A gay party assembled at dinner. Mother came down for the first

time, to honor her boy's return. Mr. Hartland said a long,

earnest grace, thanking God for the bounties spread before them

less than for the return of the long-absent, and for their joyful

reunion. The girls were looking their prettiest, the boys full of

glee. All being more talkative than hungry, they discussed home

affairs, family affairs, the voyage, the tropics, and Valparaiso,

until Charlie, tired of his chair, pushed it back, and began

turning summersets over the floor, by way of digesting his

dinner.

{549}

A general move followed; father and George exchanged a few

sentences on business matters in a low voice to which nobody

listened, and the young man left the room. Presently he returned

with a bulky envelope, which he gave his father, saying:

There are the papers, sir; I think you will find the whole matter

very clearly stated, and the affair satisfactorily arranged."

Mr. Hartland took the bundle, and, placing himself at a side

table, turned the drop-light conveniently and began to open and

read. At this signal the rest of the party moved into the parlor;

mamma was placed in the most comfortable chair, and the young

people were presently absorbed in a conversational and

philosophical game. How long the wits of all of them had been on

the strain, not one of them could have guessed, when, just as

Robert was insisting that the article under discussion must be

red clover, and that it must be found chiefly in icebergs, or

else both Fanny and George had made wrong answers, suddenly their

father's tall figure loomed up before them. His usually calm face

was slightly tremulous.

"We never can be thankful enough, my dear boy," he began

abruptly, and his voice trembled also, "to have you among us once

more; and I must say I am very proud at the manner in which you

have managed this business."

George blushed, mamma's eyes filled with tears, and Charlie, who

for the last half-hour had been so sleepy that he was of no use

except to make a laugh at his own expense, rubbed his eyes and

looked up.

"George is a trump!" said he sententiously.

This was a great relief to papa, who fairly looked as if he would

have liked to cry himself, and the hubbub of voices and inquiries

which followed was quieted by Isabel placing herself at the

piano, and beginning the same strain from Mozart's Twelfth which

had charmed her brother on entering the gate.

George stood over the piano and again looked at Isabel, as if he

were half inclined to tell her something, but refrained; and

Isabel was too much occupied with her own plans and prospects to

indulge an indiscreet curiosity.

The next day Mr. Hartland having established himself in the

library soon after breakfast, and the younger members of the

family having gone out on their Christmas errands, Mrs. Hartland

bethought herself to go and see if her son's room were supplied

with all things necessary to his comfort. The door was open, and

George and Isabel were both there, gaily chatting and laughing,

amid a confused medley of books, papers, clothes, and odd

nicknacks, to which George was busily adding, as he pulled pile

after pile from his trunk. Isabel glanced from one object to

another, with the idle curiosity and eagerness begotten of such

occupation; but seeing her mother approach, she made haste to

clear the rocking-chair and place a footstool for her feet.

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

"Yes, but let her see it first; isn't it odd?" said he, showing

it. "I thought of giving it to Robert, he is so fond of oddities;

and see, mother, is not this shagreen case pretty, with the

silver trimmings, and that quaint old medallion on the cover? It

will do to keep your needles and thimble in."

{550}

"Yes, and scissors, and a good-sized spool of cotton; it will do

nicely to take to the sewing society, mother dear."

"And here is a box which I thought of giving to father," returned

George, "only he never takes snuff," producing a beautiful amber

snuff-box, mounted and lined with gold.

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

Isabel.

"That would do very well for you girls, who only write three or

four letters a week; I have something else that will please

father much better." And he brought from his trunk a dagger of

fine metal, curiously wrought in arabesque, the massive handle

also richly carved and inlaid. While her mother was admiring the

workmanship of the dangerous little weapon, Bell took up, one

after another, the books upon the table, most of them old

acquaintances, travelling companions, taken from home and brought

home again. As she listened to the story of the pipe, mamma

observed in Isabel's hand a little, well-thumbed book which

attracted her attention.

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

"A prayer-book," said Isabel.

"An Episcopal prayer-book?"

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

"What do you have that for?" said Mrs. Hartland, with a mingled

expression of surprise, contempt, and indignation.

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

"What do you want it for?" she exclaimed, instantly alarmed at

his look and tone.

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

"A Roman Catholic! You might as well plunge this dagger into my

heart," said his mother, "as tell me that. Dearly as I love you,

I would much rather see you dead and buried."

"And I," said George quietly, "would much rather be dead and

buried than ever be a Protestant again."

"What infatuation! But how came you to be a Catholic, and what

put it into your head to change your religion?"

