CHAPTER VIII.

AVOWALS.

In the same deep valley where the brook rippled over the pebbles in its bed, where the mountain sides rose up abruptly, where the moss hung from the old oaks, where Klingenberg plucked the tender beard of the young professor of history, took place the meditated attack of the doctor on the poison of materialism which was destroying the body and soul of Richard.

Slowly and carefully the doctor advanced, as against an enemy who will defend his position to the last. But how was he astonished when, upon being attacked, Frank showed no disposition to defend that most highly-vaunted doctrine of modern science--materialism. This was almost as puzzling to the doctor as the eternity of matter. Tired of skirmishing, the doctor set to work to close with the enemy and strike him down.

"I have looked only cursorily at the writings of the materialists; you have studied them carefully; and you will oblige me much if you would give me the foundation on which the whole structure of materialism rests."

"The materialistic system is very simple," answered Frank. "Materialists reject all existence that is not sensibly perceptible. They deny the existence of invisible and supersensible things. There is no spirit in man or anywhere else. Matter alone exists, because matter alone manifests its existence."

"I understand. The materialist will only be convinced by seeing and feeling. As a spirit is neither spiritual nor tangible, then there is none. Is it not so, friend Richard?"

"You have included in one sentence the whole of materialism," said Frank coolly.

"I cannot understand," said Klingenberg hesitatingly, "how the materialists can make assertions which are untenable to the commonest understandings. Why, thought can neither be seen nor felt; yet it is an existence."

"Thought is a function of the brain."

"Then it is incomprehensible how the sensible can beget the supersensible. How matter--the brain--can produce the immaterial, the spiritual."

Richard was silent.

"At every step in materialism I meet insurmountable difficulties," continued the doctor. "I know perfectly the organization of the human body, as well as the function and purpose of each part. The physician knows the purpose of the lungs, heart, kidneys, and stomach, and all the noble and ignoble parts of the body. But no physician knows the origin of the activity of the organism. The blood stops, the pulse no longer beats, the lungs, kidneys, nerves, and all the rest cease their functions. The man is dead. Why? Because the activity, the movement, the force is gone. What then is this vivifying force? In what does it consist? What color, what taste, what form has it? No physician knows. The vivifying principle is invisible, intangible, perfectly immaterial. Yet it exists. Therefore the fundamental dogma of materialism is false. There are existences which can neither be felt, tasted, nor seen."

"The vivifying principle is also in animals," said Richard.

"Certainly; and in them also intangible and mysterious. Materialism cannot even stand before animal life; for even there the vivifying principle is an immaterial existence."

"The materialist stumbles at the existence of human spirit, because he cannot get a conception of it."

"How could this be possible?" cried the doctor. "The conception is a picture in the mind, an apprehension of the senses. Spiritual being is as unapproachable by the senses as the vivifying principle, of which also man can form no conception. To deny existence because you cannot have a conception of it, is foolish. The blind would have the same right to deny the existence of colors, or the deaf that of music. And who can have a conception of good, of eternity, of justice, of virtue? No one. These are existences that do not fall under the senses. To be logical, the materialist must conclude that there is nothing good, nothing noble, no justice; for we have not yet seen nor felt nor smelt these things. Virtuous actions we can, of course, see; but these actions are not the cause but the consequence, not the thing working but the thing wrought. As these actions will convince every thinking man of the existence of virtue and justice, so must the workings of the spirit prove its existence."

"Precisely," replied Frank. "Materialism only surprises and captivates one like a dream of the night. It vanishes the moment it is seen. I read the works of Vogt and Büchner only for diversion; my object was perfectly gained."

"You read for diversion! What did you wish to forget?"

"Dark clouds that lowered over my mind."

"Have you secrets that I, your old friend and well-meaning adviser, should not know?"

Frank was confused; but his great respect for the doctor forced him to be candid.

"You know my views of women. When I tell you that Angela, the well-known Angel of Salingen, has torn these opinions up by the roots, you will not need further explanation."

"You found Angela what I told you? I am glad," said Klingenberg. And his disputative countenance changed to a pleasant expression. "I suspected that the Angel of Salingen made a deep impression on you. I did not guess; I read it in large characters on your cheeks. Have you made an avowal?"

"No; it will never come to that."

"Why not? Are you ashamed to confess that you love a beautiful young lady? That is childish and simple. There is no place here for shame. You want a noble, virtuous wife. You have Angela in view. Woo her; do not be a bashful boy."

"Bashfulness might be overcome, but not the conviction that I am unworthy of her."

"Unworthy! Why, then? Shall I praise you? Shall I exhibit your noble qualities, and convince you why you are worth more than any young man that I know? You have not Angela's religious tone; but the strong influence of the wife on the husband is well known. In two or three years I shall not recognize in the ultramontane Richard Frank the former materialist." And the doctor laughed heartily.

"It is questionable," said the young man, "whether Angela's inclination corresponds to mine."

"The talk of every true lover," said the doctor pleasantly. "Pluck the stars of Bethlehem, like Faust's Grethe, with the refrain, 'She loves, she loves not--she loves.' But you are no bashful maiden; you are a man. Propose to her. Angela's answer will show you clearly how she feels."

The doctor was scarcely in his room when Richard's father entered.

"All as you foretold," said Klingenberg. "Your son is cured of his hatred of women by Angela. The materialistic studies were not in earnest; they were only a shield held up against the coming passion. The love question is so absorbing, and the sentiment so strong, that Richard left me near Frankenhöhe to hasten over there. I expect from your sound sense that you will place no obstacles in the way of your son's happiness."

"I regret," said Frank coldly, "that I cannot be of the same opinion with you and Richard in this affair."

"Make your son unhappy?" said Klingenberg. "Do you consider the possible consequences of your opposition?"

"What do you understand by possible consequences?"

"Melancholy, madness, suicide, frequently come from this. I leave to-morrow, and I hope to take with me the assurance that you will sacrifice your prejudice to the happiness of Richard."

* * * * *

Among the numerous inhabitants of Siegwart's yard was a hen with a hopeful progeny. The little chicks were very lively. They ran about after insects till the call of the happy mother brought them to her. Escaped from the shell some few days before, they had instead of feathers delicate white down, so that the pretty little creatures looked as though they had been rolled in cotton. They had black, quick eyes, and yellow feet and bills. If a hawk flew in the air and the mother gave a cry, the little ones knew exactly what it meant, and ran under the protecting wings of the mother from the hawk, although they had never seen one--had never studied in natural history the danger of the enemy. If danger were near, she called, and immediately they were under her wings. The whole brood now stopped under the lindens. The little ones rested comfortably near the warm body of the mother. Now here, now there, their little heads would pop out between the feathers. One smart little chirper, whose ambition indicated that he would be the future cock of the walk, undertook to stand on the back of the hen and pick the heads of the others as they appeared through the feathers.

Angela came under the lindens, carrying a vessel of water and some crumbs in her apron for the little ones. She strewed the crumbs on the ground, and the old hen announced dinner. The little ones set to work very awkwardly. The old hen had to break the crumbs smaller between her bill. Angela took one of the chickens in her hand and fondled it, and carried it into the house. The hen went to the vessel to drink and the whole brood followed. It happened that the one that stood on her back fell into the water, and cried loudly; for it found that it had got into a strange element of which it had no more idea than Vogt and Büchner of the form of a spirit. At this critical moment Frank came through the yard. He saw it fluttering about in the water, and stopped. The old hen went clucking anxiously about the vessel. And although she could without difficulty have taken the chicken out with her bill, yet she did not do it. Richard observed this with great interest; but showed no desire to save the little creature, which at the last gasp floated like a bunch of cotton on the water.

Angela may have heard the noise of the hen, for she appeared at the door. She saw Frank standing near the lindens looking into the vessel. At the same time she noticed the danger of one of her little darlings, and hastened out. She took the body from the water and held it sadly in her hands.

"It is dead, the little dear," said she sadly. "You could have saved it, Herr Frank, and you did not do it." She looked at Frank, and forgot immediately, on seeing him, the object of her regrets. The young man stood before her so dejected, so depressed and sad, that it touched her heart. She knew what darkened his soul. She knew his painful struggle, his great danger, and she could have given her life to save him. She was moved, tears came into her eyes, and she hastened into the house.

Siegwart was reading the paper when his daughter hastened in such an unusual way through the room and disappeared.

This astonished him.

"What is the matter, Angela?" he exclaimed.

There was no answer. He was about to go after her when Frank entered.

"I can give you some curious news of the assessor," said the proprietor after some careless conversation. "The man is terribly enraged against me and full of bad designs. The reason of this anger is known to you." And he added, "Angela is in the next room, and she must know nothing of his proposal."

Frank nodded assent.

"About ten paces from the last house in Salingen," continued Siegwart, "I have had a pile of dirt thrown up. It was now and then sprinkled with slops, to make manure of it. Herr Hamm has made the discovery that the slops smell bad; that it annoys the inhabitants of the next house; and he has ordered it to be removed."

Richard shook his head disapprovingly.

"Perhaps Herr Hamm will come to the conclusion that, in the interest of the noses, all like piles must be removed from Salingen."

"But that is not all," said Siegwart. "It has been discovered that the common good forbids my keeping fowls, because my residence is surrounded by fields and vineyards, where the fowls do great damage. The Herr Assessor has had the goodness, accompanied by the guards, to examine personally the amount of destruction. So I have got instructions either to keep my fowls confined or to make away with them."

"Mean and contemptible!" said Frank.

Angela came into the room. Her countenance was smiling and clear as ever; but her swollen eyes did not escape Richard's observation. She greeted the guest, and sat down in her accustomed place near the window. Scarcely had she done this, when Frank stood up, went toward her, and knelt down before the astonished girl.

"Miss, I have greatly offended you, and beg your pardon."

Siegwart looked on in surprise--now at his daughter, who was perplexed; now at the kneeling young man.

"For God's sake! Herr Frank, arise," said the confused Angela. She was about to leave the seat, but he caught her hand and gently replaced her.

"If I may approach so near to you, my present position is the proper one. Hear me! I have deeply offended you. I could with ease have saved a creature that was dear to you, and I did not do it. My conduct has brought tears to your eyes--hurt your feelings. When you went away to regain your composure, and to show your offender a serene, reconciled countenance, it made my fault more distressing. Forgive me; do not consider me hard and heartless, but see in me an unfortunate who forgets himself in musing."

She looked into Frank's handsome face as he knelt before her, in such sadness, lowering his eyes like a guilty boy, and smiled sweetly.

"I will forgive you, Herr Frank, on one condition."

"Only speak. I am prepared for any penance."

"The condition is, that you burn those godless books that make you doubt about the noblest things in man, and that you buy no more."

"I vow fulfilment, and assure you that the design of those books, which you rightly call godless, is recognized by me as a crime against the dignity of man--and condemned."

"This rejoices no one more than me," said she with a tremulous voice.

He stood up, bowed, and returned to his former place.

"But, my dear neighbor, how did this singular affair happen?" said the proprietor.

Frank told him about the death of the chicken.

"The love of the hen for her chickens is remarkable. She protects them with her wings and warns them of danger, which she knows by instinct. How easy would it have been for the hen to have taken the young one from the water with her bill--the same bill with which she broke their food and gave it to them. But she did not do it, because it is strange to her nature. This case is another striking proof that animals act neither with understanding nor reflection. Acts beyond their instinct are impossible to them. This would not be the case, if they had souls."

* * * * *

The old servant stood with an empty basket before the library of the son, as he had stood before that of the father. Büchner, Vogt, and Czolbe fell into the fire. Jacob shook his head and regretted the beautiful binding; but the evil spirits between the covers he willingly consigned to the flames.

* * * * *

Again the cars stopped at the station; again the two gentlemen stood at the open window of the car to receive their returning friends. The travellers took a carriage and drove through the street.

"Baron Linden has indeed gone headlong into misery," said Lutz humorously. "Eight days ago the young pair swore eternal fidelity. It was signed and sealed. Until to-day no one could know that they were on the brink of misery."

Richard remembered his remark on the former occasion, and wondered at his sudden change of opinion.

"I wish them all happiness," said he.

"Amen!" answered Lutz. "Richard, however, considers happiness in matrimony possible. So we may hope that he will not always remain a bachelor. How is the Angel of Salingen? Have you seen her since that encounter with the steer?"

"The angel is well," said Richard, avoiding the glance of his friend.

"What do you mean by the 'Angel of Salingen'?" said the father.

"Thereby I understand the unmarried daughter of Herr Siegwart, of Salingen, named Angela, who richly deserves to be called the 'Angel of Salingen.'"

Frank knit his brows darkly and drummed on his knees.

"And the encounter with the steer?" continued he.

The professor related the occurrence.

"Ah! you did not tell me anything of that," said the father, turning to Frank. "An act of such great courage deserves to be mentioned."

The carriage passed into the court of a stately mansion. The servant sprang from his seat and opened the carriage-door. The professor looked at his watch.

"Herr Frank, will you allow your coachman to drive me to the university? I must be at my post in ten minutes. I cannot go on foot in that time."

"With pleasure, Herr Professor."

"Richard," said the other friend, "shall we meet at the opera to-night?"

"Scarcely. I must to-day enter upon my usual business."

"Come, if possible. The evening promises great amusement, for the celebrated Santinilli dances."

The accustomed routine of business began for Richard. He sat in the counting-room and worked with his habitual punctuality. Nevertheless invidious spirits lured him toward Salingen, so that the figures danced before his eyes, words had no meaning, and he was often lost in day-dreams. The watchful father had observed this, and was perplexed.

Richard's plan of studies also underwent a change. He left the house regularly at half-past five and returned at half-past six. The father, desiring to know what this meant, set the faithful Jacob on the watch.

"Herr Richard," reported the spy, "hears mass at the Capuchins."

Frank drummed a march on his knees.

"So, so!" he hummed. "The ultramontanes understand proselytizing. They have turned the head of my son. If I live long enough, I may yet see him turn Capuchin, build a cloister, and go about begging."

When Herr Frank entered the counting-room, he found his son busy at work. He stood up and greeted his father.

"I have observed, Richard," he began after a time, "that you go out early every morning. What does it mean?"

"I have imposed upon myself the obligation of hearing mass every morning."

"How did you come to take that singular obligation upon yourself?"

"From the conviction that religion is no empty idea, but a power that can give peace and consolation in all conditions of life."

"It is evident that you have breathed ultramontane air. This church-going is not forbidden--but no trifling or fanatical nonsense."

"It is my constant care, father, to give you no cause of uneasiness."

"I am rejoiced at this, my son; but I must observe that a certain gloomy, reserved manner of yours disturbs me. Your conduct is exemplary, your industry praiseworthy, your habits regular; but you keep yourself too much shut up; you do not give evening parties any more. You do not visit the concert-hall or theatre. This is wrong; we should enjoy life, and not move about like dreamers."

"I have no taste for amusements," answered Richard. "However, if you think a change would be good, I beg you to permit me to take a run out to Frankenhöhe for a couple of days."

"And why to Frankenhöhe? I do not know any amusement there for you."

"I have planted a small vineyard, as you know, and I would like to see how the Burgundies thrive."

Herr Frank was not in a hurry to give the permission. He thought and drummed.

"You can go," he said resignedly. "I hope the mountain air will cheer you up."

* * * * *

Herr Siegwart had remarked the same symptoms in his daughter that Herr Frank had in his son; but Angela did not give way to discontent. She was always the same obedient daughter. The poor and sick of Salingen could not complain of neglect. But she was frequently absent-minded, gave wrong answers to questions, and sought solitude. If Frank was mentioned, she revived; the least circumstance connected with him was interesting to her. Her sharp-sighted father soon discovered the inmost thoughts and feelings of his daughter. He thought of Herr Frank's ill-humor toward him, and was disposed to regret the hour that Richard entered his house.

* * * * *

The Burgundies at Frankenhöhe were scarcely looked at. The young man hastened to Salingen. He found the landscape changed in a few weeks. The fields had clothed themselves in yellow. The wheat-stalks bent gracefully under their load. Everywhere industrious crowds were in the fields. The stalks fell beneath the reapers. Men bound the sheaves. Wagons stood here and there. The sheaves were raised into picturesque stacks. The sun beamed down hot, and the sweltering weather wrote on the foreheads of the men, "Adam, in the sweat of thy brow thou shalt eat thy bread."

In the proprietor's house all was still. The old cook sat beneath the lindens, and with spectacles on her nose tried to mend a stocking which she held in her hand. She arose and smiled on Richard's approach.

"They are all in the fields. We have much work, Herr Frank. The grain is ripe, and we have already gathered fifty wagon-loads. I am glad to see you looking so much better. The family will also be glad. They think a great deal of you--particularly Herr Siegwart."

"Give them many kind greetings from me. I will come back in the evening."

"Off so soon? Will you not say good-day to Miss Angela? She is in the garden. Shall I call her?"

"No," said he after a moment's reflection; "I will go into the garden myself."

After unlatching the gate, he would have turned back, for he became nervous and embarrassed.

Angela sat in the arbor; her embroidery-frame leaned against the table, and she was busily working. As she heard the creaking of footsteps on the walk, she looked up and blushed. Frank raised his hat, and when the young woman stood up before him in beauty and loveliness, his nervousness increased, and he would gladly have escaped; but his spirit was in the fetters of a strange power, and necessity supplied him with a few appropriate remarks.

"I heard that the family were absent; but I did not wish to go away without saluting you, Miss Angela."

She observed the bashful manner of the young man, and said kindly, "I am glad to see you again, Herr Frank," and invited him to sit down. He looked about for a seat; but as there was none, he had to sit on the same bench with her.

"Do you remain long at Frankenhöhe?"

"Only to-day and to-morrow. Work requires dispatch, and old custom has so bound me to my occupation that the knowledge of work to be done makes me feel uneasy."

"Do you work every day regularly in the counting-room?"

"I am punctual to the hours, for the work demands regularity and order. There are every day some hours for recreation."

"And what is the most pleasant recreation for you?"

"Music and painting. I like them the best. But of late," he added hesitatingly, "unavoidable thoughts press on me, and many hours of recreation pass in useless dreaming."

Angela thought of his former mental troubles and looked anxiously in his eyes.

"Now, you have promised me," she said softly, "to forget all those things in those bad books that disturbed your mind."

"The fulfilment of no duty was lighter or more pleasant to me than to keep my promise to you, Angela."

His voice trembled. She leaned over her work and her cheeks glowed. The delicate fingers went astray; but Frank did not notice that the colors in the embroidery were getting into confusion. There was a long pause. Then Frank remembered the doctor's final admonition, "Be not like a bashful boy; put aside all false shame and speak your mind;" and he took courage.

"I have no right to ask what disturbs and depresses you," said she, in a scarcely audible voice and without moving her head.

"It is you who have the best right, Angela! You have not only saved my life, but also my better convictions. You have purified my views, and influenced my course of life. I was deeply in error, and you have shown me the only way that leads to peace. This I see more clearly every day. The church is no longer a strange, but an attractive place to me. All this you have done without design. I tell you this because I think you sympathize with me."

He paused; but the declaration of his love hovered on his lips.

"You have not deceived yourself as to my sympathy," she answered. "The discovery that one so insignificant as myself has any influence with you makes me glad."

"O Angela! you are not insignificant in my eyes. You are more than all else on earth to me!" he cried. "You are the object of my love, of my waking dreams. If you could give me your hand before the altar in fidelity and love, my dearest wishes would be realized."

She slowly raised her head, her modest countenance glowed in a virginal blush, and her eyes, which met Richard's anxious look, were filled with tears. She lowered her head, and laid her hand in that of the young man. He folded her in his arms, pressed her to his heart, and kissed her forehead. The swallows flew about the arbor, twittered noisily, and threatened the robber who was trying to take away their friend. The sparrows, through the leaves of the vines, looked with wonder at the table where Angela's head rested on the breast of her affianced.

They arose.

"We cannot keep this from our parents, Richard. My parents esteem you. Their blessing will not be wanting to our union."

Suddenly she paused, and stood silent and pale, as though filled with a sudden fear. Richard anxiously inquired the cause.

"You know your father's opinion of us," she said, disturbed.

"Do not be troubled about that. Father will not object to my arrangements. But even if he does, I am of age, and no power shall separate me from you."

"No, Richard; no! I love you as my life; but without your father's consent, our union wants a great blessing. Speak to him in love; beg him, beseech him, but do not annoy him on account of your selfishness."

"So it shall be. Your advice is good and noble. As long as this difficulty exists, I am uneasy. I will therefore go back. Speak to your parents; give them my kind greeting, and tell them how proud I shall feel to be acknowledged as their son." He again folded her in his arms and hastened away.

The old cook still sat under the lindens, and the stocking lost many a stitch as Frank, with a joyous countenance, passed her without speaking, without having noticed her. She shook wonderingly her old gray head.

Angela sat in the arbor. Her work lay idly on the table. With a countenance full of sweetness she went to her room, and knelt and prayed.

* * * * *

Herr Frank looked up astonished, as Richard, late in the evening, entered his chamber.

"Excuse me, father," said he joyfully and earnestly; "something has happened of great importance to me, and of great interest to you. I could not delay an explanation, even at the risk of depriving you of an hour's sleep."

"Well, well! I am really interested," said Herr Frank, as he threw himself back on the sofa. "Your explanation must be something extraordinary, for I have never seen you thus before. What is it, then?"

"For a right understanding of my position, it is necessary to go back to that May-day on which we went to Frankenhöhe. Your displeasure at my well-grounded aversion to women you will remember."

With childish simplicity he related the whole course of his inner life and trials at Frankenhöhe. He described the deep impression Angela had made upon him. He took out his diary and read his observations, his stubborn adherence to his prejudices, and the victory of a virtuous maiden over them. The father listened with the greatest attention. He admired the depth of his son's mind and the noble struggle of conviction against the powerful influence of error. But when Richard made known what had passed between himself and Angela, Herr Frank's countenance changed.

"I have told you all," said Richard, "with that openness which a son owes to his father. From the disposition and character of Angela, as you have heard them, you must have learned to respect her, and have been convinced that she and I will be happy. Therefore, father, I beg your consent and blessing on our union."

He arose and was about to kneel, when Herr Frank stopped him.

"Slowly, my son. With the exception of what happened to-day, I am pleased with your conduct. You have convinced yourself of the injustice of your opinion of women. You have found a noble woman. I am willing to believe that Angela is a magnificent and faultless creature, although she have an ultramontane father. But my consent to your union with Siegwart's daughter you will never receive. Now, Richard, you can without trouble find a woman that will suit you, and who is as beautiful and as noble-minded as the Angel of Salingen."

"May I ask the reason of your refusal, father?"

"There are many reasons. First, I do not like the ultramontane spirit of the Siegwart family. Angela is educated in this spirit. You would be bound to a wife whose narrow views would be an intolerable burden."

"Pardon, father! The extracts from my diary informed you that I have examined this ultramontane spirit very carefully, and that I was forced at last to correct my opinions of the ultramontanes--to reject an unjust prejudice."

"The stained glass of passion has beguiled you into ultramontane sentiments; and further, remember that Siegwart is personally objectionable to me." And he spoke of the failure of the factory through Angela's father.

"Herr Siegwart has told me of that enterprise, and, at the same time, gave me the reasons that induced him to prevent its realization. He showed the demoralizing effects of factories. He showed that the inhabitants of that neighborhood support themselves by farming; that the religious sentiment of the country people is endangered by Sunday labor and other evil influences that accompany manufacturing."

"And you approved of this narrow-mindedness of the ultramontane?" cried Frank.

"Siegwart's conduct is free from narrow-mindedness. You yourself have often said that faith and religion had much to fear from modern manufactories. If Siegwart has made great sacrifices, if he has interfered against his own interest in favor of faith and morality, he deserves great respect for it."

"Has it gone so far? Do you openly take part with the ultramontane against your father?"

"I take no part; I express frankly my views," answered Richard tranquilly.

"The views of father and son are very different, and we may thank your intercourse with the ultramontanes for it."

"Your acquaintance, father, with that excellent family is very desirable. You would soon be convinced that you ought to respect them."

"I do not desire their acquaintance. It is near midnight; go to rest, and forget the hasty step of to-day."

"I will never regret what has taken place with forethought and reflection," answered Richard firmly. "I again ask your consent to the happiness of your son."

"No, no! Once for all--never!" cried Frank hastily.

The son became excited. He was about to fly into a passion, and to show his father that he was not going to follow blind authority like an inexperienced child, when he thought of what Angela said, "Speak to your father in love;" and his rising anger subsided.

"You know, father," he said hesitatingly, "that my age permits me to choose a wife without reference to your will. As the consent is withheld without valid reasons, I might do without it. But Angela has urgently requested me not to act against your will, and I have promised to comply with her wishes."

"Angela appears to have more sense than you. So she requested this promise from you? I esteem the young lady for this sentiment, although she be a child of Siegwart, who shall never have my son for a son-in-law."

The young man arose.

"It only remains for me to declare," said he calmly, "that to Angela, and to her alone, shall I ever belong in love and fidelity. If you persevere in your refusal, I here tell you, on my honor, I shall never choose another wife."

He made a bow and left the room. It was long past midnight, and Herr Frank was still sitting on the sofa, drumming on his knees and shaking his head.

"An accursed piece of business!" said he. "I know he will not break his word of honor under any circumstances. I know his stubborn head. But this Siegwart, this clerical ultramontane fellow--it is incompatible; mental progress and middle-age darkness, spiritual enlightenment and stark confessionalism--it won't do. Angela certainly is not her father. She is an innocent country creature; does not wear crinoline, dresses in blue like a bluebell, has not a dainty stomach, and has no toilette nonsense. The nuns, together with perverted views of the world, may, perhaps, have taught her many principles that adorn an honorable woman; but--but--" And Herr Frank threw himself back grumbling on the sofa.

On the following day Richard wrote Angela a warm, impassioned letter. The vow of eternal love and fidelity was repeated. In conclusion, he spoke of his father's refusal, but assured her that his consent would yet be given.

Many weeks passed. The letters of the lovers came and went regularly and without interruption. She wrote that her parents had not hesitated a moment to give their consent. In her letters Richard admired her tender feeling, her dove-like innocence and pure love. He was firm in his conviction that she would make him happy, would be his loadstar through life. He read her letters hundreds of times, and these readings were his only recreation. He spoke not another word about the matter to his father. He kept away from all society. He devoted himself to his calling, and endeavored to purify his heart in the spirit of religion, that he might approach nearer to an equality with Angela. The father observed him carefully, and was daily more and more convinced that a spiritual change was coming over his son. Murmuringly he endured the church-going, and vexedly he shook his head at Richard's composure and perseverance, which he knew time would not change. The more quietly the son endured, the more disquieted Herr Frank became. "Sacrifice your prejudices to your son's happiness," he heard the doctor saying; and he felt ashamed when he thought of this advice.

"What cannot be cured must be endured," he was accustomed to say for some days, as often as he went into his room. "The queer fellow makes it uncomfortable for me; this cannot continue; days and years pass away. I am growing old, and the house of Frank must not die out."

One morning he gave Richard charge of the establishment. "I have important business," said he. "I will be back to-morrow."

The father smiled significantly as he said this. Richard heard from the coachman that Herr Frank took a ticket for the station near Frankenhöhe. He knew the great importance to him of this visit, and prayed God earnestly to move his father's heart favorably. His uneasiness increased hourly, and rendered all work impossible. He walked up and down the counting-room like a man who feared bankruptcy, and expected every moment the decision on which depended his happiness for life. He went into the hall where the desks of the clerks stood in long rows. He went to the desks, looked at the writing of the clerks, and knew not what he did, where he went, or where he stood.

