Chapter III.

And now I am sure you are satisfied that Dick was on the right road, acting religion as fast as he learned it; trying to be all he knew--to live a truthful, generous, self-respecting life. He had little help, you know, and, if he followed that crowd that I told you of oftener than before, and heard much that enabled him to take whole books into his "inner consciousness" which would otherwise have been a dead letter to him, he was not one to make a flourish of trumpets about it, or to dream of complaining that the world would not stand still until he got up to it. He had but one intimate friend, it is true; but he was a friend you and I might be glad to win; a friend who never argued or lectured, but only quietly built his life on the only true foundation--the true faith--and then left it to show for itself. So, simply trusting in whatever was good, yet so fierce against whatever was evil, scornful of everything wrong and weak, practising as well as believing, you may be sure Carl Staffs would never have held out his honest hand to Dick, if Dick were not worthy of it. And this makes me think great things of my hero, of whom scarcely anybody thought at all. He had his place in Ames & Harden's store, and he had his talks, too, now with one person, now with another, and perhaps thought of things he heard. He was only a boy yet, and had his follies, without doubt, fancying at times that there was something in him, if circumstances would only draw it out, which would prove him a great deal worthier of high places than those now occupying them. I am not sure but that, if he had had a country-home, he might sometimes have lain down under the trees, and, while watching in a dreamy way the clouds sailing down to the west, and the vigilant stars coming out to guard the earth in the sun's absence, and listening to the wind among the trees, the twittering of some wakeful bird, or the rustling of some grand old river, he might have had yearnings no one could explain, and not have felt the sky too far to climb or the river too deep to fathom; for Dick's was only a boy's heart, that had still to learn that we cannot go from the Broadway pavement to Trinity spire in one step. {530} Even in his city home, if home it could be called, it may be that, just after he had been to church with Carl, he had glowed with the thought that he--even he--might some day be a Loyola or a Francis Xavier, for "the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

But as yet his life consciously held but one romance--one dream of earth. There were few to care for him; but there was a little girl once who had made Christmas memorable to him, and Dick had not forgotten her. She had grown a beautiful young lady now, in Dick's eyes, though to all others she was merely a thin, dark school-girl. They still lived in the handsome house on Fourteenth street, and Carl Stoffs and his band played for many a dance there, although I am sorry to say that, even after a New Year's party, Dick had to be sent more than once to Mr. Brandon's office with a little bill, due to Ames & Harden, mostly for school-books, novels, and gilt annuals. But then that was no fault of Mary's, you know.

Mr. Brandon was not a pleasant man to go to with a bill, or for much of anything in the money line. "The deuce take it, my dear!" he often said to his wife. "Are you bent on ruining me?"

"Don't be silly, Charley, love," the dauntless little woman would say, not in the least disturbed by the angry voice and black brow that were so terrible to Dick. "For people of our position, we live very shabbily."

"Hang our position! I tell you, madam, we are going the road to beggary; we are, indeed."

"O Charles! do be quiet," was her ready answer. "I am so sick of that sort of stuff."

"Then _be_ sick of it," this dreadful man would exclaim; "for I'll tell it to you every day and every hour, until it gets through your silly head. Money! money! money! I never hear anything else in this house. I've sold myself for it, body and soul, and much good it has done me! I'll not give you a penny, madam; not a penny."

But that was all talk; for, of course, he had to give his wife, who was a nice little body, very sweet and good-tempered, but rather fond of the good things of this world, whatever she had set her heart upon having.

"If papa should be right--" Mary would sometimes urge.

"Nonsense! they all say the same thing; why shouldn't they? If I didn't spend your father's money in making things pleasant at home, he'd be spending it on clubs, or whatever it is which uses up their money when they have the spending of it all to themselves. You'll have a husband, likely enough, one of these days, who'll scold for every pocket-handkerchief you buy; but you won't mind it. They must scold about something, you know, dear."

"O mamma! I'd never live a day--if--" At which sentence, never completed, Mrs. Brandon would laugh, and the subject would be dropped for the present; but, of course, after such scenes, Mr. Brandon wouldn't be very amiable to a boy like Dick with a bill in his hand. But Dick to him was a mere machine, belonging to a store over the way, and as such he treated him, with as little malice in his hard words as if he were swearing at a table or chair. To Dick, Mr. Brandon was Mary's father, and that meant a great deal; Dick could never talk openly to him, nor stand in his presence quite as he did in the presence of other men.

{531}

For, though Dick had never been outside the city limits, and had never seen a hill, nor a field of corn, he was a trifle romantic, I am afraid, after all.

Yes, it is true that he grew to be almost a man without having ever climbed a hill or seen a field of grain. But there was a good time coming.

"Dick," said Carl Stoffs, that true and faithful friend--"Dick, would you like to go to the country?"

"Would I like to go to the country?" he repeated, finding no words of his own to say, so great was his bewilderment at such a question--"Would I like to go to the country?"

"Any time you're ready," said the German, seating himself. "Take your time to answer, my lad."

"What would I do in the country? I was never there in my life!"

"And you don't look more pleased than though I'd asked you to go to--to--the end of the world."

"I have often wished to see the country," returned Dick, in the tone in which we might wish to see China if we had nothing else to do; "but I don't see my way to doing so at present."

"I do believe, Dick, that you have lined the walls with gold pieces, you are so miserly of your time, and so stuck to this old place. Come now, we shall take you to the country, my wife and I. Now, to think there should be one on earth who never saw the green fields and the woods! It is to me a very odd thing! You are the blind man who never saw the sun, and does not think the sun worth seeing."

"Oh! no, indeed; not so bad as that; but--"

"Then you shall go. My sister has a house, with room for many, and we have taken half, keeping one room for you. Come and take your week with us."

"But, Mr. Stoffs, I intended during that week to read so much to take long walks about the city--and Mrs. Stoffs--"

"My wife sent me; I would not of myself have such a blind man with me, to read, to study, to walk; how can you in the city now? You will be wild when you have been once with us. You will go to-day with me--I will be waiting for you at my place at five. Will you come?"

"Indeed--"

"You will come." And, in truth, Mr. Stoffs had previously said so much of that wonderful land in which he was now living that Dick could not resist his last appeal, and afraid and shy as he well might be, having never spent twenty-four hours in a home circle in his life, he gave his promise to be at the appointed place of meeting in good time for the train.

But when the magnetism of his friend's presence was taken from him, Dick's heart grew heavy in his breast. If it had been to go to another city, or on a matter of business, Dick's excitement would have been delightful; but "the country," of which he knew nothing, and of which he had such strange fancies, picked up he could not tell where, that was another thing. City boys always laughed at country people when they came to the city--they had such queer ways--and yet--and yet--he felt strange and shy about going among them. Perhaps he felt that the tables would be turned on him there, and that his ways would be as queer in their eyes as theirs had been in his; perhaps he felt the full force of the homely old saying that "a cock can crow best in his own farm-yard."

{532}

But, as the day wore on, Dick's spirits rose; he thought of all the stories he had read of fresh country life; a poem or two of cows and brooks came vaguely among his thoughts, and by the time he reached his little room, and began to pack his not abundant wardrobe, he was eager for the first glance at "the country."

"Then, may the Lord's blessing go with you," said his kind but very slovenly landlady. "I hope you'll come back as brown as a berry, sir. I was two year in the country once, and, though I won't say I'd like it for always, yet my heart do get to wishing these days for a sight o' the flowers and the fields. You'll mind the fruit, sir, and the dews o' night; there does be great dews fallin', and a deal of ague, I'm told. Good-by to you." And Dick said "good-by" to her with something like emotion; for it was his first "good-by" to any one, and the woman had been good to him, and if her hair was in a blouse, and her garments ill made and not clean, Dick was not startled, for he had never seen them otherwise.

Then he walked on to meet Mr. Stoffs, and found he was nearly an hour before the time. It seemed as if the moment of departure would never come; but it did, at last, and, as in a sort of dream, the dusty city youth was whirled by cottages nestling among proud, protecting trees, past the green hills, and through fields "all rich with ripening grain," until the panting train pulled up between a pile of stones and a little yellow station-house, with a narrow platform running beside it.

"Now, then, here we are!" said the German, and took up his bundles and basket; for who ever saw a Carl Stoffs in the cars that had not a bundle and basket, and a quantity of household furniture besides? This last Dick took in charge, and so laden the two made their way out of the cars. Around the little yellow station-house dodged two splendid bays with silver harness, that were being driven rapidly round a corner close to the narrow platform, and went out into the dusty road; for sidewalks there were none. Soon the sound of carriage-wheels made them turn aside, and Dick stumbled, as he walked for the first time on the soft green grass.

When you take a mountain lassie to Rome and show her St. Peter's, she is not enthusiastic; indeed, she is terribly disappointed. She expected something so much greater than her mountains, so much brighter than her green valleys. If Dick was disappointed when he put his foot on nature's velvet carpet and found it only caused him to stumble, I cannot say. I think he felt surprised that a brook beside the way and far blue hills before him wrought no emotion within him. Fortunately Carl asked no raptures.

"That was the Brandons' turnout," he said in a prosaic way, as Dick recovered his footing, and returned to the road.

"Is that so?" asked Dick. "Do they live here?"

"Yes," said Carl, "and a fine place it is too; but I think the man's going too fast."

Then Dick was thoughtful for a minute or two, pitying the daughter, if it were so; but it is hard to think that a man's family are near to want when his stylish carriage has just turned you out of the road, and the pity soon seemed misplaced.

{533}

The walk seemed long to Dick; he did, indeed, enjoy the cool breeze, fresher and purer than any he had ever felt before but he had his own baggage and Carl's curtain-rods besides, and he was used to pavements. They had already passed many fine houses, with lawns and carriage-ways, shaded by great trees in front of them, and now and again a little house, with flowers and clustering vines, and groups on the porches; but Carl's steps lingered at none. At last they turned out of the dusty road into a shaded lane, a veritable lane, as new to Dick as the Paris Boulevards would be to Mrs. Partington; two or three more cottages, smaller and not so much garden-room, and then Carl said:

"Eh! but I'm glad to get home! Come here, Will! Come, boys!"

The last call seemed to fill the lane with children. They might have come down from the trees, or up from the earth, for all Dick could tell; but at the sound of Carl's voice the place was alive--big boys and little boys, great girls and small girls, all round and fat, brown-eyed and yellow-haired, with all manner of greetings, gathered around the travellers, eagerly drew their baggage from their hands, and with baskets, bags, bundles, and curtain-rods, made a grand triumphal procession before them, shouting, laughing, pushing against each other, the big ones stumbling over the little ones, and yet nobody hurt.

A few steps more and a rustic gate was opened and some one came and stood under the archway of evergreen branches, intertwined with some drooping vines. She was facing the West, looking down the lane, shading her eyes with her hand, although the sun was almost down. Just for a moment she stood in the bright sunset glow, under the green archway, shading her brown eyes from the light, looking down the shadowy lane; and, as she so stood, she seemed a very fair and graceful girl indeed. An instant more and the children, in the importance of their mission as baggage-carriers, pushed past her, and she retreated with them toward the house.

"Come, Rose! Here we are!" called Carl to her. And she turned and met them as they reached the gate.

"You are welcome," she said to Dick when he was introduced at the gate.

"You are welcome," said Mrs. Stoffs, coming toward them from the porch.

"You are welcome," repeated Mrs. Alaine, at the door. And Dick had not a word of answer to any one of them.

They were to him as grand as princesses and as gracious as queens, as they came forth to receive him and bid him welcome to their little cottage; and Dick was not used to courts or to queens and princesses, so he could only bow and shake the hands so cordially extended to him.

I am afraid my hero was not at all happy for the first few minutes that he sat on the stoop between Mrs. Stoffs and Mrs. Alaine, not knowing what answer to make to even their simplest remark, and that he was much relieved when they joined their voices to the hubbub the children were making around Carl. Such shyness as Dick's is very painful to the spectators, as well as to the embarrassed one; but, then, there's this to be said about it, when it is once entirely conquered it never can come back again, and I fancy there are some very nice people in the world, now very self-possessed and perfectly well-bred, who would give much to feel again the awkwardness and embarrassment which, once upon a time, caused them such keen annoyance. {534} The women pitied Dick, but liked him none the less for the color that would come into his face and the hesitation of his replies; but their feeling for the stranger was greater than any pleasure to themselves, and so it was not long before they went into the house with the declared intention of "getting tea." But going into the house was not going away altogether, for the room which served for parlor, library, sitting-room, dining-room, and all, had a low window opening on the stoop, and Carl and Dick could see them well, and speak, if they chose, without raising their voices, as they went-back and forth from the table to the closet, and from the closet to the table, not to mention innumerable visits to Carl's basket, which seemed a pantry in itself. The children ran in and out, and one jolly little one, called Trot, who was as round as a dumpling, and was too young to be shy for very long, informed Dick she was glad he had come, for they were to have sweet-cakes for tea. Occasionally Rose would come and stand at the window and say something to tease "Uncle Carl," who was not slow to "give her as good as he got." Thus gradually Dick became more at ease, and began to distinguish a difference in the tones of the children's voices, and to take note of the strange Sunday-like stillness which, except for the merry noises in the house, was complete, and, to him, wonderful.

I think a tea-table is one of the nicest sights in the world. If there is a grain of poetry in a woman, and I believe that there is no woman without a grain of poetry in her, it will surely, mark my words, however rough and prosaic she may be, come out about tea-time. That was a very pretty tea-table at which Dick took his place that evening; there was no silver nor China, and there was, perhaps, too great an abundance of good things; but it startled Dick, and I contend that it was nice and pretty, if only for the reason that it had a clean table-cloth, a bunch of flowers, and every dish in its proper place. Mrs. Alaine, who was only a feminine edition of her brother Carl, sat at the head of the table, in a clean calico dress, with a white collar and a blue ribbon. She had a child on each side of her, whose glee, at the prospect of sweet-cakes and peaches (out of Carl's basket) after they had eaten their bread and butter, she tried to moderate with a smiling, "Hush, children! What will Mr. Heremore think of you?" Mrs. Stoffs, who had also a round flat face, and was dressed in a clean calico, with white collar and a knot of pink ribbons, Dick had seen many times before, and dearly loved the good humor that bubbled all over her face whenever she spoke. She also had a child on each side of her, whose audible whispers about the good things coming she answered and mysteriously increased by promises of the same again another day. But opposite Dick was a face that was not round nor especially good-humored; for the two children under charge of Rose were the least repressible of the whole flock, and they tried her slender stock of patience sorely; especially, as she said afterward to her mother, with many blushes and half crying at the recollection, "as they would say _such_ things right before the strange gentleman!" Rose had a pretty blue muslin, with a tiny bit of lace around the neck, for her raiment, and there was a something red, green, brown, blue, pink, or yellow, that fluttered here and there before Dick's eyes whenever she moved to help the children, or turned her young face, with its flitting colors, toward him. {535} But whether it were a ribbon, or a blush, or the hue of her hair, or an aureole around her head, and whether it were no color at all, or all colors together, or a rainbow out of the clouds, I do not think Dick had, for one moment, a definite idea--at least, while it was flitting before his eyes.