George began to tell her of an acquaintance formed on the outward

voyage with a Catholic priest, who was bound for the same port as

himself; of the inexplicable attraction which drew him to this

man; of the charm of his conversation and manners; of their

discussions; of the books which he lent him; of his tender and

fatherly advice and instructions--here Mrs. Hartland interposed

an expression of impatience and contempt--"in short, dear

mother," pursued the young man earnestly and quietly, "I became

perfectly convinced that the Catholic religion is the only true

religion; and as I did not choose to risk my salvation by living

any longer without it, I was received into the church before I

left Valparaiso."

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

"I am sorry you feel so, dear mother; I am grieved to pain you,

but there was no help for it; you would not have me violate my

conscience."

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

"That's so, my dear mother," said he, with something more than

his old bright smile, "and I am sure that when you have heard

fairly stated the arguments which have influenced me--"

"I don't want to hear any arguments or any reasons; I would

rather die than be a Catholic; it is a bad sign when young people

begin to think themselves wiser than their elders."

{551}

"So it is, dear mother; but you did not repulse Grace Estabrook

with that argument when she left the Unitarian church and began

to come to yours, against the wishes of both her parents."

"I don't wish to hear anything about it, or to talk or argue; the

whole subject is hateful to me. You have given us all the dagger,

my son," said she, placing it upon the table, and rising, she

went below to communicate to Mr. Hartland the sad intelligence.

The allusion to the dagger affected George very sensibly, and he

dreaded to go down-stairs or meet his father and sisters; but

having at last made the effort, he was immensely relieved to find

every one as kind as usual. His father's face was pale and

excited, but he said nothing; Bob stared at him rather saucily,

as if he were a phenomenon; and the rest of the family evidently

regarded him as an amiable dupe. This was hard, but endurable.

His spirits rose, he romped with the little ones, capped verses

with his sisters, and convinced every one that his self-respect

was in no way diminished by the slender appreciation put upon his

faith. There were, of course, not wanting arguments and

persuasions to lure him back to the faith of the family; but

George was not a fellow having once in his life met with positive

truth, to abandon it afterward for a mere negation.

After dinner, some of the novelties which he had brought home

were produced: the dagger, which his father accepted and admired,

without seeming seriously wounded by it; a collection of shells,

a set of corals, and some exquisite little articles of

mother-of-pearl. Kate fished out of his pocket a necklace, as she

called it, of garnet beads, not running all together, but

separated occasionally by little bits of gold chain, with a gold

medal pendent from it.

"Isn't this a reward of merit?" exclaimed she; "is this for me,

brother George? may I have it?"

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

But it would not go over her head, and it had no clasp to fasten

round her neck; then she tried it on for a bracelet, but it would

fall off. In short, it was not meant to wear, nor for an ornament

at all, but for something else; and as she twirled it rather

uneasily over her fingers, not knowing exactly what to do with

it, George took it from her, and replaced it with a carnelian

necklace which he clasped round her white throat. Kate was

contented to see the little garnet beads slip back into her

brother's pocket, with the assurance that she should see them as

often as she wished, not, however, till they had been curiously

examined and inquired into by Charlie and Fanny.

"They are to say?" said Fanny, with great curiosity, "how do you

say them?" But before George could answer the question, the baby

was brought in, and the subject dropped.

The little one was petted, praised, and passed from hand to hand

with an affectionate eagerness which showed plainly that she was

not generally considered a nuisance, and at last all protested

that it was high time she had a name.

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

"But it would not please me, dear mother, to have you call her

Bridget. I see no more propriety in calling her Bridget than in

calling her Eulalie, or Genevieve, or Inez."

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

Protestant."

{552}

"I doubt very much Elizabeth's being what you would call a good

Protestant," returned George merrily; "but if you call baby after

her, I shall immediately put her under the protection of St.

Elizabeth."

"Who was St. Elizabeth?" asked Fanny.

"She was a Hungarian princess, and very pious. She washed the

saints' feet and tended the sick and poor with her own hands."

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

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

about that."

"You might call her Jezebel, or Bathsheba," suggested Robert; "I

dare say they were both genuine Protestants." There was

frequently an uncertainty as to how Robert's missiles were

intended to fall; and whether his barbed arrows were sped in

innocence or with malice aforethought was a point in regard to

which the most unlimited private judgment was conceded to every

member of the family. Of course, nobody laughed at this sally,

though Isabel bit her lip to keep from smiling, and George said,

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

"I have been thinking of that," said mamma, "only Isabel thinks

it is such a homespun name."

"I like homespun names," said papa.

Isabel liked Blanche, and Fanny suggested Margaret. Robert

thought Schwartz would be more appropriate than Blanche. George

said any name was good that was in the calendar. Robert said

Charlotte Corday was in the calendar. George thought not, and

after a brisk discussion and sundry pros and cons, it was decided

to call the little one Annie.

"And St. Anne was the mother of the Blessed Virgin Mary,"

whispered George to Isabel, as he opened the piano for her.

