The corps of five thousand men under General Rochambeau had, when

they landed in America, no less than eight hundred on the sick-list;

a frightful number, being nearly one fifth of the effective force.

The length of the voyage, and the bad quality of the food on

shipboard, were the causes of this. We learn, however, from another

statement of a similar kind made by M. Blanchard, that such a

proportion on the sick-list after a sea voyage was by no means

unusual. The first thing to be done was to restore the health of

the army, and for that purpose it remained a whole year inactive

at Rhode Island, if we except the sailing of an expedition with a

party on board intended for land-service, which was the occasion of

a naval engagement in Chesapeake Bay. Finally the army moved from

its quarters to effect a junction with Washington and La Fayette,

and, supported by the flotilla of M. de Grasse, commander of the

squadron, who landed an additional body of three thousand men, they

proceeded in concert to invest Yorktown, where Cornwallis, the

English commander, was besieged, and not long after was forced to

capitulate.[297] The small French army passed its second winter in

America, in the State of Virginia, in the vicinity of Yorktown. In

1782, it returned northward, threatened New York, the last place of

which the English held possession, and reëmbarked at the close of

1782.

Such is the framework to the descriptive reminiscences of M.

Blanchard. Those two long marches from north to south, and again from

south to north, gave him particular facilities for observing the

country. Sometimes with the army, oftener alone, and going in advance

to make preparations for the sick and the commissariat of the army--a

double duty with which he was charged--he visited the chief cities of

the United States, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Hartford, Fredericksburg,

Williamsburg, Wilmington, Alexandria, Providence, etc. Philadelphia,

then the seat of Congress, counted at that time thirty-five thousand

inhabitants; it has now seven hundred thousand. Every village, every

station passed through, is recorded and described by M. Blanchard;

frequently they are but the small beginnings of what are now great

and flourishing cities. These pictures of other times extracted from

the note-book of a French officer, the rude attempts at agriculture,

improvements then in their infancy, the plantations, as they then

existed, and roads and public works just laid out but incomplete,

present the contrast of what existed then with what is to be seen

to-day, and give us an idea of the immense progress that has been

made in the interval. There is also for the American reader a

particular interest attached to the names given of several families

with whom he merely lodged, or whose hospitality was pressed upon

him, and whose great-grandchildren perhaps still reside in the same

places.[298] When our troops marched on Yorktown, they traversed that

portion of Virginia so often the scene of conflict in the late civil

war; and in this recital, which seems to treat of times and events

long since gone by, we meet with many names of localities common to

both wars. There were, even at this time, indications of different

tendencies on the part of the populations of the North and South, and

the following extract from the journal makes allusion to this in very

striking terms:

"The inhabitants of these southern provinces are very different

from those of the North, who, as I have already said, cultivate

their own lands. In the South, they have negro slaves whom

they compel to work, while they themselves lead an idle life,

chiefly occupied with the pleasures of the table. In general,

neither as to morality nor honesty can they compare with the

Americans of the North, and in some sort the North and South

represent two different races."

Expeditions sent out for provisions, wood, and forage; transports

for the troops; difficulties arising from want of roads and bridges,

and the depreciation of American paper money; remarks on the food,

the furniture, the price of articles, the fuel, (they had great wood

fires,) the quality of the soil and state of cultivation; frequent

accidental meetings with refugees from the edict of Nantes, (not far

from New York there was a village built entirely by refugees from

Rochelle, called New Rochelle, which a number of our officers went to

see;) such are the usual matters treated of in his journal, on which

in a few words he frequently throws much light, and makes his journal

interesting to those who take pleasure in such details. Agriculture

and the aspects of nature are among the subjects that most occupied

the attention of M. Blanchard: he does not omit to name the plants

and shrubs, both such as reminded him of France, and such as were

till then unknown to him. This life of movement and activity seemed

to be his delight. On one occasion, he explored a large portion of

the forest to find the most suitable place for cutting down winter

fuel for the army, and superintended the work himself. "I love the

woods," says he, "I was there in some sort alone, far from the world.

I rode on horseback, and led the life of a man who dwelt upon his

own estate." That expression of feeling recurs more than once in

his journal, and mingles with some natural observations, like the

following:

"To-day, after dinner, while walking as usual alone in the

woods, (not far from Baltimore,) I saw a humming-bird. I knew

such birds were to be found in North America, and some had

already seen them; but this was the first I met with. I easily

recognized it from the description given of it. Its small size,

its swiftness on the wing, its beak, and the brilliancy of its

colors are remarkable. It makes a humming noise with its wings

while flying. At first one might imagine that he had met the

insect called the _demoiselle_ in some provinces of France. It

is no larger; it has also a peculiarity of stopping suddenly

without beating its wings. I saw it rest upon a shrub very

close to me; after that, I had the pleasure of observing it for

a long time."

All the documents in reference to the war in America agree in stating

that the relations of our troops with the army and population of

the United States were excellent, and that the discipline of the

auxiliary corps was admirable; every one in fact seems to have

carried away the most favorable impressions of the expedition. The

universal enthusiasm which gave rise in France to this expedition

still lasted; the Americans were everywhere popular, and the new

ideas which prepared the way for our revolution led our countrymen

to look with interest and partiality on institutions, manners,

and characteristics so different from ours. We find this bias, so

general at the time, in the journal of M. Blanchard, but still

without leading him into exaggeration, and with some of those slight

criticisms that a regard to truth made necessary.

At that period, the American character, if well examined,

foreshadowed all that it has become since; but the manners were still

very different, and contrast singularly with those of Americans of

to-day. M. Blanchard, brought into daily intercourse with their

ancestors, says of them that they are "slow, distrustful, and wanting

in decision of character." In another place he speaks of them as

spending a great portion of the day at table, even in the cities of

the North.

"As they have little occupation, and seldom go out during

winter, but pass their days by the fireside, and by the side of

their wives, without reading or any employment, it is a great

distraction, a remedy against _ennui_, to eat so frequently."

"Oh! we have changed all that," will be the answer of the Americans

of 1869.

Their morals were singularly pure, and it is on that basis that

liberty grew to its present greatness. The journal speaks of but

one woman in an important city, who was talked of for her levity

of conduct, and she was a European. Here and there throughout the

journal we find allusion to young American girls, already possessed

of that liberty and that queenly dignity, founded on universal

respect, which have continued there to be the privilege of their sex.

Here are two charming illustrations of the manners of that period:

"During my stay at Boston, I dined with a young American

lady in whose house M. de Capellis lodged. We had made the

acquaintance of her sister and brother-in-law at Newport. It

was a singular contrast to our customs to see a young girl

who, at most, could not have been more than twenty years of

age, lodge and entertain a young man. I shall surely find an

opportunity of explaining the causes of this singularity."

On another occasion, it is the daughter of the host who comes to keep

company with M. Blanchard in the room assigned to him.

"She remained there a long time; sometimes we conversed. At

other times she would leave me to attend to my business,

and this without constraint and with a natural and innocent

familiarity."

It was the period when our eighteenth century, disgusted with the

corruption of the court of Louis XV. and the upper classes, indulged

in dreams of a golden age, and a morality pure and unaffected. The

Americans seemed to offer the realization of this day-dream; hence

the success of their cause, and the universal enthusiasm in their

favor throughout France.

The general morality of a people who boldly founded a republic in the

face of the old monarchies of Europe, was naturally to Frenchmen of

the old _régime_ the most interesting spectacle in the new world. The

journal abounds in this respect with facts and significant remarks

written incidentally in the course of the narrative. I shall limit

myself to a few quotations:

"The inhabitants of these provinces (those of the North) are in

general more affable and more sprightly than those of Virginia.

When our soldiers come into camp, they are met by crowds of

women anxious to hear the music, and even to dance when they

find an opportunity, which sometimes happens. Afterward they

return home to attend to household duties, milk the cows, and

prepare the meal for the family. During this time the men are

at work cultivating the fields without any distinction or

inequality, all well housed and well clad. They choose from

among themselves those whom they wish, by reason of their

merit or consideration, to be captains of the militia or

deputies to Congress. At East Hartford, I was lodged in a very

excellent house furnished with order and good taste. I had a

bed as elegant in appearance as any to be found in our best

country houses in France. The house belonged to the widow of a

merchant who had two very handsome and very modest girls; one

of these was affianced to a shoemaker, the owner also of a very

beautiful house. I have often made this remark, but I cannot

help repeating it; the greatest equality prevails in these

Northern States. All the husbandmen have farms of their own;

there is no one who does not know how to read and write, and

there are no poor to be met with. This is as it should be in

all the states."

"NOTE.--It was in 1782 I made those reflections. I did not

think that ten years after I should see the same equality

established in France."[299]

M. Blanchard remarks everywhere this equality in education, and

a high standard of manners accompanied by dignity and elegant

refinement. One day, having negotiated for the transport of some wood

with a rich proprietor, a man of position in society, and brother

of the celebrated American General Green, he saw him afterward come

up driving his own wagons. He mentions the fact on his journal that

evening, adding this exclamation, "Such are the customs of America!"

In general, the towns, villages, and country houses strike him as

"Possessing a something indescribably becoming that pleases

one. Instead of tapestry, the walls are papered; and the

effect is pleasing to the eye. The houses are, almost without

exception, well-built, and kept remarkably clean, whether they

chance to belong to a farmer or an artisan, a merchant or a

general. Their education is pretty nearly the same, so that

a mechanic is often sent as a deputy to the assembly where

no distinction is made; there are no separate orders. I have

already said that all the inhabitants of the country cultivated

their own fields; they work themselves on their farms, and

drive their cattle. This kind of life, this pleasing equality,

possesses a charm for every thinking being."

Here we recognize the language of the reign of Louis XVI., an echo of

Jean-Jacques and Bernardin de Saint-Pierre.

We have theorized on equality, and often lulled ourselves with

chimerical dreams regarding it; but we find that a hundred years ago

the Americans had practically realized it by adopting as a basis the

participation of all citizens in the benefits of instruction and

education, and the respect paid to all honorable labor.

So much for equality. We pass on to some facts of practical liberty.

While the French corps was passing through the little town of

Crampond, an American asked a very high indemnity for some

depredations committed by the troops on his property. This claim was

taken into consideration; but without waiting for a decision, the

American carried his complaint before the judge of his district,

who, according to law, could not refuse to send an officer to arrest

the commander of the French troops. This officer, in accordance with

the legal custom, put his hand, with many apologies, however, on the

shoulder of General de Rochambeau, in the presence of the troops.

All the officers present were indignant, and wished to interfere;

but General de Rochambeau said he would submit to the laws of the

country; and he was dismissed on giving bail. This anecdote, related

by Rochambeau himself, and by La Fayette, in their memoirs, is also

mentioned by M. Blanchard, with the additional circumstance that he

(M. Blanchard) found himself, a few days after, quartered on the

same officer of the law to whom the mission of arresting the French

commander-in-chief had been intrusted.

A Masonic procession is described as follows:

"It was St. John's day, a great day with the Free-Masons, and

they held a meeting at Providence. It was announced in the

public papers; for these kinds of societies are authorized

here. I met these Free-Masons in the streets, formed in ranks

and marching two by two, holding each other by the hand, all

wearing their aprons, and preceded by men carrying long rods.

The one who closed the procession, and who appeared to be the

chief, had two brothers by his side, and all three had ribbons

round their necks, as ecclesiastics do when they wear the

_cordon bleu_."

What conclusion must we draw from these facts? That it would seem

that republican manners had been anterior in the United States to the

constitution itself. The laws of Congress have only ratified, so to

speak, that which already existed.

General Washington frequently appears in the recital of M. Blanchard,

who sometimes had personal relations with him. Even at that time, in

the eyes of all who knew him, the commander-in-chief of the American

troops was a great man. No one doubted that this judgment of his

contemporaries would be ratified by posterity. At the close of the

first interview of our generals with Washington, M. Blanchard writes:

"A gracious and noble air, broad and upright views, the art

of making himself beloved--these points in his character were

observed by all of us who saw him. It is his extraordinary

ability that has defended the liberty of America, and if she

one day enjoys freedom, it will be to him she will owe it."