The next day Herr Frank returned. Richard was called to the library, where his father received him with a face never more happy or contented.

"I have visited your bride," he began, "because I had a curiosity to know personally the one who has converted my son to sound views of womankind. I am perfectly satisfied with your taste, and also with myself; for I have become reconciled with Siegwart, and find that he is as willing to live with his neighbors in harmony as in discord. You now have my blessing on your union. The marriage can take place when you please; only it would please me if it came off as soon as possible."

Richard stood speechless with emotion, which so overcame him that tears burst from his eyes. He embraced his father, kissed him tenderly, and murmured his thanks.

"That will do, Richard," said Herr Frank, much affected. "Your happiness moves me. May it last long. And I do not doubt it will; for Angela is truly a woman the like of whom I have never met. Her character is as clear and transparent as crystal; and her eyes possess such power, and her smile such loveliness, that I fear for my freedom when she is once in the house."

* * * * *

Crisp, cold weather. The December winds sweep gustily through the streets of the city, driving the well-clad wanderer before them and sporting with the weather-vanes. A carriage stops before the door of the Director Schlagbein. Professor Lutz steps out and directs the driver to await him.

Emil Schlagbein, Richard's unhappy married friend, had moved his easy-chair near the stove and leaned his head against its back. He looked as though despair had seized him and thrown him into it. Hasty steps were heard in the ante-room, and Lutz stood before him.

"Still in your working-clothes, Emil? Up! the tea-table of the Angel of Salingen awaits us."

"Pardon me; my head is confused, my heart is sad; grief wastes my life away."

"War--always war; never peace!" said Lutz. "I fear, Emil, that all the fault is not with your wife. You are too sensitive, too particular about principles. Man must tolerate, and not be niggardly in compliance. Take old Frank as a model. With Angela entered ultramontanism into his house. Frank lives in peace with this spirit--even on friendly terms. Angela reads him pious stories from the legends of the saints. He goes with her to church, where he listens with attention to the word of God. He hears mass as devoutly as a Capuchin; not to say any thing of Richard, who runs a race with Angela for the prize of piety. Could you not also make some sacrifice to the whims of your wife?"

"Angela and Ida--day and night!" said the director bitterly. "The two Franks make no sacrifice to female whims. They appreciate her exalted views, they admire her purity, her unspeakable modesty, her shining virtues. The two Franks acted reasonably when they adopted the principles that produced such a woman. Angela never speaks to her husband in defiance and bad temper. If clouds gather in the matrimonial heaven, she dissipates them with the breath of love. Is the sacrifice of a wish wanted? Angela makes it. Is her pure feeling offended by Richard's faults? She kisses them away and raises him to her level. My wife--is she not just the opposite in every thing? Is she not quick-tempered, bitter, loveless, extravagant, and stiff-necked? Has she a look--I will not say of love--but even of respect for me? Do not all her thoughts and acts look to the pleasures of the toilette, the opera, balls, and concerts? O my poor children! who grow up without a mother, in the hands of domestics. How is any concession possible here? Must not my position, my self-respect, the last remnant of manly dignity go to the wall?"

"Your case is lamentable, friend! Your principles and those of your wife do not agree. Concession to the utmost point of duty, joined with prudent reform in many things, may, perhaps, bring back harmony and a good understanding between you. You praise Angela: follow her example. She abominates the air of the theatre. The opera-glasses of the young men levelled at her offend her deeply, and bring to her angelic countenance the blush of shame. Her fine religious feeling is offended at many words, gestures, and dances which a pious Christian woman should not hear and see. Yet she goes to the opera because Richard wishes it. Her husband will at last observe this heroism of love, and sacrifice the opera to it. What Angela cannot obtain by prayers and representations, she gains by the all-conquering weapons of love. In like manner and for a like object yield to your wife. She is, at least, not a firebrand. Love must overcome her stubbornness."

Schlagbein shook his head sadly.

"A father cannot do what is inconsistent with paternal duty," said he. "Shall I join in the course of my wife? Whither does this course lead? To the destruction of all family ties, to financial bankruptcy--to dishonor. For home my wife has no mind, no understanding. My means she throws carelessly into the bottomless pit of pleasure-seeking and love of dress. She does not think of the future of her children. Every day brings to her new desires for prodigality. If her wishes are fulfilled, ruin is unavoidable. If they are not fulfilled, she sits ill-humored and obstinate in her room, and leaves the care of the house to her domestics, and the children to the nurses. How often have I consented to her vain desire for show, only to see her extravagant wishes thereby increased. She is without reason."

The unfortunate man's head sunk upon his breast. Lutz stood still without uttering a word.

"Yes, Angela is a noble woman," continued Emil, "she is the spirit of order, the angel of peace and love. Just hear Richard's father. He revels in enthusiasm about her. 'My Richard is the happiest man in the world,' said he to me lately. 'I myself must be thankful to him for his prudent choice. Abounding in every thing, my house was empty and desolate before Angela came; but now every thing shines in the sun of her orderly housekeeping, of her tender care. Although served with fidelity, I have been until the present almost neglected. But now that the angel hovers over me, observes my every want, and with her smile lights my old age, I am perfectly happy.' Has my wife a single characteristic of this noble woman?"

"Angela is unapproachable in the little arts that win the heart and drive away melancholy," said Lutz. "A few weeks ago, Herr Frank came home one day from the counting-room all out of sorts. He sat silently in his easy-chair drumming on his knee. Angela noticed his ill-humor. She sought to dissipate it--to cheer him; but she did not succeed. She then arose, and, going to him, said with unspeakable affection, 'Father, may I play and sing for you the "Lied der Kapelle?"' Herr Frank looked in her face, and smiled as he replied, 'Yes, my angel.' When her sweet voice resounded in the next room in beautiful accord with the accompaniment, which she played most feelingly, the old man revived and joined in her song with his trembling bass."

"How often we have twitted Richard with his views of modern women," said Emil. "It was his cool judgment, perhaps, that saved him from a misfortune like mine."

Just then a carriage stopped before the house. Emil went uneasily to the window, and Lutz followed him. Bandboxes and trunks were taken from the house. The professor looked inquiringly at his friend, whose hand appeared to tremble as it rested on the window-glass.

"What does this mean, Emil?"

"My wife is going to her aunt's for an indefinite time. She leaves me to enjoy the pleasures of Christmas alone. The children also remain here; they might be in her way."

The professor pitied his unhappy friend.

"Emil," said he, almost angrily, "it is for you to determine how a man should act in regard to the freaks and caprices of his wife. But you should not steep yourself in gall, even though your wife turn into a river of bitterness. Drive away sadness and be happy. Do not let your present humor rob you of every thing. Forget what you cannot change."

A beautiful woman approached the carriage. Schlagbein turned away from the sight. Lutz observed the departing wife and mother. She did not look up at the window where her husband was. She got into the carriage without even saying farewell. She sat in the midst of bandboxes, surrounded by finery and tinsel; and as the wheels rolled over the pavement, the director groaned in his chair.

"A happy journey to you, Xantippe!" cried the angry professor. "Emil, be a man. Dress yourself; forget at the Angel of Salingen's your domestic devil."

Schlagbein moved his head disconsolately.

"What have the wretched to do in the home of the happy? There I shall only see more clearly that I suffer and am miserable."

Lutz, out of humor, threw himself into the carriage. With knitted brows he buried himself in one of its corners. That professional head was perplexed with a question which ordinary men would have quickly seen through, and settled. Frank's happiness and Schlagbein's misery stood as two irrefutable facts before the mind of the professor. Now came the question, Why this happiness, why this misery? The dashing Ida he had known for years; also her enlightened views of life, and her flexible principles, perfectly conformable to the spirit of progress. Whence, then, the dissoluteness of her desires, the bitterness of her humor, the heartlessness of the wife, the callousness of the mother?

The professor continued his musing. He gave a scrutinizing glance at the marriages of all his acquaintances. Everywhere he found a clouded sky, and, in the semi-darkness, lightning and thunder. Only one marriage stood before him bright and clear in the sunlight of happiness, in the raiment of peace, and that was ultramontane. That ultramontane principles had produced this happiness and peace, the professor's industrious mind saw with clearness. He raised his head and said solemnly, "Marriage is an image of religion. It proceeds from the lips of God, and is perfected at the altar. The marriage duties are children of the religious sentiment, fetters of the divine law. Ida was faithful and true so long as it agreed with the longings of her heart. But with the cooling of affection died love and fidelity. She recognizes no religious duty, because she has progressed to liberty and independence. From this follows with striking clearness the incompatibility of Christian marriage with the spirit of the age. Marriage will be a thing of the past as soon as intellectual maturity conquers in the contest with religion. Sound sense, liberty of emotion and inclination will supplant the terrible marriage yoke."

The professor paused and examined his conclusion. It smiled upon him like a true child of nature. It clothed itself in motley flesh, and passed through green meadows and shady forests. It pointed encouragingly to the beasts of the field and the birds of the air, long in possession of intellectual maturity. Sensual marriages, intended to last only for weeks or months, danced around the professor. Cannibal hordes, who extended to him their brotherly paws and claws, pressed about him. In astonishment, he contemplated his conclusion; it made beastly grimaces, knavish and jeering, and he dashed into fragments the provoking mockery.

In strong contrast to the animal kingdom, stood before him again the Christian marriage. He cunningly tried to give his new conclusion human shape; but here the carriage stopped, and the speculation vanished before the clear light in the house of the "Angel of Salingen."

THE LETTER OF MR. E. S. FFOULKES.

The religious controversies of the last three centuries have given birth to many new and strange things, but scarcely to any thing more wonderful than the letter of Mr. E. S. Ffoulkes to Archbishop Manning, entitled _The Church's Creed or the Crown's Creed_. It is hard to discern the precise mental condition of the author, or the temper with which he writes; while the whole letter is a bundle of misstatements and misunderstandings, calculated to produce an impression only upon the ignorant or prejudiced reader. It has been used in this country as an argument against the Catholic Church by the advance-guard of Episcopalians, whose sparse ranks are daily depleted by conversions to Rome. It has more than once happened that individuals even in high position have proved unfaithful, and we know of one or two converts to the church for whom the yoke of Christ proved too heavy. Nothing is more natural than to hold up these examples to the doubtful and the wavering as warnings. "Here is one who has tried the Roman communion and found it oppressive to his heart, or irreconcilable with his views of Christianity. Hesitate long before you take the step which he found occasion to regret." Such a warning is not without effect upon minds so tempted and anxious as are those of Protestants, when, called by conscience, they forsake the associations of childhood and accept for the first time, in the spirit of obedience, a religion which God has revealed to faith alone. We have known some to be deterred from the great step by such warnings, which are purely personal, and hardly merit the name of arguments. For surely individual experiences are not to be taken as the basis of any reasoning. They are good only as far as the person concerned may be deemed an infallible criterion of right or wrong. Every one is liable to mistake or positive error, and while there have been a few dissatisfied Catholics, and a very few concerts who have regretted the step they took, there have been many more who have daily found new cause to thank God for the peace they have experienced in the old faith. If the testimony of individuals is to be taken, we have the preponderance of argument in our favor. Defections from our ranks will never even approximate to an equality in moral weight with the accessions, nor ever furnish any plausible objection against the invincible demonstration of the authority of the church. We do not deny that difficulties may be raised which it may require time and patience to remove, nor that there are oftentimes trials which prove the sincerity of every individual believer. But there are no _logical_ objections to the claims of an authority which professes to be divine, and gives to the honest mind just grounds for its high pretensions. The defection of Mr. E. S. Ffoulkes, or of many others like him, is in itself no argument whatever, and cannot be taken as any thing conclusive against us, any more than can the treason of Judas Iscariot. If he, or any other adversary, will try in a manly way to confute the arguments by which we substantiate our position, let us listen with patience and candor, and give to his reasonings the attention which they merit. Has Mr. Ffoulkes done this in the letter before us, and what answer shall Catholics make to his attack? The full and complete replies which have been made to his pamphlet in England may not have reached many here whom his assertions have surprised, and therefore it may be well to give room in these pages to a brief discussion of the charges which he makes against the Catholic Church.

They resolve themselves into the following:

1. The pope allowed the civil power to make an alteration in the creed--a thing distinctly forbidden by the Fourth General Council.

2. The pope afterward altered the creed on his own authority.

3. He made use of the forged Isidorian decretals to build up a power which he did not possess in earlier ages.

4. He even inspired the Crusades for the purpose of putting down the patriarchal sees of the east and exalting his own dignity, thus showing himself to be a man of blood.

5. The fruits of faith, on the testimony of Mr. Ffoulkes's experience, are greater in the Anglican Church than they are in the Catholic communion; therefore the former is more truly a church than the latter.

The inferences to be drawn from these charges, if they could be substantiated, would be, that the pope has been very wicked, and has made himself liable to excommunication, and that the see of Rome is to blame for all the divisions of the church. This produces a sad ecclesiastical dilemma; for if the supreme pontiff be excommunicated, who will take his place, and where shall we find the true body of Christ?

"Rome," says Mr. Ffoulkes, "has abundantly proved, during the last thousand years, that she can be a negligent, hesitating, fickle, self-seeking, hypocritical guide to others, _even where the faith is concerned_."

Let us examine these fearful charges, one by one, and then perhaps we may have time to notice some singular assertions which are scattered through the letter, though they have nothing to do with the main argument.

1. "The Fourth General Council set forth a creed in which the perfect doctrine was taught concerning the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Then it decreed that it was lawful for nobody to propose or teach others another faith. Those who should dare to do it, if bishops or clergy, were to be deposed; if laymen, to be anathematized." Now, in violation of this canon, one King Reccared, in Spain, in the year 589, did ignorantly or wilfully put the procession of the Holy Ghost from the Son into the Nicene Creed, and sing the addition in his private chapel. After him it appears that Charlemagne committed the same offence, and the pope, though he objected to the proceeding, did not stop it. The conclusion, therefore, is that, even though this doctrine be true, the civil power, or "the crown in council," defined it; and secondly, that the Roman pontiff is worthy of deposition because he winked at this disobedience to a decree of the oecumenical council. We consider this whole charge as rather trivial, and as already answered by the words of Mr. Ffoulkes himself. He admits that the popes, while always defending the doctrine as true, did not approve the addition to the creed in the way in which it took place. It was, however, an expression of an orthodox dogma which came spontaneously from the people and bishops, in which they were seconded by their rulers. The papal objection to the movement was manifestly on the ground that additions to the creed should come from the proper authority, and that the precedent of Reccared was dangerous in practice. To say that the civil power was the tribunal which settled this doctrine, is to say something supremely ridiculous, when the very words of the objector show that the whole movement came from the ecclesiastical body. Catholics believe that the procession of the Holy Ghost from the Son was always a part of the deposit of faith, and that its expression in the symbols of the church was only the confession of a dogma ever at least implicitly professed. When the head of the church by his supreme authority placed this doctrine in the creed--which he had, according to our belief, an undoubted right to do--he did not sanction the action of Reccared or Charlemagne, although he certainly gave his infallible approval to the dogma. We think this proceeding of the "crown in council" a very harmless one. Would that Elizabeth had been as innocent in regard to the church which she established!

It seems, then, that the pope did not allow the thing of which our objector complains, and so charge the first falls to the ground.

2. "The Roman pontiff, however, did himself alter the creed, and thus break the canon of the Council of Ephesus." We admit the gravamen of this accusation. The pope did, in answer to the wish of the great majority of the Christian world, place the "_Filioque_" in the Nicene symbol, or sanction its insertion. But three questions arise, the reply to which will settle very clearly the whole difficulty. What is the true meaning of the Ephesine canon to which Mr. Ffoulkes so often refers? Is the doctrine of the procession of the Holy Ghost from the Son a true doctrine? Did the pontiff go beyond his authority in allowing its introduction into the creed?

In the first place, we find that our objector has put a singular and most impossible construction upon the seventh canon of the Council of Ephesus, which forms the one string upon which he harps with such a dissonant monotony. He interprets that canon to forbid any after definitions of faith, and to altogether abdicate the infallibility of the church. In his view the Council of Chalcedon takes up the same theme, and virtually renounces for all time the power which Christ left on earth to teach and decide in questions of doctrine. It is evident to any sane person that the church could not have thus renounced its own gifts, and practically voted itself out of existence. And facts beyond all question prove that such an idea never entered into the heads of the fathers of Ephesus or Chalcedon. The Roman pontiff, as the head of the Catholic Church, and the councils which have been assembled under his direction, have ever dealt with heresy as did the first five councils, and have even made, as time rendered it necessary, fresh definitions of faith. By Mr. Ffoulkes's construction of the canons, the popes and all the western bishops have been deposed and excommunicated since the Fifth General Council.[147]

The simple truth is, that the Ephesine canon only forbade any one to bring in a faith _contrary_ to the one already defined, and never dreamed of denying the office of the church to do for future ages what the _Ecclesia docens_ was then doing for its own times. The words of the council are, "It shall be lawful for no one to put forth another faith than that defined by the Fathers of Nice," "_Alteram fidem nemini licere proferre, præter definitam a Sanctis Patribus qui in Nicæâ cum Sancto Spiritu congregati fuerunt._" Any person not bewildered by religious eccentricities can easily see that this canon, in the first place, only refers to any denial of the creed of Nice; and, secondly, that it has in view the actions of private individuals, and in no way that of the church collectively or its supreme ruler. Mr. Ffoulkes then harps upon the creations of his own fancy, and the legitimate consequence of his conclusions is the annihilation of the whole ecclesiastical body, and the _reductio ad absurdum_.

But is the doctrine of the procession of the Holy Ghost from the Son true or false, according to authorities which even our objector considers adequate? Those who are best acquainted with patristic theology tell us that this doctrine was always taught by both eastern and western fathers, though the mode of expression might differ. The Greeks afterward misunderstood the Latin "_Filioque_" as if in the act of spiration the Father and the Son were as two distinct principles. The Latins, however, objected to the preposition "per," as if in the eternal act the Son were only an instrument or canal. The dogma that the Holy Ghost proceeds eternally from the Father and the Son as from one principle, and in one action, was unquestionably the belief of the early church. Pope Hormisdas, A.D. 521, seventy years before the conversion of Reccared, thus writes to the emperor, "It is known to all that the Holy Ghost proceeds from the Father and the Son under one substance of the Deity." The same doctrine is clearly stated in the synodical epistle of St. Cyril of Alexandria. There is no necessity in this place to refer to other authorities, which are very numerous. The Roman pontiff, acting, as Catholics believe, in his capacity as the head of the church, allowed this dogma to be confessed in the Constantinopolitan creed; and afterward the Synod of Florence, at which Greek bishops were present, solemnly defined it. The action in this matter of the holy see is very simply stated. It is hard to say at what precise time the "_Filioque_" was first inserted in the symbol of faith. It seems to have been used in Spain in the time of Reccared, and thence to have passed into Germany, Gaul, and Italy. The objection of the pope to its introduction in the first instance was, that it was done by private individuals and without authority. Thus, St. Leo III., while commanding the doctrine to be taught, orders its ejection from the creed only on this ground. So much is taught us by Mr. Ffoulkes himself. At last, when its use became general and was demanded by the consent of all, Benedict VIII. gave to it his supreme sanction.

The question now arises, if the Roman pontiff exceeded his authority in this action? By the testimony of fathers and councils, we are certain that he only sanctioned the confession of a doctrine received by the early church, and solemnly defined by later days as a part of the original deposit of faith, and as contained in the revelation of the mystery of the Holy Trinity. Had he the right thus to act in controversies of faith? If he had not, then not in this instance alone, but in many others has he gone beyond the bounds of his authority, and objectors might as well find fault with every pope from St. Peter down as to weary themselves over a single fact of history. The popes have always claimed the right thus to act, and the Christian world has yielded it to them, and Catholics believe that they have it from Christ. According to the Catholic doctrine, the papacy is essential to the constitution of the church. There could no more be a church without the pope than a man without ahead. Writers like Mr. Ffoulkes do not seem to comprehend this, and so, taking for granted that which should be proved, indulge in much self-complacency. We pass on, then, to examine whether the Roman pontiffs owe any of the power which they exercised to the forged decretals of Isidore.

3. It is now pretty well settled that the Isidorian collection of canons had their origin in France, and not at Rome, and that they were framed not in the interest of the holy see, whose powers were unquestioned, but in the interest of the bishops. The decretals of the popes and of the oecumenical councils formed the canon law of the church; and the first code of canons which received any kind of official sanction at Rome was that of Dionysius in the sixth century. Whenever the need of a new rule was felt, the pontiffs legislated by their decretals, the originals of which were preserved in the papal archives. That these decretals had full authority, appears by the epistles of Celestine I. and Leo the Great, and from the preface of Dionysius to his collection. The false decretals of Isidore began to be circulated about the year 853, and at first attracted little attention. Pope Nicholas I., in a letter to Hincmar of Rheims, A.D. 863, commanded that "no one should dare to pronounce a judgment except in accordance with the canons of Nicæa, and of the other councils, and in agreement with the decrees of the Roman pontiffs Siricius, Innocent, Zosimus, Celestine, Boniface, Leo, Hilary, Gregory, and others, saving in all things the rights of the apostolic see."

He makes no reference to the decretals of Isidore, which were then gaining acceptance, and certainly never thought of basing his authority upon them. These decretals may be reduced to three classes: first, the genuine canons or decrees of popes; second, those which were substantially genuine; third, those which were wholly spurious. "This last class," says the _American Cyclopædia_, "only contained what already existed. The evil done by this forgery was to history and erudition, and not to the discipline of the church." They were in accordance with the recognized ecclesiastical system, and good counterfeits of the true decretals. It was not wonderful, therefore, that they should have gradually come into use, as a genuine collection of the early code of the church. For two centuries after their first appearance, they remained neglected by the popes, and apparently unknown to them. With the exception of one or two quotations by Hadrian II. and Stephen IV., no one of the pontiffs referred to them before the middle of the eleventh century. After this period, when they were generally received, and no doubt was entertained of their authenticity, the popes began to quote them with the same freedom as was used in the case of the Hadrianic collection.

We remark, therefore, that the forgery was neither favored nor patronized by the Roman pontiffs; and secondly, that the false decretals gave to the pope no power which he did not already possess, and that by universal consent. For the proof of the latter assertion we need only cite one or two authorities.

In the first place, one must be endowed with a marvellous credulity to believe that a private collection of canons could have had the power to convert the bishop of Rome from a pastor of a particular city or country into the ruler of the whole church, the possessor of prerogatives before unknown to the Christian world. And the marvel is increased when we consider that this great change must have taken place without any protest by the patriarchs or councils who were thus called upon to pay obedience to a new ecclesiastical superior. He that can believe this can believe any thing, no matter how absurd it may be. The truth is, that the false decretals could not have obtained so easy acceptance and universal recognition if they had not been in accordance with the received doctrine and constitution of the church.

In the second place, the careful study of the earlier oecumenical councils will persuade any honest mind that the papal supremacy was firmly established in the heart of Christendom. The Synod of Sardica solemnly acknowledged the supreme authority of the Roman pontiff; and in so doing it did not constitute any new order of things, but simply recognized a fact of divine institution. No council ever pretended to give any power to the apostolic see, but simply to enunciate, as belonging to the very constitution of the church, the rights and dignity given to St. Peter and his successors from Christ. Four hundred years before the forgery of the decretals, Innocent I. writes, in accordance with the canon law of his age, "If weighty matters come to be discussed, (_causæ majores_,) they are to be referred to the apostolic see after the judgment of the bishops, according as the synod has established and the holy custom requires." In thus claiming the prerogatives of the Roman see the pontiffs are all of one accord from the earliest day. The code of Justinian declares, "We do not allow that any thing which concerns the affairs of the church should pass unreferred to his blessedness the Roman pontiff, for he is the head of all the holy priests of God." Thus, Gelasius in his decree at the Council of Rome, 494, says, "The holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church was placed over all the churches by no synod, but obtained the primacy by the voice of our Lord and Saviour himself." "No one ever," says Boniface I., "attempted to lift up his hand against the apostolic greatness, from whose judgment there is no appeal whatever." The Eighth General Council (869) defined the supremacy of the Roman see in the strongest terms, and the formula of Pope Hormisdas was signed by the Greek bishops and patriarchs. In this formula it is distinctly stated that "in the apostolic see the true faith is ever preserved immaculate," and that "they who consent not to this see are separate from the communion of the Catholic Church." The formula also quotes the words of our Lord, "_Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church_." The Greek schism, however, required the reassertion of this doctrine, and it was accordingly defined as of faith in the Fourth Lateran Council, a.d. 1215; again in the second of Lyons, A.D. 1274, and again in the Council of Florence, A.D. 1439. The language of this latter synod is,

"We define that the apostolic see and the Roman pontiff hold the primacy in the whole world, and that the Roman pontiff himself is the successor of blessed Peter, the prince of the apostles, the true vicar of Christ, the head of the whole church, and the father and teacher of all Christians; and that to him, in the person of Peter, our Lord Jesus Christ gave full power to feed, rule, and govern the whole church, as is contained in the acts of the oecumenical councils and the sacred canons."

In this definition the Greeks, who were represented at this synod, fully concurred.[148] The year following, the Patriarch Metrophanes, by an evangelical letter, announced to the whole oriental world the reunion of the Greek and Latin churches, mentioning at the same time the doctrines defined in the decree of reconciliation. The singular charges made by Mr. Ffoulkes against the Council of Florence and Pope Eugenius merit perhaps a brief notice. He denies the regularity of the council, and accuses the pope of every kind of duplicity to control and beguile the Greek bishops. In reply to these accusations it may be well to state what we admit and what we deny. We admit that the act of the twenty-fifth session of Basle, which named Florence as the place of assembly, was not passed by the majority of the votes, but by the minority. We admit that the pope chose an Italian city, and that he guaranteed to the eastern bishops a safe-conduct home. We deny that he exceeded the bounds of his authority or acted with any cunning or duplicity toward the Greeks, who were anxious to promote a reunion, and especially desirous to meet the Latin bishops at the very place which the papal legates designated. The minority of the Council of Basle comprised the best and most influential prelates, while the majority was composed chiefly of simple country priests, and of servants of the bishops, who had been admitted into the congregations with the right of voting. It is also Catholic doctrine that the pope, who alone has the power to call an oecumenical council, has the right to transfer it, when called, from one place to another. The reason why Florence was chosen is evident enough to any honest reader of history. There was no "barter of temporal and spiritual gains" between the pope and the emperor. The eastern bishops signed the decrees with perfect willingness, and no constraint was used with them. Even before the interview between them at the council many of them had pressed the emperor to act in this matter of reunion, and went so far as to declare that, should he refuse to take part, they would assume the responsibility themselves. There is nothing which Eugenius did which any pontiff would not have done, who, under the circumstances which surrounded him, felt called to seek the peace and salvation of the eastern churches. All attempts to injure the credit or authority of the Council of Florence prove unavailing to any one who receives facts as they are, without color of prejudice.

