CHAPTER XVII.

EXPERIMENTS OF MORE KINDS THAN ONE.

"Papa," said Hester, "did I not hear you say those pretty farms in Yorkshire are about to change tenants?"

"You did, my dear."

"Have you any tenants in view for them?"

"No! Has any one applied to you for one, or all of them?"

"I want to be the tenant myself."

"You?"

"Yes, indeed; there are good coals beneath the surface; the district is well watered; I want to try these new steam engines on a large scale. I will set up factories and form industrial associations, governing them myself. I will establish them on the principle of mutual assistance in forming and promoting a wide-spread intelligence: my factories shall contain schools, reading-rooms, museums, observatories, everything that can assist the onward progression of the race."

{493}

"You will at least spend money, Hester?"

"Not more than if I kept race horses for Ascot, or frequented Crockford's, which you could well afford to let me do if I were a man. Not more then I might cost you if I insisted on taking a house house in town, and on becoming the belle of the season; this would the neither extravagant nor wonderful; and if I wanted diamonds and emeralds and sapphires and glittering toys, you would get them all for me, I know you would, for when did you refuse your Hester anything, dear father?" said Hester, throwing her white arms around her father's neck. "But now I want none of of these babyish fancies, I want to do good in my generation, and my father must help me. We do not spend half our income in our present mode of living, and money is like manure you know, it wants spreading. Think of the glory of aiding 'progress.' Think of reigning over a population emancipated from ignorance by your efforts. Think of forming a nucleus whence freedom and happiness shall spring, handing down your name as a benefactor throughout all time; it is a project well fitted to my father s noble mind."

Mr. Godfrey gazed on his darling, and felt that he could refuse her nothing; still he paused. "Supposing the necessary expenses incurred, my Hester, your buildings erected, your villages formed, you have forgotten one thing; your schemes might be suddenly interrupted, when you least expected it: those farms are all entailed."

"I forgot that," mused Hester. After awhile she said: "Could not some arrangement be made with my brother on this subject?"

"I do not know. Is he a likely one, think you, to consent to the catting off the entail?"

"He might be," said Hester; "he must be badly off now, though I suppose my mother helps him. Offer him a handsome allowance for life, from this time out, on condition that the entail be cut off: he might be induced to accept it."

"He would be a fool if he did," said Mr. Godfrey.

"Nay, father, that is not so certain, if you take into consideration his present position. He is likely to suffer poverty for many years. I think I would accept the alternative were I in his place."

Mr. Godfrey could deny nothing to Hester, so he replied:

"Well, I will think of it."

. . . . .

But what had Eugene been doing all this time? Eugene, after his interview with his sister, went straight to M. Bertolot to inquire after his aunt and Euphrasie. He was not mistaken in supposing that he knew where they were, but he would tell nothing more than that they were in good health and spirits. "I have no authority," he said, "to divulge their place of abode; in fact, I promised secrecy."

"But how do they live? They have no means!" said Eugene.

"How, but by their labor!"

"Labor! my aunt labor?"

"No, I was wrong in saying their labor; it is Euphrasie who does the work. Euphrasie gives lessons in French, music, and drawing, and waits on her mother. De Villeneuve has hopes of recovering their estates for them. He is now in France negotiating with the emperor to that effect. He took care of them when they left your sister's and procured Euphrasie the situation she required, as both she and Madame refused to live at his expense."

"And did he offer to support them?"

"Well, yes; it appears that he and Euphrasie's father were sworn brothers in friendship, and de Villeneuve made a solemn promise to the Comte de Meglior to watch over Euphrasie's well-being. This promise keeps him in Europe to this day, for he had always a misgiving that she would not be permanently happy among those not of her faith. We are expecting de Villeneuve very shortly."

{494}

"And if he succeeds, my aunt will go back to France?"

"Probably; but I am not so sanguine about their success as de Villeneuve is. Madame is an English-woman, and that will not help her cause with the emperor just now."

"And meantime Euphrasie works for her daily bread?"

"She does, and is happy in doing so. Euphrasie, my friend, is a practical Catholic; one whose delight it is to _realize_, to make her own, the life led by the holy family at Nazareth. I venture to say she is far happier in sweeping her mother's room and in cooking her mother's dinner than she would be in a glittering ball-room lit up with its brilliant chandeliers."

"And does she really descend to these menial offices?" asked Eugene, in a sort of stupefied amazement.

"Descend! Is it to descend when we aspire to imitate Jesus and Mary? You are a Catholic, my young friend. You must not look at these things with the eyes of the world: its false maxims are not the ones which may guide your ideas. Labor, actual manual labor, was imposed on man in penalty for sin; its acceptance is part of man's atonement for that undervaluing of grace which led to the commission of that sin: which still leads to the commission of daily sins. The avoidance of labor is a child of pride, one which has occasioned multitudinous disorders among mankind. But Jesus accepted labor--real, genuine labor: he worked many years at his father's trade, and Mary kept no servant in her house at Nazareth; she labored, for she felt that in lowly labor there is a sanctifying influence, and it is this thought that makes Euphrasie happy now."

"But she is so unused to actual toil!" said Eugene.

"Not so much as you may suppose," replied his friend. "The good nuns taught her much that was useful, and even when she was at Estcourt Hall and Durimond Castle she did much work that was unsuspected. The produce of her needle clothed the poor, fed the hungry, and many times defrayed the expense of a mission, when accident brought her in contact with poor Catholics to whom such ministrations were acceptable and profitable. All this was done so quietly that I suppose your family knew nothing about it."

"At least I never heard of it," said Eugene.

Our hero was much depressed by this interview, not merely because he could gain no clue to abode of his friends, but also because he was as yet too new to the practice of Catholic principles to acquiesce cheerfully in the idea of the refined, elegant, accomplished daughter of a French nobleman toiling for her daily bread, and performing all the menial services required in the household.

It was with right good-will that he greeted the Comte de Villeneuve on his return, in the hope through him of seeing something accomplished that would alter these circumstances. But the comte's embassy had been unsuccessful; all he had been able to effect was to leave the case with such other friends as should introduce it at a more favorable period. But he was not so reserved respecting his friends as M. Bertolot had been. He deemed that Eugene's position in his own family should plead exemption for him from the ban of exclusion, and willingly mediated to obtain an interview view for him with Madame. Euphrasie was not at home when he called; and Madame greeted him cordially, though she could not refrain from blaming him for running counter to his friends about religion.

"What a fuss about a matter of opinion," she said. "But perhaps in France, before the Revolution, a Protestant might have then as little acceptable to the aristocracy. They say, too, that this new man, this emperor, patronizes the Catholic religion also, so I shall not ask Euphrasie to become a proselyte to English notions; her faith is that of her country and of her kindred, and my brother ought to {495} have understood this; but why you, Eugene, should wish to adopt the French religion, I cannot divine."

"Perhaps religion is neither exclusively French nor English, aunt. There may be a faith necessary to every nation alike, if it be true that every man has a soul to save."

"Perhaps so; I do not meddle with these matters," replied the lady. "I think everyone had better let everybody alone; it must be bad to quarrel about religion; and as to saving the soul, we know so little about it that it is quite presumptuous for one person to dictate to another on that subject. I hope we shall all meet in heaven at last, though we go there by different roads; for my part, I keep nobody out."

The entrance Euphrasie prevent its the necessity of a reply. Euphrasie's greeting was that of one who appreciates high principal. There were respect and kindness in her manner, but no familiarity, no approach to intimacy. Eugene felt disappointed, though certainly there was nothing of which he felt he had a right to complain.

Eugene's visits to his aunt were now frequent, but never could he see Euphrasie alone; whether from design or accident she avoided receiving him, save in her mother's presence. Yet daily did his reverence for her increase. To see the young French girl now, the supporter of the household, the caterer for its wants, the tender minister to her mother's manifold demands, none would have dreamed that heretofore contemplation had absorbed her faculties, and that she was making to duty the greatest sacrifice she could make in thus exchanging the cherished practices of devotion for the active employments of life. She was so cheerful, so almost gay, so unusually animated when the state of her mother's spirits required it; a stranger might have concluded that all her life she had been accustomed to this manner of living.

Suddenly Eugene received a missive which had traced him to many places, requesting him to meet his father in London.

TO BE CONTINUED.

ORIGINAL.

ON ST. PETER'S DENIAL.

"And the Lord, turning, looked on Peter."

Lord! wilt thou that I also should deny That I am thine? Behold, my longing soul cries upward to the sky For sight divine! All through the silent night in livelong day-- O grievous lot!-- I seek to know thee more, and yet am forced to say "I know thee not". With Peter let these bitter tears confess My treachery: Yet, Lord, to know thee as thou art I need no less A look from thee!

{496}

Translated from the German of Hans Wachenhusen.

CHRIST IS BORN.

"Really I take it unkindly of our pastor that he is continually speaking ill of us thorns, in the church yonder," said the thorn-bush, standing by a crumbling stable wall among the castle-ruins near the village church. "It is very unfair in him. How can he know, for instance, how the subject may affect me? On the bloody field of Golgotha, nearly two thousand years ago, there stood my ancestor, a buckthorn, of whose branches they wove our Saviour's crown. But the pastor yonder little thinks that I come of that same buckthorn; [Footnote 149] or that all its lineal descendants bear red blossoms and weep tears of blood on Christmas night; or that we thorns are ever renewed like Christ's teachings, being woven in with them?"

[Footnote 149: Kreuzdorn--Cross-thorn, literally.]

So spake the thorn-bush; and the wind blew through its branches, and shook them until the snow dropped off.

"Positively, this connection ought to be known!" sighed the thorn-bush.

But it was just then Christmas eve, and midnight was drawing near. Therefore did the thorn-bush make these pious reflections, which should have been cherished on other days too, if the lineage were really so wonderful as it fancied. Meantime the church-bells were ringing for the midnight mass, and the good priest passed by, going to the service of God.

"See, now, how indifferently he goes past me," said the thorn-bush. "And no wonder, since he knows nothing of my connections! And all the rest brush by me into the church; and if the Lord God could not see the things that are hidden, yet would he know his faithful by the footprints that lead from the houses to the church. But he knows them all, for he guides their steps. I know, though, two in the village who have not been to church to-day nor yet this whole year, for they are right godless men: the gloomy lord of our castle, and Wild Stephen, whom he turned out of his cottage yesterday because the rent was not paid. Here lie the poor wife and her half-naked children now in this ruined stable before which I stand guard. Really I must take a peep and see how the poor woman and her sick child are getting on," said the thorn-bush, and stretched up its bought to look in at the broken window.

But it was dark within, and the night-wind moaned through the damp walls and the open window. "O God! the creature is so good and so wretched. Here in this stable are tears and chattering teeth on this day of Christmas gifts. Now, that is too grievous," sighed the thorn-bush.

And over the way the church-organ poured out its solemn tones. "Christ is born," sang the people from the choir and benches. "Christ is born," cried the watchman from the tower. And our thorn-bush was right. In that old, deserted stable a poor woman knelt and prayed. Hot tears ran down her cheeks, her hands were convulsively clasped, and her eyes rested fixedly on the straw in the old stone manger; for in that manger lay her youngest born, a half-year old child, sick, and trembling with ague and cold. The moon shone through the window-opening upon this group. Her rays fell sympathizingly on the sick child, but they could not warm him; nor could the mother's breast do it either, she was herself so icy cold. {497} And through the chinks of the rotting roof, gaps were covered with snow, fell by hundred thousands the little glittering snow-stars and played in the moon-beams, but they gave no light or warmth either.

"Saviour of the world, thou who wert born this night, who didst live and die for us all, who didst lie to-day in a manger, like this poor helpless creature, save, oh! save my sick child!" So prayed this poor woman, and the baby stretched out his little cold hands to his mother and wept. But her strengths was all gone. She let her weary head sink on the icy edge of the stone manger; her eyes closed, and a heavy sigh burst forth from her breast. Days and nights had she watched; days and nights of bitter misery had she endured; but now she broke down, and sleep took pity on her wretchedness.

"Poor wife, where is thy husband? Poor baby, where is thy father?" whispered the thorn-bush pityingly, looking in at the window.

Yes, where was the husband, where was the father? Wild Stephen, for so the villagers called him, had been turned out of his cottage with his wife and children the evening before, as we have already said. He sought a refuge among the neighbors, but they would have nothing to do with him, for they were afraid of godless Stephen, who never had done a good thing, so they said. And so he and his had come to this deserted stable. Then he had rushed away breathless, in spite of the entreaties of his wife, who dreaded some misfortune. Where, then, was Wild Stephen? The bells ring out, the organ sounded, the people sang pious songs in the church, and the good priest stood before the altar and chanted: "Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace to men of good-will."

Up in the old castle, in a comfortless room, a man of dark, forbidding aspect set near the long-extinguished fire. He was the lord of the castle, a hard-hearted man, feared by every one within the limits of his estate. The light before him on the table burnt low; his face looked stiff and motionless, his eyes were closed. It seemed like sleep, only he looked so very pale. Now, while in the out-buildings of the court-yard servants hurried to and fro, a man was stealing up the stairs and through the gloomy corridor. He softly opened the door of the great room, crept lightly in, and up to the arm-chair where the landlord slept. The stranger's eyes gleamed with passion, a sneering smile disfigured his weather-beaten face. He cast one look stealthily around the room. A knife glistened in one hand, the other grasped that of the sleeping landlord. The blade quivered--

"Christ is born," saying the people in the church below.

Wild Stephen shrank back, for the hand was icy cold. He had touched a corpse.

"Christ is born," cried the warder from the tower; for mass was over, and the people were hastening home.

Stephen's knife fell from his hand. He looked again at the dead man, and it seemed as if the cold eyes were opening to blast him. Covering his face with both hands, he fled from the room. No one had seen him glide into the house; no one saw him now pause before the old stable and looked in the window--no one but the thorn-bush. Ashy pale, Stephen gazed into the stable. There he saw his wife kneeling, motionless as the dead man in the castle yonder, but more lovely; and gentle and pure as innocence, the child in the manger. Then Stephen, rushed forward, not knowing whither, rushed through the open church-door, and sank senseless on the steps of the altar.

Now the pastor was just going home. He came to the thorn-bush and saw two little boys sitting beneath it in the snow. They were shivering, and hiding their little red hands in their rags.

"Take them with thee," said the thorn-bush to the pastor. "They are Wild Stephen's children; they dare not {498} go in-doors for fear their father may beat them because they have come home empty-handed. Take them with thee. I cannot warm them; I am so poor and naked."

We know not whether it was the pastor's heart or the thorn-bush that spoke; but he took the children home with him.

"So, now have I one care the less!" said the thorn-bush to itself. "Now they are beginning to light up the Christmas tree there--and there--and again over yonder. What a pity that I'm not stationed under the windows, for here in this dreary stable there will be nothing to see."

But the thorn-bush was wrong, for just then the interior of the stable grew bright with a piercing light. Still knelt the poor woman with closed eyes, but the sick child waked up and stretched out its little arms laughing; for the roof opened, and down fluttered, surrounded by a light cloud, two lovely angels, one of them bearing a little Christmas tree gleaming with countless lights, the other bringing costly gifts. And it grew warm in the stable, and the light threw such a gleam into the street that the thorn-bush wondered within itself.

"There is no hut so poor but Christ is there to-night," it said.

The angels fluttered down, and while one offered the Christmas tree, the other went to the sick child and laid his hand healingly upon its breast. Then they flew upward again and vanished; but the light remained in the stable. In the mean time Wild Stephen lay upon the cold altar-steps. At last his consciousness returned, and he raised his head from the stone. A wonderful vision had appeared to him in a dream, for he had seen two beautiful spirits who, blessing him, walked by his side: and now, on awaking, he saw them standing by him, and felt each angel lay a little warm hand in his and lead him from the church.

It seemed to Stephen as if he still dreamed; as if it were in sleep that the two little angels led him from the church to the stable where he knew his poor wife and sorrowing children were. Willingly he let himself be guided; but when they reached the wretched dwelling, and everything within looked so warm and bright and pleasant; when he saw the Christmas presents, he rubbed his eyes, and look down at the angels who had brought him there and were still standing by his side. Then Stephen recognized his two other boys, grandly and beautifully dressed as he had never seen them before.

Still it seemed like a vision. He raised both children in his arms; he held them close and kissed them--no, it could not be a dream.

"Christ is born," cried the watchmen from the tower. "Ay, born is he, and within my own soul too!" exclaimed Stephen, and, still holding the two children, sprang to his wife. He drew her toward him and held her to his breast. "Jenny," he said, "wake up, Christ is indeed born!"

And she lifted her eyes and looked around in amazement, saying: "What has happened? Is it really thou, Stephen?--and all this light here! Is my dream true? I saw two angels bringing a Christmas tree and beautiful presents, and one of them went to the manger and laid his hand healingly upon my baby's breast. Yes, yes, it is true, for he is alive," she explained, taking the smiling child from the manger and clasping it to her bosom. "Get is true, Stephen," she said, and laid the baby in his arms. "Our Saviour is born, and he will not let my child die."

And while they were all looking at the Christmas presents the pastor stepped from behind the tree, for he it was who had sent the gifts through two good children of his parish; he it was who had seen Wild Stephen sink down upon the altar-steps; he it was who had dressed the little boys so beautifully, and led them to their father in the church.

{499}

"Christ is born," said the pastor, "and it is his will that even the poorest dwelling should not be without him to-day; but where he lodges for the first time, Stephen, is in your heart; cherish him tenderly, for you know that there is more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth than over ninety-nine just persons."

And all this time the thorn-bush was looking in at the window, its branches rustled with joy, and, like the cross-thorn on Christmas night, its boughs put forth violet-red eyes, and wept tears of blood upon the snow.

The next morning Stephen went to church with his wife and children. In the meantime something must have passed between them and the pastor, producing a change in material as well as spiritual matters; for they were seen clad in modest and suitable attire, going to the Lord's table with deepest devotion. The villagers passed by the thorn-bush in their holiday dress, and when they saw the snow underneath it bedewed as if with ruddy pearls, they cried: "See, now, the buckthorn has borne red blossoms during the night!"

"Yes," answered the cross-thorn, "for Christ is born indeed. These thorns know it, for we crowned him in death; and you men should know it also, for he was crucified for you."

From Chambers' Journal.

THE DYING YEAR.

Scant leaves upon the aspen Shake golden in the sun; Old Year, thy sins are many, Thy sand is almost run. The beech-tree, brazen-orange, Burns like a sunset down; Old Year, thy grave is ready; Doff sceptre, robe, and crown.

The elm, a yellow mountain, Is shedding leaf by leaf; The rains, in gusts of passion. Pour forth their quenchless grief; The winds, like banshees mourning. Wail in the struggling wood; Old Year, put off thy splendor. And don thy funeral hood.

Lay down thy golden glories; The bare boughs bar the sky-- Skeletons wild and warning. Quaking to see thee die. Thou hast lived thy life, remember; Now lay thee down and rest; The grass shall grow above thy head, And the flower above thy breast.

{500}

From The Dublin University Magazine.

THE HOLY LAND.

There can be no doubt that the Mount Moriah where Abraham would have sacrificed his son is the same spot as the Moriah upon which Solomon built the temple. "Then Solomon began to build the house of the Lord at Jerusalem in Mount Moriah" (2 Chron. iii. 1). [Footnote 150] It is also probable that it is the same place as the Salem mentioned in Genesis xiv. 18, of which Melchisedek was king; for in Psalm lxxvi. 2 we read, "In Salem also is his tabernacle, and his dwelling-place in Sion." Josephus calls Melchisedek King of Solyma, a name afterward altered to Hierosolyma. But the first mention of the name Jerusalem occurs in Joshua x. 1, where Adoni-zedec is spoken of as "King of Jerusalem." There are to be gathered from sacred and secular annals the records of twenty-one invasions of this ancient city by hostile armies. The first attack was made upon her by the children of Judah, shortly after the death of Joshua. They fought against Jerusalem, took it, put it to the fire and sword (Judges i. 1-8); but they were unable to expel the Jebusites, nor were the children of Benjamin any more successful, but they both dwelt with the Jebusites in the city; the Jebusites being probably driven from the lower part to Mount Sion, where they remained until the time of David, who marched against Jerusalem, drove them from Mount Sion, and called it the City of David.

[Footnote 150: Also confirmed by Josephus, Antiq i, 13-2.]

The Ark of the Covenant was conveyed there, an altar built, and Jerusalem became the imperial residence, the centre of the political and religious history of the Israelites. Its glory was enhanced by the labors of Solomon, but under his son Rehoboam ten tribes revolted, so that Jerusalem became only the capital of Judah, with whom the tribe of Benjamin alone remained faithful. During the reign of this king, Shishak, the Egyptian monarch, invaded the holy city and ransacked the temple. Then about a hundred years rolled by, when Amaziah was king of Judah, and Joash of Israel; the latter marched against Jerusalem, threw down the wall, and the temple was once more rifled of its treasures. In the next century Manasseh the king was taken captive by the Assyrians to Babylon but ultimately restored. In consequence of the strange intermeddling of Josiah, a few years later, when Pharao-necho, king of Egypt, was on his march, he was killed in battle, and the latter directed his army toward Jerusalem, and placed Eliakim on the throne by the name of Jehoiakim. The advance of this Egyptian king is confirmed by Herodotus. [Footnote 151]

[Footnote 151: Herodotus, Euterpe, 159. He also mentions a victory gained by him at Magdola, then says that he took the city of Cadytis [Greek text]. This city Cadytis is generally accepted as Jerusalem, which was called "holy," "_Hakkodesh_." The shekel was marked "Jerusalem _Kedusha_," a Syriac corruption of the Hebrew "Kodesh." Then the word Jerusalem was omitted, and "Kedusha" only used, which, being translated into Greek, became [Greek text] as quoted by Herodotus.]

Against Jehoiakim, however, came Nebuchadnezzar, who ravaged the city more than once, and after a siege of two years, in the reign of Zedekiah, burned it down, took all the sacred vessels to Babylon with the two remaining tribes (the other ten were already in captivity); and now that the temple was destroyed, the city in ruins, and {501} the people all in bondage, it appeared as if the prediction of her prophets had already been accomplished. But a time of rejoicing was yet to come, and though the chosen people did writhe under Babylonish tyranny, and did hitting their harps on the willows, there was still a prophet of hope among them in the person of Daniel. This was the time alluded to in that beautiful psalm composed after their return, in allusion to an occasion when their persecutors had asked them tauntingly to sing one of their national songs for their amusement, the Hebrew words of which, if we may be allowed the expression, glitter with tears:

"By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down, Yea, we wept when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof. For there, they that carried us away captive required of us a song; And they that wasted us required of us mirth, Saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion. How shall we sing the Lord's song In a strange land? If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, Let my right hand forget her cunning; If I do not remember thee, Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, If I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief Joy."

In the time of Cyrus their deliverance came; they were released from captivity, and there was a mighty "going up" to Jerusalem when the temple was rebuilt and the sacred vessels which Nebuchadnezzar had taken away were restored; money, too, was given them, and the works, after being interrupted for a time by difficulties, were resumed under Darius Hystaspes and completed. Some time afterward another large body of Jews came up to the holy city with Ezra, and the capital was once more active with busy life and once more became glorious.

Alexander the Great marched against the Jews, but was prevented from entering the city by the intercession of the high priest--a scene which found its parallel in after-times, when the aged Leo went to the camp of Attila, and by his entreaties diverted that semi-Christian barbarian from Rome. After the death of Alexander, Ptolemy, king of Egypt, surprised the Jews on their Sabbath day, when he knew they would not fight; he made an easy conquest, and carried off thousands of Jews into Egypt.

For a hundred years of comparative peace this fated city remained under the Ptolemies, when it fell into the hands of the Syrians. Antiochus Epiphanes, their king, after his Egyptian campaigns, finding his treasure-chest nearly empty, bethought him of sacking the temple of Jerusalem, marched his army upon the city, pillaged it, slew about forty thousand people, and sold as many more into slavery. He then endeavored to exterminate the ceremonial; a pagan altar was set up and sacrifice made to Jupiter. The Maccabaean revolution broke out, and the city was ultimately recovered by the hero, Judas Maccabaeus, when a new phase of priesthood was established, which we shall notice elsewhere. Things went on thus until about the year 60 B.C., when Pompey seized the city and massacred twelve thousand Jews in the temple courts. Thus it fell into the hands of the Romans, against whom it rebelled, and by whom ultimately, after the most terrible siege recorded in history, it was taken and subjected to violations over which the mind even now shudders; its temple was ransacked, violated, and burned, its priests butchered, pagan rites were celebrated in its holy place, its maidens were ravished, its palaces burned down, an unrestrained carnage was carried on, Jews were crucified on crosses as long as trees could be found to make them, and when the woods were exhausted they were slain in cold blood. Nearly a million of Jews are said to have fallen in this terrible conflict. For fifty years after there is no mention of Jerusalem in history. They kept themselves quiet, watching eagerly and stealthily for an opportunity of throwing off the hated Roman yoke. About the year 131 A-D., Adrian, to prevent any outbreak, ordered the city to be fortified. The Jews rebelled at once, but were so completely crushed by the {502} year 135 that this date has always been accepted as that of their final dispersion. The holy city was then made a Roman colony, the Jews were forbidden to enter into its walls under pain of immediate death, the very name was altered to the pagan one of AElia Capitolina, a temple was erected on Mount Moriah to Jupiter Capitolinus, and Jerusalem was henceforth spoken of by this pagan name until the days of Constantine, when pilgrimages were rife, and the Christians began to turn their steps toward the city whose streets had been hallowed by the footsteps of Christ. Helena, the emperor's mother, wandered there in penitence, built a church on the site of the nativity, and agitated Christendom to its foundations by the announcement of the discovery of the true cross. Constantine then built a church on the site of the Holy Sepulcher, and at last the Jews were admitted once a year into the city of their glory to sing penitential psalms over their degradation. The sorrows of the place were not yet ended, for in the year 614 the Persians fell upon Jerusalem, and this time the Christians suffered, ninety thousand of whom were killed. Then it was retaken by the Romans, when the Emperor Heraclius marched in triumph through its streets with the real cross on his shoulders. In 637, however, it fell into the hands of Arabic Saracens, from whom the Turks took it in 1079. Then came that marvellous agitation of Europe, when she poured out her millions of devotees to drive the Saracen from the holy land; and in 1099 Godfrey de Bouillon was proclaimed King of Jerusalem by the victorious Crusaders. The Christians held it for eighty-eight years, when Saladin, the sultan of Egypt, wrested it from them in 1187, and they held it until the year 1517, when the Ottoman Turks seizing upon Jerusalem, made the twenty-first and last invasion which this devoted city has undergone, and in their hands it still remains.

In the very earliest ages of Christianity people begin to bend their steps toward Jerusalem and to write their travels. Some of these variations are extant, and the earliest is called "Itinerarium a Burdigala Hierusalem usque:" it was written by a Christian of Bordeaux, who went to the Holy Land in the year 333, about two years before the church of the Holy Sepulchre was consecrated by Constantine and his mother Helena. It is to be gleaned also from the works of the Greek fathers that pilgrimages to Jerusalem were becoming so frequent as to lead to many abuses. St. Porphyry, after living as a recluse in Egypt, went to the Holy Land, visited Jerusalem, and finally settled in the country as Bishop of Gaza. Toward the end of the fourth century (385), St. Eusebius of Cremona and St. Jerome went there and founded a monastery at Bethlehem. St. Paula also visited it about the same time. In the seventh century we have St. Antonius going there and telling us he admired the beauty of the Jewish women who lived at Nazareth. In the year 637, the taking of Jerusalem by the Saracens interrupted the the flow of visitors, but Areulf, a French bishop, went there toward the end of the century. In the early part of the eighth century the Anglo Saxons began to go there. Willibald, a relative of Boniface, paid a visit to Jerusalem in 724. Then the war with the Greeks interposed, and we do not hear much about the Holy Land until the end of the eighth century, when, through the friendship of Charlemagne with Haroun al Raschid, the Christians were once more allowed to go to the Holy Sepulcher. A monk, called Bernard Sapiens, went in 870, and wrote anon account of it. Then the celebrated Gerbert, who was afterward pope, under the title of Sylvester II., went to Jerusalem in 986, came back and wrote a work, in which he made the holy city mourn her misfortunes and woes, her wasted temples and violated sacred places; then he appealed to the whole Christian world to go and help her. France {503} and Italy began to move. The Saracens heard of this agitation, and interdicted the Christians in their dominions from worshipping, turned their temples into stables, and threw down the church of the Holy Sepulcher and others in the year 1008. At the tidings of this devastation Europe was aroused, and in fact we may fairly say that Gerbert's book of travel was the first spark that fired the conflagration of the Crusades. The first narrative we have of any pilgrim who followed the Crusades is by Saewulf, a Saxon, and a very interesting narration he has left; he went in the year 1102, was a monk of Malmesbury Monastery, and is mentioned by the renowned William of that abbey in his Gesta Pontificum. There are accounts also in the twelfth century by Benjamin of Tudela; in the fourteenth by Sir John Mandeville; in the fifteenth by Bertrandon de la Brocquière; and in the sixteenth by Henry Maundrell. [Footnote 152]

[Footnote 152: See Early Travels in Palestine, An interesting collection of itineraries and ancient visits to the Holy Land, by Mr. Thomas Wright.]

Modern times have multiplied books on the Holy Land, but those mentioned above are nearly all that are extent of early periods. In our own day there is a tendency to revive the subject; we have had many books lately, good, bad, and indifferent, upon Holy Land--Wanderings in Bible Lands and Scenes, Horeb and Jerusalem, Sinai and Palestine, Giant Cities of Bashan, Jerusalem as It Is, and many others, of which we cannot stop to say more than that they are generally interesting and readable. It would take a wretched writer, indeed, to make a dull book upon the Holy Land; the subject itself and the scenes enlist the attention at once. But the last pilgrim who has returned from that sacred city and emptied his wallet for our inspection has produced a book not only valuable as an interesting account of travel, but useful as an excellent commentary upon the incidents of the Bible and the life and work of our Lord. There have been many reviews of this book as a book of travel, but it is in this higher light more particularly that we wish to examine Mr. Hepworth Dixon's two volumes on the Holy Land. From the very earliest times down to the present, Jaffa or Joppa seems to be the portal of Palestine to western travellers, who are, it appears, compelled to make their _début_ in Palestine in no very dignified manner. The water-gate of Jaffa, Mr. Dixon tells us, faces the sea, and is "no more than a slit or window in the wall about six feet square." Through this narrow opening all importations from the west must be hoisted from the canoes; "such articles as pashas, bitter beer, cotton cloth, negroes, antiquaries, dervishes, spurious coins and stones, monks, Muscovite bells, French clocks, English damsels and their hoops, Circassian slaves, converted Jews, and Bashi Bazouks." Once safe through this slit in the wall, the stranger is ushered into a town whose scenes recall to his imagination the Arabian Nights of his childhood, so little has the Holy Land changed; the dress of the people and their customs being so little altered that Haroun, if he were allowed to take another midnight trip with his vizier, would be quite at home. Marvellous it is, too, that civilization has left another peculiarity untouched in Palestine. Mr. Dixon tells us that after "three months of Syrian travel you will learn to treat a skeleton in the road with as much indifference as a gentleman in a turban and a lady in a veil." Whatever dies in the plain lies there--asses, camels, or men. The travelling baggage of an Arab includes a winding-sheet, in which he may be rolled by his companion, if he has one, and covered with sand; bodies are found, too, who, in the last gasp, had striven to cover their faces with the loose sand. There is no exaggeration in this statement--the Saxon Saewulf, who went there in the year 1102, nearly eight centuries ago, draws the same picture. He says:

{504}

"Went from Joppa to Jerusalem, two days' journey by a mountainous road, very rough and dangerous on account of the Saracens, who lie in wait for the Christians to rob and spoil them. Numbers of human bodies lie by the wayside, torn to pieces by wild beasts, many of whom have been cut off by Saracens; some, too, have perished from heat, and thirst for want of water, and others from too much drinking."

Travelling in the Holy Land is not mere sport; there are a myriad of dangers to be avoided and watched for, armed Bedaween are prowling about, bands of horsemen scour across the plain like clouds over the sky.

"Horsemen!" cries Yakoub, reining in. "Hushing the still night, and with hands on our revolvers, bending forward toward the dim fields on our left hand, we can hear the footfall of horses crushing their way through stubble and stones. In a moment while they sounded afar off, they are among us; fine dark figures, on brisk little mares, and poising above them their bamboo spears. A word or two of parley, in which Ishmael has his share, and we are asking each other for the news. . . . . Perhaps they consider us too strong to be robbed, for a Bedaween rarely thinks it right to attack under an advantage of five to one."

At dawn of day they arrive at the spot where once stood Modin, the birth place of the Maccabees, now a den of robbers, called Latrun. This spot is a most interesting one, and Mr. Dixon rapidly sketches the results of the events which were transacted here, showing how from the Maccabaean revolt sprang the Great Separation, a new kind of priesthood, and also, for which the influence of the captivity had already prepared them, the ignoring of the written law of Moses, and the introduction and veneration of the oral law or tradition of the elders. The peculiar aspects of the Jews at the time of the Roman domination and the advent of Christ, their hopes and opinions, may be traced back to the drama which was played out on this spot. We propose, then, to pause for a moment to sketch the history of that period, as it is the keystone to the whole fabric of Jewish degeneracy.

About half a century before the birth of Christ the Jews had fallen into the hands of the Romans, and in the writings of Tacitus we have a description of them, an attempt at investigation into their history, and a version of Roman opinion upon them, which is the more interesting as it affords an admirable corroboration of what is recorded in the Scriptures. Tacitus endeavors very ingeniously to make them come originally from Crete, on account of their name, Idaeos or Judaeos, from Mount Ida, in Crete. We must bear in mind that it is scarcely probable that Tacitus could have read Genesis. Then he mentions other theories which were in vogue as to the origin of this strange people, who were beginning to be very troublesome to the Romans. In the first theory we get a slight trace of the sacred tradition; certain people, he say, declare that a great multitude in the reign of Isis overflowed Egypt and discharged themselves into the lands of Judea and the surrounding neighborhood, some call them a race of AEthiops, others Assyrians; and we are told there were some even who claimed for them a far more renowned descent from the [Greek text] mentioned by Homer, whence they called their great city Hiero-Solyma. These theories are very ingenious, but they only serve to prove that the eye of the philosophical historian of the Romans had never rested on the Jewish records. Still the character he gives of them is the one they have universally borne in the world; he speaks also of "Moyses," who gave them a distinct legislation; he mentions "circumcision" and their abstinence from certain kinds of meet; he records their national exclusiveness, their immovable obstinacy, their notion of one God, so strange to the a pagan mind, and the temple, _without images_, equally absurd.

Though the Romans treated the Jews, as indeed they did all the people they conquered, with great forbearance, still they had a sort of secret dislike for them, and in the {505} and they served them as they served no other race of people subject to their power. And this feeling was reciprocated by the Jews, who now more than ever longed for the advent of the great Deliverer, whom they also more than ever felt must come in the shape of a warrior, with power and majesty to sweep these Romans out of the country, and restore Jerusalem to her former position of splendor and renown. There can be no question that the political circumstances in which the Jews were placed at the time of the coming of Christ helped to unfit them for his reception, by fostering that idea of a great temporal sovereign which had been implanted in their bosom. But this idea was of much older origin than their troubles with the Romans. It is an interesting fact that the Maccabaean revolution, which restored the priesthood, may be looked upon as the event which first taught the Jews that fatal error. Before that time they had a more spiritual conception of the Messiah, but the events which followed in the wake of the heroism of Judas Maccabaeus changed the whole character of their hopes. Let us review those circumstances, for it is only by doing so we can properly understand how the Jews came to be so persistent in their expectations of a great omnipotent temporal sovereign. Antiochus Epiphanes, upon the death of his brother, Seleucus Philopator, king of Syria, seized upon the vacant throne, although Demetrius, the son of Seleucus, was alive at Rome, where he had been sent as a hostage. In Daniel xi. 21, we glean that he obtained the kingdom by flattery, which receives some support from what Livy says about his extravagant rewards (Livy xli. c.20). He had undertaken several campaigns against Egypt, and was on his return from one of these, with wasted army and exhausted treasury, when it occurred to him that if he could only plunder the temple of the Jews, it would go far to recruit his finances. He turned his army at once toward Jerusalem, marched upon it, and sacked it. An altar was raised and sacrifice made to Jupiter in the holy place. Then he endeavored to abolish the ceremonial, and to introduce pagan worship, when the Jews, exasperated beyond endurance, were ripe all over the country for revolt, but dared not rise. At this time, however, there dwelt in a little village called Modin, not far from Emmaus, a family who were called the Maccabees, for what reason it is now impossible to ascertain; but this family, who had lived there in the peaceable obscurity of village life, were destined to become heroic. It consisted of an aged father, Mattathias, and five sons. Antiochus Epiphanes had sent his officers to this village to erect an altar in the Jewish place of worship for sacrifice to the gods, when Mattathias boldly declared that he would resist it. The altar was set up, and one miserable renegade Jew was advancing toward it to make the pagan offering, when he was slain on the spot by Mattathias. The family then fled to the wilderness, and concealed themselves; they were soon joined by others; a band was formed, which gradually increased, until it became numerous enough to attack towns. Then Mattathias died, and his son, even more memorable in the history of patriotism, came forward, and took the command of the gathering confederation, now a disciplined army. Apollonius was sent against him, whom Judas met boldly on the field of battle, and slew. The same success attended him in his encounter with the Syrian general, Seron. Antiochus now saw the necessity of vigorous measures to prevent the Jews from recovering their independence; he went to Persia to recruit his treasures, while Lysias, the regent, sent an army to Judea of 40,000 foot and 7,000 cavalry, which was reinforced by auxiliaries from the provinces, and even by Jews who were already becoming jealous of the fame of Judas. The Jewish hero pointed out to his {506} followers the desperate odds against which they would have to contend, and resolved upon employing a stratagem. By a forced march he reached a portion of the enemy encamped at Emmaus and surprised them, with complete success: several portions of the army were put to flight, and a great booty secured. Another and more numerous army was sent against him, but with no success. At the head of 10,000 followers, fired by fanaticism, Judas put to flight the army of Lysias, 60,000 strong, and marched on Jerusalem to purify the temple and restore it to its glory. The festival of Purification was then inaugurated. Day by day the successes of Judas increased, when Antiochus Eupator, who had succeeded Antiochus Epiphanes, invaded Judea, and only made peace with Judas in consequence of dissensions at home. He was murdered by his uncle, Demetrius, who seized the kingdom and confirmed the peace with Judas, but took possession of the citadel of Jerusalem, placing his general, Nicanor, there with troops. Suspicions were then entertained that treachery was being plotted between Judas and this general; the matter was pressed, when Nicanor cleared himself, and Judas was obliged to flee. A battle took place, which he won, and another victory followed at Beth-horon, in which Nicanor fell. Re-enforcements strengthened the enemy, and Judas was compelled to retire to Laish with 3,000 followers, where he was attacked at a disadvantage. Only 800 of his men remained faithful to him, but with these he boldly encountered the avenging hosts of Demetrius, and found a hero's death on the field. Though Judas was dead, yet the Maccabaean spirit was not extinct. Simon and Jonathan, his brothers, rallied their companions, and took the lead, fortifying themselves in a strong position in the neighborhood of Tekoa. Jonathan bid fair to equal Judas; he avoided an open engagement with the Syrians, but kept his position, and harassed the enemy for the space of two years, when events brought about what perhaps the slender forces of his army would have never accomplished. A pretender to the throne of Syria sprang up in the person of Alexander Balas, the reputed natural son of Antiochus Epiphanes, and a party was soon found to promote his claim against Demetrius. By this time Jonathan's little body of troops had been augmented by continued re-enforcements, and his position was such that to the contending parties in Syria it became clear that if either could win over this obstinate Jew to his cause it would decide the matter. Demetrius took the first step, by making him at once general of the forces in Judea and governor of Jerusalem; but Jonathan was in no hurry, he suspected the wily Demetrius, and having received overtures from Alexander Balas, that if he would espouse his cause he would make him high priest when he was on the throne of Syria, he yielded. These overtures were accompanied by the present of a purple robe, and Jonathan, who, doubtless, saw in the dissensions of his enemies the opportunity for Jerusalem, accepted the proposition, joined Alexander, who slew Demetrius in battle, and ascended the throne of Syria. True to his engagement, he made Jonathan high priest, with the rank of prince, and did all he could to ensure his fidelity. Jonathan afterward attended the marriage of Alexander with a daughter of the King of Egypt, at Ptolemais, where he received many marks of consideration from the Syrian and Egyptian monarchs. He ultimately fell, however, a victim to treachery, and was succeeded by his brother Simon, who confirmed the Jews in their independence in return, for which, in 131 B.C., they passed a decree, by which the dignity of high priest and prince of the Jews was made hereditary in the family of Simon. Thus was founded the long line of Asmonean priests, which remained unbroken down to about thirty-four years before Christ. The Mosaic principle was set aside, and {507} from this time the changes came over the Jews and their institutions which are admirably sketched by Mr. Dixon in the two chapters on the Great Separation and the Oral Law, which we recommend to the careful perusal of any one who wishes to form a clear idea of the origin of the state of Judaism at the time of our Lord. He thus sums up in a sentence the results of the Maccabaean insurrection:

"The main issues, then, as regards the faith and policy in Israel of that glorious revolt of Modin, w the elevation of a fighting sect to power; the general adoption of separative principles; the substitution of an explanatory law for the Covenant; a change in the divine succession of high priests, and a lawless union of the spiritual and secular forces."