After tea, Carl took out his pipe, and settled into his big chair on the porch; and the children, having got somewhat over their awe of the stranger, volunteered to take him down the lane, and show him where there had been a robin's nest last spring, an expedition, however, that was vetoed by Carl on the ground that you couldn't see even a robin's nest in the dark. Then Rose came out to tease Uncle Carl again; but, forgetting her purpose, stood where the light from within seemed to set her in glory, like the angels in pictures; and by and by, it came about, no one knew how, that her shrine was vacant, and she, a very nice little girl with her hands in the pockets--very impracticable pockets they were--of her muslin apron, was telling Dick, with the children as prompters and commentators, the full particulars of the finding of the robin's nest, and what work she had had to keep the children from bringing sorrow and dismay to the hearts of the parent robins by stealing away their little ones. Then, as the moon rose, there was no reason why the children should not take Dick down the lane to show to him the tree where the nest had been; and then it was needful that he should know just how far it was from sister Rose's window, and yet how quickly, on hearing the shouts of rejoicing, she had come to Mrs. Robin's assistance. Then it was so funny to see a man who had never climbed a tree, that it was needful two or three should go up one to show how it is done. Then, too, there were lightning-bugs by the million around them, and as Dick had never seen anything like them, unless it was fire-crackers on Fourth of July night, they had to catch several for his investigation. When Rose told how those little things are really the people of the forest, who are so timid they do not dare to come out in the daytime, but do all their praying by night, and have always been good friends to children, showing them their way home when lost, and driving away the ghosts that would frighten the wanderers, then the children opened their brown hands and let them fly away, promising never to make prisoners of them again.

And so, though Dick still felt strange and shy, it was not in such an unpleasant way as when he sat on the porch trying to answer Mrs. Alaine and Mrs. Stoffs when they spoke to him. When, at last, he closed his eyes that night, he was half ready to admit that "the country" might almost be the enchanted land some people had made it out to be.

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{536}

Letter Apostolic Of Our Holy Father The Pope Pius IX.

To All Protestants And Other Non-catholics.

To All Protestants And Other Non-Catholics, Pius IX., Pope:

You already know that We, having been elevated, notwithstanding our unworthiness, to this Chair of Peter, and therefore invested with the supreme government and guardianship of the whole Catholic Church by Christ our Lord, have judged it reasonable to summon to Us Our Venerable Brethren the Bishops of the whole earth, and to unite them together, to celebrate, next year, an OEcumenical Council; so that in concert with these our Venerable brethren who are called to share in our cares, we may take those steps which seem most opportune and necessary, to disperse the darkness of the numerous pestilential errors which everywhere rage to the increasing overthrow and the intoxication of many souls; and also to confirm and increase daily more and more among the Christian people entrusted to our watchfulness the dominion of true Faith, Justice, and the Peace of God. Confidently relying on the close ties and most loving union which in so marked a way unite to Ourselves and to this Holy See these our Venerable Brethren, who, through all the time of our Supreme Pontificate, have never failed to give to Ourselves and this Holy See the clearest tokens of their love and veneration; We have the firm hope that this OEcumenical Council, summoned by Us at this time, will produce, by the inspirations of Divine Grace, as other General Councils in past ages have done, abundant fruits of benediction, to the greater glory of God, and the eternal salvation of men.

Sustained by this hope, and roused and urged by the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, who gave his life for the whole human race, We cannot restrain Ourselves, on the occasion of the future Council, from addressing our Apostolic and paternal words to all those who, whilst they acknowledge the same Jesus Christ as the Redeemer, and glory in the name of Christian, yet do not profess the true faith of Christ or hold to and follow the Communion of the Catholic Church. And we do this to warn, and conjure, and beseech them with all the warmth of our zeal and in all charity, that they may consider and seriously examine whether they follow the path marked out for them by Jesus Christ our Lord, and which leads to Eternal Salvation. No one can deny or doubt that Jesus Christ himself, in order to apply the fruits of his redemption to all generations of men, built his only church in this world on Peter; that is to say, the Church, One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic; and that he gave him all the power necessary to preserve the deposit of Faith whole and inviolable, and to teach the same Faith to all kindreds, and peoples, and nations; so that all men who through baptism become members of his mystical body, and of that new life of grace, without which no one can ever attain to life eternal, may always be preserved and perfected in them; and this church, which is his mystical Body, may always in its own nature remain firm and immovable to the consummation of ages, that it may flourish, and supply to all its children all the means of Salvation.

Now, whoever will carefully examine and reflect upon the condition of the various religious societies divided among themselves, and separated from the Catholic Church, which from the days of our Lord Jesus Christ and his Apostles has ever exercised, by its lawful pastors, and still does exercise, the divine power committed to it by this same Lord; will easily satisfy himself that none of these societies, singly nor all together, are in any way or form that one Catholic Church which our Lord founded and built, and which he chose should be; and that he cannot, by any means, say that these societies are members or parts of that Church, since they are visibly separated from catholic unity.

{537}

For such like societies, being destitute of that living authority established by God, which especially teaches men what is of Faith, what the rule of morals, and guides them in everything that relates to eternal life, are always varying in their doctrines, and this changing and instability is increasing. Every one therefore must perfectly understand, and clearly and evidently see, that such societies are distinctly opposite to the church instituted by our Lord Jesus Christ; for in that church truth must always continue firm and inaccessible to change, so as to preserve absolutely inviolate the deposit confided to her, for the guardianship of which the presence and aid of the Holy Ghost has been, promised to her for ever. Every one also knows that from these divergent doctrines and opinions, social schisms have had their birth, which have again generated within themselves sects and communions without number, which spread themselves continually to the great injury of Christian and civil society.

Indeed, whoever observes that religion is the foundation of human society, must perceive and confess the great influence which this division of principles, this opposition, this strife of religious societies among themselves, must have on civil society, and with what force this denial of the authority established by God, to determine the belief of the human mind, and direct the actions of men as well in private as in social life, has fostered, spread, and supported those deplorable changes of times and circumstances, those troubles which at this day overwhelm and afflict almost all peoples.

Let all those, then, who do not profess the unity and truth of the Catholic Church, avail themselves of the opportunity of this Council, in which the Catholic Church, to which their forefathers belonged, affords a new proof of her close unity and her invincible vitality, and let them satisfy the longings of their hearts, and liberate themselves from that state in which they cannot be assured of their own salvation. Let them unceasingly offer fervent prayers to the God of Mercy, that he will throw down the wall of separation, that he will scatter the darkness of error, and that he will lead them back to the Holy Mother Church, in whose bosom their fathers found the salutary pastures of life, in whom alone the whole doctrine of Jesus Christ is preserved and handed down, and the mysteries of heavenly grace dispensed.

For Ourself, to whom the same Christ our Lord has entrusted the charge of the supreme Apostolic ministry, and who must, therefore, fulfil with the greatest zeal all the functions of a good Pastor, and love with a paternal love, and embrace in our charity all men, wherever dispersed over the earth, We address this letter to all Christians separated from Us, and We again exhort and conjure them quickly to return to the one fold of Christ.

For We ardently desire their salvation in Jesus Christ, and We fear to have one day to render account to him who is our Judge, if We do not show them, and if we do not give them, as far as is in our power, the sure means to know the way which leads to eternal salvation. In all our prayers, beseeching and giving thanks, we cease not, day or night, to ask earnestly and humbly for them, of the Eternal Pastor of souls, the abundance of light and heavenly grace. And since, notwithstanding our unworthiness, We are his Vicar upon Earth, with outstretched hands We wait, in the most ardent desire, the return of our erring sons to the Catholic Church, so that We may receive them with love into the mansion of our Heavenly Father, and enrich them with his unspeakable treasures. On this longed-for return to the truth and unity of the Catholic Church depends not only the salvation of individuals, but still more Christian society; the whole world cannot enjoy true peace unless it becomes one Fold under one Shepherd.

Given at St. Peter's, in Rome, the 13th day of September, 1868, and the twenty-third year of our Pontificate.

The remarks which follow are extracted from _The London Saturday Review_:

The Pope And The General Council.

We read the Pope's Address to all Protestants and non-Catholics at some disadvantage. It reaches us only through a French version, furnished to the _Moniteur_, and published in that journal of Monday. And we may, in the first place, complain to His Holiness of the slovenly and parsimonious way in which he discharges the function so dear to him. He expatiates on his zeal for all Christian souls, and he is assured that he shall have to give account for us all at the Great Day. He, the Good Shepherd--such is his title, and we ought perhaps to write it, "His," entrusted to him by Christ Himself our Lord--is bound by the charge of his Supreme Apostolic Ministry to embrace in his paternal charity all men in the whole world, and therefore he addresses this letter to all Christians separated from him. So lofty a purpose might have justified some care in carrying it out. But what has His Holiness done that his epistle should reach his erring people? Does he expect that the whole human race is bound to read the Government journal of Rome? Is his conscience satisfied that his tremendous responsibility is fulfilled by the cheap and easy method of publishing his behests in an obscure newspaper, and leaving to those most concerned to find out, as they can, what so nearly concerns their eternal salvation, through the medium of unauthorized versions and newspaper reports? {538} This is the difficulty of a Vicar of Christ who has heavenly functions to discharge, and only human means to work with. As it is quite certain, as things stand, that the awful words which concern the immortal destinies of every human being who names the name of Christ will not reach one in a hundred thousand of them, it seems to follow that if the Pope has these duties toward all mankind, he ought to have been entrusted with an archangelic trumpet to address himself to so very large an audience. It is a sad come-down from the appeal _urbi et orbi_ to have to hoist it up in a penny Dublin paper. Who knows how many the Pope would not influence if he would be at the trouble of addressing us by some such mundane instrumentality as the penny post? The Archbishop of Canterbury, for example; has he, as courtesy would seem to require, received in any authoritative way this communication from Rome, or heaven, or wherever it was indited?

We say it with all respect, that the Pope's address was calculated not so much to attract as to repel. He does not condescend to argue; although he assures us that we are enveloped in a cloud of error, he is at no pains to dissipate it; with a bold _petitio princitii_ he sonorously assumes the very point at issue--the point, be it added, at issue not only between him and his bishops on the one hand, and the imposing ranks of the vast oriental church, our own church, and the vast Protestant communities of Europe and America, on the other, but the point which has been most keenly debated by the theologians and canonists of the western obedience. The Pope's address rests upon one, and upon only one, huge assumption. It is that the Pope, in his single capacity as monarch and autocrat of the church, advanced to the supreme government of the whole Catholic Church, has the inherent right of prescribing the faith of the church; that he is the one and supreme legislator as well as administrator. This is what even the church of Rome has not yet formally decreed, even by the easy method which a few years ago decreed the Immaculate Conception. Ultra-montanism--or, in other words, and to express it generally, the personal infallibility and supreme authority of the pope--is not yet _de fide_. But this is what the Pope assumes; and it is most likely as a step toward what it is understood will be the next Roman development of doctrine, and probably the end aimed at in summoning this so-called oecumenical council that the Pope, in his letter, takes up the position of autocrat. He addresses us, but it is only to assist his next move as regards his own subjects, and to help to settle the vexed question which his predecessors have found to be so inconvenient when denied by Bossuet, De Marca, Van Espen, and the Doctors of the Sorbonne, to say nothing of the Councils of Constance and Basle.

In the mean time let us see what it is the Pope in his exuberant charity offers us. It is, we regret to say, extremely little. He bids us stay at home and pray to be united; at least we hope that he goes as far as this. But as he cannot count much upon the efficacy of the prayers of obstinate heretics, it would be perhaps nearer to the truth if we said that all that the Pope has to say is to invite us to return to his fold. The Vatican Eirenicon is of the simplest--no conditions, no explanations, no discussion of difficulties, no healing of wounds, no solemn canvassing of controversies, no arguments. Return first, and discuss afterward, when there is nothing to discuss. Might we venture to hint to Archbishop Manning who is polite enough to consider the present attitude of the Church of England toward Pius IX. as exactly similar to the state of things as between Gregory I. and the Pagans and Goths and Arians of his time--that even Arius got a hearing, and was allowed his say? Not so with us. There is a controversy between Rome and those whom Rome calls non-Catholics, as to the, not primacy, but exclusive autocracy of the See of Rome. There is only one way of deciding it--_rixá est ubi tu pulsas, ego vapulo tantum_. All that we have to do is to be kicked, and submit. This is good schoolmaster's language; but, as far as we remember, it is not the old way of dealing with even heresy and schism. The huge series of councils might have been reduced to a single and very portable volume, had this mode of settling controversy been the church's old and compendious method.

One misunderstanding, or misrepresentation, it seems to be well at once to remove. The Westminster _Gazette_--writing, we hope, without having read the Pope's address speaks of it as an invitation to those to whom it is addressed to repair to the OEcumenical Council of 1869, adding that the church will ever be ready to offer explanations, and to labor to remove obstacles to reunion. This is just what the Pope does not do. He does not invite non-Catholics, either in any corporate or private capacity, to repair to Rome. He simply says that he will pray for them, and bids them be reconciled. {539} Invitation there is none; offers of explanation there are none. We are seriously to lay to heart our condition, and give it up. We are invited to conform, and nothing else. To the council neither our bishops nor pastors are asked. And this is the more noticeable because the Orientals are invited. "We raise our voice once more to you, and with all the power of our soul we pray you, we conjure you to come to this Council, as your ancestors came to the Council of Lyons and to the Council of Florence." Such is His Holiness's language to the Oriental bishops, as we find it in his Apostolic letter of September 8th, translated in the Westminster _Gazette_. This Florentine precedent will hardily be reassuring to the Orientals; and though, after all, the summons to them is substantially only what the summons to us is, as the Pope in either case takes up the same position--that of the exclusive supremacy of the See of Peter, and denies that the Eastern bishops are really bishops till they have submitted to him--yet we must remind not only the Westminster _Gazette_ but the _Univers_, that their statement that the Pope has issued anything like an invitation to attend the council, or rather his council, to "all those whose separation dates from the sixteenth century," is simply untrue. Even if we had been asked, and even were it announced that we should have ample liberty to state our case, we say, as Laud said more than two centuries ago, "To what end freedom of speech, since they are resolved to alter nothing?"

The following report of the action of the New School Presbyterian Synod of New York and New Jersey we clip from the columns of one of the daily papers:

The Presbyterians And The Pope.

The following memorial and resolutions were presented by Rev. Dr. Adams:

_Whereas_, The Pope of Rome, called Pius the Ninth, did, on the 13th day of September, in the year of our Lord 1868, issue a certain letter, a proclamation addressed to all Protestants and non-Catholics throughout the world, the import of which is to unite and urge all persons and organizations thus designated to hasten to return to the only fold, meaning the Church of Rome.

_Whereas_, The said Pope in the said letter, called paternal and apostolic, has in an unwonted manner, as if pleading at the bar of public opinion, assigned several and various reasons for its preparation and publication.