4. It is, however, time to notice what Mr. Ffoulkes asserts in regard to the Crusades. The pontiff who, according to him, had built up an authority upon forged decretals, sought by means of the Crusades to "complete by force the ecclesiastical aggrandizement of the papacy." "He attempted to subjugate the churches of the east to that of Rome in the way opposed to the canons, and this was exactly what he completed on the capture of Constantinople." The answer to this charge, as far as the animus of the pope was concerned, has already been made. We have shown how Innocent III. had no need to build up a power which he already possessed, and which his predecessors for centuries had claimed and exercised. Then it is simply untrue that the popes had any idea of subjugating the eastern churches in the encouragement which they gave to the Crusades. Let Mr. Ffoulkes refute himself. In his _Christendom's Divisions_ he acknowledges that "for two hundred years the east had been calling upon the west for assistance, and that the principal actors in these wars advocated a great cause, and one of the holiest struggles ever undertaken in self-defence." There was only one reason why the Christian arms were turned against Constantinople, and that was the necessity of protecting the Crusaders against treachery and destruction by Greek perfidy. "There was a growing feeling in Europe," says Mr. Ffoulkes, "that the Greeks were at the bottom of all the misfortunes of the Latins in the east." Of Conrad's army sixty thousand fell beneath the swords of the Mussulmans through the treason of the Greek guides. The emperor made every effort to ensnare the formidable army of Louis VII., and forced the third Crusade, at great loss, to get to the Holy Land by sea. Barbarossa could hardly save his soldiers from the insidious artifices which were plotted against him. But let the historian Gibbon, whose judgment is certainly not partial to the Latins, decide the matter:

"It was secretly and perhaps tacitly resolved," he says, "by the prince and people (Greek) to destroy, or at least to discourage the pilgrims by every species of injury and oppression, and their want of prudence and discipline continually afforded the pretence or the opportunity. The western monarchs had stipulated a safe passage and a fair market in the country of their Christian brethren; the treaty had been ratified by oath and hostages, and the poorest soldier of Frederic's army was furnished with three marks of silver to defray his expenses on the road. But every engagement was violated by treachery and injustice, and the complaints of the Latins are attested by the honest confession of a Greek historian who has dared to prefer truth to his country. Instead of a hospitable reception, the gates of the cities, both in Europe and Asia, were closely barred against the Crusaders, and the scanty pittance of food was let down from the walls.... In every step of their march they were stopped or misled; the governors had private orders to fortify the passes and break down the bridges against them; the stragglers were pillaged and murdered; the soldiers and horses were pierced in the woods by arrows from an invisible hand; the sick were burnt in their beds; and the dead bodies were hung on gibbets along the highways. These injuries exasperated the champions of the cross, who were not endowed with evangelical patience, and the Byzantine princes, who had provoked the unequal conflict, promoted the embarkation and march of these formidable guests."

As far as Innocent III. is concerned, it is evident from his letters that he was wholly averse to the capture of Constantinople, and that he accepted the establishment of the new empire only as a means of securing the soil which had been hallowed by the footsteps of our Lord. And when he appointed Thomas Morosini in the place of John Lamater, who had deserted his see, he only used his supreme authority as the head of the church.

"Innocent," says Mr. Ffoulkes, "was no lawless invader of the rights of others, but rather one of the most eminent and exact canonists that ever adorned the chair of Peter; and if he took the loftiest views of the prerogatives of his see, it was because he believed them to be thoroughly consonant with law and equity."

We think our objector must have been driven for argument, and somewhat demented, when he sought the Crusades for witnesses against the authority and conceded rights of the Roman pontiff.

5. Now comes the conclusion, which is not contained in the premises, but which, as the _ex cathedra_ assertion of Mr. E. S. Ffoulkes, has all the value of his personal experience. He joined the Catholic Church some years ago, and has not yet formally renounced it, as far as we know, although he has incurred an _ipso facto_ excommunication by obstinately sustaining heretical propositions and refusing submission to the judgment of the holy see. He went often to confession and communion until he was refused permission to receive the sacraments. He does not tell the world that he purposes to leave us, though he does say that he ought never to have abandoned the English Church, whose memories still expand his heart. He charges the pope with being an usurper by many means of fraud, and he even seems to deny any patriarchal jurisdiction in England. Being a judge of the operations of the Holy Spirit, he finds that converts do not become any more pious by their submission to Rome, and to his mind the Protestant parsonage is "the perfect ideal of practical Christianity." To illustrate what a peculiar mind he has, we will only add, as a piece of curious information, that he draws conclusions from what the Council of Trent did not do. "Luther was excommunicated, but the Confession of Augsburg has not been yet anathematized." "Queen Elizabeth was deposed, but the council deliberately abstained from affirming that the bishops consecrated in her reign were no bishops." "Even the Thirty-nine Articles _escaped censure_." "Anglican orders, if they have not been recognized in practice, have never been declared invalid; still less have the grounds of their invalidity been set forth." Our readers who know any thing of ecclesiastical history may judge whether Mr. Ffoulkes is sane or not. What else did the Council of Trent do but condemn the peculiar tenets of Augsburg, and the doctrines contained in the Thirty-nine Articles? Can any thing be plainer than this? How have Anglican orders been passed over in silence, or even delicately handled? Every child who reads the Catholic catechism knows that holy order is a sacrament that cannot be reiterated without sacrilege. Yet in every instance where an Anglican minister has been advanced to any order of the clergy, ordination has been given, as to a mere layman, and that without any condition whatever. Such has been the invariable practice of the church, and this upon the highest authority, so that it has passed into a universal rule. "Anglican orders," he says, "have never been declared invalid; still less have the grounds of their invalidity been set forth." We will quote him a decision of the Holy Office and a decree of the pope, bearing date April 17th, 1704. As he has found so many things which are substantially untrue, why did he not find this decree before he ventured to publish his letter? We give as nearly a literal translation as possible:

"In the general Congregation of the Holy Roman and Universal Inquisition, held in the apostolical palace at St. Peter's, in the presence of our most holy lord, Clement XI., by divine providence pope, and the most eminent and reverend lords, the cardinals of the holy Roman Church, the aforesaid memorial having been read, our most holy lord, the aforesaid pope, having heard the sentiments of the same eminent personages, decreed that the petitioner, John Clement Gordon, be promoted from the commencement to all, even the holy orders, and the priesthood; and that, as he has not been fortified by the sacrament of confirmation, he be confirmed."

Dr. Gordon was the Anglican bishop of Galloway. He went to Rome, and was there received into the communion of the church. The whole question of his orders was carefully examined, and the above is the conclusion of the supreme authority of the Roman pontiff. "The grounds of the invalidity of English orders have never been set forth," says Mr. Ffoulkes. Let us still further quote the petition in the case of Dr. Gordon:

"It cannot be granted that they (the Anglican bishops) have received the ministry from Catholics, since no evidence is produced of successive ordination. Without this, there remains no vestige of consecration with these heretics, besides a ministry derived from the people or a lay-prince. Moreover, supposing even that some one of them had received, by means of legitimate succession, the episcopal ordination and consecration, (which, however, is by no means proved,) still, their orders must now be pronounced invalid _through the defect of matter, form, and due intention_."

We presume the argument in this case will have little weight with our objector or his friends; but we trust no one will say again that Rome has never pronounced a judgment on the question of Anglican orders. Still, after the letter we are reviewing, as well as many things we have seen and heard in the ritualistic quarter, we can never be taken by surprise again. Should they tell us that the pope is excommunicated by his own decree, it will not ruffle our peace; for in the Protestant religion each man is an infallible pontiff, whose decisions go beyond the domain of faith, and rule in the field of history and science. "If facts are not to our liking in the past, let us rewrite them, and make a history to suit ourselves," is the language of their acts.

We are not disposed to battle with the personalities of Mr. Ffoulkes. Perhaps he has an improper standard by which to determine the degrees of sanctity; and this is likely to be the case if the "English parsonage with its surroundings" is the norm of perfection. Where men are as mere men, we put one against another, and set forth the hundreds of converts in our own day with their experience against Mr. E. S. Ffoulkes and one or two others. Hundreds can testify that they have seen more of real piety and true devotion in the Catholic Church than they had ever dreamed possible before they knew the only mother of saints. Words are of little value, and assertions can be bandied about from one mouth to another. Deeds are the test--deeds of self-denial, patience, and unselfish charity.

As for the sincerity of those who are seeking the truth, and are in fervor at the first sight of the Catholic faith, we have only to say that so long as they are obedient to the heavenly voice which calls every honest heart to the one home of holiness, it is well with their souls. When the crisis comes, and the hour when action must decide the forward or backward march of the intellect, moved and enlightened by grace, then is God chosen for ever, or renounced. Then grace may linger around the heart which it loved, and only slowly withdraw, leaving still the attractions of nature, and the good gifts which are only for time, and bear no fruit in eternity. We would not dare to judge where grace ends and nature begins, for both orders are singularly blended in this scene of probation. But one thing we do know--God is true, though every man be a liar. He cannot fail us; his revelation cannot pass away into a fable. "The pillar and ground of the truth" standeth firm. And notwithstanding Mr. Ffoulkes's convictions, we are not afraid to trust our good works to the judgment of mankind. Tares are mixed with the wheat; the net of Peter incloses good and bad fishes, and scandals must be found even in the house of God; but nevertheless, in quiet and unostentatious beauty the true spouse of Christ is ever bringing forth fruits which, though unappreciated on earth, shall bloom beyond the skies in the sunlight of God's presence. Sacrifice is a law of Catholic piety which takes its type from Calvary and its inspiration from the Sacred Heart. We live in a different atmosphere from our Protestant brethren, and self-denial is second nature to us; self-denial practised so spontaneously that the effort and the trial are hidden in the graciousness of the Christian life. No sect, and no individuals, with some rare exceptions, have caught the spirit of our religion, which makes heroic virtue easy, and hides real sanctity in many hearts that beat only for God. If Mr. Ffoulkes did not find that perfect rest for his intellect and his heart which he expected in the Catholic Church, the reason of this is, that he never submitted himself unreservedly to her supreme and infallible authority and guidance. Humility and obedience are the touchstone of true Catholic virtue, and in both these qualities his writings and conduct show him to be singularly wanting. We wish for him a better mind, and the grace of a genuine conversion, and we trust that he may yet repair the grievous wrong he has done to religion by his unfilial and rebellious conduct toward our holy mother the Catholic Church.

FOOTNOTES:

[147] This dilemma is nothing at all in Mr. Ffoulkes's eyes. He has recently published a pamphlet in which he proposes to the Council of the Vatican, as a conundrum, the question whether the whole western church is under an anathema.--ED. CATHOLIC WORLD.

[148] The definition was drawn up by the prelates of the Greek Synod, which sat separately until the act of union had been consummated.--ED. CATHOLIC WORLD.

THE HISTORY OF THE IRISH LAND TENURE.

Those who are not well acquainted with the condition of things in Ireland might easily suppose that the existence of the odious Established Church was the main cause of the dissatisfaction of the Irish people, and that they would, consequently, be satisfied with its disestablishment. This, however, is an error. The main grievance of the Irish people remains unredressed. There is still in the relation of landlord and tenant in that country a very prolific source of future difficulty. So far only as the payment of tithes subtracted from the scant earnings of the peasantry, the church establishment could be called an infringement on the rights of property; but its existence was looked upon rather as an encroachment upon abstract justice than as a source of material oppression. The evils of the land tenure, however, which had their origin many centuries ago, and which time has somewhat modified, but not obliterated, are of a far more serious and practical nature. The landlord, by every test which can be applied, has a legal right to his estates; yet the situation weighs heavily upon the tenant, and prostrates the country. Laws which should compel a proprietor to dispose of his property would be regarded as tending to agrarianism, and as an infringement upon private rights; but no country can be prosperous, or its people happy, while the great body of the population is dependent upon the power and caprice of a few landed monopolists. As the record of the past in this connection is an interesting one--a long story, dating still further back than the reign of Henry II., and the latter part of the twelfth century--we will review it briefly for the benefit of those who have never studied carefully or have forgotten the great wrong which for centuries has oppressed the Irish race.

In ancient times, in addition to the four grand divisions of Leinster, Munster, Ulster, and Connaught, there was another, the property of the paramount sovereign. As there does not appear to have been any rule of precedence, however, among the four kings, except that of their ability to repress their rivals by force of arms, the territory must have been very frequently in debate. These several kingdoms were subdivided into a large number of principalities, each inhabited by a distinct sept, and governed by its own chieftain, called a carfinny, or toparch. These petty chiefs were in their own dominions independent; they created laws, administered justice, made war or peace, and so long as they did not encroach upon the privileges of their superior sovereign, were unmolested and unquestioned. They were elective too; and in this respect the primitive institutions of Ireland were founded upon that execrable system which has distracted and destroyed every kingdom in which it has been attempted. The choice of toparchs was limited, however, by the laws of tanistry to noble families; and the tanist was always selected upon the accession and during the lifetime of the ruling toparch. Under such a system intrigue and conflict between the septs, and between individuals of the same sept, must have been perpetual; and it is easy to see that the conditions were prepared which would make eventual subjugation by foreign arms an easy task.

But we now come to a still more obnoxious feature of the institutions of Ireland under the Milesian rule; and it will be no relief to the miseries entailed upon this unfortunate island, that the same peculiarity, modified in other countries, existed very generally during the feudal ages. The property in each district was regarded as the common possession of the entire sept, but the distribution of the shares was intrusted to the toparch. The people themselves had absolutely no property in the soil; that right belonged exclusively to the chief, and tenants were removed whenever it suited his convenience or caprice. There were many causes that could lead to change. The death of the old toparch and the accession of a new one, the addition of new members to the sept, or the death of those already in the occupancy of a piece of soil, were some of the many causes that made the land tenure very precarious; and the custom of inheritance by gavelkind, which differed from the system of England and Wales, is thought to have perpetuated the evil. Females were excluded, and no distinction was made between legitimate and illegitimate children. The common people were divided into freemen and betages. The former had the privilege of changing their sept; but the latter were common property with the soil, and transferred with it in every deed or sale. Under a liberal government, and by the aid of a good administration, the people of Ireland might have been, in the course of seven hundred years, completely extricated from this situation; but, as we shall see in the sequel, it has been the policy of the Norman nobility in that country, if not of the English government itself, to maintain as far as possible the original condition of things. Such were the institutions of Ireland at the beginning of the ninth century, when the Danish monarch Turgesius overran the entire island, and subjugated the inhabitants to his authority. His dominion was of short duration, however; for at the battle of Clontarf, fought on Good-Friday, A.D. 1014, the celebrated Brien Boiroimhe gave him a permanent leave of absence from the five provinces, and a limited monarchy in the seaports. But the factions inherent in the Irish system of government at that time placed the national independence at the mercy of a foreign aggressor, and the ambition of the Norman element in England soon marked the island as a prize worthy an adventure at arms.

The immediate cause of the invasion was the act of young Dermod McMurchaid, King of Leinster, who ran off with the beautiful Devorghal, wife of O'Rourke, and princess of Breffny. Having, by reason of this outrage, been driven from his kingdom, he invited Richard Strongbow, Earl of Pembroke, and Robert Fitzstephen, to his assistance. Thus the dissensions among the Irish princes opened the way for the adventure of the Norman noblemen. A few hundred Norman cavaliers, followed by comparatively a handful of infantry, were sufficient to secure a permanent footing, an event most singular when we take into consideration the military record which those people have made since that period. But the Irish have always shown a capacity to fight better in any other cause than their own. True, the Norman adventurers from England did not succeed immediately in the subjugation of the entire island. Their dominion was limited to a small area; but they found and used those elements of discord among the native rulers which made their situation impregnable against those who still cherished the idea of freedom and independence. The Irish were worsted in every considerable conflict; not so much, perhaps, through the superiority of their adversaries as by reason of their own disunion.

The new rulers endeavored only to consolidate their power, and made no effort for the reformation of existing institutions. If they found a large proportion of the inhabitants in a condition akin to serfdom, there was certainly no motive why they should desire to change the situation. It only gave them more personal consideration and power. Hence, we find that Strongbow and his associates had hardly established themselves in their new dominions before they strove to perpetuate the old customs of tenure and descent. The distinction between the new settlers and the natives was carefully preserved; and the benefit of English laws permitted only to Normans, to the citizens of seaport towns,--who were still, it is to be presumed, in great part Danes--and to a few who had received charters of denization as a matter of personal favor. Five septs only, say the historians, were received within the English pale, and the rest were all accounted aliens or enemies, who, even down to the reign of Elizabeth, had no rights which an Englishman was bound to respect.

The Great Charter, wrested from King John, and confirmed by Henry III., did not benefit Ireland. English laws and jurisprudence were extended over those portions of the island known as the English pale, and during the reign of King John the lands subject to the crown were divided into counties, sheriffs appointed, and supreme courts of law established in Dublin. But these improvements were made rather as a convenience for the English than for the protection of the native inhabitants. During the reign of Edward I., we read that Lord De Clare, connected by marriage with the Geraldines, then the most powerful Norman house in Ireland, was granted extensive domains in Thomond. No regard was paid to the rights of native possessors in this transfer, and though a war, in which the new proprietor was defeated by O'Brien, an Irish chieftain, was the result, no considerable advantages seem to have been derived from the conflict. At the close of the century, we are told that all hopes of independence were resigned, and eight thousand marks offered to the king for the rights of British subjects. No doubt the cupidity of the monarch would have been gratified by so profitable a disposal of privileges, but the favor was not granted by reason of the opposition of the local aristocracy. At the first constitutional parliament, summoned in 1295 by Sir John Wogan, several judicious acts are said to have been passed; but we are unable to see in what manner they operated in favor of the native inhabitants. After the war caused by the invasion of Ireland by Edward Bruce, in the year 1315, the exaction of "coyne and livery" by the impoverished barons first appears, and the method of supporting an army by quartering it on the people was instituted. During a period of active hostilities, and upon the territory of an enemy, such an expedient may be pardonable; but in a country regulated by what was nominally a domestic government it would be hard to perpetrate an act of grosser tyranny.

To afford an idea of the situation of the native inhabitants at this period, we will instance the statute of Kilkenny, passed in the year 1367, by a parliament summoned by the Duke of Clarence. This precious bit of legal wisdom provides that marriage, fosterage, or gossipred with the Irish, or submission to the Irish law, should be regarded as high treason, and punished accordingly. This fosterage or gossipred, of which the English legislators were so fearful, was the practice, traditional among the Irish, of allowing the children of the nobility to be nursed by the wives of the peasantry; and the custom was thought to encourage a sentiment of reciprocal kindness between the lower and the higher orders of the population. The statute also declared that if any man of English descent should adopt an Irish name, be guilty of speaking the Irish language, or follow any of the customs of the country, he should forfeit his estate, or give security for better conduct. It made penal the act of presenting an Irishman to any benefice, or his reception into any monastery. It also forbade the entertainment of any native bard, minstrel, or story-teller; _or the granting of permission for an Irish horse to graze in the pasture of a loyal English subject_. To such a degree had risen the follies of the dominant race in Ireland in the last half of the fourteenth century.

During the reign of Henry VII. we begin to witness that struggle between the Anglo-Irish nobility and the crown which, in the end, without improving the condition of the masses, was the means of breaking down many noble houses, and still further adding to the distresses of the country. In the parliament of 1494, the act known as Poyning's law was passed. Its enactment was secured by Sir Edward Poyning, lord-deputy of the island, and its purpose was to prevent the assembling of an Irish parliament without the consent of the king. It is easy to see in such an act, however wise it might have been considered, the dawn of fresh conflicts of authority.

During the life of Queen Mary, we have an instance of what fearful infamy could be perpetrated under the system of the Irish land tenure. The septs of O'More and O'Carroll, two chiefs who, under a previous reign, had been arrested, thrown into prison, and left there to perish, claimed that their lands could not be justly forfeited through the offence of their toparchs; but that the ground was the property of the clans, and inalienable save through their own acts. An army was the only response to this reasonable claim, and the inhabitants were forcibly ejected. But not this only. The butcheries that signalized the act were such as to make the event infamous in history; and, in the language of a native historian, "the fires of the burning huts were slaked in the blood of the inhabitants." O'Fally and Leix, the territory occupied by the unfortunate septs, were converted into King's and Queen's counties, and the principal towns were called Philipstown and Maryborough, in commemoration of the queen and her husband. This transaction was one of the first fruits of the coming supremacy of the crown over the local aristocracy.

We now come to the reign of Elizabeth, a woman celebrated alike for her capacity and her vices; and such was her force of character, and the consummate ability of her rule, that she has impressed her policy upon the history of Ireland more deeply than any other sovereign. We have not the space to attempt to follow the incidents of this turbulent period; but must be satisfied with a short statement of the policy of Elizabeth as it seems to have been developed in her measures. When the queen was cautioned against the turbulent and designing character of O'Neill, an Irish chief, and Earl of Tyrone, she is said to have replied that she did not care for his rebellion, as it would give her possession of more lands with which to reward her faithful servants. Historians have endeavored to explain away the meaning of this expression, by attributing it to a desire to silence the enemies of the Irish nobleman; but since, from the beginning to the end of her reign, the history of Ireland proves that she acted as though determined to better the instruction, we have to conclude that in a spirit of levity she had inadvertently unmasked her deliberate policy. From first to last it is only a story of rebellions provoked for the purpose of destroying some Irish nobleman, that an English sycophant might be put in possession of his estates.

The reign of James I., which began in 1603, is regarded by English historians as favorable to Ireland; but how, it is difficult to understand. In some respects the regulations of this king were perhaps advantageous. The introduction of English law over the entire island, the abolition of tanistry and gavelkind, and the more general institution of courts of justice, had public sentiment been healthy, might have eventuated in great advantages; but the spirit of religious persecution, which was now becoming implacable, served to keep alive the animosity of the races, and all improvement was more theoretic than real. Previous to this time, patents for English tenure had been granted only to great lords and chieftains; while their vassals, still retaining their own laws and customs, owed no direct allegiance to the crown. Under the new regulation, estates were to descend by the course of common law, and the people were placed within its operation; but they had really no more interest in the soil than formerly. The king was merely substituted for the toparchs, and while the chiefs were humiliated, their subjects were not made more independent. The land held in demesne by the chieftain was all that was left under his absolute control, but his tenants were subject to an annual rent.

Another project, which originated in the fertile brain of Queen Elizabeth, we believe, but which was not successfully executed until the reign of James I., deserves especial notice. This was a plan for driving out the native settlers, that their places might be filled by adventurers from England. Six counties out of the thirty-two into which Ireland was then divided were appropriated for carrying out the experiment, and cut up into portions of one thousand, fifteen hundred, and two thousand acres each. The largest of these estates were for undertakers and servitors of the crown, consisting of great officers of state, and rich adventurers from England; those of the second-class were for servants of the crown in Ireland, and might be peopled by either English or Irish tenants; and those of the third were for natives of the province, when it suited the undertakers to permit them to cultivate the soil. This scheme of cruelty was followed by another, of a still more atrocious character--the search after defective titles. In the long period of civil commotions which preceded the reign of James I., it is to be presumed that many were occupying lands for which they could not show a very clear claim. If the crown could get possession of property through the simple loss of the proof on the part of the occupant that he was entitled to his inheritance, a source of great public profit would be opened out. Eighty-two thousand five hundred acres were by this means apportioned to English settlers, and the national exchequer was correspondingly enriched. Yet in spite of such transactions as these, the reign of King James has been pronounced a happy one for Ireland!

At the time of the accession of Charles I., Ireland was treated simply as a conquered province, not as an integral portion of the British empire, and its inhabitants still looked upon as aliens and enemies. They had no rights which the officers sent by royal authority, and controlled by cupidity, were obliged to respect, and the very desire for the possession of a piece of land inherited by a proprietor of native descent was sufficient reason for an act of attainder for treason or a search after defective titles. To such an extent was this latter species of iniquity carried that, during the first years of the reign of Charles I., and under the administration of Stafford as lord-deputy, more than a quarter of a million of acres were wrested from the real proprietors, and transferred to the hands of English adventurers. Even jurors who sat upon the causes in dispute were imprisoned, and excessive fines imposed, if they refused compliance with the wishes of the king's lieutenant.

Under these circumstances, it was only natural that the Irish should look about for some means of redress. Property was becoming daily less secure; for the successful practice of this species of plunder was a continual encouragement to fresh outrage; and there was no estimate of the degree to which the injury might be carried. But the remedies proposed in the beginning were peaceful. The lords and gentry met together and drew up a bill of rights, and offered to pay a large sum of money for the royal assent. This measure, known as the Charter of Graces, by one of its provisions proposed to limit the title of the king in lands to sixty years. Changes also were asked in the penal code, and a clause was inserted forbidding the lord-deputy, during his term of office, from coming in possession of land either by purchase or confiscation. The demands were in every respect temperate, and nothing more was asked than a reasonable security for private property, and such privileges as the dignity and self-respect of the subject would require. The king, when the charter was first presented for his signature, was inclined to look upon its provisions with favor; but through the influence, it is said, of Lord Strafford, he was induced to withhold his approval. But while this subject was agitating with alternate hopes and fears the minds of the Irish people, a new measure, or rather an extension of the old system, was planned by the lord-deputy. The success of the English colonization scheme, undertaken in Ulster during the reign of James I., had opened the way for still another attempt at dispossessing the native population of their lands; and Connaught was selected as the next field for operations. This second experiment would probably have proved as successful as the first, if the inevitable fruit of so much tyranny had not come to its maturity.

The uprising of the Irish population in 1641 occurred under more favorable auspices than any previous one, and had they made a united effort for absolute independence, England could not have resisted the forces which were brought into the field against her. But the confederates, as the Irish party was called, were composed of elements too much at variance among themselves to meet with permanent success. The Anglo-Irish inhabitants, or those of English descent, who were looking simply to the security of their property, and exemption from the tyranny of local officers, had no bond of union with the native Irish, who sought the complete recovery of their lost liberties and the rehabilitation of their ancient institutions. Here was a cause for faction which their enemies readily understood, and by which they as readily profited. The Anglo-Irish were afraid of the resumption of power by the descendants of the native chieftains, and it was natural that they should seek to avoid such a result. Nevertheless, led by officers whose exile from their country in former years had been the means of raising them to eminence in the armies of France, Spain, and Germany, the confederates were very successful, and obtained possession of almost the entire island. The peasantry came down from the mountains, whither they had been driven years before to give place to the English colonists, and, without bloodshed, again took peaceable possession of their lost domains. Owen O'Niel, an officer who had done eminent service on the continent, was the ruling spirit of the movement, and it was through his management and address that the confederacy was enabled to maintain such formidable proportions. But the various incidents of that struggle, prolonged through several years, and ending finally during the dictatorship of Cromwell, belong rather to history than to such an article as this, and we must restrict our attention to the results that followed upon the triumph of the English arms.

The troops that Cromwell had brought into Ireland were the most puritanical of his entire army. He had probably at this period begun to indulge in regal aspirations; and hence he desired the removal from England of the more ultra republican and radical of his followers. It is likewise probable that he selected this class of men because their religious fanaticism would make them more zealous in the cause. In the final settlement of the country, as Ulster and Connaught were already the property of the colonists, and not subject to confiscation, the two remaining provinces of Munster and Leinster had to satisfy the claims of the army, and were accordingly portioned out to the followers of Cromwell. The property of the lords and gentry who had joined the confederation was ruthlessly confiscated. The peasantry who had survived the long war were reduced to a state akin to slavery, and many indeed, by order of Cromwell, were sold in the Barbadoes, and in other dependencies of Great Britain. About 200,000 people in all, it is estimated, left the island, of whom 40,000 entered the various armies of continental Europe. These comprised all classes; as to the peasantry who remained, some estimate may be formed of their privileges when we state that they were forbidden to leave their parishes, or to assemble together for public worship, or for any other purpose whatever. The Cromwellian soldiers of every grade, from privates to commanding officers, had taken possession of the estates; and these were the new lords to whom allegiance was due, and by whom it was most rigidly exacted.