In a note; "I wrote the above in 1780. The Americans are

indebted for their success to the courage of Washington, to his

love for his country, and to his prudence. He never committed

an error, and was never discouraged. In the midst of successes

as well as in reverses, he was ever calm and undisturbed,

always self-possessed, and his personal qualities have kept

more soldiers in the American army, and procured more adherents

to the cause of liberty, than the enactments of Congress."

There is, I think, something to blame in this judgment, where there

is evidently a tendency to personify a cause in a single man--a

tendency so prevalent among us.

An American dinner in the tent of Washington is thus described:

"On the 29th, (June, 1781,) I mounted my horse to look at the

barracks in which an American regiment had been quartered

during the winter at Fishkill Landing. My intention was

to establish a hospital there. On the way I met General

Washington, who, having recognized me, stopped and invited

me to dine with him that day at three o'clock. I went. There

were twenty-five covers laid. The guests were officers of his

army, besides the lady of the house in which the general was

stopping. We dined in a tent. The general placed me beside him;

one of the aides-de-camp did the honors. The dinner was served

in the American style, and every thing was in abundance. There

were vegetables, roast-beef, lamb, chicken, salad, pudding, and

a pie--a kind of tart very much in use in England and among the

Americans; and all was served together. They gave on the same

plate, meat, vegetables, and salad, (which was eaten without

dressing except vinegar.) When dinner was over, the cloth

being removed, Madeira wine was passed round, and they drank

the health of the King of France, the army, etc. The general

made apologies for the reception he had given me; to which I

replied that I had enjoyed myself very much in his company, as

I did everywhere in America, which I liked much better than

Corsica, where I had been for many years. He then told me that

the English papers announced that the Corsicans were about to

rise in rebellion. I replied that I did not believe it; that

the Corsicans were not dangerous, and besides, that Paoli was

not General Washington. The countenance of the general has

something grave and serious about it; but it is never severe.

On the contrary, it is gentle, and usually wears a pleasant

smile. He is affable, and talks in a familiar and lively manner

with his officers. I forgot to mention that at the beginning of

the meal a clergyman who was present asked a blessing, and at

its close returned thanks. I knew that General Washington was

accustomed to say grace himself when he had no clergyman at the

table, as is the custom of the heads of families in America;

the idea being that a general in the midst of his army is as

the father of a family."

Here is a last quotation, in which we see the American general at a

very critical period of his career:

"On the 24th and 25th, (August, 1781,) the troops finished

crossing the North River. The passage was a tedious one, as the

river was wide, and they were obliged to cross it on boats and

rafts, which had been brought together in great numbers. On the

25th, I went myself to the place, and saw many troops cross

with their baggage. General Washington was there. They had

arranged a sort of observatory for him, whence he superintended

every thing with close attention. He seemed to see in this

passage, in the march of our troops toward Chesapeake Bay,

and in our junction with M. de Grasse--he seemed, I say, to

see the dawn of a better destiny for America, which, at that

stage of the war, with her resources exhausted, had need of

some great success to raise her courage and her hopes. He shook

my hand with much emotion when he quitted us, and crossed the

river himself. It was about two o'clock. He immediately joined

his army, which marched the next morning.

"NOTE.--The event justified his anticipations; for the taking

of Yorktown, after our junction with M. de Grasse, did much

toward bringing about peace, and the acknowledgment of American

independence."[300]

As for General Rochambeau, wisely chosen by Louis XVI. himself to

command this expedition undertaken under such peculiar circumstances,

he made the French character appear in his own person in the

noblest light. The Americans, before his arrival, imbued with

English prejudices--prejudices often justified in the eighteenth

century--against the light tone and reputed affectation of our young

nobility, were prepared to find the French general (as several of

them afterward confessed) a mere courtier, opposed to their ideas

and customs, and with whom their relations would be constrained, in

consequence of difference of character. They saw, on the contrary, a

type of our old France, who seemed formed on the same model as their

own leading men, loving justice, seeking good, worthy and dignified.

"He has served well in America," wrote our commissary, "and has given

a favorable idea of our nation. They pictured to themselves a French

fop, and they found a thoughtful and dignified gentleman. '_Your

general is very self-possessed_,' said an American who dined beside

me, and who observed the moderation with which General Rochambeau

responded to the numerous toasts proposed, and which were drunk as

they went round by all present. He has given many other proofs of

moderation and wisdom."

He had also his faults, and they are related with impartiality: a

mistrustful character, unamiable manners, and an unpleasant temper,

of which his officers often complained. Nevertheless, General

Rochambeau remains on the whole a fine specimen of the old army.

We meet many allusions, also, to La Fayette:

"On that day, (September 17th, 1781, a short time before the

taking of Yorktown,) and the following days, I was constantly

with M. de La Fayette, who wished to assist me in the

provisioning of the troops. It would be difficult to find more

clearness, patience, and honesty in the discussion of business

matters. He reminded me of Scipio Africanus in Spain, equally

young and modest, and with the reputation already of an able

general; for his recent campaign, in which, with inferior

forces, he maintained himself against Cornwallis, has brought

him much glory, and justly."

If America and the Americans of the war of independence constitute

the chief interest of this journal, whatever relates to the

organization of our troops at that time, as well as to their spirit

and military customs, is not the less deserving of attention.

In this "_memento_" of an expeditionary army corps, there naturally

appear, in the course of the recital, the shortcomings of the past,

and in contrast the progress since made--for instance, in the

_materiel_ and weapons of war. It was necessary, at that time, to

erect the baking-houses in the neighborhood of the encampments; and

when the army advanced, men were sent to establish them ahead. But

they did not march very rapidly in those days.

There was a certain want of discipline among our soldiers, and a

carelessness on this point in the officers, which shock our modern

ideas; and yet the army corps of General Rochambeau, which was

composed of picked troops, was cited for its exemplary conduct

at that period. The Marquis de Custine,[301] then colonel of a

regiment, having allowed himself, in a fit of passion, to make use of

intemperate language toward one of his officers, the latter committed

suicide. The news spread at the moment of parade, when M. de Custine

was hooted, insulted, and his life threatened by his soldiers.

"Unless some officers had interfered, worse would have happened to

him," says M. Blanchard. It does not appear that any punishment

was inflicted for this serious insubordination. It would seem as

if a disturbance of this kind did not cause much uneasiness to the

commander-in-chief.

The distinctions between the officers were less marked than at

present. The military spirit was not then what it has since become,

and, in truth, war was a less serious matter at that time than it is

now.

We might mention, also, the punishments of the past, and thus mark

the changes that have since been made. A French soldier struck an

officer with his sword. He attempted to kill himself afterward, but

was taken, tried, and condemned to death. What kind of death? His

hand was cut off, and he was then hanged. Some years have elapsed

since 1789!

These soldiers of Rochambeau are of our race and blood. They are our

great-grandfathers. Nevertheless, how widely the French army of that

period, which is so near and so far at the same time, differs from

our present army in its _esprit_, its conduct, and its habits!

We said in the beginning that the history of the French intervention

had not been written by any contemporary historian. If one were to

appear to-day who would treat fully this subject, hitherto so much

neglected, we should have lost nothing by the delay. Indeed, after

nearly a century of the greatest changes, the moment would doubtless

be excellent to treat this important episode of our military and

political history, and compose a work based on authentic documents,

which would have at each step the interest of thrilling contrasts.

The author would draw a parallel between the military organization

of the expedition of 1781 and of one of the present day of equal

importance. The means of action, the expenses, and the general way

of doing things, the improvements of every kind, would be compared,

and give rise to curious and useful observations. But above all, we

would see in this retrospective view the dawning of a nation which

has since developed to a degree which has no parallel, when we

consider the shortness of the time. A century has not yet elapsed,

and these three millions of rebellious English colonists have become

the forty millions of Americans who hold so important a place in the

world of to-day. Finally, the author would endeavor to depict the

extraordinary part assigned to this nation toward whose foundation we

contributed, and of which we might be truly called the god-parents.

He would show its tendencies, its work, its future. Has not, in fact,

the birth of the United States, even to the dullest mind, become an

historical fact of equal importance with the French Revolution? In

an important document of recent date, (the diplomatic circular of M.

de La Valette, of September 16th, 1866,) appear the following words,

which deserve attention:

"While the old populations of this continent, in their confined

territories, increase with measured slowness, the republic

of the United States may, before a century, number a hundred

millions of men."

Some will say that the independence of the United States was a

necessity, and that it would have been accomplished without any

assistance from France. In the course of time, very likely. But if

France had not come forward when she did, with men and money, we can

readily believe that the new state would have fallen again, for some

time to come, under the yoke of the mother country. As a consequence,

the development of this people, which has been owing largely to the

principles of the American constitution, would have been greatly

retarded, and the United States would not be to-day at that point

where we now behold her.

Be this as it may, it is curious to see the old French monarchy

lending its aid to the birth of a society most opposed to its

principles and traditions. This arises from the fact that all unite

to aid a cause when its hour has come. However, Bourbon royalty,

carried away by the national sentiment, performed then a wise and

generous act of the highest importance, the remembrance of which will

never be effaced on either side of the Atlantic.

FOOTNOTES:

[290] Thus designated in the royal almanacs from 1762 to 1768. His

successor in the office of general secretary to the "Swiss Grisons"

was the Abbé Barthélemy, author of _Le Jeune Anacharsis_.

[291] These expressions are copied from the letter of General

Berruyer, "Gouverneur des Invalides," announcing to the minister the

death of the commissary.

[292] Claude Blanchard had a son who was himself a commissary, and

who died recently, at the age of ninety, at La Flèche, (Sarthe.) The

writer of this review is a great-grandson of Claude Blanchard.

[293] The treaty of Paris (1763) had deprived France of Canada and

Louisiana.

[294] The only contemporary history is the Abbé de Longchamp's

_Histoire de la Dernière Guerre_, in three volumes.

[295] This first expedition comprised five thousand men; it was

followed a year afterward, by a second corps of three thousand,

brought from the West-Indies, but which remained only a short time in

America. They were commanded by MM. de Saint-Simon and d'Autichamp.

[296] Duportail, camp-marshal, who was minister of war for some time

toward the end of 1790, went through the American campaign as a

volunteer in the service of the United States.

[297] Cornwallis, a skilful general, though unfortunate on this

occasion, was highly esteemed by Napoleon I.

[298] "We quartered with the Americans, but we asked nothing from

them but shelter. Each officer brought with him his provisions and

cooking utensils, his bed and bedding, and we occasioned no expense

whatever to our hosts. I had for my use two wagons or covered

conveyances drawn by good horses, and I had all I stood in need of."

[299] Does not this remark, written in the darkest period of the

Reign of Terror, and under danger of death, indicate the most

profound convictions? A very tragical equality! and one that brought

M. Blanchard and the royal family together under circumstances

deserving of notice. On the 10th of August, when Louis XVI. and his

family sought refuge in the hall of the Legislative Assembly, they

were kept with their suite for many hours in a small apartment, and

when the dauphin, who afterward perished in the Temple, was in danger

of being stifled with heat, he was let down from the chamber into the

hall, and received upon the knees of Deputy Blanchard, who held him

there for a long time.

[300] The preliminaries of this peace, which recognized the existence

of a new nation, were signed the 10th of January, 1783. M. Blanchard

received the news the following March at Porto-Cabello, New Spain,

where the fleet which had brought our troops with a view to an

expedition against the English Antilles, was lying at this moment.

"The assurance of this peace caused me great joy, both because I am a

citizen, and because I saw in it the termination of my anxieties in

regard to my family. The news was received with enthusiastic joy by

all, with the exception of some few ambitious men who thought only of

themselves and their own fortunes."