_Whereas_, Among the reasons so mentioned are the assertion of his own supremacy over the human conscience as the vicar of Jesus, and "the authority to govern the persuasions of the human intellect and to direct the actions of men in private and social life," as also this, that the rejection of this authority and protest against it by so many has promoted and nourished those perturbations in human affairs, in this our day, which the said Pope pronounces miserable and grievous, but which must be regarded by every friend of his species as eminently hopeful and auspicious.

_Whereas_, All such claims and assertions on the part of the Pope of Rome are to the last degree unfounded in fact, contrary to the truth, reason, Scripture, and the whole genius of Christianity, and, if allowed, would prove subversive to all human rights and liberties.

_Whereas_, Recent movements, especially in Austria and Spain, nations long in subjection to the monstrous pretensions of the Papacy, command the prompt recognition, sympathy, and support of all friends of humanity, freedom, and religion throughout the land; therefore, be it

_Resolved_, That the facts here recorded furnish and present a proper and fitting occasion for all Protestant churches throughout Christendom, each in the mode which its own wisdom shall suggest, to prepare and set forth for general distribution, through the same channels which the Pope himself has chosen, a suitable response to his letter, which response shall contain a statement of the reasons why his claims can in no wise be recognized, as inconsistent with a catholicity more catholic than Rome the authority of infallible Scripture and the glorious supremacy of Jesus Christ.

_Resolved_, That a committee be appointed by the Synod, whose duty it shall be to consider the expediency of corresponding with other Protestant bodies in this country and in Europe as to the propriety of such timely action for the furtherance of free Biblical Protestant Christianity.

_Resolved_, That it be referred to the same committee, if they deem it wise, to prepare and publish a reply to the said letter of the Pope, which shall be regarded as an expression of the sentiments of this Synod concerning the matters therein contained as of vital importance to all civil and religious liberty throughout the world, and to the salvation of the human race.

{540}

It was suggested that a committee consisting of three ministers and three elders, be appointed to carry out the objects of the resolutions. Dr. Cox wanted to see the committee larger. It was an important subject, and we want names on the document which will encourage our brothers in England and in all parts of Europe. The following committee was appointed to take the whole subject into consideration: Rev. William Adams, D.D., Rev. Henry B. Smith, D.D., Rev. Roswell D. Hitchcock, D.D., Rev. Jonathan F. Stearns, D.D., Rev. Edwin F. Hatfield, D.D., Rev. Samuel T. Spear, D.D., Rev. George L. Prentiss, D.D., Hon. William E. Dodge, Professor Theodore W. Dwight, LL.D., Hon. Daniel Haines, Hon. Edward A. Lambert, J. B. Pinneo, Esq., S. F. B. Morse, Esq., Cyrus W. Field, Esq.

We subjoin another report of the action of the central authority of the Evangelical Church of Prussia, from _The New York Herald_:

The Berlin Evangelical Consistory On The Pontifical Letter.

The pastoral letter in connection with his oecumenical circular addressed by Pope Pius IX. to non-Catholic Christians has roused Prussian evangelic church authority. The following circular has been addressed to its consistories: "An open letter of the 13th ult., by the chief of the Roman Catholic Church, is directed to all Protestants, thus including the members of our Evangelical State Church. As this document contains, besides unjust accusations, many expressions of respect and kindness toward Protestants, we are ready and willing to consider it as a pledge of friendly and peaceable relations for the future between both confessions for the sake of the state and its citizens, and for the efficiency and triumph of Christian truth. Every sincere evangelic Christian acknowledges the duty of loving other confessions and deplores the separation in the church, especially among members of a common country. But as the chief of another church undertakes in the said letter to demand, with assumed authority, from the members of ours a renunciation of their cherished creed, founded upon the inviolable word of God, and a retractation of evangelical truth won by the blessed Reformation, without offering on his part the least prospect of a reconciliation on the basis of evangelical truth, we must decidedly reject his action as an unjustifiable trespass upon our church, and in so doing we are sure of the agreement of all Evangelicals. An appeal to the members of our church not to heed this voice may be deemed unnecessary; but it is proper to keep still more in mind, opposed to such pretensions, the numerous members of our persuasions who in the midst of Roman Catholicism are exposed to the temptations of infidelity toward the Evangelical creed; therefore, to procure the means for preaching to them, giving them the sacraments, the Evangelical school and pastoral care, collections are directed soon to be made in all our churches. The royal consistories will communicate this to the ministers of the dioceses, who on the days of collection on the following Sundays are to make proper mention of it to their congregations.

There was also an announcement in the papers that some sort of a letter to the Pope was proposed by members of the late General Convention of the Protestant Episcopal Church, although we do not know what came of the affair eventually.

We must give justice to one portion of the comments of the _Saturday Review_, namely, that which refers to the publication of the pontifical letter. It is a matter of great inconvenience to Catholics throughout the world, that the publication of important official documents at Rome is so tardy and insufficient. This is a defect which ought to be, and we hope will be, remedied. We have not yet seen the Latin text of the letter addressed by the Sovereign Pontiff to Protestants, and have been obliged to take a translation of it which is not remarkably well-executed, and in which we have corrected forty-seven typographical errors, from an English Catholic newspaper. The English translations of the grand and dignified pontifical documents which are sent forth by the Holy See, are generally wretched, and make them appear to readers who are unacquainted with the originals in a very unfavorable light.

{541}

It seems to us that it would have added very much to the effect of the Holy Father's paternal address to his erring and strayed children, if authentic copies had been at once sent to all the bishops, with a command to publish both the original Latin text, and also a translation authorized by themselves, with their own official counter-signature appended, for the benefit of all Christians within their several dioceses. As it is, however, the letter of the Holy Father has become very generally known through the indirect channel of the newspapers, and has not failed to produce a great sensation. It is just such an admonition as the head of the Church, who is conscious that his authority to teach the world is indubitable, might be expected to issue. It is in the style and manner which become the Vicar of Jesus Christ speaking to all the baptized, who, by virtue of their baptism, are lawfully subject to his pastoral jurisdiction. The Pope speaks as one having authority, and must necessarily do so, just as our Lord and the Apostles did, because he knows that he has authority, and that the evidence of his authority is so plain and clear, that at least all the educated pastors and teachers of the different Christian sects are capable of perceiving it and bound to acknowledge it. The _Saturday Review_ complains that the Pope does not argue on the subject, or adduce reasons to convince those who reject his authority. This is a most unreasonable objection. How would it be possible, within the limits of a brief letter, to address arguments, at length, to all the hundred and one different sorts of Protestants? The letter is not destitute of that kind and amount of argument which are alone suitable in a document of the kind. It appeals to the manifest fact that Protestants are divided among a multitude of differing sects and doctrines, without any principle of unity or certain criterion of truth; whereas the Catholic Church, in communion with the See of Peter, possesses that unity and universality which are the sure and evident marks of the presence of the Holy Spirit within her body, leading her perpetually into all truth, according to the promise of Christ. Our Lord, when he demanded the obedience of faith under the peril of eternal damnation from all his hearers, did not enter into long arguments. He presented brief and simple reasons in an authoritative manner to his auditors, and appealed to the evidences by which his divine mission was attested from heaven. In like manner the Holy Father, who is Christ's vicegerent upon the earth, affirms his own authority, commands submission to his teaching, and presents a simple, obvious argument addressed to the reason and conscience of all men, which they have the means of easily verifying if they will. The affirmation of his authority, and the command or exhortation to submit to it, are not made gratuitously, and do not rest upon a mere personal declaration of the Pontiff, to which men are to yield an assent which is blind, unreasoning, or destitute of solid motives. The motives are not expressed explicitly and at length in the letter; but they are appealed to as existing within the reach of those who are addressed, and the claim of submission is based upon them. The Holy Father speaks as the head of a communion embracing almost two thirds of all Christendom, which has existed in an unbroken continuity of doctrine and organization from remote antiquity, with the entire united moral force of all the bishops, doctors, and saints of the church in the present and the past ages, to back and support him. He speaks to those whose ancestors acknowledged his authority, and who have been severed from his communion by a violent revolution, whose justification three centuries have not been able to establish; but whose condemnation has been unmistakably pronounced by the disastrous results it has produced. {542} He has, therefore, a _prima-facie_ claim of prescription, possession, and general acknowledgment in his favor, which gives an immense moral weight to his utterance. Moreover, he speaks after having for three hundred years argued the whole case between himself and Protestants in the most thorough and complete manner, by the means of the theologians and writers of the Catholic Church, whose works are accessible in all languages. His bishops and priests are everywhere to be found, ready to argue and explain the doctrines of the church for the benefit of all those who desire it. At the council itself, instructions and conferences in various languages will be given upon all the points of controversy by the ablest and most learned preachers of all nations, and theologians will be ready to give private conferences to those who desire them. It cannot be said, therefore, that the Holy Father shuts out inquiry, argument, or discussion; for he does everything to invite and favor them, and by his act in summoning a council, and challenging the attention of the whole world, throws open all the doors and windows of the church to the light of all the intelligence of Christendom.

The reviewer complains, moreover, that the Pope claims an authority above that which is admitted by a school of Catholic theologians, or even required by any formal pontifical decree to be acknowledged as of obligatory doctrine. This is an utterly reckless and baseless assertion. Whatever may be the teaching of Van Espen, Von Hontheim, Richer, and other court canonists and lawyers, whose erroneous and schismatical doctrine is condemned rejected in every Catholic school, Bossuet, De Marca, and all orthodox Gallicans have always recognized and supported every whit of that authority which is affirmed or implied in the pontifical letter.

As for the schismatical Orientals, who are supposed to be aggrieved by the terms of the invitation which the Pope has extended to them to attend the council, they are forced, in consistency with the doctrine they have evermore admitted, to acknowledge the primacy of the Roman Pontiff, and his right to call an oecumenical council. The Patriarch of Constantinople, although some of the bishops of his synod are said to have favored the acceptance of the Pope's invitation, has refused even to receive the letter containing it. The Armenian Patriarch will probably follow suit, and the Synod of St. Petersburg, which is only a bureau of the imperial government, will, of course, not only reject the invitation to the council in the most decisive manner, but will put forth the entire political influence which Russia possesses in the East to hinder the Oriental prelates from attending. This line of conduct, however, is totally inconsistent with the principles and professions of the Eastern communions. They all recognize the primacy of the Roman bishop, and his right to convoke a council. They acknowledge that their separation from the Western church is an abnormal condition, and that all portions of Christendom ought to be in unity. Their refusal to attend the council will therefore be a condemnation of themselves, and will manifest most clearly the schismatical spirit by which they are actuated. It may be said that the terms on which they are invited are such that they cannot attend. {543} The gist of this excuse is, that the Pope demands a submission to his supremacy which they cannot admit. This, however, does not really excuse them. Admit, for the sake of argument, that the Roman Church has usurped a supremacy which does not belong to it, and is really to blame for the existing schism. They are invited to attend the council and sit in it as bishops. If they are confident of the justice of their cause, why do not they embrace the opportunity to send their patriarchs, metropolitans, and fifty or a hundred of their principal bishops, together with their most learned archimandrites and theologians, and the diplomatic representatives of Russia and Greece, who may argue their cause before the council and in presence of all Christendom. If they had any moral force at all, now would be the opportunity to show it. But they have none, and therefore they dare not go, and by their open manifestation of cowardice and utter recklessness of the common good of Christendom, they will give a death-blow to their own cause.

The Pope is blamed for not having invited the Protestant bishops to attend the council. It is impossible for him to invite them, because it is impossible for him to recognize their episcopal character. The Orientals themselves would not sit with them in council as fellow-bishops. Their claim even to an exterior succession is so extremely doubtful that at the highest it has only probability in its favor. Aside from all question, moreover, concerning the alleged fact of Parker's consecration by Barlow, and of the consecration of Barlow himself, the essential defect of form in the English ordinal of Queen Elizabeth must prevent the recognition of any true episcopal succession in the Protestant Episcopal Churches. This is no reason, however, why the Protestant bishops should not make an attempt to gain a hearing and present their claim before the council. They cannot be admitted to the council as bishops, but they might, and no doubt would, be received with courtesy and urbanity as distinguished personages, and as representatives of some millions of baptized Christians. Do they believe themselves to be a portion of the Catholic episcopate? One of their most learned divines, Palmer, to say nothing of many others, acknowledges that the Roman Bishop, when he is in communion with the whole Catholic Church, is the centre of unity and the presiding bishop of all Christendom. Why, then, do they not depute a large body of their number to go to the council, attended by their most learned theologians, and ask for a hearing? Nothing could give them a better chance of manifesting the full strength of their position, and bringing into the light all the justice there is in their cause, than such a demonstration as this, if they only had courage, independence, and concert of action enough to make it.

We would say the same of other Protestant communions making no pretension to any Episcopal succession. They very generally profess a desire for union among Christians. Surely there must be some basis upon which this union is possible. Those who profess that Jesus Christ has established a religion, given a revelation, taught a doctrine and way of salvation, must admit that there is some way of ascertaining with certainty what Christianity really is, and refuting the claims of every kind of pseudo-Christianity. Why can they not make a bold and generous effort, then, to bring the matter to a test, send their representatives to Rome, and try to have at least some beginning of a conference respecting the cause of dissension and disunion?

{544}

We are glad to see the action taken by the Presbyterians of New York and New Jersey and the Evangelicals of Berlin. We could have wished that the former had exhibited equal courtesy and amenity in their language with the latter. However, we let that pass. What we desire above all things is, that attention should be drawn to the letter of the Holy Father, and to the great and vital matters which it presents. Our Protestant brethren can do us, in this respect, a much greater service than we can do ourselves. Their resolutions, replies, discussions, and indignant denials of the authority of the successor of Peter only bring before the minds of the multitude more distinctly and universally the claim which he makes to be heard and reverenced as the Vicar of Christ. This is precisely what we desire. We do not ask, and the Holy Father has never demanded, that those who are separated from his communion should submit to his authority without having just and adequate reasons presented before their minds. We ask only that they lay aside their inherited prejudices, and that animosity which is their result; examine, inquire, and weigh calmly, with a pure desire to know the truth, and with prayer to God, the evidence of the supreme authority bequeathed to the Roman Pontiff by St. Peter, the Prince of the Apostles. It is idle to pretend that the claims of the Roman See are unworthy of a hearing, and can be set aside by a simple denial. There is no other human being except the Pope who has the slightest claim to call himself the Father of all the faithful, or who would dream of doing it. Whoever should attempt it would receive no attention, but would be disregarded as an idiot. No church, even, however large its numbers, can gain any general attention to its pretensions of possessing that doctrine and polity which are truly apostolic, or its invitations to the rest of Christendom to conform to its peculiar type of Christianity. The Pope alone compels the attention of the world when he speaks. The emphatic protests which his majestic and paternal admonitions to all Christians to return to the fold of unity call forth, are themselves witnesses to the immense power which he possesses as the successor of St. Peter and the heir of that promise which was made by Jesus Christ: "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; whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." There is no humiliation in being admonished and instructed by the voice of one who is the inheritor of such a promise, or in being invited to return under the guidance of such a majestic and ancient pastoral authority. It is not in the spirit of pride or disdain that we urge upon our fellow-Christians the duty of returning to the bosom of the Mother Church. We ardently desire that they may be our brethren, united with us in faith and fellowship, sharers with us in the glorious privilege of Catholic communion, and in the noble work of propagating Christianity throughout the world. We desire to judge as favorably as possible of the motives and intentions of those who, with mistaken zeal, repulse the earnest and paternal exhortations of the Father of Christendom, and trust that when they have more calmly and thoroughly investigated the grounds of their separation, many of them will obey the voice of truth and conscience, and retrace the path which led their ancestors away from the doctrine and fold of the successor of St. Peter. {545} We are not sanguine enough to expect that the approaching Council of the Vatican will be followed by the immediate and universal return of all Christians to Catholic unity. We have no doubt, however, that it will mark a great epoch in ecclesiastical and human history, and, like the Council of Trent, will inaugurate a new period of progression and triumph for the church. To what extent the separated Christians of the East and West will become reconciled to the Catholic Church, we will not venture to predict; but we will hazard a prophecy that within the next half-century the great mass of those who are not reabsorbed into catholicity will have melted away into some form of infidelity, or have been swept up by some new false religion which is openly anti-Christian. What course the body of the Protestant clergy will take remains to be seen; but if they are not wise enough to anticipate and lead the movement which must inevitably bring back the most religious portion of their people to the unity of the See of St. Peter, they will be left behind by it, and will ere long find themselves without flocks and without churches.