But the commonwealth was already crumbling to pieces. The death of Cromwell, and the dissatisfaction caused by a government which was aristocratic and despotic without being regal, soon paved the way for the accession of Charles II., and revived the hopes of those who had been unjustly deprived of their estates at the close of the war. From first to last the Anglo-Irish portion of the confederates claimed that they had been contending for Charles I., and only against his enemies and the parliament. Of the fact that they had desired simply protection, and had been more loyal than disloyal to the throne, there was abundant evidence; and it was to be presumed that the new king would look with more favor upon their claims than upon those of their opponents. To the end of recovering their property, therefore, they began to petition the king in great numbers. That there might be a semblance of justice, a court of claims was established for the ostensible purpose of adjudication. But it was soon evident that there was no intention of dispossessing the new proprietors; and when it was found that, without the most gross and palpable violations of right, it would be impossible frequently not to decide in favor of the former occupants of the confiscated estates, the court was adjourned, and was never allowed to hold another session. Many thousands, by this act, were irretrievably ruined. The Duke of Ormond, prominent throughout the rebellion, played an important part, to the disadvantage of his countrymen, in these transactions, and added enormously to his own estates. At the beginning of the rebellion his property had been about nine tenths encumbered; but by securing an act transferring all encumbrances to the king, and then obtaining a release from his obligations in that quarter, he freed himself from all his difficulties.

When James II. ascended the English throne, about two thirds of the private property of Ireland appears to have been in dispute. The dispossessed proprietors were still clamoring for their rights, and the Cromwellian settlers and the colonists were as sturdily adhering to their claims, and ready at any time to defend their new possessions by either legitimate or illegitimate means. The reign of James from the beginning was weak. The trifling rebellions in Scotland and England which disturbed the first years of his authority were easily quelled, it is true; but he seems to have been intoxicated by his success, and led to the support of measures which were not advised by either prudence or good judgment. The spirit of religious intolerance was at this time most active and implacable. It had been many years since the separation of the English Church from the Catholic authority, and the time might have been thought propitious for something like a recognition of equality between religious bodies; but James endeavored to promote the interest of Catholicity with a zeal that was not to be tolerated by the Protestant bigotry of the day, and many of his acts gave great offence. Of this character was the appointment of the Earl of Tyrconnel, a Roman Catholic, first to the command of the Irish army, and afterward to the government of Ireland itself. The Protestant inhabitants of that country, who knew by what a doubtful claim they held their estates, could not fail of taking the alarm and looking forward to the day when there would be an attempt made to dispossess them of the disputed property. The event proved, indeed, that their fears were not groundless. The act of settlement, the measure upon which the Protestant proprietors depended for the possession of their lands, became immediately the subject in debate; and it was soon evident that its repeal was intended. To comprehend fully the magnitude of such an undertaking, it will be necessary to glance at the situation of the island at this period, and see to what an extent the inhabitants of the country had been plundered of their property. The whole number of acres of land in Ireland was estimated at above 10,400,000, and of this amount 3,000,000 acres were unproductive. This would leave about 7,000,000 acres of arable and pasture land, and 5,000,000 of these, during the reign of Charles I., were still in the hands of Catholic proprietors. Then followed the revolution with the irruption of Cromwell's followers. The situation became greatly changed. At the time of the passage of the act of settlement, only about 800,000 acres remained in the hands of Catholic proprietors. Of the remainder, 800,000 acres were under the control of the government, but leased to Protestants, and 3,300,000 had gone to reward the prowess of the Protector's soldiers. This property had now been in the hands of its present occupants, or absentee landlords, for nearly forty years. To repeal the act which settled all this broad inheritance upon the adventurers was undoubtedly the intention of James; and although this was not the only charge which the British aristocracy and people made against their unpopular sovereign, it was a powerful influence in the train of events that seated the Prince of Orange on the English throne.

Exiled from London, the unfortunate James fled to Dublin. The Irish parliament of 1689, which was summoned by his authority, besides repudiating the jurisdiction of the English courts of law and of the English parliament, and proclaiming the independence of the Irish legislature, repealed the act of settlement; but, as the event proved, these acts were the mere mockery of regal and legislative enactments, and were not productive of even a temporary advantage to his adherents. The Prince of Orange, now recognized as King William of England, came in person to Ireland, and the two kings confronted each other at the battle of the Boyne. History has told the story of the discomfiture and inglorious flight of James, and of the prolonged and desperate struggle which the Irish afterward maintained against their adversaries; until finally the treaty of Limerick confirmed and strengthened the English in their possessions. Some concessions were made to the Irish, it is true, but they were of a character that affected religion more than the tenure of property; and at the final settlement, we are told, only 233,106 acres of land remained in the hands of Catholic proprietors.

This was the last great event that influenced to a considerable degree the tenure of property in Ireland. After a struggle of about five hundred years, we find the island completely at the feet of the conquerors, and the descendants of the native inhabitants with no inheritance, or next to none, upon their own territory. We might have heightened the picture by recounting the assassinations and butcheries of the various wars, the outrages of military government, and the refined cruelties of religious persecution; but these things did not enter into the purpose of this article, and we have confined ourselves to simple statements of facts in their relation to the tenure of property. We have endeavored to trace the means by which the great bulk of the real estate on the island has been transferred from those whose descent entitled them to a proprietary interest in the soil to a class of foreign and frequently absentee landlords, who manifest no interest in the country or the people save by the annual collection of their tenant dues. It cannot have failed to impress the reader that the purpose of the English government, from the beginning, has been to crush out and destroy as far as practicable the native inhabitants, and to supply their place with a foreign population. To this end only could have been designed the various colonization schemes that distinguished the reigns of James I. and Charles II.; the different edicts of expulsion, and the readiness with which the English government has always advanced the wishes of those who contemplated a voluntary expatriation from their native country. But in despite of all this, the proportional native population of the island has steadily increased, while in both Great Britain and America the Irish people have become a formidable power. Their complaints and demands for redress of grievances can no longer be passed by in silent contempt. The land question must be settled upon some basis that will not merely place the Irish peasantry upon the footing of an independent tenantry, but will enable every laborer to look forward to the eventual possession of a portion of the soil, that thus a fitting stimulus and reward may be offered to thrift and industry.

AT THE CHURCH DOOR.

A lovely afternoon in September was drawing to its close; the shadows were long upon the pavement, and a gentle breeze brought the fragrance of heliotrope and late roses over the wall from a garden adjoining a handsome house in the old and well-known town of N----. The hall-door opened and shut behind a young woman who walked rather wearily down the steps and along the street. It was evident that she was not thinking of the sun, nor the breeze, nor the sweet breath of the flowers; she looked neither to the right nor to the left, and yet her steps seemed listless and without an aim.

Her dress was plain, plain almost to poverty, and without the slightest attempt at ornament, yet it would have been impossible to pass her without notice. She was tall and graceful, and her features were very handsome; but that was not what would have attracted your attention; there was a something which told she was a lady--not perhaps in the truest meaning of the word, as it may be applied to a servant-girl or an apple-woman whose instincts are refined and Christian; but you felt that she was well-born and well-bred, and that her tastes were such as would not well accord with her coarse dress and shabby bonnet. True, if you had been a close observer, you might have seen that her boots were very pretty, her gloves of the best kid, very fresh and unworn at the finger-tips, and it might have surprised you to see that on her ungloved hand sparkled a splendid ruby. But enough for exterior description; the face, though so fair, was clouded and preoccupied, and as she walked she drew a letter from her pocket and glanced at its contents.

"He appoints seven o'clock to meet me," she said to herself, "on the stone seat outside the Catholic church. A strange place to choose! I wish it had been somewhere else! Yet why should I care? What is that church to me more than another? And soon I shall give my promise that it shall be less than every other. It is a kind offer, a generous offer; but I will not exchange you"--here she gave a contemptuous twitch to her dress--"for a better till my wedding day. He and every one shall see that I consider myself his equal, even in these shabby clothes. O dear me! how tired I am! How that wretched child insisted on playing discords with the pedal! I will not go home, it is so far; but rest somewhere, and think how I can accept him most graciously. I might as well sit on the stone seat here outside the church; the shade of that tree looks inviting."

Agnes--for that was the name of the girl whose reverie we have put into words for the benefit of our readers--had come to the pretty church where Mr. Redfern had appointed to meet her. She sat down on the bench outside, and we will take this opportunity to tell who she was and why she waited there.

Agnes Deblois was the only child of Catholic parents; they were wealthy, and as she was their idol, she was surrounded with friends, comforts, and pleasures; with every thing, in short, that makes life bright and beautiful. She had been carefully instructed and trained in her religion by her excellent and fond mother; and it was a great misfortune to her when this pious lady died, leaving her daughter, at the age of seventeen, to the care of a father who was a negligent and unpractical Catholic. Agnes was devoted to her father, and, influenced by his example and by the ridicule of her worldly friends, she allowed herself gradually to abandon her habits of piety and the duties of her religion. After three years, during which Agnes had been engrossed by the engagements and excitements of life "in society," her father also died; when it was discovered not only that he had lived beyond his means, but that he was even largely in debt. By selling house, silver, and estate, Agnes was enabled to satisfy all the creditors, and, finding herself almost without a dollar, she looked around for her friends, whose protestations of devotion she recalled, and to whose sympathy she naturally turned. But she was shocked at the change she found even in those of whose fidelity she had felt sure.

She was offered assistance, it was true, and even a home, yet with a coldness and constraint which showed she was considered in the light of a burden. From being almost crushed by the grief of her bereavement, her spirit rose as the bitterness of her situation became apparent, and she very soon resolved to be indebted to no one either for home or for bread. Her education had been thorough and superior; for music she had a rare talent, and she found it easy to obtain as many pupils as her strength would allow her to attend to. She threw herself into her new duties with an ardor which arose from wounded pride, but which was destined to grow cool as the irksomeness of the daily routine and unloveliness of the continual presence of poverty wore upon her. It was hateful to her to be poor; to wear clothes which, however neat and even pretty she might make them, must still be plain and cheap. So she gave up all attempt at ornament, and took a bitter pleasure in wearing what was coarsest and most unattractive for her dress, though allowing herself, as she was able, what was best in such small articles as gloves, and still wearing the handsome jewels she had preserved from her former life. For this she was greatly blamed, and even reproved by those who called themselves her friends, and who were scandalized at the bad taste of wearing dresses which a beggar might despise with ornaments which, it must be confessed, were handsomer than their own; but Agnes paid no attention, and went on her own difficult and joyless path.

Formerly she had neglected her religion from carelessness and human respect; now she kept away from church because she was always tired and always sad, and because she no longer cared for the faith of her mother and of her own happy childhood. But now a wonderful thing had happened to her. She had come to this beautiful and fashionable place in the summer because her pupils were there, and because, as she took pleasure in saying, she wanted their money, and at the house of the richest and proudest of them all she had seen Mr. Redfern, a man of immense wealth, who had noticed her, found opportunities of paying her attentions, and now had asked her to marry him. She had his letter in her pocket, and she took it out once more as she sat outside the church, and read a passage from it:

"The only thing I ask of you is this: that you will give up, now and for ever, all interest in the Romish Church."

"A needless request," she said, and laughed as she said it, while her heart gave a leap as she thought of herself at the head of Mr. Redfern's handsome house, sitting in state behind his high-stepping grays, or receiving the keys from the hands of the obsequious housekeeper.

A very old woman passed her and entered the church, bowing herself low as she crossed the sacred threshold. Agnes watched her.

"I wonder if it is a pretty church inside? I think I have heard that it is pretty."

Feeling impatient at the slowly passing time, she rose and walked through the door, and up the middle aisle. There were no doors to the pews, and seeing one that was cushioned, she entered it, sat down, and leaning back, looked carelessly round her.

It was indeed a pretty church; the softened sunbeams streamed through the stained glass of the Gothic windows, and fell in purple and gold lights on the stone floor, flickering as the old elms outside moved gently to and fro in the west wind. She saw the old woman she had before noticed, kneeling before a picture, then leaving it with many bows and courtesies, and going to another. What was she about? Oh! she was saying the stations. Agnes remembered the stations--those fourteen grievous steps in the Passion of our Lord from his trial in Pilate's house to his burial in the sepulchre, at the close of his three hours' agony on the cross.

"Poor old thing! how her back must ache. Why does she do it? Why, she is crying, wiping her eyes with her apron, and lifting her hands to heaven! Is that for her own sorrows, or those of her Saviour?"

Agnes was interested; she sat up and looked about her.

"There are two little children coming up the aisle. Do see them bob up and down and cross themselves! Oh! now they are saying their prayers."

Why should Agnes see them indistinctly? Why impatiently brush something from her eyes? Ah! the picture of her childish days rose before her, and she was for a moment once more a little child....

What nonsense! She had other things to think of now. She would have a purple satin dress just the color of that pretty light on the floor. It was fading away; it must be near sunset. At that moment came from a choir of sweet young voices:

"Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison!"

She turned and saw the children practising for their Sunday-school Mass, led by an excellent tenor; and leaning her head on her hand, she listened; for so she thought the angelic choirs must sound.

"Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison!"

She knew what those words meant. Had she not often sung them herself in days long past? Those dear old days!

Disturbed by a slight noise, Agnes glanced around; she saw an old and venerable-looking man with gray hair, whose long black dress fell to his feet, come up the side aisle and enter a confessional, round which silently gathered a few women, kneeling till their turns should come. A vague fear took possession of her heart, and she quickly rose to leave the church; but something stopped her, and she stood as if riveted to the earth.

What was it? Only a light, a feeble flame, which shone in a vase hanging before the high altar. She had not noticed it before, the sun had been so bright; but it was there all the time, and would be there when she had turned her back upon it. Whose presence did the light reveal? Who was it that waited day and night upon that holy altar? Alone, unknown, forgotten--yes, and betrayed.

She uttered no sound; but her heart gave a great cry as she fell upon her knees.

"Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison!" Those innocent voices still prolonged the hymn, though what was their need of mercy compared with hers? But the thought came to her that perhaps those invocations of God's mercy by the little lambs of his fold would ascend in his sight not for them, but for her, for the strayed sheep; and thinking thus, she felt herself comforted. Kneeling motionless with her head bowed on her hands, she did not pray, nor weep, but only _saw_.

She saw herself a little child robed in white, one of a band of many little ones, with her shining veil, a true marriage garment, receiving at the altar for the first time her God and Saviour.

She saw herself again, still a child, but older, kneeling again to receive the bishop's hand on her forehead, and hearing the sacred words, _Signo te signo crucis_. _Confirmo te chrismate salutis._[149]

She saw her mother lying pale and faint, but with eyes full of light and peace, and heard those dying words, "My only child, remember that he who is ashamed of the Son of Man here, of him will He be ashamed before His Father in heaven. Remember that, and remember your best Friend." Who was that Friend?

She saw herself not once, but many, many times, blushing at the name of her faith, hearing it despised and turned into ridicule; at last denying it and becoming a scoffer herself. Whom had she denied and despised?

She thought of the friends who had deserted her, and the answer came, "Because I have deserted my best Friend."

She remembered her weary labors and thankless efforts, and a voice replied, "But my yoke is sweet, and my burden light."

She said to herself, "But there is one who has offered me enough to pay for all I have lost;" and once more the Holy Ghost spoke to her heart, "Come unto me, you that labor and are burdened, and I will refresh you."

That was meant for her; that was what she wanted for her weary, troubled soul. "For the life is more than the meat, and the body more than the raiment."

The voices of the children were silent as she once more rose and looked about her. There was no one kneeling at the altar now; shadows had fallen deeply upon the pavement; she was alone in the church. No! for yonder at the window stood the priest, holding his breviary up high to catch the fading light. What was he waiting for? Who was it that waited long, long hours in that holy tribunal of penance for the straying, lost sheep to come back to the fold? Her every question was answered, and, urged by an impulse she could not resist, she rose and hurried to the confessional, thinking as she cast an imploring glance toward the priest, "Will he see me? Will he come and save me?"

She knelt trembling, scarcely daring to breathe, till she heard his step approaching, and in a moment the long unheard, yet strangely familiar words, "_Dominus sit in corde tuo et in labiis tuis, ut rite confitearis omnia peccata tua_."[150]

"Well, my child?"

Well may we let the curtain drop, not to penetrate that sacred confidence. O poor soul! thou art safe. There are hymns of joy and thanksgiving ascending to the eternal Father; for we know "there is joy before the angels of God upon one sinner doing penance."

FOOTNOTES:

[149] "I sign thee with the sign of the cross. I confirm thee with the chrism of salvation."

[150] "May the Lord be in thy heart and on thy lips, that thou mayst truly and humbly confess thy sins."

* * * * *

Half an hour later, as the clock struck seven, Mr. Redfern stood at the church door, and asked an old woman whom, with beads in hand, he met hobbling out, if she had seen a young lady waiting there.

"No," she answered readily; "but there was a beautiful lady inside, on her knees before the holy Mother of God. Bless her sweet face!"

With a terrible fear in his heart, he entered the church, and stood beside a form bowed before the altar dedicated to the Immaculate Mother. He touched her arm, and Agnes raised her face, suffused with happy tears, yet smiling. She looked at him bewildered--for she had forgotten all about him--as he said, in a whisper,

"Have you lost your senses? Come with me. I want to speak to you."

She rose obediently and followed him to the door. The tall tree-tops waved in the breeze, and the young moon stood in the sky. She was still silent, motionless, and he said in a hoarse voice, that trembled in spite of his efforts to control it, "Are you coming with me?"

"No," she answered, "I must go back; I cannot leave It yet."

"What do you mean? I came for an answer to my letter. Have you read it?"

She made a strong effort, and replied, "Yes, I read it; but I have found peace and my faith again, and I forgot that you were coming. O Mr. Redfern! for years I have been ashamed of the Son of God; but I did not remember, till to-day, that he would be ashamed of me before his Father. How could I bear that? But now he has forgiven me, and made me happy, oh! so happy. I must go back to him." And she looked at the door.

Mr. Redfern stood speechless for a moment. "I could not have a papist wife," he said slowly. "So this is my answer, is it?"

But Agnes had already turned away, and in a moment more was kneeling again beneath that faithful light, forgetting all but her love and gratitude; and as the lamps were lighted in the choir, the children's glad and rapturous voices chanted,

"_Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis._"

THE CHAPEL.

On the outskirts of the city, where the poor and outcast dwell, Is a humble little chapel, in its tower a sweet-voiced bell; And beside its simple altar, with a smile serene and mild, Stands a rudely-sculptured image of the Virgin and her Child.

In the early, dewy mornings, when the grass-grown walks are bright, When beyond the chimneys glimmer the far mountain-tops with light, Here a crowd of poor and lowly to the dust their heads incline, As the chalice of salvation is uplifted o'er the shrine.

Yonder, in the great cathedral, oriel tints the banners stain, On the purple and the mitre slanting down the pictured pane; And the statues high in niches, and the chanting of the choir, All art's mighty inspirations to the tired heart say, "Aspire!"

Here heaven's pure white light streams inward; here through open windows sweet Blow the fresh airs on the wild flowers at the Virgin Mother's feet, And sweet, silvery, girlish voices sweetly chant a simple strain, Such as shepherds might have chanted on the old Chaldean plain.

Often when my heart grows restless, burdened with earth's cares, and sore, Come I to this humble chapel, kneel down on the wooden floor; Those poor ragged outcasts round me, praying side by side with them, Wondrously I seem drawn nearer to the crib of Bethlehem.

These pale faces, seamed and weary, seeking solace here, and peace, Speak more eloquent a language than the olden seers of Greece; More than Plato taught when round him stood the Athenians rapt and dumb; More of wisdom than e'er echoed through the groves of Tusculum.

The poor lives and poor endeavors of these toilers of the sod Teach life's grand and noble lessons--patience, faith, and trust in God; And the weight of earth falls from me, for I hear a soft voice thrill, And my heart lies down in quiet as it whispers, "Peace, be still!"

CONSTANTINA E. BROOKS.

THE IMMUTABILITY OF THE SPECIES.[151]

III.

No alleged factor of evolution is so capable of arresting the attention of a physiologist as correlation of growth. To this law we have before often incidentally alluded. But as we conceive that it furnishes strong confirmation of our views, it behooves us to extend to it a somewhat more lengthy treatment.

The current impression is, that every authenticated instance of variation is so much added to the probabilities of the evolution of the species; and that the refutation of Darwinism is rendered difficult just in proportion to the number of proofs of variability. It is natural, then, that Darwin should accord prominence to those factors which play a part in inducing modification. Conspicuous among these factors is correlation, the nearest approximation to a law of all the colligations of facts involved in Darwinism.

Correlation is a bond, _nexus_, or connection subsisting between different growths. Owing to it, a modification seldom arises in any portion of the organism without involving a corresponding change in another part. It is often not a little difficult to determine which part first varies and induces the modification of the other. Frequently, characters simultaneously vary, and are apparently affected by some distinct cause. Correlation is an important subject for Darwin; for, owing to its operation, varieties seldom differ from each other by a single character alone. He declares that "all the parts of the organism are, to a certain extent, connected or correlated together," and that "of all the laws governing variability, that of correlation is the most important." Parts, however, differ greatly with respect to the strength of their connection. In some parts, the tie is ever manifesting itself; in others, it is seldom traceable. Each character, when developed, tends to stimulate the development of others. But, owing to adversity of conditions, or to being systematically suppressed by man, these correlated growths lose all ability to respond to this stimulus, and, in consequence, fail to develop.

We intended to adduce quite a number of facts from Darwin, in order to enable our readers clearly to understand the precise nature of correlation. But want of space forces us to change our mind. We do this with less reluctance, when we consider that those for whom this article is more especially written have already familiarized themselves with those facts.

All the phenomena of correlation show increase of growth corresponding to increase, and decrease corresponding to decrease. Now, the antithesis to correlation is compensation or balancement of growth. This alleged law, as applied to species under nature, was propounded by Goethe and Geoffroy St. Hilaire. It implies that the development of any one part is attended with the reduction or starvation of some other part. Not a little diversity of opinion exists respecting the validity of this law. Darwin inclines to believe that compensation occasionally occurs, but conceives that its importance has been overestimated.

We, however, are of opinion that there is really no such law. That correlation obtains, there is not the slightest doubt. The instances of correlation are innumerable; and every one of them is a disproof of the doctrine of compensation of growth. For the law of correlation is totally incompatible with the law of economy of growth. The latter, according to the hypothesis, makes decrease correspond to increase, and increase to decrease. The former entails the reverse. Both laws, then, cannot stand. One must, of necessity, fall. One must negative the other. Unquestionably, the stronger law is correlation. This law none can invalidate. It follows thence that there is no such law as that of compensation of growth.

The reader is now naturally desirous to know how we explain away the alleged cases of economy of growth. The explanation is, that they are merely manifestations of correlation. The reduction of the given parts is consequent, not, as alleged, upon the building up of some other parts, but upon the suppression or reduction of correlated parts. Strong confirmation of this view is given by the fact that seeming compensation of growth is more observable under nature than under domestication. As development under nature is slow and occasional, we would expect to find, upon the theory of Goethe and St. Hilaire, very few instances of apparent balancement of growth. On the contrary, the instances are most numerous; which fact is strictly in accordance with our hypothesis. For where we find the conditions entailing the reduction of many parts, there must we also find the reduction of other parts, induced by correlation. These parts, then, being in close proximity with characters which neither the conditions nor correlation have affected, their suppression is naturally referred to compensation of growth. Under domestication, however, development is carried on rapidly and to a great extent. A very large number of characters is selected and developed. Here, then, we should look for the most striking manifestations of compensation of growth. But it is a fact, of which the significance is at once apparent, that, instead of meeting with the fulfilment of our expectations, the converse thrusts itself most obtrusively upon our attention. Nature here is most prodigal; giving growth for growth, and meeting the development of one feature with the corresponding development of another. The cases illustrating apparent balancement of growth are here exceptional. They bear a very insignificant proportion to those under nature. Hence we conclude that the law of compensation of growth never obtains, that its apparent manifestations are really due to the operation of the law of correlation.

But there are two classes of cases of which correlation is not an interpretation. The first is the instances in which the tie of correlation is in a measure broken by man's selection of one part, and by his systematic suppression of another. Darwin refers to these when he declares it "scarcely possible in most cases to distinguish between the supposed effects of such compensation of growth, and the effects of long-continued selection, which may at the same time lead to the augmentation of one part and the diminution of another."

The following is an example of the second class of cases: The Polish fowl is distinguished by the possession of a crest of feathers on the head. In consequence of its development, there arises a protuberance on the skull. This is due to correlation. But in the cock, the skull is so perforated with small holes that at any point a pin may be sunk to the brain. This is adduced as an instance of compensation of growth. But a rational explanation may readily be assigned. Darwin has shown that the crest of feathers is abnormal in the male, that it normally belongs to the female. The feature has been gained by the male by the somewhat mysterious law of the transmission of secondary sexual characters. The economy of growth may then be considered as abnormal, and may reasonably be attributed to the character not completely harmonizing with its fellows.

The facts of correlation meet with an exhaustive treatment at the hands of Darwin. Herbert Spencer, however, almost totally ignores them. Although they are seemingly most striking exemplifications of evolution, he passes with only an occasional incidental notice. What we conceive to be Mr. Spencer's reason for thus ignoring them, we will venture to give further on. But, while Darwin extends to the facts of correlation a full recognition, he is by no means over-desirous to ascertain their cause. Correlation is another of those laws which it pleases Darwin to consider as ultimate.

Now, the supposition that the correlated part has arisen by evolution, involves the absurd conclusion that a centre of growth normally preëxists without a relative arrangement of parts. And on the evolution hypothesis, we are forced to believe that an evolved part is correlated to another part not yet in existence; that all the parts of the organism anticipate, as it were, the birth of the new feature, and so adjust themselves as to become immediately susceptible to its influence; and that, while the previous coördination of parts is destroyed, owing to the influence of the new-born feature ramifying throughout the whole organization, the organism is capable of immediately effecting a re-coördination. To assume for any organism such powers as these, is virtual hylozoism. The only escape for him who admits the evolution of variations, is to adopt the explanation furnished by the Duke of Argyll--that correlations are the _direct_ manifestations of design.

This interpretation of the teleologist precludes all further argument. We, of course, concur in design. But we do not deem ourselves therefore bound to take for granted the validity of every argument adduced in proof thereof. We conceive that design can be proved by incontrovertible evidence, and that it can be shown to manifest itself in conformity to laws not merely empirical.

As for the ultra-evolutionist, if he were to cease regarding correlation as an ultimate fact, and if he were to employ himself in placing an interpretation upon it, he would perceive that the tie of correlation is strongly suggestive of reversion, and that its phenomena completely negative the hypothesis of evolution.

On the hypothesis of reversion, correlation is perfectly explicable. The supposition of reversion necessarily involves the conclusion that all the features of the species coexisted in each individual, saving, of course, the characters peculiar to the opposite sex. The perfect organism, then, is a balance of all the parts. The parts are correlated to each other with respect to centres, and these centres are correlated to each other with respect to the axis or the aggregate. All the parts are mutually dependent. When a part is reduced, it tends to involve the reduction of its corresponding part. The centre of the parts is then weakened, and this weakening entails the weakening of the other centres, to which this center is correlated. The loss or suppression of even one part, then, manifestly disturbs the physiological balance--destroys the coördination of the parts. Under nature, many parts have been lost or reduced, and these have entailed the loss or reduction of others. When, under domestication, characters develop, owing to selection and favorable conditions, they concur with the different centres of growth to effect a return to the balance, and, in consequence, the correlated parts arise and assume their primordial relations to their correlatives and to the aggregate. When all the parts are developed, by correlation and otherwise, there result an equilibrium and a consequent perfect coördination. Correlation is the inseparable concomitant of coördination. Each implies the other. And this is the reason, we apprehend, why correlation is barely noticed by Mr. Spencer. He feared, we surmise, that a lengthy philosophical treatment of the subject would suggest the conception that correlated growth necessarily implied previously imperfect coördination.