The Idyls of Bethlehem form a most interesting chapter: the death of Rachel, the idyl of Ruth, the episode of Saul, the house of Chimham, the idyl of Jeremiah, and the birth of our Saviour, are all sketched in a manner which tends to impress these well-known scenes upon the mind indelibly. A chapter on Syrian Khans, which throws much light upon the incident of the birth of Christ, we would like to extract did not the exigencies of space forbid. The reader will find in the chapters, The Inn of Bethlehem, The Province of Galilee, Herod the Great, John the Baptist, and Jewish Parties, an admirable introduction to those scenes of the life and wanderings of our blessed Lord which are contained in the second part of the book, and to which we wish to devote the remainder of this paper.

When speaking of the early life of Jesus, Mr. Dixon takes up the question of the obscurity of his origin, that favorite point with the sceptics of all ages, from the "Is not this the carpenter's son?" of the Jews, down to puerile objections of the German Strauss. He has shown that it was the custom to teach the youth of all classes some useful art; and the best born and greatest men in Jewish history had been instructed in such trades as weaving, tent-making etc. Beside, certain trades were held in honor. We cannot understand this if we think of carpentering by the contemptuous estimate of modern life. That contempt for hand-labor was unknown in the early ages of Scripture history. Adam dressed the garden, Abel was a keeper of sheep, Cain a tiller of the ground. Tubal Cain a smith; and so, among the Jews, it was a reproach to any man if he had not been taught one of the useful mechanical arts. It was dignified by the Almighty himself, who, we are told--

"Called by name Bezaleel, . . . and he hath filled him with the spirit of God in wisdom, in understanding, and in knowledge, and in all manner of workmanship, and to devise curious works, to work in gold and in silver and in brass, and in the cutting of stones to set them, and in carving of wood to make any manner of cunning work. And he hath put it in his heart that he may teach." Exod. xxxv. 30-34.

This reverence was cherished by the Jews; carpentering was always looked upon as a noble occupation; the fact that the carpenter might have to go into the temple to labor would have rescued that occupation from contempt. This is a striking peculiarity of eastern life; and elsewhere the objection of the sceptic to the humble origin of Jesus has been well answered:

"The princes of Turkey in Egypt are still instructed in the mechanical arts, one being made a brazier, another a carpenter, a third a good weaver, and so on. Said Pasha was a good mechanic, Ishmael Pasha is not inferior to his brother. Much of the domestic life of Israel has been lost to us, but still we know something of the crafts in which many of the most famous rabbis and doctors had been taught to excel. We know that Hillel practised a trade. St. Paul was a tent-maker, Rabbi Ishmael was a needle-maker, Rabbi Jonathan a cobbler. Rabbi Jose was a tanner. Rabbi Simon was a weaver. Among the Talmudists there was a celebrated Rabbi Joseph who was a carpenter. What then becomes of Strauss's inference that Joseph must have been a man of low birth--not of the stock of David--because he followed a mechanical trade?" [Footnote 153]

[Footnote 153: Athenaeum, 27th Jan., 1866.]

{508}

We may conclude this point by adding that among the Jews the only trades which could prevent a man from attaining to the dignity of high priest were weavers, barbers, fullers, perfumers, cuppers, and tanners.

But to return to the life and work of Jesus. His fame was gradually spreading, and he went about the small towns and hamlets:

"Capernaum, Chorazin Magdala, Bethsaida, Dalmanutha Gerasa, preaching in the synagogues, visiting the fishing-boats and threshing-floors, healing the sick, and comforting the poor; gentle in his aspect and in his life; wise as a sage and simple as a child; winning people to his views by the charm of his manner and the beauty of his sayings."

His first aim was to win the Jews from the Oral Law, to convince them of its emptiness; it is the key to the following scenes graphically depicted by Mr. Dixon. Christ had gone to Jerusalem for the feast of Purim, and was walking by the Pool of Bethesda in the sheet market, a spot he had to pass daily. On the thanks of this pool were crowds of sick, the halt, aged, and blind, a spectacle sure to attract the eye of Jesus:

"It was the Sabbath day.

"In the temple hard by, these wretches could hear the groaning of bulls under the mace, the bleating of lambs under the sacrificial knife, the shouting of dealers as they sold doves and shekels. Bakers were hurrying through with bread. The captain of the temple was on duty with his guards. Priests were marching in procession, and crowds of worshippers standing about the holy place. Tongues of flame leaped faintly from the altars on which the priests were sprinkling blood . . . but the wretches who lay around (the pool) on their quilts and rugs, the blind, the leprous, and the aged poor, drew no compassion from the busy priests. One man, the weakest of the weak, had been helpless no less than thirty-eight years. Over this man Jesus paused and said:

"'Wilt thou be made whole?'

"'Rabbi, I have no man, when the water is troubled, to put me into the pool; but while I am coming, another steppeth down before me."

The Compassionate answered him:

"'Rise, take up thy bed and walk.'

"At once the life leaped quickly into the poor man's limbs. Rising from the ground he folded up his quilt, taking it on his arm to go away; but some of the Pharisees seeing him get up and roll his bed into a coil, run toward him crying: 'It is the Sabbath day; it is not lawful for thee two carry thy bed.' It was certainly an offense against the Oral Law."

The Jews had turned the blessing of the Sabbath into a curse.

"From the moment of hearing the ram's horn, a sacred trumpet, called the shofa, blown from the temple wall, announcing that the seventh had commenced, he was not allowed to tight a fire or make a bed, to boil him a pot; he could not pool his ass from a ditch, nor raise and arms in defense of his life . . . A Jew could not quit his camp, his village, or his city on the day of rest. He might not begin a journey; if going along a road, he must rest from sundown till the same event of the coming day. He might not carry a pencil, a kerchief a shekel in his belt; if he required a handkerchief for use, he had to tie it round his leg. If he offended against one of these rules, he was held to deserve the doom awarded to the vilest of sinners. Some rabbins held that a man ought not to change his position, but that, whether he was standing or sitting when the shofa sounded, _he should stand or sit immovable as a stone until the Sabbath had passed away_."

Jesus broke the Oral Law that he might bring his followers to a sense of its degrading spirit, and announced the new truth that "_The Sabbath is made for man; not and for the Sabbath_." After two very interesting chapters upon Antipas Herod and Herodias, we have once upon the Synagogue. Some writers have striven to claim the remotest antiquity for this institution, but in all probability it might be dated from the captivity. There would be a natural desire to meet together away from the pagans, by whom they were surrounded, to pray to their God, to sing their psalms, and to read the law. This gave rise to the synagogue, which means no more then a "meeting together;" but after the Maccabaean insurrection it became a popular institution, and every little village had its synagogue. Now, as much of the work of Christ was done in the synagogue, as he loved to go into them and to take part {509} in their services, it is desirable that we should have a clear notion of what a synagogue was:

"A house of unhewn stones taken up from the hillside; squat and square of the ancient Hebrew style, having a level roof, but neither spire nor tower, neither dome nor minaret to enchant the eye; such was the simple synagogue of the Jews in which Jesus taught. . . Inside a Syrian synagogue is like one of our parish schools with seats for the men, rough sofas of wood half covered with rushes and straw; a higher seat stands in the centre like that of a mosque, for the elders of the town, a desk for the reader of the day; at the south end a closet, concealed by a hanging veil, in which the torah, a written copy of the Pentateuch, is kept in the sacred ark. A silver lamp is always kept burning, a candlestick with eight arms, a pulpit, a reading-desk, are the chief articles of furniture in the room. . . . . In olden times women were allowed to enter with the men, though they were even then parted from father and son by a wooden screen. . . . Before entering a synagogue a man is expected to dip his hands into water. . . . Ten persons are necessary to form a meeting; every town or city having a synagogue appointed ten men called batlanim (men of leisure), who were bound to appear at the hour of prayer. . . Higher in office was the chazzan, who took charge of the house and scroll. . . The meturgeman was an interpreter of the law, whose duty it was to stand near the reader for the day, and translate the sacred verses, one by one, from the Hebrew into the vulgar tongue. Above him were the elders. . . . When the people came in they first bowed to the ark; the elders took their places on the raised platform; the rich went up to high seats near the ark; the poor sat on wooden sofas, matted with straw. . . . A prayer was said, one of the Psalms of David sung. The chazzan walked up to the veil, which he drew aside with reverence, lifted the ark from its niche, took out the torah, carried the roll round the benches, every one striving either to kiss or touch it with his palm; the sheliach read the lesson for the day; at its close the elder expounded the text in a sort of sermon, when the torah was carried back, the prayers began. . . . Every hearer had in those times a right to express his opinion of the sacred text, and of what it meant."

Our Lord availed himself of this right, which every Jew possessed, of speaking in the synagogue upon the text which had been read; and Mr. Dixon has worked up two scenes well known in the career of our Lord, with all the surrounding incidents and scenery, so graphically and so accurately that no one could read these descriptions without rising from them with a clearer and more complete understanding of the simple statement of the gospel. The gospels were not written as historical sketches, but as vehicles for the vital truth they contain; consequently anything that resuscitates the scene and reproduces the incidents as they took place, with all their peculiar surroundings, must be of great value in assisting us to comprehend more readily, and to retain in our minds more vividly the events of our Lord's career. We think this is more preeminently the characteristic aim and achievement of this work than of the many others we have read upon the subject, and we shall instance one, the scene in the synagogue of Capernaum. The first alluded to was the declaration of Jesus in the synagogue at Nazareth; but as many of the incidents are included in this of Capernaum, we content ourselves with giving it somewhat in detail, as an illustration of the peculiarity we have already mentioned. Let the reader first peruse the simple statement in the gospel of St. John, vi. ch., 25 v., to the end, and then the following; or better still the whole of chapter xvii. in the second volume of Mr. Dixon's work, called The Bread of Life, and he will rise from it with a much more vivid conception of one of the most trying scenes in our Lord's history. On the steps of the synagogue a motley crowd had collected, eager, excited, and curious, for it was just after the miraculous feeding of the 5,000, and they were full of it; they had heard of it in all its stupendous power; it was the miracle of all miracles most likely to overpower the Jewish mind; it recalled to them the words of Jehovah:

"At even ye shall eat flesh, and in the morning ye shall be filled with bread, and ye shall know that I am the Lord your God."

{510}

And this man, this son of Joseph the carpenter, had fed 5,000 people on fire barley loaves and two small fishes. They saw the little boat on the beach in which Jesus had come; they had heard of his walking on the water that very night; and now the crowd was increasing, for the country was aroused, and people came flocking from all parts to see this man who did such marvellous things.

"Jesus sat in the synagogue in his usual place. The Jews poured in, each man and woman making lonely reverence toward the ark. . . , The service began with the prayer of sweet incense, after which the congregation, the batlanim leading, sang Psalms of David; when these were sung, the chazzan, going up to the ark, drew aside the veil and took out the sacred roll, which he carried round the aisles to the reader of the day, who raised it in his hands, so that all who were present could see the sacred text. Then the whole congregation rose. . . . Opening the scroll, the reader read out the section or chapter for the day. . . . When the lesson was finished the chazzan took the scroll from the reader and carried it back to its place behind the veil. Then when the roll was restored to the ark, they sang other psalms, after which the elder delivered the midrash, an exposition of the text which had been read. The time now being come to question and be question, all eyes turned on the Teacher who had fed the 5,000 men. . . . Their questions were Sharp and loud:

"'Rabbi, when camest thou hither?'

"'Verily, verily, I say unto you, ye ask me not because ye saw the miracles, but because ye ate of the loaves and were filled. Labor not for the meat which perisheth, but for that meat which endureth unto everlasting life, which the Son of Man shall give unto you, for him hath God the Father sealed."

"Then they asked him:

"'What must we do that we may work the works of God?'

"To which he answered, with a second public declaration, that he was Christ the Son of God:

"'This is the word of God, that ye believe on him whom he hath sent.'

"'What sign showest thou that we may see and believe thee! What dost thou work?'

"Full of the great act which many witnesses declared that they had seen in the desert beyond the lake, they wished to have it repeated before their eyes; so they said to him:

"'Our fathers did eat manna in the wilderness, as it is written, he gave them bread from heaven to eat.'

"Jesus took up their thought.

"'Verily, verily, I say unto you, Moses gave you not the bread from heaven, but my Father giveth you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which cometh down from heaven and giveth life unto the world.'

"'Rabbi, evermore give us this bread.'

"Jesus answered them:

"' I am the bread of life. He that cometh to me shall not hunger, and he that believeth in me shall never thirst. . . . . . For I am come down from heaven not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me, that of all which he hath given me I should lose nothing, but should raise it up at the last day. '. . .

"The elders, the batlanim, the chazzan gazed into each other's faces, and began to murmur against him, just as the men of Nazareth had murmured against him.

"'Is not this Jesus the son of Joseph whose father and mother we know? How is it, then, that he saith, I am come down from heaven?"

"Jesus spoke to them again:

"Murmur not among yourselves. No man can come to me except the Father which sent me draw him; and I will raise him up the last. . . . I am the bread of life. . . . . I am the living bread which came down from heaven; if any man eat of this bread he shall live forever; yea, and the bread that I will give you is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.'

"Strange doctrines for Jews to weigh. Then leapt hot words among them, and some of those who had meant to believe in him drew back. If he were the Christ, the Son of David, the King of Israel, why was he not marching on Jerusalem, why not driving out the Romans, why not assuming a kingly crown? 'How can this Man give us his flesh to eat?'

"The Lord spoke again, still more to their discontent and chagrin, seeing that they wanted an earthly Christ:

"'Except ye eat of the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink his blood, ye have no life in you.'

"This was too much for many, even for some who had been brought to the door of belief. . . . . The service of the synagogue ended, the elders came down from the platform, the chazzan put away the sacred vessels, the congregation came out into the sun, angry in word and mocking spirit. They wanted facts; he had given them truth. They hungered for miraculous bread, for a new shower of manna; he had offered them symbolically his flesh and blood. They had set their hearts on finding a captain who would march against the Romans, who would would cause Judas of Gamala to be forgotten, who would put the glories of Herod the Great to shame. They had asked him for earth, and he had answered them with heaven."

{511}

But the scene was drawing to a close; Jesus went on with his work after this tumult in the synagogue, opposing himself to the senseless rites of the Pharisees, defying the oral law, healing the sick, and preaching to the people. Passing through the country from Galilee a Syro-Phenecian woman who had heard of him, and perhaps seen him, ran after him in the road, and besought him to heal her daughter who was a lunatic. The disciples urged him to send her away, for his life would not have been safe if he had another conflict with the Jews in that quarter, and to heal this Gentile woman's child would be sure to bring them on his track. Turning to the woman, Jesus told her he was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel; but she persisted, crying, "Lord, help me!" an evidence of faith which was quite sufficient, and Jesus turned to her and said, "Great is thy faith, O woman, be it unto thee as thou wilt." This was a fatal blow to the Jewish exclusiveness, a Gentile had been called into the church, and the pride of the Jew humbled forever. On the last Sabbath day which Jesus spent on earth, he struck another blow at the ceremonial law, by taking his disciples to dine at the house of one Simon a leper. He had reached Bethany, and taken up his abode in the house of Martha and Mary, among the outcast and the poor, for that last seven days now called in the church the holy week. The scene was an impressive one. The city, as far as the eye could reach, was one vast encampment, caravans were arriving from every direction, bringing thousands of Jews to the feast, who, selecting their ground, drove four stakes into the earth, drew long reeds round them, and covered them with leaves, making a sort of bower; others brought small tents with them; the whole city, Mount Gibeon, the plain of Rephaim, the valley of Gihon, the hill of Olivet, were all studded with tense, and crowded with busy people hastening to finish their preparations before the shofa should sound at sunset, and the Sabbath begin, when no man could work. In the temple, the priests, the doctors, the money-changers, the bakers of shew-bread, were all at work, and the last panorama in the life of Christ commenced.

On the first day in Holy Week, now known as Palm _Sunday_, Jesus entered Jerusalem on an ass's colt, a prominent figure in the festivities, for the crowds rushed up see him, with their palms, and marched with him singing psalms; they had come out from Jerusalem to meet him, and they escorted him into the city. At night he returned to Bethany.

On the _Monday_ and _Tuesday_ he went early to the temple, mixing among the people, restoring sight to the blind, and preaching to the poor. As his life began with a series of temptations, so it was the will of his Father that he should be persecuted with them at its close--a lesson we may all do well to dwell upon. Up to the last days of his life Jesus was subjected to temptations. On the Tuesday some emissaries of the Sanhedrim came to the court where he was preaching to question him, and gather evidence against him. They found him amongst a crowd of Baptists, and demanded his authority for teaching. Christ retorted by putting them to the dilemma of stating whether John's baptism was of heaven or not; they were too much afraid of the people to say it was of men, and if they said of heaven, Jesus would have reproached them for their want of faith; they confessed their ignorance. Then each party tried to entrap him.

The _Pharisees_ brought him a woman taken in adultery. By the Mosaic law this offence would have been punished with death. But the Roman government would have executed any Jew who would venture to carry out such a law, and therefore the question seemed to compel Jesus to speak either against Moses or the Romans. He quietly turned to the witnesses, and told the man who was {512} innocent among them to cast the first stone at her.

The _Herodians_ tempted him on a point of tribute. They had two taxes, one to God and one to Caesar, both were disputed, and they consulted him in order to involve him with God or Caesar; but he foiled them by confirming both:

"Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's."

They began to be astonished.

The _Sadducees_ tempted him with their dogma of the non-resurrection. They told him sneeringly of a woman who had married seven husbands, and they wanted to know whose she would be in the life to come. Jesus replied calmly:

"In the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are as the angels in heaven."

And the Sadducees with their philosophy, their learning, and their unbelief, retired in confusion.

On the _Wednesday_ he remained in Bethany in seclusion, while Judas was arranging for his safe betrayal to Annas and the nobles.

_Thursday_ Jesus sent Peter and John into Jerusalem to prepare the Passover, and at sunset that day he and the twelve sat down to the last supper; Judas left to see Annas, and after singing a hymn, the other disciples rose from the table, passed through the sheep-gate into the Cedron valley, and came to Gethsemane. Here Jesus withdrew, and while his disciples were sleeping, he watched and prayed until the betrayers came, and the kiss of Judas revealed him to them. The Sanhedrim was summoned in the dead of the night, and when the members arrived they found Annas examining witnesses, but with no avail, they could not substantiate any charge against him that the Roman government would allow them to punish with death. Annas told him to speak for himself, but he would not. The high priest then said, "Art thou the Christ?" he said, "I am." Then Annas asked him who were his disciples, and Jesus replied: "I spake openly to the world, I taught in the synagogue and in the temple, whither the Jews resort, in secret I have said nothing; ask them which heard me, they know what I have said." The officer of the temple smote him, and Annas ordered him to be bound with cords, and when it was day they went in a body to the palace of Caiaphas. Here Jesus was questioned again, and answered that he was the Christ, the high priest rent his clothes, in sign that it was blasphemy and worthy of death. The Sanhedrim pronounced him guilty, and the officers carried him to the Praetorian gates and delivered him a prisoner into the hands of Pilate's guards. The vacillation of Pilate and the last scene in our Lord's career are known to all. Mr. Dixon leaves them with the observation, "They form a divine episode in the history of man, and must be left to the writers who could not err."

A good book is its own best eulogy, and we may safely leave this of Mr. Dixon's to itself; but we cannot refrain from testifying our appreciation of such a valuable addition to the records of eastern travel. It is superfluous to say that it is excellently written, as it emanates from the 10, not of a tyro, but of a master-craftsman, whose style is too well known to need eulogy, a style graphic, pointed, and impressive, the result of clear vision and accurate delineation, strengthened by a sort of Frith-like power of grouping as witness the description of the street life of Jaffa, which, as an exquisite piece of word-painting, is perfect.

The reader is led through the sacred scenes of the Holy Land by an artist as well as a scholar, who as he journeys on revives the life of the past; we see the patriarchal life, the tents, the flocks grazing on the hills, the ready-writer with his and lingering and the city gate. We here David's minstrelsy and the tramp of Maccabaean soldierly; we peer into the depths of {513} one of those ancient wells build by the patriarchs, and listen to the conversation of the Samaritan woman with that wonderful stranger; we linger at the wayside Khan, and see how natural is the tale of the gospel. As we near Jerusalem the grander figures of the panorama pass over the scene, the Herods in their luxury and pride, in their humiliation and their sins, the grim towers of Macherus and the dark deed behind its walls when the head of the messenger of God fell to please a wanton woman, and terror was struck into the heart of the tyrant; the splendid ceremonial service of the temple, with its altars, its sacrifices, and its robed priests; the Sadducees luxuriating in their palaces, with servants, carriages, gardens, living their voluptuous, godless lives; the Pharisees with their demure aspect, broad and multiplied phylacteries; the elements of Roman soldiery, the imperial eagles hovering over the scene as the Jews past by scowling at the pagan rulers of the holy city; and then that marvellous god-like figure wandering about the streets followed by crowds of people, now entering the temple courts to preach to them, and now stopping on his way to heal some lame man or leper; his wanderings' along the wearying roads of Galilee; his mingling with the people in the synagogues, the popular gathering-place; his taking part in the service and reading the Scriptures; his final coming up to the holy city, the betrayal, this scenes of his trial, the frantic eagerness of the Jews, the vacillation of Pilate, the terrible suspense and the ultimate triumph of his foes, all these and many more incidents of biblical and gospel history are revived and enacted, as it were, amid the very scenes and in the very places where they once took place. We repeat again, that this work is an excellent commentary and illustration of the gospel narrative; and though pen of its author has been nobly wielded in the controversial defence of that gospel, yet perhaps even greater good may be done by this exhibition and illustration of the life and work of Christ. To hold him up to the eyes of men is the best antidote to scepticism; and whatever tends to do that, to plant the image of Christ in the hearts of men, is a good work; the illustration of his individuality, standing out as he did in his times, and as he does in every time, distinct from all men and things. We take up the great work of any age, its characteristic achievement, and we find the impress of the age stamped indelibly upon it; it smacks of the time and the scenes. Homer is pervaded with the valor of a mythic heroism, bloodshed and victory. Dante is the very best reflection of mediaevalism--its deep, superstitious piety, its weird dreams, and its peculiar theology. Shakespeare, though he has written with spotless purity, yet bears traces of the tolerated licentiousness of the Elizabethan age. But Christ and his gospel stand out distinct, totally distinct from the times and the life when they appeared. That gospel could not have been produced by the age, for it was an antagonism to it; the age was a degenerate one, a mixture of formal ceremony, and licentious unbelief; paganism was waning; Rome becoming debased; the ancient traditions of the Jews were lost in human inventions and Rabbinical fantasies, when, rising up in the midst of all this debasement, this corruption, these anomalies, came Christ and his gospel, pure among rottenness, gentle in the midst of violence, holy among flagrant infidelity and wanton vice, the Preacher and the preaching both sent from somewhere, but manifestly not from the world, not from oriental barbarism, not from western paganism, not from Jewish corruption; it could then have come from no other place than heaven, and had no other author than God. And when we reflect upon what was compressed in that three years' labor, and compare it with systems which have occupied men's lives to sketch out merely, and taken {514} ages to perfect; when we see that this greatest system, which has spread over the whole civilized world by the force of its own truth, was in three short years laid down and consolidated, every principle defined, every rule established, every law delineated, and an impetus given to it by its great Master, which has always kept it advancing in the world against every opposing force, and in spite of every disadvantageous circumstance, all doubt about its individuality, its superhuman character, and its divine origin, must vanish from the mind. Therefore we think, in conclusion. that the best thing for Christians still to do in this world is, to lift up Christ before the eyes of men, no matter how, so that he be listed up boldly and faithfully, be it by the voice, the pencil, or the pen (as in this instance before us), or, better still by the more impressive exhibition of Christ in a Christian life. If we wish to save men, let us display him always and everywhere in the confidence that he will fulfil his own divine promise--"I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me."

ORIGINAL.

ON THE APPARITION OF OUR LORD TO THE DISCIPLES AT EMMAUS.

"Whilst he was at table with them, he took bread, and blessed, and brake, and gave to them. And their eyes were opened, and they knew him."

DISCIPLE.

"Lord! grant to thy servant this singular grace, To gaze but for once on thy beautiful face."

JESUS.

"Most easily may'st thou this blessing secure: Who gives unto mine, unto me gives instead. Of thy loaf give a part to my suffering poor, And thy Lord thou shalt see at the breaking of bread."

{515}

ORIGINAL.

LITTLE SUNBEAM'S CHRISTMAS STORY.

God bless you, kind gentlemen, for your merry Christmas, and thank you kindly for these nice things; but you must not be angry if I say I'm almost sorry it is Christmas day, for you see it makes me think about last Christmas and the Christmas before.

I am Mr. Willsup's little girl--Mr. Willsup that is dead, you know. I suppose you think I ought to wear black; and so I would, but mother says we are too poor, and we must only mourn in our hearts. I do mourn in my heart, oh! so much, I can't tell you. I don't like to acknowledge it, and it gives me an ugly pain and a dreadful sinking about my heart when I think of it, but it was on a Christmas night that we lost poor father, and I'm afraid he wasn't right, you understand, at the time.

There was a time when father was such a nice, good man, and when we weren't poor, as we are now. We didn't always live up in this cold, bare garret. We used to live in a fine, large house, all to ourselves; and we had a nice garden in front, full of pretty flowers, and a long back porch with a buying running over it; and we had a beautiful parlor where we talked to the visitors only--not to sleep in and cook in as we do here, when we have any fire; and I had the cosiest little bedroom you ever saw, with a little altar in the corner, and on it a statue of the Blessed Virgin, white as snow; and Chip, that's a canary-bird, hung in his cage in the window when it was fine weather, and cat sugar like a good fellow; and then we had silver forks and spoons; and Zephyr, that's the horse, and Dash, our dog, and Pussy, and oh! so many nice things, I never could tell you all in a long time. But we haven't got any of them now, for we are poor, and father's dead, and we must only mourn in our hearts.

I hardly know how to tell you all about it, for though I am little I've seen a good deal; so much bad and trouble that my mind goes quite round and round sometimes thinking over it. If you ever saw poor father after we got to be poor, that wouldn't tell you how he looked as I recollect him. Oh! he was so much changed! I used to be so proud of him, and delighted to go out to walk with him in the street or across the fields; and I used to love him so much--not that I didn't always love him just as much as ever, only I didn't get so much chance to love him, you understand, when he got to stay away from home and be--oh! my heart, how it aches!

Father was a handsome-looking man once, and so smart. Everybody bowed to him in the street. But he got rough and careless, I know, and it made me feel sorry to see him go out without brushing his hat, or asking me to do it for him, as he used to do. And then his face turned to such a different look from old times. It got puffed up and red, and his eyes that I remember were so bright and so deep, for I used to climb up on his knee often, and look 'way down into them, and then he would laugh and ask me if I could see his thoughts, and I almost fancied I could sometimes, and give me a sweet kiss, and call me his darling Susy; but when he changed, you know, his eyes seemed to be, how shall I say it? so flat and soft, and he never seemed to be looking anywhere in particular half the time.

{516}

You see it was business and appointments that changed him. When I wished him to stay home and we would all enjoy ourselves--for we had the pleasantest times together, father, mother, and me, and baby, that's dead; and perhaps Dash and Pussy too sometimes, you know--then he would be obliged to excuse himself on account of business and appointments, which I fear were not always with the best of people, for when he said he was going out mother would sigh _so_ deep and _so_ long; and then when he came home late at night I often woke up and heard mother coaxing him and soothing him, and I am sure frequently crying and sobbing, and that would make me cry too, all alone by myself; and so the time went on, till father began to take less and less notice of either mother or of me. As for dear little baby, even when she sickened and died, I don't think he seemed to understand it, and he stood by the grave and looked at the little coffin being let down as if he were dreaming.

It was not long before father left off doing almost any business in the daytime, and only went out at night. I noticed then that we began to sell some of our nice furniture, and our silver forks and spoons. I suppose, as we scarcely ever had any visitors now, we did not need them; but the house began to look bare and desolate and strange, as if it wasn't our house; and the servant quarrelled with mother and left us, and we didn't get another, but mother did the work herself, and it made her sick, for she wasn't used to it. Sam, our man, went away, because after the horse and carriage was sold he had nothing to do. I recollect hearing him say to mother:

"I'd stand by you and Susy, miss, as I've always stood by you, and it's not wages, but times is changed, and I know you ain't able to have me." And then he pulled his hat down over his eyes so far that he had to lift it up again before he could see his way out of the front door; and then ran across the garden and down the street, as if he were running away from somebody. I cried a good deal when mother told me he was not going to come back, for I loved Sam very much, and I'm not I ashamed of if either, though Pinkey Silver said I ought to be, for he was just like a brother to me, and a better brother than Pinkey Silver's brother ever was.

Once, on a Christmas eve, I was going to hang up my stocking, as I had always done, for good Santa Claus to put something in it, when mother burst out into such a violent fit of crying that I was afraid she would die. When she could speak to me she wanted me to let Santa Claus go to some other children this year; but I determined to give him a chance to leave me, say, a doll, if he happened to have one left over, and so I slipped down-stairs in my night-gown, after mother had gone to her room, and hung my stocking up in the old place. Just as I had done it, father came staggering in. He was very bad, and fell over several things. The noise brought mother down-stairs, and father looking at me said so savagely that it sent all the blood to my heart:

"What devilish nonsense is the girl about?"

"Oh! don't blame the child," said mother, turning pale and getting between him and me. "You know it is Christmas eve, John."

Then he swore many awful oaths, and said he didn't care for Christmas, and that he was not going to be taunted with his poverty by his own children, and went stamping around the room in a furious passion. Mother went up to him to coax him, and put her arms around his neck; but he threw her off and knocked her down and, though you mayn't believe it, he actually lifted up his foot and stamped upon her face. That is why mother looks so bad now, with those great scars, but she was very beautiful before that, as everybody knows. When mother fell, Dash sprang up from the hearth where he lay curled up, and barked at father.

{517}

"They've all turned against me," said he, "even the dog. But I'll brain _you_", says he to Dash.

When I saw mother trying to get up, with the blood all streaming down her dress from her face and mouth, I got faint, and don't recollect any more until I woke up, it must have been noon next day, with a dreadful headache. I crept out of bed and went into the hall, and there I heard people talking down in the parlor. It was mother, Mrs. Thrifty, our next-door neighbor, and the doctor. The doctor and Mrs. Thrifty were trying to persuade mother to do something, but she kept saying, "Never! I couldn't--poor John!" and words like that.

Such terrible things had taken place and put my mind so astray that I quite forgot I shouldn't listen; but I soon remembered it, and went away. I wondered where father was, and thought I would look in his room to see if he was there. In the old times, before father changed, I used to be let come in, bright and early, to his room, and climb up on a chair and kiss him before he got up; and he used to call me his "Little Sunbeam" that came creeping in to say it was day. There he was now, lying on the bed without taking off his clothes or muddy boots, in a deep, heavy sleep. I did so want to love him, but I was afraid to wake him up to tell him so, he looked so frightful, gnashing his teeth in his dreams. But I thought I might be "Little Sunbeam" once more, even if he didn't know it, and I got a chair and climbed up and reached my arm over round his neck and gave him a kiss. It did not seem like father's face, but I suppose I had forgotten, it was so long since I kissed him before. Poor father! I began to mourn in my heart for him then, as mother says we must do now. I was afraid to stay there, but before I went away I knelt down beside the bed and prayed the Blessed Virgin to ask God to make him a good man again, and make him give up drinking, and make mother well, and let me be his "Little Sunbeam" as before. Then I slipped back to my room and dressed myself, and mother came up-stairs with her face all bandaged up, and she told me not to say anything to anybody about the last night.

That Christmas day wasn't like any Christmas day I can ever recollect. I didn't find any toys from Santa Claus in my stocking. We didn't go to mass, nor to see the little Jesus in the Crib, nor to hear the children sing around it. Nor we didn't have any plum pudding; and when I went out on the back porch--oh! dear, how my heart does ache--there lay poor old Dash, with his head split open, and quite dead.

You see I had so many things happen that I don't recollect how things turned out, except that mother and I left our house one day, because we got poor, mother said, and then we came here, and she says we are never to go back because our house is sold to strangers, to whom father was in debt. Pinkey Silver told me that the man who keeps the grog-shop where poor father was stabbed owns it now. And I must tell you about that.

It was the next Christmas day after the last one I told you about. We had nothing to eat all day. Toward evening mother told me to go to Mrs. Thrifty's and ask her to please lend us a loaf of bread. Mrs. Thrifty was gone to a party, and so I had to wait until near nine o'clock, when George Thrifty, that's Mrs. Thrifty's son, came in laughing and singing:

"Hie for merry Christmas! Ho for merry Christmas! Hurrah! for Christmas day!"

As soon as I told him what I wanted he ran and got a loaf of bread and a pie and some cakes, and gave it all to me; and then he put his hand in his pocket and turned it inside out, but there wasn't anything in it, and says he:

"Oh! little one, I'm as sorry as if I'd lost my grandmother; but I wish I hadn't spent all my Christmas, for I'd like to give you some money."

{518}

I thanked him very much and came away. As I was coming home I passed the grog-shop I spoke to you about. I heard loud, angry quarrelling and scuffling going on, and father's voice was among the rest. I was afraid to go away, for I did not like to leave father there to get hurt, and thought I had better go in and persuade him to come home with me. I had no sooner put my head in the door than the then who keeps the store told me to "be off, that he didn't want any beggars around his place."

"I don't want to beg," said I, "I want father," and just as I said that I saw a knife flash in the gaslight, and then--O my poor, mourning heart!--poor father staggered and reeled toward me, and as he saw me he cried out:

"Why, is it you, Little Sunbeam! O my God!" and then he fell down across the sill of the door, at my feet, dead.

You see, dear, good gentlemen, you must not be angry if I'm almost sorry it is Christmas. I know everybody ought to be happy when Christmas comes; and I saw a good many little boys and girls to-day as happy as I used to be, for I've been watching them through a little peep hole I scratched on the frosty window-pane, and it didn't seem real that they should be down there so happy, wishing each other "Merry Christmas," and I up here all alone, mourning in my heart. But you see what has done it all.

Do you think, dear, good gentlemen, that there are any other "Little Sunbeams" like me? Do you think there are any fathers that are changing like mine? Oh! please do run and tell them quick to stop and change back again, or they will get poor like mother and me, and have to live up in a cold, bare garret, and Santa Claus won't come down the chimney on Christmas eve, because their children won't have any stockings to hang up, and they will feel so hungry and so cold in the night. Oh! I could tell them, and mother could tell them, as she tells me, that drink brings a black curse on a family, and that God is angry when he hears the drunkard's children crying for bread. I don't like to cry when I think of that, but I couldn't help it this morning because it is Christmas day.

It's all over now, I do so wish that mother was here to say thank ye for all those nice things, but she won't be home till night, for she's gone over to Mrs. Nabob's to work, where they are to have a great party. But when she comes back I'll tell her all about it, and when we say our prayers to-night we'll ask God to bless the good, kind gentleman who thought about coming here to wish us a Merry Christmas.

ORIGINAL.

CHRISTIAN CHARITY.

"As long as ye did it unto the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto Me."

There is a secret chamber in my breast Of which my Jesus hath sole custody But if my neighbor willeth there to rest, Then Jesus kindly lendeth him the key.

{519}

ORIGINAL.

PROBLEMS OF THE AGE.

XI.

THE ORIGINAL STATE OF THE FIRST PARENTS OF MANKIND--THE RELATION OF ADAM TO HIS POSTERITY--THE FALL OF MAN--ORIGINAL SIN.