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Sonnet (XIII.) From The _Vita Nuova_ Of Dante Alighieri.

So gentle seems my lady and so pure When she greets any one, that scarce the eye Such modesty and brightness can endure, And the tongue, trembling, falters in reply. She hears; but heeds not, people praise her worth-- Some in their speech, and many with a pen-- But meekly moves, as if sent down to earth To show another miracle to men! And such a pleasure from her presence grows On him who gazeth, while she passeth by-- A sense of sweetness that no mortal knows Who hath not felt it--that the soul's repose Is woke to worship, and a spirit flows Forth from her face that seems to whisper, "Sigh!"

T. W. P.

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{546}

Christmas Gifts.

A pleasantly-furnished parlor, looking out upon noble trees and gray shrubbery.

Within, books, pictures, portfolios, and a superb piano.

At the piano a lovely girl of twenty summers, whose face, figure, and fair white hands give token that no care, or sorrow, or labor has ever reached her.

A footfall on the piazza startles her; the bell rings, and is answered.

"George!"

"Isabel!"

And in another moment brother and sister are locked in each other's arms. He put her from him a little, and looked in her face.

"You are more than ever _Bella_," he said, while two or three times he kissed her fair forehead.

"How is my mother? Didn't I hear some strains of Mozart's 'Twelfth' as I came into the gate?"

"Yes, I was just playing the _Agnus Dei_. Mother is nicely; and I was enjoying my music immensely; for it is the first day in two or three weeks that I have been allowed to touch the piano."

Why?"

"Because mother has been so sick. Don't look so frightened; she is quite well now. Did you know you had a little sister up-stairs?"

"No, indeed!" he exclaimed, with an expression of delight, at which Isabel laughed again, while she went on to say:

"Mother was so nervous, and so excited by the storms and shipwrecks that the papers were full of, that for nights and nights she did not sleep at all, and the doctor was afraid she would die or lose her reason; but for some time past she has slept, and now she seems quite recovered."

"Let us go to her--can I go up?"

Just then a little girl of six years came into the room, with wide expectant eyes, and, "Mother says--"

"Ah! little one," said the young man caressingly, "do you remember brother George?"

"Yes, indeed I do."

"Then give me a hug," said he, folding her in his arms, and then releasing her. "It is a long time since you saw me. I should not wonder if you had forgotten me."

"But I have not forgotten you; and mother says," she went on, dancing up and down in great glee, "if it's brother George, you're to come right up-stairs; only you mustn't make a noise for the sake of the baby. What did you bring me?"

"If you have a baby, you ought not to expect me to bring you anything. Isn't the baby enough?"

She smiled rather doubtfully, and trotted on before them up-stairs.

"Isabel," said George, "wait a minute." Then, as if something in his sister's face failed to invite the meditated confidence, he asked, as they slowly ascended the stairs, their hands locked, "Is Philip here?"

"No; he will not be here till next Monday--the Monday before Christmas."

"And you are to be married--"

"On Christmas eve; how glad I am you've come!"

"Is my father well?"

"Yes; he will be so sorry not to have met you at the wharf; but he had to go to W---- on Thursday, and will not be home till evening."

{547}

They entered Mrs. Hartland's room, and the son, so hardly parted from, so anxiously and long expected, was pressed to his mother's heart. "My darling boy, you are indeed a Christmas gift."

"Yes, dear mother, we ought to have been back long ago; sometimes I was afraid I should never get back to you. Besides that hurricane off the Cape, which obliged us to put in for repairs, we have had very heavy weather since we crossed the line. But I have accomplished the business father sent me to do, thank God, and am with you all once more. Are Mary and Fanny well?"

"Yes, they have gone out to buy Christmas presents, and Robert with them."

"And Charlie?"

"Is spending a few days with Aunt Ellen, and will come back with them on Monday for the wedding and for Christmas."

"O mother dear!" said Isabel, "whom was your letter from?"

"From Aunt Ann. They are all well, and are coming on Monday."

"And Lucy and Jane?"

"Yes."

"But, my darling mother," exclaimed George, with a look of distress, "you will be perfectly worn out with all this company."

"Mother has nothing to do with that," said Isabel; "we take care of that. If mother takes care of the baby, that is all we expect of her; and Mrs. Reilly is to stay till Philip and I are off."

"And how is this dear little Christmas present?" said George, stooping tenderly over the sleeping infant.

"Lovely," said his mother, smiling.

"As lovely," said Isabel, with a slight laugh, "as such little nuisances ever are."

"Why, Bella dear, don't you love her?" asked George.

"Oh! yes, to be sure, I love her; but I don't see the use of her; nobody wants her."

"I beg your pardon, dear, I want her," interrupted her mother.

"Oh! yes, mother, I don't mean that; I know you want her, and I am sure I am glad you have her; only I mean to say that she has chosen to come at the most inconvenient time possible, as babies always do; and that there is no place here for a baby, and that she deranges everything; and turns the whole house upside down; and I think babies are a nuisance; and then Kate is six years old, and we had no right to expect any more babies; and there were enough of us without her; and I am just going to be married, and it all seems so odd and queer."

Mother laughed, and seemed to think it not at all odd and queer, nor yet did she take to heart Isabel's repugnances; but George said musingly:

"And yet you are going to be married yourself next week?"

"That is precisely why it is such a nuisance," said Isabel.

"Would there have been enough of us without her," said her mother, "if brother George had never come back, as for so long a time we feared he would not?"

"There are never enough of us without George," replied Isabel, reddening, partly from vexation, and partly from the consciousness that the brother, of whom she was so fond and proud, was regarding her, she really did not know why, with something like surprise and disappointment.

Just then the baby stirred, woke, was taken up, admired, discussed, and caressed, and in the midst of a consultation as to what her name should be, a noise of feet and voices was heard in the hall below.

{548}

By a mutual instinct that "mothers room" should be spared the disturbance of too noisy greetings, the young people ran down-stairs. There were tender embraces on the part of the girls, more vehement and tumultuous ones from Bob, and confused cries of, "Are we not glad to see you!" and "How long you staid!" and "We thought you would never come back!" with "I was in danger of never coming back;" and "How you have grown!" and "How pretty you are!" at which Mary and Fanny laughed and blushed.

"I say, old fellow," cried Bob, "hadn't you a terrible time? were you frightened?"

"I hadn't time to be frightened," returned George, "there was too much to do."

"What could you do?"

"Not so much as a sailor, of course; but every one can do something--every one who is cool and not afraid."

"By Jove! but I should think 'twould be fun! only I should be afraid; I shouldn't like to go to the bottom."

"No, most of us would object to that."

"I wish you wouldn't say 'by Jove,' Robert," said Isabel; "I wish you wouldn't take up expressions from your school-fellows that you never hear at home."

"Isabel isn't fond of foreign importations," said Fanny.

"Yes, she is, though," retorted Robert wisely, "what is she made of, from top to toe, but foreign importations?"

Amid the general laugh which followed this thrust, Mrs. Hartland's voice was heard at the head of the stairs:

"Fanny! brother George will want to go to his room; is it ready for him?"

"Yes, mother, it is all ready; I will go and see. You will have plenty of time, George; for dinner is half an hour later to-day, on account of father."

Not long after this, there was a thundering rap at George's door, which opened and admitted his youngest brother, a lad of ten years.

"Why, Charlie, boy," he exclaimed, as the lithe little fellow sprang into his arms, "I didn't expect you; I thought you weren't coming till Monday."

"No, I wasn't; but father saw by the paper that the ship was in, and I told Aunt Ellen I couldn't stay any longer."

"You've grown a head taller since I saw you."

"I should think I'd had time enough to grow; how long have you been gone?"

"Fourteen months; but let's go down and see father."

"But, George," said the little boy, looking round the room, "do let me come back and chum with you now. I've slept with Robert ever since you went away, and I like it very well with Robert, but I'd rather come back to you, mayn't I?"

"Certainly you shall, if mother and Robert agree to it." And Charlie made one leap to the first landing, another to the second, and with a third bound reached his father's door.

A gay party assembled at dinner. Mother came down for the first time, to honor her boy's return. Mr. Hartland said a long, earnest grace, thanking God for the bounties spread before them less than for the return of the long-absent, and for their joyful reunion. The girls were looking their prettiest, the boys full of glee. All being more talkative than hungry, they discussed home affairs, family affairs, the voyage, the tropics, and Valparaiso, until Charlie, tired of his chair, pushed it back, and began turning summersets over the floor, by way of digesting his dinner.

{549}

A general move followed; father and George exchanged a few sentences on business matters in a low voice to which nobody listened, and the young man left the room. Presently he returned with a bulky envelope, which he gave his father, saying:

There are the papers, sir; I think you will find the whole matter very clearly stated, and the affair satisfactorily arranged."

Mr. Hartland took the bundle, and, placing himself at a side table, turned the drop-light conveniently and began to open and read. At this signal the rest of the party moved into the parlor; mamma was placed in the most comfortable chair, and the young people were presently absorbed in a conversational and philosophical game. How long the wits of all of them had been on the strain, not one of them could have guessed, when, just as Robert was insisting that the article under discussion must be red clover, and that it must be found chiefly in icebergs, or else both Fanny and George had made wrong answers, suddenly their father's tall figure loomed up before them. His usually calm face was slightly tremulous.

"We never can be thankful enough, my dear boy," he began abruptly, and his voice trembled also, "to have you among us once more; and I must say I am very proud at the manner in which you have managed this business."

George blushed, mamma's eyes filled with tears, and Charlie, who for the last half-hour had been so sleepy that he was of no use except to make a laugh at his own expense, rubbed his eyes and looked up.

"George is a trump!" said he sententiously.

This was a great relief to papa, who fairly looked as if he would have liked to cry himself, and the hubbub of voices and inquiries which followed was quieted by Isabel placing herself at the piano, and beginning the same strain from Mozart's Twelfth which had charmed her brother on entering the gate.

George stood over the piano and again looked at Isabel, as if he were half inclined to tell her something, but refrained; and Isabel was too much occupied with her own plans and prospects to indulge an indiscreet curiosity.

The next day Mr. Hartland having established himself in the library soon after breakfast, and the younger members of the family having gone out on their Christmas errands, Mrs. Hartland bethought herself to go and see if her son's room were supplied with all things necessary to his comfort. The door was open, and George and Isabel were both there, gaily chatting and laughing, amid a confused medley of books, papers, clothes, and odd nicknacks, to which George was busily adding, as he pulled pile after pile from his trunk. Isabel glanced from one object to another, with the idle curiosity and eagerness begotten of such occupation; but seeing her mother approach, she made haste to clear the rocking-chair and place a footstool for her feet.

"Tell mother about that curious little pipe," she said.

"Yes, but let her see it first; isn't it odd?" said he, showing it. "I thought of giving it to Robert, he is so fond of oddities; and see, mother, is not this shagreen case pretty, with the silver trimmings, and that quaint old medallion on the cover? It will do to keep your needles and thimble in."

{550}

"Yes, and scissors, and a good-sized spool of cotton; it will do nicely to take to the sewing society, mother dear."

"And here is a box which I thought of giving to father," returned George, "only he never takes snuff," producing a beautiful amber snuff-box, mounted and lined with gold.

"Exquisite! he could keep postage-stamps in it," suggested Isabel.

"That would do very well for you girls, who only write three or four letters a week; I have something else that will please father much better." And he brought from his trunk a dagger of fine metal, curiously wrought in arabesque, the massive handle also richly carved and inlaid. While her mother was admiring the workmanship of the dangerous little weapon, Bell took up, one after another, the books upon the table, most of them old acquaintances, travelling companions, taken from home and brought home again. As she listened to the story of the pipe, mamma observed in Isabel's hand a little, well-thumbed book which attracted her attention.

"What book is that, dear?" she asked, as the story ended.

"A prayer-book," said Isabel.

"An Episcopal prayer-book?"

"No," said George, "a Catholic."

"What do you have that for?" said Mrs. Hartland, with a mingled expression of surprise, contempt, and indignation.

"Because I want it," he returned, smiling.

"What do you want it for?" she exclaimed, instantly alarmed at his look and tone.

"Because, dear mother, I want it to use; I am a Roman Catholic."

"A Roman Catholic! You might as well plunge this dagger into my heart," said his mother, "as tell me that. Dearly as I love you, I would much rather see you dead and buried."

"And I," said George quietly, "would much rather be dead and buried than ever be a Protestant again."

"What infatuation! But how came you to be a Catholic, and what put it into your head to change your religion?"

George began to tell her of an acquaintance formed on the outward voyage with a Catholic priest, who was bound for the same port as himself; of the inexplicable attraction which drew him to this man; of the charm of his conversation and manners; of their discussions; of the books which he lent him; of his tender and fatherly advice and instructions--here Mrs. Hartland interposed an expression of impatience and contempt--"in short, dear mother," pursued the young man earnestly and quietly, "I became perfectly convinced that the Catholic religion is the only true religion; and as I did not choose to risk my salvation by living any longer without it, I was received into the church before I left Valparaiso."

"Well, I feel as if all the happiness of my life were blighted."

"I am sorry you feel so, dear mother; I am grieved to pain you, but there was no help for it; you would not have me violate my conscience."

"There is such a thing as an ill-enlightened conscience."

"That's so, my dear mother," said he, with something more than his old bright smile, "and I am sure that when you have heard fairly stated the arguments which have influenced me--"

"I don't want to hear any arguments or any reasons; I would rather die than be a Catholic; it is a bad sign when young people begin to think themselves wiser than their elders."

{551}

"So it is, dear mother; but you did not repulse Grace Estabrook with that argument when she left the Unitarian church and began to come to yours, against the wishes of both her parents."