In order to facilitate the reader's conception of our meaning, it may be well to adduce an analogy. Analogies between organic and inorganic nature, the advocates of evolution ever delight in. And as that of the crystal has found especial favor in their sight, we will venture to use it. As we conceive that there are laws governing the organism, which are _sui generis_, we would request our readers to regard the analogy only as an illustration of our views, and not in the light of an argument.

In crystallization, the initial force involved in the deposition of the first molecule determines the form and shape of the crystal. This molecule is correlated, as it were, to the aggregate to be formed. It controls the whole formative process, with a view to the shape eventually to be attained. Otherwise, how are we to account for the due tempering and modification of the forces implied in the deposition of each of the atoms of the accretion? From the first, there must of necessity be but one normal process. But this correlation between the first molecule and the aggregate is not the correlation which we wish particularly to illustrate. The crystal having been fully formed, a couple of edges are truncated. The crystal is then placed in a solution similar to that in which it was formed. Now, the absence of these edges implies an abnormal distribution of the forces. This is manifest; for correlation, directly with the corresponding edges and indirectly with the aggregate, leads to the reproduction of the lost parts--a fact manifestly implying previously imperfect coördination, and a present equilibrium of all the parts, or due coördination. The parts reproduced assume their previous relations, and effect a return to the balance impaired by their truncation. It is hence clear that correlation implies coördination, and that coördination implies correlation. Correlation, then, is a necessary corollary from the hypothesis of due coördination, or proportionate development. It will be seen that, while it receives a clear, consistent, and rational interpretation upon the theory of reversion, it carries with it implications at variance with the hypothesis of evolution.

As our knowledge of crystallography is that of an amateur, these views respecting crystallization may be open to modification; though we are assured that they are not so in essentials.

The analogy of the crystal most happily illustrates our views of correlation. With equal felicity it illustrates the opposing views of the evolutionist and the reversionist, respecting the main points in the controversy.

Suppose three crystals, similar in shape, to have been formed in a solution. The truncation of six of the edges of each has, in some manner or other, been effected. With these edges thus reduced, the crystals are found by a person anxious to prove the theory of evolution. He places them in solutions similar to those in which they were formed. The development of the lost edges then ensues. But, instead of allowing them all to develop, only a single edge in each crystal is suffered to reproduce itself; and this edge is in each crystal a different one. This is done in order to render the crystals as unlike as possible. Practically, however, this would be not a little difficult to effect. Our friend, imbued with the inquiring spirit of the age, now seeks to ascertain the cause of the growth of the edges. In his observation of the phenomena of crystallization, he has noticed that the growth of an edge is often due to reproduction. But this fact he now finds it convenient to forget. He at last affects to believe himself forced to conclude that the growth of the edges is an ultimate fact; and, at the same time, refers the phenomenon to evolution, an explanation which has the strong recommendation of being a mere re-statement of the phenomenon to be explained. He next observes that, in each crystal, a new angle develops in correspondence with the angle first developed. This gives him two characters peculiar to each crystal. Recognizing a new factor in the induced development of the last angle, he propounds the law of correlation, and affirms that it concurs with and subserves evolution. The three crystals, originally alike, are now widely distinct. These varieties of crystals, exclaims our friend with the proud and patronizing smile of conscious superiority, present differences almost equally great with those displayed by species. Given, then, an indefinite number of hours and the requisite conditions, and all the species of crystals can be shown to evolve one from another. You cannot assume a limit to the development of parts, otherwise than gratuitously. There cannot possibly be any such thing as the immutability of the species; for individuals vary, and the species is composed of those individuals. This argument of our friend cannot be invalidated, if we concede that the growth of the edges forming the peculiarities of the varieties is new growth, is evolution, and that it is not reproduction. But it is obvious that it is reproduction, or reversion back to the state which existed previous to the truncation of the edges. It is equally obvious that correlation, or the growth of the last edge in correspondence with that of the former, is merely a return to more perfect coördination. It is also manifest to every physicist, that the absence from each crystal of the four edges which constitute the peculiar characters of the other varieties implies an imperfect coördination of the remaining parts. In other words, their absence involves a departure from a state of chemical integrity. For there can be a normal distribution of the forces of a crystal only when all the angles and parts are present, and proportionately developed. The views of the evolutionist are therefore wholly erroneous. For the principles of physics preclude the possibility of the normal existence of more than one variety. The existence of a plurality of varieties of a species implies disproportionate development of some of the parts. With crystals, however, varieties may normally exist when their differences are merely those of size. But the only way in which the relations of the parts can normally be changed is by a totally new distribution of the forces; which would involve complete dissolution, a modification of the force originally implied in the deposition of the first molecule, and reintegration. Now, just as, in a crystal, the loss of any part involves a departure from a state of chemical integrity, so, in an organism, the reduction, suppression, or disproportionate development of any part involves a departure from a state of physiological integrity. In the perfect type alone are the relations of the different parts perfect. The only way in which these relations could be normally changed, is by complete dissolution and new creation.

Not a little prejudice exists against a perfect type. This prejudice is, in a measure, justifiable, owing to the vague and gratuitous manner in which the perfect type has been assumed. But it cannot reasonably be extended to the perfect type which we here assume. This, of ours, is an individual in which all the characters of the species are fully and proportionately developed. It is no Platonic idea; we assume it to prove it; and it is no more metaphysical than the assumption for a crystal of a specific shape, which, owing to perturbations of the forces of the solution, it has been incapable of attaining.

In "A Theory of Population," propounded in _The Westminster Review_ for April, 1852, Mr. Herbert Spencer defines life as "the coördination of actions." This definition is, equally with his others, exceedingly felicitous in every respect but one. It is not a definition of life, as it purports to be, but merely a definition of the conditions of life. In a note on page 74 of his _Principles of Biology_, wherein he repels the imputation of being a disciple of Comte, he declares that the conditions _constitute_ existence. Recognizing the fact that the _onus probandi_ rests upon him, he presents phenomena in an aspect which at first gives not a little plausibility to his view. But these phenomena derive all their significance from the circumstance that Mr. Spencer's readers concur in the conception of the evolution of variations. When this conception is demurred to, his arguments lose all their force. The theory of reversion negatives the validity of his premises; and the hypothesis of the conditions constituting existence is then sustained by no proof greater than that of gratuitous assertion.

But, whatever may be the diversity of opinion respecting the truth of Mr. Spencer's definition of life, there is none, at least between him and us, on the subject that "the coördination of actions" is a definition of the conditions of life. On this point both he and we are fully agreed. His belief that the definition is more than that which we concede, is a matter immaterial in connection with the argument immediately to be adduced. We wish now to observe which theory consists more with the definition, the theory of evolution or that of reversion.

The coördination of actions is the attribute which characterizes all organisms. All the parts of each organism must work in concert. "If one of them does too much or too little--that is, if the coördination be imperfect--the life is disturbed; and if one of them ceases to act--that is, if the coördination be destroyed--the life is destroyed." These remarks of Mr. Spencer more particularly refer to the _vegetative system_; but, as he shows, they are, with little modification, applicable to the _animal system_. He says:

"How completely the several attributes of animal life come within the definition, we shall see on going through them _seriatim_.

"Thus, _strength_ results from the coördination of actions; for it is produced by the simultaneous contraction of many muscles, and many fibres of each muscle; and the strength is great in proportion to the number of these acting together; that is, in proportion to the coördination. _Swiftness_, also, depending partly on strength, but requiring, also, the rapid alternation of movements, equally comes under the expression; seeing that, other things equal, the more quickly sequent actions can be made to follow each other, the more completely are they coördinated. So, too, is it with _agility_; the power of a chamois to spring from crag to crag implies accurate coördination in the movements of different muscles, and a due subordination of them to the perceptions."

On page 61 of his _Principles of Biology_, he further assures us "that arrest of coördination is death, and that imperfect coördination is disease."

A superficial view of Mr. Spencer's definition would involve the inference that, upon the evolution hypothesis, only one of two things is possible. Either there is an ever-continuing imperfect coördination, or there is an always perfect coördination. As parts subserve actions, the perfect coördination of the latter must be dependent upon the perfect coördination of the former. Now, evolution implies a constant change. In fact, according to the hypothesis, constant change is the only normal state. The variation of parts, then, would entail their imperfect coördination, and, consequently, the imperfect coördination of their actions; for the only conceivable way in which the imperfect coördination of actions is possible, is by a change in the parts subserving those actions. As variations, then, are ever occurring, imperfect coördination must always exist.

The following is the alternative view. The evolutionist might assume an ability in each organism to effect, on the occurrence of each variation, a re-coördination. This view manifestly admits only of perfect coördination. But the advocate of evolution may avoid these absurd conclusions by affirming, as he has tacitly done, that, while the organism is capable of coördinating any number of characters, imperfect coördination may ensue by a too sudden change in any part or parts. This is the issue which we desired to produce, the decision of which will, we conceive, legitimately preclude further argument. The question is, Is the organism capable of coördinating any number of characters? or, are all the characters of the species alone susceptible of coördination? The reader will perceive that the latter is a mere recurrence of our proposition that the proportionate development of all the parts is necessary to perfection, and that the absence of any part is deleterious to the organism. If we prove this, we shall have completely disproved the evolution hypothesis.

There is a fact adduced by Darwin which places the validity of our theory beyond all doubt, and which is, at the same time, grossly at variance with the conception of evolution. The fact to which we allude is, that good results from crossing. Observing this result, Darwin propounds a general law of nature, that all organic beings are benefited by an occasional cross. This law he employs as a somewhat important factor of evolution, and essays to harmonize it with his theory. In this attempt he succeeds. But mere congruity with a law is no proof of the validity of a theory, where that law is only an empirical one. Of this every person conversant with science is aware. It is equally well known, however, that when a theory is shown to accord with a law; to furnish an explanation of it; and to resolve it into a higher law, thus changing it from an empirical into a derivative law; proof conclusive and incontrovertible has been adduced. If the reader has not already mentally anticipated our argument, it remains for us to prove that the theory of reversion fulfils these requirements.

Our theory manifestly implies that the more proportionate the development, the greater is the approach to perfection. It also implies that the more characters of the species there are in each variety, the nearer is the approximation to perfect coördination. It is apparent at a glance, then, that crossing furnishes a crucial test of the truth of our views. For most varieties are distinguished from each other by the possession of positive features. The presence of the peculiar character of one variety, of course, implies its absence in the others. Each variety possesses a character or characters which the others lack, and lacks what the others peculiarly possess. When, then, two such varieties cross, good must of necessity accrue to their offspring. For, in the formation of the latter, each variety supplies a deficiency of the other. Could a reason be more obvious? or could proof of a view be more conclusive? So conclusive is it, we conceive, that were any other result consequent on crossing, such a circumstance would be at variance with our theory.

Of the fact that good results from crossing, not a doubt can reasonably be entertained. Darwin, so far from questioning the fact, is its most strenuous advocate. But upon his conception, it is crossing _per se_ which produces the favorable effects. In other words, this is another of Darwin's ultimate laws. Being purely empirical, the general law of nature which he assumes, fails utterly to explain the cause of the variations in the quantity of the effects. The crossing of pigeons, for instance, is attended by the greatest gain in constitutional vigor, while comparatively little good results from the crossing of the varieties of the horse, sheep, or cow. On our doctrine, the explanation is clear. The many widely distinct varieties of the pigeon necessarily imply great disproportionate development of each. They are, then, extremely susceptible of improvement. The races of the horse, sheep, and cow, on the other hand, approximate, as we have seen, to proportionate development. There is, therefore, much less room for improvement. Strikingly in harmony with this interpretation is the fact that, with pigeons, the more highly bred the crossed varieties are, the greater is the gain from a cross. Equally congruous is the fact that the more highly bred the breeds of the horse, cow, and sheep are, the less is the gain. The reason is, careful and select breeding produces increased divergence of character with pigeons; but with horses, sheep, and cattle it induces increased convergence. The former become widely distinct, while the latter converge in character. All the characters are developed in each variety of the latter; but in the former different characters are developed in different varieties. While, then, coördination in the horse, sheep, and cow advances toward perfection, coördination in the pigeon is rendered more imperfect by careful breeding. Each variety of the pigeon possesses a character which, when joined with those of another variety, will entail a great advance toward due coördination. This concurrence is effected by crossing, and the result is, as one would be led to expect upon our doctrine, great beneficial effects. With the horse, sheep, and cow the effects of a cross between varieties are less marked, owing to less imperfect previous coördination.

In noting the advantage accruing to crossed offspring, we have particularly referred to gain in constitutional vigor. We have occasion now to speak of gain in fertility. Seeing that hybrids--the product of a cross between species--are invariably sterile, it is clear that, if the conception that varieties are incipient species is a valid one, we are bound to expect that the more marked, distinct, and widely divergent varieties are, the greater will be their sterility. The mere circumstance that such an effect is not observable, goes far to invalidate the conception. What, then, must the inference be when an effect diametrically opposite to that necessitated by the conception is shown to result--when increased fertility is seen to follow crossing, and when this increased fertility is observed to be directly proportionate to divergence of character? Such results would, we apprehend, negative completely the hypothesis of evolution, and would conclusively confirm our view, that the beneficial effects are owing to the disproportionate development which a multiplicity of widely distinct varieties necessarily implies. These results we have, and they are indisputable. For the fact that crossing induces increased fertility, and that this increased fertility is directly proportionate to divergence of character, is so well known that it is scarcely necessary to adduce proofs from Darwin in support of it. But that the least shadow of a doubt may not remain, we will quote a few of Darwin's remarks on the subject.

Constant reference to crossing may be found in any portion of his late work. But a somewhat lengthy chapter is devoted exclusively to this subject and to close interbreeding. In the conclusion of this chapter (p. 142, vol. ii.) he says:

"In the early part of this chapter it was shown that the crossing of distinct forms, whether closely or distantly allied, gives increased size and constitutional vigor, and, except in the case of crossed species, increased fertility to the offspring. The evidence rests on the universal testimony of breeders.... Although animals of pure blood will obviously be deteriorated by crossing, as far as their characteristic qualities are concerned, there seems to be no exception to the rule that advantages of the kind just mentioned are thus gained even when there has not been any previous close interbreeding. The rule applies to all animals, _even to cattle and sheep_, which can long resist breeding in-and-in between the nearest blood relations. It applies to individuals of the same sub-variety, but of distinct families, to varieties or races, to sub-species, as well as to quite distinct species.

"In this latter case, however, while size, vigor, precocity, and hardiness are, with rare exceptions, gained, fertility, in a greater or less degree, is lost; but the gain cannot be exclusively attributed to the principle of compensation; for there is no close parallelism between the increased size and vigor of the offspring and their sterility. Moreover, it has been clearly proved that mongrels which are perfectly fertile gain these same advantages, as well as sterile hybrids."

On page 174, he reiterates these statements, which place the subject of increased fertility beyond all doubt.

Now, it is clear that Darwin's being necessitated particularly to note that the rule that advantage results from crossing obtains even in the cases of cattle and sheep, implies that comparatively little good accrues to the offspring from the crossing of the breeds of either of those animals. This shows, as the varieties of the sheep and cow are convergent in character, that the less divergent the varieties the less is the good attendant on crossing. The converse, that the more divergent the varieties the greater the good, is plainly seen in the case of the pigeon, of which the varieties are manifestly and confessedly the most divergent. The following assertions are unequivocal proof of our view:

"All the domestic races pair readily together, and, what is equally important, their mongrel offspring are perfectly fertile. To ascertain this fact, I made many experiments, which are given in the note below; and recently Mr. Tegetmeier has made similar experiments with the same result. The accurate Neumeister asserts that when dovecots are crossed with pigeons of any other breed the mongrels are extremely fertile and hardy. MM. Boitard and Corbie affirm, after their great experience, _that with crossed pigeons, the more distinct the breeds, the more productive are their mongrel offspring_." (Page 236, vol i., American edition.)

Mere mention of crossing in connection with our theory would, we conceive, suffice. But if any doubts have been entertained of the conclusiveness of the proofs furnished by the law, or of the competency of the theory of reversion to account for the good resulting from crossing, they are now surely dissipated by the evidence adduced from Darwin. The law of crossing which we propound is no ultimate law. It fulfils every requirement of a derivative law. The good which flows from crossing varies in degree in different animals, as is well known. This is quite explicable upon our theory; and the amount of good accruing to the offspring from the union of two given varieties, is even susceptible of prevision. Crossing _per se_ does not produce the increased good; it is attributable to the lack of full and proportionate development. Of course, for increased good to result, each of the crossed animals must contribute to the formation of the offspring a part or parts which the other lacks. We have, then, given what Darwin's law, being purely empirical, is utterly incompetent to do--a rational and consistent interpretation of the variations in the quantity of the effects. Logic requires no greater proofs of a theory than those which we have here adduced.

Darwin has informed us, in his late invaluable work, that crossing induces the appearance of new characters. Great stress is laid upon this fact by several writers, and some of them, among whom Pallas is conspicuous, have even gone so far as to ascribe variability exclusively to crossing. The theory of reversion furnishes a rational explanation of the appearance of these characters. We do not allude merely to the fact that their reversion is more probable than their evolution; for Darwin inclines to this opinion rather than to the contrary one. On page 264, vol. ii., after demurring to the conception that variability is solely induced by crossing, he says:

"Nevertheless, it is probable that the crossing of two forms, when one or both have long been domesticated or cultivated, adds to the variability of the offspring, independently of the commingling of the characters derived from the two parent forms; and this implies that new characters actually arise. But we must not forget the facts advanced in the thirteenth chapter, which clearly prove that the act of crossing often leads to the reappearance or reversion of long-lost characters; and in most cases, it would be impossible to distinguish between the reappearance of ancient characters and the first appearance of new characters. Practically, whether new or old, they would be new to the breed in which they reappeared."

But there is another factor subserving evolution, to which we particularly allude. This is correlation, which we have seen reason to conclude exists, not only between different growths, but also between different centres of growth. Now, when a cross ensues, the offspring generally acquires from each parent a character or characters which the other lacks. The union of these characters strengthens the centres to which they are joined, and also all the centres of which the related parts are developed. By correlation, the centre to which these centres are most closely allied becomes more firmly established. The more firm establishment of this centre, then, induces the development of its formerly connected parts. These parts are the characters consequent upon crossing.

If, as we maintain, the proofs furnished by crossing are conclusive, then the phenomena of close interbreeding must be proofs amounting to demonstration. For the law of close interbreeding, which is the converse of that of crossing, also holds good; is, if possible, more in accordance with the theory of reversion; is also susceptible of resolution into the law of proportionate development; and, being a derivative law upon our theory, fully accounts for all the variations in the quantity of the effects. The different data, moreover, esteemed so mutually inconsistent, of those who concur in and of those who demur to Darwin's law of close interbreeding, can be shown, by the light furnished by the hypothesis of proportionate development, to be perfectly congruous. If we can prove, then, that our law of close interbreeding, founded upon the facts furnished by Darwin, is capable of all this, we shall have fulfilled our promise to place our theory beyond the reach of cavil.

As has been more than once asserted, our views necessitate the conclusion that a multiplicity of divergent varieties implies the loss in each of what constitute the peculiar characteristics of the others. The circumstance that some few varieties are distinguished by the possession of negative features, but slightly modifies this conclusion. Now, it is clear to the comprehension of every one who is likely to have followed us this far, that, as the loss of any part or character is deleterious, the pairing of the members of a variety would tend to aggravate the evil consequent on the absence of the peculiar characters of the other varieties.

Quite in harmony with this view is the following assertion, one of a vast number of a similar kind made by Darwin: "The consequences of close interbreeding, carried on for too long a time, are, as is generally believed, loss of size, constitutional vigor, and fertility, sometimes accompanied by a tendency to malformation." (Page 115, vol. ii.)

Now, according to our theory, the evil effects of close interbreeding must be proportionate to the divergence of character; or, rather, to the disproportionate development which divergence involves. Darwin admits that different species of animals are differently affected by the same degree of interbreeding. Among species of which the varieties are divergent, the pigeon and fowl are preëminently conspicuous. Here, then, we must look for the greatest evil effects from the interbreeding of the members of the varieties. The facts fail not to realize our anticipations. No writers have expressed so strong a conviction of the impossibility of long-continued interbreeding as Sir J. Sebright and Andrew Knight, who have paid the most attention to the breeding of the fowl and pigeon. Darwin gives us, as the result of his wide experience and extensive research, the following opinion:

"Evidence of the evil effects of close interbreeding can most readily be acquired in the case of animals, such as fowls, pigeons, etc., which propagate quickly, and, from being kept in the same place, are exposed to the same conditions. Now, I have inquired of very many breeders of these birds, and I have hitherto not met with a single man who was not thoroughly convinced that an occasional cross with another strain of the same sub-variety was absolutely necessary. Most breeders of highly improved or fancy birds value their own strain, and are most unwilling, at the risk, in their opinion, of deterioration, to make a cross. The purchase of a first-rate bird of another strain is expensive, and exchanges are troublesome; yet all breeders, as far as I can hear, excepting those who keep large stocks at different places for the sake of crossing, are driven after a time to take this step." (P. 117, vol. ii.)

And again, on page 125, he says: "With pigeons, breeders are unanimous, as previously stated, that it is absolutely indispensable, notwithstanding the trouble and expense thus caused, occasionally to cross their much-prized birds with individuals of another strain, but belonging, of course, to the same variety." He then dwells at some length upon the great delicacy of constitution entailed by the close interbreeding of nearly-related pigeons, and mentions a circumstance for which the reason is at once obvious upon our theory. He says, "It deserves notice that, when large size is one of the desired characters, as with pouters, the evil effects of close interbreeding are much sooner perceived than when small birds, such as short-faced tumblers, are desired."

"In the case of the _fowl_," says Darwin, "a whole array of authorities could be given against too close interbreeding." (P. 124, vol. ii.) Following this assertion is mention of the great sterility of bantams, induced by close interbreeding. He assures us that he has seen silver bantams almost as barren as hybrids. The Sebright bantam is destitute of hackles and sickle tail-feathers. This involves disproportionate development; and that the evil is attributable to this, Darwin virtually admits when he says, on page 101, that the loss of fertility is to be ascribed "either to long-continued, close interbreeding, or to an innate tendency to sterility correlated with the absence of hackles and sickle tail-feathers."

Of all the phenomena attendant upon close interbreeding, we know of none which so strikingly confirms our view as the following curious case. It is a most delicate exemplification of our doctrine. "Mr. Hewitt says that with these bantams the sterility of the male stands, with rare exceptions, in the closest relation with their loss of certain secondary male characters;" he adds, "I have noticed, as a general rule, that even the slightest deviation from feminine character in the tail of the male Sebright--say the elongation _by only half an inch_ of the two principal tail-feathers--brings with it improved probability of increased fertility." (Pp. 124.) The full significance of this singular fact the reader will at once appreciate. For the cause of the phenomenon is obvious. The increased probability of fertility, consequent on the growth of the secondary sexual characters, is owing to the induced return to proportionate development.

Darwin says, "There is reason to believe, and this was the opinion of that most experienced observer, Sir J. Sebright, that the evil effects of close interbreeding may be checked by the related individuals being separated during a few generations and exposed to different conditions of life." (Pp. 115.) Now, different conditions are, as we have seen, favorable to the development of different parts. Exposure, then, to conditions other than those to which their brothers are subjected, would lead to the growth or strengthening of certain parts in the separated animals. Interbreeding between members of the two lots of animals would, in consequence, be equivalent to crossing. The check to the evil effects is to be attributed to a slight dissimilarity of structure.

These quotations from Darwin place beyond doubt the fact that the greatest evil effects flow from the close interbreeding of fowls and pigeons. It now remains for us to show that, in animals which are comparatively proportionately developed, the evil effects are very small. It must be observed that it does not rest with us to show a total absence of evil. For no animals are, in all respects, proportionately developed. Our very ability to discriminate between different breeds necessarily implies the disproportionate development of all but one of them; that is, when their differences are not merely those of size. With cows, want of proportion is often caused by blind conformity in certain breeds to certain standards. Thus, when a breed acquires a reputation, all its points are faithfully preserved, as if the preservation intact of the existing condition of all the features was a _sine qua non_ of the animal's good quality; and this occurs even when some of the features are shockingly out of proportion, or greatly reduced. If one breed were fully and proportionately developed, the others could be distinguished from it only by negative features.

Of the close interbreeding of the cow Darwin says:

"With _cattle_ there can be no doubt that extremely close interbreeding may be long carried on, advantageously with respect to external characters and with no manifestly apparent evil as far as constitution is concerned. The same remark is applicable to sheep. Whether these animals have been rendered less susceptible than others to this evil, in order to permit them to live in herds--a habit which leads the old and vigorous males to expel all intruders, and in consequence often to pair with their own daughters--I will not pretend to decide. The case of Bakewell's longhorns, which were closely interbred for a long period, has often been quoted; yet Youatt says the breed 'had acquired a delicacy of constitution inconsistent with common management,' and 'the propagation of the species was not always certain.' But the shorthorns offer the most striking case of close interbreeding; for instance, the famous bull Favorite (who was himself the offspring of a half-brother and sister from Foljambe) was matched with his own daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter; so that the produce of this last union, or the great-great-granddaughter, had fifteen sixteenths, or 93.75 per cent, of the blood of Favorite in her reins. This cow was matched with the bull Wellington, having 62.5 per cent of Favorite blood in his veins, and produced Clarissa; Clarissa was matched with the bull Lancaster, having 68.75 of the same blood, and she yielded valuable offspring. Nevertheless, Collings, who reared these animals, and was a strong advocate for close interbreeding, once crossed his stock with a Galloway, and the cows from this cross realized the highest prices. Bates's herd was esteemed the most celebrated in the world. For thirteen years he bred most closely in-and-in; but during the next seventeen years, though he had the most exalted notion of the value of his own stock, he thrice infused fresh blood into his herd; it is said that he did this, not to improve the form of his animals, but on account of their lessened fertility. Mr. Bates's own view, as given by a celebrated breeder, was, that 'to breed in-and-in from a bad stock was ruin and devastation; yet that the practice may be safely allowed within certain limits when the parents so related are descended from first-rate animals.' We thus see that there has been extremely close interbreeding with shorthorns; but Nathusius, after the most careful study of their pedigrees, says that he can find no instance of a breeder who has strictly followed this practice during his whole life. From this study and his own experience, he concludes that close interbreeding is necessary to ennoble the stock; but that in effecting this the greatest care is necessary on account of the tendency to infertility and weakness. It may be added that another high authority asserts that many more calves are born cripples from shorthorns than from any other and less closely interbred races of cattle." (Pp. 117, 118, vol. ii.)

This last phenomenon is doubtless due to correlation between the legs and the small development of the horns.