[301] What has become of the journal of M. de Custine, of which the

manuscript of M. Blanchard makes mention in the following passage?

"To-day, M. de Custine, who has just been travelling into the

interior of America, showed me his journal and the result of his

observations, which appear to me wise and liberal." We have found no

other trace of the Memoirs of General de Custine on the campaign in

America.

THE EMIGRANT.

CHAPTER I.

"Willy, Willy darlin'! Rise, agra, rise; day is breakin', and ye've

many a long mile afore ye this mornin'--and for many a mornin' after

it."

As she spoke the last words the woman's voice trembled, and she hid

her face in the bed-clothes to stifle the grief that was welling up

in great sobbing waves from her breaking heart. As the sound of her

voice broke in upon his slumbers, a man rose from the bed where he

had thrown himself, half-dressed, a couple of hours before, and, not

yet quite awakened to consciousness, he looked around the room in a

bewildered way.

Then he sat down on the side of the bed, and covered his eyes with

his hand, vainly endeavoring to hide the tears that half-blinded him.

A chair stood near the bedside, and the wife drew it toward her and

sat down, laying her head upon his knee. Very softly and tenderly he

stroked the dark hair two or three times, then, while a great sob

convulsed his frame, he bent his own head till his lips touched her

forehead. "Willy, Willy, don't you give way," she said passionately,

looking up at him with sorrowful eyes; "keep a brave heart, asthore;

it's often ye'll need it where ye're goin'."

With a desperate effort he checked his emotion, and smiled sadly,

still tenderly smoothing her hair.

"Shure it's dreamin' I was, Mary," he said; "and the strangest

dream! I thought I was away in America, and walkin' in the purtiest

greenwood your heart ever picthured. The birds were singin' and the

daisies growin' as they wud be in heaven; the sky was as bright and

as blue as our own. But through the middle of the land ran a great

wide river, and it was between you and me. I didn't care for the

beauty and greenness, Mary, when I hadn't you wid me; and although

where you stood wasn't half so purty a spot as where I was, it seemed

the most beautiful place in the world, because ye wur there. Ye were

longin' to cross over to me, and the children pullin' at your gown

and pintin' to me always. Some how, it seemed to me of a sudden that

if I stretched out my hands to ye, ye might come; and I did it; and

ye came without any fear of the wather, right through and across it,

and I almost touched Katie with my hands, and felt her sweet breath

on my cheek. But just as ye would have set your feet on the ground

beside me, something came between us like a flash of fire, and ye

were gone, all o' ye, and I held out my hands to the empty air. And

then, thank God! I heard ye callin' 'Willy, Willy darlin',' and I saw

yer own sweet face bendin' over me as I woke."

The wife put one arm around her husband's neck as he ceased speaking,

and with the other smoothed back the masses of wavy brown hair that

fell over his forehead, while she said in tones scarcely audible

through her tears, "It's nothin', nothin', alanna; shure it's a

sin to mind dreams at all; and ye know that it's often when we're

throubled, we carry the throuble wid us into our sleep. It was all

owin' to the talk we had before ye lay down of the weary, weary way

ye were goin', and leavin' us behind. But we won't feel the time

passin' till we'll be together again, and we'll all be as happy as

the day is long. 'As happy as a queen;' do ye mind it, Willy, the

song ye wur so fond of hearin' me sing when I was a colleen and you

the blithest boy in the three parishes?"

"Do I mind it, _acushla_--do I mind it? Ah! well as I mind the merry

voice, and the bright eye, and the light step that are gone for ever.

God is good, Mary, God is good; but English tyrants are cruel, and

Irish hearts are their meat and dhrink."

"God _is_ good to us, Willie; better than we deserve. He's leadin' us

to himself by hard and bitter ways; but he loves his own. He's takin'

you to a land of plenty, where there'll be no hard landlords nor

tithe proctors to make yer blood boil and yer eyes flash, and me and

the little ones'll soon follow."

By this time two little girls had crept from a bed at the foot of the

larger one; tiny things, scarcely more than babies, either of them,

and they stood looking wonderingly up into the faces of their father

and mother.

The elder of the two, dark-eyed and black-haired like her mother,

seemed, as she nestled close to her parents, to take in some

of the sorrow of the situation; but the younger, a beautiful

blue-eyed, fair-haired little creature, buried her curly head in the

bed-clothes, and began to play "peep" with all her heart.

"May be I'm foolish, Mary," said her husband as he watched the

playful child, "and it's ashamed I ought to be, breakin' down when

you're so brave; but you'll have the little ones to comfort ye, and

I'll be all alone."

Then with an effort he arose, and busied himself in completing the

arrangements of his dress, while his wife placed breakfast on the

table. It was a very poor and scantily furnished room in which the

little family sat down to take their last meal together, but it was

exquisitely clean and neat. They had known comfort and prosperity,

and even in their poverty could be seen the traces of better days.

When William Leyden married Mary Sullivan, "the prettiest and

sweetest girl in the village," they were unanimously voted the

handsomest couple that ever left the parish church as man and wife.

All the world seemed bright before them; they had youth, health, and

strength, and sorrow and pain seemed things afar off from them then;

and they loved one another. Smile, cynic! as cynics do--but love is

the elixir of life, and without it any life is poor and incomplete.

For a time--a sweet, short, happy time--all went well. Then

misfortunes began to gather, one by one.

First the crops failed, the cows died, and Leyden fell ill of a

fever, and lay helpless for many months. Little by little their

savings dwindled into insignificance, and to crown all, the landlord

gave them notice to vacate their farm, for which he had been offered

a higher rent.

There was but one hope and prospect for the future. Through many a

sorrowful day and weary night the husband and wife endeavored to

combat the alternative, but at last they could no longer deny that

the only hope for days to come lay in a present parting.

So it had come to pass that Leyden was starting for America, leaving

his wife and children partly to the care of a well-to-do brother of

the former, partly to the resources she might be able to draw from

fine sewing and embroidery, in both of which she was very skilful.

Our story opens on the morning of his departure.

It did not take the sorrowful couple many minutes to finish their

morning meal. As the hour for parting approached, each strove to

assume a semblance of cheerfulness before the other, while each read

in the other's eyes the sad denial.

Soon kind-hearted neighbors dropped in, one by one, to wish the

traveller God-speed, and to take a sorrowful leave of the friend from

whom poverty and misfortune had not estranged his more prosperous

neighbors. For it is in adversity that the fidelity of the Irish

character manifests itself, and proves by what deep and enduring ties

heart clings to heart.

It was not long before the car that was to convey Leyden to the

next town came rolling along the road. As he heard the sound of the

wheels, he turned from the fire-place where he had been standing, and

motioned to a young fellow near him to carry out the heavily-strapped

box that contained all a thoughtful though straitened love could

provide for his comfort.

As though respectful of their grief, the neighbors passed from the

room and the husband and wife were left alone.

Very quickly but tenderly the man lifted each of the children from

the floor, and kissed them several times.

Then he turned to where his wife stood, close to him, yet not

touching him, as though she felt that a nearer presence would

destroy her well-assumed calmness. He looked at her for an instant

yearningly, then held her away from him for another, while she buried

her face in her hands; then with a convulsive sob he flung both

strong arms around her, and they wept together.

"God and his blessed mother and the angels guard ye, mavourneen," he

said at last; "guard ye and keep every breath of evil away till I

hold you again. The great sea seems wider than ever, darlin', and the

comfort and the meetin' further and further away. You wur always dear

to me, always the dearest; but I never thought it wud be so hard to

part wid ye till now. Mauria, Mauria, acushla machree."

No answer--no wail of anguish from her woman's lips; but her woman's

heart grew cold as death, her head leaned more heavily upon his

shoulder, the clasp of her arms about his neck grew tighter, then

slowly relapsed; and placing her gently upon the bed, with one long,

lingering look he left the house.

When Mary Leyden lifted her aching head from the pillow, kind,

womanly hands and compassionate voices were near to soothe and

comfort her; but her husband was far on his lonely journey.

CHAPTER II.

Swiftly the emigrant ship cut the blue waves, boldly her sails wooed

the winds, and hearts that had been despondent at parting grew

hopeful and buoyant as they neared the promised land.

Port at last; and, with a party of his countrymen, William Leyden

sought the far West, and before many months had elapsed, the letters

he dispatched to the loved ones at home contained not only assurance

of his good fortune, but substantial tokens of the fact; and Mary

wrote cheerfully and hopefully, ever looking forward to the time when

they would be reunited.

For two years our brave Irishman struggled and toiled. Sometimes

his heart would almost fail him when he thought of the ocean that

intervened between him and his dearest treasures; but these sad

thoughts were not familiar visitants, for unusual good fortune had

attended his efforts. By the end of the second year he had cleared

and planted several acres of rich, fruitful land, and the first

flush of autumn saw the completion of as neat and compact a little

dwelling as ever western pioneer could claim. Then went "home" the

last letter, glowing with hope and promise, and sending wherewith

to defray the expenses of wife and children, who were at length to

rejoin him in the land where he had toiled for them so hard and so

patiently.

"My heart is so light," Mary wrote to him; "my heart is so light that

I can hardly feel myself walkin'; it seems to be flyin' I am all the

time. And when I think of how soon I'll be near you, of how short the

time till ye'll be foldin' yer arms about me, many and many's the

time I'm cryin' for joy. Was there ever a happier woman? And Katie

and Mamie haven't forgotten a line o' your face or a tone of your

voice; ye'll not know them, Willy, they've grown so tall. My tears

are all happy ones now, alanna; my prayers are all thankful ones,

asthore machree."

How often Leyden read and reread this letter, its torn and ragged

appearance might indicate, and as the intervening days sped by,

each seemed longer than the last. Mary and the children were to

come direct from New York with a party who also expected to meet

friends in the West, and he felt quite easy as to their safety and

companionship. But ever and anon, as the time drew near, he half

reproached himself that he had not gone to meet them, a pleasure he

had only foregone on account of his scanty resources.

At last they were in St. Louis--they would be with him in three days.

How wearily those days dragged on. But the beautiful October morning

dawned at last; a soft mist hung over the tree-tops, and the balmy

breath of the Indian summer threw a subtle perfume over the thick

forest and its wide stretch of meadow-land beyond.

It was fifteen miles to the nearest town, and fifteen more to the

railway station. The earliest dawn saw William Leyden up and

impatient to be away. In company with one of his old neighbors, he

took his place in the rough wagon that was to figure so prominently

in the "hauling home." About eight o'clock they reached their first

stopping-place, where Leyden's friend had some little business to

transact that would detain him a short time in the town.

Not caring to accompany him, too restless to sit still in the public

room of the tavern, the impatient husband and father wandered into

the spacious yard behind the house. A young girl stood washing and

wringing out clothes near the kitchen door. Mechanically he took

in every feature of the place; the long, low bench over which she

leaned; her happy, careless face; her bare, red arms and wrinkled

hands; the white flutter of garments from the loosened line; the

green grass, where here and there others lay bleaching; the broken

pump and disused trough; two or three calves munching the scattered

herbage; in the distance a wide, illimitable stretch of prairie.

How well he remembered it all afterward!

As he stood watching her, the girl nodded smilingly and went on

with her work. After a while she began to hum softly to herself.

Leyden caught the sound, and listened. "What tune is that?" he asked

eagerly. "Sing it loud."

"Shure I dunno," the girl answered. "I heard my grandmother sing it

many's the time in the ould counthry, and I do be croonin' it over to

mysel' sometimes here at my washin'."

"Have you the words of it a', colleen?" he inquired. "I'd give a dale

to hear them again. 'Tis the song my own Mary likes best; and, thanks

be to God! I'll hear her own sweet voice singin' it shortly. It's to

meet her this mornin' I'm goin'--her and the childer, all the way

from Ireland; but if ye have the words of it and will sing it for me,

I'd like to hear it."