"I don't wish to hear anything about it, or to talk or argue; the whole subject is hateful to me. You have given us all the dagger, my son," said she, placing it upon the table, and rising, she went below to communicate to Mr. Hartland the sad intelligence.

The allusion to the dagger affected George very sensibly, and he dreaded to go down-stairs or meet his father and sisters; but having at last made the effort, he was immensely relieved to find every one as kind as usual. His father's face was pale and excited, but he said nothing; Bob stared at him rather saucily, as if he were a phenomenon; and the rest of the family evidently regarded him as an amiable dupe. This was hard, but endurable. His spirits rose, he romped with the little ones, capped verses with his sisters, and convinced every one that his self-respect was in no way diminished by the slender appreciation put upon his faith. There were, of course, not wanting arguments and persuasions to lure him back to the faith of the family; but George was not a fellow having once in his life met with positive truth, to abandon it afterward for a mere negation.

After dinner, some of the novelties which he had brought home were produced: the dagger, which his father accepted and admired, without seeming seriously wounded by it; a collection of shells, a set of corals, and some exquisite little articles of mother-of-pearl. Kate fished out of his pocket a necklace, as she called it, of garnet beads, not running all together, but separated occasionally by little bits of gold chain, with a gold medal pendent from it.

"Isn't this a reward of merit?" exclaimed she; "is this for me, brother George? may I have it?"

"Yes," said George, laughing, "you may have it."

But it would not go over her head, and it had no clasp to fasten round her neck; then she tried it on for a bracelet, but it would fall off. In short, it was not meant to wear, nor for an ornament at all, but for something else; and as she twirled it rather uneasily over her fingers, not knowing exactly what to do with it, George took it from her, and replaced it with a carnelian necklace which he clasped round her white throat. Kate was contented to see the little garnet beads slip back into her brother's pocket, with the assurance that she should see them as often as she wished, not, however, till they had been curiously examined and inquired into by Charlie and Fanny.

"They are to say?" said Fanny, with great curiosity, "how do you say them?" But before George could answer the question, the baby was brought in, and the subject dropped.

The little one was petted, praised, and passed from hand to hand with an affectionate eagerness which showed plainly that she was not generally considered a nuisance, and at last all protested that it was high time she had a name.

"I shall not call her Bridget, to please George," said mamma.

"But it would not please me, dear mother, to have you call her Bridget. I see no more propriety in calling her Bridget than in calling her Eulalie, or Genevieve, or Inez."

"I think I will call her Elizabeth Tudor; she was a good Protestant."

{552}

"I doubt very much Elizabeth's being what you would call a good Protestant," returned George merrily; "but if you call baby after her, I shall immediately put her under the protection of St. Elizabeth."

"Who was St. Elizabeth?" asked Fanny.

"She was a Hungarian princess, and very pious. She washed the saints' feet and tended the sick and poor with her own hands."

"If it was a boy, I would call him Cranmer," said mamma.

"I guess not," said Mr. Hartland; "I should have something to say about that."

"You might call her Jezebel, or Bathsheba," suggested Robert; "I dare say they were both genuine Protestants." There was frequently an uncertainty as to how Robert's missiles were intended to fall; and whether his barbed arrows were sped in innocence or with malice aforethought was a point in regard to which the most unlimited private judgment was conceded to every member of the family. Of course, nobody laughed at this sally, though Isabel bit her lip to keep from smiling, and George said,

"Why not call her Annie, after Aunt Ann?"

"I have been thinking of that," said mamma, "only Isabel thinks it is such a homespun name."

"I like homespun names," said papa.

Isabel liked Blanche, and Fanny suggested Margaret. Robert thought Schwartz would be more appropriate than Blanche. George said any name was good that was in the calendar. Robert said Charlotte Corday was in the calendar. George thought not, and after a brisk discussion and sundry pros and cons, it was decided to call the little one Annie.

"And St. Anne was the mother of the Blessed Virgin Mary," whispered George to Isabel, as he opened the piano for her.

"Christmas gifts not appreciated," said George, turning round at the head of the first flight of stairs to bid Isabel good night.

"What do you mean?" said Bell.

"I mean the dear little sister in there," pointing to his mother's room, "whom you think a little nuisance."

"Psha!" said Isabel.

"And I here, too," he went on, "who should have been under the water rather than have come home a Catholic. And the gift of faith," he said seriously, "which God has bestowed upon me, and which my friends would wish me to throw away or trample under foot, and the guardianship of saints and angels, which people mock at."

"Baby can hardly be called a Christmas present," said Bell, "since she is four weeks old, and Christmas is not until next Thursday."

"Not precisely."

"Nor your gift of faith, as you call it, since you became a Catholic, you say, before leaving Valparaiso."

"Not as we usually speak; but every blessing comes to us really because of the Incarnation, and so any blessing which we have particularly to be thankful for may be gratefully regarded as a Christmas gift."

"Well, it must be owned," said Isabel, "that you bring your ideas, like the wise woman in the Proverbs, from afar."

George went on quietly without smiling. "There will be more Christmas gifts next Thursday."

"I dare say," said Bell, though her face demanded an explanation.

"Father and mother will have another son, and we all shall have another brother, and you will have one who in some sort will stand to you in the place of God."

{553}

Bell colored and was silent. If she had chosen to speak, she would have said that of all her brother's far-fetched ideas this was the oddest, and one which she was little likely to appreciate. She certainly had not regarded Philip at all in that light, or as a gift from God any way. She returned her brother's good night, and, going into her own room, meditated how George was always the same incomprehensible fellow, always gay and full of life, and yet always taking seriously what every one said in temper or in fun, or by vanity, or for effect, "as if an idle word signified." With every one else in the house she did pretty much as she pleased; but George always contrived to manage her, and had done so ever since she was born. He had a quiet, serious way of talking to her, as if he were twenty years her senior, which was not flattering to Bell's vanity; yet she loved him so very much, she was not at all sure that she loved Philip better.

"Well, George," said Robert on Saturday night, "I suppose you are not going to church to-morrow with us?"

"Probably not," said George.

"I suppose you will go to St. Lawrence's, over here, with servant-girls, and stable-men, and rag-pickers; won't it be a sweet crowd!"

"Do be quiet, Robert," said his father, "what difference does it make whom you go to church with?"

"Mother," said Fanny, "may I go to church with brother George tomorrow?"

"No, Fanny, you may _not_," said Mrs. Hartland shortly, "and you are not to ask for such a thing. The Catholic religion is the religion of the devil, and I don't want you to know anything about it, or to hear or think anything about it. I would rather you were dead and buried than that you should be Catholics, any of you."

Poor Fanny looked dismayed, and Robert and Mary laughed irreverently; but Mr. Hartland said mildly,

"If the Catholic religion were the religion of the devil, my dear, I think there is nothing gained by saying so."

And when the children had dispersed for the night, and he was alone again with Mrs. Hartland, he said:

"George has been led away by his imagination; and your vehement opposition will only strengthen him; let him alone, and he will get over this."

In due time Philip made his appearance. He was a gay, spirited, handsome fellow--a great favorite with every one, and especially with George, whose classmate he had been.

The Shirleys and Hartlands had been intimate for many years, having moved in the same society, inherited the same religious opinions, and imbibed by association the same ideas. Mr. Shirley was a man of great wealth, and was still living; but Philip had just inherited a fine property from the uncle after whom he was named, so that he was as rich as he needed to be now, with a prospect of as much again hereafter. Indeed, as Mrs. Hartland rather proudly said, "It was precisely the connection which they had most desired for Isabel."

And yet, such as Philip was, it was not strange, perhaps, that George's idea of the Christmas gift should seem to Isabel far-fetched. "But it is not so," George reasoned, "for you all say that marriages are made in heaven, and St. James says that 'Every best gift, and every perfect gift, is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights.'"

{554}

Christmas eve arrived, and, according to the programme, the young people were married. "The wedding was furnished with guests," and it may be taken for granted at once that everything was planned and carried out in the most approved style, since Isabel had the supreme dictatorship. George was first groomsman, and the others were selected from the list of Belle's inconsolable admirers. Little Kate was the smallest bridesmaid, and went through her part with serious gravity, evidently believing that she was assisting at a solemn function. The bride and groom were pronounced the handsomest couple, and so forth; the cake and the weather were delicious. Philip certainly appreciated his Christmas gift, and thought himself a happy man. He had always considered Belle the prettiest girl in P----, as she was certainly one of the cleverest; he was perfectly persuaded that she was equally good and beautiful, and he had the grace to think that his own wealth, with his other advantages, did no more than place him upon a par with her. Certainly, Isabel's prospects of happiness were very fair.

And so she passed away to adorn a new house, very much missed by all at the old, and by none more than by Mary, who succeeded to the place and honors of elder sister, though confessedly by no means so beautiful, brilliant, or clever as "Miss Hartland that was." But Mary was a good girl, played and sang very sweetly, and was always ready to gratify her father with those simple ballads in which he chiefly delighted. Home was quieter, but perhaps scarcely less happy, and home happiness was constantly augmented by the pleasure of anticipating Isabel's visits.

If Mr. Hartland really expected George to get over his love for and belief in the Catholic religion, he was evidently doomed to disappointment; for, to all appearance, it every day penetrated more and more the very substance of his being, though he had always been so sincerely religious that his external conduct was modified by it less than might have been supposed. Fanny never repeated her preposterous request for permission to go to church with brother George; but she was perpetually slipping into his room, peeping into his books, admiring his little pictures and statuettes, trying, in fact, with a girl's insatiable curiosity, to discover why the forbidden fruit was so unspeakably poisonous. She incurred repeated scoldings for her restless inquest; and, after being reproved the twentieth time for taking possession of brother George's books and carrying them off into her own room, she fairly disconcerted her mother by indignantly inquiring, "Why they had no '_creed_,' and what right the people who first started the Protestant religion had to hide away the 'Apostles' Creed' from everybody, so that hundreds of persons who thought themselves Christians, and meant to be Christians, lived and died without ever knowing there was any 'creed.'"

Poor Mrs. Hartland was completely nonplussed; she knew nothing about creeds herself, but she hesitatingly suggested that they had a "form of covenant." This, Fanny insisted, was not the least like the "Creed," and her mother, having no other forces in reserve, took refuge in the usual invective, and assured her daughter in the most solemn manner that she would prefer to see her in her grave rather than have her imbibe her brother George's sentiments. {555} Fanny, of course, was obliged to go to George for a satisfactory answer to her question, and having learned from him the gradual process by which the first Protestantism had dwindled down into New England Congregationalism, her reverence for the system in which she had been brought up was not increased.

Meanwhile, almost another year has passed away. Little Annie Hartland is creeping about the carpet, or pushing herself round with a chair, and, under great persuasion and generous bribery, making some diffident attempts to talk. Isabel has been at home some weeks, and is domiciled in her own old room. Philip's visits are frequent, but short and uncertain, for though a rich he is by no means an idle man. All are improving the last beautiful days of autumn, in anticipation of the disagreeable weather of settled winter.

Fanny, especially, who was fond of riding and a capital horsewoman, rode almost every afternoon, sometimes without any escort, and sometimes accompanied by Robert, who was very proud of the elegant figure his sister made on her spirited yet gentle horse.

On one of the loveliest of these days, as George, returning from a long walk, was sauntering up the drive, he was startled at seeing Robert upon the lower end of the piazza without a hat, trembling, and excessively pale.

"Do you know? did you see her?" he asked, quivering with excitement, and without waiting for an answer, "Fan--she's been thrown--and mother says she's been terribly hurt."

"Where was she? who was with her? is she here?"

"In mother's room. Where were you that you did not see it?"

"I have been in the other direction, up toward the academy. Has Philip come?"

"Yes, he came just before Fan was hurt."

George went up-stairs, and found Fanny quite insensible.

The poor child was settled in her mother's room, out of the way of Isabel, whose little boy was only a week old, and from whom the sad news was to be kept as long as possible. For some days it seemed very doubtful whether Fanny would recover; but her youth prevailed, and at last the doctor pronounced that, with great care, she would be perfectly restored, though she would scarcely be able to leave the house before spring.

During this interval Belle, who was rapidly convalescing, had repeatedly asked for Fanny, and wondered so much that she did not come to her room that it was at last no longer possible to conceal her sister's injury. Isabel's excitement and agitation were at first extreme; but the assurance that the invalid was now doing well soon soothed and cheered her, and she pleased herself that before long she could go into her mother's room and show Fanny her beautiful baby.

"He is four weeks old to-morrow," said Isabel, "and the doctor says I may go down-stairs to-morrow. Poor dear little Fanny! I wonder when she will be able to go out? Do you know, George, I think, considering all that has been said on several occasions about preferring that we should be dead and buried rather than that we should be this and that, we all ought to be very thankful that Fanny was not killed outright?"

"Of course."

"I wonder if mother ever thought of it?"

{556}

But George made no reply; only, after a few minutes, he said:

"You ought to have this dear little fellow baptized, now, while Philip is here."

"O clear!" said Isabel, "we don't dream of having him baptized till spring; it is too cold; and Philip is going to-morrow evening. Annie was almost six months old before she was baptized."

"I know, but it is very wrong; most Catholic children are baptized before they are ten days old."

"Oh! yes, I know you think it is necessary."

"If it is not necessary, I don't see why you do it at all."

"Why, it is a pious observance," said Isabel. "What hurry is there? besides, we can't have him baptized now, for Philip and I have not agreed what to call him."

"And while you are debating that point, you run the risk of having him die without being baptized at all."

"I don't think there is any danger. He is as well as he can be. And mother's little--I forget what his name was--died without being baptized at all, and I don't believe it makes any difference."

"Just as I told you last year, Belle," said George, smiling, "gifts despised; you place a sacrament instituted by our blessed Saviour himself on the same footing with grace at table; a pious observance, of course; to be attended to, no doubt, when one is not in too much of a hurry."

Isabel half smiled; but she was too proud and happy, and too busy petting her darling, to regard much the drift of her brother's words. At that moment Philip came in to get the baby to show Fanny, and the three adjourned into their mother's room, Philip carrying the baby, of whom he was evidently very proud.

"There are most too many of you," said Mrs. Hartland; but she could not choose which to dismiss, so they all went in. "I don't let Fanny hold _levees_, but you need not stay long."

Fanny was very fond of babies, and they made her examine his beautiful eyes and forehead and dimpled chin; and then Belle called her sister's attention to the exquisitely embroidered dress which she herself had worked.

"I wonder how long it will be before I shall be able to work another," said Fanny, with a patient smile.

"You will soon be well enough, dear Fanny, for me to come and read to you," said George.

"Oh! yes, I shall enjoy that; and if Belle is going down-stairs to-morrow, she can play a little, and if the doors are left open, I shall hear."

"Yes, and Mary can play to you; for I shall be carrying Belle off pretty soon," said Philip.

"No, indeed," said mamma, "she can't go till after Christmas; so you will have to come back and spend Christmas with us."

"It will be a great drawback to our Christmas, having Fanny upstairs," said Isabel.

"Yes," returned mamma; "but if she recovers, we shall have no reason to complain."

"I have been telling Isabel that she ought to have the baby baptized while Philip is here," said George.