Now, these remarks of Mr. Darwin unequivocally show that extremely long-continued close interbreeding is possible with cattle. They also acquaint us with the fact that, although this may long be carried on, evil at length begins to manifest itself. This is easily explained. A small want of proportion in the animals interbred entails evil, but evil too small in amount to be capable of manifesting itself at once. But continued exacerbations, consequent on frequent pairing with related individuals possessing an evil identical in kind, so augments the evil as eventually to involve its display.

If further proof of the possibility of the long-continued interbreeding of cattle is needed, it may be found on page 44 of _The Westminster Review_ for July, 1863. This review is the stronghold of Darwinism. The writer of the article to which we refer says, that "Dr. Child gives the pedigree of the celebrated bull Comet and of some other animals, bred with a degree of closeness such as no one who has not studied the subject would believe possible. In one of these cases, the same animal appears as the sire in _four_ successive generations." So striking is the pedigree of Comet, that the writer cannot refrain from inserting it.

The sheep is another animal in which there is an approximation to proportionate development. Let us see, then, if our doctrine equally obtains in this case. Before going further, we may request the reader to call to mind Darwin's assurance that his remark, "that extremely close interbreeding may be long carried on with cattle," is equally applicable to sheep.

On page 119, vol. ii., he remarks that,

"With _sheep_ there has often been long-continued close interbreeding within the limits of the same flock; but whether the nearest relations have been matched so frequently as in the case of shorthorn cattle, I do not know. The Messrs. Brown, during fifty years, have never infused fresh blood into their excellent flock of Leicesters. Since 1810, Mr. Barford has acted on the same principle with the Foscote flock. He asserts that half a century of experience has convinced him that when two nearly-related individuals are quite sound in constitution, in-and-in breeding does not induce degeneracy; but he adds that he 'does not pride himself on breeding from the nearest affinities.' In France, the Naz flock has been bred for sixty years without the introduction of a single strange ram."

In connection with this subject _The Westminster Review_ says that,

"M. Beaudouin, in a memoir to be found in the _Comptes Rendus_ of August 5th, 1862, gives some very interesting particulars of a flock of merino sheep bred in-and-in, for a period of two and twenty years, without a single cross, and with perfectly successful results, there being no sign of decreased fertility, and the breed having in other respects improved."

Of all animals, the horse is manifestly the most proportionately developed. In him all the parts maintain, to a great extent, the due proportions. Our doctrine, then, leads us to expect that, in this case, little evil results from close interbreeding. We would be greatly surprised that the horse was not the most striking instance of the possibility of long-continued in-and-in breeding, were we not conscious of the fact that a great portion of the evil eventually resulting from close interbreeding is attributable to augmentation of the diseases to which the horse is singularly susceptible. The following is the only evidence we shall adduce in the case of the horse; but it "is clear and decisive":

"Mr. J. H. Walsh, well known, under the _nom de plume_ of Stonehenge, as an authority upon sporting matters, says distinctly, in his recent work, that nearly all our thorough-bred horses are bred in-and-in." (_Vide West. Rev._ for July, 1863, p. 44.)

"Writers upon sporting matters are pretty generally agreed that no horse either bears fatigue so well or recovers from its effects so soon as the thorough-bred, and it is a subject upon which such writers are the best of all authorities. Thus, 'Nimrod' concludes a comparison between the thorough-bred and the half-bred hunter in the following words: 'As for his powers of endurance under equal sufferings, they doubtless would exceed those of the 'cock-tail,' and being by his nature what is termed a better doer in the stable, he is sooner at his work again than the others. _Indeed, there is scarcely a limit to the work of full-bred hunters_ of good form and constitution and temper; and yet these, as we have seen, are almost all close bred." (_Ibid._ p. 45.)

The mention of "good form" is a fact of significance; for the current conception of symmetry is, in the case of the horse, a safer criterion of proportionate development than in the case of any other animal.

In all the discussions on close interbreeding, no case meets with such frequent mention as that of the pig. Those who endeavor to gainsay the conclusion that evil is attendant on in-and-in breeding, signally fail to invalidate the fact that pigs die out altogether after being bred in-and-in for several generations. Those persons are the exceptions, however, who consider the fact as questionable. On page 121, vol. ii., Darwin says, "With _pigs_ there is more unanimity among breeders on the evil effects of close interbreeding than, perhaps, with any other large animal." He then gives quite a number of facts, which we will not quote, as they are indisputable.

Close interbreeding being attended, in pigs, by evil effects is, at first sight, at variance with our doctrine. For, not only does utility guide the selection of pigs, but they are, as Darwin has informed us, the most striking instance of convergence of character. We have seen the greatest evil effects of in-and-in breeding in those species in which selection is guided by fancy, and of which the varieties were the most divergent in character. A superficial consideration, then, would lead one to expect that, where the converse obtained--where utility was the motive in selection, and where the varieties were convergent in character--interbreeding would entail little or no evil effects. But the incongruity between the facts and the doctrine is only apparent, not real. There is presence of evil effects, because, in this case, the motive of utility and convergence of character also involve disproportionate development. Disproportionate development is the only never-failing criterion. In our last article we showed that, while divergence of character is solely caused by disproportionate development, convergence of character may be induced by either proportionate or disproportionate development. We further showed that the pig's convergence of character is caused by disproportionate development, and that the pig has many characters either wholly or partially suppressed. Its coat of bristles is greatly diminished, and its tusks are wholly reduced. Owing to a misguided policy, its legs are of the smallest possible size, and, by correlation, the front of the head is remarkably short and concave. Being, then, thus disproportionately developed, the pig, of all large animals, must be, upon our doctrine, the most susceptible of evil from close interbreeding. Allow the legs to be of proportionate size, and a marked decrease in the evil entailed by interbreeding will be observable. So impressed are we with the idea of the truth of our doctrine, that we will stake its validity upon the result, confident that, in doing so, we venture nothing.

That the cause assigned for the lessened fertility and delicacy of constitution of pigs is a true one, is placed beyond all doubt by the fact that, with those members of the species of which but little care is taken, there is comparatively very little evil entailed by close interbreeding. The reason lies in the circumstance that, in these animals, the legs are far more proportionately developed than in well-bred pigs; and that there is absent the shortness and concavity of the front of the head. The more well-bred the animals, the greater are the injurious effects of in-and-in breeding. This fact needs not proof; it is too well known. Care in breeding pigs almost invariably induces the small development of the legs and of the front of the head. A case somewhat analogous is presented by the fowl and pigeon. With them, the more careful the selection, the greater are the evil effects of interbreeding. With cattle, sheep, and horses, however, good breeding is a condition _sine qua non_ of their exemption from the evil generally consequent on close interbreeding. Why care should be attended by different results in different species, is at first not clear. But this is the explanation. In fowls and pigeons, care in the formation of varieties induces greater disproportionate development by augmenting the divergence of character. In cattle, sheep, and horses, on the contrary, care, by inducing greater convergence, causes increased proportionate development. This convergence, be it remembered, is attributable to a cause other than that which creates the convergence of character of the breeds of well-bred pigs.

We incline to believe that the extremely small amount of evil attendant on reduced size never manifests itself by close interbreeding. That some evil, though inappreciably small, does result from reduced size, may reasonably be inferred from the fact that, where animals disproportionately developed are crossed, increase in size follows, and that, where those animals are closely interbred, decrease in size results.

We are assured that there are cases in which crossing, instead of resulting in good, induces evil effects. Darwin says he has not met with any well-established case, with animals, in which this occurs. Now, our theory contemplates such evil effects under the following circumstances. The varieties crossed must each be distinguished from other varieties by a negative feature. In addition to this, they must lack features in common. The evil resulting would then be attributable to the same cause which induces the evil consequent on close interbreeding.

It is now clear that these phenomena of crossing and close interbreeding tell a tale the direct converse and refutation of that which Darwin would have us believe. They are manifestly, grossly, absolutely, and irreconcilably at variance with the doctrine of evolution. They show conclusively that no divergence of character is normally possible; that all the characters of the species are alone susceptible of perfect coördination; that the exclusive possession of any positive character by any variety is to the detriment of the other varieties; that the possession of any negative feature is deleterious to the organism; and that there can normally exist but one variety--the perfect type, that variety in which all the positive features are fully and proportionately developed. These conclusions cannot be gainsaid; for they irresistibly force themselves upon one by observation of the phenomena of crossing and close interbreeding, furnished by Darwin.

We have now propounded a counter-theory and a refutation of Darwinism. In doing so, we have introduced no new factors. We have used only those with which Darwin has furnished us. There are, however, three factors recognized by Darwin which we have eliminated. These are an innate tendency in organisms to vary, evolution, and the law of compensation of growth. Of these, the first is confessedly unscientific; the second, irrespective of the well-founded doubt as to whether it obtains or not, must share in the same discredit which is accorded to the first; and the third is viewed with distrust even by Darwin himself. The factors, however, which we have retained must be conceded to be immeasurably more amenable to the canons of scientific research, upon the theory of reversion, than when they are adduced to subserve the hypothesis of evolution. In our treatment of them they have fulfilled the highest requirements of logic. Take, for example, the four principal laws involved in the controversy--variation, correlation, crossing, and close interbreeding. These we found ultimate or empirical laws, and left them derivative laws. The law of variation we resolved into the law of reversion; and the laws of correlation, crossing, and close interbreeding we resolved into the law of proportionate development. Now, it is not possible for a theory to be capable of all this, and yet to be false. If the laws upon which we based our theory were merely empirical, a doubt of its validity might reasonably be entertained. But, as the case stands, it cannot.

But--may exclaim a tyro who affects a love for science, and whose conception of biology is limited to protoplasm and cells--assuming that the hypothesis of reversion is vastly more conformable to the phenomena of variation than the hypothesis of evolution, yet your theory fails to supply the greatest requirement of biologic science. It fails to satisfy our yearnings after a knowledge of the development of the species. Darwin starts with cells, the lowest congregations of organic matter. Because he does this his theory is, at least philosophically, the more scientific.

But, even in this respect, our theory is more philosophical than that of Darwin. Darwin assumes three or four cells, and intrusts spontaneity or chance with the development of the species. We assume, not "a myriad supernatural impulses" going to the formation of each species, not the creation of each species in its maturity, but one cell alone for each species, (or, perhaps, one cell for each sex of each species.) For evidence of the fact that the assumption of a multiplicity of cells is more philosophical than the assumption of only three or four, we appeal to an article in the _North American Review_ for October, 1868, entitled "Philosophical Biology," of which the writer is a professed Darwinian, and to G. H. Lewes's articles in the _Fortnightly Review_. Given, then, these cells, we intrust the development of the species, not to spontaneity or chance, but to the operation of laws similar to those obtaining in the crystal. The forces implied in the creation, formation, or existence of each cell determine, as in the case of the crystal, the whole form and structure of the species. The process of development is that predetermined, from which no departure is normally possible. Time, however, is an unimportant element. This kind of evolution of the species we concede. That which we deny is the evolution of the species one from another.

In conclusion, we cannot refrain from stating that our views are quite consistent with a high admiration of the great ingenuity and vast research displayed by Mr. Darwin. His desire to be frank and candid none can gainsay. For the ability of Mr. Spencer, who is somewhat less candid, but immeasurably more so than the petty retailers of his conceptions, we have the deepest respect. His exquisitely constructed mind we ever delight to study. Both Mr. Darwin and Mr. Spencer have rendered great services to the cause of science. And we must in candor admit that the British "infidels" generally present their theories in a form which admits of their eventual confirmation, or their eventual refutation. As we are confident that their refutation will follow whenever they are really at variance with religion, we anticipate with pleasure many a warm but amicable controversy within the next half-century.

FOOTNOTE:

[151] In the definition of a species, propounded in the last article, there occurred two mistakes. "Character" should have been characters; and the semicolon immediately following should have been absent.

BRITISH PREMIERS IN RELATION TO BRITISH CATHOLICS.

The English parliament having lately occupied itself in discussing a measure of the utmost importance to the Catholics of the United Kingdom, and to Irish Catholics in particular--the abolition of the Established Church supremacy, the time seems very opportune for reviewing the conduct of British premiers for the last century and a half in reference to Catholics. The subject, we think, cannot fail to interest our readers, whether they be natives of this soil of freedom, or whether they have emigrated from an isle where freedom was, during long ages, unknown, and have sought on this side of the Atlantic that liberty, prosperity, and peace from which in Ireland they were cruelly debarred.

Though the revolution of 1688 filled the breasts of Catholics with dismay, and the ruin of their cause seemed complete, when the arms of William of Orange prevailed at the Boyne and at Limerick, yet their situation was not so forlorn nor were their prospects so hopeless as might have been expected. Many circumstances alleviated their misery; and, stormy as was the landscape spread before their eyes, glimpses were ever and anon afforded them of that tranquil and sunny horizon into which, after so many toils and conflicts, wounds and tears, they now seem to be entering. Every premier since the revolution down to the present time has done something, directly or indirectly, conducive to their interests, and calculated to raise them to equal privileges with the rest of their fellow-countrymen, if not to restore them to their long lost ascendency.

William III. was decidedly averse to persecution, and whether from coldness or kindness of disposition, he could never be induced by any of his counsellors to trample on the liberty of one portion of his subjects in order merely to please another portion. There was, indeed, one act of his reign,[152] of which we shall speak more particularly when we arrive at Lord North's ministry, that pressed very heavily on English and Irish Catholics; but of this act, which was never carried fully into execution, the nation became weary in eighty years, and William's consent to it was given very unwillingly. The known moderation of his own views was probably one reason why the pope (Alexander VIII.) did not disdain to give him his moral support in the league against France, and to be secretly, though not openly, one of the alliance formed against ambition and encroachments which the states of Europe in general felt to be intolerable. When his approval of the Declaration of Indulgence was sought by James II., in 1687, he had answered that he and the princess must protest against it, as exceeding the king's lawful prerogative, and as being dangerous to the Protestant ascendency, because it admitted Catholics to offices of trust; but he added that "they were not persecutors. They should with pleasure see Roman Catholics as well as Protestant dissenters relieved, in a proper manner, from all penal statutes. They should with pleasure see Protestant dissenters admitted in a proper manner to civil office. But at that point their highnesses must stop."[153] Such being William's sentiments, it is much to be regretted that he did not firmly resist the persecutive act which disgraces his reign, and which, far from mitigating the penal statutes in force against Catholics, made them more severe, and stood in direct contrast to his well-known and often expressed convictions.

[154]But not only was King William himself favorable to Catholic liberties, nearly one half of the Lords, the Commons, and the people in general, were Jacobites, or inclined to Jacobitism. Many of the great measures which decided the course of the English government in a Protestant and anti-Stuart direction were passed by extremely small majorities, and not a few of those who held offices of the highest trust in William's government, who commanded his armies and fleets, and sat by him at the council-board, were privately negotiating with King James and receiving the nightly visits of messengers from St. Germain. Such were Russell, Godolphin, and Marlborough; and when men so high in the state were thus striving to serve two masters, those Catholics who became aware of their intrigues could not but cherish bright hopes that the day of their own redemption was drawing nigh. During the reign of Queen Anne these hopes rose yet higher. She had a brother who claimed the throne of England, and she desired that he might be her successor. There were few at the time who knew the inmost thoughts of her heart; but it was evident to all that she leaned to the Jacobites; and when statesmen like Oxford and Bolingbroke, and a bishop like Atterbury, stood high in her favor, it was manifest to Catholics that her royal mind turned wistfully toward the Catholic dynasty. The rigorous measures which had been passed against Catholics in her predecessor's reign remained, for the most part, a dead letter during hers. Anne herself was no bigot; and if the country had not been kept in constant alarm by a threatened Stuart rising, the Catholic population would have enjoyed great tranquillity and considerable freedom. In 1714, we find Lord Bolingbroke writing that the Catholics enjoy as much quiet as any others of the queen's subjects.[155] But this assertion, it must be admitted, loses part of its credit when we remember that the oppressive measures enacted at various times under William and Mary were followed by several fresh refinements of cruelty in the reign of Anne.[156]

When the peaceful accession of the Elector of Hanover to the throne of England darkened the prospects of the Jacobites, and suggested to them the adoption of desperate steps as the only remedy for their disappointment, the government was sorely tempted to subject all Catholics to rigorous laws, and to render existing statutes still more severe. To this temptation, however, happily, it did not yield except in one or two instances. The mind of Sir Robert Walpole was neither persecutive nor narrow. He had, shortly before Queen Anne's demise, opposed the odious Schism Act, by which every tutor and schoolmaster in Great Britain was compelled to receive the sacrament in the Established Church, obtain a license from the Protestant bishop, and pledge himself in writing to conform to the state religion.[157] In speaking, as he did, against this measure, Walpole was battling for the religious liberty of Catholics as well as of other dissenters from the Anglican communion, and was doing all that lay in his power to promote education among them.

His associate in and out of office, General, afterward Earl, Stanhope, who also became premier in his turn, was a man of most honorable feelings and enlarged views. During his tenure of power he not merely endeavored to repeal the Schism Bill, the Test Act, and the Bill against Occasional Conformity, but he had designs of a higher order. Though Catholics had favored the Scottish insurrection in 1715, though Protestant antipathy to them was at its height, though the popes and the Catholic courts of Europe in general supported the designs of the Stuarts, though "Papists" were proscribed by common consent, and even the genius and _very_ moderate Catholicism of Pope could scarce save him from opprobrium on account of his religion, Lord Stanhope, to his immortal honor, undertook the cause of the persecuted remnant, and formed the design of repealing, or at least greatly mitigating, the penal laws in force against them. A paper which he wrote on the subject was placed in the hands of leading English Catholics. The Duke of Norfolk and Lord Waldegrave were disposed to accept the conditions, provided they obtained the sanction of the pope.[158] But a variety of causes prevented the scheme from being carried into effect; and premature death carried off the only man who would, at that period, have had the least chance of success in a matter so difficult, unpopular, and benevolent. Lord Stanhope's offer of indulgence to Catholics, on condition only of their swearing allegiance to the reigning family, was an admirable precedent, and his descendant, the historian of England from the Peace of Utrecht to 1783, calls it, very properly, the earliest germ of Roman Catholic emancipation.

The Earl of Sunderland also, who was premier in 1718, concurred with Stanhope in his schemes for religious liberty, though he was not equally sanguine in his hopes. He believed that any attempt to get rid of the Test Act--in other words, to admit dissenters and Catholics to places under government--would be ruinous to all their liberal designs. He therefore prevailed on Stanhope to abate some of his demands, and a bill for the relief of non-conformists was carried by the ministry through both houses, after several important clauses had been struck out. Sir Robert Walpole unfortunately opposed the bill which, on a former occasion, he had supported in principle. Though a great man, a sound statesman, a true patriot, he had his littlenesses. He did not rise above his age. He was one thing in office, and another out of office. He had a passion for governing, and was not over-scrupulous in the means he took for attaining power. Expediency was often his law, and principle was set aside. Hence, when Sunderland and Stanhope were dead, and he once more took the helm of the ship of state, he laid a heavy tax on the estates of Catholics, on the ground of their having cost the nation so much by fomenting the rebellion of 1715.[159] The disaffection they then manifested was the cause also why, in 1716, they were forbidden, under pain of punishment, to enlist in the king's service.

But these enactments were of a temporary nature, called forth by a special circumstance, and not of sufficient moment to disprove the assertion that, under the prime ministers of George I., the political and social condition of English Catholics was rendered more hopeful. Yet in saying this we do not forget that the statute-book remained unpurged,[160] and exhibited even some additional defilement. But it is not always by law-books that we can judge of a nation's condition. Its acts are often better than its laws, and it mends its ways long before it improves its statutes. It was so for a long period with Great Britain as regards her dealings with Catholics, and if it had been otherwise, scarcely a remnant of the chosen people would have remained to bear witness to the ancient faith. Sir Robert Walpole inclined in his heart to lenient measures, and would have done more to promote religious liberty if he had not fallen among a stiff-necked generation, to whom retaliation and oppression came as things of course. His efforts to relieve the Quakers from prosecution and imprisonment for refusing to pay tithes and church rates, and to substitute for these a levy by distress on their goods, sufficiently proves his aversion to the oppressive policy which Gibson, the Bishop of London, and many of his lawn-sleeved brethren, wished to pursue.

Little alteration took place in the condition of Catholics during the premierships of Carteret, Pelham, and Newcastle. They were few in number, except in the southern and western provinces of Ireland, where they comprised the great body of the laboring classes. In England, on the contrary, they had scarcely any hold on the lower orders, but numbered among their people many peers, country gentlemen, and other educated persons. The alarm they occasioned was incredible, considering the poverty of their chapels, and the scanty numbers by whom these were frequented. The most wicked and absurd doctrines were ascribed to them, nor was any falsehood respecting them too glaring to obtain credit with the prejudiced multitude. The rising of 1745 brought them more than ever into disrepute, and their enemies saw with fierce joy their bones whitening on Temple Bar and Tower Hill. The butchery of the Duke of Cumberland was accounted lenient when exercised against Catholics; and if the government had drenched the scaffolds with more blood of Highland chiefs, it would probably have been applauded by a crowd of Protestant zealots. But Pelham and his brother, the Duke of Newcastle, were neither cruel nor fanatical; and the effort made by the former to ameliorate the condition of the Jews, though frustrated by the intolerance of the times, proved that his leanings, at least, were in favor of religious and political equality. Deserted as he was in this matter by his timid and shuffling brother, hooted at and cried down as an enemy of Christianity because he was averse to persecuting the forlorn and helpless Jews, we may judge how hopeless would have been any attempt to plead the rights of Catholics, and how prudence itself demanded that the redress of their wrongs should be postponed to a more convenient season. The Whigs of George II.'s reign did what they could in their favor, and it was little indeed, by paving the way for future concessions.

While Chatham, with his fiery genius, was holding the reins of government, in concert successively with the dukes of Devonshire, of Newcastle, and of Grafton; while Bute enjoyed the favor of his sovereign, and incurred in an equal degree the odium of the people; while Grenville goaded the American colonists into revolt, and Rockingham vainly endeavored to heal the wounds which his predecessor had inflicted on them; little was thought, and still less was said, in parliament about the emancipation of Catholics. Yet many of the events which occurred, many of the political gladiators who acquired for themselves such renown in the arena of public life, were preparing the way for this happy consummation in the fulness of time. Every blow that was struck for freedom was a gain to the Catholic cause; every check that was put on the arbitrary power of the king or the parliament was in effect a loosening of their bonds. When Chatham declaimed against the use of general warrants, and Wilkes waged war single-handed with the crown, the cabinet, and the commons; when Burke and Rockingham, no less than Chatham, denounced the injustice of the Stamp Act, and the fratricidal cruelty of the war by which it was in principle to be enforced, the arguments by which they clove down menaces, boasts, and blatant sophistry availed more or less against every thing that could be pleaded in support of the bondage and degradation to which Catholics were subjected. Edmund Burke was the burning and shining light of the Rockingham administration. It was scarcely possible for the premier to overrate his importance as an ally. He had the most philosophical mind of any statesman of his age; and the fact of his being chattered against as a wild Irishman and a concealed papist by the Duke of Newcastle, proved that the despised and the detested Catholics of Ireland were likely to find a friend in him. He was more than a great man; he represented a principle. He never shifted his ground, though he sometimes changed his front. He always pleaded for order, and "a manly, moral, regulated liberty." In the outset of his political career, the tide of human thought was setting in new directions. America was declaring her independence; the _Wealth of Nations_ was laying the foundation of political economy; Wesley and Whitefield were stirring up a dormant spirit of sincere though misguided religion in mines, factories, fields, and wolds; Hargreaves's spinning-jenny was well at work; Arkwright's patent had been issued some years; Crompton's mule was seen coming into play; Brindley's canal from the Trent to the Mersey was being cut; and Watt was preparing his third model of the steam-engine. Powerful solvents of old systems were applied, and active germs of new ones sprang up on every side. It was a time, therefore, when thoughtful men were accessible to new ideas, when they would listen to arguments so new, so strange, so extravagant, (for such they had once thought them,) as those which Burke advanced in favor of religious toleration, and of the persecuted Irish. Year after year his convictions gathered strength, till at last "the god within him" burst forth, and he denounced the penal code of Protestant England as "A system full of coherence and consistency; well digested and well composed in all its parts, a machine of wise and elaborate contrivance, and as well fitted for the oppression, impoverishment, and degradation of a people, and the debasement in them of human nature itself, as ever proceeded from the perverted ingenuity of man."[161] As the secretary, the friend, the adviser and colleague of Lord Rockingham, Edmund Burke had some influence in abating the rigor of enactments against "papists;" and though the Rev. James Talbot, brother of the Earl of Shrewsbury, was tried for his life at the Old Bailey for saying mass, so late as the year 1769, yet the spirit of persecution sensibly declined after the fifth year of George III.'s reign. It was rarely, and at long intervals, that it ventured to display itself in the English parliament; and in 1774, the first decided step toward toleration was taken by that prejudiced body. The Catholics of Canada were allowed by law to enjoy free exercise of their religion, subject to the king's supremacy.[162]

Only four years passed before this concession was followed by another of far greater importance and extent.

It was under the ministry of Lord North, and with his concurrence, that Sir George Savile, in 1788, introduced a bill to repeal the atrocious enactments extorted from William of Orange by a relentless parliament. The bigots of his day had often repeated the false reports of Jacobites, who affirmed that William was in secret a favorer of their religion; but now that eighty years had rolled by, the representatives of the nation in parliament, though not the people themselves, were sensible of the injustice their forefathers had wrought, and were willing to make reparation for it. It was already a marvellous change that had come over the minds of the thinking part of the nation; and it is pleasing to reflect that Sir George Savile's healing measure encountered little opposition. The penal statutes which his bill repealed had not, generally speaking, been put into execution, but in some instances they had; and Sir George declared himself cognizant of cases in which Catholics were not merely living in terror, but were obliged to bribe informers not to betray them, in consequence of the powers which the law conferred. Thurlow, the attorney-general, supported the bill, and so did Dundas, the lord-advocate of Scotland. The only whisper of opposition came from a Whig bishop of Peterborough, named Hinchcliffe. By this repeal the priests were secured from persecution, schoolmasters were permitted to teach, Catholics were enabled to purchase and to inherit estates, and many other happy exemptions from pain and penalty were granted to them.[163] Horace Walpole, in one of his letters,[164] called the repeal "the restoration of popery," and "expected soon to see Capuchins trampling about, and Jesuits in high places."

It is needless to recount the excesses which followed this measure. The Lord George Gordon riots are too well known even here to require more than an allusion to be made to them. Gibbon, the historian, was an eye-witness of the scene, and he says, in memorable words, that "the month of June, 1780, will ever be marked by a dark and diabolical fanaticism, which I supposed to be extinct, but which actually subsists in Great Britain _perhaps beyond any other country in Europe_." Impelled by these frantic disturbances, the parliament condescended to explain Sir George Savile's bill to the people, and to show that, though intended to relieve "papists," it was not meant to encourage "popery."