"Ayeh but you're the happy man, this day!" she replied. "I'm not much

of a hand at singin', but I believe I have all the words, and I'm

shure ye're welcome to hear them as well as I can give them."

With a preparatory cough and a modest little blush, the girl began

in a timid voice the familiar melody. It was a sad, dirge-like air,

as are so many of that sad, suffering land, "whose children weep in

chains."

And yet it was not in itself a mournful song. Ever and anon the glad

refrain broke forth exultingly and joyously from the monotone of the

preceding notes.

Simple as were the words, they found a welcome in the heart of the

listener; and unpretending as they seem written, they may find a like

responsive echo in the heart of the Irish reader.

"My love he has a soft blue eye

With silken lashes drooping;

My love he has a soft blue eye

With silken lashes drooping.

Its glances are like gentle rays

From heaven's gates down stooping,

As bright as smiles of paradise, as truthful and serene.

And when they shine upon me, I

Am jewelled like a queen.

"My love he has the fondest heart

That maiden e'er took pride in;

My love he has the fondest heart

That maiden e'er took pride in;

'Twas nurtured in that fair green land

His fathers lived and died in;

He holds us dear, his native land and me his dark Aileen;

And just because he loves me, I am happy as a queen.

"My love he wraps me all around

With his true heart's devotion;

My love he wraps me all around

With his true heart's devotion;

With wealth more rare than India's gold, or all the gems of ocean.

He clothes me with his tenderness, the deepest ever seen,

And while I wear that costly robe, I'm richer than a queen.

"Oh! kindly does he soothe me when

My trust is faint and low;

Oh! kindly does he soothe me when

My trust is faint and low;

My joy is his delight and all

My griefs are his, I know.

In the spring-time he is coming, and I count the days between;

For with such a royal king to rule, who would not be a queen?"

William Leyden wiped the tears from his eyes as the girl concluded

the song.

"Thank you, dear. God bless you," he said, "for singin' me Mary's

song!"

The next moment he saw his friend advancing toward him, and in

another they had resumed their journey.

Not much was said on either side as they rode along. At intervals our

hero's heart gave a great throb, almost painful in its joy, and once

in a while he made some casual remark; but that was all.

As they neared their destination, they noticed an unusual stir and

excitement in the vicinity; and as they approached the depot, they

saw knots of men scattered at intervals, apparently engaged in

discussing some event that had recently transpired.

"There must have been a fight hereabouts, Will," said his friend;

"but as every minute will seem an hour to you now, we'll not stop to

ask questions. The train has been in half an hour by this time. I

wonder if Mary'll know ye with that great beard?"

Leyden had no time to answer him, for at that moment a man advanced

from a crowd that blocked up the road in front of them, and, checking

the horses, said quickly, "Can't drive any further. Way up yonder

blocked with the wreck."

"What wreck?" exclaimed both men with a single voice. "Haven't heard

about it?" he replied. "Down-train, this morning, met the up-train,

behind time--collision--cars smashed--fifty or sixty killed--as many

wounded--terrible accident--no fault anywhere, of course."

But he checked his volubility at sight of the white face that

confronted him, and the strong, convulsive grasp that seized his

hand. Then in a softened tone he said,

"Hope you an't expecting no one;" and moved back a pace.

There was no answer; for William Leyden had sprung from the wagon,

dashing like a lunatic through the group of men on the road-side,

and in an instant had cleared the hundred yards between him and the

station.

The crowd that stood upon the platform made way for him as he

advanced; for they felt instinctively that he had come upon a

melancholy quest, and the man whom he had clutched violently as he

asked, "Where are the dead?" pointed to the inner room, where lay the

mangled corpses of the victims.

Alas! in a few minutes after he had stepped across the threshold his

eye fell upon the corpse of a fair-haired little girl, beside whom,

one arm half thrown across the child, a woman lay, with a calm, holy

expression on her dead face. Just at her crushed feet, which some

merciful hand had covered, the body of another child was lying; but

the black, wavy hair had been singed, and the white forehead burned

and scarred, and the little hands were quite disfigured.

And they had left the dear old land for this! They had borne poverty

and separation, and the weariness of waiting; through lingering days

of anticipation they had traversed miles upon miles of dangerous

ocean to be dashed, on the threshold of a new life, at the portal of

realization, into the pitiless, fathomless abyss of eternity! Ah! no;

rather to be gathered into the arms of a merciful God--to be folded

close to his heart, for ever and ever. Truly his ways are not our

ways, and who can understand them?

In a moment more the husband and father had sunk upon his knees

beside the lifeless group; but no words came from his lips save

"Mauria, Mauria avourneen, acushla machree." Then he would pass his

hands caressingly over the ghastly faces, pressing tenderly and often

the little childish fingers in his own, and kissing the scarred and

disfigured forehead.

He never knew who it was that bore him away from the dreadful spot;

what hands prepared his loved ones for the grave, he never knew,

and never asked to know. He only remembered waking momentarily from

a stupor on that sad night, and seeing the benevolent face of the

priest bending over him, and hearing something he was saying about

Calvary and the cross, to which he replied half unconsciously, but

with a feeling as though there were angels near him, "God's will be

done."

TRANSLATED FROM THE HISTORISCH-POLITISCHE BLATTER.

NICOLAUS COPERNICUS.

The material for the biography of this remarkable man is not very

abundant. More than a century after his death, Gassendi published a

life of Copernicus in Latin; this life, however, was compiled from

printed sources only. A German biography, by Westphal, appeared at

Constance in 1822. In 1856, an anonymous author in Berlin wrote

concerning Copernicus. Besides these we have essays by L. Prowe. Last

of all, a life of Copernicus has appeared by Dr. Hipler; of which we

purpose in this article to give a compendium.

There are nineteen folio volumes among the episcopal archives

of Frauenburg, which contain the remnants of an uncommonly rich

correspondence by Dantiscus, Bishop of Ermland, who was for a time

the ambassador of Sigismond of Poland at the court of Charles V. Rich

as this collection still remains, it is to be regretted that the

greater part of it was carried off to Sweden by Gustavus Adolphus and

his successors, to be there divided and scattered.

A portion of the fragments was collected and returned in 1833,

upon a demand made by the Prussian government; another portion was

subsequently discovered by Prowe in the library of the university of

Upsal. Through the mediation of the Prussian minister of worship,

this collection was put at the disposal of Dr. Hipler. In both

collections, that of Frauenburg and that of Upsal, very interesting

essays on Copernicus are contained. Of these Dr. Hipler has made good

use, and thereby elucidated the history of the celebrated canon.

According to Hipler's researches, the life of Copernicus may be

summed up as follows:

Nicolaus Copernicus was born on the 19th of February, 1473, at

Thorn. His father, "Niklas Copernigk," was a respectable merchant of

extensive business relations. His mother Barbara was the daughter

of Lucas Watzelrode, who left besides Barbara a son, also named

Lucas, afterward Bishop of Ermland and the chief patron of his nephew

Copernicus. It is probable, as Hipler shows, that after receiving

primary instruction in the excellent schools of his native town,

Copernicus completed his third and fourth years' course in the

high-school of Kulm. In the autumn of 1491, we find him matriculated

at the university of Cracow, which was then famous for the

remarkable ability of its professor of mathematics, Adalbert Blar,

commonly known as Brudjewski.

It was in this university that the foundations were laid of the

subsequent success of Copernicus in astronomy. He commented already

on the writings of the great astronomers, Peurbach and Regiomonban;

and he afterward declared that he was indebted for the principal part

of his learning to the university of Cracow; a fact to be attributed,

without doubt, to the superior instructions of Brudjewski.

At the expiration of four years, being then twenty-two, he returned

to Prussia, where he obtained from his uncle, the bishop a canonry

at Frauenburg in 1495. A statute of the chapter required that every

canon who had not received a degree in theology, jurisprudence,

or medicine, should before taking rank enter one of the chartered

universities, and there during three years apply himself without

interruption to one of the three afore-mentioned branches. Copernicus

not being a graduate, went to Bologna in 1497, and there gave

his attention to law. His choice of this branch of learning was

determined by the circumstance of his being a member of the cathedral

chapter, which naturally constituted the senate or council of the

bishop, who in those days was also a temporal sovereign. We can

easily conceive that the youthful canon would make special endeavors

to excel in his department, that he might by the eminence of his

knowledge be able to cast a veil, as it were, over his great youth.

We know nothing further concerning his legal studies, but the skill

with which as ambassador of the chapter and administrator of the

diocese he defended, both orally and by writing, the privileges of

the seignory of Ermland against the aggressions of the German order

clearly proves that he had passed his three years in the study of law

with great success.

At Bologna, his legal studies did not hinder him from perfecting his

mathematical and astronomical acquirements. An efficient aid to him

for this purpose was his intercourse with the learned Dominican,

Maria of Ferrara. It seems that he first led Copernicus to doubt the

truth of the system of Ptolemy. It is possible, also, that through

him he became acquainted with Pythagorean and Platonic philosophy,

and its theory regarding the motion of the earth. In 1499, Copernicus

was still sojourning at Bologna, where he experienced the common

misfortune of students, financial embarrassment. The maintenance of

his brother Andrew, who had followed him to that city, occasioned him

considerable expense; but he was finally rescued from his troubles

by his uncle, the bishop. In 1500, we find him at Rome lecturing

on mathematics before a large assembly of hearers. He returned to

Frauenburg with the resolution, however, to revisit Italy at any

cost. It was a cause of annoyance to him, as he himself discloses,

that the motion of the great mechanism of the world, devised for

our sake by the greatest and most orderly of artificers, had not

been more clearly and satisfactorily explained. That he might enter

upon this investigation with a greater prospect of success, he

determined to learn Greek also; for the acquisition of which, Italy

alone at that period afforded good opportunities. He therefore, in

1501, applied to the chapter for another leave of absence for two

years. At the same time his brother Andrew, who had become a canon,

requested permission to enter upon the three years' course prescribed

by a statute of the chapter.

Copernicus pledged himself, in case his brother's request was

granted, to apply during his stay in Italy to the study of medicine

also, that he might afterward act as physician to the chapter.

The chapter had previously numbered among its members a practical

physician, whose death had left in their midst a painful void.

From this circumstance it is plain that Copernicus had not as yet

received any of the higher orders; nor did he subsequently receive

any; for the practice of medicine, including, as it necessarily did,

dissecting and searing, constituted an irregularity which debarred

from holy orders.

Moreover, Mauritius, Bishop of Ermland, wrote in 1531 that his

chapter had but one priest among its members. Copernicus had probably

received minor orders only; nor does he mention himself that he ever

received any others.

In 1501, with the consent of the chapter, he went to Padua, began

the study of medicine, made himself master of Greek, had frequent

intercourse with Nicolaus Passara, and Nicolaus Vernia, of the

Aristotelian school of philosophy, and, after graduating in medicine,

returned to Frauenburg in 1505.

At the episcopal residence of Heilberg he served as private physician

to his uncle, and took a lively interest in the extensive projects

and undertakings of that prelate. One of these projects was the

establishment of a high-school at Elbing. It failed, however, in

consequence of the narrow prejudices of the people of that town, who

were opposed to having many strangers in their midst The failure of

this enterprise is much to be regretted; for without a doubt this

institution would have afforded a fine field for the intellectual

activity of the great astronomer. His life under these circumstances

continued to be simply that of a physician and canonist. His

monumental work on the revolutions of the heavenly bodies progressed

in secret, according as the ailments of members of the chapter and

the lawsuits of Ermland left him leisure for such occupation.