"Nonsense, George!" replied his mother; "nobody thinks as you do, and why will you be forcing your peculiar notions upon us?" And so the suggestion passed and was thought of no more.

"Put him down and let me kiss him," said Fanny; "dear little fellow! I wish I could take him." But she knew it was impossible, and she made no objection when, after a few minutes, Mrs. Hartland put them all out of the room.

{557}

That evening, when the baby was put to bed, Mrs. Hartland thought he seemed dull; but this was natural enough; nurse said he was sleepy. He slept very well and was bright in the morning, but toward night became dull again. Another day brought no improvement, and Mrs. Hartland became uneasy. She consulted the doctor, and strictly followed his suggestions, but the symptoms were only aggravated. She did not like to show Belle her anxiety, and proposed taking the baby herself into Fanny's vacant room, in order, she said, that Isabel need not be disturbed. For two nights she watched and tended him, hardly sleeping herself until daylight, when she suffered Mrs. Reilly to take her place.

Mrs. Reilly was a kind, prudent, motherly woman, and very fond of Mrs. Hartland's children, most of whom had been washed and dressed by her for the first time in their lives. She was also a Catholic.

The second night George sat in his room till very late, reading. Shortly before midnight, he went to bed, and slept uneasily for two or three hours, then rose, and finding that it wanted some minutes to four o'clock, he dressed, and resumed his reading, listening the while till some one in the house should stir.

Soon after the great hall-clock struck five, Mrs. Reilly left Isabel's room very softly, and went into Fanny's to take the baby. George waited until he heard his mother pass from the little room into her own, and close the door. Then he went down-stairs and into Fanny's room, where Mrs. Reilly sat with the poor little suffering child upon her lap.

"Is there any change?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"He'll not live till night, Mr. George," she whispered. "Poor Miss Belle! what will she do?"

Mrs. Reilly could not get over her habit of calling: Isabel "Miss Belle."

"Did you ever baptize a child, Mrs. Reilly?"

"Indeed I have, sir."

"Then you can do it once more," said he, smiling sadly. "We must not let this child die without baptism." And he poured water into the basin, and brought it to her.

And the humble Irish nurse performed those sacred acts which, by the power of the Word made flesh, sanctify the soul.

George replaced the basin, kissed the little creature upon whose head the baptismal water was still glistening, and returned to his own room as silently as he came.

Isabel slept heavily and uneasily, and woke unrefreshed and with a vague sense of apprehension. She rose on hearing the bell ring for family prayers, and hearing her brothers go down-stairs she dressed languidly and went into the next room.

The babe still lay upon the pillow in the nurse's lap, and, although the breakfast-bell had already rung, Mary was sitting in the window, looking silently and with folded arms at the sick child.

"Why, he seems so sick," said Isabel, with a tone and look of pain and alarm.

"Yes," said Mary, "he is very sick."

Mary had always helped her mother more than Belle in taking care of the little ones, and she knew better than her sister how to judge of illness. Isabel asked several questions, to which Mrs. Reilly gave only the most vague and cautious answers. The faint ring of silver was heard in the hall.

"There is your breakfast, Belle, dear," said Mary, "go into your own room and take some coffee; you ought not to be standing about here without having taken anything." "O dear!" said Isabel, "I don't want any breakfast. I wonder when Philip will come, and what will he say to see the baby so sick?"

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After a few moments, she followed her sister's advice. Mechanically she put the sugar and cream into the coffee, and had just drunk it off, and pushed away the little stand, when the door opened and Philip entered.

"Where is he?" and his face of agony and consternation told all.

He had been sent for, and she knew why.

"Oh! no, no, they don't think he will die," cried Isabel passionately, throwing herself into Philip's arms; "they don't think he will die! O my darling! my baby! my beautiful boy!" And she rushed into the next room.

Her grief was terrible to witness, and Philip had to command himself.

"He has changed a good deal since daylight," said Mrs. Reilly, looking up at Philip; but she was sorry she had looked, and hastily turned her eyes again upon the child.

Presently Mrs. Hartland came in, and insisted that Philip should go down and have some breakfast, and he felt bound to obey.

Isabel was stunned. It had never entered her head that _he_ could die; he was so strong and bright and beautiful, and he was _hers_. She threw herself helplessly upon the couch, and cared for nothing. By and by she remembered that now she could see him for a little while, but that soon she could see him no more, and she rose and went into the room.

George and Philip were both there. The quiet little form lay sweetly, as in sleep, upon the white counterpane of Fanny's cot. Death had only beautified him. The tiny waxen hands clasped upon the breast, almost as white as the white rosebud they enfolded, the smile of beatitude upon the face, the beautiful forehead, the closed eyes with their long lashes--no pain, no sorrow, the ineffable peace there, contrasting with the tumult of agony in her own soul, brought the tears to Belle's eyes.

George could not help thinking of his own little brother, just about as old, whom, years ago, he had seen lying in the same way in that very room, upon whose head the baptismal water had never fallen; and he thought Isabel very happy.

And thus was laid away, till the morning of the resurrection, the fair casket which had enclosed, for so short a time, a beautiful soul.

Isabel's room was neatly set in order. It was the brightest and prettiest chamber in the house, but it looked empty and desolate, though the family inclined to congregate there, every one wishing to do something to comfort their poor sister.

"It is five weeks to-day since my little darling was born," said Isabel; "how proud and happy I was only a week ago, showing him to Fanny."

George seemed in a reverie, but after a moment he said,

"And it is a year to-day since I returned from Valparaiso."

Belle fixed a look of anguish upon her brother's face, and then wept bitterly, until having stopped, apparently from mere exhaustion, she said,

"I have been properly punished."

"What do you mean, Belle dear?"

"I mean I have been punished for making so light of one little life, or rather, for my own life-long selfishness," said she, looking at Annie who was playing upon the carpet.

George looked at Isabel with much concern and tenderness, but said nothing.

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"I deserve to be punished, I know, George. I have been perfectly selfish. I have thought more, all my life long, about dress and vanity and pleasure than about anything else in the world. I have been a member of the church and have had a class in the Sunday-school, and I have thought myself a very good Christian; but I have really occupied all my life in thinking how I should contrive to look prettier and to dress better than others, and to secure my personal gratification. And I have always thought everything a nuisance that has stood in my way. When the dear baby came, I have been thinking ever since he was born how I should dress him and make him look pretty--and now the body that I thought so much of--" She stopped and sobbed again.

"Don't make yourself so unhappy, my darling sister," said George tenderly, as he rose and kissed her.

She seemed soothed, and presently ceased weeping.

"And for my Christmas gift this year, I have that little grave."

"Dear Belle, you must not be too hard upon yourself; the gifts of God are as many as the sands upon the sea-shore, and one honest sight of one's self is a Christmas gift worth having. Even if we think we are punished, his chastisements are always gifts, if we know how to receive them; my dear sister, isn't it so?"

"I have heard so times enough from the pulpit," said Belle, through her tears; "but you know, George, I have never thought about those things. And then, my baby's soul, which I cared so little about--dear George, do you really think it makes any difference?"

"What, dear?"

"Whether he was baptized or not?"

"I don't _think_ anything about it, my darling sister; I _know_ that it makes all the difference between going instantly to the heaven of heavens, where God is, and staying, perhaps for ever and ever, in a place which, though not an unhappy place, is by no means so happy as the very presence-chamber of the King of kings. But you need not grieve about that; for he was baptized, and your little darling has gone to keep a joyful Christmas in heaven."

And then he told Belle how he came down that morning, and how Mrs. Reilly had baptized the child.

Isabel listened and wept and seemed comforted.

"I am sure I thank you, dear George, you are always so kind and thoughtful. I know father and mother don't think it makes the least difference in the world, and I don't know why I should trouble myself about it; but still, now that I have lost him, I can't bear to think that anything was left undone which could have been done to his possible advantage. And then Philip--Philip is a great deal better than I am; I have thought very often, George, of what you said last year about Philip being a gift to me--a gift from God; he really is very good, and he seemed to feel so badly because baby was not baptized."

"Our blessed Saviour has given us the sacrament of baptism for _something_, no doubt," said George, "and it is taking considerable upon ourselves, short-sighted creatures as we are, to pronounce that it is of no consequence to any one, even to a babe a day old. But you must be comforted now, my darling sister, and remember that God has given you this year for your Christmas gift, not merely that little grave, but a spotless soul before his throne, who will never cease to pray for you and Philip until you are so happy as to arrive there yourselves."

Then bending over her, he made the sign of the cross on her fair forehead, and in his heart invoked on her those Christmas benedictions which faith alone can give.

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The American College In Rome.

We design, in the few following re to call the attention of our readers to a work which is in process of execution in this country at present, to secure an endowment for the American College in the Eternal City. In the earnest appeal which will be found at the end of this article, made by the most Rev. Archbishop of Baltimore and the Rt. Rev. Bishop of Philadelphia, in the name of their brethren of the Episcopate, to the more wealthy among our American Catholics, the reasons are plainly stated why this should be done. The voice of our prelates is to us the voice of God; and we believe that we are furthering the designs of his providence in sustaining this institution, which was founded by the Holy Father for the benefit of the Catholics of the United States. We have had the college in Rome for some years, and we are now called upon to decide whether we shall permit it to be closed for want of proper support, and thus show that we are not able to appreciate the gift of his Holiness, to maintain the College when he has given the building, to do our share when he has so generously done his.

The prelates have placed the whole question with admirable practical wisdom before us. Their plan is both grand and feasible, and is characterized by that energy of purpose, zeal for religion, and attachment to the real progress of the church, which eminently distinguish the hierarchy, the clergy, and the faithful of the United States.

It is not necessary to recapitulate the arguments which are contained in the circular, for they speak for themselves. Reference, however, may be briefly made to some of the immense advantages which are enjoyed by the young Levites brought up in the centre of unity, as Samuel of old within the precincts of the temple. In the first place, the constant presence of the visible head of the church upon earth reminds them continually of our blessed Lord's promises to his first Vicar, so perfectly fulfilled in the long line of his successors, the gates of hell continually striving but never prevailing against them, and excites in their hearts that true devotion to the Holy See which is the surest test of orthodoxy, as it is the most perfect safeguard against error. Wherever they turn, they behold the evidences of the victory achieved by the faith of Christ over paganism and infidelity. The despised cross has fully conquered. The student in Rome is continually reminded of the immense revolution which took place first in Rome, when Constantine embraced the faith of Christ, and the Caesars gave place to the pontiffs, and heathen temples were converted to the worship of the one true God, and Rome became the centre of another empire grander far than the one of which she was the centre before, which stretches "from sea to sea, and from the river to the ends of the earth." There is something, moreover, in the atmosphere of Rome provocative of study; nor is there wanting that generous competition which serves to awaken every energy in the endeavor to excel in the various departments of learning. Rome is, in this sense, an intellectual arena in which contend bright intellects from all parts of the known world, whose powers are brought out and strengthened by their very exercise.

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Not only are there many advantages to be enjoyed there in a literary and intellectual point of view, but even greater in a spiritual. Where else are the great festivals of our holy religion celebrated with the splendor and magnificence that they are there? Where else is God awarded the first place, and religion paramount? Where else is devotion to the blessed sacrament practised as it is in Rome? To say nothing of the countless masses, of the churches open from early dawn to dusk; the kneeling worshippers; no day in the year but what, in the beautiful devotion of the Forty Hours, the blessed sacrament is exposed to the adoration of the faithful--now here, now there--the Son of God upon his earthly throne; lights burning as they burn nowhere else; and the silent throng adoring, worshipping, thanking, praying. Then the intense devotion to the Blessed Virgin, the Madonna at every street corner, in every shop, in every house, and the light which love and reverence have lighted, burning before it. It has well been said that the business of Rome is prayer. What an advantage for one who must labor in a country like ours, filled with every form of religious error, to have these memories to fall back upon, to encourage him in the midst of the contradiction of these dogmas of our holy faith in which he has to dwell, to stimulate both himself and the flock committed to his care to imitate the example of fervent piety and devotion which Rome sets to the world. How powerful there, too, the example of the saints! Nowhere else so much as in Rome does the truth spoken by the apostle, that we are "the fellow-citizens of the saints and the domestics of God," come home to us; we seem to stand in their footsteps, from the martyrs who laid down their lives during the fearful persecutions of the first three centuries to the confessors and virgins almost of our own day. There lie, side by side, the bodies of the great apostles, Peter and Paul; of Peter, who received from our blessed Lord the charge of the sheep and lambs of his flock; of Paul, miraculously converted to faith in Him whose followers he had persecuted; who, in turn, became the great instrument in the hands of God of preaching that holy faith and leading thousands to embrace it. There, in that amphitheatre, the martyrs were torn in pieces by wild beasts from the Libyan deserts. There, in those catacombs, their bodies were reverently laid. Here, one martyr after another suffered. There is the resting-place of Lawrence, of Sebastian, of Agnes, of Cecily. Here lived those holy popes whose names are found in the calendars of the saints; and, to come nearer home to our own day, there St. Ignatius lived; here St. Aloysius and St. Stanislaus Kostka passed their angelic lives, and breathed out their pure souls to God. This was the home of St. Philip Neri, the apostle of Rome; here he preached, said mass, and heard confession.

But the list is too long, and we must stop. Let the examples given suffice. There can be no question of the advantages of such influences as these upon the lives of those who are surrounded by them, and specially upon those who are to be consecrated to God in the service of his sanctuary.

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Another point must be remembered, and that is, that as Rome is to us what Jerusalem was, under the old dispensation, in a certain sense, the place whither the "tribes of the earth go up," so it is very desirable that every nation should have a college there which should serve as a kind of headquarters to represent them, and to which persons coming from that nation could go, and feel that they were at home. Thus, the Englishman naturally finds his way to the English college, the Irishman to the Irish, and so on; and he finds those there who can speak to him in his own tongue, and to whom he can apply for advice and information. Again, at Rome are the _limina apostolorum_, which every bishop is bound to visit at certain periods of his episcopate. We have now between forty and fifty bishops in this country, and from time to time they go thither, as Paul did to see Peter, to expose to the Chief Pastor the condition of their flocks, to consult with him, and to obtain for themselves and their flocks the blessing of the Vicar of our Lord upon earth. During the late gathering at Rome, fourteen of our bishops were lodged at the American College. During the coming council there should be more; and at other than these special times there will be sometimes one, sometimes another of our bishops there, not for himself, but for us; and this alone should be a strong argument why the college should be sustained, that as the bishops of other nations have homes in Rome, so ours should have one too.

There can be no doubt, then, about the advantages of the college and the importance of maintaining it. It involves an outlay of money, but the return will be sure and great. There is no more pressing need at the present time than that which this college, with many others, supplies, namely, an increased number of priests. There are five millions of Catholics in this country, and it is impossible that with so many to prevent it, and specially of the class now called upon, the necessity of closing the college should occur.

