope and demanded his dismissal. This was refused. The envoy had come for spiritual interests, not on political grounds; and the Spaniard could not convince Leo that the rebel’s argument--by which he asked no more than that species of indirect recognition granted by the Holy See, under Innocent X. and Alexander VII., to the house of Braganza when it forced Portugal from under Spanish rule--was not a good one and founded on precedent. Nevertheless, Texada returned to Bologna, and finally withdrew altogether from the Papal States. He had some fine qualities, but lacked discretion in speech, which was a fault very injurious to his position. Harpocrates is still the great god of diplomacy the world over. This state of things was embarrassing. Spain had refused to recognize the independence of her many provinces in the New World, although she had ceased practically even to disturb them. The king, who was somewhat of a Marquis de Carabas, claimed all his old rights over them, and, among them, that of episcopal presentation. Cardinal Wiseman, who was an attentive observer of these times, remarks--very properly, we think--that even if such a power could be still called legal, “it would have been quite unreasonable to expect that the free republics would acknowledge the jurisdiction of the country which declared itself at war with them.” This was a clear case in which allegiance should follow protection. After a prudent delay, Leo thought it his duty to represent energetically to the Spanish government the inconvenience he suffered from the existing state of affairs, and the impossibility of his viewing with indifference a condition in which the faithful, long deprived of pastors, were urgently asking for bishops for the vacant sees. Yet His Holiness had taken no decisive step, but called upon his majesty either to reduce his transatlantic subjects to obedience or to leave him free to provide as best he could for the necessities of the church. In the consistory of May 21, 1827, the pope, after protesting that he could not any longer in conscience delay his duty to Spanish America, proceeded to nominate bishops for more than six dioceses in those parts. Madrid was, of course, displeased, although it was twelve years since the government had lost even the shadow of authority there, and at first refused to receive the new nuncio, Tiberi.[217] At this juncture Pedro Gomez de Labrador was sent from Spain expressly to defeat the measure; but although “acknowledged by all parties, and especially by the diplomatic body in Rome, to be one of the most able and accomplished statesmen in Europe, yet he could not carry his point” against the quiet and monk-like Cardinal Cappellari, who was deputed by the pope to meet him. In the allocution pronounced by Labbrador before the Sacred College, assembled in conclave to elect a successor to Leo, he made an allusion to the ever-recurring subject of the revolted Americans; but although done with tact, it grated on the ears of many as too persistently and, under the circumstances, unreasonably put forward.

The discussion between the courts of Rome and Madrid was not renewed during the brief pontificate of Pius VIII.; but in the encyclical letter announcing his election there is a delicate reference to the affair which, although not expressly named, will be perceived by those who are acquainted with the questions of that day. Comte de Maistre says somewhere that if a parish be left without a priest for thirty years, the people will worship--the pigs; and although the absence of a bishop from his diocese for such a length of time might not induce a similar result, yet the faithful would drop, perhaps, into a Presbyterian form of church government and be lost. The veteran statesman Cardinal Consalvi evidently thought so, as we see by the fourth point, which treats of Spanish America, in the conference that he was invited to hold with Leo XII. on the most important interests of the Holy See.[218] When, therefore, Gregory XVI.--who, as Cardinal Cappellari; had not been a stranger to the long dispute--became pope, he ended the matter promptly and for ever. In his first consistory, held in February, 1831, he filled a number of vacant sees and erected new ones where required in South America. On the 31st of August following he published the apostolic constitution “Solicitudo Ecclesiarum,” in which he explained the reasons why the Holy See, in order to be able to govern the universal church, whose interests are paramount to all local disputes, recognizes de facto governments, without intending by this to confer a new right, detract from any legitimate claim, or decide upon de jure questions. The republics of New Granada[219] (1835), Ecuador (1838), and Chili (1840) were subsequently recognized with all the solemnities of international law.

In the last-named country there were two episcopal sees during the Spanish dominion. These were Santiago and Concepcion, both subject to the Metropolitan of Lima; but Gregory rearranged the Chilian episcopate, making the first see an archbishopric, with Concepcion, La Serena, and San Carlos de Ancud (in the island of Chiloe) for suffragan sees.

At the time that the apostolic mission to South America was determined upon, there was living in Rome a young ecclesiastic as yet “to fortune and to fame unknown,” but who was destined to become the first pope who has ever been across the Atlantic, and the foremost man of the XIXth century. This was Don Giovanni Mastai-Ferretti, one of the fourteen canons of the collegiate church of Santa Maria in Via Lata. He was selected by Pius VII. to accompany Mgr. Muzi as adjunct. The secretary of the apostolic delegation was a priest named Giuseppe Sallusti, who wrote a full narrative of the expedition, in which, as Cardinal Wiseman says, “The minutest details are related with the good-humored garrulity of a new traveller, who to habits of business and practical acquaintance with graver matters unites, as is common in the South, a dash of comic humor and a keen sense of the ridiculous, and withal a charming simplicity and freshness of mind, which render the book amusing as well as instructive, in spite of its heavy quotations from that lightest of poets, Metastasio.”[220] It is in 4 vols. 8vo, with a map. Comparatively only a small portion of the work is taken up with the actual voyages and travels of the party, the rest being devoted to the preliminaries or causes of the mission, to a description of Chili, and an account of the many missionary establishments which had once flourished, as well as of those that were still maintained, there. A fifth volume was promised by the author to contain the documents, official acts, and results of the mission; but we believe that it was never published. The vicar-apostolic having received, at the earnest solicitation of a learned ecclesiastic from the Argentine Confederation, Rev. Dr. Pacheco, very ample faculties not only for the country to which he was more immediately accredited, but also for Buenos Ayres, Peru, Colombia, Mexico, and all other parts of the ex-Spanish dominions, and accompanied by the envoy Cienfuegos and Father Raymond Arce, a young Dominican belonging to Santiago, the party left Rome for Bologna, where it rested awhile to get a foretaste of the magnificent scenes in the New World from Father T. de Molina, who had long resided in Chili. The next stage in the journey was to Genoa, the port of embarkation, which was reached only on the 17th of July; but, “by a series of almost ludicrous delays,” the expedition was detained until after the death of Pius VII. and the election of his successor, Leo XII., who confirmed the mission and addressed a brief to the president[221] of the Chilian Republic, recommending its objects and the welfare of its members.

All matters being now satisfactorily arranged, the party got on board the fine French-built brig Eloysa on the 11th of October, 1823. The vessel sailed under Sardinian colors, and was manned by a crew of thirty-four men, and officered by experienced sailors, the captain, Anthony Copello, having several times navigated the South Atlantic. The weather was very rough, as usual, in the Gulf of Lyons; “and gurly grew the sea,” to the dismay and discomfiture of the terrified landsmen, “Mastai,” as Sallusti familiarly calls his companion, suffering horribly from sickness. This was but the beginning of many trials, and even some serious dangers, amidst which we can well imagine that the captain would have been glad beyond measure if any one had hinted at the very special Providence that guarded his ship, by quoting the famous words, “Quid times? Cæsarem vehis et fortunam ejus!” Soon the Eloysa approached the coast of Catalonia, down which she sailed at the rate of ten knots an hour, until struck by a furious southwest hurricane, the libeccio so much dreaded in the Mediterranean, which threatened destruction to all and everything in its course. To a landsman like Sallusti the storms encountered on this voyage would naturally appear worse than they really were, and his frequent account of “waves mountain-high” and “imminent shipwreck” would perhaps sound like “yarns” to an old tar. He delights in describing the Eloysa as

“Uplifted on the surge, to heaven she flies, Her shattered top half buried in the skies”

--(Falconer),

and everywhere shows himself, like a good inland abbate, dreadfully afraid of salt water. Capt. Copello would fain have put into Valencia for shelter; but it was feared that the Spanish authorities might detain his ship, or at least disembark the passengers, and it was determined rather to brave the elements than to trust themselves within gunshot of a Spanish harbor. These bold resolutions, however, did not appease the fury of the wind, and it finally came to deciding between a watery grave and a stony prison; the decision was quickly taken, and Palma, in the island of Majorca, was fetched in safety. The mission party was very inhospitably treated here; and Mgr. Muzi and Canon Mastai were ordered to come on shore at once and give an account of themselves. As soon as they had put foot on land, the two distinguished ecclesiastics were thrust into a cold and filthy Lazaretto, on plea of sanitary regulations, but really out of spite for their character and destination. Their papers were seized, and measures instantly taken to bring them to trial; and there was even talk of sending them to an African fortress where political prisoners were confined. When Sallusti heard of this Balearic treatment, he summoned all his Italian courage, and, going on shore, declared to the cocked-hatted officials that he would share the fate of his companions; but instead of admiring this prodigality of a great soul (Hor. Od. i. 12, 38), those unclassical islanders simply swore round oaths and turned him in with the rest. This was fortunate in one sense; for we would otherwise have missed a good description of the examination of the three Italians before the magistrates, who behaved rudely; the alcade, in his quality of judge, putting on more airs than a Roman proconsul.[222] Further outrages were threatened, but the intervention of the Sardinian consul and of the Bishop of Palma finally convinced those proud men of the exclusively religious mission of their victims. In view of subsequent events in Italy, it seems strange that the future pope should have been saved from further indignities, and perhaps from a dungeon, by an agent of the Piedmontese government; yet so it was. The Italians were permitted to return to the ship, but a demand was made to deliver up the two Chilians as rebellious Spanish subjects. This was promptly refused; but notwithstanding a great deal of blustering and many threats, the case was allowed to drop, and the Eloysa sailed away after several days’ detention. Gibraltar was passed on the 28th of October, and a severe storm having tossed the brig about unmercifully on her entry into the Atlantic, the peak of Teneriffe loomed up on November 4.

After leaving the Canary Islands, the Eloysa was hailed one dark night by a shot across her bows, which came from a Colombian privateer, and quickly brought her to. She was quickly boarded, and a gruff voice demanded her papers and to have the crew and passengers mustered on deck. Sallusti was in mortal dread, and, to judge from his description of the scene, he must have been quaking with fear; but Don Giovanni Mastai behaved with that calmness and dignity which even then began to be remarked in him, in whatever circumstances he found himself. After some delay, the brig was allowed to proceed; nothing being taken off but a bottle of good Malaga wine--which, however, was rather accepted than stolen by the rover of the seas.

After a time the Cape Verd Islands appeared in all their richness; and on the 27th of the month the line was crossed amidst the usual riot of sailors, and with the payment of a generous ransom by the clergy. On December 8 the Eloysa lay becalmed alongside of a slaver crowded with poor Africans on their way to Brazil. Sallusti complains about this time of bad water and short rations, and mentions with particular disgust that the fare generally consisted of potatoes and lean chickens. On the 22d a man fell overboard in a dreadful gale, and was rescued with difficulty. Christmas was celebrated as well as circumstances permitted; and a neat little oratory having been fitted up in the main cabin, midnight Mass was said by the archbishop, the second Mass by Canon Mastai, and the third by Friar Arce. On the 27th of December, S. John’s Day, and the patronal feast of the canon, the welcome cry of “Land ho!” was heard from the look-out at the mast-head about three P.M., and the crew and passengers united upon deck to return fervent thanks to Almighty God. The land sighted was a small desert island, a little north of Cape Santa Maria, off the coast of Uruguay. A fearful storm was encountered the next evening at the mouth of the La Plata. This was one of those southwestern gales, called Pamperos, which frequently blow with inconceivable fury, causing singular fluctuations in the depth of the wide mouth of the river. It raged so that the captain was obliged to cut his cable and abandon the shelter of Flores Island, which he had sought when it began, and to take to the open sea again. With better weather he returned and dropped anchor opposite Montevideo on the evening of January 1, 1824. Sallusti goes into raptures over the beautiful aspect of the city, as seen from the bay; its broad and regular streets, its stately houses built on a gentle elevation, its fine cathedral, the strains of music borne over the water--everything enchanted the travellers, weary of a three months’ voyage.

“The sails were furl’d; with many a melting close Solemn and slow the evening anthem rose-- Rose to the Virgin. ’Twas the hour of day When setting suns o’er summer[223] seas display A path of glory, opening in the west To golden climes and islands of the blest; And human voices on the balmy air Went o’er the waves in songs of gladness there!”

--(Rogers.)