In his case, as in the case of so many others, modesty exhibits

itself as the characteristic of genius and true greatness. After

the death of his uncle, in 1512, Copernicus returned to Frauenburg,

where the residence of the canons on the banks of the Haff, affording

an unobstructed view, presented great facilities for astronomical

observations. Here he continued to enjoy much popularity as a

physician. It must, however, be admitted that a prescription and a

_regimen sanitatis_ which we have from him show that he possessed but

the limited science of those times. Still he enjoyed the confidence

of the people. His brother Andrew, who was afflicted with a species

of leprosy, engaged much of his attention.

From 1512 to 1523, Fabian Tettinger was Bishop of Ermland. At his

decease, Copernicus was chosen by the chapter as administrator. When

he had filled this office for nearly one year, Mauritius Ferber

became bishop, and administered the diocese from 1523 to 1537. This

prelate, who also was an invalid, placed great reliance on the

medical skill of the learned canon.

After his death, Copernicus was associated with three others on the

list of candidates for the bishopric. But Dantiscus, Bishop of Kulm,

the same who has left the valuable manuscripts for the biography of

Copernicus, was nominated. The canon lived on terms of the closest

intimacy with this prelate.

At the very beginning of his administration, the new bishop was

attacked by a dangerous illness; which, however, the skill of

Copernicus succeeded so effectually in relieving, that the bishop was

enabled to undertake a long journey as a special envoy. Copernicus

rendered effective medical assistance to his friend also, and

former classmate, Tiedemann Giese, who in 1538 had been appointed

Bishop of Kulm. Tiedemann prevailed on him to dedicate his work on

the revolutions of the heavenly bodies to Pope Paul III.; and in

return, at the instance of Copernicus, composed a work, entitled

_Antilogicon_, against the errors of Luther; a circumstance which is

of decisive significance as regards the religious views of the great

astronomer. They lived together thirty years on terms of the most

intimate friendship. Duke Albrecht also summoned him to Königsberg to

the sick-bed of one of his jurists, notwithstanding that Königsberg

boasted several physicians of eminence.

In 1539, Joachim Rheticus, then twenty-six years of age, who had

been for two years associated with Luther and Melancthon, came from

Wittenberg to Frauenburg to place himself under the tuition of

Copernicus. In a work which has not been preserved, he described

the impression made on him by the astronomer. There is, however,

another production from the same pen, _Rhetici Narratio Prima_, in

which much is said about Copernicus, and which is, consequently, a

valuable source of information for his biographer. Rheticus is full

of admiration for his instructor. It was he who superintended the

publication of the latter's famous work, which appeared at Nuremberg,

in 1542. Rheticus repaired to that town expressly for this purpose.

But the last moments of the great scholar were drawing near. After

an illness of six months, fortified with the rites of the church,

he died on the 24th of May, 1543, yielding up his spirit to Him "in

whom is all happiness and every good," as he expresses himself in the

preface of his work, the first printed copy of which was placed in

his hands on the day of his death.

Such is the miniature biography given by Dr. Hipler of the great

reformer of astronomy. We would gladly have learned more about his

political career, which Hipler only notices in passing. It is to be

hoped that he will some day present us with a full-sized portrait of

his great countryman.

Dr. Hipler has, however, succeeded in establishing, on documentary

evidence, drawn from archives, the chronology of the life of

Copernicus, which rested before on the unsustained authority of

Gassendi. He has, likewise, exhibited in a clear light, and with that

certainty which results only from the study of reliable sources,

the education, teachers, friends, and offices of Copernicus, the

origination of his system, and the attitude he assumed in regard to

the Reformation.

We have seen that his attitude was decidedly unfriendly. Hence, it

naturally occurred to his biographer to show how the reformers were

affected toward Copernicus. Protestant writers generally indulge

in the strange fancy that all the great minds of the period of the

Reformation belong to their ranks; and it is almost a subject of

surprise that Copernicus escaped an inscription on the monument

raised to Luther, at Worms. No doubt, however, at Luther's feet

would have been an uncomfortable place for the man of whom we read

in Luther's _Table-Talk_: "People gave ear to an upstart astrologer,

who strove to show that the earth revolves, not the heavens, or the

firmament, the sun and moon.... But such is now the state of things.

Whoever wishes to appear clever, must devise some new system which of

all systems is, of course, the very best. This fool wishes to reverse

the entire science of astronomy. But sacred Scripture tells us that

Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, and not the earth."

Later on, Melancthon wrote in a work entitled, _De Initiis Doctrinæ

Physicæ_: "The eyes are witnesses that the heavens revolve in the

space of twenty-four hours. But certain men, either from the love

of novelty or to make a display of their ingenuity, have concluded

that the earth moves, and they maintain that neither the eighth

sphere nor the sun revolves. Now, although these clever dreamers

find many ingenious things wherewith to recreate their minds, it is,

nevertheless, a want of honesty and decency to assert such absurd

notions publicly, and the example is pernicious. It is the part of a

good mind to accept the truth as revealed by God, and to acquiesce in

it."

Both reformers condemned the system of Copernicus, as opposed to the

teaching of the sacred Scriptures.

How differently did Rome deal with the doctrine of Copernicus! From

an entry made in the _Codex Græcus_, CLI., in the State Library

of Munich, it appears that as early as 1533, Clement VII. had the

learned Widmanstadt to explain the system to him in the gardens of

the Vatican, and that he recompensed Widmanstadt for his services

with the gift of the Greek work above mentioned. The entry in

the book, setting forth these facts, was made by the hand of the

recipient of the gift.

Paul III. accepted the dedication of the work of Copernicus. The

sentence pronounced on Galileo by the Congregation of the Index was

never ratified by the pope, and was actually afterward revoked.

The Catholic Church has always ignored that extravagant notion of

inspiration, so justly censured by Lessing, according to which the

Bible is to be received as a text-book even of astronomy, geography,

and other natural sciences.

The importance of the system of Copernicus cannot be over-rated.

It was a bold and successful attempt to explain the mechanism of

the world. According to his theory, the world was no longer to be

considered the centre of the universe, but merely a wandering planet

of an inferior order. Its _rôle_ in the economy of the spheres seemed

to be that of the lost sheep which the Good Shepherd came to find.

The system of Copernicus contained also a caution against trusting

over-much to those appearances which are made known to us by the

senses, and against attending to the dead-letter of the Bible merely.

Hence it was calculated to exert an influence in other departments

of science, as well as in that of astronomy. At first it met with no

sympathy. The inhabitants of Elbing, who had refused the university

with which Lucas Watzelrode felt disposed to present them, were

the first to exhibit a burlesque play directed against Copernicus.

The people of Nuremberg had a medal struck, whereon were ironical

inscriptions directed against him. Nevertheless, his discovery

gradually won the recognition of the intelligent scientific world.

In searching the archives of Ermland, Dr. Hipler has met with two

pictures, the one of Luther, the other of Copernicus--both from the

pen of Dantiscus, the last spiritual superior of the latter--between

which there exists so great a contrast that he has thought it worth

while to give them to the public. As has been already observed,

Dantiscus was at one time the ambassador of Sigismond of Poland

at the court of Charles V. He had travelled over nearly one half

of the globe, had been at all the European courts, and also in

Asia and Africa. He was a great admirer and patron of literary and

scientific accomplishments, and he corresponded with many statesmen

and men of learning, among whom were Wicel, Thomas Cranmer of

Canterbury, Melancthon, Cochlæus, and others. In 1523, happening to

be in the neighborhood of Wittenberg, a desire to see Luther, rather

inordinate, as he himself acknowledges, took possession of him.

Luther consented to see him. The following is Dantiscus's account of

the interview: "We sat down and entered upon a conversation which

lasted four hours. I found the man witty, learned, and fluent; but

I also noticed that he uttered scarce any thing but sarcasm and

invectives against the pope, the emperor, and several other princes.

Were I to attempt to write it all down, the day would pass before

I would have done. Luther's countenance resembles his books. His

eyes are sharp, and sparkle with the weird fire to be noticed in

lunatics. His manner of speaking is violent, and full of irony and

ridicule. He dresses so as not to be distinguished from a courtier.

He seems like a first-rate boon companion. So far as holiness of life

is concerned, which some have attributed to him, he differs not at

all from the rest of us. Haughtiness and vanity are very apparent in

him; in abusing, slandering, and ridiculing he observes no moderation

whatever." The comparison between Luther and Copernicus which then

follows is indeed very instructive:

"It would be difficult to imagine a more decided contrast than exists

between these two men, the dates of whose birth and death differ but

by a few short years. For indeed, to say nothing of the striking

dissimilarity in talents, disposition, and other particulars,

what could be more unlike than the character and destiny of the

great revolutions in the sphere of intellect which were originated

by the gigantic powers of these men? On the one hand, we behold

reason, through an excessively mystic tendency, enslaved to a blind

faith--in fact, stifled; and faith itself, as a consequence, deprived

of its foundation, lifeless and powerless. On the other hand, we

behold reason in a wisely adjusted harmony with faith and science,

triumphing over the dead-letter of the Bible, the deceiving testimony

of sense, and every other illegitimate influence, and thereby

imparting firmness to faith in the suprasensible, and in all real

authority.

"On the one hand, we perceive the joyous acclaim with which the

Reformation was at first hailed, and the general desertion, at

the present day, of the principle of salvation by faith alone, a

principle destructive of all church organization. On the other hand,

we behold the universal recognition, at the present time, of the

system of Copernicus, which, at its first appearance, was assailed

with mockery, and branded with the title of revolutionary."

Dr. Hipler has plainly shown that Copernicus belongs to the Catholic

ranks. The question now arises, Does he belong also to Germany?

Politically, the bishopric of Ermland was in his time under Polish

dominion. Nevertheless, to say nothing of the quiet, modest, and

genial industry which Copernicus seems to have possessed as a German

inheritance, it is certain that not only he, but also his mother,

wrote letters in German; and a Greek inscription in a book belonging

to his library shows that his name was pronounced Kópernik, with the

German accent. Justly, therefore, does his statue occupy a place in

the Walhalla of Ludwig I.

THE CHURCH BEYOND THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

The States and territories of the Pacific coast are, in many

respects, "a land apart" from the rest of the Union. Separated from

the other States by an immense tract of unsettled territory, no

inconsiderable part of which must ever continue a desert, as well as

by the great barrier of the Rocky Mountains, the western slope of

that chain presents to the new-comer an aspect not less different

from the shores of the Atlantic than the latter differ from the

countries of Europe. The climate, with its semi-tropical division of

wet and dry seasons, the evidently volcanic formation of its surface,

the huge mountain chains, with all their accessories of valleys,

precipices, torrents, and cataracts, which occupy most of its area,

and the peculiar vegetation that covers its soil, all wear a foreign

appearance to an Eastern visitor; and the people themselves, though

forming an integral part of his own nation, are scarcely less

strange to his eyes. Men of races hardly known on the eastern side

of the Rocky Mountains meet him at every step; and not only do the

different European and Asiatic races retain their national customs

and characters much more tenaciously than the immigrant population

of the Eastern States, but they have very considerably modified

the character of their American fellow-settlers. The way in which

California, and, to a considerable degree, Oregon, were settled was

altogether different from the usual system of colonization which has

added so many States to the Union, from Ohio to Nebraska, and from

Mississippi and Texas to Minnesota. The journey to the Pacific coast

before the completion of the Pacific Railroad involved as complete a

separation from home associations, and as great a change from early

habits, to an American, as does the voyage across the Atlantic to

the European immigrant; and at its end he found himself in a country

entirely different, both physically and socially, from all that he

had been previously accustomed to. The influence of the old Spanish

settlements, in which for years was to be found the only established

society of the country, the mixture of men of all the European races

on a footing of perfect equality in the pursuit of wealth, and the

peculiarly adventurous and uncertain nature of mining life, which

long formed the chief employment of the whole population, all tended

to rub off the new-comers' national peculiarities and prejudices; and

the result has been the growth of a well-marked national character

among the few hundred thousand inhabitants of the Pacific coast.