The grand theatre of probation is this earth, and its chief subject the human race. The probation of the angels was completed almost instantaneously, and their transit to an immutable state followed almost immediately on their creation. The probation of the human race is long and complicated, diversified and extensive; and by it the most magnificent exhibition is made of the principle of merit. It has also this peculiarity that mankind were created, not merely as individuals, each with his distinct probation, but also as a race; and that the whole race had a probation at its origin, in the person of its progenitor. It is our present task to unfold the Catholic doctrine concerning the nature and results of this original probation of the collective human race in the first epoch of its creation.

The Catholic doctrine teaches, in the first place, that the entire human race, at present inhabiting the globe, is one; not merely in being conformed to one archetype, but also in being descended by generation from one common progenitor, that is, from Adam.

That this is distinctly affirmed in the book of Genesis, which the Catholic Church receives as a portion of the inspired Scripture, according to the obvious and literal sense of the words, is not questioned by any one. It is only necessary, therefore, to show that this obvious and literal sense is proposed by the authority of the Catholic Church as the true sense. That is, that it is an essential portion of Catholic doctrine, that God created at first one pair of human beings, Adam and Eve, from whom all mankind are descended.

It seems evident enough that the archaic records, in which the history of the creation of man is contained, were understood in this sense by those who transmitted them from the beginning of human history, and who first committed them to writing; and by Moses, who incorporated them into the book of Genesis. This was the traditional sense universally received among the Jews, as is manifest from all the monuments of tradition. It is also the sense which is reaffirmed in the other sacred and canonical books which follow those of Moses, wherever they allude to the subject. For instance: "Who knoweth if the spirit of the _children of Adam_ ascend upward." [Footnote 154] "Seth and Sem obtained glory among men: _and above every soul, Adam in the beginning_," [Footnote 155]

[Footnote 154: Eccles. iii. 21.]

[Footnote 155: Eccles. xlix. 19.]

The similar traditions of heathen nations are well known. The Sacred writers of the New Testament use the same explicit language. The genealogy of Jesus in St. Luke's gospel closes thus: "Who was of Henos, who was of Seth, _who was of Adam, who was of God_." St. Paul affirms repeatedly and emphatically: "By _one man_ sin entered into this world, and by sin death:" "by _the offence of one_ many have died:" "the judgment indeed was _by one_ unto condemnation:" "by _one man's offence_ death reigned through one:" "by the offence of _one_, unto _all men_ to condemnation:" "for as _by the disobedience of one man, many were made sinners;_ {520} so also, by the obedience of one, many shall be made just." [Footnote 156] These passages are plainly dogmatic, and teach the relation of all men to Adam, as an essential portion of the dogma of original sin. The whole force of the parallel between Adam and Christ depends, also, on the individual personality of the former, and his relation to all mankind without exception, as their head and representative. The same parallel reappears in another epistle: "For by a man came death, and by a man the resurrection of the dead. And as in Adam all die, so also in Christ all shall be made alive." "_The first man Adam_ was made a living soul; the last Adam a quickening spirit. But not first that which is spiritual, but that which is animal; afterward that which is spiritual. The first man was of the earth, earthly; the second man from heaven, heavenly. Such as is the earthly, such also are the earthly; and such as is the heavenly, such also are they that are heavenly. Therefore as we have borne the image of the earthly, let us bear also the image of the heavenly." [Footnote 157]

[Footnote 156: St. Luke iii, 38. Rom. v. 12-19.]

[Footnote 157: I Cor. xv. 21, 22, 35-49.]

These passages all present the fact of the original creation of mankind in one pair from whom all men are descended in an intimate and essential relation with Christian doctrine, especially with the dogma of original sin. It is, therefore, necessary to regard it as a dogmatic fact, or a fact pertaining to the essence of the revealed truth, which the sacred writers taught with infallibility under the influence of divine inspiration. So it has been always regarded in the church, and is now held by the unanimous consent of theologians. It is also incorporated into the solemn definitions of faith.

The canons of the second council of Milevis, and of the plenary council of Carthage, A.D. 418, against the Pelagians, contain the following definitions:

_Can_. 1. Placuit, ut quicunqae dicit, _Adam primum hominem_ mortalem factum, ita, ut sive peccaret, sive non peccaret, moreretur in corpore, hoc est de corpore exiret, non peccati merito, sed necessitate naturae, anathema sit.

_Can_. 2. Item placuit, ut quicumque parvulos recentes ab uteris matrum baptizandos negat, aut dicit in remissionem quidem peccatorum eos baptizari, sed nihil ex Adam trahere originalis peccati, quod regenerationis lavacro expietur, unde sit consequens, ut in eis forma baptismatis in remissionem peccatorum non vera, sed falsa intelligatur, anathema sit: quoniam non aliter intelligendum est quod ait Apostolus: Per unum hominem peccatum intravit in mundum, et per peccatum mors, et ita in omnes homines pertransiit, in quo omnes peccaverunt: nisi quemadmodum ecclesia catholica ubique diffusa semper intellexit.

"_Can_. 1. It was decreed, that whoever says that _Adam, the first man_, was made mortal, so that, whether he sinned or did not sin, he should die in the body, that is, depart from the body, not by the merit of sin, but by the necessity of nature, should be under the ban.

"_Can_. 2. It was also decreed, that whosoever denies that new-born infants are to be baptized, or says that they are to be indeed baptized for the remission of since, but derive no original sin _from Adam_, which can be expiated in the laver of regeneration whence it follows that in them the form of baptism is understood to be not true, but false, should be under the ban; since that is not otherwise to be understood which the apostle says: 'By one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin, and so it passed upon all men, in whom all have sinned;' _except as the Catholic Church everywhere diffused has always understood it_."

These canons, although not in active by ecumenical councils, were nevertheless approved by Popes Innocent I. and Zosimus, by them promulgated to the universal church and ratified by {521} the consent of the whole body of bishops; so that they are justly included among the final and irreversible decisions of the Catholic Church. The second of these canons was also reenacted by the Council of Trent, which defined in the clearest terms the dogma of original sin as derived from the sin of Adam, the head of the human race.

1. Si quis non confitetur, _primum hominem Adam_, mandatum Dei in paradiso fuisset transgressus, statim sanctitatem, etc., amisisse: A. S.

2. Si quis Adae prevaricationem sibi soli, non ejus propagini, asserit nocuisse . . . . aut inquinatum illum per inobedientiae peccatum, mortem et poenas corporis tantum in omne genus humanum transfudisse, non autem et peccatum, quod est mors animae: A. S. cum contradicit Apostolo dicenti: Per unum hominem peccatum intravit in mundum, etc.

3. Si quis _hoc Adae peccatum, quod origine unum est_, et propagatione, non imitatione, _transfusum omnibus_, inest cuique proprium . . . . per aliud remedium asserit tolli, etc.: A. S.

"1. If any one does not confess that _the first man Adam_, when he had transgressed the commandment of God in Paradise, immediately lost sanctity, etc., let him be under the ban.

"2. If any one asserts that the prevarication of Adam injured himself alone, and not his posterity . . . . or that he, being defiled by the sin of disobedience, transmitted death and the pains of the body only to the whole human race, but not also sin, which is the death of the soul, let him be under the ban: since he contradicts the apostle, who says: By one man sin entered into the world, etc.

"3. If any one asserts that this sin of Adam, which in origin is one, and being transferred into all by propagation, not by imitation, exists in each one as his own . . . . is taken away by any other remedy, etc, let him be under the ban."

All these decrees affirm positively that the whole human race without exception are involved in one common original sin, springing from one transgression committed by the first man Adam, and transmitted from him by generation. The dogma of original sin rests, therefore, on the fact that all mankind are descended from one first man Adam, and is subverted, if this fact is denied. An allegorical interpretation of the sacred history of Genesis, according to which Adam and Eve are taken to symbolize the progenitors of several distinct human species, cannot be admitted as tenable, in accordance with the Catholic faith. For, in this hypothesis, the different human races had each a distinct probation, a separate destiny, a separate fall, and are therefore not involved in one common original sin, but each one in the sin of its own progenitor. This doctrine of original sin, namely, that a number of Adams sinned, and that each one transmitted his sin to his own progeny, so that every man is born in an original sin derived from some one of the various primeval men, is essentially different from the Catholic doctrine as clearly taught by Scripture and tradition, and defined by the authority of the church. Moreover, the unity and individuality of Adam, as the sole progenitor of the human race, is distinctly affirmed in the decrees just cited, and in all the subsequent decrees concerning the primitive state of man which have emanated from the Holy See, and are received by the universal church. We must consider, therefore, the doctrine of the unity of the human race as pertaining to the faith. Perrone affirms this, in these words: "Prop. II. Universum humanum genus ab Adam omnium protoparente propagatium est. Haec propositio spectat ad fidem; huic enim innititur dogma de propagatione peccati originalis." "The entire human race has been propagated from Adam the first parent of all. This proposition pertains to faith; for upon it rests the dogma of the propagation of original sin." [Footnote 158]

[Footnote 158: Perrone, Prael. Theil. De Him. Creat.]

{522}

Bishop Lynch, of Charleston, who is not only one of the most learned of our theologians, but a man profoundly versed in the physical sciences, in a very able and interesting lecture recently delivered in New York, thus speaks on this matter:

"Some nowadays, disregarding all that Holy Scripture teaches us concerning the origin of man, or treating it as a myth and fable, referring at most only to the Caucasian race, pretend that America had her own special Adam and Eve, or, as they think more probable, quite a number of them contemporaneously or successively in different localities.

"I shall not here undertake to discuss this last opinion, _ventured certainly against the teachings of divine revelation_, and, as I conceive, no less against the soundest principles of philosophy, of comparative anatomy, of philology, and of natural history. I will assume it as an established and accepted truth, that God made all nations of one blood." [Footnote 159]

[Footnote 159: Lecture by the Rt. Rev. P. N. Lynch, D.D., on America before Columbus. Reported in the New York Tablet.]

The only point we have been endeavoring to make, that the doctrine of the unity of the race pertains to essential Catholic doctrine, is, we think, fairly made. The scientific refutation of the contrary hypothesis is a work most desirable, in our opinion, but one requiring a degree of scientific knowledge which the author does not possess. It is a work, also, which could be accomplished only by an extensive treatise. The judgment of the distinguished author just cited may be taken, however, as a summing up of the verdict of a great body of scientific men, given on scientific grounds, in favor of the doctrine of the unity of the race. The contrary doctrine is mere hypothesis, which no man can possibly pretend to demonstrate. It cannot, therefore, be brought out to oppose the revealed Catholic doctrine. Hypothesis even when supported by a certain amount of scientific probability, is not science. Real science is indubitably certain. There cannot, therefore, ever arise a real contradiction between science and revelation. Science will never contradict revelation, and revelation does not contradict any part of science which is already known or ever will become known. We are not, however, to hold our belief in revealed truths in abeyance, until their perfect agreement with scientific truths is demonstrated. Nor are we to tolerate mere hypotheses and probable opinions in science when they are contrary to truths known by revelation, because they cannot be demonstrated to be false on purely scientific grounds.

There are only two real difficulties to be encountered in the solution of the scientific problem. One is, the difficulty of accounting for the variations In type, language, etc., between different families of the human race within the commonly received historic period. The other is the difficulty of explaining certain discoveries in the historical monuments of Egypt, and certain geological discoveries of the remains of man or human works, in accordance with the same period. Yet has been justly and acutely remarked by a recent British writer on this subject, that the objections made under this second head, if they are sufficient to establish the necessity of admitting a longer chronology, destroy the objections under the first head. Given a longer time for these changes, and the difficulty of supposing them to be real variations from a unique type vanishes. The chronological difficulties under the second head are of two classes. One class relates to the history of well-known post-diluvian nations, whose historical records have been discovered, indicating a longer period than the one commonly reckoned between the age of Noah and that of Moses. The other relates to tribes or individuals about whom nothing is known historically, but to whom geological evidence assigns a higher antiquity than that commonly allowed {523} to the epoch of the creation of man. Now, these difficulties in no way tend to impugn the doctrine of the unity of the race, but merely the chronology of the history of the race from the ethics of the creation of the first man, which has been commonly supposed to be established by the authority of Scripture. If this last supposition may be classed among theological opinions not pertaining to essential Catholic doctrine, and we may be permitted, _salvâ fide et auctoritate Ecclesiae_, to admit a chronology long enough to satisfy these claims of a higher antiquity for man, all difficulty vanishes. One thing is certain, that if the inspired books of Moses did originally contain an exact chronology of human history from Adam to the Exodus of Israel, we cannot now ascertain within fifteen hundred years what it was, since there is that amount of variation between the Hebrew and Greek copies. The weight of probability is decidedly in favor of the Septuagint, which gives the longer chronology. Yet, it is impossible to explain how the variation between the Septuagint and the Hebrew, and the variation of the Samaritan version from both, arose. The great essential facts pertaining to religious doctrine have been handed down by Scripture and tradition in their unimpaired integrity. We are bound to believe that the providence of God watched over their transmission, and protected them from any designed or accidental alteration. Some general principles and data of chronology are included in this essential history, which is guaranteed by inspiration and the authority of the church. Nevertheless, these chronological data are manifestly so incomplete and imperfect, that a precise and accurate chronological system cannot be deduced from them. So far as it is possible to form a chronological system at all, it must be done by the help of all the collateral evidence we can find, This evidence, so far as we are aware, does not tend to establish, with a high degree of probability, an epoch of creation more than a few thousand years earlier than the common one of 4,000 years before Christ. This is certainly true of the historical records of Egypt, the principal source of new light on the ancient historical epochs. We are warranted by the Septuagint in adding fifteen hundred years to the common period. It is only, however, on critical and historical grounds that the Septuagint has greater authority on this point than the Hebrew, and not as having a higher sanction. For the Hebrew is the original and authentic Scripture, and the authorized Latin Version follows it, and not the Greek. If we can admit, then, a chronology longer by fifteen hundred years than the one contained in the received text, on historical grounds, why not one still longer, if sound historical evidence demands it? Supposing that the Scripture originally did contain a complete and infallible system of chronology, it is evident that the key to it was lost many ages ago; and we can just as easily suppose that the discrepancy between the Mosaic chronology as it now stands and the chronology of the Egyptian records has arisen by the same causes which produced the discrepancy of the Hebrew and Greek texts, as we can assign causes why so great a discrepancy should arise at all, and reconcile this with the reverence due to the sacred books. [Footnote 160] This is a matter which needs to be more thoroughly discussed than it has been, by theologians who are fully acquainted with the subject, before we can lay down positively a principle upon which to solve the difficulty. We reject, however, as unprovable and untenable, all theories which throw the antiquity of man back to an epoch of vast remoteness, and assign hundreds or {524} thousands of centuries to a prehistoric period, of which no records remain. It is on geological discoveries solely that this hypothesis is based. At present it is only a conjecture, founded on the fact that human remains have been found of a greater antiquity than those formerly known, whence it is concluded that they may hereafter be discovered of a greater antiquity still. We may safely wait for geology itself to clear up the obscurity at present existing in regard to this matter, and to set right, as science invariably does, the early and hasty conjectures of its own votaries. Whichever way the matter may be settled, the fossil remains of human skeletons or human works will be assignable either to a period not too remote to be included in the historic period, or to one so remote that it must be excluded from it. In the first case, there is no difficulty. In the second, nothing is established from which the falsity of our thesis can be demonstrated. Our thesis is, that the present human race now inhabiting the earth is descended from one man, Adam. When there is any very probable evidence presented that another and distinct species, having a physical organization like that of the human race, once existed on the earth, from which it has become extinct, it will be time to examine that theory. For the present we are concerned with Adam only and his race; to which both our readers and ourselves have but too conclusive evidence that we all belong. [Footnote 161]

[Footnote 160: Archbishop Manning says: "No system of chronology is laid down in the sacred books. There are at least three chronologies, probable and admissible, apparently given by Holy Scripture. It cannot be said, therefore, that there are chronological faults in Holy Scripture, forasmuch as no ascertained chronology is there declared."--Temporal Mission of the Holy Ghost, p. 171, American edition.]

[Footnote 161: The Gentle Skeptic, by Rev. C.A. Walworth, now pastor of St. Mary's Church Albany, treats of several topics, here noticed in a cursory manner. This work is the result of several years close and accurate study in theology and science. It has, therefore, the solidity and elaborate finish of a work executed with care and diligence by one who is both a strong thinker and a sound scholar. In style it is a model of classic elegance and purity, and in every respect it deserves a place among the best works of English Catholic literature. The author has broke ground in a field of investigation which it is imperative on Catholic scientific men to work up thoroughly. The entire change which has taken place in the attitude of science toward revealed religion within a few years, and the doctrines of science themselves, makes the old works written on the connection between religion and science to a great degree useless. The subject needs to be taken up afresh, and handled in a manner adequate to the present intellectual wants of the age.]

We have now to consider what Catholic doctrine teaches of that state in which the first parents of the human race were constituted at their creation. Briefly, it is this: that this was a supernatural state of sanctity and justice, in which were contained, or with which were connected, the gift of integrity, or immunity from concupiscence, the gift of science, and the gift of corporeal immortality.

That man was created in sanctity and justice is affirmed as _de fide_ by the decree of the Council of Trent, a part of which is cited above, in which Adam is declared "to have lost immediately the _sanctity and justice in which he had been constituted:_" "statim sanctitatem et justitiam in quo constitutus fuerat amisisse." That he possessed integrity is proved by the same decree, which declares that by the fall he was "changed _as to his body and soul into something worse_:" "secundum corpus et animam in deterius commutatum fuisse." That he possessed science is proved by the declaration of the book of Ecclesiasticus: "Disciplinâ intellectus replevit illos. Creavit illis scientiam spiritus:" "He filled them with the knowledge of understanding. He created in them the science of the spirit." [Footnote 162] This is explained and corroborated by the traditional teachings of all the fathers and great theologians of the church. His immunity from death is proved by the decrees above cited and others familiar to all.

[Footnote 162: Ecclus. xvii. 5, 6.]

It is shown to be the Catholic doctrine that these gifts were supernatural, by the condemnation of the contrary doctrine by the Holy See. The following theses of Baius, one of the precursors of Jansenism, were condemned by Pius V. and Gregory XIII.:

"21. Humanae naturae sublimatio et exaltatio in consortium divinae naturae, debita fuit integritati primae conditionis, et non supernaturalis; 26. Integritas primae creationis non fuit indebita humanae naturae exaltatio, sed {525} naturalis ejus conditio; 55. Deus non potuisset ab initio talem creare hominem qualis nunc nascitur; 78. Immortalitas primi hominis non erat gratiae beneficium, sed naturalis conditio; 79. Falsa est doctorum sententia primum hominem potuisse a Deo creari et institui sine justitiâ natarali." Clement XI., in the Bull _Unigenitus_, also condemned the following proposition, the 33rd of Quesnel: "Gratia Adami est sequela creationis et erat debita naturae sanae et integrae."

"21. The elevation and exaltation of human an nature into the fellowship of the divine nature was due to the integrity of its first condition, and is therefore to be called natural and not supernatural; 26. The integrity of the primal creation was not an exaltation of human nature which was not due to it, but its natural condition; 55. God could not have created man from the beginning such as he is now born; 78. The immortality of the first man was not a benefit of grace, but his natural condition; 79. The opinion of doctors is false, that the first man could have been created and instituted by God without natural justice (righteousness.") 33d of Quesnel: "The grace of Adam is a sequel of creation, and was due to sound and integral nature."

It is plain from the decisions which have been quoted, and from the consentient doctrine of all Catholic doctors, that the Catholic doctrine is: that the state of original sanctity and integrity did not flow from the intrinsic, essential principles of human nature, and was not due to it, but was a free gift of grace superadded to nature, that is, supernatural. We do not, however, censure the opinion held by some sound Catholic writers, that congruity, order, or the fitness of things, exacts that supernatural grace be always given to rational nature. It is our own opinion, already clearly enough insinuated, that, although the completion and perfection of the universe does exact that a supernatural order should be constituted, it does not exact the elevation of all rational species or individuals to this order. This opinion appears to be more in accordance with the obvious sense of the decrees just cited. It is also the opinion of St. Thomas, and, after him, of the more prevalent school of theology. St. Thomas thus expresses himself upon this point: "Poterat Deus, a principio quando hominem condidit, etiam alium hominem ex limo terrae formare, quem in conditione suae naturae relinqueret, ut scilicet mortalis et passibilis esset et pugnam concupiscentiae ad rationem sentiens, in quo nihil humanae naturae derogaretur, quia hoc ex principiis naturae consequitur; non tamen iste defectus in eo rationem culpae et poenae habuisset, quia non per voluntatem iste defectus causatus esset." "God could have formed, from the beginning when he created man, also another man from the dust of the earth, whom he might have left in the condition of his own nature, that is, so that he would have been mortal and passible, and would have felt the conflict of concupiscence against reason, in which there would have been nothing derogatory to human nature, because this follows from the principles of nature; nevertheless this defect in him would not have had the quality of sin and punishment, because this defect would not have been caused by the will." [Footnote 163]

[Footnote 163: 2 Sentent., Dist. 31, qu. 1, ant. 2 ad 8. ]

The sanctifying grace conferred upon Adam is very clearly shown, according to this view, to have been a pure and perfectly gratuitous boon from God, to which human nature, as such, could have no claim whatever, even of congruity.

The nature of the probation of the father of mankind is now easily explained. He received a gratuitous gift on conditions, and these conditions were the matter of his probation. Our scope and limits do not admit of a minute discussion of the particular circumstances of the trial and fall of Adam in Paradise. The point to be considered is the relation in which {526} Adam stood to all mankind his posterity in his trial, transgession, and condemnation. The Catholic dogma of faith on this head is clearly defined and unmistakable. The whole human race was tried, fell, and was condemned, in the trial, fall, and condemnation of Adam. It is needless to cite again the passages of Holy Scripture and the decisions of the church which establish this fundamental doctrine of Christianity. The only question to be discussed is, What is the real sense and meaning of the doctrine? How did all mankind sin in Adam, and by his transgression incur the condemnation of death? What is the nature of that original sin in which we are born?

One theory is that the sin of Adam is arbitrarily imputed to his posterity. As a punishment for this imputed sin, they are born depraved, with an irresistible propensity to sin, and under the doom of eternal misery. The statement of this theory is its best refutation. Very few hold it now, and we may safely leave to Protestant writers the task of demonstrating its absurdity.

Another theory is, that all human wills were included in the will of Adam, so that they all concurred with his will in the original transgression. [Footnote 164]

[Footnote 164: We refer the reader to the argument of Candace in Mrs. Stowe's Minister's Wooing, for a humorous but unanswerable reputation of the ancient Calvinistic doctrine of original sin.]

We find some difficulty in comprehending this statement. Did we all have a distinct existence, and enjoy a deliberative and decisive vote when the important question of human destiny was decided? If so, the unanimity of the judgment, and the total oblivion which has fallen upon us all, respecting our share in it and our whole subsequent existence, until a very recent period, are very remarkable phenomena which we have never seen adequately accounted for. The only other alternative is that of indistinct existence or virtual existence. That is, that the power of generating souls was in Adam, and that all human souls are actually derived from his soul by generation. Suppose they are. A father who has lost an organ or a limb does not necessarily transmit this defect to his posterity. Even if he does transmit some defect which he has contracted by his own fault to his son, that son is not to blame for it. If the principle of all souls was in Adam, virtually, their personality, which is the principle of imputability, commences only with there are distinct existence. Personality is incommunicable. An individual soul cannot communicate with another in the principle of identity, from which all imputability of acts, all accountability, all possibility of moral relations, proceeds. This notion of the derivation of souls, one from another, or from a common soul-reservoir, is, however, one perfectly inconceivable, and contrary to the plainest principles of philosophy. Substance is simple and indivisible. Spirit, which is the most perfect substance, contains, therefore, in its essence the most manifest contradiction to all notion of composition, resolution, division, or separation of parts. The substance of Adam's soul was completely in his own individual intelligence and will. The notion of any other souls deriving their substance from his soul is therefore wholly without out meeting. There is no conceivable way in which spirit can produce spirit, except by creation, and act to which created spirit is incompetent.

There remains, therefore only the doctrine, which is that of Catholic theology, that the human species is corporeally propagated by means of generation, and was therefore, in this respect only, virtually in Adam; but that each individual soul is immediately created by God, and comes into the generic and specific relations of humanity through its union in one integral personality with the body. How, then, can each individual soul become involved in a original sin? Does God create it sinful? This cannot be; and if it could it would not be the sin of Adam, or the sin of the race, but its own personal sin. The soul as it comes from the hand of God cannot be sinful in act. {527} The only possible supposition remaining is, that the soul contracts sin from contact or union with the body. Here the Calvinist, the Jensenist, or any other who maintains that original sin consists in positive deprivation of the soul's essence, or in habitual moral perversity, or determination of the will to sin, is in a position where he cannot move a step forward. How can _soul_ be corrupted by body? How has the innocent soul deserved to be thrust into a body by which it must be polluted? These questions will never receive an answer. Nor will any credible or rational method of vindicating the doctrine that all men are born totally and positively depraved, or with a nature in any respect essentially evil, on account of Adam's sin, ever be discovered. The doctrine is utterly incredible and unthinkable, and will no doubt ere long have a place only in the history of past errors.

The way is now clear for the exposition of the Catholic doctrine respecting the mutual relations of Adam and his posterity in the original probation, trial, and fall of the human race immediately after its creation. That probation of Adam, in which the human race was included, must not be understood as including the entire personal probation either of himself or of his descendants. His own probation lasted during his lifetime, and so does that of each individual man. Had he been faithful in that particular trial which is related in the first chapter of Genesis, it is probable that, although the special privileges whose perpetuation depended on it would certainly have then secured to the race, he himself would have had a longer personal trial. So also, if the progeny of Adam had been confirmed in the perpetual possession of the privileges of the primeval state, each individual of the human race would have had a probation of his own, affecting his own personal destiny alone. Although each one of us would have been conceived and born in the state of original grace and integrity, as the Blessed Virgin was by a special privilege, as soon as the actual exercise of reason became completely developed, a period of probation would have commenced, in which we should have been liable to fail, as we are now after receiving grace through baptism.

The probation of the human race in Adam was, therefore, a special probation, on which the possession in perpetuity of certain supernatural privileges, freely and gratuitously conceded to the race, was alone dependent. The merely personal consequences of the sin of Adam and Eve affected themselves alone individually. That is, the guilt of an actual transgression with the necessary personal consequences following from it attached to them alone, and we have nothing to do with it, any more than with any other sins committed by our intermediate progenitors. The father of the human race did not act, however, in a merely individual capacity in this transaction. He was the federal head and representative of the race. A trust was committed to him in behalf of all mankind, and this trust was the great gift of original sanctity and justice, the high dignity of supernatural affiliation to God, the glorious title to the kingdom of heaven. By his sin he forfeited this gift in trust, both for himself as an individual, and also for his descendants who were to have inherited it from him. There is no ground for asking the question, why it followed that Adam, having fallen, should transmit a fallen nature by generation to his posterity. This question is only asked on the supposition that fallen nature is a nature essentially changed and depraved, whereas it is really a nature which has fallen from a supernatural height back to its own proper condition. With all due respect to the eminent writers who have attempted to answer this question, we must be allowed to say that we cannot attach any definite meaning to their answer. {528} Adam, they say, having a fallen nature, could only transmit the nature which he had. All humanity was in him when he sinned, and therefore humanity as generic having fallen into sin, each individual who participates by conception in generic humanity participates in its sin, or is conceived in original sin. This language may be used and understood in a true sense; but in its literal sense, and as it is very generally understood, it has no meaning. It is derived from the extravagant and unintelligible realism of William of Champeaux, and some other schoolmen, according to which humanity as a genus has a real and positive entity, like the great animal _in se_ of Plato, from whom all particular animals receive their entity. These notions have long since become obsolete, and it is useless to refute them. The The human genus or species was completely in Adam, but it was not distinct from his individuality; rather it was completely in his individuality constituting it in its own generic or specific grade of existence, as the individuality of a man. Humanity is also completely in every other human individual. This humanity, constituting the specific essence of Adam, as a man, was identical with his existence, for existence is only metaphysical essence reduced to act. It could not be essentially changed without destroying his human existence. Whatever is contained in _humanitas_ must have remained in him after the fall, otherwise he would no longer have remained a man, or indeed have continued to exist at all. It is only this _humanitas_ or specific essence of human nature, that Adam had any natural power to reproduce by generation. He could not have lost the power of transmitting it by the fall, except by losing altogether the power of reproducing his species. The immediate, physical effect of generation is merely the production of the life-germ, from which the body is developed under the formative action of a soul, created immediately by God. The only depravation or corruption of nature, therefore, which is physically possible, or which can be supposed to follow by a necessary law from the corruption of nature in Adam, is a corruption or degeneracy in in this life-germ, through which a defective or degenerate body is produced. This opinion has then long ago condemned by the church. It is, moreover, contrary to science. The human animal is perfect as an animal, and although there is accidental degeneracy in individuals, there is no generic or specific degeneracy of the race from it's essential type. But supposing that a defective body were the necessary consequence of Adam's sin, a defective soul could not be. The parent does not concur to the creation of the soul of his offspring, except as an cause. God creates the soul, and he cannot create a human soul without creating it in conformity to the metaphysical archetype of soul in his own idea, and therefore having the essence on soul completely in itself. How, then, can the infusion of this soul into a body which is physically degenerate make it unworthy of that degree of the love of God and of that felicity, which it is worthy of intrinsically, and apart from its union with the body?

There is no law in nature by virtue of which Adam must or could transmit anything essentially more than human nature before the fall, or essentially less after the fall. The law by which he was entitled to transmit privileges or gifts additional to nature on condition of is fulfilling the terms of God's covenant with him was therefore a positive law; why those human laws which enable man to transmit with their blood property, titles of nobility, or the hereditary right to a crown. These privileges may be forfeited, by the crime of an individual in whom they are vested, for himself and for his posterity. They may be forfeited for posterity, because they are not natural rights. In the same manner, the supernatural gifts conferred on Adam were forfeited for the human race by his sin, because they were {529} not natural rights, or _debita naturae_, but gratuitous gifts to which Adam's posterity had do hereditary right, except that derived from the sovereign concession of God, and conceded only in a conditional manner. This conditional right could only be perfected by the obedience of Adam to the precept of the Almighty forbidding him to eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. As he failed to obey this precept, his posterity never acquired a perfect right to the gifts of supernatural grace through him. By virtue, therefore, of our descent from him, we possess nothing but human nature and those things which naturally belong to it; we are born in the state in which Adam would have been placed at the beginning if God had created him in the state of pure nature.

We do not stand, therefore, before God, by virtue of our conception and birth from the first parents of mankind, in the attitude of personal offenders or voluntary transgressors of his law. Our essential relation to God as rational creatures is not broken. Our nature is essentially good, and capable of attaining all the good which can be evolved from its intrinsic principles; that is, all natural knowledge, virtue, and felicity. That which is immediately created by God must be essentially good. A spirit is essentially intelligence and will, and therefore good in respect to both, or capable of thinking the truth and willing the good. Moreover, it is a certain philosophical truth that when God creates a spirit he must create it in act, or that the activity of the spirit is coeval with its existence. The first act or state of a spirit, as it precedes all reflection, deliberation, or choice, and flows necessarily from the creative act of God himself, is determined by him, and must therefore be good. The acts which follow, either follow necessarily from the first, or are the product of free deliberation. In the first case, they are necessarily good; and in the second they may be good, otherwise they would be necessarily evil, which is contrary to the supposition that they are free. The human soul being in its essence spirit, and incapable of being corrupted by the body, must therefore be essentially good at the moment when it attains the full exercise of reason and of the faculty of free choice. If so, it is capable of apprehending by its intelligence and choosing by its will that which is good, and cannot, therefore, come into the state of actual sin or become a personal transgressor except by a free and deliberate purpose to violate the eternal law, with full power to the contrary. It may exercise this power to the contrary by a correct judgment, a right volition, and thus attains the felicity which is the necessary consequence of acting rationally and conscientiously. So far as this is possible to mere unassisted nature, it may continue to put forth a series of acts of this kind during the whole period of its earthly existence. That is to say, it is capable of attaining all the good which can be evolved from its intrinsic principles, or all natural knowledge, virtue, and felicity. This is equivalent to saying, that it can have a natural knowledge and love of God, as is affirmed by the best theologians with the sanction of the church. For Pius V. has condemned the following proposition, the 34th of Baius: "Distinctio illa duplicis amoris, naturalis videlicet quo Deus amatur ut auctor naturae, et gratuiti quo Deus amatur ut beatificator, vana est et commentitia et ad illudendum sacris litteris et plurimis veterum testimoniis excogitata." "The distinction of a twofold love, namely, natural, by which God is loved as the author of nature, and gratuitous, by which God is loved as the beatifier, is vain and futile, and invented for the purpose of evading that which is taught by the Holy Scriptures and by many testimonies of the ancient writers." [Footnote 165] It would be easy to multiply proofs that the doctrine of man's capability of moral virtue, from the intrinsic {530} principles of here's nature, is the genuine Catholic doctrine. [Footnote 166] This is not necessary, however, at present.

[Footnote 165: Denziger's Enchirid., p. 305.]

[Footnote 166: See Aspirations of Nature by Rev. I. T. Hecker, passim.]

We proceed to another point, namely, How it is that mankind can be said to be born in original sin, when they are innocent of all personal and actual sin at the time of birth? The state in which Adam's posterity are born, and which is denominated the state of original sin, considered subjectively, is a state of privation of supernatural grace and integrity. If man had been created for a natural destiny, this state of inhability to the supernatural would not have been a state of sin. If he had been created in the state in which he is now born, as a preparatory state to the state of grace, to be endowed at a subsequent period with supernatural gifts, it would not have been a state of sin. Entitively it would have been the same state as that in which he is now born. It would not have been a state of sin, because the state of sin receives its denomination from a voluntary transgression which produces it. The particular notion of sin is an aversion from God as the supreme good produced by the voluntary election of an inferior good in his place. The posterity of Adam are born in a state of habitual aversion from God as the supreme good in the supernatural order, which is the consequence of the original sin of Adam. Since they virtually possessed a right to be born in the state of grace and integrity, which was forfeited by his sin, the state of privation in which they are born, relatively to their original ideal condition and to the transgression by which they were degraded from it, is properly denominated a state of sin. This is incurred by each individual soul through its connection with the body which descends from our first parents by generation, because it is this infusion into a human body which constitutes it a member of the human race. As a member of the human race, and by virtue of his descent from Adam, each individual man participates in all the generic relations of the race. If Adam had not sinned, he would have received by inheritance from from him a high dignity and great possessions, transmitted to him through the blood; as the case is, he is born disinherited. There is no injustice or unkindness in this; because the rights which have been forfeited were not rights involved in the concession of rational existence itself, but rights gratuitously conceded on certain conditions, and because no personal blame is imputed where none exists. The illustration so often employed by theologians of a nobleman who has suffered attainder is perfectly apt to the case. His posterity are born under an attainder, which in human law corresponds to original sin under the divine law, and are thus placed in a state of privation; relatively to that condition of nobility which was formerly hereditary in the family; but which in itself is an honest condition. In the eye of the law, their father's crime makes them incapable of the privileges of nobility, but it does not deprive them of the common rights of private subjects.

So the children of Adam, on account of his sin, inherit a disability to possess the nobility of the state of grace and to inherit the kingdom of heaven. This disability is inherent in the person son of each one, and therefore "_inest euique proprium_." It is a separation from God incurred by the transgression of Adam, who represented the human race in his trial, and therefore is truly and properly sin. It is a privation of grace which is the supernatural life of the soul, and is therefore properly called death, or "_mors animae_." The "_reatus culpae_" is the obligation of being born in a state of relative degradation, and the "_reatus poenae_" the obligation of undergoing the conflicts, sufferings, and death which belong to the state of despoiled nature, as well as submitting to the sentence of exclusion from the kingdom of God. By it, human nature has been changed into something worse as to soul and body, {531} "_in deterius mulatur quoad corpus et animam_," because it is now deprived of integrity, immortality, and sanctifying grace. Nevertheless this state is essentially the same with that which would have been the state of man if he had been created in the state of pure nature. Man in the state of lapsed nature differs from man in the state of pure nature, as Perrone says, only as _nudatus_ from _nudo_, one denuded from one always nude. This is original sin, which consists formally, as St. Thomas teaches, in the privation of sanctifying grace and the other gratuitous gifts perfecting nature which depended on it. Mankind, therefore, by the sin of Adam, have simply fallen back on the state of pure nature, and are born with those attributes and qualities only which are contained in human nature by virtue of its intrinsic principles. To understand, therefore, the condition, capabilities, and ultimate destiny of man, apart from the grace which comes through the Redeemer, we have simply to inquire into the essence of these intrinsic principles, and ascertain what man is, simply as man, where he can do, and what is the end he can attain by his earthly life.

Man, as to his rational nature, is in the lowest grade of rational creatures. Except under very favorable circumstances, his intelligence is very imperfectly developed, and so far as it is developed it is chiefly employed in perfecting his merely exterior and social life. Under the most favorable circumstances his progress is slow, his capacity of contemplating purely intellectual and spiritual objects weak and limited. As to his body, he is also frail and delicate, and naturally liable to death. Moreover, there is in his constitution, as a being composed of soul and body, a certain contrariety of natural impulses, one set of impulses inclining him to rational good, the other to sensible or animal good. Like the inferior animals, he is capable of an improvement of his species up to a certain point which cannot be fixed, and also liable to a degeneracy which brings, him down to a state little above that of the brutes, and even to idiocy. There are indications enough in his soul of a latent capacity for a much higher and more exalted state, to make it certain that his present condition is one of merely inchoate existence, and that he is destined to a future life in which these latent capacities will be developed in a more perfect corporeal organization. The great difficulty of forming an ideal conception of the state in which he would have been constituted, had he been left to his merely natural development, consists in the fact that we have no human subject to study except man as he actually is, that is, under a supernatural providence from the beginning. The actual development of human nature has taken place under the influence of supernatural grace, and we cannot discriminate in human history the operation of natural causes from those which are supernatural. There are three principal hypotheses respecting the possible development of pure nature which may be sustained with more or less plausibility. The first is, that the human race, beginning in its perfection of type as a species, but without any revelation of language, or any instruction in natural theology, morals, or science, would have remained always in the same state in which it was created, without any intellectual or moral progress. According to this view, the present state of man on earth would have been a mere stage of existence, which could have no ulterior end, except the production of a species destined to begin its higher life in a future state. The second hypothesis is, that the human race, beginning from the same point of departure, might have progressed slowly, through very long periods of time, to a high limit of civilization, knowledge, virtue, and natural religion. The third is, that a kind of natural revelation, including a positive system of religion, morals, and science, would have been requisite; in a word, that human society must have been placed {532} at first, by the immediate intervention of the Creator, in the state of civilization, and conducted in its course by a continuance of the same intervention. We have little room, however, for anything beyond conjecture in this matter. The only point we are anxious to establish is, that the state in which we are now born is not one intrinsically evil; that it is not one derogatory to human nature as such; that it is not one in which God might not create man in consistency with his sanctity and goodness.