As soon as the news got abroad of a delegation from the pope, the whole city was in a joyful commotion, and a deputation, consisting of the cathedral chapter, four other secular priests, and two Dominican fathers, came to the ship to pay their respects to Mgr. Muzi, who was also invited on shore and pressed with every offer of assistance by the most honorable representatives of the laity. These kind attentions could not induce the party to land; and as soon as damages were repaired and a pilot received, sail was made for Buenos Ayres, which was sighted at two P.M. of January 5; but just while the passengers were all on deck watching the approaches to the city, they were assailed and driven below by myriads of mosquitoes. Sallusti is very vehement against these sharp little insects, and bewails the lot of those who must live among them; but he carefully avoids a comparison with the fleas of his native Italy. Although the passengers remained on board that night, crowds of people lined the shore, and, after salutes of artillery, greeted them with cries of “Long live the vicar apostolic!” “Cheers for America!” “Success to Chili!” On the following day the captain of the port and his suite came off to the brig, bringing a courteous note from the governor, offering a public reception (for which preparations had already been made) and the hospitalities of the city to the members of the mission. This was declined, for reasons that are not very clear; but although the archbishop gave his bad health as the principal excuse, we suspect that Cienfuegos impressed upon the Italians that, the mission being directed to his country, it were uncourtly to parade it before reaching its destination. By their minds such a view would be accepted as assai diplomatico. When the party did land, they put up at a hotel called “The Three Kings,” kept by a jolly Englishman, who treated them right royally--and made them pay in proportion. During their twelve days’ stay in Buenos Ayres, the archbishop and his suite received every mark of reverence from the people; yet the officials maintained a cold reserve since the refusal to accept their invitation. Even the ecclesiastical authority--such as it was--put on very bad airs; Zavaletta, a simple priest, but administrator of the diocese, having the audacity to withdraw from Mgr. Muzi permission, which had been previously granted to give confirmation. At the time of the arrival of the apostolic mission the provinces of the Rio de la Plata, which had formed part of the Spanish viceroyalty of Buenos Ayres, had been united from 1816 to 1820, but were now in a state of political isolation, somewhat like that of the States of the American Union before the federal Constitution was adopted. Soon after the arrival of the mission, another General Congress was called. Still, the Italians were not impressed--as it was important that they should be to obtain proper consideration at Rome,--with the idea of a strong government holding sway over a vast and wealthy territory. On the 16th of January, at nine o’clock in the forenoon, the party began the journey across the continent. Three great covered wagons, each drawn by four horses and guided by twelve postilions, composed the train; while a courier went ahead to hunt up quarters, and a mounted orderly, with a very long sword and a fierce-looking beard, brought up the rear or pranced about the flanks of the line. The drivers kept around in no particular order, sonorously cracking their whips and uttering loud sounds which probably were not oaths to the unaccustomed ears of Sallusti. Besides the three Italians, there was Cienfuegos with four young Chilians in his company and two servants, so that the whole party was pretty numerous, and the more so when, a little further on, six gallant guachos were added as an escort. Only fifteen miles were made the first day, which brought the party to Moron, where confirmation was given. At a miserable rancho called Lujan the archbishop said his first Mass on the pampas at a rich altar improvised for him by the padre of the place, and surmounted by four massive silver candlesticks. The room was hung round with rich damask hangings. It was like a jewel in a dung-heap. The Arecife stream was crossed in boats by the travellers, but forded by the wagons and horsemen. The superb Parana River was reached at San Pedro; and thence the route lay through a rich and beautiful country to the important town of Rosario, on the high, precipitous banks of the great river. At the outskirts of this place the party was met by the parish priest; and confirmation was administered the next day to an immense number of the faithful, long deprived of this sacrament. From Rosario, which they left on the morning of the 23d, the journey was long, weary, and dangerous, on account of the roving bands of Indians which at that period scoured the plains in all directions to cut off herdsmen and small parties of travellers or traders, making a booty of their baggage, killing the men, and carrying women and children into captivity. At a little station called Orqueta the party caught sight for the first time of a wild Indian, who was lurking about the place in a very suspicious manner, but kept at a respectful distance from the guachos. When Sallusti saw this man apparently spying out the route and strength of the party, the marrow nearly froze in his bones; and he certainly had good cause for alarm. It happened that leaving Buenos Ayres a few days earlier than had been given out was lucky; for a large band of these mounted savages, armed with lances and lassos, had got wind of the arrival of great personages from Europe, carrying (it was reported) an immense amount of treasure to the Pacific coast, and had formed a plan to attack them, which was defeated only by mistaking the day of their departure, whereby their arrival at the lonely and ill-famed post of Desmochados was miscalculated. Three days after the mission party had passed, the Indians, to the number of about three hundred, swooped down upon the place, but, instead of finding the rich foreigners, they surrounded only a miserable set of twenty peons escorting a lot of goods across the plains. These were all massacred except one, who, although badly wounded and left for dead, survived to tell the story and describe the fiendish disappointment of the savages at not capturing the prey they expected. At Frayle Muerto Mgr. Muzi received, through the agency of Cienfuegos, a polite message from the clergy of Cordova;[224] but having sent his return compliments directly instead of through the channel of original communication, the Chilian thought himself slighted, and separated from the mission party, preceding it a good distance, and taking with him, besides his own attendants, the orderly in brilliant uniform, who, the Europeans had the mortification of seeing, was meant to distinguish the native, although a subordinate in clerical rank. Such is human nature, whether at courts or on a dusty plain.

After passing through several small settlements and the more important town of San Luis--being everywhere well received--the fine old city of Mendoza was reached on the 15th of February. It seemed as if the entire population had turned out to honor the distinguished arrivals. Triumphal arches were erected, troops were drawn up under arms, processions of citizens and clergy marshalled; from every house richly-colored tapestry was suspended, while the balconies were filled with ladies, who threw down flowers in the path of the apostolic vicar as he entered the town and proceeded to the house of a noble and wealthy lady, Doña Emmanuela Corbalan, in which everything had been prepared on the grandest scale of provincial magnificence, and where Cienfuegos, in all his glory and recovered temper, was waiting to receive him and Canon (Count) Mastai, who were to be lodged there during their stay; the secretary, Sallusti, being handed over to a less worshipful host. Religious and civic festivals, excursions in the environs to the vineyards, gardens, farms, and silver-mines, with other congenial occupations, detained the party very agreeably during nine days in this neat and pleasant town, the climate of which is noted for its salubrity. On the 24th they left Mendoza, and had a delightful trip on horseback over good roads and through a civilized country for seventy-five miles to the foot of the mighty Andes. They were now on the eastern range of the Cordilleras, at the Paramilla Mountains, which are about ten thousand feet high and partly covered with wood. Between these and the western range they traversed, near thirty-two degrees south latitude, a wide valley, sterile and impregnated with salt, for over forty miles, called the Uspallata. For fifteen miles the road was level, and the remainder winding up and down the hills which skirt both ranges. After crossing this valley, they struck the great range of the Andes, which is between fifty and sixty miles in width, consisting of four or five parallel masses of rock, divided from one another by deep and dangerous ravines and sombre glens. The road which leads over them is called the Cumbre (summit) Pass, and attains an elevation of twelve thousand four hundred and fifty-four feet above the level of the sea. Our travellers crossed on mules by this road, getting to the north of them, amidst piles of perpetual snow, a magnificent view of the grand volcano of Aconcagua, which is nearly twenty-four thousand feet high. The passage of the mountains was grand and impressive, but was not made without danger to the lives of some of the party, particularly on the 29th of February. From La Cumbre there is a gradual descent to the city of Santiago. On the 1st of March the travellers cast their admiring gaze upon the Pacific slope, which, from that day until they entered the capital of Chili, on the 6th of the month--passing through Villa-de-Santa-Rosa and over the magnificent plains of Chacabuco--was a continually shifting panorama of natural beauty, enhanced by villages, convents, and churches perched on the side of verdant hills or nestling in the fruitful valleys. At every halting-place their hearts were filled with a holy joy to witness the demonstrations of faith among the people, and of loyalty to their great spiritual chief on earth, represented by Mgr. Muzi. The party entered Santiago, as was said, on the 6th, and, going to the cathedral, the archbishop intoned pontifically the Te Deum, with the assistance of a future pope and of the historian of the apostolic mission. The members of the legation were lodged in a house near the Cappucinas; and although we know little of the occupations of Canon Mastai in Chili, it is certain that he made himself personally very agreeable. How could it be otherwise?

“A man of letters, and of manners too: Of manners sweet as virtue always wears, When gay good nature dresses her in smiles.”

--(Cowper.)

We have been told by a distinguished Chilian that Canonico Mastai was a frequent guest in Santiago at the house of his uncle, Don Francisco Ruiz Tagle, and used to go out with him quite often to his country-seat. Although the mission was received with an almost universal outburst of enthusiasm, and notwithstanding the majority of the clergy and people was well disposed, it met with considerable opposition from a fierce and fanatical party of Freemasons, which threw every obstacle in the way of close relations with Rome. Cardinal Wiseman says, in the article in the Dublin Review from which we have already quoted, that “there was jealousy and bad faith on the part of the Chilian government, and want of tact and bad management, we fear on the part of the head of the mission.” Unfortunately, the government was in a transition state between the presidency of O’Higgins and the election of his successor, Freire, and administered by a Junta. Where there were so many voices there was much confusion. Cienfuegos, however, seems to have done his duty, and he was rewarded in 1832 by the bishopric of Concepcion, which had been vacant for fourteen years. He died in 1839. With regard to the causes of the failure of the mission, we will not conceal what we have heard from an excellent senator of Chili, although we mention it reservedly--that one, at least, of the reasons was a suspicion that Muzi intended to put Italians in the sees vacant or to be erected in Chili.

From Santiago Mgr. Muzi and his party went to Valparaiso, and embarked for their return voyage on the 30th of October, 1824. The remarks of the celebrated Spaniard Balmes upon the visit of the future pope to the New World find their place here: “There is certainly in nature’s grand scenes an influence which expands and nerves the soul; and when these are united to the contemplation of different races, varied in civilization and manners, the mind acquires a largeness of sentiment most favorable to the development of the understanding and the heart, widening the sphere of thought and ennobling the affections. On this account it is pleasing, above all things, to see the youthful missionary, destined to occupy the chair of S. Peter, traverse the vast ocean; admire the magnificent rivers and superb chains of mountains in America; travel through those forests and plains where a rich and fertile soil, left to itself, displays with ostentatious luxury its inborn treasures by the abundance, variety, and beauty of its productions, animate and inanimate; run risks among savages, sleep in wretched hovels or on the open plain, and pass the night beneath that brilliant canopy which astonishes the traveller in the southern hemisphere. Providence, which destined the young Mastai-Ferretti to reign over a people and to govern the universal church, led him by the hand to visit various nations, and to contemplate the marvels of nature.”[225]

A remote but very providential consequence of the visit of Pius IX. to America, during his early career, was the establishment of the South American College at Rome, called officially in Italian the Pio-Latino Americano,[226] which educates aspirants to the priesthood from Brazil and all parts of the American continent where the Spanish language is spoken. A wealthy, intelligent, and influential Chilian priest, Don Ignacio Eyzaguirre,[227] who had been vice-president of the House of Representatives in 1848, and was an author of repute, was charged by Pius IX. in 1856 to visit the dioceses of South and Central America and Mexico, to obtain the views of the several bishops upon the necessity of founding an ecclesiastical seminary at Rome. The project was universally acceptable, and funds having been provided--the Holy Father giving liberally from his private purse--a beginning was made in 1858, when a part of the Theatine Convent of San Andrea della Valle was given up to the students, who were put under the direction of Jesuit Fathers. This location was only temporary; and the college was soon transferred to the large house of the general of the Dominicans, attached to the convent of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, and facing the piazza. However, it has been moved again, and in 1869 occupied the right wing of the novitiate at San Andrea on the Quirinal, with fifty-five inmates. As if this worthy establishment had to figure in its shifting fortune the unsettled state of so many of the Spanish American countries, it has again been disturbed; yet to suffer at the hands of Victor Emanuel and his sacrilegious band is the indication of a good cause, and will prepare to meet other, although hardly worse, enemies in the New World.

FREE WILL.

I.

The river glideth not at its sweet will: The fountain sends it forth; And answering to earth’s finger doth it still Go east, west, south, or north.

II.

The soul alone hath perfect liberty To flow its own free way; And only as it wills to follow thee, O Lord! it findeth day.

NELLIE’S DREAM ON CHRISTMAS EVE.

They had quarrelled, these two--it matters not about what trifle--till the hot, bitter words seemed to have formed an impassable barrier and a silence fell between them that the lowering brow and compressed lip told would not be easily broken. Both had loving hearts, and treasured each other above all earthly things. They had real sorrows enough to make imaginary ones glance off lightly; for the second Christmas had not yet cast its snows on their mother’s grave. The thought of each was, “Had she been here, this would not have happened”; but pride was strong, and the relenting thoughts were hidden behind a cold exterior.

It was the week before Christmas, and Laura, the eldest, was assisting to trim the village church, and in the Holy Presence the dark thought faded and tender memories seemed to reassert their olden sway; and on returning from her occupation she formed the resolution to stop this folly, and make advances towards assuming the old, happy life.

“Father Black asked after you, Nell,” she said, as she laid aside her wrappings, and turned cheerily to the fire. “He wants you to play during the rehearsal of the new Benediction to-morrow; for Prof. C---- will be away.” But she was met by a stony look and closed lips. “Come, Nell,” she said half impatiently, “don’t be so dignified; why do you love that temper of yours so dearly?”

“You said let there be silence between us, and I am content,” was the rejoinder. “I shall take care not to trouble you in future.”

Pride and love struggled for mastery in the heart of the eldest, and it was a mingling of both that brought the answer, in tones cold enough to freeze the tenderness of the words: “There will come a silence between us one day, Nell, you will be glad to break.” And she passed from the room.

“Let it come,” was the almost insolent reply; but there was a mist in the flashing black eyes that contradicted the words.

They passed the day apart from each other, and at night, although kneeling for prayer in the same little oratory, and occupying the same little white-draped chamber, the chilling silence remained. So passed the next day, and it was now Christmas Eve. The evergreens were all hung in the village church; the altar was radiant with flowers and tapers; the confessionals were thronged; but both sisters kept aloof, and both hearts were aching over the pride and anger that was strangling even religion in their souls. Alas! alas! how the angels must have mourned to see days of such especial grace passing in sin. Christmas gifts had been prepared, but neither would present them. How different other Christmas Eves had been!--the gentle mother overseeing every preparation for the next day, that was always celebrated as a feast of joy. Those busy hands were idle now, and the white snow was coldly drifting over the mound that loving hearts would fain have kept in perpetual summer. A mother’s grave! Except to those who have knelt beside that mound--that seems such a slight barrier between the aching heart and its treasure, and yet is such a hopeless, inexorable one--these words have little meaning.