Amid this cosmopolitan population the Catholic Church has taken

firm root, and in no other part of the country does she reckon

as large a proportion of the people within her fold, or exercise

more influence over the public mind. She had preceded the march of

American enterprise and the rush of gold-seekers on the shores of

the Pacific; and when the pioneers of the new population pushed

their way across the continent and descended the slope of the Sierra

Nevada, they found her missions already established in California.

While the American Republic was yet a thing of the future, and the

west of the Alleghanies was still an almost untrodden wilderness,

Catholic priests had already begun to gather into the fold of

Peter the tribes beyond the Rocky Mountains. In the early half of

the eighteenth century, the Jesuit Reductions of Lower California

were only less famous than those of Paraguay; and to the zeal of

the Franciscans who succeeded the Jesuits in 1767, Upper California

owes the introduction of Christianity and civilization. In 1769,

or a few months more than one hundred years ago, Father Junipero

Lerra, with a company of his Franciscan brethren and a few Mexican

settlers, founded the mission of San Diego, the first settlement

made by civilized men within what is now the State of California.

Before that year, indeed, although the ports of Monterey and San

Diego were well known to the Spanish navigators, no European had ever

penetrated into the interior of California, and even the existence

of the noble bay of San Francisco was unknown to the civilized world

until it was discovered and named by the humble friars. The salvation

of souls, the hope of making known to the Indians the doctrines of

Catholicity, were the motives which inspired the Franciscans to

undertake a task which had long been deemed impracticable by the

Spanish court in spite of its anxiety to extend its dominions to

the north of Mexico. To raise up the despised aborigines to the

dignity of Christian men, to show them the road to eternal happiness

in another life, and, as a means to that end, to promote their

well-being in this world, such were the objects for whose attainment

the devoted missionaries separated themselves from their native land

and the society of civilized men, to spend their lives among savages,

who often rewarded their devotion only by shedding their blood. The

Indians of California are in every respect a much inferior race to

the tribes on the east of the Rocky Mountains. Many of them went

wholly naked, they had no towns or villages, and although the country

abounded in game, they were indifferent hunters, and depended mainly

for subsistence on wild berries, roots, and grasshoppers. In tribal

organization they were little if at all superior to the Australian

savages, and of religious worship or morality they had scarcely

an idea. Many of the southern tribes, especially, were fierce and

warlike, and belonged to a kindred race to the Apaches, who still

set at defiance all the attempts of the United States government

to dislodge them from Arizona. Such were the men from whom the

Franciscans undertook to form a Christian community; and of their

success in so doing, the history of California for over sixty years

is an irrefragable witness.

In spite of occasional outbreaks of hostility on the part of the

Indians, and the destruction by them of a mission, the whole of the

region between the coast range and the ocean, as far north as the

Bay of San Francisco, was studded with such establishments before

the close of the century. Fifteen thousand converted Indians enjoyed

under the mild sway of the Franciscans a degree of prosperity almost

unparalleled in the history of their race. The missions, which were

eighteen in number, differed in size and importance, but were all

conducted on the same general plan. The church and the community

buildings, including the residence of the fathers, the store-houses

and workshops, formed the centre of a village of Indian huts, the

inhabitants of which were daily summoned by the church bells to

mass, as a prelude to their labors, and again in the evening called

back to rest by the notes of the Angelus. Religious instruction was

given to all on Sundays and holidays, and to the newly converted

and the children also. At other times during the day, the men worked

at agricultural labor, or looked after the cattle belonging to the

mission, and the unmarried women were employed at spinning, or

some other labor suited to their strength, in a building specially

provided for the purpose. The fathers, two or more of whom resided

in each Reduction, were the rulers, the judges, the instructors, and

the directors of work of their neophytes, who held all property in

common. The white population was few in number, consisting mainly of

small garrisons at different posts, intended to hold the wild Indians

in awe, and some families of settlers who were chiefly engaged in

stock-raising. The military commandant, who resided at Monterey,

might be regarded as the governor of the country; but the fathers and

their converts were entirely exempt from his jurisdiction, and were

independent of all authority subordinate to the Spanish crown. The

mission farms usually sufficed for the support of their inhabitants,

but the external expenses of the communities were defrayed by a

subsidy from the Spanish government and the "pious fund" of Spain, an

association very similar to the Society for the Propagation of the

Faith.

Such was the condition of California down to the end of the Spanish

rule; and during the whole of that period, and for several years

afterward, the missions continued to grow in numbers and prosperity.

The payments of the government subsidy and the remittances from the

pious fund became indeed very uncertain and irregular during the

struggle of Mexico for independence; but the industrial condition

of the missions was then such that they stood no longer in need of

external aid, and indeed they were able to contribute largely to the

support of the administration of the territory. The establishment

of the Mexican Republic made for some years little change in the

condition of the missions of California, and the services rendered

by the fathers to civilization were more than once acknowledged by

the Mexican Congress. But the mission property was too tempting a

bait to the needy revolutionists who disputed for supreme power in

that ill-starred country. In 1833, a decree of Congress deprived the

Franciscans of all authority over the missions, and placed their

property in the hands of lay administrators. The Indians were to

receive certain portions of land, and some stock individually, and

the rest was to be applied to the use of the state. The results were

such as might be expected from the history of similar confiscation in

foreign lands. The fruits of sixty years' patient toil were wasted

during a few years of riotous plundering, in the name of state

administration; the cattle belonging to the missions were stolen or

killed; the churches and public works allowed to fall into ruin;

the cultivation of the soil neglected; and the unfortunate Indians,

deprived of their protectors, and handed over to the tender mercies

of "liberal" officials, wandered away in thousands from their abodes,

and either perished or relapsed into barbarism. The population of the

missions in nine years dwindled from upward of thirty to little over

four thousand Indians; and when their property was sold at auction in

1845, its value had fallen from several millions to a mere nothing.

The native Spanish Californians, who clearly saw the fatal results

of the overthrow of the missions to the prosperity of the country,

made several attempts to restore them to their former condition, but

in vain. The constant revolutions of which Mexico was the theatre

effectually prevented such a restoration, and the fate of the

Indians was sealed by the political changes which shortly afterward

threw the country into the hands of another race and another

government. Under the American _régime_ they have dwindled to less

than one tenth of their former numbers, and, with the exception of a

certain number of the converts of the Franciscans, who have adopted

partially the usages of civilized life, and become amalgamated with

the Spanish population, the whole race seems doomed to disappear from

the land.

Serious, however, as was the blow which the church received from

the overthrow of the Franciscan missions, she did not abandon her

hold upon California. From the date of Father Lerra's arrival in the

country, a small stream of Spanish or Mexican immigration had been

flowing into it, and building up its "pueblos" near, but altogether

distinct from, the mission establishments. The separation of the

races was one of the points jealously attended to by the Franciscans,

as essential to the success of their civilizing efforts among the

Indians; and the Indian churches and Indian cemeteries, which still

remain in several of the missions, at a short distance from the

Spanish churches and Spanish burying-grounds, show how far this

policy was carried out. The experience of centuries of mission work

had taught the Franciscans that free intercourse between a civilized

and an uncivilized race invariably leads to the demoralization of

both, and much of their success must be ascribed to the care with

which they kept their neophytes apart from the white settlements. The

latter, at the time of the secularization, contained a population of

some five or six thousand, and, including the half-civilized Indians

who still remained around the missions, the whole Catholic population

probably amounted to fifteen thousand at the epoch of the American

conquest. For the benefit of this population, after the overthrow

of the missions, the holy see established in 1840 the diocese of

California, including the peninsula of Lower California within its

boundaries.

Had Upper California continued a portion of the Mexican republic,

there would have probably been little difference between its

ecclesiastical history and that of Sonora or Chihuahua; but the

American conquest, and still more the subsequent discovery of gold

in the Sacramento River, entirely changed the face of affairs. The

crowd of immigrants that flocked into the country was so great as

to reduce the original population to comparative insignificance in

a few months. A single year sufficed to quadruple the number of

inhabitants, and two to increase it tenfold. The new population was

indeed a strange one. American it was in its dominant political

elements, but fully one half of it was made up of natives of other

countries than the United States. Frenchmen, Spaniards, Italians,

Germans, Scandinavians, Irish, English, Mexicans, South Americans,

Indians, Kanakas, and Chinese all poured by thousands into the New

Eldorado, which might with equal justice be styled the modern Babel.

Seldom has so radical a change taken place in the population of a

country in so short a time, and the church, if she did not wish

to lose the territory she had conquered with so much toil, had to

commence her mission work over again, and under entirely different

circumstances from those under which the Franciscans had begun the

work. A very large number of the new-comers were Catholics; but

in the excitement of gold-seeking, the hold of religion on their

minds had been seriously loosened, and a reckless disregard of

all social and moral restraint pervaded the whole population. To

restore the sway of religion over minds that had forgotten it, to

provide priests, churches, schools, and all the various institutions

of Catholic charity, for thousands of her own children, and to

make known her doctrines to a still larger number of those who did

not belong to her fold, such was the task before the church in

California, and to its accomplishment she addressed herself almost as

soon as the first immigrants landed in San Francisco.

A frame church, the first in California, was erected in that city

for the use of the Catholic miners in 1849, and, as the different

"camps" sprang up through the State, other churches were rapidly

built up in the more important centres of population. The following

year, a new diocese was formed of the territory lately acquired by

the United States, and its government intrusted to the Right Reverend

Bishop (now Archbishop) Allemany, who was called to that office from

his Dominican convent in Kentucky. The new bishop lost no time in

hastening to his post, and began his arduous task with rare wisdom

and energy. The ranks of the secular clergy were largely recruited

from various countries; the Jesuits, who had long been engaged in

evangelizing the Indians of Oregon, were installed in the old mission

of Santa Clara; a branch of the Sisters of Notre Dame was established

in the neighboring town of San José; and the Sisters of Charity took

charge of an orphan asylum and hospital in San Francisco.

All this had been done before the close of 1853, or in the height of

the excitement of the early colonization, an excitement such as it is

hard for the sober dwellers of more settled communities to form any

idea of. The population of California resembled an ill-disciplined

army rather than a well-ordered community; the immense majority

of its members had neither families, fixed abodes, nor permanent

occupations, and were ready to rush anywhere at the slightest rumor

of rich "diggings." The mines were the great centre of attraction to

all, and, as the old ones were worked out or new ones discovered,

the entire population moved from one part of the country to another.

Towns were built up only to be abandoned in a few months, and even

San Francisco itself, in spite of its unrivalled commercial position,

more than once was nearly deserted by its inhabitants. Fortunes were

made or lost in a few hours, not merely by a few bold speculators,

but by every class of the people; and the wild excitements which

now and then cause such commotion in Wall street, were constantly

paralleled in every mining camp of California. The sudden acquisition

of fortune was the hope of every man; and while men were thus

uncertain about what position they might occupy on the morrow, few

cared to settle down to the routine of domestic life. Except among

the Spanish Californians, scarcely any families were to be found

in the country, and the standard of morality was such as might be

expected under the circumstances. Laws there were, indeed, but the

authorities were utterly unable to enforce them, and bullies and

duellists settled their quarrels with arms, even on the streets

of San Francisco, unchecked by police interference. Murderers and

robbers promenaded the towns unmolested, and the idea of official

honesty, or of seeking redress for wrongs at the hands of the law,

was deemed too absurd to be entertained by a sensible man. Vigilance

committees, the last refuge of society seeking to save itself from

destruction, offered almost the only protection to persons and

property that could be had in many districts. Bands of desperadoes,

such as the "hounds" in San Francisco, and Joaquin's gang in the

southern counties, openly set the law at defiance, and, in the fever

of gold-seeking that pervaded the whole community, no force could be

obtained to make it respected.

Such was the population of California when Bishop Allemany commenced

his episcopal career; and the prospect of making religion flourish

on such a soil was indeed such as might well dismay a fainter heart.