This point is established on sound theological and philosophical principles; and from these principles it follows that all the phenomena of man which are referrible to his original fall are the natural consequence of his human constitution, and not evidences of a positive, innate depravity. He is a weak, frail, inconstant creature, easily led away by the senses and passions, liable to fall into many errors and sins, but he is not an object of loathing and abhorrence to his Creator, or an outcast from his love. He has in him all the primary elements of natural virtue, the germ from which a noble creature can be developed. Nevertheless, although his natural condition is one which is not derogatory to himself or his Creator, it seems to cry out for the supernatural. Its actual weakness and imperfection, coupled with its latent capacities for a high development, mark it as being, what it is, the most fitting subject for the grace of God; and indicate that it was created chiefly to exemplify in the most signal manner the supernatural love and bounty of the Creator. It is only in the idea of the supernatural order that we can find the adequate explication and solution of all the problems relating to the destiny of man. For that order he was created by an absolute, not a conditional decree of God. The fulfilment of that decree was not risked on the issue of Adam's probation. According to our view, the creation of man was only the inchoation of the incarnation of the Eternal Word in human nature; and the decree of the incarnation being absolute, the elevation of human nature was necessary and must be efficaciously secured. The fall of man from original grace could not therefore hinder it. After the sin of Adam, the human race had still a supernatural destiny, and was under the supernatural order of Providence. The divine decree to confer grace on man was not abrogated, but only the form and mode under which the grace was to be conferred were changed. Moreover, by this change, the human race was, on the whole, a gainer, and came into a better and more favorable position for attaining its destiny. There was a reason both for the original constitution of man in the grace of Adam, and also for the change of that constitution which followed upon Adam's sin. By the original grant of grace, God showed to mankind his magnificent liberality and good-will. He gave them also an ideal which has remained imperishably in their memory of the state of perfection, and left a sweet odor of paradise to cheer them along their rugged road of labor and trial. By the withdrawal of that grace he brought them under a dispensation of mercy, in which their condition is more humble and painful, but safer and more advantageous for gaining the highest merit.

St. Francis de Sales says: "L'état de la redemption vaut cent fois plus que l'état de la justice originalle." "The state of redemption is a hundred times preferable to the state of original justice." [Footnote 167] The church herself, in her sublime hymn _Exultet_, breaks out into the exclamation: "O certé necessarium Adae peccatum; O felix culpa! quae tantum et talem habere meruit Redemptorem!" "O certainly necessary sin of Adam; O happy fault! which merited to know such and so great a redeemer!" We reason to lament our lost paradise, or to mourn over the fall of our first parents. Our new birth in Christ is far better than that ancient inheritance forfeited in Eden. The consideration of the mystery of redemption must be postponed, however for a future number.

[Footnote 167: This thought has been beautifully developed by Mr. Simpson in some Essays on Original Sin, published in The Rambler]

{533}

Original.

MY CHRISTMAS TREE.

The Christmas logs were blazing bright, the house was all aglow, Five little stockings brimming full were hanging in a row; The balls of golden, silver, red, upon the Christmas tree, Like fire-flies glancing through the green, were shining merrily, And gifts for May and Josey, and for Maggie, Kate, and Will, From bending top to sturdy root, the swaying branches fill; And I, my labors all complete, sat watching through the night, For well I knew that busy feet, before the morning-light, Would patter, patter down the stairs in merry Christmas glee, And warm and bright as love could make, must their first welcome be. The while I mused upon their joy, with eyes fixed on the door. The fairest form I ere had seen glided the threshold o'er-- A sweet and gentle maiden "waxen little past the child," And close upon her steps a man of visage grave and mild. As the fair maiden nearer drew, I saw her small hands prest The loveliest new-born baby that e'er slept on mortal breast-- Albeit, five fair little buds had blossomed on mine own, Such winning grace of perfectness mine heart had never known. Adown, in sudden rapture caught, I fell on bended knee. For Jesus and Saint Mary and Saint Joseph were with me! The Maiden Mother gently bent, and in my trembling hands Laid little baby-Jesus, wrapt up in his swaddling bands. "Give rest and food and shelter unto him who for your sake Hath reft himself of all things," thus the Maiden Mother spake; "Each Christmas eve we, journeying, as once in Bethlehem, At every Christian door-step ask for shelter, as of them Who in my mother's maiden home had room for all save him Before whose throne of living light bow down the seraphim. And oft times now, as on that night, rejected, we depart. As though they were Judean inns, from many a Christian heart. With warmth and light and merry feasts ye hail his natal-day, But who have place for Jesus Christ who in the manger lay? Mosttimes the doors are closely barred, the fire-light is grown dim, And few who watch as now you watch, keep watch or ward for _him_."

Her tones were tender, sweet, and low, but through the crust of years They found the blessed, blessed fount of humble, contrite tears; And as they overflowed mine eyes, and plashed upon his head, The baby woke to life and warmth, who seemed so cold and dead; And pointing where a little gift for "Christ's poor" lowly lay Beneath the tree so richly bowed, he smiled, and passed away. Ah! me, how little seemed the share that I had laid aside To give to him who for our sake was born and crucified! _He_ held back naught, the last red drop flowed out for you and me: Oh! surely he should have the best on every Christmas tree.

Genevieve Sales.

{534}

Translated from the German.

THE LITTLE BIRDS ON CHRISTMAS DAY.

On holy Christmas morning there was a grand assemblage of little birds behind the elder-tree yonder which stands between the court-yard and the garden, flanked on one side by the barn and on the other by heaps of grain that had found no shelter in the granary--so rich had been the blessings of the Lord!

The sparrow with his house and generation was very fully represented in the meeting; and all who belonged to his family puffed out their feathers and sat looking as if something vexatious had befallen them.

The lark, sitting between the furrows in the field hard by, raised himself up a little way now and again, warbling a short kyrie or gloria as his thoughts came and went.

Finches and goldhammers were there in great spirits, as usual; and the blackbird perched now inside the court-wall, now on the outside; then he flew down to the brook, ducked down and up again, flew up into the tree with the other birds, and praised the cold-water-cure, which makes one feel right fresh and joyful as nothing else can.

Ravens and crows and the rest of the grab-alls, who are for ever finding what no one has lost, crowded close together on the grain-stacks in deep and loud discussion.

But the sparrow began to bewail his fate thus: "I have been sadly disturbed in my night's rest, for before daybreak all the bells in the steeples began to ring as if for fire. I flew out into the darkness; and all around the houses looked bright, as if they were on fire within. Many tiny candles were lighted, and the trees on which they burned were covered with all kinds of fruit, such as I never have seen together on one tree. But we enjoy nothing of all this. Our trees are bare enough, and have not even leaves to screen us from this winter's cold. We shall starve to death or freeze, when once food becomes scarcer and the cold more piercing."

But the lark in the field scratched up a few worms which a mole had tossed out with the earth; and the blackbird helped her to choose some little worms, and that was their breakfast.

The shepherd drove his flocks through the narrow path, while thorn-bushes on each side, and the blackberry briers and wild-rose bushes, who had heard the birds' complaint, stretched their branches across the way, so that the little sheep left locks of wool upon them, some more, some less, but never enough to do them any harm. But the birds were behind them, and gathered up the wool and carried it to their homes, in the knot-holes of trees or crevices of walls or hollows of the earth, and there they grew warmer warmer. Then, as they picked at the wool, red hips, which the cold had made sweet and soft, peeped out, and they ate them with joyful hearts.

Again rang out the bells from tower and steeple; the houses-door opened, and the family came fourth; maid-servants first, then sons and daughters, and, to close up the procession, the housewife and the farmer.

"Father," said the eldest son, "it will fare ill with our corn-stacks in the field if, before going to church, we do not shoot in among the feathered gentry yonder, who have torn the outer coverings already, and will soon make their way in among the unthreshed grain. The magpies willingly read where they have not sown. They cluster here from the whole neighborhood. Gladly would I give them a few leaden peas for food, and silence their chattering for ever."

{535}

"By no means," replied the farmer. "No shot shall be fired during this blessed Christmas season--on the gracious birthday of him who overthrew indeed the tables of the money-changers, and made a scourge of cords to drive out both buyer and seller from his temple, but only said to those who sold doves, 'Take them hence.' He did not blame the poor little doves; and never, on this day, when dumb beasts gave up to him their manger for the cradle because men found no room for him in the inn, never shall any creature find death in my fields for the sake of a few blades of grass or kernels of grain."

But the farmer's wife had already turned back, and one of the lads was, at her command, strewing a whole sheaf of grain before the house-front. So generously did he scatter the food to the doves and poultry, that there was enough and to spare for their neighbors on the elder-tree, and magpie and raven had a fair share without being envied by hens or disturbed by men. Thus in the court-yard was there also a little of that "peace on earth" of which angels sang one Christmas night upon the plains of Bethlehem. Nor did the farmer lack anything in hay-loft or granary because the little birds of heaven had been fed from his table that blessed Christmas morning.

Remember this: on Christmas feed the poor birds before thy door, and if thou seest neither lark nor blackbird, nor yet finches, gold-hammers, nor tomtits, then think of those who have no feathers, of poor human creatures. Forget not that the angel of the Lord said to the shepherds: "You will find the child wrapped in swaddling-clothes, and lying in a manger." Seek out the swaddling-clothes of poverty, and if thou walkest by that light which rose over Bethlehem, then shalt thou find in those swaddling-clothes and in works of mercy the little child Jesus!

Mark this: if thou wouldst be happy, then must thou make others happy!

Remember: because Jesus came to the poor, therefore shouldst thou go to the poor.

Original.

BARABBAS AND I.

BABABBAS.

"Strange that the Jews should set me free, And let this Jesus die for me! I have their brethren robbed and slain: He brought their dead to life again."

I.

"Strange, surely, that the ungrateful Jews Should thee in place of Jesus choose: Yet stranger far it is that he Should choose to die to set _me_ free."

{536}

From the Popular Science Review.

AËROLITES.

BY TOWNSHEND M. HALL, F.G.S.

Meteoric stones, or aërolites, as they are generally called (from two Greek words, _aer_ and _lithos_, signifying "air-stones"), may be defined as solid masses consisting principally of pure iron, nickel, and several other metals, sometimes containing also an admixture of augite, olivine, and hornblende, which, from time to time, at irregular intervals, have fallen upon the surface of the earth from above.

Other designations, such as "fire-balls and thunder-bolts," have been popularly applied to these celestial masses, the former denoting their usual fiery appearance, whilst the latter has reference to the extreme suddenness of their descent.

Shooting stars also, although they are not accompanied by the fall of any solid matter upon the earth, are generally placed in the same category, since they are supposed to be aërolites which pass (comparatively speaking) very near our earth, and are visible from it by night; at the same time their distance from us, varying as it does from four to two hundred and forty miles and upward, is in most instances too great to allow of their being drawn down by the attractive power possessed by the earth. Like comets and eclipses, these celestial phenomena in former times were universally regarded with feelings of the greatest awe and superstition; and in Eastern countries especially, where the fall of a meteoric stone was supposed to be the immediate precursor of some important public event, or national calamity, the precise date of each descent was carefully recorded. In China, for example, such reports reach back to the year 644 before our era; and M. Biot has found in the astronomical section of some of the most ancient annals of that empire sixteen falls of aërolites recorded as having taken place between the years 644 B.C. and 333 after Christ, whilst the Greek and Roman authors mention only four such occurrences during the same period. Even now, in this age of science and universal knowledge, aërolites can scarcely be regarded without a certain degree of dread. Indeed, four or five cases have occurred in which persons have been killed by them; in another instance, several villages in India were set on fire by the fall of a meteoric stone; and it was by no means a pleasant subject for reflection that such a catastrophe might happen anywhere and at any moment, especially when we remember that these stones, although not quite incandescent, are always, more or less, in a heated state; and sometimes so hot that even after the lapse of six hours they could not be touched with impunity.

The first fall of meteoric stones on record appears to have taken place about the year 654: B.C., when, according to a passage in Livy, a shower of stones fell on the Alban Hill, not far distant from Rome. The next in chronological order is mentioned by several writers, such as Diogenes of Apollonia, Plutarch, and Pliny, and described by them as a great stone, the size of two millstones, and equal in weight to a full wagon-load. It fell about the year 467 B.C., at AEgos Potamos, on the Hellespont, and even up to the days of Pliny, four centuries after its fall, it continued to be an object of curiosity and speculation. {537} After the close of the first century we fail to obtain any account or notice of this stone; but although it has been lost sight of for upward of eighteen hundred years, the eminent Humboldt says, in one of his works, that notwithstanding all previous failures to rediscover it, he does not wholly relinquish the hope that even after such a considerable lapse of time, this Thracian meteoric mass, which it would be so difficult to destroy, may be found again, especially since the region in which it fell has now become so easy to access to European travellers.

The next descent of any particular importance took place at Ensisheim in Alsace, where an aërolite fell on November 7th, 1492, just at the time when the Emperor Maximilian, then king of the Romans, happened to be on the point of engaging with the French army. It was preserved as a relic in the cathedral at Ensisheim, until the beginning of the French revolution, when it was conveyed to the Public Library of Colmar, and it is still preserved there among the treasures.

In later years the shower of aërolites which fell in April, 1803, at L'Aigle, in Normandy, may well rank as the most extraordinary descent upon record. A large fire-ball had been observed a few moments previously, in the neighborhood of Caen and Alençon, where the sky was perfectly clear and cloudless. At L'Aigle no appearance of light was visible, and the fire-ball assumed instead the form of a small black cloud, consisting of vapor, which suddenly broke up with a violent explosion, followed several times by a peculiar rattling noise. The stones at the time of their descent were hot, but not red, and smoked visibly. The number which were afterward collected within an elliptical area measuring from six to seven miles in length by three in breadth, has been variously estimated at from two to three thousand. They ranged in weight from two drachms up to seventeen and half pounds. The French government immediately deputed M. Biot, the celebrated naturalist and philosopher, to proceed to the spot, for the express purpose of collecting the authentic facts concerning a phenomenon which, until that time, had almost universally been treated as an instance of popular superstition and credulity. His conclusive report was the means of putting an end to all scepticism on the subject, and since that date the reality--not merely the possibility--of such occurrences has no longer been contested.

Leaving out, for the present, innumerable foreign instances which might be quoted, we must now glance rapidly at a few of the most noticeable examples of the fall of meteoric stones which have taken place in England. The earliest which appears on record descended in Devonshire, near Sir George Chudleigh's house at Stretchleigh, in the parish of Ermington, about twelve miles from Plymouth. The circumstance is thus related by Westcote, one of the quaint old Devonshire historians:

"In some part of this manor (Stretchleigh), there fell from above--I cannot say from heaven--a stone of twenty-three pounds weight, with a great and fearful noise in falling; first it was heard like unto thunder, or rather to be thought the report of some great ordnance, cannon, or culverin; and as it descended, so did the noise lessen, at last when it came to the earth to the height of the report of a peternel, or pistol. It was for matter like unto a stone singed, or half-burned for lime, but being larger described by a richer wit, I will forbear to enlarge on it."

The "richer wit" here alluded to was in all probability the author of a pamphlet published at the time, which further describes this aërolite as having fallen on January 10th, 1623, in an orchard, near some men who were planting trees. It was buried in the ground three feet deep, and its dimensions were three and a half feet long, two and a half wide, and one and a half thick. The pamphlet also states that pieces broken from off it were in the possession of many of the neighboring gentry. {538} We may here remark that no specimen of this stone is at present known to be in existence, and that although living in the county where it fell, we have hitherto failed in tracing any of the fragments here referred to. A few years later, in August, 1628, several meteoric stones, weighing from one to twenty-four pounds, fell at Hatford, in Berkshire; and in the month of May, 1680, several are said to have fallen in the neighborhood of London.

The total number of aërolitic descents which up to this present time have been observed to take place in Great Britain and Ireland is twenty, of which four occurred in Scotland, and four in Ireland. The largest and most noticeable of all these fell on December 13th, 1795, near Wold Cottage, in the parish of Thwing, East Riding of Yorkshire. Its descent was witnessed by two persons; and when the stone was dug up, it was found to have penetrated through no less than eighteen inches of soil and hard chalk. It originally weighed about fifty-six pounds, but that portion of it preserved in the British Museum is stated in the official catalogue to weigh forty-seven pounds nine ounces and fifty-three grains--just double the weight of the Devonshire aërolite.

When we come to inquire into the various opinions which have been held in different ages respecting the origin of aërolites, and the power which causes their descent, we must go back to the times of the ancient Greeks, and we find that those of their philosophers who had directed their attention to the subject had four theories to account for this singular phenomenon. Some thought that meteoric stones had a telluric origin, and resulted from exhalations ascending from the earth becoming condensed to such a degree as to render them solid. This theory was in after years revived by Kepler the astronomer, who excluded fire-balls and shooting stars from the domain of astronomy; because, according to his views, they were simply "meteors arising from the exhalations of the earth, and blending with the higher ether." Others, like Aristotle, considered that they were masses of metal raised either by hurricanes, or projected by some volcano beyond the limits of the earth's attraction, so becoming inflamed and converted, for a time, into starlike bodies. Thirdly, a solar origin; this, however, was freely derided by Pliny and several others, among whom we may mention Diogenes of Apollonia, already alluded to as one of the chroniclers of the aërolite of AEgos Potamos. He thus argues: "Stars that are invisible, and consequently have no name, move in space together with those that are visible. . . . These invisible stars frequently fall to the earth and are extinguished, as the stony star which fell burning at AEgos Potamos." This last opinion, it will be seen, coincides, as far as it goes, almost exactly with the most modern views on the subject.

As some of the Greeks derived the origin of meteorites from the sun (probably from the fact of their sometimes falling during bright sunshine), so we find, at the end of the seventeenth century, it was believed by a great many that they fell from the moon. This conjecture appears to have been first hazarded by an Italian philosopher, meeting Paolo Maria Terzago, whose attention was specially directed to this subject on the occasion of a meteoric stone falling at Milan in 1660, and killing a Franciscan monk. Olbers, however, was the first to treat this theory in a scientific manner, and soon after about fall of an aërolite at Siena, in the year 1794, he began to examine the question by the aid of the most abstruse mathematics, and after several years' labor he succeeded in showing that, in order to reach our earth, a stone would require to start from the moon at an initial velocity 8,292 feet per second; then proceeding downward with increasing speed, it would arrive on the earth with a {539} of 35,000 feet per second. But frequent measurements have shown that the _actual_ rate of aërolites averages 114,000 feet, or about twenty-one miles and a half per second, they were approved by these curious and most elaborate calculations to have come from a fire greater distance than that of our satellite. It is but fair to add that the question of initial velocity, on which the whole value value of this so-called "ballistic problem" depends, was investigative by three other eminent geometricians, Biot, Laplace, and Poisson, who during ten or twelve years were independently engaged is calculation. Biot's estimate was 8,282 feet in the second; Laplace, 7,862; and Poisson, 7,585--results all approximating very closely with those stated by Olbers.

We have already observed, at the beginning of this paper, that meteoric stones may fall at any moment, but observations, extending over many years, have sometimes been brought forward to show that, as far as locality is concerned, all countries are not equally liable to these visitations. In other words, the large number of aërolites which have been known to fall within a certain limited area has been contrasted with the apparent rarity of such occurrences beyond these limits. If it could be proved that the earth possessed more attractive power in some places than in others, this circumstance might be satisfactorily explained, but in default of any such evidence, the advocates of this theory must rely solely upon statistics, which from their very nature require to be taken with a certain amount of reserve. Professor Shepard, in Silliman's American Journal, has remarked that "fall of aërolites is confined principally to two zones; the one belonging to America is bounded by 33° and 44° north latitude, and is about 25° in length. Its direction is more or less from north-east to south-west, following the general line of the Atlantic Coast. Of all known occurrences of this phenomenon during the last fifty years, 92.8 per cent, have taken place within these limits, and mostly in the neighborhood of the sea. The zone of the eastern continent--with the exception that it extends ten degrees more to the north--lies between the same degrees of latitude, and follows a similar north-east direction, but is more than twice the length of the American zone. Of all the observed falls of aërolites, 90.9 per cent, have taken place within this area, and were also concentrated in that half of the zone which extends along the Atlantic."

On reference to a map, it will be seen that in the western continent the so-called zone is simply confined to the United States--the most densely inhabited portion of America. In like manner the eastern zone leaves out the whole of desert Africa, Lapland, Finland, the chief part of Russia, with an average of thirty-two inhabitants to each square mile; Sweden and Norway, with only seventeen per mile; whilst it embraces all the well-peopled districts of central Europe, most of which, like England, are able to count between three and four hundred persons to every mile of their territory. In fact, Professor Shepard's statement may almost be resolved into a plain question of population, for were an aërolite to fall in the midst of a desert, or in a thinly peopled district, it is needless to point out how few the chances are of its descent being ever noticed or recorded. That innumerable aërolites do fall without attracting any attention, is clearly proved by the number of discoveries continually taking place of metallic masses which, from their locality and peculiar chemical composition, could only be derived from some extra-terrestrial source. The great size also of many of these masses entirely precludes the possibility of their having been placed by human agency in the positions they have been found to occupy--sometimes on the surface of the earth, but just as frequently buried a few feet in the ground.

{540}

Thus the traveller Pallas found, in 1749, at Abakansk, in Siberia, the mass of meteoric iron, weighing 1,680 lb., now in the Imperial Museum at St. Petersburg. Another, lying on the plain of Tucuman, near Otumpa, in South America, has been estimated, by measurement, to weigh no less than 33,600 lb., or about fifteen tons; and one added last year to the splendid collection of meteorites in the British Museum weighs rather more than three and a half tons. It was found at Cranboume, near Melbourne, and was purchased by a Mr. Bruce, with a view to his presenting it to the British Museum, when, through some misunderstanding, it was discovered that one half of it had been already promised to the museum at Melbourne. In order, therefore, to save it from any such mutilation, the trustees of our national museum acquired and transferred to the authorities of the Melbourne collection a smaller mass which had been sent in 1862 to the International Exhibition. It weighed about 3,000 lb., and had been found near Melbourne, in the immediate vicinity of the great meteorite. The latter was then forwarded entire to London. In the British Museum may also be seen a small fragment of an aërolite, originally weighing 191 lb., which from time immemorial had been lying at Elbogen, near Carlsbad, in Bohemia, and had always borne the legendary appellation of "_der verwünschte Burggraf_," or the enchanted Burgrave. The remainder of this mass is preserved in the Imperial collection at Vienna. In Great Britain only two meteoric masses (not seen to fall) have hitherto been discovered; one was found about forty years ago near Leadhills, in Scotland; the other in 1861, at Newstead, in Roxburghshire.

Several instances have at different times occurred in which stones like aërolites have been found, and prized accordingly, until their real nature was demonstrated by the aid of chemical analysis. One valuable specimen, found a few years ago, was shown to have derived its origin amongst the _scoriae_ of an iron foundry; another, picked up in the Isle of Wight, turned out to be a nodule of iron pyrites, similar in every respect to those which abound in the neighboring chalk cliffs; and lastly, some aërolites of a peculiarly glassy appearance were found shortly after, of which it may, perhaps, suffice to say that the scene of this discovery was--Birmingham.

When we come to examine the composition of meteoric stones, we find in various specimens a great diversity in their chemical structure. Iron is the metal most invariably present, usually accompanied by a consider percentage of nickel and cobalt; also five other metals, chromium, copper, molybdenum, manganese, and tin; but of all these iron is that which largely preponderates, forming sometimes as much as ninety-six parts in the hundred. Rare instances have, however, been recorded where the proportion of iron has sunk so low as to form only two percent, and the deficiency thus caused has been made up by a larger admixture of some earthy mineral, such as augite, hornblende, or olivine. Other ingredients, like carbon, sulphur, alumina, etc., are also found to enter, in different proportions, into the composition of aërolites; the total number all chemical elements observed in them up to this present date the nineteen or twenty. It has been well remarked by an able writer, that no _new_ substance has hitherto come to us from without; and thus we find that all these nineteen or twenty elements are precisely similar to those which are distributed throughout the rocks and minerals of our earth; the essential difference between the two classes of compounds--celestial and terrestrial--being seen most clearly in the respective methods in which the component parts are admixed.

In the outward appearance aërolites there is one characteristic so constant that, out of the many hundred examples that have been recorded, one only (as far as we can ascertain) has {541} been wanting in it. We refer to the black fused crust or rind with which the surface of meteoric stones is covered. It usually extends not more than a few tenths of an inch into the substance of the stone, and is supposed to result from the extreme rapidity with which they descend into the oxygen of our atmosphere, causing them to undergo a slight and partial combustion, which, however, from the short time necessarily occupied in their descent, has not sufficient time to penetrate beyond the surface. On cutting and polishing the stones, if the smooth face is treated with nitric acid, it will in many cases be found to exhibit lines and angular markings, commonly known by the name of "widmannsted figures." These are tracings of imperfect crystals, while the broad intermediate spaces, preserving their polish, point out those portions of the stone which contain a larger proportion of nickel than the rest of the mass. We may here add that the noise said at times to accompany the fall of aërolites, does not appear to be a constant characteristic, nor does the cause or exact nature of it seem able to be definitely specified.

In conclusion, we cannot do better than advise those of our readers who desire further information on this subject to take the earliest opportunity--if they have not done so already--of paying a visit to the magnificent collection of meteoric stones, contained in several glass cases at the end of the mineral gallery at the British Museum. The catalogue for the year 1856 gave a list of between 70 and 80 specimens; in 1863 this number had increased to 216, mainly through the energy of the curator, Mr. Maskelyne; and since that date there have been several further additions. Chief among continental museums may be mentioned the Imperial collection at Vienna, as possessing a series of specimens remarkable alike for their size and importance.

From Good Words.

DELIVERANCE.

As some poor captive bird, too weak to fly, Still lingers in its open cage, so I My slavery own. For evil makes a prison-house within; The gloom of sin, and sorrow born of sin. Doth weigh me down. Ah! Christ, and wilt not thou regard my sighs, Long wakeful hours, and lonely miseries, And hopes forlorn? Let not my fainting soul be thus subdued. Nor leave thy child in darkened solitude. All night to mourn!

He hears my prayer! the dreary night is done, I feel the soft air and the blessed sun. With heavenly beams. He comes, my Lord! in raiment glistening white. From pastures golden in the morning light And crystal streams. O let me come to thee!--from this dark place-- And see my gentle Shepherd face to face, And hear his voice. So shall these bitter tears no longer flow, And thou shalt teach my secret heart to know Thy sacred joys!

{542}

ORIGINAL.

WHAT CAME OF A LAUGH ON A CHRISTMAS EVE.

"Beg your pardon, sir," said I, as soon as I could compose myself sufficiently to speak; "I couldn't help it."

"Glad to hear it. Just what I want. I was debating with myself whether it was sure for a laugh. I am looking for things that will make one laugh; in short, buying up causes for laughter on a Christmas day. There can be no doubt, you think, about this being funny?"

"Not a bit of it," said I.

"Well, I'll have one for every basket, then," said the old gentleman, his eyes twinkling with delight, as he danced the toy up and down. It was one of those jointed wooden monkeys that by means of a slide performs the most comical evolutions around the top of a pole.

"You see," continued he, "I cannot always trust my own judgment. There's no credit in my laughing, bless your heart. I'd be a monster, yes, a monster, my dear sir, if I didn't. I'm just like this monkey as you see him now in this position, ready to go over the other side with the slightest provocation. I have everything that heart can wish, sir, to laugh at and be happy; but they, poor dears, they are so far on the minus side of merriment, as well they may be, that it takes a little something extra, you see, to get a good hearty squeal out of them."

I became at once intensely interested in the "poor dears" alluded to. The sight of the old gentleman was enough to make one do unheard-of feats of heroism in favor of any person or thing of which he might take the least notice. I ventured to suppose that they had lost something or somebody lately, with the intention of offering my hand or purse as the case might be.

"Can't say that they have," he replied, rubbing his shiny bald head. "Being generally on the minus side of everything, including laughter, they haven't anything to lose which you or I might think worth keeping, except their lives, and somehow I think they've got used to losing even them pretty comfortably."

I was perplexed, and muttered, "Curious sort of people, those."

"But interesting, you'll allow?" said he.

I replied that I had no doubt of it; and I meant it, for so charming and open-hearted was this old gentlemen, that I was ready to subscribe unhesitatingly to any asseveration he might be pleased to make; "but--" I added, about to express my ignorance of the individuals in question, when he interrupted me.

"Why--but? My Minnie, the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of my life" (expressing the titles of that person in the largest capitals), "and I held an ante-Christmas council this morning, and it was proposed by the president, that is myself, and seconded by the said Darling of the World and Sunshine of my life, and carried by an overwhelming majority, including Bob, who said he went in for anything good, that buts were unparliamentary when Christmas was concerned; and so we called the roll, twenty in all, and there being no buts, they all stood unchallenged, making twenty baskets, and now as many monkeys to go in them. What do you think of it! Capital, wasn't it?"

I was certain it was, and was prepared to go any odds in its favor.

"What's more," he added, "they are going privately."

{543}

Being committed beyond all explanation, I said I was glad to hear that too, "if Miss Minnie approves." This last supposition I made with a deprecating cough, not being quite sure of the relation which the old gentleman bore to the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of his life.

"It was her own proposal," was his rejoinder, "and you can't imagine what an immense relief it was to me too. It is more than I can stand to get through with the "thank ye sir's," and the "much obliged's" and the "long life to your honor's." I'm a baby, sir, in their presence, and by the time the distribution is made I'm a spectacle of unmitigated woe, as if I'd been to as many funerals as there are baskets. I remember that as I was coming out from a widow and five children, last Christmas, that rascal Bob saw me wiping my eyes, and says he, 'Most of 'em dead, sir?' 'No, Bob,' says I, 'it's the smoke, I suppose; they've a precious smoky chimney.' But when we got to the next place--let me see--oh! yes, a man with a broken leg, the scoundrel says to me, as he handed out the basket, 'Now, let us bury another one, sir.' Not bad for, was it? I had such a good laugh on each pair of stairs beforehand that I got through that one pretty comfortably But it was a glorious proposal of my Minnie's, was it not, that these should go privately? for we'll sit at home, and check them off as they go in, for I've arranged that the messenger shall deliver them by the watch, sir, and we'll imagine their surprise and their happy faces, and the bringing out of the monkeys, and then we'll have a roar and be jolly, and get rid of the thank ye's and all the rest of it that chokes up a man's throat and turns him into a born baby." And here the good-hearted old gentleman, in the fulness of his delight, caused the monkey in his hand to perform a series of rapid gymnastics over the top of his pole, beyond the powers of any monkey that ever lived. He presented such a comical appearance in doing this that I burst into another hearty laugh in which he as heartily joined.

"It is irresistibly amusing," said I, meaning the monkey.

"I knew it would be," he returned, his mind running upon the happy scheme by which he might prevent his left hand knowing the deeds of the right; "we will have twenty merry Christmas laughs all rolled into one. There I'll be, as it were, on this side," here he took a position on the floor opposite me, "and my Darling over there, as it were you," a distinction I acknowledged by a profound bow, "and Bob standing behind her chair, as that rocking-horse stands behind you; and then, watch in hand, we'll check them off: Number One, Widow Bums, two small children; Number Two, Susy Bell, orphan girl, works in a carpet factory and supports her two orphan sisters; Number Three, old Granny Mullen, with consumptive son and three grand-children, and so on; and there we'll have them all right before us, and they knowing nothing about it (there's the beauty of it, all due to that blessed Darling of the World and Sunshine of my life), and out will come the joint of meat, ready cooked, and the mince-pie, and the plum-pudding with a dozen of silver quarter dollars in each one, and the shoes and the stockings, and I don't know what else besides, packed away by my Darling's own sweet little hands, and last of all the monkey with a label around his neck, with an inscription, say, for instance, 'From Nobody in particular, with best wishes for a Merry Christmas.' There you have it," added he, waving the monkey triumphantly in the air, "and won't it be grand?"

"I'd give the world to see it," I exclaimed, quite carried away by the old gentleman's enthusiastic manner. Just then the keeper of the toy-shop handed me a package of marbles, tops, jewsharps, a pocket spy-glass, and a few other things of a like nature calculated to make glad the heart of {544} boys, which I had purchased for my little nephew, Willie, in the country.

"This for you, Mr. Holiday; but if you wish, I'll send it around to the doctor's," said the toy-vender.

"Lord bless my heart and soul!" exclaimed the old gentleman, seizing me suddenly by both hands. "Not Alfred Holiday is it?"

"That is my name," said I.

"Nephew of Dr. Ben?"

"Nephew of Dr. Ben," I repeated.

"And how long have you been in the city?"

"About a week," said I. "I came up to spend Christmas with Uncle Ben and Aunt Mary."

"And to take a look in at the Owl's Retreat, No. 9 Harmony place, of course?"

I intimated my ignorance of the Retreat in question, and of my not having the pleasure, etc.

"My house, man, my house," said he, shaking my hands up and down. "Dr. Ben and I are old acquaintances; in fact, ever since my Minnie was--I beg your pardon," added he, suddenly recollecting himself, and producing a card from his vest pocket. "Name of Acres, Thomas Acres, who, with the compliments of his daughter Minnie to the same effect, _will_ be--_most_ happy--_to_ see--Mr. Alfred--_Holiday_--on to-morrow _morning_--to _join_ in--_the_ grand--checking off--_of_ the--twenty baskets--_and_ their--contents--including--monkeys--and of course stay to dinner."

If the old gentleman's cordial manner had any weight in deciding my acceptance of the invitation, it must be confessed that the curiosity to see the "Darling of the World and the Sunshine of his life" added not a little to it. Promising to be on hand at No. 9 before eleven o'clock, at which hour the checking off was to begin, I bade my new-found friend good-morning and went home.

But it was very provoking not to know more of the "Darling and Sunshine" This is him him him him question. Standing in such a light to such a father, she was, of course, a peerless being. Age--say, twenty. Height--medium, I am five feet ten. 10 Blonde or brunette--difficult to determine. Sunshine would seem to indicate blonde, yet darling might be either. Good, amiable, witty, accomplished--not a doubt of it. Beautiful name too, said I, as I scribbled it in every style of the caligraphic art, thereby destroying no small amount of my uncle's property in fine gilt-edged note paper. Has she suitor already. Hoity-toity, Mr. Alfred Holiday, you are castle-building on a small amount of material, it seems to me; and if she have, what affair is that of yours? a question which that imaginative young gentlemen finding himself unable to solve fell into a fit of despondency, and went to bed in a despairing state of mind.

Punctual to the appointed hour I walked into Harmony place, a quiet unpretentious street, and open the gate of No. 9. There had been both a rain and heavy frost in the night, and the trees and shrubs, clothed in a complete armor of ice, sparkled and glittered in the bright sunshine. Unfortunately, the ground shared in this universal covering, and being under the impression that someone was looking from behind the curtains, who might possibly be the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of the life of Mr. Thomas Acres, I insanely endeavored to walk upon the glassy pavement with careless ease, as if it were the most ordinary ground in the world. I now advise my bitterest enemy to try it. In an unguarded moment my feet slipped, and I came down in the most unpleasant manner into a sitting posture upon the ground. I thought I heard the sound of a clear ringing laugh following immediately upon my ignominious fall. I hoped it was from No. 10 or No. 8; yet my heart misgave me as Mr. Acres, with a half dozen superfluous bows, divided between his daughter and myself, introduced me, and a pair of dark, deep eyes, in which I thought I detected a merry twinkle, quietly but warmly acknowledged my presence.

{545}

"Mr. Alfred Holiday, my child, our old friend, Doctor Holiday's nephew; Mr. Holiday, my daughter Minnie, the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of my life, as I have already told you, and the Dove of this Owl's Retreat."

I was "most happy," of course, and wished them both, with a bow to Miss Minnie, a Merry Christmas.

"We were getting afraid, Mr. Holiday, lest we should be obliged to begin without you," said that bright-eyed and altogether beautiful young lady, in a tone of voice which I afterward characterized in a violently worded poem, written just before midnight, as 'rippling diamonds' and 'dropping pearls.'

"Afraid!--without _me_?" I exclaimed, placing a most unjustifiable emphasis upon the personal pronoun. "I am highly flattered."

"Not at all; my father tells me he feels deeply indebted to you in assisting him in the choice of some toys designed for the children."

"For--for--laughing," stammered I. "Do you think, Miss Acres, that one might be indebted to another for a laugh?" I was thinking of my stupid fall on the ice, and began to regret my having accredited to No. 8 or 10 those sounds of merriment which reached my ears.

"If one gives good cause," she replied, with the quietest and most provoking of smiles. The deep, dark eyes twinkled again, and Nos. 8 and 10 stood acquitted.

"Come, Mr. Holiday," said Mr. Acres, "let us take an inspection of the forces. Wagon is loaded, strange man hired, with a watch in his pocket, off he goes; whence he comes or whither he goes, nobody knows. Ha! ha! Minnie, my dear, put me down one, your ancient Owl has struck a poetic vein; no time to register it, however. Come along; while I am immortalizing myself, twenty hungry families are waiting for a Christmas dinner they don't expect to get, and their mouths watering for plum-puddings and mince pies that they have not the most distant expectation of"--and the good old soul led the way into the hall, and thence into the court yard, at the entrance of which stood a large covered furniture-cart, filled to over-flowing with the wonderful twenty baskets destined to distribute happiness among as many poor and suffering families, and make their hearts merry on Christmas day. Each basket was labelled with its direction, number, and time of delivery.

"Now, John," said Mr. Acres to the driver as he mounted to his place on the cart, "remember, you are born deaf and dumb, can't hear a word nor even say 'Merry Christmas,' until you come back here and report."

"Lave me alone, sir," replied John with a broad grin, "the fun shan't be spiled for me."

"He enters into it, he enters into it, you see," said Mr. Acres, addressing Minnie and myself. "What's the time, John, by yours?"

"Near eleven, sir."

"Time's up, then.

"One, two, three, and off you go. Twenty baskets piled in a row: Ask me no questions, for I don't know.

Positively, my darling, there's something inspiring in the air this morning."

John cracked his whip, and the cart moved out of the yard, turned down the street, and was soon out of sight. Mr. Acres was a perfect picture of happiness as he stood gazing at the departing vehicle, rubbing his hands with delight, and his full, round face beaming with intense satisfaction. As I glanced at Minnie I saw her eyes filled with tears of love and pride as she watched the movements of her father. Turning about suddenly he noticed her emotion, upon which he went up to her, and placing a hand on her either cheek said with mock gravity:

{546}

"Miss Minnie Acres, the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of my life, is hereby invited to attend the funeral of twenty baskets without further notice. Ha! ha! you recollect Bob, you know; and no time to lose either," he added, taking Minnie's hand in his right and mine in his left, and turning toward the parlor; "so let us get at it, my dears; excuse the liberty, Mr. Holiday, I'm in a glorious humor, and it's Christmas day, and here we are, and here's the list, so sit ye down; and Bob, Bob! you rascal, where are you?"