They retired early, and, as Nell knelt for prayer, the hot tears rolled through her fingers as she thought of other Christmas mornings, when they had been awakened for early Mass by the “Merry Christmas! girls,” that earth would never, never hear again. But the icy bands of pride that had frozen around her heart would not melt, and sleep came again in that stony stillness.

Morning came to Nellie’s perturbed visions, and in the gray dawn “Merry Christmas” broke forth from her lips; but the memory of the past few days checked the words, and they died in whispers. But as she glanced at Laura, she saw that her eyes were open, but that their expression was fixed and rigid. She sprang up with a vague alarm, and laid her hand upon the low, broad forehead. It was icy cold. Shriek after shriek rang from her lips, but they reached not the death-dulled ear.

“I never meant it, Laura--I never meant it! Only come back that I may speak one word!” she moaned. “O my God! give her back to me for one hour, and I will submit to thy will.” But her voice only broke the silence, and the white, smiling lips on the bed seemed a mockery of the passionate anguish wailing above them. She threw herself before the little altar in her room. “Blessed Mother!” she prayed, “I promise, solemnly promise, that never, never again will I give way to the passionate temper that has been my bane, if she may only come back for one hour to grant forgiveness for the awful words I have spoken.” And for the first time since she had realized her sorrow tears fell from her eyes.

“Why, Nellie, Nellie, what ails you?” said a familiar voice. “You are crying in your sleep on this merry Christmas morning; do waken.” And, oh! the heaven that met those unclosing eyes--Laura bending over her, smiling, yet with a look of doubt in her face as if the icy barrier had not yet broken down.

“O my darling, my darling!” sobbed the excited girl, winding her arms around her sister. “Thank God it is only a dream; but never, never again will I give way to my awful temper. I have promised it, Laura, and I will keep my vow.”

And she did. For though she lived long enough for the dark hair to lie like snowy floss under the matron’s cap, never did those lips utter stinging sarcasm or close in sullen anger. And often, when her gentle voice seemed unable to stem some furious tide of passion among her grandchildren, would she tell the story of her dream on Christmas Eve.

ALLEGRI’S MISERERE.

AT the base of a cliff flowed a tiny rivulet; the rock caught the rain-drops in his broad hand, and poured them down in little streams to meet their brothers at his feet, while the brook murmured a constant song of welcome. But a stone broke from the cliff, and, falling across the rivulet, threatened to cut its tender thread of life.

“My little strength is useless,” moaned the streamlet. “Vainly I struggle to move onward; and below the pebbles are waiting for their cool bath, the budding flowers are longing for my moisture, the little fish are panting for their breath. A thousand lives depend on mine. Who will aid me? Who will pity me?”

“Wait until Allegri passes; he will pity you,” said the breeze. “Once the cruel malaria seized me, and bound messages of death upon me. ‘Pity!’ I cried. ‘Free me from this burden, from which I cannot flee.’ ‘Hear the wind moan,’ said some; but no one listened to my prayer till I met a dreamy musician with God’s own tenderness in his deep eyes. ‘Have mercy!’ I sobbed; and the gentle master plucked branches of roses, and cast them to me. I was covered with roses, pierced with roses, filled with roses; their redness entered my veins, and their fragrance filled my breath; roses fell upon my forehead with the sweetness of a benediction. The death I bore fled from me; for nothing evil can exist in the presence of heaven’s fragrance. Cry to the good Allegri, little brooklet; he will pity you.”

So the rivulet waited till the master came, then sighed for mercy. The rock was lifted, and the stream flowed forward with a cry of joy to share its happiness with pebble and flower and fish.

A little bird had become entangled in the meshes of a net. “Trust to the good Allegri,” whispered the breeze; “it is he who gave me liberty.” “Trust to the good Allegri,” rippled the brook; “it is he who gave me liberty.” So the bird waited till the master passed, then begged a share of his universal mercy. The meshes were parted, and the bird flew to the morning sky to tell its joy to the fading stars and rising sun.

“Oh! yes, we all know Allegri,” twinkled the stars. “Many a night we have seen him at the bed of sickness.”

“Many a day I have seen him in the prison,” shouted the sun with the splendor of a Gloria. “Wherever are those that doubt, that mourn, that suffer; wherever are those that cry for help and mercy--there have I found Allegri.”

The people of the earth wondered what made the sun so glorious, not knowing that he borrowed light from the utterance of a good man’s name.

A multitude of Rome’s children had gathered in S. Peter’s. The Pope was kneeling in the sanctuary; princes and merchants were kneeling together under the vast cupola, the poor were kneeling at the threshold; even a leper dared to kneel on the steps without, and was allowed the presence of his Lord. All souls were filled with longing, all hearts were striving for expression.

Then strains of music arose: O soul! cease your longing; O heart! cease your strife; now utterance is found.

Sadder grew the tones, till, like the dashing of waves, came the sigh: “Vainly I struggle to move onward. Have mercy, Father!” The lights flickered and died, a shadow passed over the worshippers, and the Tiber without stopped in its course to listen.

Sadder grew the tones, till the moan was heard: “Vainly I strive to escape these meshes. Have mercy, Father!” The shadow grew deeper, and a little bird without stopped in its flight to listen.

Still was the music sadder with the weight of the sob: “Vainly I flee from this loathsome burden. Have mercy, Father!” Vaster and darker grew the shadow, and the very breeze stopped in its course to listen.

And now the music mingled sigh and moan and sob in one vast despairing cry: “Vainly I struggle against this rock of doubt. Have mercy, Father! Vainly I strive to escape these meshes of sin. Have mercy, Father! Vainly I flee from this evil self. Have mercy, O Father! have mercy.” Darker and deeper and vaster grew the shadow, and all sin in those human hearts stopped in its triumph to listen.

All light was dead, all sound was dead. Was all hope dead? “No!” wept a thousand eyes. “No!” sobbed a thousand voices; for now high above the altar shone forth the promise of light in darkness, of help in tribulation--in sight of Pope and prince, in sight of rich and poor, and even in sight of the leper kneeling without, gleamed the starry figure of the cross.

“How was this Mass of Allegri so completely formed,” cry the three centuries that have passed since then, “that we have been able to add nothing to its perfection?”

The calm voice of nature answers: It is because his own love and mercy were universal; because he had learned that all creation needs the protecting watchfulness of the Maker; because he gave even the weakest creatures voice in his all embracing cry of Miserere.

TO-DAY AND YESTERDAY.

I.

“That city knoweth nor sign nor trace Of mutable land or sea; Thou who art changeless, grant me a place In that far city with Thee.”

So spake she, gazing on the distant sea, That lay, one sheet of gold, in morning light; And then she cried, “God, make my blindness sight!” Heart-sore, heart-hungry, sick at heart, was she, And did mistrust no other hope could be, This side the grave, than shifting sea and land; Yet dreamed she not her house was built on sand, But fearless thought of dread eternity. And men admired the house she builded fair, Until a tempest, risen with sudden shock, Rent it. Then God made answer to her prayer: Showed her on earth a city, calm, and old, And strong, and changeless; set her on a rock; Gave her, with him, a place in his true fold.

II.

“For, oh! the Master is so fair, His smile so sweet to banished men, That they who meet it unaware Can never rest on earth again.”

Such were the words that charmed my ear and heart, In days when still I dwelt outside the fold; But now they seem to me too slight and cold, For I have been with thee, dear Lord, apart, And seen love’s barbed and o’ermastering dart Pierce thee beneath the olives dark and old, Until thy anguish could not be controlled, But from thy veins the Blood of life did start. O Word made flesh, made sin, for sinful man! I seek not now thy smile, so fair, so sweet; Another vision, haggard, pale, and wan, Of one who bore earth’s sin and shame and smart, Hath drawn me, weeping, to thy sacred feet, To share the unrest of thy bleeding Heart.

THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1875.

The year 1875 has not been a specially remarkable one as distinct from the years immediately preceding it. Great questions, which affect humanity at large beyond the line of nationality, and which were rife three or four years ago, are undecided still. No wars, or revolutions, or discoveries, or mighty changes have occurred during the year to alter sensibly the current of human affairs. What the world at large quarrelled and wrangled over a year, two years, three, four years ago, it wrangles over still, and may for years yet to come. Much as science and culture have done to break down the barriers that separate men and bring the human family nearer together, nations, nationally considered, stand as far apart as ever they did, and the imaginary line that divides neighboring peoples finds them wide apart as the antipodes.

To begin a rapid and necessarily incomplete review at home, the past year can scarcely be regarded as either a happy or successful one, commercially speaking, in the United States. Preliminary echoes of the Centennial year of the great republic have been heard, but amid them the crash of falling banks that had no legitimate excuse for falling, and of business firms that followed in due order. This, however, is only a repetition of the two preceding years, which it is as painful as it would be useless to dwell upon here. In a word, business at large--instead of recovering, as it was hoped it would, during the past year--if anything, fell behind, and so continues. The election did not tend to enliven it. There are hopes, however, of a real revival during the coming Centennial year, or at least of a beginning on the road of improvement. There is the more reason to hope for this that large branches of our industries, such as cereals, iron, and cotton goods, are beginning to find a good foreign market.

Looked at largely, there are some things on which Americans may congratulate themselves during the year. Chief among these are their very misfortunes. Extravagance in living, foolish and vulgar display in dress and equipage, have disappeared to a satisfactory extent. Of course where wealth abounds and fortunes are rolled up easily, there will be shoddy; but then let it be marked off, and the world will not be the loser. Again, there was a good sign on the part of the people to form opinions of their own regarding the questions up before them and the respective merits and qualifications of the various candidates for election. To be sure, many, too many, persons were elected who were a disgrace to their constituencies; and while such men are set in high and responsible positions it is vain to look for reform in the thousand abuses that afflict the conduct of public affairs. Still, there was a hopeful indication of the right feeling among the people.

Perhaps the most memorable, certainly the most significant, event to Catholics in the history of this country took place during the year. The venerable Archbishop of New York was raised by the Holy Father to the dignity of the cardinalate, and thereby set in the senate of the church of which Christ is the invisible, and the Pope, the successor of Peter, the visible, head. To speak of the fitness of the Holy Father’s choice in selecting Archbishop McCloskey for this high office and proud privilege of being the first American cardinal is not for us. It is sufficient to say that not Catholics alone, but their Protestant fellow-countrymen also, all the land over, received the news and hailed the choice with acclaim. But what moves us most is the significance of the act. In the appointment of an American cardinal in the United States the wish expressed by the Council of Trent has in this instance been realized. That great council ordained, respecting the subjects of the cardinalate, that “the Most Holy Roman Pontiff shall, as far as it can be conveniently done, select (them) out of all the nations of Christendom, as he shall find persons suitable” (Sess. 24, De Ref., c. i.) Were this recommendation completely carried out, it would probably be one of the greatest movements that have taken place in the Catholic Church for the last three centuries.

Suppose, for example, that the great Catholic interests throughout the world were represented in that body by men of intelligence, of known virtue, and large experience; suppose every nationality had there its proportionate expression--a senate thus composed would be the most august assembly that ever was brought together upon earth. It would be the only world’s senate that the world has ever witnessed. This would be giving its proper expression to the note of the universality of the church. The decisions of the Holy Father on the world-interests of the church, assisted by the deliberations of such a body, would have more power to sway the opinions and actions of the world than armies of bayonets. For, whatever may be said to the contrary in favor of needle-guns and rifled cannon, the force of public opinion through such agents as electricity and types moves the world, above all when supported by the intelligence, virtue, and experience of men who have no other interests at heart than those of God and the good of mankind.

Who knows but the time has come to give this universality of the church a fuller expression? Is not divine Providence acting through modern discoveries, rendering it possible for the human race to be not only one family in blood, but even in friendship and unity of purpose? Perhaps the present persecutions of the church in Italy are only relieving her from past geographical and national limitations, to place her more completely in relations with the faithful throughout the world. Who knows but the time is near when the Holy Father will be surrounded by representatives of all nations, tribes, and peoples, from the South as well as from the North, from the East as well as from the West; by Italians, Germans, Frenchmen, Spaniards, Englishmen, Belgians, Portuguese, Austrians, Irishmen, Americans, Canadians, South Americans, Australians, as well as by representatives of the faithful from the empire of China? Would this new departure be anything more than the realization of the wish expressed by that great and holy council held at Trent three centuries ago?

In passing from our own to other lands, we cannot do so, at the opening of the second century of our country’s life, without a glance at something larger and wider than the mere local interests of every-day life which touch us most nearly. Beyond doubt there is much to criticise, much, perhaps, to be ashamed of, much to deplore, in the conduct of our government, local and national, and in the social state generally of our people. Still, we see nothing at present existing or threatening that is beyond the remedy of the people itself. It is a fashion among our pessimists to contrast the America of to-day with the America of a hundred years ago. Well, we believe that we can stand the contrast. The country has expanded and developed, and promises so to continue beyond all precedent in the history of this world. When the experiment of a century ago is contrasted with the established fact--the nation--of a free and prosperous people of to-day, we can only bless God. And allowing the widest margin for the evils and shortcomings in our midst, when we glance across the ocean at nations armed to the teeth, looking upon one another as foes, and either rending with internal throes or threatening to be rent, pride in this country deepens, and the heart swells with gratitude that in these days God has raised up a nation where all men may possess their souls in peace.