Nevertheless he addressed himself to the task, and his toils were

not unrewarded. Gradually but decidedly, the moral character of

California began to improve, and the more glaring offences against

public decency to grow rare. The rush of immigrants slackened in

1852, and something like settled society began to form among the

older residents. Of the agents which helped to bring order out of

the social chaos of "'49," none was more powerful than the influence

of the Catholic Church. Most of the Protestant population had thrown

off all allegiance to any sect, and this fact, while it contributed

to make them to a great extent regardless of the rules of morality,

had at least the good effect of banishing anti-Catholic prejudices

from their minds. The church and her institutions were regarded with

much respect by all classes in California, even at the time when

the Know-Nothing movement was exciting such a storm of fanaticism

in the Eastern States. Many Americans had married Catholic wives,

or been long settled among the Spanish Californians; the history

of the Franciscan missionaries was well known to all, and their

devotedness appreciated by Catholics and Protestants alike. All

these causes combined to give Catholicity considerable importance

in the public opinion, and lent immense strength to her efforts in

behalf of morality and religion. Catholic charities stood high in

the public favor; the public hospital of San Francisco, after an

experience of official management which swept away no small portion

of the city property, was intrusted to the charge of the Sisters

of Charity; Catholic schools for a long time shared in the public

school funds; and Catholic asylums and orphanages were liberally

aided by the public. Bishop Allemany was not slow in taking advantage

of this favorable state of public feeling to provide his diocese

with Catholic institutions. New churches were erected all over the

State; schools established wherever it was practicable; and so great

progress made generally that, in less than three years after his

arrival in San Francisco, it became necessary to divide his diocese.

The southern counties of the State, comprising most of the Spanish

Californians among its inhabitants, were formed into the diocese of

Monterey and Los Angeles in 1853. At the same time San Francisco was

raised to the archiepiscopal rank. The membership of the Protestant

churches of all denominations in the State was then almost nominal,

scarcely amounting to two per cent of the population, while the

Catholics formed at least thirty per cent. The public, as a general

rule, regarded the Catholic Church as _the_ church, and this feeling

to a great extent still prevails.

For some years after the erection of the diocese of Monterey, there

was little increase in the population of California; indeed, owing

to the falling off in the yield of the precious metals, and the

discovery of new mines in the neighboring territories, there was

at times a considerable decrease in its numbers; nevertheless, the

number of Catholics continued to increase, owing partly to the large

proportion of Irish among the later immigrants, and partly to the

natural growth of the Catholic population, which was more settled

than the rest of the community. A further division of the archdiocese

of San Francisco was found necessary in 1861. The northern portion

of the State, with the adjoining territories of Nevada and Utah,

was formed into the Vicariate of Marysville, which was subsequently

raised to the rank of a bishopric, with its see at Grass Valley.

Since that period no changes have been made in the episcopal

divisions of California; but the second order of the clergy, the

Catholic population, Catholic institutions, and Catholic churches

have continued to grow in numbers. At present, the proportion of

priests to the whole population is nearly three times greater in

California than the average for the whole of the Union, being about

one priest to every three thousand five hundred inhabitants; while

throughout the United States the average does not exceed one to ten

thousand. Nevertheless, owing to the extent of the country over

which the population is scattered, and the very large proportion

of Catholics in it, there is still a great want of more priests

and churches, and it will doubtless be some years before it can be

adequately supplied.

In no State of the Union have the religious orders taken deeper

root or thriven better than in California. The Franciscans, the

Dominicans, the Jesuits, the Vincentians, the Christian Brothers, the

Sisters of Charity, of Mercy, of Notre Dame, of the Presentation,

of the Sacred Heart, and of the order of St. Dominic, all have

establishments within its boundaries.

The Franciscans, as we have seen, were the pioneers of Christianity

in California, and, in spite of the oppression of the Mexican

government, they have never abandoned the land. A number of them

continued to attend to the spiritual wants of the population, both

Spanish and Indian, after the control of the latter had been taken

from them, and the order has shared in the growth of the church since

the American conquest. Two of their former mission establishments are

still in their hands, in the diocese of Monterey, in which they have

also two schools.

The Vincentians have the only establishment they possess in

California in the same diocese, where they opened a college some two

and a half years ago, and have since conducted it with considerable

success. Los Angeles City also possesses an orphan asylum and a

hospital, under the management of the Sisters of Charity, and there

are several convents of nuns in different parts of the diocese.

The Jesuits were the first missionaries of California, though the

tyrannical suppression of their order, and the barbarous exile of

its members from the dominions of the king of Spain, prevented them

from extending their spiritual conquests beyond the peninsula of

Lower California. It was not until after the American conquest that

they were permitted to enter Upper California; but as soon as that

event opened the country to them, their entry was not long delayed.

In 1851, several fathers of the society, who had been previously

engaged in the Indian missions of Oregon, arrived in California, and

were put in possession of the old Franciscan Mission at Santa Clara,

about fifty miles south of San Francisco. There they founded a

college, which at present ranks perhaps first among the institutions

of learning on the Pacific coast, and is one of the largest houses

of the order on the American continent. The crusade against the

monastic orders, which had been inaugurated in Italy shortly before,

proved highly profitable to California, as a large number of Italian

Jesuits were thus obtained for Santa Clara. A second college was

subsequently opened in San Francisco, which has attained an equal

degree of prosperity with the older academy, and, in addition, the

parishes of Santa Clara and San José are administered by the priests

of the order. Altogether, the Jesuits number about thirty priests,

and as many, or rather more, lay brothers in California. In the

internal administration of the order, California is dependent on the

provincial of Turin in Italy, whence most of its missionaries came,

and has no connection with the provinces established in the Eastern

States. It possesses a novitiate of its own at Santa Clara, and

only requires a house of studies to have all the organization of a

province complete in itself.

The Dominicans are also established in the archdiocese of San

Francisco, where they have a convent at Benicia on the Sacramento

River, besides furnishing pastors to several other parishes. The

archbishop himself is a member of the order, which well maintains in

California its reputation for learning and strictness of discipline.

Several of the Californian Dominicans, including the archbishop, are

natives of Spain, but the majority are Irish or Irish-Americans. The

Dominican nuns also have a convent and academy at Benicia, which

ranks deservedly high among the educational institutions of the

State; and a free school in San Francisco, which affords instruction

to several hundred children.

The Christian Brothers are, in point of time, the newest of the

religious orders in California, having only come to the State some

two years ago, at the invitation of Archbishop Allemany. Their

system of education is eminently adapted to the requirements of her

people, as is shown by the rapid success of their first college,

which already numbers more than two hundred and twenty resident

students. The marked success which has so far attended the efforts of

the brothers gives every reason to believe that they (and it may be

added, they alone) can solve the great problem of Catholic education

in California, which is, how to provide Catholic common schools

for the children of the working-classes. Those classes there, as

everywhere else throughout the Union, form the bulk of the Catholic

population, and desire to procure for their little ones the advantage

of schooling. If possible, they wish to obtain it from Catholic

sources; but if this cannot be, they will, there is ground to fear,

avail themselves of the educational facilities offered by the State

schools, even at the risk of their children's faith. As the number

of these children must be reckoned by tens of thousands, the task of

providing them with suitable education is no easy one; but the object

and spirit of the order instituted by the venerable De La Salle, and

the success which has attended its system of parochial schools in

Missouri and other States, give good grounds to hope that it will

prove equal to the work that lies before it in California, where the

circumstances of the country are peculiarly favorable to the growth

of Catholic institutions. Nowhere else has anti-Catholic bigotry less

power in the government, or is public opinion more favorable to the

church; and though the infidel common-school system finds strong

support in a numerous class, yet we believe that in no part of the

Union can the battle for religious education be fought out under

more favorable auspices. The urgent need that exists for Catholic

schools at present, may be judged of from the fact that while the

different colleges and boarding-schools under the management of the

Jesuits, Franciscans, Christian Brothers, and Vincentians, provide

education for about a thousand boys, the Catholic common schools

throughout the State contain a number scarcely greater, or less than

a tenth of their due proportion. Female education is better provided

for in this respect. The Presentation and Dominican Sisters, and

the Sisters of Charity and Mercy, have about four thousand pupils

in their free schools in San Francisco, and there are also several

similar establishments in different parts of the State; but even

these are inadequate to the wants of the Catholic population, and in

California, as in the Eastern States, the problem of how to provide

schooling for the children of the poor is the most serious and

difficult one that the church has to solve.

California, in proportion to its population, is rich in institutions

for the relief of suffering and distress. The male and female orphan

asylums in the dioceses of San Francisco, Grass Valley, and Monterey

maintain about six hundred of these bereaved little ones. The Sisters

of Mercy and Charity have each a general hospital under their charge

in San Francisco, where the latter have also a foundling hospital.

They have also a hospital in Los Angeles, and the Sisters of Mercy

have a Magdalen asylum in San Francisco. Altogether, the number of

religious, of both sexes, engaged in works of instruction or charity

in California, approaches three hundred, and this in a population of

little over half a million.

Reference has already been made to the variety of races that forms so

peculiar a feature in the Californian population. It may not be amiss

to devote a few words to each separately, especially with regard to

their relations with the church.

As the original settlers of the country, the Spanish element deserves

to be mentioned first, although no longer occupying the chief place

in political or numerical importance. The Spanish Californians are

mostly descended from a few families, chiefly Europeans, who settled

in the country in the palmy days of the missions, and whose posterity

have increased in the course of a century to a population of several

thousand. The prevalence of a few family names among them is quite as

remarkable as in certain districts of Ireland and Scotland, where a

single sept name is borne by almost all the inhabitants of a parish

or barony; and nearly all the more wealthy families are connected

with one another by the ties of blood or marriage. As a general

rule, they have less intermixture of Indian blood than the southern

Mexicans, though such of the mission Indians as have survived the

overthrow of their protectors regard themselves as Spaniards, and are

so styled by the rest of the population. Some of these Indians occupy

respectable positions in society, and one at least, Señor Dominguez,

was a member of the convention which drew up the State constitution

of California. The Spanish Californians are generally hospitable and

generous, and, though imperfectly acquainted with the refinements

of civilization, they display much of the old Spanish politeness

in their dealings with each other and with strangers. They retain

the Spanish taste for music and dancing, and, we are sorry to say,

for bull-fights and games of chance; in Los Angeles and the other

southern counties, all the scenes of the life of Leon or Castile may

still be witnessed. Cattle-raising forms their chief occupation,

and in the management of stock they display a good deal of skill

and energy; but their inexperience in the ways of modern life, and

their ignorance of American law, have gradually deprived them of the

ownership of most of the lands they held at the discovery of the

gold "placers." Many of them sold their property at ridiculously

low prices, others were deprived of them by the operation of the

land tax, which was entirely new to their ideas; while the distaste

for settled industry and the improvident habits engendered by their

former mode of life unfitted them for competing in other pursuits

with the enterprise of the new-comers. The generation which has grown

up since the American conquest, however, displays a much greater

spirit of enterprise than its fathers have shown, and promises to

play a more important part in the country. Politically and socially,

the Spanish Californians enjoy a good deal of consideration; some

of them usually occupy seats in the State Legislature, and on the

judicial bench; the Spanish language is used as well as the English

in legal documents, and the acts of the Legislature; and one of the

higher State offices is generally filled by a Spaniard.

There is also a considerable Spanish-American population, chiefly

Mexicans and Chilenos, in the Pacific States. Most of them are

engaged in mining or stock-raising; but a considerable number are

engaged in business, in which several of them occupy prominent

positions. The Chilenos are generally possessed of at least the

rudiments of schooling, and are tolerably well organized for mutual

aid; but the Mexicans, owing to the political condition of their

country, are much behind them in both these respects. Altogether, the

population of California of Spanish origin must number from forty to

fifty thousand.