We are proud of our country, of its lakes, and its rivers, and its mountains, surpassed nowhere in the world. Let us not be content with these natural excellences which are not of our making, but come to us from the hand of God. Let us try to excel in those things which are under our control--in virtue, in learning, and in all that makes man great and good; and in this particular instance let us try to excel the other nations in our college in Rome. Let it be a model in discipline, in spirit, and in intellectual culture. Let us try to make it the leading college in this respect, and also in the number of students. In this point let it be second only to the Propaganda. Let us not be satisfied until we have it fully established, and at least a hundred students within its walls. That this may be accomplished, we call the attention of our readers to the appeal, and trust that every one who is able will take part in this great undertaking to the utmost of his ability.

Appeal To The More Wealthy Among The Catholics Of The United States.

Beloved Children In Christ: You are aware that some years ago the cluster of National Colleges in Rome was increased by one, and that one was the College representing our own nation. Almost every nation had previously been represented there: the Irish, the English, the Scotch, the French, the Germans, the South Americans, etc. At last the deficiency was supplied, through the munificence of our beloved Pontiff, Pius IX., who generously bestowed a spacious and centrally located site for the purpose. Our College was opened, and it has already trained a number of priests for the American Mission; while it has also been a place to which Americans in Rome, no matter what their faith, might resort, and feel that they were at home.

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Unfortunately, however, sufficient means were not provided, at the commencement, to establish the College on a solid basis; and after struggling on for some years, it is now in imminent danger of being closed. It would be one thing never to have had the College, but it is another altogether to have had it and to lose it. This latter contingency, besides being a great disgrace to us, would be also an irreparable loss to the country.

The late Plenary Council ordered a general collection for the relief of the immediate wants of the College; nor is it our intention to supersede this collection, but rather to aid it toward effectually accomplishing the object in view. This collection will still be necessary to pay debts already incurred, and to provide for pressing needs.

But, in addition to the general collection, which we hope will soon be taken up, it has been suggested to propose to our wealthier Catholics, for their imitation in this matter, the noble example of their forefathers in the faith, who did great things for religion and for God. Instances of this occur in Rome itself, where, besides several other colleges for various nationalities, founded principally by the munificence of particular wealthy Catholics to rear up priests for their respective countries, the English College, since such a blessing to the English nation, was founded by Ina and by Offa, Saxon princes, first as a resting-place for English pilgrims, and then as a nursery to train up priests for the English Mission. In those days, kings and princes, and men of wealth willingly founded and endowed churches, colleges, asylums, hospitals, institutions of religion, learning, and charity, whose very ruins, in lands where they have been allowed to go to ruin, are monuments of former Catholic munificence while they are a reproach to our own degenerate days. It has been thought that, at this juncture, this glorious example of our ancestors would be promptly imitated; and that an appeal made to those Catholics in this country, whom God has blessed with abundant means, to come to the rescue, and not only to save the College, but to put it at once on a sound and substantial basis, would not be made in vain, but would be generously responded to.

It is with this view, that we make our earnest appeal to you at this time, and propose a plan which, we think, with your co-operation, will be successful in speedily founding and endowing the American College in Rome. We urge the matter upon you the more strongly, as next year the great General Council is to be convened in Rome, and we are to meet the bishops of the whole world in one of those grand assemblies which mark an era in the history of the Universal Church. To the Councils of Nice, Ephesus, Chalcedon, Lateran, Lyons, Florence, and Trent, is to be added that of the Vatican. Let us, before we go to the Holy City, have the consolation of knowing that, through your munificence, we have a college there to which we can proudly point, as bishops of a great Catholic people; let us be spared the disgrace of going thither to find its doors closed, and its name blotted out from the list of National Colleges existing in the Eternal City. We confidently appeal to you as Catholics and as Americans, loving your religion and your country, that this may not be so. Surely, the means with which God has blessed you can be applied to no higher or holier purpose than this; nor can there be any which will draw down upon you and your families a more abundant blessing of heaven. The prayers and holy sacrifices which will be cheerfully offered up in your behalf by those who, through your bounty, will be trained up for the holy ministry, cannot fail to draw down upon you heaven's choicest benedictions. Our plan, then, is briefly this:

We wish to raise from $250,000 to $300,000. We have appointed, as our agent in the matter, the Rev. G. H. Doane, Chancellor of the Diocese of Newark, to visit all the principal dioceses of the United States, and call upon those who are most able, to contribute their subscriptions. We propose that of these generous contributors to a noble work there should be three classes:

1. Founders Of Burses; who will contribute, once for all, _five thousand dollars_ in currency, yielding something over two hundred dollars, in gold, of yearly interest; and who will have the right of selecting, from those who will be recommended and approved of their respective bishops for this purpose, one student of the College for ever.

2. Patrons; who will contribute _one thousand dollars_, once for all, and will be entitled to send a student, approved of by the bishop, for three years.

3. Life Members; who, by contributing _five hundred dollars_, will share in the holy sacrifices and prayers of the College and of the students.

The names of all these three classes will be enrolled, and placed in a handsome frame, to be kept in the Chapel of the American College; and solemn high mass will be celebrated for them in Rome twice a year--once for the living and once for the deceased benefactors; besides the private masses which the priests educated at the College will feel impelled by gratitude to offer up frequently for their respective patrons and benefactors and their families.

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This plan, if zealously and efficiently carried out, will, we are convinced, accomplish the desired result in very short time. One Catholic gentleman in Baltimore has already founded a Burse, and others will follow his good example. We believe that we can safely calculate on the following amounts to be realized in the United States, under the three heads above named:

Twenty Burses, at $5,000---- $100,000 One Hundred Patrons, at $1,000---- 100,000 One Hundred Life Members, at $500.---- 50,000 Total $250,000

The reverend father to whom we have entrusted this important matter, and in whose zeal and efficiency we have the utmost confidence, will call upon you during the course of the coming winter. You will, we are quite sure, receive him worthily, as our representative; and you will enable him, we trust, to return to us with fresh and abundant proofs of your well-known generosity and self-sacrifice, and with an ample and sufficient sum not only to save, but to endow, and render perpetual for all time, our _American College in Rome_.

M. J. Spalding, _Archbishop of Baltimore, and Chairman of Metropolitans._

J. F. Wood, _Bishop of Philadelphia, Chairman Executive Committee of Bishops, and Treasurer._

_Baltimore_, Feast of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin, 1868.

Letter Of Rev. George H. Doane.

Having been appointed by the Most Rev. Archbishop of Baltimore, and the Rt. Rev. Bishop of Philadelphia, as Chairmen respectively of Metropolitans, and of the Executive Committee of Bishops, who have charge of the affairs of the American College in Rome, with the duty of endeavoring to raise an endowment fund for the College, I have, with the consent of my own bishop, accepted the trust which they have confided to me, and propose to enter upon the work at once. Before Christmas I hope to visit, with the consent of the Archbishops and Bishops of those Sees, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Albany, Boston, and Hartford; during the holidays, New-York, Brooklyn, and Newark; and about the middle of January to start for the North, West, and South.

Love for Rome, and the desire to make some little return for the many blessings I received while a student in one of the National Colleges there, (the American College not having then been founded,) by trying to procure the same blessings to others; and love for my country, with the desire to see preserved for her, in the very heart of the Eternal City, a place where some of her young Levites may grow up in the schools of Rome, under the shadow of St. Peter's, and in the immediate presence of the Vicar of our Lord upon earth, are the motives which prompt me to undertake this arduous duty.

That it may succeed, I earnestly beg the prayers of the faithful, the generous and zealous co-operation of all in the good work, and remembrance on the part of my fathers and brethren at the altar of God in the daily sacrifice.

G. H. Doane.

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Catholicity And Pantheism.

Number Three.

The Problem Of Multiplicity.

In the development of the Catholic idea of God, which we have given in the previous number, we have met with no opposition from pantheism.

Here, however, it raises the most difficult as well as the most sublime and profound question which can be proposed to human intelligence--the problem of multiplicity. We shall let a pantheist propose it in his own words.

It will be remembered that the last of the attributes which we vindicated as belonging to the infinite was that of absolute unity. This attribute gives rise to the problem.

"What is unity," says Cousin, "taken by itself? A unity indivisible, a dead unity, a unity which, resting in the depths of its absolute existence, and never developing itself, is, for itself, as if it were not. In the same manner, what is variety without unity? A variety which, not being referable to a unity, can never form a totality, or any collection whatever, is a series of indefinite quantities, of each of which one cannot say that it is itself and not another, for this would suppose that it is one; that is, it would suppose the idea of unity; so that, without unity, variety also is as if it were not. Behold what variety or unity isolated would produce; the one is necessary to the other in order to exist with true existence; with that existence, which is neither multiple, various, mobile, or negative existence; nor that absolute, eternal, infinite existence, which is, as it were, the negation of existence. Every true existence, every reality, is in the union of these two elements; although, essentially, the one may be superior and anterior to the other. You cannot separate variety from unity, nor unity from variety; they necessarily coexist. But how do they coexist? Unity is anterior to multiplicity; how then has unity been able to admit multiplicity?" [Footnote 162]

[Footnote 162: Cousin's _History of Modern Philosophy_.]

Again: "Reason, in whatever way it may occupy itself, can conceive nothing, except under the condition of two ideas, which preside over the exercise of its activity; the idea of the unit, and the idea of the multiple; of the finite and the infinite; of being and of appearing; of substance and of phenomenon; of absolute cause and of secondary causes; of the absolute and of the relative; of the necessary and of the contingent; of immensity and of space, of eternity and of time.

"Analysis, in bringing together all these propositions, in bringing together, for example, all their first terms, identifies them; it equally identifies all the second terms, so that, of all these propositions compared and combined, it forms a single proposition, a single formula, which is the formula itself of thought, and which you can express, according to the case, by the unit and by the multiple, the absolute being and the relative being, unity and variety, etc. Finally, the two terms of this formula, so comprehensive, do not constitute a dualism in which the first term is on one side, the second on the other, without any other relation than that of being perceived at the same time by reason. {566} The relation concerning them is quite otherwise essential, unity being eternity, etc.; the first term of the formula is cause also, and absolute cause; and, so far as absolute cause, it cannot avoid developing itself in the second term, multiplicity, the finite and the relative.

"The result of all this is, that the two terms, as well as the relation of generation which draws the second from the first, and which, without cessation, refers to it, are the three integral elements of reason. It is not in the power of reason, in its boldest abstractions, to separate any one of these three terms from the others. Try to take away unity, and variety alone is no longer susceptible of addition--it is even no longer comprehensible; or, try to take away variety, and you have an immovable unity--a unity which does not make itself manifest, and which, of itself, is not a thought; all thought expressing itself in a proposition, and a single term not sufficing for a proposition; in short, take away the relation which intimately connects variety and unity, and you destroy the necessary tie of the two terms of every proposition. We may then regard it as an incontestable point, that these three terms are distinct but inseparable, and that they constitute at the same time a triplicity and an indivisible unity." [Footnote 163]

[Footnote 163: Lecture Fifth.]

As the reader may have observed, Cousin raises the problem of multiplicity. He expresses it under a logical form, but the problem is a metaphysical one, and hence applicable to all orders, logical as well as ontological. It is raised by all pantheists, whose words we abstain from quoting for brevity's sake; and so far as the problem itself is concerned, it is a legitimate one; and every one, who has thought deeply on these matters, and is not satisfied with merely looking at the surface of things, must accept it.

Let us put it in its clearest light. The infinite, considered merely as unity, actuality, (all words which mean the same thing,) can be known neither to itself nor to any other intelligence. It cannot be known to itself. For to know implies thought, and thought is absolutely impossible without a duality of knowing and of being known, of subject and of object. It implies an intelligence, an object, and a relation between the two. If, then, there is no multiplicity in the infinite, it cannot know itself. It is, for itself, as if it were not; for what is a being which cannot know itself?

Nor can it be known to any other intelligence; for mere existence, pure unity does not convey any idea necessary to satisfy the intelligence.

Moreover, the mere existence and unity of an object does not make it, on that account, intelligible. For an object to be intelligible, it is required that it should be able to act on the intelligence, such being the condition of intelligibility. [Footnote 164] Now, action implies already a multiplicity, a subject and the action. Therefore, if the infinite were mere pure unity, it could not be intelligible to any intelligence. But in the supposition that there is a kind of multiplicity in the infinite, how would multiplicity be reconciled with unity? How would these two terms agree?

[Footnote 164: See _Balmes's Fundamental Philosophy_, on Intelligibility.]

Multiplicity seems to be a necessary condition of the infinite, without which it would not be intelligible either to itself or to others. Absolute unity seems also to be a necessary attribute of the infinite, and yet these two necessary conditions seem to exclude each other. How then must we bring them together?

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This is the problem to be solved; the grandest and most sublime problem of philosophy; which has occupied every school of philosophy since man began to turn his mind to philosophical researches.

The two great antagonists, pantheism and catholicity, give an answer to the problem, and it is the province of this article to discuss the two solutions, and see which of them can stand the test of logic, and really answer the problem instead of destroying it. We shall enter upon the discussion, after premising a few remarks necessary to the right understanding of the discussion.

The first remark which we shall make is to call the attention of the reader to the absolute necessity for the existence of the problem.

It is not pantheism, nor Catholicity, which arbitrarily raises the problem; it exists in the very essence of being, in the very essence of intelligibility. Those philosophers who cannot see it may have taken a cursory glance over some pages of what purports to be philosophy, but they never understood a word of that which really deserves the name of that sublime science. We make this remark for two different reasons: First, in order to close the door to all the objections raised against the problem. For if it is demonstrated that a multiplicity is required in the infinite, then to raise objections against it only shows want of philosophic depth, but does not prove anything against the existence of the problem. We shall return to this subject. The second reason is a consequence of the first, to wit, that should we find that the answer to the problem is not as clear and evident as we might desire, we must not, on that account, reject the problem, but should be satisfied with the light that is afforded. This is but reasonable. Deny the problem we cannot. It follows then that we must be satisfied with an answer which, whilst it saves the problem, throws as much light on it as is possible, under the circumstances.

Pantheistic Solution Of The Problem Of Multiplicity And Unity In The Infinite.

Pantheism arrives at infinite unity by eliminating from it all possible determination, definition, reality, ideality, thought, will, consciousness; and rising from abstraction to abstraction, from elimination to elimination, from a more limited indefiniteness to a higher and broader and less restricted one, up to mere simple, unalloyed abstraction and unity.

All pantheists follow the same process in order to arrive at unity. Cousin calls it dead, immovable, inconceivable; a thing existing as if it were not; the Being--Unreality of Hegel. But ascended to such a summit, all multiplicity eliminated, and pure unalloyed unity once found, how is multiplicity to be reconstructed? With the greatest ease in the world. Pantheists make this Being--nothing unfold and develop itself like a silkworm; alleging, as a reason for such development, an intrinsic necessity of nature, an imperative instinct which broods in its bosom.

Thus they reconstruct multiplicity by making the Infinite become finite, cosmos, matter, spirit, humanity, etc. Let us hear Cousin: "This is the fundamental vice of ancient and modern theories; they place unity on one side, and multiplicity on the other; the infinite and the finite in such an opposition that the passage from one to the other seems impossible."