We have some alarmists among us who look in the near future to the occurrence of scenes in this country similar to those now being transacted in Europe, where men are persecuted for conscience’ sake. We cannot share in these alarms. As we see no evils in our midst which are beyond the remedy of the people, so we see no religious or other questions that may arise which cannot be civilly adjusted. This is not a country where the raw head and bloody bones thrive. The question of religion is decided once for all in the Constitution. Catholics, of course, have a large heritage of misrepresentation to contend against, but that is rapidly diminishing. A Bismarck may strive to introduce into our free country, through a band of fanatics and weak-minded politicians, the persecuting spirit which he has attempted to introduce into England by a Gladstone, which he has succeeded in introducing into Italy by a Minghetti, and into Switzerland by a Carteret; but before they reach the hundredth part of the influence of the disgraceful Know-Nothing party, the good sense and true spirit of our countrymen will, as it did in the case of that party, brand all who have had any prominent connection with the movement with the note of infamy. The fanatical cry of “No Popery” is evidently played out at its fountain-source in old England, while the attempt to revive its echoes will meet with still less success in new England. We see no clouds on the American horizon that should cause Catholics any grave apprehension.

The end of such attempts always is that those who strike the sparks only succeed in burning their fingers. All we have to do is to walk straight along in the path we have been following of common citizenship with those around us, in order to secure for ourselves all the rights which we are ready to concede to others.

The European situation during the past year may be summed up under two headings--the struggle between church and state, and the prospects of war. To enter at any length into the question between church and state in Germany and in other countries in Europe would be going over old ground which has been covered time and again in THE CATHOLIC WORLD. Only such features of the contest will be touched upon as may set the present situation clearly before the mind of the reader.

The official Provincial Correspondence, at the opening of the past year, said in a retrospective article on the events of 1874: “The conviction has been forced upon the German government that the German ultramontane party are a revolutionary party, directed by foreigners and relying mainly upon the assistance of foreign powers. The German government, therefore, are under the necessity of deprecating any encouragement of the ultramontane party by foreign powers. It was for this reason that the German government last year thought it incumbent on them to use plain language in addressing the French government upon the sayings and doings of some of the French bishops. France had taken the hint, and had prevented her ultramontanes setting the world on fire merely to vent their spite against Germany.… It was, perhaps, to be expected under these circumstances that, abandoning at last all hope of foreign assistance, the German ultramontanes would make their peace with the government in Prussia, and no longer object to laws they willingly obey in Baden, Bavaria, Würtemberg, and Oldenburg, not to speak of Austria and other states. At all events, it was very desirable that the ultramontanes should yield before the church was thrown into worse confusion by their malicious but impotent resistance.”

Such was the pleasant prospect held out for the Catholics by the official organ at the opening of the year. The programme sketched in it has been faithfully carried out, and Germany has taken another step in the path of freedom, internal peace, and consolidation by planting its foot nearer the throat of the church. It is useless to enter into a refutation of the falsehoods contained in the extract from the official journal. They have been refuted in the German Reichstag and all the world over. It is needless, also, to call attention to the tone of the official journal, and the manner, become a fashion of late with German statesmen and writers at large, of warning foreign powers to keep a civil tongue in their heads respecting German matters, or it may be the worse for them. How far the Catholics have yielded to the kindly invitation held out to them the world has seen. We have before this remarked on the strange anxiety manifested by a government, convinced of the justice of its cause and the means it was pursuing towards its end, to stifle the expression of public opinion, not only at home, but abroad. Moreover, the very fact of its being compelled to deprecate “any encouragement of the ultramontane party by foreign powers” says as plainly as words can say it that those powers see something in the party to encourage.

Here is a sample--one out of hundreds such--of the manner in which the members of the “revolutionary party” have been treated during the year, and of the crimes, sympathy with which on the part of foreign powers is so earnestly deprecated by the German government. That extremely active agent of Prince Bismarck, the Prussian correspondent of the London Times, tells the story of the deposition of the Bishop of Paderborn by the “Ecclesiastical” Court thus: “He has been sentenced to-day (Jan. 6) to innumerable fines, chiefly for appointing clergymen without the consent of the secular authorities. [Is this a crime, reverend and right reverend gentlemen of the Protestant churches?] Never paying any of these forfeits, he has been repeatedly imprisoned and forcibly prevented from exercising his functions. [And now for the perversity of the man, the “malicious but impotent resistance.”] Notwithstanding the measures taken against him, he has continued his opposition to the state. He would not allow his clerical training-schools to be visited by government inspectors; he has declined to reappoint a chaplain he had excommunicated without the consent of the government [What criminals SS. Peter and Paul would be were they living in Germany to-day!]; and he has continually issued pastorals and made speeches to deputations breathing the most hostile sentiments against crown and parliament [sentiments not quoted]. He has received addresses covered with more than one hundred thousand signatures, and on a single day admitted twelve thousand persons to his presence, who had come to condole with him on the martyr’s fate he was undergoing.” Let it be borne in mind that this is not our description, but that of an agent of the Prussian government. Could words establish more clearly the side on which the criminality lies?

Only passing mention can be made of events which have been already anticipated and commented on. The extension of the civil registration of births, deaths, and marriages from Prussia to the whole German Empire passed in January. Perhaps no measure yet has so aroused the indignation, not only of Catholics, but of believing Protestants also. As the correspondent already quoted tersely puts the matter: “In all Germany this law does away with the services of the clergy in celebrating the three great domestic events of life.” That is to say, there is no longer need to baptize Christian children in the name of God; there is no longer need of God in the marriage service; finally, as man comes into the world, so he may go out of it, without the name or the invocation of God, without God’s blessing over his grave or the ceremonies of religion attending the last act. Like a dog he may come, like a dog he may live, like a dog he may go. And yet this is an evangelical power! Verily, but of a strange evangel. The result of it is shown already. Since the Prussian Civil Registration Law was passed, only twenty-five per cent. of all Berlin marriages have been celebrated in churches, while only thirty per cent. of the children born in the capital have been baptized by clergymen.

The passing of the Landsturm Bill converts the whole German Empire into an armed camp. “Henceforth every German sound in wind and limb must be a soldier. From the age of seventeen to forty-two, every man not belonging to the army or the reserve is to be liable to be called out in the case of an actual or even a threatened invasion,” says the London Times. “At the word of command Germany is arming en masse, and the surrounding nations--that is, the best part of the world--cannot but do as she does.” They are doing as she does, and all the European powers to-day sleep beside their arms. In face of this fact, what comfort can men take from the meeting and hobnobbing of the crowned heads of Europe here, there, and everywhere, or of their assurances of peace? Who is strong enough to keep the peace, who too weak to enkindle war? No man and no people. It is this arming and incertitude of one another that alone prevented what locally was so insignificant an affair as the outbreak within the year of the Bosnian insurrection against Turkey from lighting a universal conflagration. The eagles of the great powers gather around the Turkish carcase. England seizes beforehand on the control of the Suez Canal by way of preparing for eventualities, and the Eastern question begins at last to resolve itself into this simple form: not, How shall we uphold the empire? but, How shall we divide the spoils?

The present rulers of Germany profess to look upon their Catholic subjects as the great foes of the German Empire. The mistake is a fatal one; for in binding the church they bind the only power that can stop the dry-rot which is slowly eating into the heart, not alone of Germany, but of all nations to-day. That dry-rot is socialism, the first-born of infidelity. That socialism prevails in Germany the rulers of that empire know, and its utterances are as dreaded as an encyclical of the Pope. Here are the elements of socialism as pictured by the Cologne Gazette at the opening of the year: “In 1874, although the great bubble schemes burst in the summer of 1873, and although last year a plentiful harvest of corn and wine came to our relief, the consequences of the crisis are still felt. Numerous undertakings are depreciated, and even more lamentable than the losses of the promoters are the mischievous results of the sudden excessive rise in wages, which could not possibly last, the luxurious habits, the strikes, and all that these involve on the laboring classes and the whole industrial life of the German nation. Habits of indolence and gluttony have been established which it will be hard to eradicate,” and much more in the same strain.

This is only a straw showing which way the wind blows. Persecution of the church has not yet exhausted itself, though, beyond the actual taking of life, it is hard to see what remains to be done. The final measure has been resorted to of abrogating the articles of the Prussian constitution of 1850, which were specially drawn up to provide freedom of religion and worship in their fullest sense. Of the attitude of the German Catholics, the prelates, the clergy, and the laity, it is needless to speak. The world has witnessed it; and the very fierceness of the persecution simply serves to show forth more gloriously the divinity of the church; for no human institution could live under it. One result of the persecution has been the return of a Catholic majority to the Bavarian Parliament. We hope for the unity of the German Empire, and its true consolidation; but it is not in our hearts to support tyranny, under whatever name, least of all when it attacks all that we hold most sacred. The German policy must be totally altered before it can command the sympathy of freemen. It must be totally altered before it can command the respect and full allegiance of its subjects, so large and important a section of whom are Catholics. The Catholic majority in Bavaria is but one sign of many of opposition to the one-sided policy of which Prince Bismarck is the author and expounder. Who knows but that the threatened dissolution of an empire erected on so false and narrow a basis has not already begun in Bavaria? All the sacrifices made to establish the empire--not the least of which were made by Bavaria--the German chancellor, by his determined and senseless religious persecution, would now seem foolishly to ignore. And these Bavarians, of all the Germans, once aroused, and their religious rights infringed upon, are not the men quietly and meekly to subside under opposition.

We have dwelt more at length upon Germany because it is the centre of the strife that convulses, and threatens to convulse, the world. Other topics must consequently be hastily dismissed.

Of France there is nothing but good to report. After a series of fiery debates in the Assembly, the constitution of a conservative republic was definitively formed and agreed upon towards the end of February. The nomination of councillors of state was given to the President, who resigned the nomination of the senators. Of course France is still open to surprises, and the various parties seem as unable to coalesce as ever. But there is no question that the government of Marshal MacMahon has deserved well of the country, and, could only a true republic be established in France, it would serve as a safe counter-check to the absolutisms that threaten the east of Europe. The commerce and industries of the country have advanced even on the preceding year, though the imports of 1874 amounted to 3,748,011,000 francs, and the exports to 3,877,753,000 francs, these figures being in excess of those of any former years. The returns for the Paris savings-banks in 1874 indicate how the poorer and lower middle classes, who chiefly patronize these establishments, are recovering from the effects of the war and the Commune. The deposits amounted to 14,500,000 francs, while in 1873 they were 13,500,000 francs, and in 1872 12,629,000 francs. There is every reason to believe that the ratio of the past year will show a corresponding increase.

While the tokens of reviving prosperity are thus encouraging, those of a revival of religious feeling and coming back to the old ways and the old faith among the people at large are not less so. A noble and patriotic work is being accomplished in the rapid formation and spread of Catholic Working-men’s Clubs--a direct offset to the socialism fostered by the spirit of irreligion in other places. The part taken by Catholic laymen of standing and ability in this work, so full of happy promise, is in itself a significant feature, and one that may well be recommended to the attention of Catholic laymen all the world over. The pilgrimages to holy shrines and to Rome have continued, spite of the laugh of the infidel and the scorn of the unbeliever. The solemn consecration of the church in Montmartre to the Sacred Heart was one in which the whole world was interested. But the most encouraging measure of all was the obtaining, after a fierce battle between religion and infidelity, of permission to found free universities in France, where students who believe in God might, if they chose, apply themselves to the study of their faith, or at least carry on their studies under the divine protection and under professors who, lacking nothing in intellect, recognize a higher than themselves, whose law they have the courage to recognize and the sense and piety to obey.

Surely, France was never so worthy of the esteem and profound respect of all the world as it is to-day. What a wonderful vitality is displayed by this Latin-Celtic race! What people could so suddenly recover from what seemed so fatal a blow? What other nation would have shown so much wisdom and self-control as these Frenchmen, whom the outside world stamped as “unstable as water”? Is France to be the leader of the Latin-Celtic races, to conform itself, consistently with its past history and traditions, after a century of throes, into a political form of society fitted to its present needs, its future prosperity, and the renewal of religion? God grant that it be so!

England, true to its peace policy, still keeps aloof from the troubled current of European affairs, beyond its recent move Eastward, which has already been noticed. It steadily refused to accept the invitation of Russia to join the International Conference on the Usages of War, which in reality resembled a consultation among surgeons before beginning to operate on an interesting subject. Mr. Disraeli’s premiership has been marked by some irritating mistakes, though the securing control of the Suez Canal was undoubtedly a move in the present critical state of Eastern affairs that compensates for many a blunder--if he can only hold the control. Mr. Gladstone finally retired from the leadership of the liberal party, and was nominally succeeded by the Marquis of Hartington. The ex-leader, abandoning a position which, take him all in all, he undoubtedly adorned, went paddling in theology and got shipwrecked. The Gladstone fulminations on “Vaticanism” are now a thing of the past, and only afforded another melancholy instance of the facility with which even great men can go beyond their depth. The portentous charges against the Pope, the Curia Romana, the rusty arsenals, and the rest of the papal “properties” were received by the English people themselves with honest laughter or with passive scorn, until finally Mr. Gladstone lost his temper, and then the world became tired both of him and his “rusty tools.”

Materialism is taking deep root in the English mind. The leading organ of English opinion, itself highly respectable, but by no means religious, complained more than once during the year of the general apathy with which the public regarded the doings of the various convocations and general assemblies of the Protestant churches in England. And the success with which the onslaught by such a man as Mr. Gladstone against the Catholic Church met with at the hands of Englishmen reveals anew the fact that religious feeling has fallen to so low an ebb in England that even the most eloquent of bigots could not arouse an anti-Popery cry. And this, for England, is the last stage of religious apathy.

Is this again the immediate precursor of a reaction in favor of the true church in that land for which so many prayers have been offered up, and the blood of so many martyrs has been shed?