The rascal thus vociferously called for responded immediately by presenting at the door a form about four feet in height, of the rarest obesity, clothed in a dark-gray suit, evidently denned for the first time, and holding with both hands the stiffest and hardest of hats. There was no motion of his lips visible, but a sound was heard as if it proceeded from the inside of a cotton-bale, which was understood to mean--

"Here I am, sir; respects, gentlemen and ladies, and a Merry Christmas."

"Pretty time of day for that" said Mr. Acres, "as if a body were just out of bed, and hadn't heard Mass yet. Oh! I see," he continued, glancing at Bob's new clothes, which I have no doubt were the delivery of an order from T. Acres, Esq., made that very morning by Tibbits & Son, fashionable tailors. "Well, Merry Christmas, Bob; but don't stand bowing there all day"--which feat that individual seemed to be vainly attempting to execute, but could not get through with to his entire satisfaction--"come in, and stand there by Miss Minnie, and listen to the checking off, and we'll see if it's all right as a trivet, as it should be. Lord! I'd eat no dinner if there was one left out."

The "checking off" commenced immediately, the time being up for the delivery of the first basket. Nothing could exceed the delight of the old gentleman as Minnie read from the list the names of the parties who at that moment received the basket, their places of residence, and a detailed account of the articles sent. Each basket contained a sufficient supply for a hearty Christmas dinner for the family, jellies, wines, and other delicacies for the sick, some articles of clothing, and last of all the toy monkey.

"They've all got one," said Mr. Acres, chuckling with glee as monkey Number One was mentioned; "but we must do it regular and put them all down, or I should be afraid we overlooked one, which isn't likely, however, for they are all down at the bottom of each basket, and I with them there myself."

One by one the baskets were checked off, Mr. Acres with watch in hand calling "time," and Minnie reading thereupon the names of the parties and contents of the basket allotted to them. We very soon realized the old gentleman's promise that we would have a roar, for as the distribution went on the merriment increased, as all considered it their bounden duty to laugh louder and longer at the mention of the monkey of the basket then checked off than they did at the last one. Even Bob, whose risible powers seemed to be rather limited, and which were evidently under still greater restraint by reason of the additional dignity which became the new outfit, succeeded in increasing the hilarity of the occasion by the comical manner he performed his appointed duty in the checking off, which consisted in answering "right" when the number and names were announced, and submitting any information obtained of the parties in question through the intervention of a certain Mrs. McQuirey, whose "absence at the present delightful reunion," explained Mr. Acres, "was owing to the numerous duties with which that excellent lady had burdened herself." These duties, I afterward learned, consistent in making a daily morning visit to a number of sick poor people who Mr. Acres had taken under his fostering care. Bob's information was remarkable for its brevity of expression as well as for its peculiarly ventriloquistic character, due to the extraordinary amount of adipose matter which enveloped his organs of speech. {547} Of basket Number Five, for instance, he said, "Bad--husband goes it every Saturday night--children thin as broom handles." Or Number eight he reported: "Measles--shanty--rags scare--allers hungry." Of Number Ten, "Wus--man broken leg--wife no work--ain't fit neither if there was millions." Of Number Twenty, the last, having by this time exhausted his stock of adjectives, he summed up his report thus: "Extremely wust o' the hall lot--widder--nine mortal bags o' hungry bones--and what will you do with 'em?"

"Do with them!" exclaimed Mr. Acres, "we'll have Mrs. McQuirey look them up, Bob, eh? Minnie, dear, take a note of Number Twenty, that basket is only a bite."

The baskets being all checked off, Bob was ordered to produce forthwith a bottle of wine and glasses. "Now that we've got through with it comfortably," said Mr. Acres, "we'll drink all their healths, and wish 'em a Merry Christmas," which was done, all standing. "Hoping," continued that Prince of Charity, glass in hand, and following toward the four points of the compass, as if the whole twenty families were arranged about him in a circle, "that you may all have many happy returns of the season, and never know a Christmas that is not a merry one."

Never was a toast drunk with purer enthusiasm or a heartier good-will. Believing it to be the part of some one to cheer the sentiment, and not seeing any of the parties present who might with great propriety perform that duty, Bob took it upon himself to act their proxy, which he accordingly did by waving his new hat in a circle and giving three muffled "Hoo-rays" from the cotton bale.

In a few minutes John the messenger returned. He was at once introduced to the parlor, where he gave a glowing account of his errand.

"The shammin' deaf an' dumb was thryin' to me sowl above all. It wint aginst me not to be able to say the top o' the mornin' to ye, or aven God save all here on a Christmas dhay to the crathers, an' the Lord forgive me for peepin' an' a listenin' whin they thought I was deaf as a post, but it was in a good cause. It tuk the tears out o' me two eyes, so it did, to hear thim wondherin and prayin 'and a blessin' yez, and a cryin' for joy, and to see the childer dancin' the monkeys like mad. Och! but it's a glory to be a rich man like yer honor. Me mouth wathers whin I think o' the threasures ye're a hapin' up above."

"Bob," interrupted Mr. Acres, shifting uneasily in his seat, "you had better get out the crape hat-bands, for I see a funeral coming round the corner."

"A funeral is it?" said John. "May it be a thousand years afore it shtops forninst yer honor's doors."

"Thank ye, John; thank ye," said Mr. Acres, suddenly rising and going to the window, where he stood apparently deeply interested in the view of a blank wall and some smoky chimney-pots before him.

"Whin _his_ day comes," continued John, loud enough to be overheard by Mr. Acres, "what a croonin' and a philaluin' thim poor crathers will be makin'. Sure, their tears will be droopin' like diamonds into his grave."

This was too much for Mr. Acres, who turned around, presenting a picture of inconsolable grief. It was only after two or three violent efforts to clear his throat of some unusually large obstacle which appeared to have stuck there that he succeeded in saying:

"Merry Christmas, John! Merry Christmas! You will find a plum-pudding, John, waiting down-stairs," and immediately began another survey of the blank wall and chimney-pots, making at the same time several abortive attempts to whistle.

{548}

John took the hint, and bowed himself out of the room. A dead silence ensued upon his departure, which no one appeared to find sufficient reason to break. In vain did I rack my brains to find an appropriate remark, but the words would not arrange themselves into a grammatical sentence. As I chanced to lift my eyes to the full-orbed face of Bob, standing bolt upright behind Minnie's chair, I became convinced at once of the fact that I had been intently and impudently staring at that Darling of the World for some time, whose beautiful downcast face, half shaded by a profuse cluster of raven curls I thought might engage the attention of any individual, say for an unlimited term of years. Embarrassed by this discovery, I took up the basket list and became at once deeply absorbed in its perusal. Unfortunately, the paper appeared to be possessed of some diabolical fascination which prevented my looking away from it or opening my mouth. How long this state of things might have continued is difficult to say, had not Bob broken the silence by a question, addressed, as it seemed, rather to mankind in general then to any particular individual within hearing:

"This ain't Christmas is it?"

"Yes, it is, you rascal," replied Mr. Acres; who, being either satisfied with his inspection of the blank wall and the chimney-pots, or had concluded to defer their more minute examination to another time, at that moment came forward to the table. "Go and order up lunch directly, Minnie, my darling; Mr. Holiday will give us the pleasure of his company, and also to dinner. Meanwhile, Mr. Holiday will be glad to hear you sing, my dear, and I will go and have Number Twenty looked after; that basket was only a bite, only a bite."

Mr. Alfred Holiday immediately led Miss Minnie Acres to the piano, where he listened with rapt attention to that young lady's singing of Miss Hemans's "O lovely voices of the sky;" upon which Mr. Alfred Holiday made the stupid remark that he had never heard any one of those "voices of the sky" before that day. Afterward Miss Minnie Acres and Mr. Alfred Holiday looked over a portfolio of prints together, when that young gentleman discovered that all his fingers were thumbs, and besought Miss Minnie Acres to hold one of the prints for him, when, looking at her and at the same time pretending to examine the picture with a critical eye, he declared he never saw anything so beautiful in his life, which irrelevant observation caused Miss Minnie Acres to say to Mr. Alfred Holiday, "Why! you're not looking at it!" whereupon that gentlemen became speechless and blushed from the roots of his hair to the depths of his best necktie. Of the events of the rest of the day Mr. Alfred Holiday distinctly remembers the following facts. Lunch being announced, Mr. Alfred Holiday took Miss Minnie Acres to the table, acted in the most insane manner while there, and lead Miss Minnie Acres back to the parlor; that he played backgammon with Miss Minnie Acres, and doubtless left an impression on the mind of that young lady that he was utterly ignorant of the game; that he accompanied Miss Minnie Acres to Vespers, and returned with her; that he took Miss Minnie Acres to dinner, during which a gentleman, who to the best of his belief was Mr. Thomas Acres, told him several times that he, Mr. Alfred Holiday, ate nothing, a fact of which that gentleman was not aware; that after the cloth was removed Mr. Alfred Holiday sat staring at an empty chair opposite him, for the possession of which he could cheerfully have impoverished himself and gone upon the wide, wide world; that certain musical sounds proceeded from the direction of the parlor, Mr. Alfred Holiday asseverated in the strongest terms to be "divine;" that upon his return to the parlor he was only restrained by the presence of a third person from throwing himself upon his knees and explaining: "Thou art the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of my life," but which he nevertheless repeated {549} in his mind an innumerable number of times; in a word, that Mr. Alfred Holiday fell head over ears in love with Miss Minnie Acres, and made of all, which up to the present writing he has religiously, that if she would accept his hand and heart, which she did a few weeks after, he would send her twenty baskets of provisions to as many poor families every Christmas Eve, as a thank-offering, and a grateful remembrance of the hour when he laughed, and thereby one the most beautiful and most faithful wife that a man ever have.

From The London Society.

A CHRISTMAS DREAM.

A Pilgrim to the West returned, whose palm-branch, drenched in dew, Shook off bright drops like childhood's tears when childhood's heart is new, Stole up the hills at eventide, like mist in wintry weather, Where locked in dream-like trance I lay, at rest among the heather.

The red ferns, answering to his tread; sent up a savor sweet; The yellow gorse, like Magian gold, glowed bright about his feet: The waving brooms, the winter blooms, each happy voice in air, Grew great with life and melody, as if a Christ stood there.

Unlike to mortal man was he. His brow rose broad and high: The peace of heaven was on his lip, the God-light in his eye; And rayed with richer glory streamed, through night and darkness shed, To crown that holy Pilgrim's brow, the one star overhead.

Long gazing on that staff he bore, beholding how it grew With sprouts of green, with buds between, and young leaves ever new. The marvels of the Eastern land I bade him all unfold. And thus to my impassioned ears the wondrous tale he told:

"Each growth upon that sacred soil where one died not in vain, Though crushed and shed, though seeming dead, in beauty lives again: The branching bough the knife may cleave, the root the axe may sever, But on the ground his presence lighted, nothing dies for ever.

"Where once amid the lowly stalls fell soft the Virgin's tear, The littered straw 'neath children's feet turns to green wheat in ear. The corn he pluck'd on Sabbath days, though ne'er it feels the sun, Though millions since have trod the field, bears fruit for every one.

"The palms that on his way were strewn wave ever in the air; From clouded earth to sun-bright heaven they form a leafy stair. In Cana's bowers the love of man is touched by the divine; And snows that fall on Galilee have still the taste of wine.

"Where thy lost locks, poor Magdalen! around his feet were rolled, Still springs in woman's worship-ways the gracious Mary-gold: Men know when o'er that bowed down head they hear the angels weeping, The purer spirit is not dead--not dead, but only sleeping.

{550}

"Aloft on blackened Calvary no more the shadows lower: Where fell the piercing crown of thorns, there blooms a thorn in flower. Bright on the prickled holy-tree and mistletoe' appear, Reflecting rays of heavenly shine, the blod-drop and the tear.

"The sounding rocks that knew his tread wake up each dead abyss, Where echoes caught from higher worlds ring gloriously in this; And, leaning where his voice once filled the temple where he taught, The listener's eyes grew spirit-full--full with a heavenly thought."

The Pilgrim ceased. My heart beat fast. I marked a change of hue; As if those more than mortal eyes a soul from God looked through. Then rising slow as angels rise, and soaring faint and far, He passed my bound of vision, robed in glory, as a star.

Strange herald voices filled the air: glad anthems swelled around: The wakened winds rose eager-voiced, and lapsed in dreamy sound. It seemed all birds that wintered far, drawn home by some blessed power, Made music in the Christmas woods, mistaking of the hour.

A new glad spirit raptured me! I woke to breathe the morn With heart fresh-strung to charity--as though a Christ were born. Then knew I how each earth-born thought, though tombed in clay it seem, It bursts the sod, it soars to God, transfigured in a dream.

ELEANORA L. HERVEY

From the Month.

VICTIMS OF DOUBT.

It is not the fashion at present to scoff at Christianity, or to make an open profession of infidelity. Ponderous treatises to prove that revealed religion is an impossibility, and coarse blasphemies against holy things, are equally out of date. Yet to men of earnest convictions, whether holding the whole or only some portions of revealed truth, the moral atmosphere is not reassuring. The pious Catholic, the Bible-loving Protestant, and the hybrid of the last phase of Tractarianism, are alike distrustful of the smooth aspect of controversy and the calm surface of the irreligious element. There is something worse than bigotry or mischief, and that is skepticism. And, if we may judge from what we hear and read, it is this to which most schools of thought outside the Catholic Church are rapidly drifting, if they have not already reached it, and into which restless and disloyal Catholics are in danger of being precipitated. An answer made to an old Oxford friend by one who was once with him in the van of the Tractarian movement, but did not accompany him into the fold, "I agree with you, that if there is a divine revelation, the Roman Catholic Church is the ordained depository of it; but this is an uncertainty which I cannot solve," would probably express the habitual state of mind of a fearfully {551} large number of the more thoughtful of our countrymen, and the occasional reflection of many more who do not often give themselves time to think. And to the multitudes who are plunging or gliding into doubts the Catholic system, which there unhappy training has made it one of their first principles to despise for detest, has not even presented itself as an alternative.

The current literature of the day, which is mostly framed to suit the taste of the market, and reacts again in developing that taste further in the same direction, is pre-eminently, not blasphemous, or anti-Catholic, or polemical, but sceptical. The following description of the periodical press by the Abbé Louis Baunard, in his recent publication, [Footnote 168] might seem to have been written for London instead of Paris:

[Footnote 168: Le Doute ses Victimes dans le Siècle présent, par M. l'Abbé Louis Baunard. Paris.]

"With some rare exceptions, you will not find any rude scoffing, violent expressions, unfashionable cynicism, harsh systems, or exclusive intolerance. Yet is not controversy that is the business of these writers, but criticism. They deal in expositions and suppositions, but almost always without deciding anything. It is a principle with them that there are only shades of difference between the most contradictory propositions; and the reader becomes accustomed to see these shades in such questions as those which relate to the personality of God, the divinity of Jesus Christ, and the supernatural generally. This does not hinder these men from calling themselves Christians, in the vague sense of a loose Christianity, which allows the names of ancient beliefs to remain, while it destroys their substance. They do not assault the old religion in front, but silently undermine the foundations on which it rests, and carry on ingenious parallels by the side of revealed truth, till some conclusion emerges which utterly subverts it, without having appeared to be intentionally directed against it. There is one review, the most widely circulated of all, in the same number of which an article dearly atheistical will be found by the side of another article breathing the most correct orthodoxy, and very much surprised to see itself in such company. Such concessions to truth, which are made only now and then, serve to give the publication that makes them a certain appearance of impartiality, and thus to accredit error, and to lay one more snare for the reader."

We may be inclined, on a cursory perusal of such periodicals as The Saturday Review, to indulge gleefully in the laughter excited by the ludicrous aspect in which some pompous prelate or fussy evangelical preacher is presented; or to admire the acute and seemingly candid dissection, at one time, of a Protestant scheme of evidences, at another, of an infidel philosophy; or to rejoice in the substitution of decorous calmness for rancor and raving in handling Catholic truth. But when we study a series of such publications, and notice how systematically all earnest convictions are made to show a weak or ridiculous side, and all proofs of Christianity to appear defective, and how, under a smooth surface of large-minded impartiality, there beats a steady tide of attack upon all supernatural virtue and all supernatural truth, our hearts must needs ache to think of the effects of such teaching on multitudes of imperfectly grounded minds. In the words of the author to whom we have referred: "Right and wrong, true and false, yes and no, meet and jostle each other, and are mistaken for each other in minds bewildered and off their guard, and mostly incapable of discrimination: till at length, lost in these cross-roads, tired of systems and of contradictions, and not knowing in what direction to find light, all but the most energetic sit down and rest in doubt, as in the best wisdom and the safest position." But to sit down in doubt is either to abdicate the highest powers of a reasonable being, or to admit an enemy that will use them as instruments of torture. Except for {552} souls of little intellectual activity, or wholly steeped in sense, this sitting down in doubt is like sitting down in a train that is moving out of the station with the steam up and no engine-driver, or in a boat that is drifting out of harbor into a stormy sea.

The Abbé Baunard has collected the experiences of some of these reckless and storm-tossed wanderers into a painfully interesting volume. He has selected from the chief sceptical philosophers and poets of the present century those who, in private journals or autobiographical sketches, have made the fullest disclosures of the working of their own minds, and has let them speak for themselves. He calls them "victims of doubt," and bids us listen with compassion to their bitter lamentations over the wreck of the past, and their gloomy anticipations of the future, and to the cries of pain and shame which seem forced out of them, even amidst their proudest boasts of independence and most resolute rejections of revealed truth. But, although an expression here or there may be unguarded, he distinguishes very clearly between pitying and excusing these victims. He reminds us that compassion for the sufferings entailed by doubt cannot absolve from the guilt of doubt. He protests against the claim made by sceptics to be regarded as warriors in conflicts in which only the noble engage, and as scarred with honorable wounds; and against the notion that to have suffered much in a wrong cause is a guarantee of sincerity and a title to salvation. He quotes with reprobation the plea of M. Octave Feuillet: "Ah! despise as much as you choose what is despicable. But when unbelief suffers, implores, and is respectful, do you respect it. There are blasphemies, be assured, which are as good as prayers, and unbelievers who are martyrs. Yes, I firmly believe that the sufferings of doubt are holy, and that to think of God and to be always thinking of him, even with despair, is to honor him and to be pleasing to him." He would not admit the same plea in the more plausible form and more touching language in which it is urged by Mr. Froude: "You who look with cold eye on such a one, and lift them up to heaven, and thank God you are not such as he, and call him hard names, and think of him as of one who is forsaking a cross, and pursuing unlawful indulgence, and deserving all good men's reproach! Ah! could you see down below his heart's surface, could you count the tears streaming down his cheek, as out through some church-door into the street come pealing the old familiar notes, and the old psalms which he cannot sing, the chanted creed which is no longer his creed, and yet to part with which was worse agony than to lose his dearest friend; ah! you would deal him lighter measure. What! is not his cup bitter enough, but that all the good, whose kindness at least, whose sympathy and sorrow, whose prayers he might have hoped for, that these must turn away from him as from an offence, as from a thing for bid? --that he must tread the wine-press alone, calling to God-fearing man his friend; and this, too, with the sure knowledge that of coldness least of all he is deserving, for God knows it is no pleasant task which has been laid on him." The fallacies which are dextrously interwoven in this passage, that sympathy precludes condemnation, that intense suffering of any kind sanctities the sufferer, and that the state of doubt is imposed as a burden and not wilfully incurred and retained, are refuted out of the mouth of those who resort to them. We see, indeed, in the records of these victims of doubt, various circumstances leading to their fall; such as the heathenish state of the colleges where some of them lost their faith, the antichristian theories of science and philosophy magisterially propounded to them, the personal influence of friends who were already committed to skepticism, poisonous literature thrown in the way, and the excitement of political revolutions; and, of course, in the case of {553} those who had not received a Catholic education, the far greater palliation of the absence of a coherent system of belief. But, at the same time, we see no less plainly the working of wilful negligence and presumption in their descent into the abyss, and of wilful pride and obstinacy in refusing to seek the means of extrication from it. They are victims of doubt as others are victims of a habit of opium-eating or gambling; and if we sympathize with them more deeply than with these latter, it is rather because their anguish is more intense and more refined than because it is less the harvest of their own sowing. By the side of those who fell, there were others of the same sensibility of mind, placed in the same circumstances, exposed to the same assaults, who stood firm by prayer and humility, and who found in their faith a provision for all their mental wants, and a fountain of peace under the heaviest trials. And by the side of those who, having once made shipwreck of their faith, plunged more and more deeply into despair of knowing anything with certainty, till they flung away the life that their own doubts had made an intolerable burden, there were others equally astray and equally burdened, who worked their way back to life and peace by the same path of earnest and humble prayer. Some of these contrasts are very effectively presented by our author, and others will suggest themselves to his readers.

The victims whose wanderings and sufferings are portrayed in this volume are Théodore Jouffroy, Maine de Biran, Santa Rosa, Georges, Farcy, and Edmund Schérer from among the philosophers of the century; and Lord Byron, Friedrich Schiller, Heinrich von Kleist, and Leopardi from among the poets; followed by a less detailed account of a group of French sceptical poets, Alfred de Musset, Henri Heine, Murger, Gérard de Nerval, and Hégésippe Moreau, whose writings are mostly too gross for quotation, although enough is given to show that their experience of the effects of doubt resembled that of the rest. All, with the exception of M. Schérer, who is the editor of the French paper Le Temps, have passed into a world where doubt is no longer possible--two of them by their own hand, and two more by violent deaths which they had gone to meet rather from weariness of life than from enthusiasm for the cause for which they fought.

There is only one of the whole number, Maine de Biran, whose death was thoroughly satisfactory; and he, though certainly to be reckoned among the victims of doubt, which clouded the best years of his life, and from which he only very slowly worked his way to freedom, is introduced rather in the way of contrast to the other philosophers and especially to Jouffroy. The great difference in his case lay in two things, that he paid more attention to the moral nature of man, and did not so wholly subordinate the desire of the good to the search after the true, and that he was on his guard against that pride of intellect which we see so rampant in his fellow-philosophers. While all the most celebrated men of Paris were paying court to him, and although, even before he had published anything beyond some short metaphysical treatises, M. Royer Collard cried, "He is the master of us all," and M. Cousin pronounced him to be the greatest French metaphysician since Malebranche, his own private reflection was: "Pride will be the ruin of my life, as long as I do not seek from on high a spirit to direct mine, or to take its place." Yet it was not till his fifty-second year, after many years' vain pursuit of truth in different systems of sensualistic and rationalistic philosophy, and of happiness first in pleasure and then in study and retirement, that he set himself resolutely to try surer means. "Not finding," he wrote in May, 1818, "anything satisfactory either in myself or out of myself, in the world of my ideas or in that of objects, I have been for some {554} time past more determined to look for that fixed resting-place which has become the need of my mind and of my heart, in the notion of the Absolute, Infinite, and Unchangeable Being. The religious and moral beliefs which reason does not create, but which are its necessary basis and support, now present themselves to me as my only refuge, and I can find no true knowledge anywhere than just there, where before, with the philosophers, I found only dreams and chimeras. My point of view has altered with my disposition and moral character." From this time the progress upward was steady. We find notices in his journal of earnest prayer, of daily meditation, of study of the gospels and the Imitation of Christ. Four years of physical suffering and outward trials deepened the work of conversion, and were passed with Christian resignation. The last words that he wrote were words of certainty and peace: "The Christian walks in the presence of God and with God, by the Mediator whom he has taken as his guide for this life and the next." The Ami de la Religion of July 24th, 1824, contained the notice: "Maine de Biran fulfilled his Christian duties in an edifying manner, and received the sacraments at the hands of his pastor, the curé of St. Thomas d'Aqnin."

Théodore de Jouffroy, if his life had not been suddenly cut short, would probably have had the same happiness. After having devoted his immense powers of mind to the study and dissemination of sceptical philosophy from 1814 to 1839, when bad health forced him to resign the professor's chair, he had begun to soften his tone, to speak respectfully of revealed religion, and to look wistfully and hopefully to it for the solution of the great problems which it had been the business and the torture of his life to investigate by the unaided light of his own intellect. He had conversed with Monseigneur Cart, the bishop of Nîmes, and had said to him, "I am not now one of those who think that modern societies can do without Christianity; I would not write in this sense to-day. You have a grand mission to fulfil, monseigneur. Ah! continue to teach the gospel well." He took pleasure in seeing his daughter preparing herself for her first communion; and speaking about a work of Lamennais to the clergyman who was instructing her, he said with a deep sigh, "Alas! M. le Curé, all these systems lead to nothing; better--a thousand times better--one good act of Christian faith." The curé left his room with good hopes of his conversion, and in the belief that the faith of his childhood had come to life again in his part. But before he could see him again, and put these hopes to the test, Jouffroy expired suddenly and without previous warning on the 1st of March, 1842.

Two or three of the French poets had time to ask for a priest, or to admit one when, in the hospitals to which their excesses had brought them, a Sister of Charity proposed it. Leopardi, outwardly at least sceptical and gloomy to the last, received a doubtful absolution from a priest, who came when the dying man was insensible. [Footnote 169] To all the rest even as much as this was wanting.

[Footnote 169: We have used this expression, also aware of the letter of Father Scarpa published first in the journal Scienza e Fede, and afterward in the eighth addition of Father Curci's Fatti ed Argomenti in risposta alle molte parole di V. Gioberti, in which he gives an account of Leopardi's recourse to his ministry and reconciliation by his means to the church in 1836; not, of course because we agree with Gioberti that this simple and modest letter is "a tissue of lies and deliberate inventions and a sheer romance from beginning to end;" but because Leopardi's letters in the beginning of 1837 and his continuance in the composition of his last poem the Paralipomeni, the conclusion of which was dictated a few days before his death, seems to suggest the melancholy alternative either of a feigned conversion or of a relapse into skepticism. He told Father Scarpa when he offered himself to be prepared for confession that he had been banished from his Father's house; and that he was now penitent, and was about to publish papers which would show his alterated sentiments. It is amusing to notice that to the staid and decorus Quarterly Review, as well as to Gioberti, this was to great an opportunity to be lost of reviling the Jesuits. Accordingly, on no other ground than that Father Scarpa repeated _as told him by Leopardi_ what his letters contradict, and that he was not quite correct in guessing at his age and described his appearance ten years after his interview with him, the reviewer indorses Gioberti's description, and calls the letter "an instance of audacity beyond all common efforts in that kind." The habitual mendacity in Leopardi's letters, and his offer, while an unbeliever, to be ordained in order to hold a benefice which he intended _after saying a few Masses_ to have served by another, make it unfortunately not improbable that his conversion was only pretended.]

{555}

We have not space to go into the details of these melancholy histories; but we must give a few extracts in illustration of the keen regret with which these victims of doubt look back to the religious convictions of their youth from the cheerlessness and misery of the state to which they have reduced themselves, and of the involuntary homage which, even while refusing to submit to the teaching of the church, they are forced to pay to it. Here is Jouffroy's reminiscence of the happy days of faith: "Born of pious parents and in a country where the Catholic faith was still full of life at the beginning of this century, I had been early wont to consider man's future and the care of my own soul the chief business of life, and all my subsequent education tended to confirm these serious dispositions. For a long time, the beliefs of Christianity had fully answered to all the wants and all the anxieties which such dispositions introduce into the soul. To these questions, which to me were the only questions that ought to occupy man, the religion of my fathers gave answers, and those answers I believed, and, thanks to my belief, my present life was clear, and beyond it I saw the future that was to follow it spread itself out without a cloud. At ease as to the path that I had to pursue in this world, at ease as to the goal to which it was to conduct me in the other, understanding the phases of life and death in which they are blended, understanding myself, understanding the designs of God for me, and loving him for the goodness of his designs, I was happy with the happiness that springs from a firm and ardent faith in a doctrine which solves all the great questions that can interest man." His faith, the liveliness of which had been somewhat shaken by an indiscriminate perusal of modern literature during the latter part of his classical studies at Dijon, gave way entirely before the lectures of M. Cousin in the Ecole Normale at Paris, to which he was transferred in 1814, and the combined influences of flattery and ridicule with which his sceptical fellow-students there assailed him. He describes the terrible struggle between "the eager curiosity which could not withdraw itself from the consideration of objections which were scattered like dust throughout the atmosphere that he breathed," and on the other hand the influences "of his childhood with its poetic impressions, his youth with its pious recollections, the majesty, antiquity, and authority of the faith which he had been taught, and the rising in revolt of the whole memory and imagination against the incursion of unbelief which wounded them so deeply." His faith was gone before he realized the loss: some time afterward he thus painted the horrors of the discovery: "Never shall I forget that evening in December when the veil that hid my unbelief from myself was rent. I still hear my footsteps in the bare narrow apartment, in which I continued walking long after the hour for sleep. I still see that moon half-veiled by clouds which at intervals lit up the cold window-panes. The hours of night glided by, and I took no note of them. I was anxiously following my train of thought, which descended from one stratum to another toward the depth of my consciousness, and scattering, one after another, all the illusions which had hitherto concealed it from me, made its outline every moment more visible. In vain did I try to cling to these residues of belief as a shipwrecked sailor to the fragments of his ship; in vain, alarmed at the unknown void in which I was about to be suspended, I threw myself back for the last time toward my childhood, my family, my country, all that was dear and sacred to me: the irresistible current of my thought was too strong. Parents, family, recollections, beliefs--it forced me to quit all. The analysis was continued with more obstinacy and more severity in proportion as it approached its term, {556} and it did not pause till it had reached it. Then I was aware that in my inmost self there was no longer anything left standing. It was an appalling moment, and when, toward morning, I threw myself exhausted on my bed, I seemed to see my former life, so smiling and so full, effaced, and another gloomy and desolate life opening behind me in which I was henceforth to live alone--alone with my fatal thought which had just banished me thither, and which I was tempted to curse."

A few years after this crisis in Jouffroy's life, the same sort of catastrophe was experienced in a distant country by another highly gifted soul, and wonderfully similar is the victim's description of it. Leopardi, the rival, in the opinion of many of his countrymen, of Tasso in poetry and of Galileo in philosophy, in whom a prodigious industry was united in rare combination to a subtle intellect and a refined imagination, who was reading Greek by himself at eight years old, and before he was nineteen was versed in several oriental languages, was engaged in literary correspondence with Niebuhr, Boissonado, and Bunsen, and was the author of numerous translations from the Classics, a valuable translation of Porphyry on Plotinus, and an erudite historical essay in which there are citations from four hundred ancient authors--had, like Jouffroy, prepared the way for his fall by an overweening confidence in his own great intellectual powers, and by a recklessly excessive devotion to study. To this was added the chafing of disappointed ambition, and irritation against his father for refusing to give him the means of leaving home. His ruin was completed by the conversation of Pietro Giordani, an apostate Benedictine monk, who soothed and condoled with him, flattered his vanity by telling him that "if Dante was the morning star of Italy's sky, Leopardi was the evening star," and succeeded in inoculating him with his own scepticism, which in himself was mere shallow impiety, but in the deeper mind of his pupil, led, if his writings can be trusted, to as hopelessly complete a disbelief of God, the soul, and immortality, as is possible for a human being to bring himself to endure. In a letter of March 6th, 1820, to his friend and seducer, he says: "My window being open one of these evenings, while I was gazing on a pure sky and a beautiful moonlight, and listening to the distant barking of dogs, I seemed to see images of former times before me, and I felt a shock in my heart. I cried out, like a convict, baking pardon of nature, whose voice I seemed to hear. At that instant, as I cast a glance back on my former state, I stood, frozen with terror, unable to imagine how it would be possible to support port life without fancies and without affections, without imagination and without enthusiasm--in a word, without anything of all that, a year ago, filled up my existence and made me still happy, notwithstanding my trials. Now I am withered up like to reed; no emotion finds an entrance any longer into my poor soul, and even the eternal and supreme power of love is annihilated in me at my present age." He was but twenty-two then; and through the seventeen years that is shattered constitution lasted, he was ever speaking of life as an agony and a burden, sometimes proudly declaring that he would not bend under its weight, sometimes passionately asking for sympathy and love, but always recurring to this sad refrain: "The life of mortals, when youth has past, is never tinged with any dawn. It is widowed to the end, and the grade is the only end to our night." "I comprehend, I know only one thing. Let others draw some profit from these vicissitudes and passing existences; it may be so, but for me life is an evil."

We have seen the account given by the French philosopher Jouffroy and the Italian poet Leopardi of their feelings on waking up to the knowledge that the faith of their childhood had passed away; let us compare one more such experience that of the German {557} Von Kleist. "For some time, my dear friend," he writes to the lady to whom he was affianced, "I have been employed in studying the philosophy of Kant, and I am bound to communicate to you a conclusion which I am sure will not affect you as deeply and as painfully as it has myself. It is this: we cannot be certain whether what we call truth is really the truth or only an appearance. In this last case, the truth that we sought after here below would be nothing at all after death; and it would be useless to try to acquire a treasure which it would be impossible to carry to the tomb. If this conclusion does not pierce your heart, do not laugh at a wretch whom it has deeply wounded in all that is most sacred to him. _My noble, my only aim has vanished, and I have none_. Since this conviction entered my mind, I have not touched my books. I have traversed my chamber, I have placed myself by an open window, I have run along the street. My interior disturbance has let me to visit smoking-rooms and cafés to get relief. I have been to the theatre and the concert to dissipate my mind. I have even played the fool. But in spite of all, in the midst of all this agitation, the one thought that occupied my whole soul and filled it with anguish was this: your aim, your noble and only aim has vanished." A few years of the repetition of this sorrowful wailing, and then, after writing to his sister, "You have done everything to save me that the power of a sister could do, everything that the power of man could do; the fact is, that nothing can help me here on earth," he escaped from doubt to pass before the Judgment-seat by his own hand.

We must give one more of the many recurring expressions of regret with which the volume abounds. We are inclined to regard Santa Rosa with even more profound compassion than the other victims, on account of the warm and tender piety of his earlier youth, and the absence in him of the arrogance and scorn that overflows in the others in the midst of their sufferings. All who knew him agreed that it was hardly possible to know him without loving him. Unfortunately, his struggles in the cause of Italy threw him into close association with many who had mistaken infidelity for liberty. Still more unfortunately, he contracted a close intimacy with M. Cousin, and soon began to love him more than truth and than God, and under the blighting influence of his teaching his own faith disappeared. M. Cousin has published his letters with frequent and large omissions, but there remains abundant evidence that he was always regretting the past. The following passage occurs after something omitted: "O my friend, how unfortunate we are in being only poor philosophers, for whom the continuance of existence after death is only a hope, an ardent desire, a fervent prayer! Would that I had the virtues and the faith of my mother! To reason is to doubt; to doubt is to suffer. Faith is a sort of miracle. When it is strong and genuine, what happiness it gives! How often in my study I raise my eyes to heaven, and beg God to reveal me to myself, but above all, to grant me immortality!" Twice in his life--when in prison in Paris with the expectation of being given up to the Piedmontese police, which would have been to be sent to the scaffold, and again when beginning a serious philosophical work--he returned to a better mind. Whether time and grace to return once more were given him, behind the Greek battery in the isle of Sphacteria, where he fell fighting bravely, we cannot tell.

Besides the implicit homage to the faith involved in such regrets of the past as we have been witnessing, the writings of most of these philosophers and poets contain many testimonies to their involuntary acknowledgment of the claims of the revealed system which they had abandoned. We will cite only one, from a discourse of Jouffroy on his usual subject, the {558} problem of the destiny of man: "There is a little book which children are made to learn, and on which they are questioned in church. Read this little book, which is called the Catechism; you will find in it an answer to all the questions that I hare proposed--all without exception. Ask the Christian whence the human race comes, he knows; whither it is going, he knows. Ask this poor child, who has never in his life dreamed of it, to what end he exists here below, and what he will become after death; he will give you a sublime answer, which he will not comprehend, but which is not the less admirable. Ask him how the world was produced, and for what end; why God placed animals and plants in it; how the earth was peopled, whether by one family or several; why men speak different languages; why they suffer; why they contend; what will be the end of it all--he knows. The origin of the world, the origin of the human race, the question of races, the destiny of man in this life and in the other, the relation of man to God, the duties of man to his fellows, the rights of man over creation--he is acquainted with all; and when he is grown up, he will be equally free from hesitation about natural rights, political rights, and the right of nations; for all this is the outcome and clear and spontaneous product of Christian doctrine. This is what I call a great religion; I recognize it by this sign of its not leaving unanswered any of the questions which interest humanity."

Edmond Schérer and Friedrich Schiller, as well as Lord Byron, differ from the other instances in never having known the true faith; but they show that the loss of a firm hold of those fragments of Christianity that are retained outside of the fold leads to something of the same result as the loss of the faith. The sketch of M. Schérer's life is very interesting, for it shows the inevitable result of Protestantism in a highly logical and reflective mind which refuses the alternative of submission to the Catholic Church. His installation in the chair of theology in the Evangelical Seminary of Geneva in 1844 was hailed as a triumph by all the devout adherents to the reformed religion, who looked to him as the invincible champion against the socinianism prevailing all around. He set himself to the work of proving the inspiration of Scripture without having recourse to the authority of the Catholic Church, and the result, after passing through various phases of sentimentalism and eclecticism, was to land him in such conclusions as that "the Bible has so little of a monopoly of inspiration, that there are writings not canonical the inspiration of which is much more evident than in some of the biblical writings;" and finally, that Protestantism and Catholicism, Christianity and Judaism, are only conceptions more or less exact of a common object and phases in a great movement of progressive spiritualization; that morality itself is only relative; and that absolute certainty of any kind is a dream. He may well say, as he has lately said: "Alas! blind prisoners as we are, laboring at the overthrow the past, we are engaged in a work which we do not understand. We yield to a power of which it seems at times that we are the victims as well as the instruments. The terrible logic whose formulas we wield crushes us while we are crushing others with it."

The moral of these and other such histories--the moral of Froude and Francis Newman and Clough--is that as God never made his children for perplexity and anguish, he never made them for doubt, and must have provided a secure asylum from it, not in ignorance or thoughtlessness, but in a system of divinely guaranteed authority. The lesson from the Nemesis of doubt is the conclusion of Augustine Thierry: "I have need of an infallible authority, I have need of rest for my soul. I open my eyes, and I see one only authority, that of the Catholic Church. I believe what the Catholic Church teaches; I receive her Credo."