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And, after having remarked that this was the error of the school of Elea, he continues: "Immensity or unity of space, eternity or unity of time, unity of numbers, unity of perfection, the ideal of all beauty, the Infinite, the absolute substance, being itself, is a cause also, not a relative, contingent, finite cause, but an absolute cause. Now, being an absolute cause, it cannot avoid passing into action. If being, in itself alone, is given as absolute substance without causality, the world is impossible; but if being in itself is also a cause and an absolute cause, movement and the world naturally follow. The true absolute is not pure being in itself; it is power and cause taken absolutely, which consequently creates absolutely, and, in _developing_ itself, produces all that you see around you."

We quote Cousin in preference to others on account of his lucidity of style and expressions; but every one acquainted with the systems of the German pantheists knows that their answer to the problem of multiplicity is substantially the same. We refer the reader, in confirmation of our assertion, to the excellent lectures on the systems of the German Pantheists, of Heinrich Moritz Chalybäus, professor at the University of Kiel.

Now, does the answer resolve the problem? Does it really conciliate unity with multiplicity in the Infinite? Does it really maintain intact the two terms of the problem? We think that it does not, and maintain that it destroys both terms of the problem. The leading idea and principle of Pantheism is that unity is _becoming_ multiplicity.

It is an existence in a continual _ex-sistere_ in an emergence and manifestation. [Footnote 165]

[Footnote 165: Chalybäus' Lectures, etc.]

Now, who can fail to perceive that if unity is such, that is, unity when it is merely potential, when it has only the power of becoming, of passing into multiplicity, it is doubtless destroyed as soon as it passes from the power into the act; or, in other words, it is destroyed as unity when it becomes multiplicity? Strip this idea of a potential unity becoming actual multiplicity, strip it of all the logical phantasmagoria with which it has been adorned, especially by pantheists of the German school, which phantasmagoria can only impose upon the simple, and you can see, as clearly as that two and two make four, that the whole thing amounts to nothing but to this; that unity vanishes as soon as it becomes multiplicity. It is with a special intention that we have made use of the simile of the silkworm. This poor creature too, like the unity of the pantheists, has an instinct given it by God, of unfolding and developing itself, and the effect of its operation is the silk which serves to set off the beauty of man. But unfortunately, the process of development exhausts the little creature; for when it is completed, the poor creature dies, and its development is its death, and its production is its shroud; yet, it has this advantage over the unity of the pantheists, that its remains continue to exist, whereas their unity evaporates completely in multiplicity. To speak more seriously, it is perfectly evident to every mind, that the answer of the pantheists destroys the very problem it undertakes to solve. Unity is unity so long as it is a potency, a power of becoming; it vanishes as soon as it becomes multiplicity. Add to this, that their unity, to be infinite, must remain undefined, potential, and in the possibility of becoming; such being their idea of the Infinite. {569} For which reason they eliminate from it every limitation, all individuality, all thought, all consciousness. The natural consequence of this principle must be that it remains infinite so long as it is wrapped up in its vagueness and indefiniteness. Let it come forth from its indefiniteness, let it become definite, limited, concrete, and its infinity together with its unity is gone. It evaporates in the finite forms it assumes. On the other hand, let it remain absorbed in its indefiniteness, in its abstractiveness, and consequently, in its infinity, and multiplicity can no longer be conceived. It is absurd then to speak of multiplicity in the Infinite of the Pantheists, since it is clear that, when it assumes multiplicity, it can no longer be either infinite or one; and when it remains infinite it cannot be conceived as multiple. All this we have said, conceding the premises of pantheism. But we have, in the first article, demonstrated the following principles:

1st. If the pantheists take their unity in the sense of a pure abstraction, a transient act, the elements of which do not last one single instant, it is in that case an absolute nonentity, an utter unreality, and then it is useless to speak of multiplicity, since _ex nihilo nihil fit_.

2d. Or, they suppose their unity as something really existing, having the power of gradual development, and in that case we have demonstrated that such a being could not develop itself without the aid of a foreign being.

The premises of pantheism then being false, the solution of the problem falls to the ground independently of its intrinsic value, if it have any, which we have shown it has not.

Pantheism cannot answer the problem of multiplicity. How can we then attain to its solution?

We answer: the Catholic Church resolves it, giving such an explanation of it as the finite and limited intellect of man may reasonably expect. For the Catholic Church does not pretend to give such a solution of the problem as to enable us thoroughly to understand it. She proceeds from two premises, to wit, that God is infinite, and that man, necessarily distinct from God, is finite, and therefore endowed only with finite intelligence. That these premises are true, appears evident from the demonstration we have already given, in which we have shown that the pantheistic idea of the infinite is the idea of finite being when it is not taken as meaning only an abstraction, a pure mathematical point. The ideas of the infinite and the finite exist, and therefore there must be also objects corresponding to these ideas. We shall return to this subject in a following number.

From these two ideas of the finite and the Infinite, it follows that man can never comprehend God; or, in other words, that the intelligence of man, with the relation to God as its object, must find mysteries or truths above and beyond its capacity. For, as it is absurd to shut up a body of large size in a body of much more limited size, supposing the present conditions of bodies not suspended, so it is absurd to suppose that the intellect of man, limited and finite, could grasp or take in God, who is infinite. We are aware of the opposition which is made by many to mysteries or super-intelligible truths; but we insist upon it, that all such opposition would vanish, if men would study philosophy more deeply and more assiduously. Why, a real philosopher, one who has sounded the depths of creation, and plunged into the profundity of the great ideas of being, of substance, of the absolute, of the infinite, the finite and the relative, into the ideas of eternity, of immensity, of immutability, of space and time, into the ideas of cause, of action, of movement; one who has entered into the labyrinth of his soul, and tried to catch the flying phenomena of its life, and to analyze all the fibres of its consciousness; such a one meets, at every step, with mysteries, and the more he digs into them, the profounder and the wider is the abyss lying at his feet. {570} If we should meet with a man denying mysteries, and desirous to engage in a discussion, we would beg of him to go and first study the alphabet of philosophy.

The problem, then, proposing the reconciliation of unity with multiplicity in the Infinite, is held by the Catholic Church as a mystery, a truth which cannot be thoroughly understood by the human mind. But, notwithstanding all this, the solution which Catholic doctrine affords, though a mystery, is clear enough to be perceived, and distinct enough to make us see through the agreement of the two terms of the problem; so that, through the help of the Catholic Church, we shall have all the light thrown upon the problem in question which man may reasonably expect, seeing that the object of the problem is the Infinite, and the intellect apprehending it only limited and finite.

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New Publications.

Philip II. Of Spain. By Charles Gayarré. Author of the _History of Louisiana under the French, Spanish, and American Domination_. With an Introductory Letter by George Bancroft. New York. 1866. W. J. Widdleton. 8vo, pp. viii. iv. 366.

Mr. Gayarré is not unknown among American authors. Of Spanish origin, born and nurtured in Louisiana, he has connected his name with the history of that State by his devotion to its annals. Laborious research has enabled him to give to the world three volumes, comprising the history of Louisiana, under French, Spanish, and American domination. Unfortunately, the first volume was taken up rather as a romance of history; and in the treatment of his subject imagination is allowed a scope that the stricter schools of history deny that faculty. Imbued to no small extent with the petty philosophism of the worst age of France, he seldom fails to give the Church, where it enters his historic paintings, darker colors than truth will warrant.

His present work is not a life of Philip II. It is a series of studies, not complete enough, indeed, to form a character of that great and singular ruler, who made Spain a great power in Europe, but failed to bequeath to his successors the ability and statecraft that enabled him to maintain the influence of the peninsula in European affairs.

Mr. Gayarré's studies are disconnected, involve repetitions, and fail to give us the salient points which mainly need discussion and examination. He begins with the death of Philip; then treats of his religious policy; his love of art; his reign in general; Antonio Perez; the Cortes during his reign; literature. The point of view may be inferred from Mr. Bancroft's remark, that the present work is written "with a mind superior to the influences of superstition"--an idea we have already expressed in somewhat different terms, vocabularies differing slightly, as Saul of Tarsus notes, in giving the estimate made by the most civilized and enlightened people of his day in regard to the cross.

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Philip as ruler of Spain, Portugal, and the Indies; Philip and the Low Countries; Philip in his relations with foreign countries; Philip and the Inquisition in Spain; Philip and his family, here were indeed themes to discuss, to examine by the aid of the soundest authorities. Had Mr. Gayarré done this in true historic spirit, his work, whatever the judgment at which he arrived, would have been of real value to every thinking man. As it is, we cannot say that we see any necessity or utility for the work. In Prescott there is at least a complete picture and an array of authority. Gayarré gives neither, and can scarcely be read without obtaining false views--without the facts which in Prescott often enable you to see the fallacy of statements based really on erroneous arguments.

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Recollections Of A Busy Life. By Horace Greeley. New York. J. B. Ford and Company. 1868.

The autobiographical papers, which compose the larger part of this volume, were originally published in a weekly journal of this city, and have probably attracted the attention of many thousands of readers. They are now issued in a permanent form, under Mr. Greeley's personal supervision, and will take their place among the standard works of American biography.

Whatever may be said or thought of the religious and political principles from time to time professed and advocated by the "Editor of _The Tribune_," no man can deny to him the character of an earnest, outspoken, indefatigable supporter of what, at the moment, he believes to be just and right. The manner in which he braved a public opinion thoroughly tyrannical, both at the opening and close of the late war, sufficiently attests his independence of spirit and his fidelity to the dictates of his own judgment.

One interest, however, attaches to Mr. Greeley, chiefly as a man who, from the humblest beginnings, has raised himself, by his own exertions, to one of the most influential and honorable positions in this country. The story of his projects and reverses, of his perseverance and his triumphs, is well told in the volume before us, and will serve to encourage and refresh the hearts of many young men, whose struggles after influence and honest wealth are meeting with continual disappointment.

In the hurry of preparing this work for the press, Mr. Greeley has fallen into an historical error which should certainly be corrected. In his opening chapter he informs us that, in 1641, during the insurrection which occurred in the province of Ulster in Ireland, against the British power, "40,000 Protestant settlers were speedily massacred, with small regard to age or sex." The number who actually suffered in that "rebellion" has been variously estimated by historians not favorable toward Ireland or her people. Sir John Temple fixes it at 150,000; Milton, in his _Eiconoclastes_, at 154,000 for one province alone; Clarendon puts the number at 40,000. Mr. Greeley follows Clarendon, but with equal reliability he might have taken Temple or Milton for his authority. He might also have stated with the former, that "Hundreds of the ghosts of Protestants, that were drowned by the rebels at Portadown Bridge, were seen in the river, bolt upright, and were heard to cry out for revenge on these rebels. One of these ghosts was seen with hands lifted up, and standing in that posture from December 29th to the latter end of the following Lent." For additional testimony about the presence of the ghosts, he might have called upon Dr. Maxwell, the Protestant Bishop of Kilmore. But if instead of relying upon such ghostly authorities, Mr. Greeley had consulted a little work, entitled _Memoir of Ireland, Native and Saxon_, written by Daniel O'Connell, and published by Greeley & McElrath in 1844, he would have seen that, in 1641, there were less than 200,000 Protestants in the entire island, and that the number massacred (?) in its most northern province failed to reach any thousands whatever. He would also have discovered that in these insurrections it was the Catholics who suffered, and not Protestants, as, for instance, at Island Magee.

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Mr. Greeley is too wise and liberal a man wilfully to repeat so stale a calumny, and he is not so inconsistent as to contradict, in 1868, the statements of a work which he deemed worthy of public confidence in 1844. While, therefore, we point out the error, we impute no malice to the writer; to whom, in view of his constant activity, some inaccuracies may be pardoned. But the injury inflicted by his mistake is not lessened by its thoughtlessness, and the least that can be done to remedy the evil is to correct the error in the next edition, should one be ever issued.

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The Ideal In Art. By H. Taine. Translated by J. Durand. New York: Leypoldt & Holt. 1869.

The object of these two lectures, first delivered by M. Taine to the students of the School of Fine Arts in Paris, and now published in an American translation by Messrs. Leypoldt & Holt, is to erect a standard of criticism in art, independent of the taste and fancy of the individual critic, and so based upon established principles as to be worthy of the name of "a law." To our mind, the distinguished author has approached, if not attained, success. The fundamental rule with which he starts, distinguishes between that mechanical skill by which the production of the artist is made a faithful representation of his own ideal, and that artistic genius by which the loftiness and grandeur of the ideal is itself determined. He then proceeds to measure the ideal itself, and, upon the purity and elevation of this, bases the standing of the artist and the merit of his works.

A complete sketch of M. Taine's system would necessitate a reproduction of the work itself. In his volume there are no wasted words; and while, perhaps, not altogether intelligible to the utterly unlearned in art, the treatise which he gives us will serve to stimulate the reader to an inquiry which cannot fail to improve his taste in literature as well as in the peculiar domain which it professes to explore.

We especially welcome this volume at this time, because of the opportunities which are now afforded for a study of the principles of M. Taine, in connection with the great schools of Italian art themselves. In the Jarves Collection, now at Yale College, may be found paintings of representative masters, from the dawn of Italian art to the commencement of its decline. Hundreds of visitors have examined this treasure-house of painting, and thousands more should follow their example. And we venture to suggest that a careful study of the work before us will render, at least in the case of cultivated persons, what would otherwise have been a mere visit of curiosity, a most valuable lesson on that ideal in art in which the true artists of every age have given the measure of their own genius and the pledge of their artistic immortality.

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The Illustrated Catholic Family Almanac, for the United States, for the Year of our Lord 1869. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1869.

This is the first attempt by any Catholic publisher in this country to get up an Almanac suitable for Catholic families. It contains a complete calendar for the year 1869, with a variety of other matter both useful and entertaining. The illustrations, nineteen in number, are excellent. We are glad to be able to state that it is the intention of the Society to issue such an almanac every year, and we hope that this first attempt may meet with the success which it so well deserves.

It should be found in every Catholic household in the United States. Almanacs have become almost a necessity, and are looked for as regularly as the new year. It is, then, highly important that an almanac, to say the least, should contain nothing objectionable to morals, and this cannot be said of too many frequently met with, which are only mere advertising mediums for quack medicines, etc. We hope _The Catholic Family Almanac_ will henceforth supersede all such trashy productions--which no father of a family should allow to endanger the faith and morality of his children. The excuse heretofore urged for their presence in the house, that there was no Catholic family almanac to be had, is no longer valid.

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Criminal Abortion: Its Nature, its Evidence, and its Law. By Horatio R. Storer, M.D., LL.B., and Franklin Fiske Heard. Boston: Little, Brown & Company. 1868.

This subject is here brought before the public in a manner proportioned to its importance; and Dr. Storer, for his indefatigable efforts in ferreting out the statistics of this crime, and his outspoken honest opinions, deserves the thanks of the American people. The evidence adduced in support of the author's assertions is so conclusive that the question suggests itself, Whither are we drifting? In a note on page 74, the moral effect of the Catholic religion is shown in preventing this "slaughter of the innocents," but the author fails to suggest the general dissemination of the religion throughout the country as a means of checking this rapidly growing evil.