Ireland has been quiet, calm, and peaceable, and though, in common with England, suffering from the commercial depression which spread from this country to them, it has shown a strong tendency to advance in prosperity. For its peace the Catholic clergy, according to the testimony of the London Times, and, as we believe, the Home-Rule party, are jointly answerable. Men who believe in God and obey the laws of the church will, with honest and able representatives, seek for no heroic measures of reform, while the legislature is fairly open to complaints. The London Times says that the peaceful record of the year reads like a fairy tale. Yet the Peace Preservation Acts were renewed, for which the same journal could find no better reason than that “you cannot break off abruptly from the past,” and goes on to say: “It is possible that, if there never had been a resolution to impose upon a conquered people a church which they rejected, and to endow it with the spoils to which they remained attached; if there never had been a neglect so little creditable to our statesmanship as the conditions under which agricultural land was held in Ireland; if laws had never been passed to deprive Roman Catholics of political privileges and the right to possess property; if the attempt had never been made to rule the inhabitants of the sister-island by a hostile garrison, that state of feeling would never have been created which imposes upon the legislature of to-day the sad necessity of maintaining an exceptional coercive legislation.” The bitterest foe of England could scarcely add one iota to the force of this terrible indictment of English legislation in Ireland.

But we look with all hope to the speedy dispersing of the clouds which so long have hovered over this real “island of saints,” which has done so much in the past and promises so much in the future for the spread of faith among the peoples of the earth. More pleasing topics to touch upon are the celebration of the centennial of Daniel O’Connell, the fiftieth anniversary of the consecration of the venerable Archbishop McHale, and, though last, far from least, the visit to Ireland of Cardinal McCloskey, and his reception by Cardinal Cullen and the Irish people. The scene was indeed a memorable one; the meeting on a soil consecrated with the blood of saints and martyrs--a soil every inch of which could tell a tale of a struggle of centuries for the faith--of two cardinals of the church that guards the representatives, in their own persons, of the newest and one of the oldest heritages of the church, and the one Irish by birth, the other Irish by blood. A meeting no less significant was that in England between the Cardinal of New York and Cardinal Manning, the first convert probably who ever wore the title: a man of indomitable activity, a fearless asserter of the rights of the church, and always foremost in every movement which aims at the amelioration of the condition of the working classes.

Russia continues her strides in the East, nearing Hindostan, and with Hindostan the sea, at every step. Despite occasional reverses, her march against the conflicting tribes and peoples that lie in her path can only be regarded as irresistible. Meanwhile, at home she is eaten up by sects and the socialistic spirit that pervades other nations, and which tyranny may stifle for a time, but cannot destroy. Again the mistake occurs of regarding the Catholic Church as her enemy, and dragooning her Catholic subjects with a creed which their consciences reject. Austria is engaged in the attempt to set her internal affairs in order, and to recover from the defeat at Sadowa. She finds time, notwithstanding, to attack the church, though without the persistent brutality of her German neighbor, whose offer to procure a joint interference among the nations in the election of the next pope was politely but firmly rejected by Austria. In this path Italy also walks. Rejecting the rough hempen cord with which Germany binds and strives to strangle the church, Italy, true to her national character, chooses one of silk, which shall do the work softly and noiselessly, but none the less securely. Sensim sine sensu. Thus the Law of Guarantees of 1871, which was founded on Cavour’s maxim of “a free church in a free state,” provided for the absolute freedom of the Pope in spirituals. This Germany resents, and early in the year made strong remonstrance with Italy, to see, in plain English, if some plan could not be devised by which the Pope might be muzzled and prevented from issuing encyclicals and bulls and so forth, save only such as might please the mind of present German statesmen. Italy refused to alter the law. But now in November we find Minghetti, the president of the Council, stating to his electors at Cologna-Veneta that there are defects in the law of papal guarantees. The church--says that excellent authority, M. Minghetti--is the congregation of all the faithful, including, of course, M. Minghetti himself. But the state, on whom with the jus protegendi devolves also the jus inspiciendi, is bound to see that the right of the laity and the interest of the lower clergy be not sacrificed to the abuse of papal and episcopal authority. Wherefore, M. Minghetti, urged solely by the desire of seeing that no injustice is done, pledges his electors that he will bring in a bill empowering the laity to reclaim the rights to which they are entitled in the government of the church. How far those rights extend, of course, remains to be seen.

The Holy Father is still spared to us in the full enjoyment of his health and powers of mind. Pilgrims flock to him in thousands, and the eyes of the world, friends and foes alike, look with sympathy upon him. Surely now is the real triumph of his reign, and in his weakness shines forth his true strength. No earthly motives, if ever they affected the allegiance of Catholics to him, could affect it now. Yet what does the world witness? As men regard things, a weak and powerless old man, ruling, from the palace that is his prison, the hearts of two hundred millions of people in the name and by the power of Jesus Christ, whose saintly vicar he is. The Pope, lifted above all entanglements by recent events with the political policy of so-called Catholic countries--his voice, as the head of the church, is heard and respected by all nations as perhaps it never was at any other period of time.

Spain opened with a new revolution--the re-entering of Alfonso, the son of the exiled queen, to the kingdom and the throne from which she was driven. This being said, the situation remains in much the same condition that it has done for the past two years; if anything, notwithstanding some defections and reverses, Don Carlos has gained in strength and boldness. The move that brought in Don Alfonso was a good one, but it came too late.

The customary chronic revolutions prevail in South America. The assassination of Garcia Moreno, the able and good President of Ecuador, by members of a secret society, added a unique chapter of horrors and dastardly cowardice to the records of these societies, showing that to accomplish their purpose they are ready to stab a nation. Garcia Mareno died a martyr to his faith. From a far different cause, though by the same means, died Sonzogno, the editor of the Capitale, the trial of whose assassins furnished food for thought as to the force at work in regenerated Italy. An event that might have been of great importance was the death of the youthful Emperor of China, which was followed by that of his wife. He was succeeded by a child five years old, and the government seems to have passed into the hands of the same men who held it before, so that a change for the better towards Christians is scarcely to be hoped for, while Christian residents are still exposed at any moment to a repetition of the Tien-Tsin massacre.

With the year closes the third quarter of the most eventful century, perhaps, which the world has yet known, the first century of the Christian era alone being excepted. It opened on what Lacordaire has well called “a wild and stormy morning,” and he would be a bold prophet who should predict a clear sky at the close. A writer of the day describes nations within the past year as engaged in “a wild war-dance.” The same is true of the century. Nations seem to have learned nothing, but forgotten much. In forgetting the faith that made them whole they have forgotten the secret of the elixir of national life. Hence, bitter as the struggle is, a Catholic cannot but hope much in the near future from the present trials of the church. The blows of Germany have crushed shams to the earth, and caused the truth to shine forth resplendent and beautiful. Whatever may be this faith that the nations have forgotten, that has been a mockery among men of the world, it is manifest, at least, that there is a profound reality in it, and a vitality that no power on earth can hope to destroy. This testimony of strength in weakness, of the purest devotion and loftiest sacrifices that this world can show, if it do nothing else, at least brings men to ponder and look back, and compare and inquire, and arrive at some conclusions. For the world cannot remain an indifferent spectator to a question that is wide as the world. The vagaries of belief, the churches with fronts of brass and feet of clay, the parasites and the flatterers who, professing to worship and believe in God alone, bow down in secret before the prince of this world, now slink away in shame or stand abashed before the unbeliever.

Again, considering the intensity of the activity of the age, induced in a great measure by the facilities of expressing and communicating our thoughts, of reaching the uttermost parts of the earth in a flash of time--all of which enhances the responsibility of our free will--religion, in view of these facts, will have to keep pace with this activity in order to perform the office for which God established it upon earth. That she will do so is as much a matter of certitude as her existence; for that same “Spirit which fills the whole earth” finds in her bosom his dwelling-place. The general tendency to material science, and the material interests of nations, which have so wonderfully increased within the century, tend all to obscure the supernatural. But there is nothing to be feared from the advocates of material science. There is no escaping from God in his creation. And these men, in their way, in common with the more open persecutors, are preparing for the triumph of the church, and in the providence of God are co-workers in the more complete demonstration of his divine truth.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

LIFE OF THE APOSTLE S. JOHN. By M. L. Baunard. Translated from the first French edition. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875.

The life and character of S. John are so beautiful and so closely connected with our Saviour that true believers have always craved to know more about him.

On the other hand, his testimony is so positive and his language so clear that all who blaspheme the divinity of our Lord have sought to thrust him and his gospel out of sight. The distinguished French author has a warm personal devotion to S. John, and has devoted himself with great enthusiasm to the task of collecting all the historical facts which remain to us as connected with the virgin apostle. His style is manifestly infused with his spirit, and hence the work is one rather of devotion than of cold, scientific dissertation.

“It is,” says the author in his preface, “a book of doctrine. I address it to all those who desire to instruct themselves in the truth of God. Truth has no school above that of the Gospel, and nowhere does it appear fairer or more profound than in the gospel of S. John.

“It is a book of piety. I dedicate it to Christians: to priests--the priesthood has no higher personification than S. John; to virgins--John was a virgin; to mothers--he merited to be given as a son to the Mother of God; to youth--he was the youngest of the apostles; to old men--it is the name he gives himself in his epistles. I offer it to suffering souls--he stood beside the cross; to contemplative souls--he was on Mt. Thabor; to all souls who wish to devote themselves to their brethren, and to love them in God--charity can have no purer ideal than the friend of Jesus.”

It goes to fill up a most important gap in our English hagiography, and will be greeted with much satisfaction by those desirous of having a complete series of lives of the saints.

THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. By Joaquin Miller. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1875.

The ad captandum title of this work leads one to look for an Arabian romance; whereas the story has scarcely anything to do with it, and is a very slender story at that. It is difficult to say whether the book is worth reading or not; for while, no doubt, it contains passages of considerable force and beauty, we are quite sure the poet himself does not know half the time what he means. Now, this kind of thing is “played out.” Far be it from us to accuse the divine Tennyson of straining and affectation; but we do say there are peculiarities in his style which it is dangerous to imitate. Taken as a model for classic and scholarly verse, he has no equal in the English language. But the subjectivism of his “enchanted reverie” may be easily “run into the ground.” Hence he has given rise (we suspect he is full sore over it) to what may be called the “Obscurantist” school of poetry. We think this school has had its day. We hope the coming poets will happily combine the faultless diction of Tennyson with the clear, strong thought of such masters as Milton, Byron, and Longfellow.

THE THREE PEARLS; OR, VIRGINITY AND MARTYRDOM. By a Daughter of Charity. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875.

We presume this book is meant for a Christmas present. It is admirably fitted for that purpose--beautifully printed and tastefully bound. But the contents are still better worth having.

These “Three Pearls” were indeed “of great price”; three virgin-martyrs--S. Cæcilia, S. Agnes, and S. Catharine of Alexandria. No three saints, perhaps, could have been more happily chosen by the gifted author as models for the young Catholic women of the day, and particularly here in America. If it be objected that such heroines are not imitable, the answer is obvious--that the virtues which led them to become heroines are imitable by all. And, again, the “modern paganism” with which we are familiar has many features in common with that amid which they lived.

There is a prose sketch of each saint, followed by a tribute in verse. The “Editor’s Preface” is from the pen of a learned priest in the Diocese of Boston.

MEDULLA THEOLOGIÆ MORALIS. Auctore Augustino Rohling, S. Theologiæ et Philosophiæ Doctore, Monasterii Guestfaliæ in Academia Regia quondam, nunc in Seminario Salesiano prope Milwaukee S. Theologiæ Professore. Cum permissu Superiorum. St. Ludovici: Excudebat B. Herder, 19 South Fifth Street; et B. Herder, Friburgi, Brisgoviæ. 1875.

The plan of the author in this work, as is implied in its title, has not been to write a complete treatise on moral theology, but to furnish a compendium containing the points necessary for confessors in the ordinary discharge of their duties. Desirable as such a book is, there is of course a difficulty in compiling it, arising from the variety of sound opinions on many questions, which cannot all be given without extending it beyond the limits which give it its special convenience, and which opinions, nevertheless, it is at least expedient that every priest should know. This difficulty is one, therefore, which cannot be overcome, and a manual of this kind can never entirely supply the place of a larger work. But it nevertheless has its use, and, when it is well done, cannot fail to be a welcome addition to any theological library.

And this book is extremely welcome for it is extremely well done. It is very well arranged; every point of importance is, we believe, given; it is clearly written; it is adapted to the times and to this country, and (which is a great merit) it is by no means dry. There is a little danger in it on this last account, and that is that its superior attractiveness may tend to induce neglect of larger works, and too great confidence in statements which space will not allow the author to modify, as we have said above.

One excellent feature of it is the sound and practical advice which it contains, which is almost as important as the statement of theological conclusions or of matters of law. It would be worth far more than its price on this account alone.

THE HISTORY OF THE PROTESTANT REFORMATION IN GERMANY, SWITZERLAND, ENGLAND, IRELAND, SCOTLAND, THE NETHERLANDS, FRANCE, AND NORTHERN EUROPE. Seventh Edition. By the Most Rev. M. J. Spalding, D.D. Baltimore: J. Murphy & Co. 1875.

THE EVIDENCES OF CATHOLICITY. Sixth Edition. By the Most Rev. M. J. Spalding, D.D. Baltimore: J. Murphy & Co. 1875.

In the present editions an article on “Rome and Geneva” has been added to The History of the Reformation, and a “Pastoral Letter on the Infallibility of the Pope” to The Evidences of Catholicity--both having been prepared by the late archbishop with a view to publication in his collective works.