{559}

Translated from the German

WHAT MOST REJOICES THE HEART OF MAN?

It was two days before the holy Christmas of the old year, and a very hard season when Martin (a farmer, to whom heaven had granted a rich harvest, to reward him for the faithful tillage of his land) entered the house. He had taken his grain to the market-town, and, thanks to the brisk demand, had parted with it at an unusually high price. And now, returning home with a full purse, he called his wife, and pouring out the money before her on the table, said laughingly: "Look, Agnes, that will give us a rare treat! what thinkest thou, mother? What most rejoices the heart of man? I want something that shall make me right joyful."

"O Martin!" replied the wife, "it must be found, then. But this whole day has my heart been very heavy; and even if I made something very nice indeed, I don't think it would go to the right spot;" and when Martin asked why, she continued: "Thou hadst not been gone long yesterday morning when in came our neighbor's Clara, weeping and mourning, and said her father was like to die, and would I for God's sake come to their assistance and give him something nourishing. I could understand, then, how matters still it, and taking with me just whatever there was in the house, I ran down to the hut. O dear God! what misery was there! The man lay on a little straw, so white and feeble; the poor wife knelt beside him, crying and sobbing; and their children hung round them, half naked, and living pictures of hunger, and not a bit of bread in the whole house. And indeed, Martin, that is not the only home where such want is! I don't know, but it seems as if I ought not to enjoy one cheerful hour while so much wretchedness surrounds us."

While Martin let his wife speak out her thoughts, his eyes were musingly bent before him. Then he rose, and grasping Agnes's hand, exclaimed: "Now I know what to do, mother! A joyful heart will I have, for doing good to others gladdens the heart more than wine and good cheer. Let us see, then, what the dear God has given us." And now he counted out from the money first the rent due to his landlord, then enough to pay all that he owed, and lastily all that must go toward preparing for the next year s crop. Still there remained a pretty little sum, so he said: "Now, mother, count up the poor of our village, and heat the oven, and bake for every grown person two big loaves, and for every child a smaller one; and then send the bread round, adding to each loaf a jug of wine and two florins. Then when the people have a Merry Christmas, and can say grace without tears, our hearts will be light, I am thinking, even if we set nothing on the table besides our usual fare."

Now when Agnes heard her husband speak thus, her heart grew very happy, and she said yes to everything, and shook flour into the bread-trough, and baked all day and all night. So on that day when the church sings "Gloria in excelsis Deo!" there was not one in that whole parish who had not enough to eat; and many a one who for a long time had not tasted wine refreshed himself on that day, thanking with heart and lips the farmer and his wife. These two had merely their usual homely fare upon the table, but within their breasts were joyful hearts and the consciousness of a good deed.

{560}

So far, so good; but something else happened afterward; for as, according to the proverb, a pleasure never comes alone, so have good works an especial power of multiplying themselves. And of that we are now going to hear something.

When it came to the landlord's ears that his farmer, who was no capitalist, had made a Merry Christmas for himself in the love of the holy Christ-child, he was well pleased, and thought to himself that he too might try something of the same sort. Therefore he appointed a day (the octave of the blessed Christmas, New-Year's day) when all the poor in his parish should be invited to the castle. In the hall was a long table covered with a fine white cloth for the poor people, and a smaller one for himself and his family. At this small table he placed Farmer Martin and his wife Agnes, and near the head too, which has no small significance among knights and noblemen. But he said that he honored such excellent people as his own friends and relations, believing that the heart makes better nobility than a long pedigree.

When now the table was filled with the sons and daughters of poverty, grace was said by the chaplain, while all remained standing and joined devotedly in his prayer. Then were bread-cakes set on the board, and huge pieces if roast beef, and for each person a bumper of good old wine; but if any one was ill and could not come to the feast, then was his share despatched to his home, with a beautiful gold piece and a friendly greeting from his gracious lord. So all the parish poor had a second time plenty to eat and drink, and more than one enjoyed himself better on that day than ever before in his life.

When the people had had a good dinner, they thought the feast was at an end, and wished to express their thanks courteously to the host, but he begged them to wait a little quarter of an hour longer, for something else was coming. Then four lottery vases were placed on the table, one for the men, another for the women, a third for boys, and a fourth for girls; and when all the guests had been arranged ranged according to age and family, one after another put his hand into a vase and drew forth a number, one fifteen, another twenty-one, a third two, and so on until each person had a number. Then they looked at their numbers and thought, What does this all mean? and they waited full of expectation.

Suddenly a side door opened, and the servants brought in a wooden frame, on the four sides of which hung all sorts of garments, one side for men, another for women, and then for boys and girls, as at a fair; and everything was new and neat and strong, such as peasant-folks like to wear, and a number was fastened on each piece. Some one called out, "Now look for the numbers that you have in your hands." The men looked shyly at each each other, as if to say, "Can he really mean it?" but the women were more clever, and had soon found white and colored skirts, aprons, stockings, neckerchiefs, and handkerchiefs to match their numbers, and were helping their husbands and children in their search. Before long not one single thread hung on the frame, and every one possessed his appointed prize, and was rejoicing over it, for it really seemed as if to each person had fallen the very thing he most needed. Of course many were there who were in need of everything.

When now the time for leave-taking came, and the happy people thanked their gracious lord in their best manner, he shook hands with each one like a good old friend or father, at the same moment slipping into the palm of every man a thaler. Then were there fresh rejoicings and renewed thanks, and the worthy folk would not soon have made an end of it, if their benefactor had not quickly broken {561} a path through the crowd who blessed him, and so eluded their acknowledgments.

But then their hearts being full to overflowing, they longed to have some outlet to their gratitude; so they seated farmer and his wife in two chairs, placed them in a pretty wagon, to which they harnessed themselves; and the worthy couple, in spite of expostulation, were borne home in triumph. Such rejoicings had not been seen for many a long day, and even now do the people of B---- talk of brave Martin and his excellent wife Agnes; of the feast and the lottery and the dollars of their kind and gracious lord in the castle yonder.

From The Reader.

THE REPUBLIC OF ANDORRA.

The Val d'Andorra lies on the southern side of the central Pyrenees, between two of the highest mountains, the Maladetta and the Moncal. It is bounded on the north by the department of Ariège; on the south by the district of Barrida, the territory of Urgel, and part of the viscounty of Castelbo; on the east by the valley of Carol and part of the Cerdana; on the west at by the viscounty of Castelbo, the valleys of San Juan and Terrem, the Conca de Buch, and the communes of Os and Tor. The principal mountain-passes into France are those of Valira, Soldeu, Fontargente, Siguer, Anzat, Arbella, and Rat; those communicating with Spain are Port Negre, Perefita, and Portella. Some of these are only passable during part of the year. The greatest length of the territory is about forty miles; the greatest breadth about twenty-four miles. The country is mountainous, but includes some excellent pasturage. The highest summits visible are Las Mineras, Casamanya, Saturria, Montclar, San Julian, and Juglár. The principle rivers are the Valira, the Ordino, and the Os, none of which are navigable. At the greatest elevation the snow remains upward of six months. In summer the rains are very frequent. The purity of both air and water renders the climate very healthy, and the inhabitants are remarkable for their longevity, many living to the age of one hundred. Devonian beds lie unconformably on upper silurian, which latter forms a valley of depression, having the town of Andorra in its synclinal axis. There are many mines producing iron of the best quality; one of lead, several of alum, quartz, slate, some quarries of jaspers, and several kinds of marble. Besides the trees common to Europe, the flora includes the cacao or chocolate. There are, likewise, many medicinal roots and plants. Wheat, barley, rye, and hemp are cultivated; and grapes, figs, dates, and olives are also seen. In the low parts of the south tobacco is much grown. Indian corn is only occasionally to be met with. The fauna include the bear, wild boar, wolf, boquetin (_Capra Pyrenaica?_), chamois, mule, fox, blackcock, or _gallina de monte_, squirrel, hare, partridge, pheasant, and several species of eagles; there are also a great many blackbirds and nightingales. The population of the whole republic has been estimated as low as 5,000, and even higher than 15,000, but it probably does not exceed 10,000; that of the capital has been reckoned as high as 2,800, but this probably refers to the whole parish, {562} and is, even then, greatly over-estimated. The name Andorra has been derived from the Arabic, but it is, without doubt, considerably older than the time of the Moors. It is probably from the Gaelic _an-dobhar, an-dour_, which will variously translate, "the water," "the territory," "the border of a country." In the Roman period the Val d'Andorra formed part of the country of the Ceretani, who gave their name to the Cerdana; and, at the time of the Goths, of the district called Marea de Espana. It was the last tract of country of which Moors obtained possession in Catalonia, and the first which they abandoned. There are traditions of the republic even prior to the time of Charlemagne. Catalonia, being invaded by the Moors, the Andorrans, in 778, asked aid of the emperor, who thereupon crossed the Pyrenees, and having united his forces with those of Catalonia, which consisted principally of the mountaineers of Andorra, after a brilliant campaign drove the Moors to the left bank of the Ebro. Having established a military organization for the defence of the territory, Charlemagne recognized certain rights in favor of the Andorrans; but, at the same time, gave to the see of Urgel the tithes of the six parishes into which the valley of Andorra was divided. The Moors having again invaded the territory, the emperor despatched his son, Louis le Debonnaire, who drove out the Moors, and ceded the sovereignty of the valley to Sisebertus, first bishop of Urgel. The charter bears the date of 803, and the signature of Ludovicus Pius, the name by which Louis has always been known to the republic. Charles the Bold having illegally granted to the Counts of Urgel the sovereignty over the lands of the republic, another dispute arose between the bishop and the counts, and the independence of the valley was again disturbed. Upon this the bishop asked assistance of Raymond of Foix, and an alliance was entered into by which the independence of the valley wad vested jointly in the house of Foix and the see of Urgel, and Raymond forthwith expelled the Counts of Urgel from Andorra. This took place in the twelfth century. The bishop failing to surrender the moiety of the republican lands, Bernard of Foix, in 1241, laid siege to the city of Urgel, and the Bishop was not only compelled to yield to the demands of the count, but also, within a certain time, to procurers of papal ratification of the investiture of the house of Foix in the joint sovereignty of the republic. The convention having been again violated by the see of Urgel, it was finally settled, in 1278, that the right of suzerainté should be possessed jointly by the Bishop of Urgel and the Counts of Foix. This tree is the act of independence Of the republic, and is known to the people of Andorra by the name of "Parialge." It stipulated that the republic should pay annually a tribute of 960 francs to the Counts of Foix, and half that amount to the see of Urgel, and that each should have the privilege of nominating one of the two officers called viguiers. The house of Foix being united, first with that of Béarn, and then to that of Moncada and Castellvel Rosanes, was finally absorbed in the house of Bourbon, and the joint protectorate became at the end of the sixteenth century, merged in the government of France, and the see of Urgel. On 25th March following a treaty was concluded by which the republic should pay the annual tribute to the receiver-general of the department of Ariège, in return for which it was to receive some commercial privileges as to the free export of certain goods. It was further stipulated that one of the viguiers of the republic should be chosen from the department of Ariège, and that three deputies of the Valley should nearly take an oath to the prefect of the same department. Napoleon is said to have affixed his name to the original charter of Charlemagne. {563} The privileges of the Andorrans have been several times acknowledged by France and Spain. Even the war with Spain did not injure the neutrality of the republic. In 1794, a French column having penetrated into the centre of Andorra, for the purpose of laying siege to the city of Urgel, the Andorrans sent a deputation to assert the neutrality and independence of the valley, and General Charlet gave immediate orders to withdraw. The Andorrans have never taken part in the wars of their neighbors. The rich pasturages between Hospitalet, in France, and Soldeu, in Andorra, in former times attracted the cupidity of the people of Hospitalet, who have several times endeavored to take forcible possession of them: the Andorrans having appealed to the law, judgment was given in their favor in 1835 by the Court Royal of Toulouse. There is no form of sovereignty in Europe exactly similar to that of Andorra. The republic is governed by a syndic, a council of twenty-four, together with two viguiers or magistrates, and two judges. The French government and the see or Urgel possess a co-ordinate right of confirmation over the appointment of the syndic. The twenty-four members of the council consist of the twelve consuls who represent the six parishes or communes, and the twelve consuls who held office during the preceding year. These latter are called councillors. One of the viguiers is appointed by the French government, the other Bishop of Urgel. The former is chosen for life, and is generally a magistrate of the department of Ariège; the latter holds office for three years only, and is chosen from among the subjects of the republic. He is not required to be an educated man. The viguiers alone exercise the criminal authority. Civil justice is rendered by two other judges, one of whom is appointed by each viguier from a list of six members, drawn up and presented by the syndic. In both criminal and civil cases the judges are guided by equity, common sense, and custom only, and yet no complaints are heard of. Parties to suits, both criminal and civil, have the right of appearing by counsel, who is styled _rahonador_, or speaker. The decision of the criminal courts is communicated to the council, who reassemble to receive it. The sentence of the court, once proclaimed by the council, is irrevocable, and is put in execution within twenty-four hours. The criminal court is rarely convoked. There are few crimes committed in the republic. One man was executed for murder about six years since. The expenses of justice are paid partly by the delinquents, partly by the council. The armed forces consist of six companies, one for each parish, and scarcely amount to 600, but in case of need all the inhabitants are soldiers. There is no enlistment; one individual between the age of sixteen and sixty is chosen from each family. There is no national flag, and no drums are used. The service is unpaid. Public instruction is in the worst state. The priest of each parish is obliged to provide a school in his own house, but no one is compelled to send his children. Those who desire a better education for their children send them either to France or Catalonia. The only form of religion is the Roman Catholic. Political refugees from Spain and France are always hospitably received. Foreigners resident in the republic pay yearly five Catalan sous, and enjoy all the privileges of the natives, except that of holding any public office. If a foreigner marries an heiress, he is accounted a citizen, but he must first obtain an authorization from the council-general. The Andorrans are somewhat above the ordinary size of Spaniards. In stature they are thin and wiry. In character they are active, proud, industrious, independent, religious, faithful to their ancient customs, and very jealous of their liberties. They are inquisitive, great talkers, but suddenly dumb and ignorant when they imagine their interest at stake. Those engaged in public affairs are generally {564} hospitable, but most of the people are rather suspicious of strangers. They speak the Catalan dialect, which is a compound of Castilian and the ancient languages of the south of France. They also use many modern French words, which they pronounce after their own fashion. The people are poor, and glory in their poverty, as they thereby preserve their independence. Should they grow rich, they would be sure to be absorbed either by France or Spain. A large portion of the wealth of the republic consists in its flocks of sheep. Each landowner is possessed of a considerable flock. The price of a sheep ranges from twelve to twenty francs. The fleeces suffice to clothe the whole of the male population. The exports into Spain consist of iron, in large quantities, sheep, mules, and other cattle; cloths, blankets, cheese, butter, and excellent hams. Those into France include untanned skins, sheep, mules, calves and wool. The number of sheep and mules sent annually into Spain and France amounts to 1,000. Considering the size of the republic, the imports from Spain are considerable: they include some of the necessaries of life, as corn and salt. The only imports from France are fish and compound liquors. There is a good deal of contraband between the republic and Spain and France. It consists principally in wines, vinegar, salt, and a small quantity of silk. The contrabandistas between the valley and Spain are generally Spaniards. There are no land conveyances, and the transport of goods and merchandise is carried on with horses and mules. There are no restrictions on commerce, and no stamps; and no passports are required. The republic contains six parishes or communes, namely, Andorra la Vieja, San Juliá de Loria, Canillo, Ordino, En Camp, and La Massana. There are also thirty-four villages and hamlets, the chief of which are Escaldas, Santa Caloma, and Soldeu. There are but few ancient remains in the republic. The capital, Andorra la Vieja, or "The Old" is so called to distinguish it from Andorra in Spain, Province Teruel. There is a good weekly market, and considerable business is transacted in imported corn. It is a miserable place, with houses built of the _débris_ of schist and granite, and generally without stucco. During the civil wars it suffered greatly from hostile attacks, and the suspension of commerce. The palace, called Casa del Valle, is an ancient building, constructed of rough pieces of granite. The _façade_ is heavy and massive, and has only three windows, of unequal dimensions, with some louvers; in its left angle is a turret pierced with loopholes, and surmounted with a cross. Above the portal, which resembles a _porte cochère_, is the inscription _Domus_ consilii, _sedes justitiae_, under which is and escutcheon of white marble, with the arms of the republic. The interior of the palace is in a state of complete ruin. On the ground floor is the national prison and the stables, where the members of the council have the privilege of putting up their horses during the sessions. The kitchen is on a grand scale, with immense hearts and cauldrons. A staircase, which savors of antiquity, leads to the chamber on the first floor, where the council meets. It is a vast hall of an imposing aspect. At one end is a chair for the syndic, who sits as president of the assembly; along either wall are benches of oak for the twenty-four councillors; and between the corridors is a picture of Jesus Christ. In another part of the hall are preserved in the archives of the government, which include the grant of Charlemagne and his son. They are kept in an armory or cupboard in the wall, closed by two wooden shutters, where they have remained intact since the expulsion of the Moors. The cabinet has six different locks and keys, which are kept by the executive officers of the six communes whose documents have been separately deposited. This cabinet has no outer door, and can only be opened in the presence of the six heads of the departments, who are bound to be present at the deliberations {565} of the council. There are five sessions of the council annually, but when necessary, extraordinary sessions are also held. When the general council is unable to assemble, the syndic general, or, in his absence, the sub-syndic, represent it, and act in its name; sometimes, also, a junta general is convoked, at which assist a consul, or a consul and a councillor, for each parish. In the juntas, matters of minor interest are discussed, and the consuls and councillors who take part in them are entrusted with the powers of their colleagues. To the general council pertains everything relating to police, and all disputes in commercial matters. The chapel is dedicated to San Heremengol, formerly Bishop of Urgel and Prince of Andorra, and will repay a visit.

ORIGINAL.

CATHOLIC CHRISTMAS.

The evening of the last day of the church's advent arrives. She gathers her ministers around her, and, singing hymns of glad expectation, they remain in her temples, even until midnight. Let us listen to the grand harmony!

Divided into two vast bodies, they peal forth the verses of the royal prophet in alternate chorus; and who could tire hearkening? Well does Durendus say, that "the two choirs typify the angels and the spirits of just men, while they cheerfully and mutually excite each other in this holy exercise." We fancy ourselves among the choirs of heaven, as St. Ignatius once was in spirit, when he learned the method of alternate chanting.

Oh! whose heart does not yearn toward the church in these her days of longing! She has laid away from her all that is dazzling and joyous; yet is she most charming. Anxious love, like a sun, burns over her, altering her color; yet is she all beauty--bright and rich and warm--her aspect teeming with purity and love and inspiration. "I am black, but beautiful." (Cant. i. 4)

It is midnight. Long since men ceased from their labors. The din of traffic has been hushed for hours. Yet there is a sound through all the world. From every city and town and village, from spire-crowned hill and from holy valley, from numberless sweet nooks and by-ways, it swells forth, the sound of a grand harmony, the voices of myriads chanting. Now the tones speak of longing; now they tremble with expectation; then there is a burst of rapture following the mellow warbling of desire. It is the voice of the church longing for her Beloved! She shall be gratified, for even now there is a knocking at her temple gates. The chant is hushed, and a voice, gentle as the lisping of a child, breathes the sweet entreaty, "Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my head is full of dew and my locks of the drops of the night." (Cant. v. 2.) Yes, lovely Babe, gladly will the temple-doors open to thee; for many a long and weary mile did thy mother journey with thee beneath her heart!

Winter ruled the earth. Chill blew the breezes, and coldness was over all nature. Shivering had the aged saint and Mary asked for shelter, but the inns were filled, and none in Bethlehem would trouble to receive them. Riches were not theirs, and all saw that the {566} unknown mother's time was near; hence, fearing they might have to look to the child, they shut her from their dwellings. The only place of refuge her holy spouse could find for his charge was a cheerless stable, hollowed from a rough, cold rock. The ox and the ass were their only earthly companions; hay and straw formed the rude couch upon which the mother brought forth her child at midnight. Jesus! Saviour! she wraps thee scantily in swaddling-clothes, and lays thee shivering in a manger. Well then may the dew and the drops of the night hang heavy upon thy locks!

But, though in Bethlehem these unknown travellers were outcasts, God did not desert them. The glimmerings of adoring angels' wings fell upon the mother's eyes to comfort her heart, for there were angels near in numbers. They hovered over and within the hut, making it ring with the most blessed hymn that mortal or angelic ears had ever heard: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good-will."

Instantly upon this knocking the church rises to open to her Beloved, and now begins her joy. Now she will celebrate his birthday, and her heart leaps high in bidding him welcome. Her torches, her sanctuary lamps, the countless candles on her altars, all are lighted with the speed of love; their shining shows her spouse that she was so full of expectation, so confident of his coming, that she has already cast away her weeds of mourning and desire, and has arrayed her charms in her most precious robes. Evergreens and tapestry are twining and glowing all about her--in her niches, upon her piers, her arcades, her parapets, her cloister-galleries, her massive stalls, her carved and fretted ceilings. Her altars and her sanctuaries have festoons and garlands, and crowns of sweetest design, and veils and hangings of choicest embroidery. She peals her bells and sweeps her fingers over her organ-keys, and tunes her many instruments, to fill her temples with the rapturous canticle of the day, "Gloria in excelsis Deo."

But let us circumscribe our views. As we may behold the joy of the universal church in even her smallest division, let us see how, in the good old Catholic times, the simplest villagers celebrated the first day of the Incarnate Eternal!

The few rich men among them have sent stores of flowers and fruits from their conservatories to deck the green branches gathered in the forest. Pious ladies have brought in the various ornaments, which they have been preparing for weeks, as an offering for their new-born Saviour. The happy pastor and many of his spiritual flock have been busy in the church four days, disposing the decorations with untiring ingenuity and taste.

Now it is almost midnight. The skies are clear and studded with twinkling stars. Ice is over all the streams, snow is over all the streets and fields, and weighs down the trees. Stillness is upon the the village, yet not the stillness of slumber. You can see that something is transpiring which takes not place at other midnights; for lights are glimmer through the cottage-windows, and, now and then, cheerful forms are seen passing to and fro. They are all expecting, and they shall not be delayed; for hark! suddenly a merry peal of bells bursts over them; joyously it rings forth--now in soft, sweet cadence, and now in swelling harmony. It pours along the streets and fills the village dwellings. It echoes through the cloudless vault, over the snowy fields and the glassy streams, reaching even the scattered hamlets in the distance. Suddenly and joyously the music bursts upon all:

"Adeste fideles, laeti, triumphantes Venite, venite in Bethlehem."

And the cottage-doors are thrown open, and groups of merry children sally forth gladly shouting, "Christmas, Christmas!"

{567}

Then the tapers are extinguished, and the villagers all hasten forth with holy eagerness to see their Jesus cradled in the manger; and, as they direct their steps toward the old church, they awaken the midnight echoes with that sweet old carol:

"Now the circling year have given The joyful season, when from heaven Life descended to the earth In the Babe who took his birth From our sweet Lady!

"Behold him in the manger laid, Owned by the cattle of the shed, Who know their God meanest bands Enswathed by the tender hands Of our sweet Lady!

"Now he smiles on Joseph blessed; Now he seeks his mother's breast; Now he sobs, and now he cries, All beneath the guardian eyes Of our sweet Lady!

"Run, run, ye shepherds, haste and bring Your simple homage to our King! Ye heaven-called watchers, taste and see Our God, meek-seated on the knee Of our sweet Lady!"

Thus they stream along from every cottage, along every pathway toward the church, men, women, and little children, singing and chatting happily. Far off in the moonlit distance you see small parties hastening over the white plains from their scattered homes to mingle in the festival. How beautifully do they remind us of those happy shepherds who left their flocks near the "Tower of Ader," and went over to Bethlehem, to see the word that had come to pass!

The bells continue pealing out their music to the midnight, and the church continues filling. Listen to the half-suppressed ejaculation of joyous surprise as each new group enters the holy place and beholds its charming decorations! Over every window's curve, and hanging down by its sides, is a mighty wreath of evergreens. In front of every hallowed niche lights are burning, and wreaths of foliage hang over it. The pillars are all twined round and round, up to the very ceiling, with ivy, holly, laurel, intermingled with those berries that grow red in winter. But who shall describe the glories of the sanctuary! The arch that rises over it flows with the fullest folds of tapestry, white as snow, save where they are here and there interwrought with flowers of rose-hued silk and thread of gold, and intertwined with holly and laurel, and boughs of the orange-tree with its golden clusters. On the altar-steps are vases filled with evergreens, slender strings of ivy twisting around tall branches and bending gracefully between them down even to the floor. The altar is crowded with lighted candles, and along the intervals of the candlesticks flow festoons of slender branches, leaves, and flowers. A stole of flowers decorates the very crucifix; the tabernacle sparkles in its richest veil.

Oh! in olden times even a village church was grand beyond description; for then men took a pride in their religion. They loved to see God's Bride in bridal splendor; they loved to see the Queen in regal vesture; they loved to see the Sister of the Church in heaven with something like heavenly glory around her. The rich man gave of his abundance, the poor man gave of his labor, ladies wrought embroidery--all in holy unison strained every nerve to make her temples beautiful.

Now the church has filled with kneeling forms. The rich and the poor, the lady and the servant, the laborers and they for whom they labor, here kneel side by side, they are all equal here, for they are all alike, are God's own children, the brethren of the Babe of Bethlehem.

The steeple-bells have ceased to peal, for not a single thought must now wander outside. Eyes and ears and heart and soul and every feeling are intent upon the grand occurrences within.

Presently blue clouds of sweet incense are seen floating toward the sanctuary, and modestly there comes a youth swinging a silver censer; a long procession of little acolytes, clad in snow-white surplices and bearing lighted tapers, follow him slowly; a saintly looking priest, in precious vestments, closes the holy array. His {568} youthful attendants are chosen boys of blameless life and pleading aspect: and, indeed, they look pure and innocent and cherub-like, as they dispose themselves around the holy place, and kneel toward the altar.

Then amid half-suppressed, repentant cries for "mercy on us," swelling forth from the choir, the psalm is said--the psalm of preparation, of praise, of hope, of humble confidence: the confession is made; prayers for pardon, lights and gracious hearing are repeated. Then the priest ascends "unto the altar of God," and whispers prayers, speaking rapturously of the "Child that is born to us, the Son that is given to us." But look at hie countenance as he returns slowly to the middle of the altar; you can see that he is full of some grand event--his soul, his heart, his feelings, all hold jubilee. One more entreaty for mercy repeated again and again with passionate earnestness, and he raises his eyes and his arms as though about to ascend in ecstasy, and, like one inspired, he breaks forth in the angelic hymn, "Gloria in excelsis Deo." It is the signal of jubilee. Suddenly there is a burst of many little bells, shaken by the hands of the surpliced children, ringing out their silver music until the hymn is ended by the priest; the organ's richest and fullest chords are struck, swelling forth in harmony like that which the rivers made in Paradise when they sang their first hymn of praise to him who set them flowing, and the full choir of trained voices burst forth: "Et in terra pax hominibus."

Truly you think yourself at Bethlehem. It seems as though the Child were just born--as though you heard the heavenly hosts singing their grand anthem--saw the shepherds wondering and adoring--beheld the Infant lying in the manger, a fair, radiant, smiling little Babe, with an old saint beside it, leaning on his staff, and a comely virgin, in a trance of motherly affection, kissing its bright forehead. So these villagers seem to feel it all. A start of joy runs through the whole assembly, a radiance lights up every feature; friends kiss each other, fathers kiss their children, mothers kiss their little ones; a whisper runs from soul to soul through all the church--"Pax hominibus."

Then follow collect, the epistle, the gradual, a gospel, all full of the grand event. And then the choir's jubilee begins again, as the anointed one at the altar intones "Credo in unum Deum." Who shall tell the stirless reverence of each prostrate form, as all bow yet lower at the words that still the mystery of the night! Softly the organ warbles in its mellowest keys; from the richest voice in all the choir sweetly flow the words "Et Homo factus est." Every mind reflects, and every heart is melted.

Then comes the offertory; and all present, according to their various means, make their offerings for those "who serve the altar," and for the poor. While the priest raises in offering the paten with the Post and the chalice with wine, the villagers also, kneeling, make an offering of their homage to their new-born Redeemer; and mothers lift their little ones to heaven in spirit, praying that they may advance "in wisdom and age and grace with God and men," as did the Child of Mary. Then follows the washing of the heads, with its appropriate prayers; then, the secretas, the preface, the whispered prayers for God's church, for friends and benefactors, for all the living faithful.

The moment of consecration draws nigh. Books are laid aside, hands are clasped upon the breast, every head is bent. The sweet voices in the choir have been hushed; the organ's silvery tones, murmuring more and more softly, have at length died away, awe-stricken by the silence that fills God's house. Yes! silence fills it, for silence now seems a something--a breathless, pulseless, but mighty spirit feeling all this temple, as the cloud of God's glory once filled the tabernacle. You think you could almost {569} most hear a spirit move, you feel as though you were among the angels when they waited breathless to behold the effect of the sublime utterance, "Let there be light." Bending low in reverend humility, the priest in a whisper of awe speaks the almighty words, "This is my body," "This is the chalice of my blood;" the light breathing of that whisper is heard even in the bosom of the Eternal Father, the golden gates of Paradise are thrown open, and God "bows the heavens and comes down." He is here, this church is now the hut of Bethlehem, this altar is the manger; for the Child is born upon it as really as the Virgin-mother there brought him forth.

As when of old light was made, there was a music of the spheres, of the sun and moon and all the stars and planets, singing their morning hymn of gratitude, so is the stillness now also broken, so does the choir, warbling in swelling glee, burst forth in grand climax, "Hosanna in excelsis." And in the mean time priest and people united utter to their new-born Saviour many rich and beautiful prayers for the living, for the faithful departed, for themselves.

The villagers are absorbed in prayer; it seems as though their fervor kept redoubling, as though the flames of holy love burned higher and higher every instant. Well they may, for the moment is approaching in which each heart will be a manger in which Jesus will be laid, each breast a tabernacle in which love itself shall dwell. Already there is a move among them; with modest gait, with clasped hands and downcast eyes, they advance to the sanctuary, the mystic bread is given to them line after line, and, bearing their God with them, they all return in reverence to give thanks, to petition for good things. Serenity is in their eyes and on their features, joy is in their hearts, rapture in their souls, peace among their feelings, and Jesus within their bosoms harmonizing all. O truly happy Christmas! O the bliss that now is theirs, the comfort of this moment! Well may the chanters hymn: "O Jesus, God! Great God! Good Pastor! Sweet Lamb! O Jesus, _my_ Jesus! O Bread! O Manna! O Power! what dost thou not grant to man!"

Then praises and thanks are sung joyously by the priest, and his hand is stretched in blessing from the altar. The Mass is over, and the procession moves from the sanctuary, while the choir chants aloud, "Praise the Lord all ye nations, praise him all ye people. Because his mercy is confirmed upon us, and the truth of the Lord remaineth for ever." (Ps. cxvi.)

The chant dies away, and for awhile not a sound is heard through all the sacred building. No one stirs as yet; all remain some time to return thanks, to allow the impression of the festival to sink deep into their souls. At length they rise, and bowing lowly toward the altar, they go forth. At the church-door hands are shaken, kisses given, warm embraces are exchanged, and joy and happiness and all the blessings of the Child's nativity are wished and wished again.

But follow them home from their midnight celebration. For a long time the village slumbers not; lights glimmer through the cottage-windows, and within groups are kneeling around a little home-made oratory, with a little crib in the middle, and candles around it. This is of greater importance than the gathering around the yule-fire or the decked tree. Moreover, all did not go home when Mass was over. Go back to the church, and behold those silent figures praying in every posture that feeling can suggest. There, before that tabernacle, a mother prays the divine Child for her own babe; a virgin prays for purity like to that of the Virgin-mother; the child of misery seeks consolation from him who was born in a stable; many repeat over and over again the canticle of the angels, and all beg the blessings of him over whom the angels sang it. At length these also are gone; the lights {570} are quenched about the altar, all, save the silver lamp which is never extinguished; all is still as was the stable when the shepherds had adored and gone back to their flocks.

But the festival of our Saviour's birth is not over yet. "As the day comes round in music and in light;" you again see the villagers wending their way to the church; and a third time, when the sun is in the mid-arch of heaven. Each time is witnessed the same sublime celebration that we beheld at midnight; for three births of Christ are celebrated. His birth from the Father before lime began; his birth from the immaculate Virgin as a wailing babe at Bethlehem; his mystic birth, by faith and by the sacrament of love, in the heart of each humble adorer.

Such was Christmas in the happy olden times. Alas! that a blight should ever have come upon it. Truly they have not done well to despoil that village church of all its charming features. Well may the church exclaim, weeping: "The keepers that go about the city found me; they struck me, and wounded me: the keepers of the walls took my vail from me." (Cant, v. 7.) Fondly do we trust she will soon again be clothed in splendor. The pope that reigned when England fell away grieved sadly for her fall. In his distress he put away the triple crown; and even now his statue sits uncrowned, with downcast eyes, as though his grief had hardened him to stone. But soon, we trust, he will again lift up his eyes. Soon, we trust, will his successors rejoiced to find the crown replaced, not by mortal, but by angel hands. Shall we not hope and pray that our own dear land, also, will form not the least brilliant jewel in that crown? One day this church will again deck herself with the flowers she once wore, but which rebellious hands toward to pieces, scattering the leaves around her. Then shall we once again celebrate the good old Catholic Christmas times, and celebrate them with the increased joy which is born of the wanderer's returned. God granted it speedily!

MISCELLANY

_Spots on the Sun.--Science Review_.--We would draw the attention of our scientific readers to a remarkable opinion and theory of Sir John Herschel's with regard to the nature of those curious objects discovered by Mr. Nasmyth on the surface of the sun, and generally called, from their peculiar shape, "willow leaves." We believe Sir John first propounded this theory in an article on the sun, published in Good Words, but it does not seem to have been noticed by many astronomers. However wild the hypothesis may appear, it has just received a further sanction from its eminent author, by its republication in his new book of Familiar Lectures, which we notice elsewhere. Sir John says: "Nothing remains but to consider them (the so-called willow leaves) as separate and independent sheets, flakes, or scales, having some sort of solidity. And these flakes, be they what they may, and whatever may be said about the dashing of meteoric stones into the sun's atmosphere, etc., are evidently the immediate sources of the solar light and heat by whatever mechanism for whatever processes they may be enabled to develop, and, as it were, elaborate these elements from the bosom of the non-luminous fluid in which they appear to float. Looked at in this point of view, we cannot refuse to regard them as organisms of some peculiar and amazing kind; and though it would be too daring to speak of such organization as partaking of the nature of life, yet we do know that vital action is competent to develop both heat, light, and electricity." Strange and startling as is such an explanation, yet scientific men will remember that when we {571} knew as little about the cause of the black lines seen in the spectrum of the sun as we now know about these appearances on the sun itself, Sir John Herschel suggested, in 1833, that very explanation which was the foundation of the memorable law announced by the German philosopher, Kirchhoff, in 1859--a law now universally accepted as affording a perfect solution to the long-standing puzzle of Fraunhofer's lines.

_Simple Net for the Capture of Oceanic Animals,--Science Review_.--In a paper read before the Microscopical Society of London on the fauna of mid-ocean, Major S. R. Owen gives the following directions for the preparation of a simple form of net for the above purpose, and which maybe rigged out at a few hours' notice. A grommet should be made for the mouth, to which three cords may be attached to connect it with the towing-line; that line should be a good stout piece of stuff and capable of bearing a great strain. To the grommet should be attached, first, a bag, the upper part of which may be made of a thin canvas, the lower part of strong jean, ending in a piece of close calico or linen; the bottom must be left open, and tied round with a tape when used; this will be found convenient for taking out the contents, and by leaving it open and towing it so for a short time it can be thoroughly washed. Over the whole an outer covering of the strongest sail-cloth should be put, the upper part, in like manner, attached to the grommet, the lower part left open, and a portion for a foot or eighteen inches of the seam left to be coarsely laced up with a piece of cord, the same being done for the bottom itself. If necessary, a third covering may be put between these of any strong but rather porous material; but this in its turn should be left open at the bottom, and only tied when required for use. Its length should be so adjusted when tied that the inner lining of calico may rest against it, and be relieved from the strain. The outer sail-cloth should, in like manner, be laced up to receive and support the whole.

_A New Magnesium Lamp_.--An ingenious form of magnesium lamp, the invention of Mr. H. Larkin, and which was first exhibited at the Royal Institution a couple of months since, was shown at the _soirées_ of the British Association at Nottingham. Instead of the ordinary ribbon or wire of the commoner forms of magnesium lamps, magnesium powder is employed. Hence all machinery is dispensed with, the magnesium being contained in a reservoir, from a hole in the bottom of which it falls like sand from an hour-glass. The powder is allowed to fall upon the flame of a small gas-jet, and by this it is inflamed, giving all its usual illumination. In order that a sufficient quantity of powder may be employed, and that the hole in the reservoir may be large enough to allow of a regular flow, without waste of magnesium, the latter is mixed with fine sand. The size of the aperture is regulated by a stopcock. When it is desired to light the lamp, the gas is first turned on, just sufficiently to produce a small jet at the mouth of the tube, which small jet, being once kindled, may be allowed to burn any convenient time, until the moment the magnesium light is required. All that is then needed is to turn on the metallic powder, which instantly descends and becomes ignited as it passes through the burning gas. This action of turning on and off the metallic powder may be repeated without putting out the gas, as often and as quickly as desired; so that, in addition to the ordinary purpose to which lamps are applied, an instant or an intermittent light of great brilliancy, suitable for signals or for light-houses, may be very simply produced with certainty of effect and without the smallest waste of metal. The first evening an objection was made that the blue tone of the light created a cold and somewhat ghastly effect. On the second occasion Mr. Larkin remedied this by mixing with the magnesium a certain quantity of nitrate of strontia.--_Journal of the Society of Arts_.