The coalition ministry, under the Duke of Portland, did not last long enough for Fox, its most distinguished and philanthropic member, to propose measures for the relief of Catholics. But his great rival, Pitt, during his long tenure of office, had means of befriending them which he did not altogether neglect. The Toleration Act[165] received the royal assent in 1791, and many of its provisions did credit to William Pitt's wisdom and humanity. It removed penalties still attached by law to the celebration of Catholic worship, and relieved tutors, schoolmasters, barristers, and peers from some degrading restrictions. Pitt would willingly have gone further, much further. He would gladly have fulfilled the promises made to some of the leaders of the Irish people, and would have cemented the union of England and Ireland by admitting Catholics to a share of political power and by providing a state endowment of the Catholic priesthood. He even resigned his post as premier in 1801 because he found it impossible to obtain the consent of the purblind, bigoted old king to the measures he had planned for the peace of Ireland. It would have been better for his fame if he had persevered in his good intentions. That he did not do so, is a stain on his memory which posterity, however lenient, cannot wash out. His honor was involved in completing the union with Ireland by Catholic emancipation. This he not only failed to do, but, out of regard to his sovereign, he promised in writing that he would never again moot the question, and that he would oppose its being agitated to the day of his death. This was carrying loyalty too far. It prevailed against justice. It cancelled personal honor. An engagement is sacred; and if Pitt had observed his, he would have stood higher in the esteem of thinking men, without driving George III. into lunacy or to Hanover. Considering all the circumstances, we cannot feel surprised at his setting it aside; but we regret that he did not hold to it firmly. Faith in political leaders would then have been more easy, and public virtue less a sham. When the strength of Pitt superseded the weakness of Addington, and the great statesman found himself again prime minister, his tongue was tied in reference to Catholic claims. Nay, even his rival, Fox, when he came once more into office, refrained from advocating emancipation out of deference to the king's weakness and tendency to madness. Indeed, the Grenville ministry, called usually "All the Talents," broke up at last on the question of removing Catholic disabilities, as that of Pitt had done in the year 1801. A puny and pitiable concession had been made to Irish Catholic soldiers in 1793. They had been allowed by law to rise in the army to the rank of colonel, in case of their serving _in Ireland_. Lord Sidmouth and Chancellor Erskine were opposed to Catholic emancipation, yet even they were willing in their boundless generosity to extend this privilege to officers serving in England. The king was alarmed at the proposal, and wrote to Lord Spenser, declaring that it should never gain his consent. It would remove a restriction on Roman Catholics, and it was only part of a system to which he was unchangeably averse. But when two days had passed, his majesty thought better of it. He would not thwart his ministers for such a trifle. He yielded the point, and then discovered than he had been deceived by the liberal members of the cabinet, and that they actually intended to put Catholics and dissenters on exactly the same footing as members of the Anglican church in the army, and to exact from them merely an oath of allegiance. The bill for the purpose had, in fact, been submitted to him, but, being blind, he had let it pass without proper scrutiny. His ministers always affirmed that, if he had been misled, it was not through their fault or intention. The afflicted old man was greatly disturbed by what he heard on the subject from Lord Sidmouth, and he became still more indignant when the bill was fathered on him, introduced into parliament by Lord Howick, (afterward Lord Grey,) opposed stoutly by Mr. Perceval, and read for the first time. He resolved in secret to rid himself of ministers whom he regarded as dangerous and false. He informed them that the bill in question would never be signed by him, that it must be withdrawn, and that he should be satisfied with nothing less than an explicit assurance and promise that no such measures in future should be proposed. This "All the Talents" refused to give, and the king, on hearing that their answer was final, said, "Then I must look about me."[166]

Though the Duke of Portland became prime minister in 1807 with the express intention of defending the sovereign against importunity in favor of Catholics, it is worthy of remark that the College of Maynooth was endowed during his premiership; and this is only one illustration of the remarkable fact which we are endeavoring to exhibit--that the Catholic cause in England has progressed in England under every government since the revolution of 1688, in spite of penal statutes, obstacles, and resistance of king, lords, commons or people.

Mr. Perceval, who succeeded the Duke of Portland in 1809, is described by Madden as "a stupid lawyer, without character or practice, noted only for his bigotry."

There was little done for Catholics in his time; but about two months after he had been shot in the lobby of the House of Commons, Lord Wellesley moved that the Catholic claims should be considered.

The cabinet of Lord Liverpool was formed on the basis of neutrality as regards the Catholic question; in other words, its members were allowed to advocate or oppose emancipation, just as they thought fit. Canning and Castlereagh were its friends; Lord Eldon was its bitterest opponent. The premier himself invariably spoke against it, but he was not virulent. His hostility to it arose from the conviction that Protestant ascendency was the real and proper basis of the British constitution, as revised under William III. To alter that basis was, in his eyes, to effect a revolution; and he predicted, in 1812 and in 1825, that if emancipation were granted, either the Protestant church in Ireland would be disestablished or the Roman Catholic Church there would be established by law. Events have proved, happily, that he was not altogether wrong.

The period of the Liverpool administration was, of course, a dreary one for Catholics. The efforts of Grattan, Wellesley, Sir Henry Parnell, Plunkett, and Canning to obtain for them some redress, ended for the most part in cruel disappointment. Yet in 1817 the government introduced a bill, which passed both houses, opening to them the army and navy, and thus generously bestowed on them the privilege of shedding their blood in the service of their oppressors. By annual acts of indemnity, also, Catholic officers were relieved from the penalty of not taking the oaths of supremacy.

In 1824, Lord Liverpool had so far relaxed his opposition to Catholic claims that he spoke in favor of Lord Lansdowne's two bills for giving the elective franchise to English as it had been given to Irish Catholics, and for throwing open to them magistracies and other inferior offices, besides allowing the Duke of Norfolk to execute his hereditary office of earl marshal. The bills were rejected, but the duke's claim was allowed. In 1826, just two years before his death, Lord Liverpool submitted to the king an important paper, in which he reminded his majesty that the cabinet he had framed in 1812 regarded emancipation from the first as an open question, and declared that he could not now be a party to any other arrangement. He humbly suggested that the king should advert to the actual state of the opinions of public men in the two houses of parliament, particularly of those in the House of Commons, upon the Roman Catholic question, and that he should seriously consider whether it would not be at least as impracticable as in 1812 to form an administration upon the exclusively Protestant principle. Thus Lord Liverpool himself, and his neutral or divided cabinet, prepared the way for emancipation in the year after his death.

Canning succeeded Lord Liverpool in 1827. He had long advocated the redress of Catholic wrongs. It was not his fault that Ireland was duped by the union. It had been his desire and intention that emancipation should seal and complete that measure. He could scarcely venture to speak of it, however, except in vague terms; for the smallest allusion to it on his part would have been sure to call down upon him the vengeance of the treasury benches. Yet he did allude to it in January and April, 1799, and thirteen years after, when, speaking of the Catholic claims, he declared that "expectations had been held out, the disappointment of which involved the moral guilt of an absolute breach of faith."

"Does history," asks Goldwin Smith, in discussing the wrongs of Ireland--"does history afford a parallel to that agony of seven centuries which has not yet reached its close? But England is the favorite of Heaven; and when _she_ commits oppression, it will not recoil on the oppressor!"

If Canning's life had been spared, there is no doubt that he would have signalized his tenure of office by the completion, in some measure at least, of the designs of the Catholic Association. This body, formed by O'Connell in 1823, had infused new life and hope into Irish patriotism. Disappointed and betrayed as the people of Ireland had been by one statesman after another, they could not but expect something from Canning's hands, especially when they saw him rise in April, 1822, and move for leave to bring in a bill which should relieve Roman Catholic peers from the disabilities imposed on them by the Act 30 of Charles II., with regard to the right of sitting and voting in the House of Peers. His brilliant and beautiful speech was crowned with a certain success. His motion was carried by a majority of five; but Peel opposed the measure, and the Lords rejected it by a majority of forty-two. Their policy in such matters has always been one of obstruction. They declined to let noblemen so noble and so pacific, and of families so ancient, as the Dukes of Norfolk, the Earl of Shrewsbury, Lord Petre, and Lord Stourton, sit beside them in their chambers as peers of the realm.

After this failure, Canning's zeal in the Catholic cause is said to have declined; but he doubtless felt his impotence, and waited only till a more favorable opportunity of serving the Catholic interests should arrive.

TO BE CONTINUED.

FOOTNOTES:

[152] 11 and 12 William III., c. 4. Madden's _Penal Statutes against Roman Catholics_, pages 229, 232, 233.

[153] Macaulay, Hist. of England, chap. vii., ann. 1687.

[154] Ibid. chap. xvii.

[155] To Mr. Prior, Jan. 30th, 1714.

[156] 10 Anne c. 2. 12 St. 2, c. 14.

[157] Earl Stanhope, Hist. of England, vol. 1. p. 81.

[158] Craggs to Stanhope, June 30th, 1719.

[159] 9 George I., c. 18.

[160] Madden's _Penal Statutes_, p. 238.

[161] Letter to Sir Hercules Langrishe, 1792.

[162] 14 George III. c. 35, § 5.

[163] 18 George III., c. 60.

[164] To Rev. Mr. Cole, May 21, 1778.

[165] 31 George III., c. 32.

[166] English Premiers. No. xii. _Month_, 1867.

CHESS.

I.

It is rather difficult for the spectator at a game of chess (who is not himself a player) to comprehend the pleasure of it, and to believe that those two grave, silent individuals are not only seeking but actually finding amusement and recreation.

Yet no game is more beautiful in its appointments; beautiful in the mathematical precision of its moves; beautiful in its colored, carved, and varied pieces; intellectually beautiful in its very quietude--in the power with which it represses every manifestation of hope or disappointment, in its wordless intensity of thought.

Other games come in some degree within the scope of the most humble capacity; but chess, royal chess, loftier in its requirements, demands the most noble. It has attractions all-absorbing and fascinating as well as profitable unto wisdom; but they stand fully revealed to him only who can widely plan and steadily execute; whose circumspection is never beguiled and whose caution never sleepeth; who is elated not overmuch by success nor despondent under disasters; who keepeth his own counsel and can baffle an opponent's penetration; whose well-schooled eye gives no clue, by a glance, to his intended victim, and whose well-trained finger never hovers in irresolution. Behold the requirements of chess!

It has been justly called in olden English _The Royalle Game_; for not only is a king its hero, but it has afforded amusement to kings and warriors through many a past age, and in countries widely distant from each other.

The origin of the game of chess is still an unsettled question. Like some of the oriental monarchs, it might write itself "brother to the sun and moon"--so ancient is its pedigree. Some writers have proved, to their own satisfaction at least, that it was chess which enlivened the tedium of the Greeks encamped about the walls of Troy, and that its inventor was Palamedes, son of Nauplius, King of Euboea. Who can doubt the inventive genius of Palamedes after all the tales told of him?--tales we learn once and then forget. I repeat one. When the Greek heroes were gathering for the mighty Trojan conflict, Palamedes, himself a warrior, was sent to Ithaca, to summon Achilles and Odysseus to join them. The latter, desirous of evading the call, feigned himself insane, and Palamedes, to test his truthfulness, seized his infant child and laid it before him in a furrow which he was ploughing. Odysseus paused, raised the child, and removed it, thus giving evidence of his sanity. Who after this can doubt the inventive powers of Palamedes or his historian, and who can say that either might not have invented chess?

In a manuscript of the fourteenth century in the Harleian collection, in the British Museum, is a drawing in which two warriors are represented, evidently Greeks, with a chess-board between them, engaged in play. The author of the MS. traces the game back to Odysseus, and concludes that one of these chiefs is intended for him.

In the great Egyptian collection of the British Museum, specimens are preserved of a kind of chess-men taken from a tomb of one of the Pharaohs, which prove that they had a game similar if not identical with our chess; and some hieroglyphics on the ruins of Luxor, Thebes, and Palmyra have been interpreted as indicating such a game.

Caxton, who printed a _Boke of Chesse_ in 1474, quoting from some other writers, gives a wonderful story, showing that it was devised in the reign of Evil-Merodach, King of Babylon, by a philosopher "whyche was named in Caldee Exerses, and in Greke Philemetor." The Greek cognomen of the philosopher leads somewhat to the belief of such a possibility.

Chaucer, without any proof, gives us in rhyme another candidate for the glory--Athalus. He describes, in a sort of dream, a visionary opponent, Fortune--

"At chesse with me she gan to pleye With hir fals draughtes dyverse, She staale on me and toke my ferz, (now queen.) And when I saugh my ferz awaye, Alas, I kouthe no longer pleye. With a powne errante, allas I Ful craftier to pleye she was Than Athalus, who made the game First of the chesse, so was hys name."[167]

A repetition of half the assertions and conjectures on this subject would fill volumes; indeed, volumes have been written on it; for no other thing of pure amusement has ever enlisted in its cause so many learned commentators of all tongues and nations, who unite, however, upon two points--its remote antiquity and its mighty renown.

The most reliable account of the origin of the game is, without doubt, that given by Sir William Jones. His high official rank for many years under the English government in India, and his familiarity with oriental languages, gave him opportunities for oriental research beyond almost any other writer. He asserts, as the result of his inquiries, that it was invented by the Hindoos, and from them (according to a universal Persian tradition) it was brought, in the sixth century, to Persia. Its next step was to Arabia, and from thence it was carried by the Saracenic conquest of Spain to western Europe. He found no mention of it in the classic writings of the Brahmins, although (he continues) they say confidently that Sanscrit books on chess exist.

Who the gifted individual was from whose brain emanated such an ingenious complication of mathematics and strategy, disguised under the mask of amusement, we shall perhaps never know. He might well have exclaimed with Horace,

"Exegi monumentum ære perennius."

But alas! the name of the builder is lost; or perhaps a future Layard, in exhuming the splendors of some ancient city, may find a record on some crumbling stone of the inventor of chess.

To an indefinite number of persons the honor is at present ascribed, evidently in mere conjecture, as in the following extract translated from a Chinese annal on chess; but it has an interest, in showing the antiquity of the game and the high esteem in which it was held:

"Three hundred and seventy-nine years after the time of Confucius, or 1965 years ago," says the annal, "Hung Cochu, King of Kiangnan, sent an expedition into the Shense country, under command of a mandarin named Hansing, to conquer it. After one campaign, the soldiers went into winter quarters, and they grew homesick and wanted to return. Then Hansing invented the game of chess. They were well pleased. In the spring they took the field again, and soon added the rich country of Shense to the kingdom of Kiangnan."

It is more likely that Hansing only taught the soldiers what he had himself learned elsewhere; but Shense is still the name of a northern province of China, and Chinese soldiers still play chess.

For the name of the game also, as well as its origin, we rely most on Sir W. Jones, who traced it to _Chaturlinga_, signifying in eastern dialect certain parts of an army; and in his time the Malays still called it _Chatur_.

The whole vocabulary of chess--the only sound which breaks the monotonous silence of the game, is the little word _check_; and it is a singular fact, remarked by Mr. F. W. Cronhelm, that, however varied the names of the pieces in different languages, yet the Italians, French, English, Danes, Icelanders, Germans, Poles, and Russians all give the king warning in the same word--_check!_ Somebody traces it to _sheik_, the title of a high ruler in the Arabian dynasty, and supposes that they so named the principal piece, which we call _king_; hence when the adversary placed him in danger, he called out to him "sheik!" or, as we say, "check!" This is certainly plausible; for _mat_ in Arabic, as also in some dialects of Persia and India, signifies _to kill_, _to slay_; hence comes "_sheik-mat_," king-slain, or the modern "_check-mate_."

FOOTNOTE:

[167] Bell's _Chaucer_, vol. vi.

II.

It may be supposed, then, following the dates of Sir W. Jones, that the game of chess made its entrance into Arabia in her most glorious era; and it is easy to believe that a recreation so purely intellectual, so entirely reliant on skill and removed from chance, and which called into action all the higher powers of mind, would speedily find favor with the refined and cultivated Arabians in the golden days of her history. It is easy to picture Haroun-al-Raschid, who "never built a mosque without attaching to it a school," and who taught his subjects that "the most noble homage of a creature is to cultivate the faculties bestowed on him by his Creator"--it is easy to imagine him seeking relaxation from the cares of government in a game of chess; and not he alone--but that, from the universal diffusion of learning and refinement among the people, under him and his immediate successors, it would meet universal acceptance, and be engrafted, as it were, on their nationality. And thus we find it was; and so entirely adopted that it was the most cherished pleasure which they carried with them to (what was to them) the _far-off_ land of Spain.

To the Arabians then, the west of Europe, at least, if not the whole of it, is indebted for chess; and it is pleasant to believe that its present perfections may have been wrought out by some modifications of it, in those famous old universities and schools of learning which history tells us were scattered over every land where the Arabians held sway, but more especially over Arabia proper.

Chess, looked upon in this connection, wears a mantle of romance; there is a spell upon it of that departed glory! It is redolent of orange-groves, and jasmines, and thickets of roses; of sculptured halls, and gorgeous tapestry, and marble pavements; of learned men and beautiful women. All around it in that land breathed an impassioned poetry and an enchaining eloquence; the language of passion, and inspired thoughts, and bold imagery, of whose power to sway mankind our rule-bound brains can form no conception.

It speaks to us of the days when Bagdad was the gathering-place, under Al-Mamoun, (Mahomet-aben-Amer,) of the wise men of all nations; when her universities and schools of science were the boast of her rulers; when long trains of camels were daily seen entering her gates laden with precious manuscripts for her libraries; when medicine, law, mathematics, astronomy, counted among her citizens their most renowned professors, and when all these sciences were made accessible to the people by colleges and academies in every town. Nor were Bassora, Kaffa, Samarcand, and numerous other cities much less famous; Alexandria possessed more than twenty schools for philosophy alone; and Fez and Larace held in their immense libraries works of rare value nowhere else to be found. In every department of science and art they seem to have labored with success. They had dictionaries, geographical, critical, and biographical; the universal history of the world by Aboul-Feda, and the great historical dictionary of Prince Abdel Malek. Al-Assacher wrote commentaries on the first inventors of the arts; and Al-Gazel, a learned work on Arabian antiquities. Nor were their researches confined to the schools; after forty years of travel in studying mineralogy, Abou-ryan-al-Byrony produced his treatise on precious stones--rich in facts and observations. With equal zeal, at a later period, Aben-al-Beither traversed the mountains and plains of Europe, the sands of Africa, and the most remote countries of Asia, to gather every thing rare and worthy of record in the vegetable and animal world. Chemistry they applied to the arts of life; and Al-Farabi, who spoke seventy languages, spent his life in making a compend of all known sciences in one immense encyclopædia.

They had invented gunpowder although the honor is often falsely given to a German chemist--and they were familiar with the compass, long before either was named in Europe; and our sciences of calculation are indebted to them for numerals. The mass of their poetry and fiction exceeds that of all other nations put together. One, at least, we all know; for who cannot recall many--yes, how _many_ happy hours of boyhood, beguiled with the gorgeous impossibilities of _Arabian Nights_?

Amidst all these royal students, these accomplished scholars, the chess-board had its place; it was the pleasure, the recreation--the field whereon wit encountered wit in sharp and pleasant tilt. And while from all that land the light of science has departed; while the glories of the past are, with the mass of its people, not even a tradition, travellers tell us that, after the day's journeying is done, the dusky Arab "spreads out on the ground a checkered cloth, and plays on it a game similar to our chess."

III.

Although Spain, and the adjacent nations through her, received chess from Arabia, the game not only existed but was wide-spread in the north of Europe at a period so early (and under a slight modification) that we are led to believe they derived it from some other source. Indeed, nothing would seem more likely than that some of the many tribes who were constantly migrating thither from Asia would carry it with them. Major C. F. de Jaenish, a Russian writer, is of opinion that Russia received it direct from the east through her ancient conquerors, the Moguls; and in proof of this, he notes two pieces changed in the chess of southern Europe, but retained in their original form in Russia. These are, first, the commander of the army, or _biser_, called in Persia _ferz_; and second, the _elephant_, called in Russia, _Slone_. But it doubtless existed in Russia long before the Moguls held sway, which was not until the thirteenth century; and long before that time there are records of it as an amusement among the Northmen of the neighboring kingdoms. Besides this, in the ninth century the descendants of Ruric the Norman, who then ruled Russia, had extended their conquests to the Black Sea, and, in the language of the old historian, "greatly infested its waters;" one of them had even married the sister of the Greek emperor. It is, therefore, more than probable that through some of these channels chess was introduced into the northern part of Europe at a very early date.

It may have been carried thither by those maritime marauders, called the sea-kings, even before it was heard of in Spain. The first movement of the Arabians against Spain is generally fixed in the year seven hundred and ten; when Taric-ben-Zeyed, with some galleys disguised as merchantmen, cruised along the coasts of Andalusia and Lusitania, to see what temptation the Christian land offered to the followers of the prophet. That his survey was satisfactory, we know by what followed. But long before this, the Northmen in their ships had made themselves famous and feared. An Icelandic chronicle tells us "they were on every sea, and more numerous on water than on land." In the eighth and ninth centuries, they were to be found not only repeatedly ravaging England, Scotland, and Ireland, but sailing up the Somme, the Seine, the Loire, the Garonne, and the Rhone; they had pillaged and burnt Paris, Amiens, Orleans, Bordeaux, Toulouse, Nantes, and Tours; and laid waste Provence and Dauphiny. More than once they landed in Spain; and they had coasted the Mediterranean, to the terror of Greece and Italy. These expeditions were always predatory; and they may not only have acquired in their Mediterranean voyages some hints of the game of chess, but chess-men and chess-boards may have made a trifle in the booty with which they always returned laden to their northern homes.

Mons. Mallet, the antiquarian, in seeking to account for the great quantity of foreign coin found about that time in the northern kingdoms, thinks it less probable that it was the honest gains of commerce than "relics of the plunder collected by these ravagers." In like manner, perhaps, they appropriated chess. In whatever way obtained, it must have been to them particularly attractive; for what was it but that for which they lived--battle and victory? Nothing could have been better adapted, in the long nights of their northern winters, both to divert them from that restlessness which seems to have possessed the whole of their existence not spent in the tumults of war and the chase, or in preparations for them--and also as a pastime at their frequent and magnificent feasts; occasions upon which they infused into it their own fierce and vindictive spirit, for we know that their chess games ended very frequently not in the check-mate of the king, but in breaking each other's heads with the chess-board. Some such instances on record are tragic and revolting. Similar manners extended along the middle ages. An old writer thus explains the feud which existed between Charlemagne and Ogier the Dane:

"At one of the festivals at the court of Charlemagne, the emperor's son Charles, and Bauduin, son of Ogier, went to play together. They took a chess-board and sat down to play for pastime. They arranged their chess-men on the board. The emperor's son first moved his pawn, and young Bauduin moved his _aufin_, (bishop.) Then Charles thought to press him very hard, and he moves his knight upon the other _aufin_. The one moves forward and the other backward so long that Bauduin said _mate_ to him in the corner. Then the young prince was furious at his defeat, and not only assailed the son of Ogier with the most insulting language, but seized the chess-board and dealt him such a violent blow on his forehead that he split his head and scattered his brains on the floor!"

King John of England, in his youth, at the court of his father Henry II., played sometimes with Fulk Fitz Warine, a lad like himself, and as often it ended in a quarrel. A curious old history of the Fitz Warines gives the following story:

"Young Fulk was bred at the court of King Henry, and was much beloved by all his sons except John; for he used often to quarrel with John. It happened that John and Fulk were sitting all alone in a chamber playing at chess. John took the chess-board and hit Fulk a great blow. Fulk felt hurt, raised his foot and struck John so that his head went against the wall, and he grew weak and faint. Fulk was in consternation, but he was glad they were alone. Then he rubbed John's ears, and he recovered and went to the king his father to complain."

His majesty bestowed upon him little sympathy, for he punished him for being quarrelsome. Considering that John began the affray, this might pass for justice; but he did not forget the matter when he came to the throne. Fulk was the famous outlaw.

In many old manuscripts incidental mention is made of chess as a favorite amusement for heroes. When Regner Lodbrog, the warrior-poet, was killed, the messenger who carried the news to his sons found two of them--Sigued (snake-eye) and Hurtish (the bold)--playing chess; the third one, Biorn, was mending his lance. Regner Lodbrog died about the close of the eighth century.

Snorro Sturleson relates that, in 1028, Canute, King of Denmark, rode to Roskild to visit Earl Ulft, the husband of his sister. The king was very dull and scarcely spoke, and to enliven him, Earl Ulft proposed a game of chess. So they sat down to it, and played until Ulft took a knight; this the king would not allow.

"Are you a coward?" he exclaimed.

"You did not call me coward when I shielded you in battle," replied the earl; but for this reminder he lost his head.

An early metrical romance tells us that when Witikind, king of the pagan Saxons, received information that Charlemagne was marching on his dominions, the messenger found him in his palace at Tremoigne, playing chess with Escorsaus de Lutise; and his queen, Sebile, who also understood the game, was looking on. Witikind was so indignant at the news that he "seized the chess-board and smashed it to pieces, and his face grew as red as a cherry."

There is a droll story told of a kindred spirit of more modern date. A choleric Scottish nobleman, a former Earl of Stair, frequently played with a friend of his, Colonel Stewart. Not contented with bestowing very expressive invectives on the colonel's occasional superior play, he sometimes, when goaded by a _check-mate_, flung at his head any object possible within reach; so at last the colonel, for prudence' sake, when about to make his last move, always rose hastily and retreating behind some door, called out, "_Check-mate_, my lord!"

While the general manners of an age are gathered from its grave historians, we can learn them more in detail from its romances. In all the early romances left to us, wherever chess is mentioned--and it is constantly introduced as a pastime of knights, princes, and courtly dames--it is almost always an occasion or implement of some fierce dispute.

In the romance of _Quatre fils d'Aymon_, the agents of Regnault go to arrest Richard, Duke of Normandy, and find him playing chess. The result is thus quaintly told in an old English version, printed by Copeland.

"When Duke Richarde saw these sergeauntes hed him by the arm, he helde in his hande a lady of ivery, wherewith he would have given _mate_ to Younet. Then he withdrew his arm, and gave to one of the sergeauntes such a stroke with it into the forehead that he made him tumble over and over at his feete; and then he tooke a rooke and smote another withal upon his head, so that he all to-brost it to the brayne."

In the romance of _Parise la Duchesse_, her young son, brought up at the court of Hungary, becomes an object of jealousy to some of the nobles, and four of them conspire to murder him. In order to accomplish their object with safety to themselves, they invite him to play chess with them in a retired cellar. "Hughes," said they, "will you come with us to play at chess? For you can teach us chess and dice; for certainly you know the games better than we do." Hughes seemed suspicious of their advances, and it was not until they promised him to avoid all disputes that he accepted their invitation. He began to play with the son of Duke Granier; but while he in kindness was about showing them in what manner to move, they drew their knives upon him, and outrageously insulted him. He killed the foremost of them with a blow of his fist, and seizing the chess-board for a weapon, for he was unarmed, he "_brained_ the other three with it."

In Spain and Italy, about the same time, the game is mentioned under more gentle guise. An interesting letter is preserved, written by Damianus, Cardinal Bishop of Ostia, to Pope Alexander II., who was elected pope in 1061. Damianus tells the pope how he was travelling with a bishop of Florence, when,

"having arrived at a hotel, I withdrew into the cell of a priest, while he remained with a crowd of travellers in the spacious house. In the morning I was informed by my servant that the bishop had been playing chess; which information like an arrow pierced my heart. At a convenient hour I sent for him, and said, in a tone of reproof, 'The hand is stretched out, the rod is ready for the offender.' 'Let the fault be proved,' said he, 'and penance shall not be refused.' 'Was it well,' I rejoined, 'was it worthy of the character you bear, to spend the evening in the vanity of chess-play, and defile the hands and tongue which ought to be the mediator between man and the Deity? Are you aware that, by the canonical law, bishops who are dice-players are ordered to be deposed?' He, however, making himself a shield of defence from the difference of names, said that dice was one thing, and chess another; consequently, that the canon only forbade dice, but tacitly allowed chess. To which I replied, 'Chess is not named in the text, but the general term of dice comprehends both games; wherefore, since dice is forbidden and chess is not named, it follows without doubt that both are equally condemned.'"