The same general criticism which we passed in our December number on the revised edition of the Miscellanea will apply to these volumes. Archbishop Spalding’s works constitute a very complete armory from which to select weapons to meet the opponents of the church in this country; though the writings of European Catholics may be more to the purpose as answers to the misrepresentations urged against her in their respective localities. And there is no one writer to whom we would with greater confidence refer Protestants who are willing to learn the truth (and we would fain hope there are very many such), as his works relate to so many supposed stumbling-blocks. Whether conscious of it or not, our separated brethren are very blind followers of tradition--accepting unhesitatingly the representations of writers of the last three centuries, while faulting us for adhering to the unbroken traditions of all the Christian centuries. Hence they are accustomed, when unable to reply to our doctrinal arguments drawn from their translation of the Holy Scriptures, to fall back on their own version of the religious revolution of the XVIth century, and other historical events, the comparative condition of Catholic and Protestant countries, etc., etc., all of which are treated of at length in these volumes.

At a time when it is sought to revive the fell spirit of the defunct Know-Nothing party, it is well to refresh our memories by a re-perusal of the writings which were prompted by the previous manifestation.

The first-named work is at once a history of the Reformation and a review of the most prominent books on the same subject, including D’Aubigné’s popular romance. This treatment very much augments the interest with which we pursue historical inquiries.

MR. GLADSTONE AND MARYLAND TOLERATION. By Richard H. Clarke, LL.D. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875.

This able pamphlet will wear a familiar look to our readers, its principal contents having appeared as an article in our December number. The writer has added biographical sketches of the first and second Lords Baltimore, the Lawgivers of 1649, and of Father Andrew White, the historiographer of the expedition which founded Maryland, and who was intimately associated with the early fortunes of the colony.

It was really too bad in Dr. Clarke to deny asylum to the ex-premier on our (reputed) hospitable shores, after the relentless logic to which he was subjected at home, when proving so clearly to his own satisfaction the disloyalty of Catholics--to spoil, in fact, his nice little story that it was the Protestants, and not those hateful Catholics, who made Maryland a refuge for fugitives from English persecution for conscience’ sake. And what makes the matter all the more aggravating is that our author is in league with ever so many Protestants in this design. For shame, gentlemen!

HISTORICAL SCENES FROM THE OLD JESUIT MISSIONS. By the Right Rev. William Ingraham Kip, D.D., LL.D., member of the New York Historical Society [and Protestant Episcopal Bishop of California]. New York: A. D. F. Randolph & Co. 1875.

The author of this work had the good fortune while in England some years since to secure a copy of Lettres Edifiantes et Curieuses écrites des Missions Etrangéres, in forty-seven volumes, “containing the letters of the Jesuit missionaries from about 1650 to 1750.… He selected those letters which relate to the labors of the Jesuits within the bounds of our own land, and published a translation, with notes, under the title of The Early Jesuit Missions in North America.” In the present work he takes a wider range, and makes selections, from the same source, of letters from parts of the world widely remote from each other--from China and California; from Cape Horn and the far north; from the shores of South America and the Mediterranean; from the monasteries of Mount Lebanon and the Thebaid Desert.

Bishop Kip and his publishers have laid both Protestants and Catholics under great obligations by the publication of this valuable and beautiful volume. We can scarcely commend too highly the evident fairness of the translation and of the accompanying remarks and notes. It could not well be otherwise than that a Protestant should have some qualifications to offer respecting statements of fact and doctrine such as would naturally occur in these letters; but the Catholic reader will be gratified to find much that is laudatory, and scarcely anything to which he would object; the notes being for the most part historical and philological in character. The naïve simplicity of these relations constitutes one of their chief charms and the best answer to any suggestion of guile on the part of the writers.

The principles and operations of the Jesuits have been, and to a great extent are still, believed by our Protestant fellow-citizens to constitute a vulnerable point in Catholicity, so that we rejoice at the facilities offered by such writers as Parkman, Shea, and Kip for a better understanding of the matter. Nothing can give Catholics greater pleasure than that their Protestant friends should have full opportunities for studying our doctrines and history.

LIFE OF S. BENEDICT, surnamed “The Moor,” the Son of a Slave. Canonized by Pope Pius VII., May 24, 1807. From the French of M. Allibert, Canon of the Primatial Church of Lyons. Philadelphia: P. F. Cunningham & Son. 1875.

This volume is a concise and well-written account of a holy life, showing what abundant graces are often bestowed upon the meek and lowly, and how those who humble themselves are exalted by Almighty God.

S. Benedict, the child of an enslaved negro parent, was born at Sanfratello in Sicily, A.D. 1524. Early instructed in religion by his parents, he offered himself to God, and became eminent for sanctity as a religious. Seeking always the lowest and most humiliating employments, he served for twenty-seven years as a cook in a convent. Already, during his lifetime, regarded as a saint, he was venerated by all classes. “At the door of his humble kitchen,” says his biographer, “were to be seen the nobles of Palermo, who sought to honor the saint and recommend themselves to his prayers, the learned who came for advice, the afflicted who desired consolation, the sick who hoped for the recovery of their health, and the indigent who desired assistance.”

Winning by his wisdom and virtues the confidence of his brethren, he was chosen guardian of the convent, and afterwards vicar, and master of novices--positions which he accepted with extreme reluctance, and in which he proved his great charity and humility.

But the more he sought to abase and hide himself, the greater the graces bestowed upon him. Though blessed with the spirit of prophecy, the power of performing miracles, and the gift of ecstasy, so great was his humility that he again turned to his simple occupation, and retained it till his death, which occurred in 1589.

THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF PAUL SEIGNERET, Seminarist of S. Sulpice (shot at Belleville, Paris, May 26, 1871). From the French. New York: P. O’Shea. 1875.

The title of this work can scarcely fail to awaken an interest in the youthful hero who gave his life for his faith--an interest which is enhanced by the knowledge that this youth, frail as a girl and possessed of a highly-cultivated mind and rare sensibility, was so filled with the spirit of self-sacrifice that he may well be classed with those “courtiers of martyrdom” whose lives are the glory of the church and the wonder of the world.

Paul Seigneret’s is a name that must be dear to all Catholics at all familiar with his saintly life and death. To a heart overflowing with love for all who had claims upon his affection and charity for all mankind, and to those quick and delicate perceptions which retain all that is good and instinctively reject all that is evil, was added a fervent piety and ardent zeal for the glory of God. Animated by these sentiments, he sought the priesthood, and soon turned his thoughts to the cloister--“‘that pure and shining height’ whither he would go to fix his dwelling nearer heaven.” While yet a student in the Seminary of S. Sulpice, he fell a victim to the Commune, and was permitted to win the crown of martyrdom, which had been the object of his most ardent desires.

The volume before us is one which we would especially recommend to our youthful readers, who will find in it much that is edifying and worthy of imitation. In an age in which respect for authority and filial obedience are so much ignored, we cannot place too high a value on the example of Paul Seigneret, whose devotion and submission to his parents were second only to his love of God.

If a work so admirable in most respects may be criticised, we would say that it would be quite as interesting if the author had condensed the valuable materials of which it is composed. We are aware of the difficulties under which many translations from the French are made. Innumerable things in that versatile, flexible language will bear many repetitions and much minutiæ in description, which will not admit of more than the simple statement in our unyielding vernacular. Readers should therefore hesitate in pronouncing a book dull because some of the aroma escapes in the transition from one medium of thought to another.

PASTORAL LETTER OF THE RIGHT REV. P. N. LYNCH, D.D., BISHOP OF CHARLESTON, ON THE JUBILEE OF 1875. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875. 8vo, pp. 299.

The reader will rightly infer from the size of this pastoral that it differs in many respects from other documents of the kind. The learned author has taken occasion to enter very fully into the doctrinal and historical aspects of his subject, thereby making the publication a valuable reference to all who would understand the history and nature of this observance.

THE CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXII., No. 131.--FEBRUARY, 1876.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by Rev. I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.

A SEQUEL OF THE GLADSTONE CONTROVERSY.[228]

“It is wonderful,” wrote Proudhon, “how in all our political questions we always stumble on theology.” Mr. Gladstone will doubtless concur in this sentiment; for he cannot take a step without stumbling on the Catholic Church. She is everywhere, and everywhere she is to him a cause of alarm. So potent is her influence growing to be, so cunningly laid are the plans by which her policy is directed, so perfect is the organization and discipline of her forces, so insidious are her methods of procedure, as he would have us believe, that it is full time all Christendom should be warned of the approaching danger. She is in his eyes an ever-present menace to the civilization of the world.

He at least bears testimony to her power and vitality. She is not a relic of a past age; she lives, and, what is more, it does not seem that she is willing to die. If we consider the various efforts by which men are seeking to weaken and destroy the church, we shall find in them no mean evidence of her divine strength. And first of all, in an age intellectually most active, she is the subject of universal criticism, and is cited before every tribunal of human knowledge to be tried on an hundred different and often contradictory counts. Her historical relations with the world, extending over eighteen hundred years and co-extensive with Christendom, are minutely examined into by men who, shutting their eyes to the benefits which she has conferred upon the human race, are eager to discover charges against her. She is made responsible for the crimes of those who called themselves Catholics, though she was the first to condemn their evil deeds. The barbarism, the ignorance, and the cruelty of the middle ages are set to her count, when, in fact, she was the chief source of civilization, of enlightenment, and of mercy during that period. When she opposes the tyranny of kings, she is called the enemy of the state; when she seeks to restrain the lawlessness of the people, she is proclaimed the friend of tyrants. Against her dogmas and institutions all the sciences are brought to bear--astronomy, geology, ethnology, and the others. Not in politics alone, but in all the physical sciences, men in our day stumble on the Catholic Church.

We are told that she is the one great spiritual organization which is able to resist, and must as a matter of life and death resist, the progress of science and modern civilization. These men profess to find innumerable points of collision between her dogmas and the conclusions of science, and are surprised when she claims to understand her own teachings better than they, and is not prepared to abandon all belief in God, the soul, and future life because physical research has given men a wider knowledge of the phenomena of matter. Now we hear objections to her moral teaching--that it is too severe, that she imposes burdens upon men’s shoulders too heavy for human nature to bear, that she encourages asceticism, celibacy, and all manner of self-denial opposed to the spirit of the age and of progress; then, on the contrary, that her morality is lax, that she flatters the passions of men, panders to their sensual appetites, and grants, for gain, permission to commit every excess.

At one time we are told that her priests are indolent, immoral, ignorant, without faith; at another, that they are ceaselessly active, astute, learned, and wholly intent upon bringing all men to their own way of thinking. Now we are informed that her children cannot be loyal subjects of any government; and immediately after we hear that they are so subservient, so passively obedient, that they willingly submit to any master. And here we come more immediately upon our subject; for whereas Mr. Gladstone has declared that the loyalty of Catholics is not to be trusted, M. de Laveleye asserts that “despotic government is the congenial government of Catholic populations.”

The pamphlet from which we quote these words, and which we propose now to examine, has been presented to the English-reading public by the special request of Mr. Gladstone, and has been farther honored by him with a prefatory letter. The author, it is true, takes a fling at the Church of England, and plainly intimates that in his opinion it is little better than the Catholic Church; but the ex-premier could not forego the opportunity of striking his enemy, though he should pierce his dearest friend in giving the blow. He takes the precaution, indeed, to disclaim any concurrence in M. de Laveleye’s “rather unfavorable estimate of the Church of England in comparison with the other reformed communions.” The question discussed in the pamphlet before us, as its title implies, is the relative influence of Catholicism and Protestantism on the liberty and prosperity of nations; and the conclusion which is drawn is that the Reformation is favorable to freedom and progress, and that the Catholic Church is a hindrance to both.

This has long been a favorite theme with Protestants--the weapon with which they think themselves best able to do good battle in their cause; and doubtless it is employed, in most favorable circumstances, in an age like ours, in which material progress is so marked a feature that its influence may be traced in everything, and in nothing more than in the thoughts and philosophies of the men of our day. It is worthy of remark that Protestantism, professing to be a purer and more spiritual worship, should have tended to turn men’s thoughts almost exclusively to the worldly and temporal view of religion; so that it has become the fashion to praise Christianity, not because it makes men humble, pure, self-denying, content with little, but rather because its influence is supposed to be of almost an opposite nature. Much stress is laid upon the physical, social, and mental superiority of Christian nations to those that are still pagan, and the inference implied, if not always expressly stated, is that these temporal advantages are due to the influence of Christianity, and prove its truth and divine origin. Without stopping to consider the question whether the material and social superiority of Christian nations is to be attributed to their religious faith, we may ask whether, admitting that this is the case, it may with propriety be adduced in proof of the truth of the religion of Christ?

In the case of individuals no one, certainly, would think of arguing that prosperity proves a right faith, or even consistent practice. To hold that wealth and success are evidences of religious life, whatever it may be, is certainly not Christianity. Does the teaching of Christ permit the rich to lay the unction to their souls that they are God’s favored children? Were they his friends? Did they flock around him? Did they drink in his words gladly? If men who claim to be his disciples have deified worldly success, and made temporal prosperity a sufficient test of the truth of his religion, they cannot plead any word of his in excuse.

He certainly never paid court to the great, or stooped to flatter the rich. Was it not he who said, “Woe be to you rich: ye have received your reward”? and again, “It is harder for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle”? Did he not take Lazarus to his bosom when Dives was in hell?

“Blessed are ye,” he said, “when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely for my sake. Rejoice and be exceeding glad; for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.”

The preaching of Christ was wholly unworldly. He sternly repressed the earthly ambitions of his disciples, and declared that, as the world hated him, it would also hate those who believed in him. They would be outcasts for his name’s sake; if this life were all, they of all men would be most miserable. Indeed, he rarely speaks of human happiness in the customary sense; he passes over what might be said in favor of this life, and brings out in bold relief its vanity and unsatisfactoriness. He draws no pictures of domestic bliss, and says but little of even innocent pleasures or those temporal blessings which are so sweet to all; and as he taught that worldly prosperity is no evidence of God’s favor, he was careful to correct the error of those who looked upon misfortune as a proof of guilt, as in the case of the man born blind and of those upon whom a tower had fallen.