_An Artificial Eye for restoring Sight_.--An apparatus of this kind, whose efficiency we much doubt, has been described by M. Blanchet, in a paper in which he details the operation for its insertion under the title of Helio-prothesis. The operation consists in puncturing the eye in the direction of the antero-posterior axis with a narrow bistoury, and introducing a piece of apparatus to which M. Blanchet gives the name of "phosphore." The operation in most instances produces little pain, and when the globe of the eye has undergone degeneration there is no pain at all, and the "phosphore" apparatus is {572} introduced without difficulty. The description of this contrivance is this: "It consists of a shell of enamel, and of a tube closed at both its ends by glasses, whose form varies according to circumstances." M. Blanchet thus describes the operation: "The patient's head being supported by an assistant, the upper eyelid is raised by an elevator, and the lower one is depressed. The operator then punctures the eye with a narrow bistoury, adapting the width of his incision to the diameter of the 'phosphore' tube which he intends to insert. The translucent humor having escaped, the 'phosphore' apparatus is applied, and almost immediately, or after a short time, the patient is partially restored to sight!" Before introducing the apparatus it is necessary to calculate the antero-posterior diameter of the eye, and if the lens has cataract it must be removed. Inasmuch as the range of vision depends on the quantity of the humor left behind, M. Blanchet recommends the employment of spectacles of various kinds.--_Popular Science Review._

_Action of Different Colored Lights on the Retina_.--It is known to physiologists that when a ray of light falls upon the retina, the impression it produces remains for a definite period, according to calculation about the _third of a second_. It is this fact which is used to explain why a burning brand, when twirled rapidly round, gives the appearance of a ring of light. But till quite recently it had not been shown whether the different colors of light had the same degree of persistence upon the retina. The subject has quite lately been taken up by the Abbé Laborde, who shows that, just as the prism separates the colors at different angles, so the retina absorbs the callers, or the impressions produced thereby, in different times. In conducting his experiment to prove this, the abbé receives the sunlight through an aperture in a shutter into a darkened chamber. The aperture is about three millimetres wide by six high. In the course of the beam and in the middle the chamber there is placed a disk of metal, the circumference of which is pierced by apertures corresponding to the aperture in the shutter. This disk is caused to revolve by clockwork. Behind the disc is placed a plate of ground glass to receive this spot of light. The disk being then caused to revolve rapidly, the spot appears at first white, but as the revolution become more rapid the borders of the spot and the colors which successively appear are in their order of succession as follows: blue, green, red, white, green, blue.--_Comptes Rendus_.

_The Origin of Diamonds._--a curious, and it seems to us very improbable, theory of the origin of diamonds was put foreword by M. Chancourtios in an essay published in the _Comptes Rendus_ for June 25th. The author tries to show in this that diamonds have been produced by and incomplete oxidation of the carbides of hydrogen, in pretty much the same fashion as the sulphur in the _Solfatara,_ described by Professor Ansted in one of our late numbers, results from an incomplete oxidation of sulphuretted hydrogen, all of whose hydrogen is converted into water, while only a part of the sulphur is changed into sulfurous acid. It is by a similar process that petroleum has given rise to bitumen, and this again two graphite. "If, then" says the author, "a mixture of hydrocarbon gases and vapor of water be submitted to slow oxidation, diamonds may possibly be obtained." It is even possible, he observes, that the tubes which convey common coal-gas along the streets of Paris may contain such artificial diamonds in abundance.--_Popular Science Review_.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

Ballads, Lyrics, and Hymns. By Alice Carey, 8vo., pp. 333. New York: Hurd Houghton. 1866.

Literature knows no sex, but critics do, and in courtesy we must say to Miss Carey, we think better of her than of her book; and while judging what is before us purely on its aesthetic merits, we incline to believe that the selections here compiled do not show her at her best. This book might just possibly {573} have been good, only it is not. It appears to consist of gatherings from the grist of a respectable and old-established mill, whose brand is familiarly known wherever mild magazines and sensation periodicals have penetrated. The most prominent quality it demonstrates is the tireless industry--or the well-oiled machinery--of the fair miller. The style throughout is just of the kind to be the first in a "Poet's Corner;" best characterized, perhaps, by the word "unexceptionable," as used by the domestic critic, if one there be, of Frank Leslie or the Ledger. Generally, there is nothing whenever to quarrel with--grammatically, socially, theologically, or practically. We should not be in the least surprised if Miss Carey's manuscripts even came in accurately punctuated. The whole book is like the perfection of a gentleman's toilet; every constituent part is so correctly "got up," that once out of sight, we cannot recall a single thing beyond the impression of the _tout ensemble_.

There is considerable thinking, without any notable novelties in thought. The fact is, no one who has not tried can appreciate the difficulty of finding something salient to fasten an opinion on. The main impression of the serious and heavy parts of the volume on our mind was that the authoress loved God, meant to be religious and tender-hearted, and thought the world cold and the sectarians narrow-minded: laudable conclusions all, which we rather agree with on the whole, but which do not show cause why they should exist in such splendid binding.

If this were all; if the book consisted utterly, as it does mainly, of versified unremarkableness, all were well enough. It would sell all the same, and descend in its due course to the limbo of respectable mediocrity, which cannot be damned because it never had a chance to be saved. But there are gleams amid the commonplace that make it, to our mind, one of the saddest books we ever opened--said with the unfulfilled promise of a busy yet wasted life. While there is not, we believe, a single true poem in her book, we do think Miss Carey might once have written poetry. There are traces of talent, like the abrasions on the high Alpine ridges where avalanches or glaciers went by them that are long since melted into the valley below, and gone to join the sea. We do not think Miss Carey ever had a very great supply of poetic power--never so much as Phoebe Carey, who has enough poetry in her to equip any ten of the other lady contributors whose versicles pay as well as hers; but what there was has been sapped and drained off as fast as it accumulated, in a thousand paltry rillets of verse that at most can only be silver threads in the passing sunshine. Had she ever been suffered to let her thoughts and fancies gather and mingle, perhaps she could have written well. She has not only considerable command of language, but some character: there has always been something respectable about Miss Carey that set her apart, somehow, from the other newspaper writers of miscellaneous verses, and to it she probably owes the present distinction of being the only one whose productions are thought worth making a book from. But the woman has never had a chance. As fast as an idea budded, it was contracted for in advance and plucked long before ripeness, for the greedy children that will have their green fruit. If a fancy strayed into her brain, it was not hers to do with as she liked. It must be carved and served up in as many different styles as possible; made into a long poem for one paper and a short poem for another, and dashed into a third as a flavoring ingredient for a string of hired rhymes. Now, is there not a strange pathos in the idea of making a life-long business of doing that ill which one might do well, and which is only worth existence when well done; of dribbling and frittering away every finer impulse; of chipping the heart's crystals up into glaziers' diamonds; of subsisting on oneself, Prometheus and vulture in one? And how infinitely sadder with the consciousness all the while that if one could but get a respite, this same work, wrought in freedom, might win all that hope asks?

Consciously or unconsciously, this, we believe, is the discipline through which Miss Carey has passed. We think so from the manner, and from the places, in which we come upon the fragments of promise that shine here and there. They are often repeated in other lines--sometimes verbatim; they are not the substance but always the sauce of the poem; they are never sustained or developed. Everything goes to show that she has reached that fatal state of enervation when the mind, from long desuetude, {574} and from never having a fair chance to think out anything, he comes next to incapable of any continued political thought at all. The exertion of developing a happy idea into its best form is too much for the unused and enfeebled imagination.

So much for the conjectural inside view of these verses, the actual outside view remains. Whether it be a sad fact or simply a fact, there is nothing to read twice in the book. It is not poetry, but it is a piece of very good judgment on the part of the publisher--just what they want. And if we understand their motives, we shall earn their good will by saying that this is a safe, trustworthy, and entirely harmless work, innocuous to families and schools, superbly bound, finished, and printed, and fit, beyond almost any work we know of, for a present from very affectionate young men to very amiable young ladies.

BEETHOVEN'S LETTERS. (1790-1836.) From the collection of Dr. Ludwig Nohl; also his Letters to the Archduke Rudolph, Cardinal-Archbishop of Olmutz, from the collection of Dr. Ludwig Ritter von Kochel. Translated by Lady Wallace; with a portrait and facsimile. 2 vols., 12mo. Hurd & Houghton.

These letters of the illustrious _maestro_ are arranged under three heads: Life's Joy a and Sorrows, Life's Mission, Life's Troubles and Close. They are of quite a miscellaneous character, and refer to every conceivable event of life, displaying much good humor and not a little ill humor in their short, quick, impatient sentences. As a letter-writer he is far inferior to Mozart, with whom the reader comes at once into sympathy, and of whose letters very few indeed are wanting in sentiments of universal interest. On the contrary, a very large number of these letters of Beethoven will be read simply because Beethoven wrote them, and will not bear a reperusal Yet they will, no doubt, find a welcome place beside those of his great brother artist on the table of every admirer of the grand music or these two grand geniuses. His enthusiastic, and we may add, somewhat imaginative editor and compiler, Dr. Nohl, is perhaps better qualified to form a judgment upon the general tenor and worth of these letters than we are, and we therefore quote the following from his preface to the present work: "If not fettered by petty feelings, the reader will quickly surmount the casual obstacles and stumbling-blocks which the first perusal of these letters may seem to present, and quickly feel himself transported at a single stride into a stream where a strange roaring and rushing is heard, but above which loftier tones resound with magic and exciting power. For a acute year life breathes in these lines; and under-current runs through their apparently unconnected import, uniting them as with and electric chain, and with firmer links than any mere coherence of subjects could have effected. I experienced this myself to the most remarkable degree when I first made the attempt to arrange, in accordance with their period and substance, the hundreds of individual pages bearing neither date nor address, and I was soon convinced that a connected text (such as Mozart's letters have, and ought to have) would be here entirely superfluous, as even the best biographical commentary would be very dry work, interrupting the electric current of the whole, and thus destroying its peculiar effect."

The volumes are published in scholarly style, and present a very readable and attractive page.

LONDON POEMS. By Robert Buchanan 12 mo, pp. 272. Alexander Strahan, London and New-York.

The elegant dress of this volume, so characteristic of Mr. Strahan's publications, is calculated to make one shy of saying anything derogatory to its character; but we are held to say that we decidedly object to Mr. Buchanan's poetry in any dress. The greater part of these poems are to us positively repulsive. They are but little more than rudely hand sketches of certain phases of low life in London, immoral and irreligious in tone, and utterly wanting in that spiritual expression which invests the true poet with the mantle of inspiration. The poet may describe vice if he will, but let him not dare to excuse it or throw a charm about it if he would not raised a storm of indignation in the bosoms of the virtuous and the truthful. Poetry is a divine art; the poet must discharge at once the high office of teacher as well as psalmist, and every {575} line should bear the impress of divine truth nobility, and purity. That which is false, base, boorish, and obscene is none the less detestable for being put in rhythm.

FREDERICK THE GREAT AND HIS COURT. An historical novel. By L. Mühlbach. Translated from the German by Mrs. Chapman Coleman and daughters. 12mo. New-York: D. Appleton & Co. 1866.

The rapidity with which the novels of Miss Mühlbach have risen into popularity in this country is a pretty good indication of their merit. They are free from the false sensationalism which furnishes the spice of the lower school of modern fiction; and they treat of historical subjects and characters with an honest intention to exhibit historical truth, and not as a mere framework for the display of a trashy story. Many of the scenes are drawn with a fidelity and an effectiveness which show at the same time a close familiarity with the times and persons with which the novel is concerned and a very considerable literary skill; but the dialogues are not always well managed, the diction being sometimes too trivial and sometimes too stilted. Despite this minor defect, the book is full enough of interest: and our wonder is, considering the great and long-established popularity of Miss Mühlbach in Germany, that her writings were not translated into our language long ago. It is a singular fact that the present work, and some other historical novels from the same pen which D. Appleton & Co. have now in press, were translated and first printed in the Confederate States during the late rebellion.

THE HIGHER EDUCATION OF WOMEN. By Emily Davies. 16mo, pp. 191. London and New-York: Alexander Strahan. 1866.

This is a well-written plea for reform in the present system of female education; not for a reform which would ignore the difference in the character and duties of the two sexes, but one which would open to women various callings for which nature has specially fitted them, but which they are now shut out either by defective training or by the prejudices of society. Miss Davies's little treatise is an appropriate companion work for a volume of similar essays by Miss Parkes which we noticed two or three months ago; and though both of them are more applicable to the state of things in England than to the better condition of women in our own country there is much in both which deserves our serious consideration.

A GENERAL HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, from the commencement of the Christian Era until the present time. By M. l'abbé J. E. Darras. Vol. IV. New-York: P. O'Shea. 1866.

The fourth volume of this highly esteemed work completes the publication of the original history of M. Darras. It comprises the last, and to us for many reasons the most interesting period of the history of the church; that which begins with the rise of Protestantism down to the pontificate of Gregory XVI. To this volume is added as an appendix a very concise and valuable historical sketch of the origin and progress of the Church in the United States by the Rev. Dr. C. I. White, of Washington City. We have already warmly commended this work to our readers. It will take its place, of course, in all our colleges and literary societies, and become as familiar to our American as it is already to all French students; but we wish for it also a wide distribution in the family circle. There is no reason why such useful and entertaining works as this should not be kept at hand and under the eye of our youth at home. A good knowledge of the church's life, labors, trials, and victories is necessary to every Catholic in our day, both for an intelligent appreciation of his faith as well as to be able to combat the attacks that faith receives through misrepresentation of the facts of history, and the unblushing falsehoods concerning the Papacy, which are so foul a blot upon the pages of history and controversy written by Protestant and infidel enemies of the church. The present work is the best history of the church we possess in the English language. It is such a one as we have needed a long time, and we again thank the enterprising publisher for the boon he has thus conferred upon the Catholic public.

{576}

THE SUFFERINGS OF JESUS. by Father Thomas of Jesus. Reprinted from the last London Edition. New York: P O'Shea, 27 Barclay st. 1866.

This is a work composed by a great saint, and justly deserving of the great reputation it has always enjoyed as one of the best of spiritual books. It contains an inexhaustible mine of meditation, sufficient to last a person during his whole life, and just as new and fresh after the hundreds perusal as during the first. It is as a book for meditation that it should be used, and for this purpose it cannot be too highly recommended to religious communities or to devout persons in the world who desire and need a guide and model for the practice of meditation.

THE LIFE AND LIGHT OF MEN. An essay. by John Young LL.D. Edin. Strahan.

Dr. Young was formerly a Presbyterian minister, but resigned his position on account of his inability to believe the Presbyterian doctrines, especially that of the vicarious atonement and imputed righteousness of Christ. The present work is leveled against this doctrine. The author has tolerably clear views of the Incarnation, and some other Catholic doctrines. His learning appears to be considerable, the tone of his mind very just and moderate, and his intellectual and literary ability of no mean order. He is one instance among a thousand others, of a noble, religious mind striving to rise above the common Protestant orthodoxy without floating away into rationalism. We recommend his book to our Calvinistic friends. What the excellent author is yearning after is Catholic theology. This, and this alone, would satisfy him, for it alone can satisfy any mind that wishes to believe in the Christian revelation and at the same time the rational.

THE LIFE OF ST. VINCENT DEPAUL, AND ITS LESSONS. A lecture. By Rev. T. S. Preston, R. Coddington.

The publication of this lecture will gratify many who were not able to be present at its delivery. The orator gives a short account of the life and great labors of the apostle of charity, and then shows the difference between charity as a Christian virtue and simple, natural philanthropy, both in principle and their means and plans of action. In works of benevolence, that which the Christian saint is careless about and avoids to the utmost of his power, is considered by the world as of vital necessity to secure success, the approval and applause of men. This truth is well brought out in the lecture, and is one which it is necessary to keep before our minds in this puffing age. The proceeds of the sale of the lecture is accredited to the benefit of the conference of St. Vincent de Paul, attached to St. Ann's Church in the city.

ALTE UND NEUR WELT. Benziger Bros. New York.

This is a Catholic monthly magazine in the German language, enriched with copious illustrations. The type and paper are of very superior quality, and the contents very various and, we should think, well-chosen. The illustrations are by far the best which can be found in any periodical published in America, and many of them equal to those of the best European magazines. The work as a whole reflects the greatest credit on its conductors, and deserves the most extensive patronage from our numerous and intelligent German Catholic population. We recommend it also to those who are studying the German language, or interested in German literature. The illustrations alone are worth the price of subscription, which is $4.00 a year.

BOOKS RECEIVED.

From D. & J. Sadlier & Co. New York. The denouncement; or, the Last Baron of Crana, and The Boyne Water. By the Brothers Banim. 2 vols. 12mo, pp. 448 and 559; Parts 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35 and 36 of D'Artaud's Lives of the Popes.

From Ticknor & Fields, Boston. How New York is Governed. By James Parton, reprinted from the North American Review. Pamphlet.

From P. O'Shea, New York. The Purgatorian Manual; or, a Selection of Prayers and Devotions with appropriate reflections for the use of the members of the Purgatorian Society in the Diocese of New York, and adapted for general use. By Rev. Thomas S. Preston, pastor of St. Ann's and Chancellor of the Diocese. Approved by the most Rev. John McCloskey, D.D., archbishop of New York, pp. 452; The Imitation of Christ in Two Books, translated by Richard Challoner, D.D. 48mo, pp. 308; Instructions on the Commandments of God, and Holy Sacraments. By St. Alphonsus Liguori. 48mo, pp. 288. The Spiritual Combat; or, the Christian Defended against the Enemy of his Salvation. 48mo, pp. 256; Little Office of the Blessed Virgin, in Latin and English. 12mo, pp. 178.

We have received an Oration delivered before the members of St. Mary's Orphan Association of Nashville, Tenn., July 4th, 1866, by Rev. A. J. Ryan, author of The Concord Banner, etc.

{577}

THE CATHOLIC WORLD

VOL. IV., NO. 23--FEBRUARY, 1867.

THE POPE AND THE REVOLUTION

BY JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, D.D.

[This sermon is given to the world in consequence of its having been made the subject in the public prints of various reports and comments, which, though both friendly and fair to the author, as far as he has seen them, nevertheless, from the necessity of the case, have proceeded from information inexact in points of detail.

It is now published from the copy written beforehand, and does not differ from the copy, as delivered, except in such corrections of a critical nature as are imperative when a composition, written _currente calamo_, has to be prepared for the press. There is one passage, however, which it has been found necessary to enlarge, with a view of expressing more exactly the sentiment which it contained, namely, the comparison made between Italian and English Catholics.

The author submits the whole, as he does all his publications, to the judgment of Holy Church.] October 13, 1866.

The church shone brightly in her youthful days, Ere the world on her smiled So now, an outcast, she would pour her rays Keen, free, and undefiled; Yet would I not that arm of force were mine, To thrust her from her awful ancient shrine.

'Twas duty bound each convert-king to rear His mother from the dust; And pious was it to enrich, nor fear Christ for the rest to trust: And who shall dare make common or unclean What once has on the holy altar been?

Dear Brothers! hence, while ye for ill prepare, Triumph Is still your own; Blest is a pilgrim church! yet shrink to share The curse of throwing down. So will we toll in our old place to stand, Watching, not dreading, the despoiler's hand.

_Vid_. Lyra Apostolica.

SERMON.

This day, the feast of the Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary, has been specially devoted by our ecclesiastical superiors to be a day of prayer for the sovereign pontiff, our holy father, Pope Pius the Ninth.

His lordship, our bishop, has addressed a pastoral letter to his clergy upon the subject, and at the end of it he says: "Than that festival none can be more appropriate, as it is especially devoted to celebrating the triumphs of the Holy See obtained by prayer. We therefore propose and direct that on the festival of the Rosary, the chief mass in each church and chapel of our diocese be celebrated with as much solemnity as circumstances will allow of. And that after the mass the psalm {578} _Miserere_ and the Litany of the Saints be sung or recited. That the faithful be invited to offer one communion for the Pope's intention. And that, where it can be done, one part at least of the rosary be publicly said at some convenient time in the church, for the same intention."

Then he adds: "In the sermon at the mass of the festival, it is our wish that the preacher should instruct the faithful on their obligations to the Holy See, and on the duty especially incumbent on us at this time of praying for the Pope."

I. "Our obligations to the Holy See." What Catholic can doubt of our obligations to the Holy See? especially what Catholic under the shadow and teaching of St. Philip Neri can doubt those obligations, in both senses of the word "obligation," the tie of duty and the tie of gratitude?

1. For first as to duty. Our duty to the Holy See, to the chair of St. Peter, is to be measured by what the church teaches us concerning that Holy See and of him who sits in it. Now St. Peter, who first occupied it, was the Vicar of Christ. You know well, my brethren, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, who suffered on the cross for us, thereby bought for us the kingdom of heaven. "When thou hadst overcome the sting of death," says the hymn, "thou didst open the kingdom of heaven to those who believe." He opens, and he shuts; he gives grace, he withdraws it; he judges, he pardons, he condemns. Accordingly, he speaks of himself in the Apocalypse as "him who is the holy and the true, him that hath the key of David (the key, that is, of the chosen king of the chosen people), him that openeth and no man shutteth, that shutteth and no man openeth." And what our Lord, the supreme judge, is in heaven, that was St. Peter on earth; he had the keys of the kingdom, according to the text, "Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give to thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt bind upon earth, shall be bound also in heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth, be loosed also in heaven."

Next, let it be considered, the kingdom which our Lord set up with St. Peter at its head was decreed in the counsels of God to last to the and of all things, according to the words I have just quoted, "The gates of hell show not prevail against it." And again, "Behold I am with you all days, even to the consummation of the world." And in the words of the prophet Isaias, speaking of that divinely established church, then in the future, "This is my covenant with them, My spirit that is in thee, and my words which I have put in thy month, shall not depart out of thy mouth, nor out of the mouth of thy seed, nor out of the mouth of thy seed's seed, saith the Lord, from henceforth and for ever." And the prophet Daniel says, "The God of heaven will set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed . . . and it shall break in pieces and shall consume all those kingdoms (of the earth, which went before it), and itself shall stand for ever."

That kingdom our Lord set up when he came on earth, and especially after his resurrection; for we are told by St. Luke that this was his gracious employment, when he visited the apostles from time to time, during the forty days which intervened between Easter day and the day of his ascension. "He showed himself alive to the apostles," says the evangelist, "after his passion by many proofs, for forty days appearing to them and speaking of the kingdom of God." And accordingly, when at length he had ascended on high, and had sent down "the promise of his Father," the Holy Ghost, upon his apostles, they forthwith entered upon their high duties, and brought that kingdom or church into shape, and supplied it with members, and enlarged it, and carried it into all lands. As to St. Peter, he acted as the head of the church, according to the previous {579} words of Christ; and, still according to his Lord's supreme will, he at length placed himself in the see of Rome, where he was martyred. And what was then done, in its substance cannot be undone. "God is not as a man that he should lie, nor as the son of man, that he should change. Hath he said then, and shall he not do? Hath he said then, and will he not fulfil?" And, as St. Paul says, "The gifts and the calling of God are without repentance." His church, then, in all necessary matters, is as unchangeable as he. Its framework, its polity, its ranks, its offices, its creed, its privileges, the promises made to it, its fortunes in the world, are ever what they have been.

Therefore, as it was in the world, but not _of_ the world, in the apostles' times, so it is now; as it was "in honor and dishonor, in evil report and good report, as chastised but not killed, as having nothing and possessing all things," in the apostles' times, so it is now; as then it taught the truth, so it does now; and as then it had the sacraments of grace, so has it now; as then it had a hierarchy or holy government of bishops, priests, and deacons, so has it now; and as it had a head then, so must it have a head now. Who is that visible head? who is the vicar of Christ? who has now the keys of the kingdom of heaven, as St. Peter had then? Who is it who binds and looses on earth, that our Lord may bind and loose in heaven? Who, I say, is the successor to St. Peter, since a successor there must be, in his sovereign authority over the church? It is he who sits in St. Peter's chair; it is the Bishop of Rome. We all know _this_; it is part of our _faith_; I am not proving it to you, my brethren. The visible headship of the church, which was with St. Peter while he lived, has been lodged ever since in his chair; the successors in his headship are the successors in his chair, the continuous line of Bishops of Rome, or Popes, as they are called, one after another, as years have rolled on, one dying and another coming, down to this day, when we see Pius the Ninth sustaining the weight of the glorious apostolate, and that for twenty years past--a tremendous weight, a ministry involving momentous duties, innumerable anxieties, and immense responsibilities, as it ever has done.

And now, though I might say much more about the prerogatives of the Holy Father, the visible head of the church, I have said more than enough for the purpose which has led to my speaking about him at all. I have said that, like St. Peter, he is the vicar of his Lord. He can judge, and he can acquit; he can pardon, and he can condemn; he can command, and he can permit; he can forbid, and he can punish. He has a supreme jurisdiction over the people of God. He can stop the ordinary course of sacramental mercies; he can excommunicate from the ordinary grace of redemption; and he can remove again the ban which he has inflicted. It is the rule of Christ's providence, that what his vicar does in severity or in mercy upon earth, he himself confirms in heaven. And in saying all this I have said enough for my purpose, because that purpose is to define our obligations to him. That is the point on which our bishop has fixed our attention; "our obligations to the Holy See;" and what need I say more to measure our own duty to it and to him who sits in it, than to say that, in his administration of Christ's kingdom, in his religious acts, we must never oppose his will, or dispute his word, or criticise his policy, or shrink from his side? There are kings of the earth who have despotic authority, which their subjects obey indeed and disown in their hearts; but we must never murmur at that absolute rule which the sovereign pontiff has over us, because it is given to him by Christ, and, in obeying him, we are obeying his Lord. We must never suffer ourselves to doubt, that, in his government of the church, he is guided by an intelligence more than human. His yoke is the yoke of Christ, _he_ has the responsibility {580} of his own acts, not we; and to his Lord must he render account, not to us. Even in secular matters it is ever safe to be on his side, dangerous to be on the side of his enemies. Our duty is, not indeed to mix up Christ's vicar with this or that party of men, because he in his high station is above all parties, but to look at his acts, and to follow him whither he goeth, and never to desert him, however we may be tried, but to defend him at all hazards, and against all comers, as a son would a father, and us a wife a husband, knowing that his cause is the cause of God. And so, as regards his successors, if we live to see them; it is our duty to give _them_ in like manner our dutiful allegiance and our unfeigned service, and to follow them also whithersoever they go, having that same confidence that each in his turn and in his own day will do God's work and will, which we felt in their predecessors, now taken away to their eternal reward.

2. And now let us consider our obligations to the sovereign pontiff in the second sense, which is contained under the word "obligation." "In the sermon in the mass," says the bishop, "it is our wish that the preacher should instruct the faithful on their obligations to the Holy See;" and certainly those obligations, that is, the claims of the Holy See upon our gratitude, are very great. We in this country owe our highest blessings to the see of St. Peter--to the succession of bishops who have filled his apostolic chair. For first it was a Pope who sent missionaries to this island in the beginning of the church, when the island was yet in pagan darkness. Then again, when our barbarous ancestors, the Saxons, crossed over from the continent and overran the country, who but a Pope, St. Gregory the First, sent over St. Augustine and his companions to convert them to Christianity? and by God's grace they and their successors did the great work in the course of a hundred years. From that time, twelve hundred years ago our nation has ever been Christian. And then in the lawless times each followed, and the break-up of the old world all over Europe, and the formation of the new, it was the Popes, humanly speaking, who saved the religion of Christ from being utterly lost and coming to an and, and not in England only, but on the continent; that is, our Lord made use of that succession of his vicars to fulfil his gracious promise, that his religion should never fail. The Pope and the bishops of the church, acting together in that miserable time, rescued from destruction all that makes up our present happiness, spiritual and temporal. Without them the world would have relapsed into barbarism--but God willed otherwise; and especially the Roman pontiffs, the successors of St. Peter, the centre of Catholic unity, the vicars of Christ, which primarily related to the Almighty Redeemer himself: "I have a lead help upon one that is mighty, and I have exalted one chosen quote of the people. I have found David my servant, with my holy oil have I anointed him. For my hand shall help him, and my arm shall strengthen him. The enemy shall have no advantage over him, nor the son of iniquity have power to hurt him. I will put to flight his enemies before his face, and them that hate him I will put to flight. And my truth and my mercy shall be with him, and in my name shall his horn be exalted. He shall cry out to me, Thou art my Father, my God, and the support of my salvation. And I will make him my first-born, high above the kings of the earth. I will keep my mercy for him for ever, and my coveted shall be faithful to him."

And the Almighty did this in pity toward his people, and for the sake of his religion, and by virtue of his promise, and for the merits of the most precious blood of his own dearly beloved Son, Whom the Popes represented. As Moses and Aaron, as Josue, as {581} Samuel, as David, were the leaders of the Lord's host in the old time, and carried on the chosen people of Israel from age to age, in spite of their enemies round about, so have the Popes from the beginning of the gospel, and especially in those middle ages when anarchy prevailed, been faithful servants of their Lord, watching and fighting against sin and injustice and unbelief and ignorance, and spreading abroad far and wide the knowledge of Christian truth.

Such they have been in every age, and such are the obligations which mankind owes to them; and, if I am to pass on to speak of the present pontiff, and of our own obligations to him, then I would have you recollect, my brethren, that it is he who has taken the Catholics of England out of their unformed state and made them a church. He it is who has redressed a misfortune of nearly three hundred years' standing. Twenty years ago we were a mere collection of individuals; but Pope Pius has brought us together, has given us bishops, and created out of us a body politic, which, please God, as time goes on, will play an important part in Christendom, with a character, an intellect, and a power of its own, with schools of its own, with a definite influence in the counsels of the Holy Church Catholic, as England had of old time.

This has been his great act toward our country; and then specially, as to his great act toward us here, toward me. One of his first acts after he was Pope was, in his great condescension, to call me to Rome; then, when I got there, he bade me send for my friends to be with me; and he formed us into and oratory. And thus it came to pass that, on my return to England, I was able to associate myself with others who had not gone to Rome, till we were so many in number that not only did we establish our own oratory here, whither the Pope had specially sent us, but we found we could throw off from's a colony of zealous and able priests into the metropolis, and establish there, with the powers with which the Pope had furnished me, and the sanction of the late cardinal, that oratory which has done and still does so much good among the Catholics of London.

Such is the Pope now happily reigning in the chair of St. Peter; such are our personal obligations to him; such has he been toward England, such toward us, toward you, my brethren. Such he is in his benefits, and, great as are the claims of those benefits upon us, great equally are the claims on us of his personal character and of his many virtues. He is one whom to see is to love; one who overcomes even strangers, even enemies, by his very look and voice; whose presence subdues, whose memory haunts, even the sturdy resolute mind of the English Protestant. Such is the Holy Father of Christendom, the worthy successor of a long and glorious line. Such is he; and great as he is in office, and in his beneficent acts and virtuous life, as great is he in the severity of his trials, in the complication of his duties, and in the gravity of his perils--perils which are at this moment closing him in on every side; and therefore it is, on account of the crisis of the long-protracted troubles of his pontificate which seems near at hand, that our bishop has set apart this day for special solemnities, the feast of the Holy Rosary, and has directed us to "instruct the faithful on their _obligations_ to the Holy See," and not only so, but also "on the duty especially incumbent on us at this time of _praying_ for the Pope."

II. This, then, is the second point to which I have to direct your attention, my brethren--the duty of praying for the Holy Father; but, before doing so, I must tell you what the Pope's long-protracted troubles are about, and what the crisis is which seems approaching, I will do it in as few words as I can.

More than a thousand years ago, nay, near upon fifteen hundred, began that great struggle, which I spoke of {582} just now, between the old and the new inhabitants of this part of the world. Whole populations of barbarians overrun the whole face of the country, that is, of England, France, Germany, Spain, Italy, and the re«t of Europe. They were heathens, and they got the better of the Christians; and religion seemed likely to fail together with that old Christian stock. But, as I have said, the Pope and the bishops of the church took heart, and set about converting the new-comers, as in a former age they had converted those who now had come to misfortune; and, through God's mercy, they succeeded. The Saxon English--Anglo-Saxons, as they are called--are among those whom the Pope converted, as I said just now. The new convert people, as you may suppose, were very grateful to the Pope and bishops, and they showed their gratitude by giving them large possessions, which were of great use, in the bad times that followed, in maintaining the influence of Christianity in the world. Thus the Catholic Church became rich and powerful. The bishops became princes, and the Pope became a sovereign ruler, with a large extent of country all his own. This state of things lasted for many hundred years; and the Pope and bishops became richer and richer, more and more powerful, until at length the Protestant revolt took place, three hundred years ago, and ever since that time, in a temporal point of view, they have become of less and less importance, and less and less prosperous. Generation after generation the enemies of the church, on the other hand, have become bolder and bolder, more powerful, and more successful in their measures against the Catholic faith. By this time the church has well-nigh lost all its wealth and all its power; its bishops have been degraded from their high places in the world, and in many countries have scarcely more, or not more, of weight or of privilege than the ministers of the sects which have split off from it. However, though the bishops lost, as time went on, their temporal rank, the Pope did lose his; he has been an exception to the rule; according to the providence of God, he has retained Rome, and the territories around about Rome, far and wide, as his own possession without let or hindrance. But now at length, by the operation of the same causes which have destroyed the power of the bishops, the Holy Father is in danger of losing his temporal possessions. For the last hundred years he has had from time to time serious reverses, but he recovered his ground. Six years ago he lost the greater part of his dominions--, all but Rome and the country immediately about it,--and now the worst of difficulties has occurred as regards the territories which remain to him. His enemies have succeeded, as it would seem, in persuading at least a large portion of his subjects to side with them. This is a real and very trying difficulty. While his subjects are for him, no one can have a word to say against his temporal rule; but who can force a sovereign on people which deliberately rejects him? You may attempt it for awhile, but at length the people, if they persist, will get their way.

They give out then, that the Pope's government is behind the age--that once indeed it was as good as other governments, but that now other governments have got better, and his has not--that he can either keep order within his territory, nor defend it from attacks from without--that his police and his finances are in a bad state--that his people are discontented within--that he does not show them how to become rich--that he keeps them from improving their minds--that he treats them as children--that he opens no career for young and energetic minds, but condemns them to inactivity and sloth--that he is an old man--that he is an ecclesiastic--that, considering his great spiritual duties, he has no time left him for temporal concerns--and that a bad rebellious government is a scandal to religion.

{583}

I have stated their arguments as fairly as I can, but you must not for an instant suppose, my brethren, that I admit either their principles or their facts. It is a simple paradox to say that ecclesiastical and temporal power cannot lawfully, religiously, and usefully be joined together. Look at what are called the middle ages--that is, the period which intervenes between the old Roman empire and the modern world; as I have said, the Pope and the bishops saved religion and civil order from destruction in those tempestuous times--and they did so _by means_ of the secular power which they possessed. And next, going on to the principles which the Pope's enemies lay down as so very certain, who will grant to them, who has any pretension to be a religious man, that progress in temporal possessions is the greatest of goods, and that everything else, however sacred, must give way before it? On the contrary, health, long life, security, liberty, knowledge, are certainly great goods, but the possession of heaven is a far greater good than all of them together. With all the progress in worldly happiness which we possibly could make, we could not make ourselves immortal--death must come; that will be a time when riches and worldly knowledge will avail us nothing, and true faith and divine love and a past life of obedience will be all in all to us. If we were driven to choose between the two, it would be a hundred times better to be Lazarus in this world than to be Dives in the next.

However, the best answer to their arguments is contained in sacred history, which supplies us with a very apposite and instructive lesson on the subject, and to it I am now going to refer.

Now observe, in the first place, no Catholic maintains that that rule of the Pope as a king, in Rome and its provinces, which men are now hoping to take from him, is, strictly speaking, what is called a theocracy, that is, a divine government. His government, indeed, in spiritual matters, in the Catholic Church throughout the world, might be called a theocracy, because he is the vicar of Christ, and has the assistance of the Holy Ghost; but not such is his kingly rule in his own dominions. On the other hand, the rule exercised over the chosen people, the Israelites, by Moses, Josue, Gideon, Eli, and Samuel, was a theocracy: God was the king of the Israelites, not Moses and the rest--_they_ were but vicars or vicegerents of the Eternal Lord who brought the nation out of Egypt. Now, when men object that the Pope's government of his own states is not what it should be, and that therefore he ought to lose them, because, forsooth, a religious rule should be perfect or not at all, I take them at their word, if they are Christians, and refer them to the state of things among the Israelites after the time of Moses, during the very centuries when they had God for their king. Was that a period of peace, prosperity, and contentment? Is it an argument against the divine perfections, that it was not such a period? Why is it, then, to be the condemnation of the Popes, who are but men, that their rule is but parallel in its characteristics to that of the King of Israel, who was God? He indeed has his own all-wise purposes for what he does; he knows the end from the beginning; he could have made his government as perfect and as prosperous as might have been expected from the words of Moses concerning it, as perfect and prosperous as, from the words of the prophets, our anticipations might have been about the earthly reign of the Messias. But this he did not do, because from the first he made that perfection and that prosperity dependent upon the free will, upon the cooperation of his people. Their loyal obedience to him was the condition, expressly declared by him, of his fulfilling his promises. He proposed to work out his purposes through them, and, when they refused their share {584} in the work, everything went wrong. Now they did refuse from the first; so that from the very first, he says of them emphatically, they were a "stiff-necked people." This was at the beginning of their history; and close upon the end of it, St. Stephen, inspired by the Holy Ghost, repeats the divine account of them: "You stiff-necked and uncircumcised in heart and ears, you always resist the Holy Ghost; as your fathers did, so do you also." In consequence of this obstinate disobedience, I say, God's promises were not fulfilled to them. That long lapse of five or six hundred years, during which God was their king, was in good part a time, not of well-being, but of calamity.

Now, turning to the history of the papal monarchy for the last thousand years, the Roman people have not certainly the guilt of the Israelites, because they were not opposing the direct rule of' God; and I would not attribute to them now a liability to the same dreadful crimes which stain the annals of their an ancestors; but still, after all they have been a singularly stiff-necked people in time past, and in consequence, there has been extreme confusion, I may say anarchy, under the reign of the Popes; and the restless impatience of his rule which exists in the Roman territory now is only what has shown itself age after age in times past. The Roman people not seldom offered bodily violence to their Popes, killed some Popes, wounded others, drove others from the city. On one occasion they assaulted the Pope at the very altar in St. Peter's, and he was obliged to take to flight in his pontifical vestments. Another time they insulted the clergy of Rome; at another, they attacked and robbed the pilgrims who brought offerings from a distance to the shrine of St. Peter. Sometimes they sided with the German emperors against the Pope; sometimes with other enemies of his in Italy itself. As many as thirty-six Popes endured this dreadful contest with their own subjects, till at last, in anger and disgust with Rome and Italy, they took refuge in France, where they remained for seventy years, during the reigns of eight of their number. [Footnote 170]

[Footnote 170: I take these facts as I find them in Gibbon's History, the work which I have immediately at hand; but it would not be difficult to collect a multitude of such instances from the original historians of those times.]

That I may not be supposed to rest what I have said on insufficient authorities, I will quote the words of that great saint, St. Bernard, about the roman people, seven hundred years ago.