It is safe to conclude from this that the cardinal himself was not familiar with the game.

Females are represented on many illuminated manuscripts, as well as in early romances, as playing chess together or with knights. In one called _Blonde of Oxford_, Jean, a young French nobleman, comes to England and enters the household service of the Earl of Oxford. It was a part of Jean's duty to attend on the Lady Blonde, daughter of the earl, and serve her at table; after dinner, he goes hawking and hunting with them, and also teaches the ladies French. "Then he entertains the Ladye Blonde, and teaches her chess, and he often says _check_ and _mate_ to her."

Similar scenes are in _Ipomydon_, as in the following quoted by Strutt:

"When theye had dyned, as you saye, Lords and ladys yede to playe, Some to tables, some to chesse, And other gamys more or less."

"The writers immediately after the conquest," says a distinguished antiquarian, "speak of the Saxons as playing at chess; and pretend that they learned the game of the Danes. Gaimar, who gives an interesting story of the deceit practised on King Edgar (A.D. 973) by Ethelwold, when sent to visit the beautiful Elfthrida, daughter of Orgar of Devonshire, describes the young lady and her noble father passing the day at chess." (_Wright._)

Such examples might be multiplied to tediousness; but one more notice of it among the Northmen is worth giving, because it is found in one of the grandest of modern epics, by the Swedish poet, Tegner, founded on events in the life of one of their most renowned heroes--_The Legend of Frithiof_.

The fortunes of the valiant Frithiof, who was the son of a thane, seem to have been ruled by his love for the fair Ingeborn, daughter of a king, and the scorn with which her two brothers spurned his proposal for her hand. A day of retaliation, however, soon came. Helgé and Halfdan, the brothers, were threatened by a neighboring foe, and sent to Frithiof--certainly with a sublime forgetfulness of what had passed--to ask his aid. When the messenger arrived, he was playing chess with his friend, Bjorn, the Bear. Frithiof refuses very decidedly. His heart still pines for Ingeborn; and, like a true Viking, he betakes himself for consolation to the sea, which he vows shall be "his home in life and his grave in death." The chess-board beside which Frithiof doubtless forgot his griefs for a brief space is described as magnificent--

"Beside a chess-board's checkered frame Frithiof and Bjorn pursued their game; Silver was each alternate plane, And each alternate plane of gold."[168]

Perhaps some reader will be glad to learn that, after a few years, "he is weary of sea-fights and of hewing men in twain," and returns home to marry Ingeborn.

Such was one of the early chess-players.

FOOTNOTE:

[168] Strong's Translation.

IV.

It is remarkable in the history of chess how very trifling the variations which have ever been made in it. The lapse of time, which has swept away cities and their inhabitants, which has so blotted from human speech the words of those who once held converse around it that their inscriptions on stone are unintelligible, has left it almost unaltered.

Coming close to that domestic life of nations of which chess made one pleasure, what has not changed? Modes of dress, construction of dwellings, fashions of entertainment--all have had their mutations. Yet the game, as far back as the earliest accounts of it, has been almost literally such as we see it. One feature has always marked it, _chess_; there has always been a sovereign to be attacked and defended, and inferior pieces to accomplish these ends in combination, yet by different means. The board of sixty-four squares has also almost invariably been maintained.

Two pieces were modified when it passed from Arabia to Spain, or rather, from the Saracen to the Christian. In Arabia and Persia, there was no female on the board; what we call "queen" was, with them, "vizier or counsellor," and called _pherz_, _ferz_, or _fers_. This was retained in Europe until about the eleventh century, when it was supplanted by our queen. But wherefore a queen? We shall see.

Several events combined to make this period the age of poetry and of a peculiar deference to womankind. It will be remembered that in the eleventh century, 1095, was preached the first Crusade, a thing of romance and poetry itself. However different the motives which actuated that crowd of nobles and warriors who joined in creating the mighty army whose advance-guard was led by the monk Peter, to all appearance each one was a hero. Country and kingdom, home and love, happiness of wife or maiden, was the sacrifice professedly offered at the shrine of a holy enthusiasm enkindled by faith. Every earthly interest, every tie of affection, all consideration of self, was to be accounted nothing, compared with the sacred obligations involved in the expedition.

The means of expressing all these delicate sentiments and deep emotions, and furthermore of expressing them in poetry, was happily opened to them at this era in the language of the troubadours--the _Langue d'Oc_. The polish which poetry had received from the Arabians in Spain had elevated it to an art, and made it so attractive to the more refined classes that the highest born, even kings and princes, did not think it beneath them to cultivate it; and he added greatly to his renown who had qualified himself to express in it the two ruling passions of his soul--his martial ardor and his devotion to his _ladye-love_. Every knight, almost, was a troubadour, and the homage rendered to woman seems almost fabulous. A French writer says of this period:

"Love had assumed a new character.... It was not more tender and passionate than among the Romans; but it was more respectful, and something of a mystery was mingled with its sentiment. Women were considered rather as angelic beings than as dependents and inferiors. The task of serving and protecting them was considered honorable, as though they were the representatives of the divinity upon earth; and to this worship was added an ardor of feeling, passion, and desire, peculiar to the people of the south, and the expression of which was borrowed from the Arabians."[169]

Woman was not slow in extending her influence to more prosaic matters than _Les Cours d'Amour_ and the inspirations of poetry; and history furnishes an abundance of examples where female interference was permitted and female decision respected in the gravest affairs of life. After Alphonso VI. of Castile had driven the Moors from Toledo, he granted to such of them as chose to return the use of a cathedral to serve as a mosque; but, says history, "he soon broke his promise, and deprived them of it, at the instigation of and in order to please his wife."

Who, then, but a woman could have routed the grand-vizier from the chess-board and taken his place?

The other piece altered is the bishop, which of course was not so called by the orientals. This piece with the Arabians and Persians was represented by an elephant, and named _pil_ or _phil_. In southern Europe, the name was modified into _alfil_ and _aufin_, and is found so in old writers; but at a very early period the bishop seems to have been generally adopted. In northern Europe, it was not so; the Russians and Swedes still retain the elephant. What we now call castle, and sometimes _rook_, was also called by the Saracens _roc_, and by the Persians _rokh_, signifying champion or foot-soldier, and shaped accordingly. This form is seen in some ancient chess-men in the British Museum, supposed to be of Icelandic manufacture; the Icelanders called this piece _hrokr_. These chess-men, many in number and carved in ivory--that is, the tusk of the walrus--were found in the year 1831, on the coast of the Isle of Lewes, and are referred by antiquaries back to the twelfth century. They are the remnants of seven or eight distinct sets, and are therefore supposed to have belonged to some dealer who was shipwrecked there. The carving on them, and the costumes, bear traces of being Scandinavian. The _king_ is in a sitting posture, crowned, and has a sword in his hand, which he rests crossing his lap; the _queen_ also is crowned, and holds a drinking-horn, such as the northern women used in serving mead and ale to their guests; one of them represents a _bishop_ with mitre and crozier; the _knights_ are on horseback, and are covered with armor; and here is the _roc_ of the Saracens in its original form, a kind of foot-soldier, in place of the castle--which, however, is yet called _rook_. The remainder are pawns. Thus they are nearly identical with any set of modern chess-men, although fabricated more than seven hundred years ago.

The largest king in this collection, in his sitting posture, is more than four inches in height and near seven in circumference. The other pieces are smaller, but correspond. The chess-board which accommodated such pieces must have been a formidable weapon in a strong hand, and quite likely to "break heads and scatter brains."

Many old books are to be found in public and private libraries which contain descriptions of chess-men, rules for playing, etc. In the twelfth century, such a manual was composed by some devotee of the game in Latin verse. A little later, a volume was written in Latin by Jacques de Cessolas; it was translated into French by Jean de Vigny, and entitled _Moralization of Chess_. It may be seen in English in Caxton's _Boke of Chesse_, published in London, 1474.

Damiano, a Portuguese, in the fifteenth century compiled a book of directions for playing, with examples of eighty-eight games.

A little volume, very amusing in its quaint old English, was published in London in the reign of Elizabeth; it is dedicated to Lord Robert Dudley, afterward the celebrated Earl of Leicester. It is entitled, _The Pleasaunt and Wittie Playe of the Cheasts, reviewed with Instructions both to Learn it Easily and to Play it Well_. _Lately translated out of Italian into French, and now set forthe in Englishe by James Rowbotham._

In it, among many other things, the author describes the chess-men:

"As for the fashion of the pieces, that is according to the fantasie of the workeman, which maketh them after this manner. Some make them lyke men, whereof the _kynge_ is the highest, and the _queene_ (which some name amasone or ladye) is the next, bothe two crowned. The _bishoppes_ some name alphins, some fooles, and some princes, lyke as also they are next unto the kynge and queene, other some cal them archers, and they are fashioned accordinge to the wyll of the workeman. The _knights_ some cal horsemen, and they are men on horsebacke. The _rookes_ some call elephantes, cariynge towres upon their backes, and men within the towres. The _paunes_ some cal fote-men, as they are souldiours on fote, cariynge some of them pykes, and other some javelyns and targets. Other makers of cheast-men make them other fashions, but use thereof wyll cause perfect knowledge."

Such has chess been through times past; it numbers still among its votaries the noble and the learned; and it is advocated by some of them with an enthusiasm surely never surpassed in the days long, long gone by in its oriental home.

It has floated down to us from those days like a leaf on some broad stream beneath whose waves mightier things have sunk.

FOOTNOTE:

[169] Sismondi, _Lit. of Troubadours_.

THE FIRST OECUMENICAL COUNCIL OF THE VATICAN.

The nineteenth century is still adding to the catalogue of important events, for which it will be memorable in future histories. Men still live who looked on Fulton's first steamboat on the Hudson, who ventured on the first railway train, and who smiled incredulously at the folly of Morse stretching iron wires on poles along the country between cities a day's journey apart, and pretending thus to transmit messages between them with the velocity of electricity. The humble river steamboat has developed into the gigantic ocean steamer, that heeds not the winds and bids defiance to the waves. Lines of railway intersect continents, and cross from ocean to ocean. Telegraph wires spread their network over every civilized land, and, boldly plunging into ocean depths, aim to girdle the earth. The cotton-gin has revolutionized the habits of nations and the commerce of the world, and the sewing-machine is bringing the change into every household. This wondrous increase of travel and commerce among nations has given birth to international exhibitions of art and industry as gorgeous as the visions of the Arabian story-teller. In the Suez Canal, this century has succeeded where antiquity failed; and in the Mont Cenis tunnel, soon to be finished, it is accomplishing what past ages never dreamed of attempting.

Science, too, contributes her wonders. The sun and the stars and the nebulæ are yielding their secrets; chemistry boasts of her unexpected conquests; and the earth is giving forth its pages of geological lore, fragmentary as yet, and somewhat confused, ofttimes undecipherable, often wrongly read by men, but still presenting to us a kingdom of knowledge unknown a century ago.

In the political and social sphere this century has been equally marked. Vast wars and bloody revolutions ushered it in. Wars and revolutions have marked every decade of its progress. Empires and kingdoms have been thrown down. Others have been established instead, and have perished in their turn. The strong have grown weak, and the weak have become powerful. And to-day, the nations of the civilized world feel that they stand on the thin crust of a volcano, that trembles under our feet, and that may at any time burst forth, in other revolutions and wars, in which arms of precision, titanic artillery, and iron-clad vessels shall play a part never yet witnessed by men.

In the moral and religious world, too, there is equal excitement and confusion. Novel principles are proposed, advocated, and pushed to their extreme and most violent consequences. Nothing in government, in morals, or in religion is left unassailed. There is an incessant war against God, against truth and virtue, and against every principle that would withstand the passions, or the interests, or the caprices of men. And the press, which in its wondrous development has kept full pace with every other art, is ever busy bringing to every household, to old and young alike, sometimes words of truth and goodness, but a thousand times oftener and more actively lessons of immorality, discontent, disorder, and irreligion.

In looking at the world, as it is now, so rapidly moving on, with its vast energies and untiring activity, its ever-increasing commerce, its intense worship of luxury, its oblivion of principle, its grasping after wealth, its restlessness and craving for change for change's sake, one feels like the traveller who crosses the Alps by that late feat of modern engineering, the Mont Cenis Fell Railway. The wondrous scenery of mountain and valley charms you. You are amazed at the boldness which conceived, and the skill which executed the work. You rejoice, as you are borne rapidly on, in the luxuriously-cushioned seat and well-warmed railway compartment, over the steep road you remember well to have travelled, years ago, so slowly and painfully. But amid all this pleasure, you cannot shut out the thought that perhaps the very rumbling and jarring of the train may set in motion the vast field of freshly-fallen snow that lies so lightly on the steep side of the peak rising above you, on the right or the left, and bring it down as an irresistible avalanche, overwhelming road and train, and casting the shattered cars and mangled passengers down to the masses of rock and ice that lie in the gorge a thousand yards below.

We glory in our rapid advance in arts, science, and civilization. We feel ourselves borne rapidly and joyously forward in a career of progress. But we cannot shut out entirely a sense of danger. In many countries, society is mined by revolutionary combinations, active and vigilant, watching for any favorable opportunity, and ever ready to take advantage of it. In the universal questioning of every thing and of every principle, the minds of the masses have become excited, have lost in great part, or are fast losing, those fixed and hallowed principles of justice and truth which are absolutely necessary for correct judgment and prudent action. They are ripe for any plan to be proposed, even if its only attraction be its novelty. And they may easily become a mighty engine of brute, unthinking power, in the hands of any one bold enough to seize the control, and skilful enough to guide them for a time. Might now makes right. The world is ruled on the theory of accomplished facts. Peace itself must stand armed _cap-à-pie_. No one knows into what horrors the death of one individual might, any month, throw hundreds of millions of men.

Has all sense of right and justice faded from the minds of men? Must our progress be marred by this ever-increasing danger. Is there no voice to be raised, no authority to come forth to meet this emergency of the world?

God gave revelation to mankind, teaching the world truth and justice, charity and every virtue, and imparting to man, in his weakness, strength to struggle against and overcome his own passions and the temptations from without. To his church, the pillar and ground of truth, Christ committed the duty of teaching all nations all things whatsoever he had taught, and promised to be with her, in the discharge of this duty, all days even to the consummation of the world. In its fulfilment she must meet opposition, trials, scandals, and difficulties of every sort. But the gates of hell shall never prevail against her.

Many a struggle has she gone through, in the eighteen centuries of her existence; and incalculable are the benefits the world owes to her, even by the confession of her enemies.

While she ever and always teaches the unchangeable truths and precepts given by her Divine Founder, she is ready to accept and bless what she finds of good among men, and labors to eliminate what is evil. From Greece she took what was pure in poetry and the fine arts, and true in philosophy. From Rome she gathered what was just and good in her admirable jurisprudence. Yet, even in the face of bitter persecution, she failed not to denounce immorality, however decked in classic verse; atheism and impiety, however clothed in words of seeming intellectual wisdom; and cruel tyranny, however upheld by power and authority, or made sacred by antiquity and the prejudices or manners of a people. In after times, under the debauched and luxurious rule of the Byzantine emperors, and still later, When the northern barbarians had overrun western Europe and destroyed all government, her powerful influence was felt. Hers was the only voice which could reach and in some measure control the fierce men who sat on thrones they had built with the sword, or could bring peace and the consolations of religion to the hovel of the poor and oppressed. She checked immorality and injustice and taught obedience to law. No one will now contest the truth, that it is to her the modern world owes what knowledge we have of the olden classic civilization. But for her, it would be as dead to us as that of Assyria is to the wild Arabs who pitch their tents on the mounds of Kouyunjik and Khorsabad. To her it owes those grand principles of law and justice, of stable government and individual rights, of holy marriage, and of arts and science, which go to constitute civilization. The church of Christ cannot be wanting in any emergency of men. It is her office to establish order where else chaos would reign.

Hence it is that in this present crisis, this time of so much good and so much evil, so many hopes and such great danger, she renews and increases her efforts, as of old, that what is good may be increased and confirmed, what is evil may be diminished or eliminated. She devotes to the work her most solemn and effective mode of action--an oecumenical council.

Assuredly no more remarkable event has occurred in this nineteenth century than the meeting of this Oecumenical Council of the Vatican, formally opened in Rome on December 8th last, the feast of the Immaculate Conception. The civilized world seems conscious of its importance. Catholics and Protestants, believers and infidels, all treat of it, some with full faith and earnest hope, some with a dim sense of reverence, some with curiosity, and some with hatred. But none can ignore or despise it. The books that have been published, the stream of pamphlets in every language that is flooding Europe, the countless articles of every character in countless newspapers of every hue--all bear witness to the universal interest in an assembly so extraordinary in its character, and destined to wield so great a moral influence.

Men are struck with wonder at this singular and hitherto unprecedented representation of the whole world. The number of members is in itself large. There were present at the opening session, 5 cardinal bishops, 36 cardinal priests, 8 cardinal deacons, 9 patriarchs, 4 primates, 124 archbishops, 481 bishops, 6 abbots with _quasi_-episcopal jurisdiction, 22 mitred abbots, and 29 superiors of religious orders; in all, 719 of the 1050, or thereabouts, who would have the right to enter. Many dioceses in the world are vacant, the venerable bishops of others are too aged to travel so far, some are detained by illness and will come later, and some, to their regret, are detained by the special circumstances of their own dioceses. None of those under the Czar of Russia have come. His Tartar policy threw them into dungeons, where some died. Those that lived he sent to Siberia, some for their religion, some for being Poles. But among the bishops here every other nation of Europe has a full and strong representation. Besides all these, there are also forty-nine from the United States, eighteen or twenty from Canada and the British possessions of North America, and over forty from Mexico and the various states of South America. The eastern and the western shores of Africa have sent several; two have come from British Africa, at the south, and quite a number--among them a Coptic bishop from Egypt--represent the dioceses along the Mediterranean shores of Africa. All the ancient oriental rites of the church have patriarchs, archbishops, and bishops in the council; India, Thibet, China, Japan itself, Australia, New Zealand, and the isles of the Pacific are fully represented. Never before in the history of the world was there seen such a gathering of prelates from the uttermost parts of the earth. And the members who compose the council deserve individually special attention. They are chosen men, holding in their several homes posts of dignity, responsibility, and authority. The Catholic Church is in one aspect eminently democratic. She will take into the roll of her clergy men of every rank and station. She asks not what was their condition or their lineage. If a clergyman possess piety, learning, zeal, and administrative ability, the door is open for his preferment, even to her highest offices. If Pius IX. is noble born, his predecessor, Gregory XVI., was the son of a poor village baker, and owed his earliest education, and his entrance into the sanctuary, to the gratuitous kindness of a good monk, who was attracted by the bright eyes and intelligent look of the modest little boy, as he used to carry around to customers the loaves his father had baked. So too of these bishops. Some may be of lordly, or noble, or princely lineage. Others were born in humble, thatched cottages. Here they are equal. Some have doffed the ermine, some have quitted the bar, others left the army, where their names are still mentioned with praise and soldierly pride by their old companions in arms. Some have given up to younger brothers wealth and titles, that they might freely devote themselves to God's holy work. Some, filled with apostolic zeal, have given up friends and home and country to go to distant lands to preach Christ and him crucified; and some have been honored with chains and imprisonment and stripes for Christ's sake. They all pursued a long career of preparatory studies, they were afterward tried by long years of practice in the ministry, and have finally been chosen as qualified for their important and responsible positions. Differing, as they do, in language and nationalities and human feelings and prejudices, they have all the same faith, the same zeal, and have all come together at the summons of their common father. They all gather around the chair of Peter.

Well may the world look with wonder at such an assembly as this, containing so much of learning, such strength of character, such personal worth, wielding so much power over the minds and consciences of men, possessing such an intimate, practical knowledge of the whole world, of the good and the bad in it, and of the needs of men--an assembly every member of which has learned, by years of ministerial duty, to read, as no others can, the heart of man, and where all have come together with the same earnest purpose, and in the same singleness of heart, to confer candidly and frankly with each other, in order, with the aid and light of heavenly grace, to determine on such measures as shall best promote the glory of God, the interests of religion, and the spread of truth and virtue among men. Even to the man of the world, not to say to the Christian, can any thing be nobler or more worthy of respect than such a meeting? Must not every honest heart rejoice in the effort they will make, and wish them success?

But to the Catholic this oecumenical council has a higher character. We know that the church was founded not by man, but by Christ himself; that she stands, not by human learning or human wisdom and prudence, but by the power of God; that Christ is ever with her, that he has sent his Holy Spirit, the Spirit of truth, to abide with her for ever, to teach her all truth, to recall to her mind all things whatsoever he taught, and that so she is to us the pillar and ground of truth. We look back and see that in all the great emergencies of Christian truth, or rather emergencies of the world, it has been her custom to call together her bishops in councils like this. Thus, when Arianism arose, and the minds of simple men were thrown into confusion and perplexity concerning the divinity of the Saviour by the wily quotations of Scripture and the plausible teachings of error, the Council of Nice declared clearly and emphatically the original doctrine of the divinity of the Son; and guarded it by establishing the consecrated terms in which thenceforth Christian lips should express it. So, too, when Nestorius and Eutyches, and other later heresiarchs arose, other councils were held, solemnly setting forth the original doctrines received and held by the church, and pointing out and condemning the opposite errors. So, too, in the sixteenth century the Council of Trent met and gave to the world a full and clear statement of the Catholic doctrine of justification, so violently assailed by Luther and his followers and companions--a doctrine, by the way, which no small portion of those non-Catholics who still retain a belief in an actual divine revelation, now receive substantially and admit to be the only doctrine on that head reconcilable with reason and common sense.

So, too, in this nineteenth century, amid the confusing uncertainties of men, and the discordant clashing of opinions in the world, we turn with reverent hope, with fullest confidence in the words of the Saviour, and with grateful hearts and willing minds, to this first Oecumenical Council of the Vatican. We recognize in it the same authority which spoke at Nice, at Ephesus, and at Chalcedon, at Constantinople, at Lyons, and at the Lateran, and in Trent. We await the words of its teaching and its precepts of discipline. For it will speak with authority. "It hath seemed good to the Holy Ghost and to us."

Our readers are no doubt familiar with the chief antecedents of the council. It was in his address to the bishops assembled in Rome in June, 1867, to celebrate the centenary of St. Peter's martyrdom, that the Holy Father made the first public and official announcement of what had been for a short time before mooted and considered in private. It was his desire, at as early a day as circumstances would allow, to convene the bishops of the Catholic world in an oecumenical council. The prelates present, about five hundred in number, expressed their gratification and cordial assent. The attacks of the Garibaldians in November, 1867, if successful, would probably have frustrated the design. But under divine Providence it signally failed. Some thought that the bull of convocation would appear in December, 1867. But it was not published until the midsummer of 1868, and the council was summoned for December 8th, 1869. It was a solemn work. All felt that a most important day was approaching in the history of the church. Throughout the world, ever since, in every church and religious house, as often as the priest ascended the altar to celebrate the divine mysteries, or those vowed to the Lord assembled to sing his praises, petitions were offered unceasingly that God would bless the council, and give to the prelates such light and grace as would lead them to speak and act for his greater glory and the welfare of souls. As months rolled on and the time approached, clergy and faithful throughout the world united with redoubled fervor in triduums, novenas, and suitable religious exercises to obtain this special favor from Heaven.

In order that when the prelates should come, they might not be detained too long from their dioceses attending the council--as was the case at Trent--it was deemed advisable to establish preparatory committees of chosen theologians to study maturely such questions as it was thought would probably come up or be proposed in the council. In Rome, the centre of theological learning, there were eminent theologians in abundance from whom to choose. But it was felt that something more was needed. To erudition must be added an intimate knowledge of the modes of thought and the practical needs of the various nations; something which books alone cannot give. Hence, eminent theologians from France, Germany, England, Ireland, and other countries were invited, and sent to Rome as representative men of their respective countries. From the United States, the Very Rev. Dr. Corcoran, of Charleston, South Carolina, whom our bishops had learned to appreciate as secretary to our Second Plenary Council of Baltimore, was chosen for this purpose, and came to Rome fifteen months ago. The choice was a most happy one. He has won the esteem and respect of all by his simple and quiet dignity of manner, the vastness of his learning, and, more than all, by his sound judgment and practical good sense. I believe he stands in the council as one of the theologians to the pope. Five committees, thus formed of Roman and foreign theologians, each under the presidency of a cardinal, have for nearly a year and a half been engaged in an exhaustive study of the subjects most likely to come up. Their dissertations and essays on such points have been printed for the private use of the bishops, and being up to the day, must be of great use, and will naturally aid much in expediting business.

Other material preparations were necessary. The sessions of the council were to be held in the north arm of the Transept of St. Peter's--that which stretches toward the Vatican Palace. The place assigned had to be fitted up with appropriate decorations and suitable furniture. Other places were to be prepared for the general congregations--committees of the whole, as they would be termed in the United States--and for particular congregations, or special committees. Beyond this, many of the bishops who would desire to attend would be too poor to pay the exorbitant rates which landlords here and elsewhere know how to ask when a city is crowded--as Rome would be--perhaps might be too poor to pay any thing. Such should be the guests of the Holy Father. He would provide for them. This was obviously the case with many of the Italian bishops. The kingdom of Italy has seized and turned over to the national treasury all ecclesiastical property, promising, as a partial compensation instead, to pay the clergy a stated stipend from the government. As might be expected from persons capable of committing such wholesale and barefaced robbery, the promise, in too many instances, has never been kept. I apprehend that the vast majority of the clergy of Italy are now managing to feed, clothe, and lodge themselves on an average of twenty cents a day. The number of such bishops from Italy, with others from the East, and from distant and very poor missions, may amount to one hundred and fifty or two hundred.

All this would cost money, and the pope himself, stripped of four fifths of the territory of the States of the Church, but not stripped, as yet, of the old public debt, the interest of which he is struggling to meet punctually, is poor. The earnest Catholics of every country knew his condition and poured in contributions for this purpose. Last autumn the papers announced that all due preparations were being actively pushed forward.

In October, bishops began to arrive. The first comers were from the East, who had set out early. In their countries men travel slowly, and time is not so precious. Perhaps, too, some thought they might be as long on the journey as their records and traditions said their predecessors had been four hundred years ago, when they came to the Council of Florence. The European and western bishops were better acquainted with the speed of railways and steamers, and began to pour in only in the latter portion of November. By the 1st of December, fully five hundred had arrived, and the week that followed saw two hundred more come in. Every courtesy was shown them. As a train crossed the frontier into the Pontifical States, an officer ascertained the names of all the bishops, telegraphed the information to Rome, and, on their arrival, they found other officials ready to welcome them, and to escort them in carriages to their several destinations. Their baggage, too, was exempt from custom-house inspection. This, however, was a favor scarcely confined to the Pontifical States. In more than one instance, bishops have passed from the United States, through England, France, and (strange contrast to 1867) even through Northern Italy, without having their trunks once opened. It were to be wished that the annoying and now useless system of passports were done away with. It has scarcely any advantage save that of giving fees to consuls and employees.

On December 2d, the Holy Father delivered to the bishops then in Rome, assembled in the Sixtine chapel, an allocution in preparation for the council; and they received printed copies of an apostolical letter, dated November 27th, settling some matters for the good order of the council, and the dispatch of business. Chapter i. reiterates the laws of the church, and enjoins on all the duty of living piously, and of carefully maintaining an exemplary demeanor.