Closely connected with the Spanish population are the Portuguese,

who, of late years, have begun to immigrate to California in

considerable numbers, and now number several thousands there. The

majority of them are engaged in farming or gardening. They are,

as a class, sober, industrious, and peaceable. They are settled

principally in the counties around the Bay of San Francisco, and very

few of them are to be found in the city itself.

The American population, as it is customary in California to style

the natives of the other States of the Union, has been drawn in not

very unequal proportions from the North and South, and its character

partakes of the peculiarities of both sections, with a general

spirit of recklessness and profusion that is peculiarly its own. The

public opinion of California is much more liberal and tolerant than

that of the Eastern States, and it is rarely indeed that Catholics

have to complain of any open display of offensive bigotry on the

part of any influential portion of their fellow-citizens. On one

occasion, about a year ago, a leading evening paper of San Francisco

attempted to raise an anti-Catholic cry during the excitement of a

political campaign; but the attempt met with such reprobation from

all parties, that the proprietors found it expedient to apologize for

it in the course of a day or two as best they could. The great foe

of the church in California is not Protestantism, but unbelief; and

although the latter is in its nature as full of bitterness against

her as the former, yet its champions find it necessary to assume

liberality, even if they do not feel it, in obedience to public

sentiment. Some of the Protestant sects are indeed outspoken in their

bigotry, but their power is very trifling, as the entire Protestant

church membership does not amount to five per cent of the population,

and not one sixth of the whole people comes under the influence of

any Protestant denomination whatsoever. The number of converts in

California and Oregon is considerable, including several individuals

of high political and literary eminence, and there are also many

American Catholics, chiefly from Kentucky, Maryland, and Missouri,

scattered through the State.

The Irish are the most numerous of the European nationalities

represented in the Californian population, and enjoy a much greater

degree of prosperity than their countrymen in any other State of

the Union. A much larger proportion of their numbers are engaged in

farming than is the case in the Eastern States, and the advantages

arising from such an employment of their labor are evident to the

dullest eye. Much of the cultivated land of the State is in their

possession, and some of them are among its largest land-owners. The

city population also enjoys a greater degree of comfort than the

same class in New York or Boston. Three of the savings-banks of San

Francisco, representing nearly half the capital of the entire number

of such institutions in that city, are under Irish control, and

Irishmen are also among the most successful merchants, bankers, and

manufacturers of California. The late mayor of San Francisco, and

an ex-governor of the State are Irishmen and Catholics, and three

Irish-Americans in succession have filled the office of United

States senator, one of whom still represents the State in Washington.

We are not able to give the precise amount of the Irish population in

California; but, including the children of Irish parents, it cannot

be less than a fourth of the whole. It is needless to state that the

immense majority of the Irish in California are Catholics, and that

their zeal for every thing pertaining to religion forms a marked

contrast to the indifference of their non-Catholic fellow-citizens.

The Germans come next to the Irish in importance, probably amounting

to two thirds of their number. They are more blended with the rest

of the population than in the Eastern States, and there is only one

distinctively German settlement in California, namely, the town

of Anaheim on the southern coast. About one fourth of them are

Catholics, but they only possess one German church in the state,

forming, in this respect, a strong contrast to their countrymen

in the Mississippi Valley and on the Atlantic seaboard. Of the

non-Catholic Germans, the Jews form a considerable and very wealthy

portion, and preserve their distinctive national habits much more

tenaciously than the rest of their countrymen. The synagogue Emmanuel

in San Francisco is the most costly and elegant place of worship

on the Pacific coast, while the German Protestants have scarcely a

church in California, and indeed, few of them can be regarded as

Christians in any sense.

The French population of California is very considerable, amounting

to probably from ten to fifteen thousand, though, as comparatively

few of its members become naturalized, it is not so easy to estimate

its numbers. In itself it is more completely organized than any

other class of the population, having its own benevolent societies,

hospitals, military companies, savings-banks, press, and other

institutions, all distinctively French in their management. The

Italians, who are nearly as numerous as the French, resemble them in

the number of their national organizations; but they are not as well

managed as those of the former. The Italians are engaged chiefly in

trade, fishing, and gardening, in which pursuits they are industrious

and usually prosperous. The French are engaged in almost every

avocation. The Italians have a national church in San Francisco, and

the French have a special pastor attached to one of the parochial

churches of the city for their benefit.

The Sclavonians from Austria are also a numerous body; they usually

are classed with the Italians, though possessing several associations

of their own nationality. Nearly one half of them are schismatics;

and the Russian government has lately established a schismatic church

in San Francisco for their use and that of the few Russians residing

there. It is even in contemplation to make that city the residence of

the Bishop of Sitka, who has recently been transferred along with his

flock to the allegiance of the United States, but who, nevertheless,

still receives his orders from the Russian synod. It is a curious

example of the way religious affairs are managed among the subjects

of the czar, that the president of the Sclavonian Church Society is

a German Lutheran, who fills the office of Russian consul, and on

that account alone is considered sufficiently qualified to direct the

spiritual concerns of his fellow-subjects.

The Chinese form a very large, and, in many respects, the strangest

element in the population of the Pacific coast. They are spread

through all its States and territories, and, according to the most

reliable accounts, number at least a hundred thousand. Few of

them have families, or ever intend to settle permanently in the

country, but after a few years' toil as servants or laborers they

almost invariably return to China. The immense majority of them are

pagans or atheists, and they have several temples or joss-houses in

different cities of California. A few Catholics, however, are to be

found among them, and a small chapel has lately been opened in San

Francisco for their special use. The morals of the pagan Chinese are

of the most licentious kind, and slavery in its worst form exists

among them in spite of the laws, their ignorance of the language

acting as an effectual bar to their availing themselves of its

safeguards to personal freedom. As in all other Chinese settlements,

so in California, they have practically a government of their own,

under the name of companies, the chief men of which exercise almost

absolute authority over their countrymen, extending, it is believed,

occasionally to the infliction of capital punishment. The white

laboring classes are bitterly opposed to the Chinese, on account

of the low rate of wages for which they work, and the belief that

they are slaves of the companies; but nevertheless their numbers

are steadily on the increase, and it is not impossible but they

may eventually become the majority of the population of the entire

Pacific slope.

The greater part of the preceding remarks are applicable mainly to

California and the adjoining mining territories of Nevada, Montana,

Idaho, and Arizona, which have been chiefly settled from it, and

whose inhabitants partake of the character of its people. The

State of Oregon and the adjoining territory of Washington number a

population of nearly two hundred thousand, of an entirely different

character from that of California.

While Catholic missionaries were the first settlers in California,

the colonization of Oregon was mainly effected under the direction

of Methodist ministers and the auspices of the Methodist Church.

Catholic priests, it is true, had preceded Methodism on its soil,

and the present Archbishop of Portland and the Vicar-Apostolic of

Vancouver had visited its Indian tribes in 1838; but the Methodist

colonies, which arrived in the country a few years later, were

deeply imbued with hatred to Catholicity, and a good deal of their

intolerant spirit still remains among the people. The Jesuits have

been, indeed, very successful in converting and civilizing the

Indians; but the white population, with the exception of a few

Canadian colonies and a not very large number of Catholics in the

city of Portland and the mining districts of southern Oregon, is

mainly under Methodist influence. Indeed, so high did anti-Catholic

prejudice run among the first settlers of Oregon, that a Methodist

conference seriously proposed to Mr. Lane, the first governor of the

territory, to expel all Catholics from his jurisdiction by force,

a proposition which it is scarcely needful to say he indignantly

rejected. Of late years, however, the number of Catholics is on the

increase, and with the greater facilities for settlement offered

by the lines of railroads now in course of construction, their

numbers will no doubt grow still faster in the future. Portland

in Oregon is an archiepiscopal see, and Washington territory is a

separate diocese, so that Catholic immigrants need not fear the

want of religious aids in spite of the limited number of their

fellow-worshippers in these northern districts of the Pacific coast.

Such, in brief, is the past history and the present state of the

church beyond the Rocky Mountains; and a Catholic can hardly fail to

find in them the brightest hopes for its future. Obstacles will have

to be encountered, no doubt; fights be fought and sacrifices made;

but the successes which Catholicity has already achieved, and the

vantage-ground she now occupies in California, leave little reason

to doubt of her final triumph. The soil, fertilized by the sweat and

blood of the Franciscan missionaries, cannot prove a barren one; and

no part of the Union gives promise of a richer harvest than that

California which a few years ago was regarded throughout the world as

the chosen abode of lawlessness and crime.

OUR LADY'S NATIVITY.

Star of the morning, how still was thy shining,

When its young splendor arose on the sea!

Only the angels, the secret divining,

Hailed the long-promised, the chosen, in thee.

Sad were the fallen, and vainly dissembled

Fears of "the woman" in Eden foretold;

Darkly they guessed, as believing they trembled,

Who was the gem for the casket of gold.[302]

Oft as thy parents bent musingly o'er thee,

Watching thy slumbers and blessing their God,

Little they dreamt of the glory before thee,

Little they thought thee the mystical Rod.

Though the deep heart of the nations forsaken

Beat with a sense of deliverance nigh;

True to a hope through the ages unshaken,

Looked for "the day-spring" to break "from on high;"

Thee they perceived not, the pledge of redemption--

Hidden like thought, though no longer afar;

Not though the light of a peerless exemption

Beamed in thy rising, immaculate star!

All in the twilight, so modestly shining,

Dawned thy young beauty, sweet star of the sea!

Only the angels, the secret divining,

Hailed the elected, "the Virgin,"[303] in thee.

B. D. H.

FOOTNOTES:

[302] "Thou art the casket where the jewel lay."--_George Herbert._

[303] ἣ Παρθένος. LXX. _The_ Virgin, not _a_ Virgin; which is

also more in accordance with the Hebrew and the Latin.

PLUTARCH.

The moral influence which Plutarch exerts over posterity is of a

very peculiar kind. He has not, like Aristotle, laid down the law

to an entire world for nearly two thousand years. He has not been

deemed so perfect a master of style as Virgil or Cicero, who were

the models, first of the Benedictines, and then of the prose writers

and poets of the humanitarian school. His reputation pales by the

side of the brilliant fame which the resurrected Plato enjoyed

during the fifteenth century; and yet he has done what all these

immortals, whose authority far surpasses in extent and duration that

of his biographies, have failed to do. Among the revived ancient

authors none has surpassed Plutarch in inspiring the moderns with

the same keen appreciation of the classic characteristics, with the

same love and enthusiasm for whatever is really or supposedly great

in antiquity; and none has therefore contributed so much to the

revelation of what we understand by the purely human in man's nature.

From the days of Macchiavelli and Charles V. down to the present, we

rarely fail to meet with the name of Plutarch among those writers who

have made an abiding impression on the youthful minds of prominent

statesmen and warriors. In turning over the leaves of the biographies

of our modern great, we are constantly reminded of the words which

Schiller puts into the mouth of Carl Moor: "When I read of the great

men in my Plutarch, I loath our ink-staining age." This sentiment has

found an echo in every civilized land, and especially in France.

The first French translation of Plutarch's Parallels was welcomed

by Montaigne with expressions of the liveliest joy. "We would have

been swallowed up in ignorance," exclaims he, (essay ii. 4,) "if this

book had not extricated us from the slough; thanks to Plutarch, we

now dare to speak and write." Rabelais refreshes his soul with the

_Moralia_. "There is," writes the translator Amyot to King Charles

IX., "no better work next to holy writ." The "perennially young"

Plutarch is the "breviary," the "conscience" of the century, and he

remains until the beginning of the most modern time--as Madame Roland

calls him--"the pasture of great souls," and the "fellow-companion

of warriors." Condé had him read out aloud in his tent, and in the

historical part of the books for a camp library which Napoleon

Bonaparte ordered from the citoyen J. B. Soy, "_homme de lettres_,"

March, 1798, Plutarch stands first, and Tacitus, Thucydides, and

Frederick II. last.