Writing to Pope Eugenius during the troubles of the day, he says: "What shall I say of the people? why, that it _is_ the Roman people. I could not more concisely or fully express what I think of your subjects. What has been so notorious for ages as the wantonness and haughtiness of the Romans? a race unaccustomed to peace, accustomed to tumult; a race cruel and unmanageable up to this day, which knows not to submit, unless when it is unable to make fight. . . . I know the hardened heart of this people, but God is powerful even of these stones to raise up children to Abraham. . . . When will you find for me out of the whole of that populous city, who received you as Pope without bribe or hope of bribe? And then especially are they wishing to be masters, when they have professed to be servants. They promise to be trustworthy, that they may have the opportunity of injuring those who trust them. . . . They are wise for evil, but they are ignorant for good. Odious to earth and heaven, they have assailed both the one and the other; impious towards God, reckless toward things sacred, factious among themselves, envious of their neighbors, inhuman toward foreigners, . . . . they love none, and by none are loved. Too impatient for submission, too helpless for rule; . . . importunate to gain an end, restless till they gain it, ungrateful when they have gained it. They have taught {585} their tongue to speak big words, while their performances are scanty indeed." [Footnote 171]

[Footnote 171: St. Bernard is led to say this to the Pope in consequence of the troubles created in Rome by Arnald of Bresela. "Ab obitu Caelestini hoc anno invalescere coepit istiusmodi rebellio Romanorum adversus Pontficem, eodemque haeresis dicta Politicorum, sive Arnaldistarum. Ea erant tempora infelicissime, cùm Romani ipsi, quorum fides in universo orbe jam à tempore Apostolorum annunciata semper fuit, resilientes modo à Pontifice, dominandi cupidine, ex filiis Petri et discipulis Christi, fiunt soboles et alumni pestilentissimi Arnaldi de Brixiâ. Verùm, cùm tu Romanos audis, ne putes omnes eâdem insaniâ percitos, nam complures ex nobilium Romanorum familiis, iis relictis, pro Pontifice rem ageoant, etc." Baron. Annal. in ann. 1144. 4.--_De Consid_. iv. 2.]

Thus I begin, and now let us continue I parallel between the Israelites and the Romans.

I have said that, while the Israelites had God for their king, they had a succession of great national disasters, arising indeed really from their falling off from him; but this they would have been slow to acknowledge. They fell into idolatry; then, in consequence, they fell into the power of their enemies; then God in his mercy visited them, and raised up for them a deliverer and ruler--a judge, as he was called--who brought them to repentance, and then brought them out of their troubles; however, when the judge died, they fell back into idolatry, and then they fell under the power of their enemies again. Thus for eight years they were in subjection to the king of Mesopotamia; for eight years to the king of Moab; for twenty years to the king of Canaan; for seven years to the Madianites; for eighteen years to the Ammomites; and for forty years to the Philistines. Afterward Eli, the high priest, became their judge, and then disorders of another kind commenced. His sons, who were priests also, committed grievous acts of impurity in the holy place, and in other ways caused great scandal. In consequence a heavy judgment came upon the people; they were beaten in battle by the Philistines, and the ark of God was taken. Then Samuel was raised up, a holy prophet and a judge, and in the time of his vigor all went well; but he became old, and then he appointed his sons to take his place. They, however, were not like him, and everything went wrong again. "His sons walked not in his ways," says the sacred record, "but they turned aside after lucre, and took bribes, and perverted judgment." This reduced the Israelites to despair; they thought they never should have a good government while things were as they were; and they came to the conclusion that they had better not be governed by such men as Samuel, however holy he might be, that public affairs ought to be put on an intelligible footing, and be carried on upon system, which had never yet been done. So they came to the conclusion that they had better have a king, like the nations around them. They deliberately preferred the rule of man to the rule of God. They did not like to repent and give up their sins, as the true means of being prosperous; they thought it an easier way to temporal prosperity to have a king like the nations than to pray and live virtuously. And not only the common people, but even the grave and venerable seniors of the nation took up this view of what was expedient for them. "All the ancients of Israel, being assembled, came to Samuel, . . . and they said to him . . . Make us a king to judge us, as all nations have." Observe, my brethren, this is just what the Roman people are saying now. They wish to throw off the authority of the Pope, on the plea of the disorders which they attribute to his government, and to join themselves to the rest of Italy, and to have the King of Italy for their king. Some of them, indeed, wish to be without any king at all; but, whether they wish to have a king or no, at least they wish to get free from the Pope.

Now let us continue the parallel. When the prophet Samuel heard this request urged from such a quarter, and supported by the people generally, he was much moved. "The word was displeasing in the eyes of Samuel," says the inspired writer, "that they should say, Give us a king. And Samuel prayed to the Lord." {586} Almighty God answered him by saying, "They have not rejected thee, but me;" and he bade the prophet warn the people, what the king they sought after would be to them when at length they had him. Samuel accordingly put before them explicitly what treatment they would receive from him. "He will take your sons," he said, "and will put them in his chariots; and he will make them his horseman, and his running footmen to go before his chariots. He will take the tenth of your corn and the revenue of your vineyards. Your flocks also he will take, and you shall be his servants." Then the narrative proceeds, "But the people would not hear the voice of Samuel, and they said, Nay, but there shall be a king over us. And we also will be like all nations, and our king shall judge us, and go out before us, and fight our battles for us."

Now here the parallel I am drawing is very exact. It is happier, I think, for the bulk of a people to belong to a small state which makes little noise in the world than to a large one. At least in this day we find small states, such an Holland, Belgium, and Switzerland, have special and singular temporal advantages. And the Roman people, too, under the sway of the Popes, at least have had a very easy time of it; but, alas that people is not sensible of this, or does not allow itself to keep it in mind. The Romans have not had those civil inconveniences which fall so heavy on the members of a first-class power. The pontifical government has been very gentle with them; but, if once they were joined to the kingdom of Italy, they would at length find what it is to attain temporal greatness. The words of Samuel to the Israelites would be fulfilled in them to the letter. Heavy taxes would be laid on them; their children would be torn from them for the army; and they would incur the other penalties of an ambition which prefers to have a share in a political adventure to being at the head of Catholic citizenship. We cannot have all things to our wish in this world; we must take our choice between this advantage and that; perhaps the Roman people would like both to secure this world and the next, if they could; perhaps, in seeking both, they may lose both; and perhaps, when they have lost more than they have gained, they may wish their old sovereign back again, as they have done in other centuries before this, and may regret that they have caused such grievous disturbance for what at length they find out is little worth it.

In truth, after all, the question which they have to determine is, as i have intimated, not one of worldly prosperity and adversity, of greatness or insignificance, of despotism or liberty, of position in the world or in the church; but a question of spiritual life or death. The sin of the Israelites was not that they desired good government, but that they rejected God as their king. Their choosing to have "a king like the nations" around them was, in matter of fact, the first step in a series of acts which at length lead them to their rejection of the Almighty as their God. When in spite of Samuel's remonstrances they were obstinate, God let them have their way, and then in time they became dissatisfied with their king for the very reasons which the old prophet had set before them in vain. On Solomon's death, about a hundred and twenty years after, the greater part of the nation broke off from his son on the very plea of Solomon's tyranny, and chose a new king, who at once established idolatry all through their country.

Now, I grant, to reject the Holy Father of course is not the sin of the Israelites, for they rejected Almighty God himself: yet I wish I was not forced to believe that a hatred of the Catholic religion is in fact at the bottom of that revolutionary spirit which at present seems so powerful in Rome. Progress, in the mouth of some people--of a great many people--means apostasy. Not that I wouldn't deny that {587} there are sincere Catholics so dissatisfied with things as they were in Italy, as they are in Rome, that they are brought to think that no social change can be for the worse. Nor as if I pretended to be able to answer all the objections of those who take a political and secular view of the subject. But here I have nothing to do with secular politics. In a sacred place I have only to view the matter religiously. It would ill become me, in my station in the church and my imperfect knowledge of the facts of the case, to speak four or against statesmen and governments, lines of policy or public acts, as if I were invested with any particular mission to give my judgment, or had any access to sources of special information. I have not here to determine what may be politically more wise, or what may be socially more advantageous, or what in a civil point of view would work more happily, or what in an intellectual would tell better; my duty is to lead you, my brethren, to look at what is happening, as the sacred writers would now view it and describe it were they on earth now to do so, and to attempt this by means of the light thrown upon present occurrences by what they actually have written, whether in the Old Testament or the New.

We must remove, I say, the veil off the face of events, as Scripture enables us to do, and try to speak of them as Scripture interprets them for us. Speaking then in the sanctuary, I say that theories and schemes about government and administration, be a better or worse, and the aims of mere statesmen and politicians, be they honest or be they deceitful, these are not the determining causes of that series of misfortunes under which the Holy See has so long been suffering. There is something deeper at work than anything human. It is not any refusal of the Pope to put his administration on a new footing, it is not any craft or force of men high in public affairs, it is not any cowardice or frenzy of the people, which is the sufficient explanation of the present confusion. What it is our duty here to bear in mind is the constant restless agency over the earth of that bad angel who was a liar from the beginning, of whom Scripture speaks so much. The real motive cause of the world's troubles is the abiding presence in it of the apostate spirit, "The prince of the power of this air," as St. Paul calls him, "The spirit that now worketh on the children of unbelief."

Things would go on well enough but for him. He it is who perverts to evil what is in itself good and right, sowing cockle amid the wheat. Advance in knowledge, in science, in education, in the arts of life, in domestic economy, in municipal administration, in the conduct of public affairs, is all good and from God, and might be conducted in a religious way; but the evil spirit, jealous of good, makes use of it for a bad end. And much more able is he to turn to his account the designs and measures of worldly politicians. He it is who spreads suspicions and dislikes between class and class, between sovereigns and subjects, who makes men confuse together things good and bad, who inspires bigotry, party spirit, obstinacy, resentment, arrogance, and self-will, and hinders things from righting themselves, finding their level, and running smooth. His one purpose is so to match and arrange and combine and direct the opinions and the measures of Catholics and unbelievers, of Romans and foreigners, of sovereigns and popular leaders--all that is good, all that is bad, all that is violent or lukewarm in the good, all that is morally great and intellectually persuasive in the bad--as to inflict the widest possible damage, and utter ruin, if that were possible, on the church of God.

Doubtless in St. Paul's time, in the age of heathen persecution, the persecutors had various good political arguments in behalf of their cruelty. Mobs indeed, or local magistrates, might be purposely cruel toward the Christians; but the great Roman government {588} at a distance, the great rulers and wise lawyers of the day, acted from views of large policy; they had reasons of state, as the Kings of the earth have now; still our Lord and his apostles do not hesitate to pass these by, and declare plainly that the persecution which they sanctioned or commanded was the word, not of man, but of Satan. And now in like manner we are not engaged in a mere conflict between progress and reaction, modern ideas and new, philosophy and theology, but in one scene of the never-ending conflict between the anointed Mediator and the devil, the church and the world; and, in St. Paul's words, "we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers, against the world-rulers of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places."

Such is the apostle's judgment; and how, after giving it, does he proceed? "Therefore," he says, "take unto you the armor of God, that you may be able to resist in the evil day and to stand in all things perfect. Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breast-plate of justice, and your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; in all things taking the shield of faith, whereby you may be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take unto you the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God." And then he concludes his exhortation with words which most appositely bear upon the point toward which all that I have been saying is directed--"praying at all times with all prayer and supplication in the spirit, and watching therein with all instance and supplication for all the saints, and for me," that is, for the apostle himself, "that speech may be given me, that I may open my mouth with confidence to make known the mystery of the gospel."

Here, then, we are brought at length to the consideration of the duty of prayer for our living apostle and bishop of bishops, the Pope. I shall attempt to state distinctly what is to be the _object_ of our prayers for him, and secondly, what the _spirit_ in which we should pray, and so I shall bring my remarks on this great subject to and end.

1. In order to ascertain the exact _object_ of our prayers at this time, we must ascertain what is the _occasion_ of them. You know, my brethren, and I have already observed, that the Holy Father has been attacked in his temporal possessions again and again in these last years, and we have all along been saying prayers daily in the mass in his behalf. About six years ago the northern portion of his states threw off his authority. Shortly after, a large foreign force, uninvited, as it would scene, by his people at-large--robbers I will call them--(this is not a political sentiment, but a historical statement, for I never heard any one, whatever his politics, who defendant their act in itself, but only on the plea of its supreme expedience, of some state necessity, or some theory of patriotism)--a force of sacrilegious robbers--broke into provinces nearer to Rome by a sudden movement, and, without any right except that of the stronger, got possession of them, and keeps them to this day. [Footnote 172] {589} Past outrages, such as these, are never to be forgotten; but still they are not the occasion, nor do they give the matter, of our present prayers. What that occasion, what that subject is, we seem to learn from his lordship's letter to his clergy, in which our prayers are required. After speaking of the Pope's being "stripped of part of his dominions," and "deprive of all the rest, with the exception of the marshes and deserts that surround the Roman capital," he fastens our attention on the fact, that "now at last is the Pope to be left standing alone, and standing face to face with those unscrupulous adversaries, whose boast and whose vow to all the world is not to leave to him one single foot of Italian ground except beneath their sovereign sway." I understand, then, that the exact object of our prayers is, that the territory still is should not be violently taken him, as have been as larger portions of his dominions of which I have already spoken.

[Footnote 172: The following telegram in The Times of September 13th, 1860, containing Victor Emmanuel's formal justification for his invasion and occupation of Umbria and the Marches in a time of peace, is a document for after-times:

TURIN, Sept. 11, evening.

The king received to-day a deputation from the inhabitants of Umbria and the Marches.

His majesty granted the protection which the deputation solicited, and orders to have been given to the Sardinian troops to enter those provinces by the following proclamation:

"Soldiers! You are about to enter the Marches and Umbria, in order to establish civil order in the towns now desolated by this rule, and to give to the people a liberty of expressing their own wishes. You will not fight against the armies of any of the powers, but will free those unhappy Italian provinces from the bands of foreign adventurers which infest them. You do not go to revenge injuries done to me and Italy, but to prevent the popular hatred from unloosing itself against the oppressors of the country.

"By your example you will teach the people forgiveness of offenses, and Christian tolerance to the man compared the love of the Italian fatherland to Islamism.

"At peace with all the great powers, and holding myself aloof from any provocation, I intend to read Central Italy of one continual cause of trouble and discord. I intend to respect the seat of the chief of the church, to whom I am ever ready to give, in accordance with the allied and friendly powers, all the guarantees of independence and security which his misguided advisors have made hope to obtain for him from the fanaticism of the wicked sect which conspires against my authority and against the liberties of the nation.

"Soldiers! I am accused of ambition. Yes; i have one ambition, and it is to re-establish the principles of moral order in Italy, and preserve Europe from the continual dangers of revolution and war."

The next day The Times, in a leading article, thus commented on the above:

"Victor Emmanuel has in Garibaldi a most formidable competitor. . . . [Piedmont] must therefore, at whatever cost or risk, make herself once more mistress of the revolution. She must lead that she may not be forced to follow. She must revolutionize the Papal States, in order that she may put herself in a position to arrest dangerous revolutionary movement against Venetia. . . . These motives are amply sufficient to account for the decisive movement of Victor Emmanuel. He lives in revolutionary times, when self-preservation has superseded all other considerations, and it would be childish to apply to his situation the maxims of international law which are applicable to periods of tranquility.

"These being the motives which have held Piedmont to draw the sword, we have next to see what are the grounds on which she justifies the step. These grounds are two--the extraordinary misrule and oppression of the Papal government, and the presence of large bands of foreign mercenaries, by which the country is oppressed and terrorized. The object is said to be to give the people an opportunity of expressing their own wishes and the re-establishment of civil order. The king promises to respect the seat of the chief of the church--Rome, we suppose, and it's immediate environs; but, while holding out this assurance, the manifesto speaks of the Pope and his advisers in terms of bitterness and acrimony unusual in the present age, even in a declaration of war. He will teach the people forgiveness of offenses, and Christian tolerance to the Pope and his general. He denounces the misguided advisors of the pontiff, and the fanaticism of the wicked sect which conspires against his authority and the liberties of the nation. This is harsh language, and is not inconsistently seconded by the advance into the States of the Church of an army of 50,000 men."

It was the old fable of the Wolf and the Lamb.]

[End footnote 172]

This too, I conceive, is what is meant by praying for the Holy See. "The duty of every true child of Holy Church," says the bishop, "is to offer continuous and humble prayer for the Father of Christendom, and for the protection of the Holy See." By the Holy See we may understand Rome, considered as the seat of pontifical government. We are to pray for Rome, the see, or seat, or metropolis of St. Peter and his successors. Further, we are to pray for Rome as the seat, not only of his spiritual government, but of his temporal. We are to pray that he may continue king of Rome; that his subjects may come to a better mind; that instead of threatening and assailing him, or being too cowardly to withstand those who do, they may defend and obey him; that, instead of being the heartless tormentors of an old and venerable man, they may pay a willing homage to the apostle of God; that instead of needing to be kept down year after year by troops from afar, as has been the case for so long a time, they may, "with a great heart and a willing mind," form themselves into the glorious bodyguard of a glorious master; that they may obliterate and expiate what is so great a scandal to the world, so great an indignity to themselves, so great a grief to their father and king, that foreigners are kinder to him than his own flesh and blood; that now at least, though in the end of days, they may reverse the past, and, after the ingratitude of centuries, may unlearn the pattern of that rebellious people, who began by rejecting their God and ended by crucifying their Redeemer.

2. So much for the _object_ of our prayers; secondly, as to the _spirit_ in which we should pray. As we ever say in prayer, "Thy will be done," so {590} we must say now. We do not absolutely know God's will in this matter; we know indeed it is his will that we should ask; we are not absolutely sure that it is his will that he should grant. The very fact of our praying shows that we are uncertain about the event. We pray when we are uncertain, not when we are certain. If we were quite sure what God intended to do, whether to continue the temporal power of the Pope or to end it, we should not pray. It is quite true indeed that the event may _depend upon our prayer_, but by such prayer is meant perseverance in prayer and union of prayers; and we never can be certain that this condition of numbers and of fervor has been sufficiently secured. We shall indeed gain our prayer if we pray enough; but, since it is ever uncertain what is enough, it is ever uncertain what will be the event. There are Eastern superstitions, in which it is taught that, by means of a certain number of religious acts, by sacrifices, prayers, penances, a man of necessity extorts from God what he wishes to gain, so that he may rise to supernatural greatness even against the will of God. Far be from us such blasphemous thoughts! We pray to God, we address the Blessed Virgin and the holy apostles, and the other guardians of Rome, to defend the holy city; but we know the event lies absolutely in the hands of the All wise, whose ways are not as our ways, whose thoughts are not as our thoughts, and, unless we had been furnished with a special revelation on the matter, to be simply confident or to predict would be presumption. Such is Christian prayer; it implies hope and fear. We are not certain we shall gain our petition, we are not certain we shall not gain it. Were we certain that we should not, we should give ourselves to resignation, not to prayer; were we certain we should, we should employ ourselves, not in prayer, but in praise and thanksgiving. While we pray, then, in behalf of the Pope's temporal power, we contemplate both sides of the alternative his retaining it and his losing it; and we prepare ourselves both for thanksgiving and resignation as the event may B. I conclude by considering each of these issues of his present difficulty.

(I.) First, as to the event of his retaining his temporal power. I think this side of the alternative (humanly speaking) to be highly probable. I should be very much surprised if in the event he did not keep it. I think the Romans will not be able to do without him; it is only a minority even now which is against him; the majority of his subjects are not wicked, so much as cowardly and incapable. Even if they renounced him now for awhile, they will change their minds and wish for him again. They will find out that he is their real greatness. Their city is a place of ruins, except so far as it is a place shrines. It is the tomb and charnel-house of pagan impiety, except so far as it is sanctified and quickened by the blood of martyrs and the relics of saints. To inhabit it would be a penance, were it not for the presence of religion. Babylon is gone, Memphis is gone, Persepolis is gone; Rome would go, if the Pope went. Its very life is the light of the sanctuary. It never could be a suitable capital of a modern kingdom without a sweeping away of all that makes it beautiful and venerable to the world at large. And then, when its new rulers had made of it a trim and brilliant city, they would find themselves on an healthy soil and a defenceless plain. But, in truth, the tradition of ages and inveteracy of associations make such a vast change in Rome impossible. All mankind are parties to the inviolable union of the Pope and his city. His autonomy is a first principle in European politics, whether among Catholics or Protestants; and where can it be secured so well as in that city which has so long been the seat of its exercise? Moreover, the desolateness of Rome is as befitting to a kingdom which is not of this world as it is {591} incompatible with a creation of modern political theories. It is the religious centre of millions all over the earth, who care nothing for the Romans who happen to live there, and much for the martyred apostles who so long have lain buried there; and its claim to have an integral place in the very idea of Catholicity is recognized not only by Catholics, but by the whole world.

It is cheering to begin our prayers with these signs of God's providence in our favor. He expressly encourages us to pray, for before we have begun our petition, he has begun to fulfil it. And at the same time, by beginning the work of mercy without us, he seems to remind us of that usual course of his providence, namely, that he means to finish it with us. Let us fear to be the cause of a triumph being lost to the church, because we would not pray for it.

(2.) And now, lastly, to take the other side of the alternative. Let us suppose that the Pope loses his temporal power, and returns to the conation of St. Sylvester, St. Julius, St. Innocent, and other great Popes of early times. Are we, therefore, to suppose that he and the church will come to naught? God forbid! To say that the church can fail, or the see of St. Peter can fail, is to deny the faithfulness of Almighty God to his word. "Thou art Peter, and upon this rock will I build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." To say that the church cannot live except in a particular way, is to make it "subject to elements of the earth." The church is not the creature of times and places, of temporal politics or popular caprice. Our Lord maintains her by means of this world, but these means are necessary to her only while he gives them; when he takes them away, they are no longer necessary. He works by means, but he is not bound to means. He has a thousand ways of maintaining her; he can support her life, not by bread only, but by every word that proceedeth out of his mouth. If he takes away one defence, he will give another instead. We know nothing of the future: our duty is to direct our course according to our day; not to give up of our own act the means which God has given us to maintain his church withal, but not to lament over their loss, when he has taken them away. Temporal power has been the means of the church's independence for a very long period; but, as her bishops have lost it a long while, and are not the less bishops still, so would it be as regards her head, if he also lost his. The eternal God is her refuge, and as he has delivered her out of so many perils hitherto, so will he deliver her still. The glorious chapters of her past history are but anticipations of other glorious chapters still to come. See how it has been with her from the very beginning down to this day. First, the heathen populations persecuted her children for three centuries, but she did not come to an end. Then a flood of heresies was poured out upon her, but still she did not come to an end. Then the savage tribes of the north and east came down upon her and overran her territory, but she did not come to an end. Next, darkness of mind, ignorance, torpor, stupidity, reckless corruption, fell upon the holy place, still she did not come to an end. Then the craft and violence of her own strong and haughty children did their worst against her, but still she did not come to an end. Then came a time when the riches of the world flowed in upon her, and the pride of life, and the refinements and the luxuries of human reason; and lulled her rulers into an unfaithful security, till they thought their high position in the world would never be lost to them, and almost fancied that it was good to enjoy themselves here below; but still she did not come to an end. And then came the so-called reformation, and the rise of Protestantism, and men said that the church had disappeared and they could not find her place. Yet, now three centuries after that even, _has_, {592} my brethren, the Holy Church come to an end? has Protestantism weakened her powers, terrible enemy as it seemed to be when it arose? has Protestantism, that bitter, energetic enemy of the Holy See, harmed the Holy See? Why, there never has been a time, since the first age of the church when there has been such a succession of holy Popes, as since the reformation. Protestantism had been a great infliction on such as have succumbed to it; but it has even wrought benefits for those whom it has failed to seduce. By the mercy of God it has been turned into a spiritual gain to the members of Holy Church.

Take again Italy, into which Protestantism has not entered, and England, of which it has gained possession. Now I know well that, when Catholics are good in Italy, they are very good; I would not deny that they attain there to a height and a force of saintliness of which we seem to have no specimens here. This, however, is the case of souls whom neither the presence nor the absence of religious enemies would affect for the better or the worse. Nor will I attempt the impossible task of determining the amount of faith and obedience among Catholics respectively in two countries so different from each other. But, looking at Italian and English Catholics externally and in their length and breadth, I may leave any Protestant to decide, in which of the two there is at this moment a more demonstrative faith, a more impressive religiousness, a more generous piety, a more steady adherence to the cause of the Holy Father. The English are multiplying religious buildings, decorating churches, endowing monasteries, educating, preaching, and converting, and carrying off in the current of their enthusiasm numbers even of those who are external to the church; the Italian statesman, on the contrary, in all our bishop's words, "imprison and exile the bishops and clergy, leave the flocks without shepherds, confiscate the church's revenues, suppress the monasteries and convents, incorporate ecclesiastics and religious in the army, plunder the churches and monastic libraries, and exposed religion herself, stripped in bleeding in every limb, the Catholic religion in the person of her ministers, her sacraments, or most devoted members, to be objects of profane and blasphemous ridiculed." In so brave, intelligent, vigorous-minded a race as the Italians, and in the nineteenth century not the sixteenth, and in the absence of any formal protest of classes or places, the act of the rulers is the act of the people. At the end of three centuries Protestant England contains more Catholics who are loyal and energetic in word and deed then Catholic Italy. So harmless has been the violence of the reformation; it professed to eliminate from the church doctrinal corruptions, and it has failed both in what it has done and in what it has not done; it has bred infidels, to its confusion; and, to which dismay, it has succeeded in purifying and strengthening catholic communities.

It is with these thoughts then that, my brethern, with these feelings of solemn expectation, of joyful confidence, that we now come for our God and pray him to have mercy on his chosen servant, his own vicar, in this hour of trial. We come to him, like the prophet Daniel, in humiliation for our own sins and the sins of our kings, our princes, our fathers, and our people in all parts of the church; and therefore we say the _Miserere_ and the Litany of the Saints, as in the time of fast. And we come before him in the right and glad spirit of soldiers who know they are under the leading of an invincible king, and wait with beating hearts to see what he is about to do; and therefore it is that we adorn our sanctuary, bringing out our hangings and multiplying our lights, as on a day of festival. We know well we are on the winning side, and that the prayers of the poor and the weak and despised can do more, when offered in a true spirit, then all the wisdom and all the resources of the world. This seventh of October is the very {593} anniversary of that day on which the prayers of St. Pius, and the Holy Rosary said by thousands of the faithful at his bidding, broke forever the domination of the Turks in the great battle of Lepanto. God will give us what we ask, or he will give us something better. In this spirit let us proceed with the holy rites which we have begun--in the presence of innumerable witnesses, of God the judge of all, of Jesus the mediator of the new covenant, of his mother Mary our immaculate protectress, of all the angels of holy church, of all the blessed saints, of apostles and evangelists, martyrs and confessors, holy preachers, holy recluses, holy virgins, of holy innocents taken away before actual sin, and of all other holy souls who have been purified by suffering, and have already reached their heavenly home.

From Chambers's Journal.

THE SOURCE OF LABOR.

Science has taught us that the processes going on around us are but changes, not annihilations and creations. With the eye of knowledge we see the candle slowly turning into invisible gases, nor doubt for an instant that the matter of which the candle was composed is still existing, ready to reappear in other forms. But this fact is true not only of matter itself, but also of all the influences that work on matter. We wind up the spring of a clock, and, for a whole week, the labor thus stored up is slowly expended in keeping the clock going. Or, again, we spend five minutes of hard labor in raising the hammer of a pile-driver, which, in its fall, exerts all that accumulated labor in a single instant. In these instances, we easily see that we store up labor. Now, if we pat a dozen sovereigns in a purse, and none of them be lost, we can take a dozen sovereigns out again. So in labor, if no labor be lost, as science asserts--for the inertia of matter, its very deadness, so to speak, which renders it incapable of spontaneously producing work, also prevents its destroying work when involved in it--we should be able to obtain back without deduction all our invested labor when we please.

Imagine a mountain stream turning an overshot wheel. It thus falls from a higher to a lower level. A certain amount of labor would be required to raise the water from the lower level to the higher; just this amount of labor the water gives out in its fall, and invests, as it were, in the wheel. If, however, when arrived at the lower level, the water were to demand of the wheel to be pumped up again, the slightest trial would show that it would ask more than it could obtain, though not more than it had given. The wheel, if questioned as to the cause of its inability, must reply as others have done, that it has shut up part of the labor in investments which it cannot realize. The reason, as commonly stated, is, that friction has destroyed part of the labor. The labor is not, however, destroyed. Science has shown that heat and labor are connected; labor may be turned into heat, and heat into labor. The labor absorbed by friction is but turned into heat. If, however, we try to extract labor from the heat thus diffused through the different parts of the water-wheel, and make it available, we find ourselves quite at a loss. The heat gradually diffuses itself through surrounding bodies, and, so far as we {594} are concerned, the labor is wasted, though it still exist, like Cleopatra's pearl dissolved in the cup of vinegar.

If no labor is lost, so neither is any created. The labor we exert is but the expenditure of labor stored up in our frames, just as the labor invested in the wound-up spring keeps the clock going. Whence, then, does all this labor originally come? We see the waste--how is compensation made? The answer is simple and easy to give. All the labor done under the sun is really done by it. The light and heat which the sun supplies are turned into labor by the organizations which exist upon the earth. These organizations may be roughly divided into two classes--the collectors and the expenders of the sun's labor. The first merely collect the sun's labor, so as to make it available for the other class; while, just as the steam-engine is the medium by which the steam gives motion, so this second class is the medium by which the sun's heat is turned into actual labor.

Still, the sun does not work only through organized labor: his mere mechanical influence is very great. With the moon--the only second post he deigns as to fill--he produces the tides by his attraction on the sea. But for the friction of the earth and the sea, the tides, once set in motion, would rise and fall without any further effort; but the work done in overcoming the friction is, though due to the sun and moon, not extracted from them, but by them from the earth. For it would make a vast effort to cause the earth to cease rotating. All this effort is, as it were, stored up in the revolving earth. as the tidal waters, then, rub along the bed of the sea, or the waters on which they rest and the adjacent coasts, this friction tends to make the earth move faster or slower, according to the direction in which the tidal flow is. The general effect is, however, that the friction of the tides makes the earth revolve more slowly; in other words, that part of the energy of rotation of the earth, so to speak, is consumed in rubbing against the title waters. All the work, therefore, that the tides do in undermining our cliffs and washing away our beaches, is extracted by the sea and moon from the work stored up in the rotation of the earth. The diminution of rotation, indeed, is so small as scarcely to be perceived by the most refined observation, but the reality of it is now generally recognized; and this process, too, will apparently go on till the earth ceases to rotate on its axis, and presents one face constantly to the sun.

Thus we see that the destruction of the land by the sea, so interesting in a geological point of view, is partly due to the sun's action. Not only is he the source of the light and the heat we enjoy, but he aids in forming the vast sedimentary beds that form so large a part of the crust of the earth, mixing the ingredients of our fields and moulding our globe.

By heating the air, the sun produces winds, and some of the labor costs expended is made use of by man in turning his windmills and carrying his wares across the sea. But there is another expedient of the sun's heat more immediately useful to man. By evaporating the sea and other bodies of water, he loads the air with moisture, which, then in contact with cold mountain-peaks or cold masses of air, loses its heat, and, being condensed, falls as rain or snow. Thus the rivers are replenished, which for a long time supplied the greater part of the labor employed in manufacturers, though the invention of the steam-engine is fast reducing relatively the value of this supply of labor.

But vast as the sun's power thus exerted is, and useful as it is to man, is surpassed in importance by his his labor exerted through organized beings. The above named agents have one defect; on the whole, they are incapable of being stored up to any great degree; we must employ them as nature gives them to us. Organized existence, however, possesses the power of storing up labor to a very high degree. {595} The means it adopts are not mechanical, but chemical. The formation of chemical compounds is attended with the giving out of heat, which, as we have said before, is equivalent to labor, and if of sufficient intensity, can by us be made available as labor, as in the steam-engine. Now we take iron ore, consisting of iron in combination with other substances. By means of great heat the iron is set free in the smelting-furnace. The iron, then, in its change of form has, as it were, taken in all this heat. If, now, we take this iron, and keeping it from the influence of the air, reduce it to a very fine powder, and then suddenly expose it to the air, by the force of natural affinity it will absorb the oxygen of the air, and in so doing give out the heat before required to set it free from the oxygen; and if the iron be in small enough portions, so that the process is sufficiently rapid, we may see the iron grow red hot with the heat thus disengaged.

Now, plants and trees, by the aid of the solar light and heat, remove various substances, carbon especially, from what seem to be their more natural combinations, and in other combinations store them up in their structures. Take a young oak-tree with its first tender leaves; if deprived of the sun's light and heat, its growth would be stayed, and its life die out. But with the aid of the sun's rays, it absorbs carbon from the gases in the air, each particle of carbon absorbed being absorbed by the power of the sun, through the agency of the plant; and with each particle of carbon stored up is also, as it were, stored up the labor of the sun by which that particle was set free from its former fetters. The sap of the plant thus enriched returns in its course, and by some mysterious process is curdled into cells and hardened into would. But the work by which all this was accomplished lies hid in the wood, and not only is it there, but it is there in a greatly condensed state. To form a little ring of wood round the tree, not an eighth of an inch across it, took the sunshine of a long summer, falling on the myriad leaves of the oak.

Lemuel Gulliver, at Laputa, was astonished by seeing a philosopher aiming at extracting sunbeams from cucumbers. Had he but rightly considered the thing he would have wondered at any one's troubling to make a science of it. The thing has always been done. From Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden eating sweet fruits, through the onion-eating builders of the pyramids, down to the flesh-eating myriads of our land, this process has always been going on. The active life of reasoning man, and his limitless powers of invention, need for their full development a vast supply of labor. By means of the vegetable kingdom, the sun's work is stored up in a number of organic substances. Man takes these into his system, and in the vessels and fibres of his body they resume their original combinations, and the labor of the sun is given out as muscular action and animal heat. To allow a larger supply of labor for man's intellect to work with, Providence created the herbivorous races. Some of these further condense the work of the sun involved in plants, by taking these plants into their systems, and storing up the work in them in their flesh and fat, which, after some preparation, are fit to be received into the frame of man, there, as the simpler vegetable substances, to supply heat and labor. Others, extracting work from the vegetable kingdom, just as man does, and mostly from parts of the vegetable kingdom that are not suited to the organs of man, are valuable to man as sources of labor, since they have no power to invent modes of employing this labor to their own advantage. Man might have been gifted with a vaster frame, and so with greater power of labor in himself, but such a plan had been destitute of elasticity; and while the savage would have basked in the sun in a more extended idleness, the civilized man had still lacked means to execute his plans. {596} So that good providence which formed man devised a further means for supplying his wants. Instead of placing him at once on a new-formed planet, it first let the sun spend its labor for countless ages upon our world. Age by age, much of this labor was stored up in vast vegetable growths. Accumulated in the abysses of the sea, or sunk to a great depth by the collapse of supporting strata, the formations of a later age pressed and compacted this mass of organic matter. The beds thus formed were purified by water, and even by heat, and at last raised to within the reach of man by subterranean movements. From this reservoir of labor man now draws rapidly, driving away the frost of today with the sunshine of a million years ago, and thrashing this year's harvest with the power that came to our earth before corn grew upon it.

Such are the processes by which the sun's power is collected and stored up by the vegetable kingdom in a form sufficiently condensed to be available for working the machinery of the bodies of men and beasts, and also to assist man in vaster expenditures of labor. It is most interesting to trace such processes, and not only interesting, but also instructive, for it shows us in what direction we are to look for our sources of labor, and will at once expose many common delusions. One hears, perhaps, that something will be found to supplant steam. Galvanism may be named; yet galvanism is generated by certain decompositions--of metal, for instance--and this metal had first to be prepared by the agency of coal, and in its decomposition can give out no more labor than the coal before invested in it. It is as if one should buy a steam-engine to pump up water to keep his mill-wheel going. The source of all labor is the sun. We cannot immediately make much use of his rays for the purposes of work; they are not intense enough; they must be condensed. The vegetable world alone at present seems capable of doing this; and its past results of coal, peat, petroleum, etc., and present results of wood and food, are ultimately all we have to look two.

To say that man will ever be dependent upon the vegetable world for all his work may be considered bold, but there is certainly great reason to believe it. The sun's labor being supplied in such a diluted form, each small quantity continually supplied must be packed in a very small space. Now, man can only subject matter to influences in the mass. The little particle of carbon that the plant frees each instant is beyond his ken. The machinery he could make would not be fine enough; it would be like trying to tie an artery with the biggest cable on board the Great Eastern. Organized existence possesses machinery fine enough to effect these small results, and to avail itself of these little installments of labor. At present, this machinery is beyond our comprehension, and possibly will ever remain so. Nature prefers that her children should keep out of the kitchen, and not pry into her pots and pans, but eat in thankfulness the meal she provides.

Some interesting results follow from what has been stated above. One is, that we are consuming not only our present allowance of the sun's labor, but also a great deal more, unless the formation of coal in our age equals its consumption, which is not probable. Mother earth will certainly, so far as we can see, some day be bankrupt. Such a consummation is pointed to, however, in other quarters. The sun's heat, unless miraculously replenished, must gradually be dissipated through space. There are reasons for thinking that the planets must ultimately fall into the sun. These things, however, possess to us no practical physical interest. Such countless ages must elapse ere they affect man's material condition upon the earth that we hardly can gravely consider them as impending. The chief interest they excite is moral. Like the man's hand that appeared to the revelling king, they write, "Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin" (weighed, measured, limited, doomed) on our material world, and dimly point to some power that stands, as it were, hidden from our view behind the screen of matter, that shall make things new.

{597}

ORIGINAL.

POEM.

BY E. HOWARD.

While wandering by the mountains And musing by the streams, I asked myself if ever thus My life would pass in dreams.

I gathered the little pebbles The waves threw on the sand: The rippling waters seemed to say, "There is a better land!"

And while thus my steps were straying, Above, in azure far, I saw a beacon's streaming light-- The glorious evening star!

My soul, enraptured, then exclaimed: "Hail, beauteous star of even! Wilt thou, while speeding into dawn, Bring me the will of heaven?"

I watched it in its onward course, Until its golden glow Was lost behind the western clouds. And left me wrapped in woe.

I struggled hard to free my soul From brooding thoughts of care. Till morning broke, when, with the star, These words fell on the air:

"No more let earthly passion move. Nor wearied hopes bemoan, A life that has a God to love, A heaven to call its own!"

The star had kindled hope And raised my soul in prayer; The clouds that rolled between Foretold a life of care.

I bowed my head, and humbly knelt, Submissive to his will. Who, when the waves were troubled most, Said, "Peace!" and all was still.

{598}

ORIGINAL.

THE GODFREY FAMILY; OR, QUESTIONS OF THE DAY.