Christ was poor, his apostles were poor, his disciples were poor, nearly all the Christians of the first ages were poor; and yet every day we hear men talk as though they considered poverty and Christianity incompatible. This is manifestly the opinion of M. de Laveleye. His argument may be stated in this way: England and Scotland are rich, Ireland is poor. The Protestant cantons of Switzerland are rich, the Catholic are poor. “In the United States,” says De Tocqueville, “the greater part of the Catholics are poor.” In fact, wherever the two religions exist together, the Protestants are more active, more industrious, and consequently richer than the Catholics.

This is the substance of what is spread over a dozen pages of the pamphlet. The conclusion is not difficult to draw: Protestants are richer than Catholics, and therefore better Christians.

“No man can serve two masters,” said Christ: “you cannot serve God and Mammon.” On the contrary, says M. de Laveleye, the success with which you worship Mammon is the best proof that you serve God truly. Of course it would be foreign to M. de Laveleye’s purpose to stop to inquire whether the poverty of Ireland be due to the Catholic faith of her people or to the rapacity and misgovernment of England; whether that of the Catholic cantons of Switzerland might not be accounted for by the fact that they are mountainous, with an inhospitable climate and a barren soil; and whether even M. de Tocqueville’s assertion that the greater part of the Catholics of the United States are poor might not be satisfactorily explained by stating that the greater part of them are emigrants who have recently landed upon these shores without a superabundance of this world’s goods.

He had also good reasons, while treating this part of his subject, for not looking nearer home. He had in Belgium, under his very eye, one of the most thrifty, industrious, and prosperous peoples of Europe, and at the same time one of the most Catholic. Why did he not compare the wealth of Belgium with that of Sweden or Denmark? Why did he not say a word about Catholic France, whose wealth and thrift cannot be denied. He does, indeed, make mention of two French manufacturing towns, in which, he states, on the authority of M. Audiganne, the capitalists are for the most part Protestants, whilst the operatives are Catholics; though what this has to do with any debatable question between Catholicism and Protestantism is not easily seen.

The assertion (p. 14) that “wherever the two religions co-exist in the same country the Protestants are more active, more industrious, more economical, and consequently richer than the Catholics,” is not borne out by facts. A single example will suffice to show how rash M. de Laveleye has been in making so wide an affirmation. The Catholics of the Rhine Province are universally acknowledged to be among the most thrifty and enterprising populations of Prussia, and are far richer than, for instance, the Protestants of Pomerania.

It would not be difficult, by adopting M. de Laveleye’s mode of reasoning, to turn his whole argument on this point against his own position. Whether or not national wealth, we might say, is evidence of orthodox Christian faith, there can be no doubt but that the Christian religion is favorable to even the temporal interests of the lowest and most degraded classes of society. Its doctrines on the brotherhood of the race and the equality of all before God first inspired worthy notions of the dignity of man. Then the sympathy which it created for the poor, the suffering, and the oppressed naturally set men to work to devise means for the relief of human misery. It is to its influence that we must ascribe the abolition of slavery, the elevation of woman, and the thousand ministries which in Christian lands attend on the wretched and the weak.

We must infer that those nations in which this influence is most powerful--which, in other words, are most truly Christian--will have, in proportion to their population, the smallest class of human beings cursed by the worst plague known to modern civilization, bearing with it, as it does, a threefold degradation, moral, physical, and social. We of course refer to pauperism.

Now, in England, from whose wealth M. de Laveleye would infer the superiority of her religion, we find that this pauper class, compared with the whole population, is as 1 to 23; whereas in Ireland, which is poor--and, according to this theory, for that reason under the ban of a false religion--there is but 1 pauper to 90 inhabitants; in other words, pauperism is four times more common in England than in Ireland. Now, whether we refer this fact to England’s wealth or to England’s religion--and in M. de Laveleye’s opinion they are correlative--our conclusion must be either that the influence of the Christian religion, which necessarily tends to promote the temporal well-being of the most degraded classes of society, is less felt in England than in Ireland, or else that national wealth is hurtful to the interests of these same classes, and consequently opposed to the true Christian spirit; and in either case we have Catholic Ireland more fairly Christian than Protestant England. We would not have our readers think for a moment that we are seriously of the opinion that our argument proves anything at all. We give it merely as a specimen of the way in which the reasoning of this pamphlet may be turned against its own conclusions, though, in fact, we have done the work too respectably.

We cannot forget, if M. de Laveleye does, that, of all sciences, the social--if, indeed, it may be said as yet to exist at all--is the most complex and the most difficult to master. The phenomena which it presents for observation are so various, so manifold, and so vast, our means of observation are so limited, our methods so unsatisfactory, and our prejudices so fatal, that only the thoughtless or the rash will tread without suspicion or doubt upon ground so uncertain and so little explored.

M. de Laveleye himself furnishes us an example of how easily we may go astray, even when the way seems plain.

“Sectarian passions,” he writes (p. 11), “or anti religious prejudice have been too often imported into the study of these questions. It is time that we should apply to it the method of observation and the scientific impartiality of the physiologist and the naturalist. When the facts are once established irrefragable conclusions will follow. It is admitted that the Scotch and Irish are of the same origin. Both have become subject to the English yoke. Until the XVIth century Ireland was much more civilized than Scotland. During the first part of the middle ages the Emerald Isle was a focus of civilization, while Scotland was still a den of barbarians. Since the Scotch have embraced the Reformation, they have outrun even the English.… Ireland, on the other hand, devoted to ultramontanism, is poor, miserable, agitated by the spirit of rebellion, and seems incapable of raising herself by her own strength.” The conclusion which is drawn from all this, joined with such other facts as the late victories of Prussia over Austria and France, is that “Protestantism is more favorable than Catholicism to the development of nations.”

We may as well pause to examine this passage, which, both with regard to the statement of facts and to the interpretation put upon them, fairly represents the style and method of the pamphlet before us.

“It is admitted that the Scotch and Irish are of the same origin.” This is true, as here stated, only in the sense that both are descended of Adam; and hence it would have been as much to the point to affirm that all the nations of the earth are of the same origin. The Scots were, indeed, an Irish tribe; but when they invaded Caledonia, they found it in the possession of the Picts, of whom whether they were of Celtic or Teutonic race is still undecided. The power of the Scots themselves declined in the XIIth century, when Scotland fell under the influence of the Anglo-Norman Conquest, and the Celtic population either withdrew towards the north, or, by intermarriage with the conquerors, formed a new type; so that the people of that country are even yet divided into two great and distinct stocks differing from each other in language, manners, and dress.

“Until the XVIth century,” continues M. de Laveleye, “Ireland was much more civilized than Scotland. During the first part of the middle ages the Emerald Isle was a focus of civilization, while Scotland was still a den of barbarians.” Now, it was precisely in those ages in which Ireland was “a focus of civilization” that the Catholic faith of her people shone brightest. It was then that convents sprang up over the whole island; that the sweet songs of sacred psalmody, which so touched the soul of Columba, were heard in her groves and vales; that the sword was sheathed, and all her people were smitten with the high love of holy life and were eager to drink at the fountains of knowledge. It was then that she sent her apostles to Scotland, to England, to France, to Germany, to Switzerland, and to far-off Sicily; nor did she remit her efforts in behalf of civilization until the invading Danes forced her children to defend at once their country and their faith.

But let us follow M. de Laveleye: “Since the Scotch have embraced the reformed religion, they have outrun even the English.… Ireland, on the other hand, devoted to ultramontanism, is poor, miserable, agitated by the spirit of rebellion, and seems incapable of raising herself by her own strength.”

We cannot think that Mr. Gladstone had read this passage when he requested the author to have his pamphlet translated into English; for we cannot believe that he is prepared to lay the misfortunes of Ireland to the influence of the Catholic faith upon her people, and not to the cruelty and misgovernment of England.

The Irish Catholics are reproached with their poverty, when for two hundred years the English government made it a crime for them to own anything. They are taunted with their misery, when for two centuries they lived under a code which placed them outside the pale of humanity; of which Lord Brougham said that it was so ingeniously contrived that an Irish Catholic could not lift up his hand without breaking it; which Edmund Burke denounced as the most proper machine ever invented by the wit of man to disgrace a realm and degrade a people; and of which Montesquieu wrote that it must have been contrived by devils, ought to have been written in blood and registered in hell!

Ireland is found fault with because she is agitated with the spirit of rebellion, when even to think of the wrongs she has suffered makes the blood to boil. Is it astonishing that she should be poor when England, with set purpose, destroyed her commerce and ruined her manufacturing interests, fostering at the same time a policy fatal to agriculture, the aim of which, it would seem, was to force the Irish to emigrate, that the whole island might be turned into a grazing ground for the supply of the English markets?

“What a contrast,” further remarks M. de Laveleye (p. 12), “even in Ireland, between the exclusively Catholic Connaught and Ulster, where Protestantism prevails!”

Mr. Gladstone certainly cannot be surprised at this contrast, nor will he seek its explanation in the baneful influence of the Catholic Church. He at least knows the history of Cromwell’s invasion of Ireland; he has read of the massacres of Drogheda and Wexford; he knows the fate of the eighty thousand Catholic Irishmen whom Cromwell drove into the ports of Munster, and shipped like cattle to the sugar plantations of the Barbadoes, there to be sold as slaves; nor is he ignorant of what was in store for those Irish Catholics who were still left; of how they were driven out of Ulster, Munster, and Leinster across the Shannon into Connaught--that is, into the bogs and wild wastes of the most desolate part of Ireland--there to die of hunger or cold, or to survive as best they might. Five-sixths of the Catholics had perished; the remainder were driven into barren Connaught; the Protestants settled on the rich lands of Ulster, Munster, and Leinster; and now here comes good M. de Laveleye to find that Connaught is poor because it is Catholic, and Ulster is rich because it is Protestant. But we must not forget Scotland.

“Since the Scotch,” says M. de Laveleye, “have embraced the reformed religion, they have outrun even the English.”

We shall take no pains to discover whether or in what respect, or how far the Scotch surpass the English. The meaning of the words which we have just quoted is evidently this: The progress which the Scotch have made during the last three centuries, in wealth and the other elements of material greatness, must be ascribed to the influence of the Protestant religion.

To avoid even the suspicion of unfairness in discussing this part of the subject, we shall quote the words of an author who devoted much time and research to the study of the character and tendencies of Scotch Presbyterianism, and whose deeply-rooted dislike of the Catholic Church is well known:

“To be poor,” says Buckle (History of Civilization, vol. ii. p. 314), describing the doctrines of the Scotch divines of the XVIIth century--“to be poor, dirty, and hungry; to pass through life in misery and to leave it with fear; to be plagued with boils and sores and diseases of every kind; to be always sighing and groaning; to have the face streaming with tears and the chest heaving with sobs; in a word, to suffer constant affliction and to be tormented in all possible ways--to undergo these things was a proof of goodness just as the contrary was a proof of evil. It mattered not what a man liked, the mere fact of his liking it made it sinful. Whatever was natural was wrong. The clergy deprived the people of their holidays, their amusements, their shows, their games, and their sports; they repressed every appearance of joy, they forbade all merriment, they stopped all festivities, they choked up every avenue by which pleasure could enter, and they spread over the country an universal gloom. Then truly did darkness sit on the land. Men in their daily actions and in their every looks became troubled, melancholy, and ascetic. Their countenance soured and was downcast. Not only their opinions, but their gait, their demeanor, their voice, their general aspect, were influenced by that deadly blight which nipped all that was genial and warm. The way of life fell into the sere and yellow leaf; its tints gradually deepened; its bloom faded and passed off; its spring, its freshness, and its beauty were gone; joy and love either disappeared or were forced to hide themselves in obscure corners, until at length the fairest and most endearing parts of our nature, being constantly repressed, ceased to bear fruit and seemed to be withered into perpetual sterility. Thus it was that the national character of the Scotch was in the XVIIth century dwarfed and mutilated.… They [the Scotch divines] sought to destroy not only human pleasures, but human affections. They held that our affections are necessarily connected with our lusts, and that we must therefore wean ourselves from them as earthly vanities. A Christian had no business with love or sympathy. He had his own soul to attend to, and that was enough for him. Let him look to himself. On Sunday, in particular, he must never think of benefiting others; and the Scotch clergy did not hesitate to teach the people that on that day it was sinful to save a vessel in distress, and that it was a proof of religion to leave ship and crew to perish. They might go; none but their wives and children would suffer, and that was nothing in comparison with breaking the Sabbath. So, too did the clergy teach that on no occasion must food or shelter be given to a starving man, unless his opinions were orthodox. What need for him to live? Indeed, they taught that it was a sin to tolerate his notions at all, and that the proper course was to visit him with sharp and immediate punishment. Going yet farther, they broke the domestic ties and set parents against their offspring. They taught the father to smite the unbelieving child, and to slay his own boy sooner than to allow him to propagate error. As if this were not enough, they tried to extirpate another affection, even more sacred and more devoted still. They laid their rude and merciless hands on the holiest passion of which our nature is capable--the love of a mother for her son.… To hear of such things is enough to make one’s blood surge again, and raise a tempest in our inmost nature. But to have seen them, to have lived in the midst of them, and yet not to have rebelled against them, is to us utterly inconceivable, and proves in how complete a thraldom the Scotch were held, and how thoroughly their minds as well as their bodies were enslaved.”

The XVIIth century, which was the golden age of French literature, and also of the Catholic Church in France, threw almost total darkness over Scotland, which during that period was most completely under the power of Protestantism. The clergy governed the nation; they were the only men of real influence; and yet there was no philosophy, no science, no poetry, no literature worth reading. “From the Restoration,” says Laing, “down to the Union the only author of any eminence whom Scotland produced was Burnet.”

If the thrift and industry of the Scotch are due to Protestantism, to what shall we ascribe the enterprise and commerce of the Catholic republics of Venice and Genoa during the middle ages?

If England’s wealth to-day comes from the Reformation, how shall we account for that of Spain in the XVIth and XVIIth centuries? And if the decline of Spain has been brought about by the Catholic faith, to what cause shall we assign that of Holland, who in the XVIIth century ruled the seas and did the carrying trade of Europe?

M. de Laveleye’s way of accounting for the prosperity of nations is certainly simple, but we doubt whether it would satisfy any respectable schoolboy. Unfortunately for such as he, there is no rule of three by which social problems may be solved. Race, climate, soil, political organization, and many other causes, working through ever-varying combinations, must all be considered if we would understand the history of material progress. As labor is the most fruitful cause of wealth, there is a necessary relation between national wealth and national habits, which are the outcome of a thousand influences, one of the most powerful of which undoubtedly is religious faith. But who does not know that climate influences labor, not only by enervating or invigorating the laborer, but also by the effect it produces on the regularity of his habits? If the Italian loves the dolce far niente, while the New Englander makes haste to grow rich as though some demon whom gold could bribe pursued him, shall we find the secret of their peculiar characters in their religious faith or in the climate in which they live, or shall we not rather seek it in a combination of causes, physical and moral? We have assuredly no thought of denying the intimate connection which exists between faith and character or between a nation’s religion and its civilization. We are willing even to affirm that not only the general superiority of Christian nations, but their superior wealth also, is in great measure attributable to their religion. And now, bidding adieu to M. de Laveleye for a while, we propose to discuss this subject, to which we have already alluded, somewhat more fully.

Christianity certainly does not measure either the greatness or the happiness of a people by its wealth, nor does it take as its ideal that state of society in which “the millionaire is the one sole god” and commerce is all in all; in which “only the ledger lives, and only not all men lie.”

Whether we consider individuals or associations of men, the Catholic Church does not hold and cannot hold that material interests are the highest. To be noble, to be true, to be humble, to be pure, is, in her view, better than to be rich. Man is more than money, which is good only in so far as it serves to develop his higher nature.

“The whole aim of man is to be happy,” says Bossuet. “Place happiness where it ought to be, and it is the source of all good; but the source of all evil is to place it where it ought not to be.”

“It is evident,” says S. Thomas, “that the happiness of man cannot lie in riches. Wealth is sought after only as a support of human life. It cannot be the end of man; on the contrary, man is its end.… The longing, moreover, for the highest good is infinite. The more it is possessed, the more it is loved and the more all else is despised; for the more it is possessed, the better is it known. With riches this is not the case. No sooner are they ours than they are despised, or used as means to some other end; and this, as it shows their imperfect nature, is proof that in them the highest good is not to be found.”

If wealth is not the highest good of individuals, is it of nations? What is the ideal of society? The study of the laws which govern national life must necessarily begin with this question, which all who have dealt with the subject, from Plato to Comte and Mill, have sought to answer. It is manifest that each one’s attempt to solve this problem will be based upon his views on the previous question: What is the ideal of man? This, in turn, will be answered according to each one’s notions of the ideal of God; and here we have the secret of the phenomenon which so surprised Proudhon--the necessary connection between religion and society, theology and politics.

Is there a God, personal, distinct from nature? Or is nature the only god, and science her prophet? It is right here at this central point that men are dividing; it is here we must place ourselves, if we would view the two great armies that in all Christendom are gathering for a supreme conflict.

There is a form of infidelity in our day--and it is the one into which all unbelief must ultimately resolve itself--which starts with this assumption: “Whether or not there is a God must for ever remain unknown to man.” It reasons in this way: “This whole subject belongs within the region, not only of the unknown, but of the unknowable. It is an insoluble riddle, and the philosophies and theologies which have sought to unravel it, if only idle, might deserve nothing more than contempt; but they have been the bane of human thought, have soured all the sweetness of life, and therefore ought to be visited with the execration of mankind. Since religion is a subject about which nothing can be known, what is so absurd as to spend time upon it? What so absurd as to divert the thoughts of men from subjects in which thinking is fruitful to those in which it must for ever remain barren of all except evil results? What so absurd as to set them working for a future life, of which we can never know whether it exists at all, when we might at least teach them how to make the present one worth having? The paradise of the future, which the prophetic eye of science can already descry, is in the world, not beyond it; and to seek to hasten its approach is the highest and only worthy object in life.” As we take it, this is the creed of modern unbelief, to which as yet few will openly subscribe, but toward which all its hundred conflicting schools of thought are moving. Few men indeed are able to perceive the logical outcome of their opinions, and still fewer have the courage to confess what they more than half suspect.

This superstition is a return to the nature-worship of paganism, but under a different aspect. Of old, nature was worshipped as revealed to sense, and now as revealed to thought; then as beautiful, now as true or useful. The first was artistic, and form was its symbol; the last is scientific, and law is its expression. The religion of humanity is only a phase of this worship; for in it man is considered, not as the child of God, but as the product of nature.

And now what has this to do with the ideal of society or the wealth of nations? At the basis of all social organization lies morality, as it is by conduct that both individuals and nations are saved or lost. The history of the human race shows that religion and morality are intimately related. That there have been good atheists does not affect the truth of this proposition any more than that there have been bad Christians. Men are usually better or worse than their principles; practice and profession rarely accord; and this is remarked because it ought not to exist.

Conduct, to be rational, should be motived, and consequently referable to certain general principles by which it is justified. To be particular, a man who believes in God, the Creator, a Father as just as he is good, has fundamental motives of action which are wanting to the atheist. The one should seek to approve himself to his heavenly Father; the other cannot go farther than conform to the laws of nature. To the one this life, as compared with that which is to be, is of value only as it relates to it; to the other it is all in all. And since the ultimate end of society is the welfare of the associated, the one will regard this end from a transcendental point of view, taking in time and eternity; the other will consider it merely with reference to man’s present state. Their notions of life, of its ends, aims, and proper surroundings, will be radically different.

Suppose for a moment that religious beliefs are mere dreams, fancies of sick brains; is it not at once manifest that human life is a much poorer and sorrier thing than it is commonly thought to be? As the light of heaven fades away, do not all things grow dark, leaving us in the shadow of death, despairing or debauched, sullen or frantic? The poet’s dream, the mother’s fond hope, the heart’s deep yearning, the mind’s flight towards the infinite, all become flat, meaningless, and unprofitable. Men are simply animals chained to this clod, too happy if the heaven-seeking eye permitted them to see it alone. Trouble, danger, and physical pain are the only evils, and virtue is the sharp-sighted prudence which enables us to avoid them. Self-denial is not only useless, it is irrational. Our appetites are good and ought to be indulged. Nothing, of its own nature, is sinful; excess alone is wrong; all indulgence, provided it hurt no one, is good--nay, it is necessary. Whoever denies any one of his appetites the food it craves cripples himself, is maimed and incomplete. “He may be a monk; he may be a saint; but a man he is not.”

When these views are transferred to questions of political economy and social organization, they lead to materialistic and utilitarian theories. Society must be organized on the basis of positivism; the problem of the future is how to give to the greatest number of individuals the best opportunities of indulgence, the greatest amount of comfort, with the least amount of pain. This is the greatest-happiness principle of Bentham and Mill. Culture, of course, intellectual and æsthetic, as affording the purest pleasure, must form a feature of this society; but its distinctive characteristic is wealth, which is both the means and the opportunity of indulgence.

“We constantly hear of the evils of wealth,” says Buckle, “and of the sinfulness of loving money; although it is certain that, after the love of knowledge, there is no one passion which has done so much good to mankind as the love of money.”

“If we open our eyes,” says Strauss,[229] “and are honest enough to avow what they show us, we must acknowledge that the entire activity and aspiration of the civilized nations of our time is based on views of life which run directly counter to those entertained by Christ. The ratio of value between the here and the hereafter is exactly reversed; and this is by no means the result of the merely luxurious and so-called materialistic tendencies of our age, nor even of its marvellous progress in technical and industrial improvements.… All that is best and happiest which has been achieved by us has been attainable only on the basis of a conception which regarded this present world as by no means despicable, but rather as man’s proper field of labor, as the sum total of the aims to which his efforts should be directed. If, from the force of habit, a certain proportion of workers in this field still carry the belief in an hereafter along with them, it is nevertheless a mere shadow, which attends their footsteps without exercising any determining influence on their actions.”

This is the cosmic religion, which is preached as “the new faith, the religion of the future.” This world is all in all--let us make the most of it; or, as the pagans of old put it: “Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.”

In its essence it is sensualism; in its manifestations it will be refined or coarse, according to the dispositions of the persons by whom it is accepted. Now its worship will be accompanied with music and song and dance; at other times it will sink to those orgies in which man becomes only an unnatural animal.

Let us now turn to the Christian religion, and consider its teachings in their bearing upon the subject we are discussing. They are the very opposite of those which we have just read, and proceed from principles which are in direct contradiction to the cosmic philosophy. God is the highest, the Creator of all things, which are of value only as they relate to him and are in harmony with the laws of his being. The earth is but the threshold of heaven or of hell, as the case may be. This life is a preparation for a future one, which is eternal; and all human interests, whether individual or social, to be rightly understood, must be viewed in their relation to this truth. Man is essentially a moral being, and duty, which is often in conflict with pleasure, is his supreme law. He is under the action of antagonistic forces; seeing the better and approving it, he is drawn to love the worse and to do it. Thus self-denial becomes the condition of virtue, and warfare with himself his only assurance of victory.

“But he said to all: If any one wishes to come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross every day, and follow me.”

Wealth, which is the world’s great slave and idol, and universal procurator of the senses, though in itself not evil, is yet a hindrance to the highest spiritual life. “If thou wouldst be perfect, go sell what thou hast, and give it to the poor, and thou shall have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me.”

As duty is the supreme law of the individual, it follows that we must seek the ideal of society in the moral order, to which all other social interests should be made subservient, or else they will beget only an unbounded and lawless activity. Even education is valuable only in so far as it gives man a deeper sense of his responsibility to God, and enables him more thoroughly to understand and perform his duty.

The social problem as between Christianity and modern paganism may be stated in this way: is it the end of society to grow strong in virtue through self-denial, or to increase indefinitely the means and opportunity of indulgence? On which side is progress, on which decline?

We cannot now go farther into this subject, but before leaving it we wish to quote the words of Fitzjames Stephen, who will hardly be called a Christian, on modern progress.

“I suspect,” he says,[230] “that in many ways it has been a progress from strength to weakness; that people are more sensitive, less enterprising and ambitious, less earnestly desirous to get what they want, and more afraid of pain, both for themselves and others, than they used to be. If this should be so, it appears to me that all other gains, whether in wealth, knowledge, or humanity, afford no equivalent. Strength, in all its forms, is life and manhood. To be less strong is to be less a man, whatever else you may be. This suspicion prevents me, for one, from feeling any enthusiasm about progress, but I do not undertake to say it is well founded.… I do not myself see that our mechanical inventions have increased the general vigor of men’s characters, though they have no doubt increased enormously our control over nature. The greater part of our humanity appears to me to be a mere increase of nervous sensibility in which I feel no satisfaction at all.”

The general superiority, and even the greater wealth, of Christian nations as compared with others we would attribute, in great part at least, to the influence of their religious faith, to which they owe their sentiments on the dignity and sacredness of human nature in itself, apart from surroundings; on the substantial equality of all men before God, which tends to produce as its counterpart the equality of all before the law, thus leading to the abolition of slavery, the elevation of woman, and the protection of childhood. To it also they owe their ideas on the family, which, in its constitutive Christian elements, lies at the very foundation of our civilization. To Christianity they owe the principles of universal charity and compassion, which have revolutionized the relations of social life; and, finally, to it they are indebted for the rehabilitation of labor, the chief source of wealth, which the pagan nations looked upon as degrading.

“I cannot say,” writes Herodotus, “whether the Greeks get their contempt for labor from the Egyptians; for I find the same prejudice among the Thracians, the Scythians, the Persians, and the Lydians.”

“The Germans,” says Tacitus, “cannot bear to remain quiet, but they love to be idle; they hold it base and unworthy of them to acquire by their sweat what they can purchase with their blood.” In the same way the Gauls looked upon labor with contempt.

We shall have to take up M. de Laveleye’s pamphlet again; for the present we lay it aside with the following remark: If we should grant, to the fullest, all that is here said about the greater wealth and material prosperity of Protestant as compared with Catholic nations what are we thence to conclude? Shall we say that the greed of gain which is so marked a feature in the populations of England and the United States is at once the result and proof of true Christian faith? May it not be barely possible that the value of material progress is exaggerated? Is there not danger lest, when man shall have made matter the willing slave of all his passions, he should find that he has become the creature of this slave? However this may be, might not a Catholic find some consolation in the words of Holy Writ?

“And the angel that spoke in me, said to me: Cry thou, saying, Thus saith the Lord of hosts: I am zealous for Jerusalem and Sion with a great zeal. And I am angry with a great anger with the nations that are rich; for I was angry a little, but they helped forward the evil.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

ARE YOU MY WIFE?

BY THE AUTHOR OF “PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” “PIUS VI.,” ETC.

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