"Christmas gifts not appreciated," said George, turning round at

the head of the first flight of stairs to bid Isabel good night.

"What do you mean?" said Bell.

"I mean the dear little sister in there," pointing to his

mother's room, "whom you think a little nuisance."

"Psha!" said Isabel.

"And I here, too," he went on, "who should have been under the

water rather than have come home a Catholic. And the gift of

faith," he said seriously, "which God has bestowed upon me, and

which my friends would wish me to throw away or trample under

foot, and the guardianship of saints and angels, which people

mock at."

"Baby can hardly be called a Christmas present," said Bell,

"since she is four weeks old, and Christmas is not until next

Thursday."

"Not precisely."

"Nor your gift of faith, as you call it, since you became a

Catholic, you say, before leaving Valparaiso."

"Not as we usually speak; but every blessing comes to us really

because of the Incarnation, and so any blessing which we have

particularly to be thankful for may be gratefully regarded as a

Christmas gift."

"Well, it must be owned," said Isabel, "that you bring your

ideas, like the wise woman in the Proverbs, from afar."

George went on quietly without smiling. "There will be more

Christmas gifts next Thursday."

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

"Father and mother will have another son, and we all shall have

another brother, and you will have one who in some sort will

stand to you in the place of God."

{553}

Bell colored and was silent. If she had chosen to speak, she

would have said that of all her brother's far-fetched ideas this

was the oddest, and one which she was little likely to

appreciate. She certainly had not regarded Philip at all in that

light, or as a gift from God any way. She returned her brother's

good night, and, going into her own room, meditated how George

was always the same incomprehensible fellow, always gay and full

of life, and yet always taking seriously what every one said in

temper or in fun, or by vanity, or for effect, "as if an idle

word signified." With every one else in the house she did pretty

much as she pleased; but George always contrived to manage her,

and had done so ever since she was born. He had a quiet, serious

way of talking to her, as if he were twenty years her senior,

which was not flattering to Bell's vanity; yet she loved him so

very much, she was not at all sure that she loved Philip better.

"Well, George," said Robert on Saturday night, "I suppose you are

not going to church to-morrow with us?"

"Probably not," said George.

"I suppose you will go to St. Lawrence's, over here, with

servant-girls, and stable-men, and rag-pickers; won't it be a

sweet crowd!"

"Do be quiet, Robert," said his father, "what difference does it

make whom you go to church with?"

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

tomorrow?"

"No, Fanny, you may _not_," said Mrs. Hartland shortly, "and

you are not to ask for such a thing. The Catholic religion is the

religion of the devil, and I don't want you to know anything

about it, or to hear or think anything about it. I would rather

you were dead and buried than that you should be Catholics, any

of you."

Poor Fanny looked dismayed, and Robert and Mary laughed

irreverently; but Mr. Hartland said mildly,

"If the Catholic religion were the religion of the devil, my

dear, I think there is nothing gained by saying so."

And when the children had dispersed for the night, and he was

alone again with Mrs. Hartland, he said:

"George has been led away by his imagination; and your vehement

opposition will only strengthen him; let him alone, and he will

get over this."

In due time Philip made his appearance. He was a gay, spirited,

handsome fellow--a great favorite with every one, and especially

with George, whose classmate he had been.

The Shirleys and Hartlands had been intimate for many years,

having moved in the same society, inherited the same religious

opinions, and imbibed by association the same ideas. Mr. Shirley

was a man of great wealth, and was still living; but Philip had

just inherited a fine property from the uncle after whom he was

named, so that he was as rich as he needed to be now, with a

prospect of as much again hereafter. Indeed, as Mrs. Hartland

rather proudly said, "It was precisely the connection which they

had most desired for Isabel."

And yet, such as Philip was, it was not strange, perhaps, that

George's idea of the Christmas gift should seem to Isabel

far-fetched. "But it is not so," George reasoned, "for you all

say that marriages are made in heaven, and St. James says that

'Every best gift, and every perfect gift, is from above, and

cometh down from the Father of lights.'"

{554}

Christmas eve arrived, and, according to the programme, the young

people were married. "The wedding was furnished with guests," and

it may be taken for granted at once that everything was planned

and carried out in the most approved style, since Isabel had the

supreme dictatorship. George was first groomsman, and the others

were selected from the list of Belle's inconsolable admirers.

Little Kate was the smallest bridesmaid, and went through her

part with serious gravity, evidently believing that she was

assisting at a solemn function. The bride and groom were

pronounced the handsomest couple, and so forth; the cake and the

weather were delicious. Philip certainly appreciated his

Christmas gift, and thought himself a happy man. He had always

considered Belle the prettiest girl in P----, as she was

certainly one of the cleverest; he was perfectly persuaded that

she was equally good and beautiful, and he had the grace to think

that his own wealth, with his other advantages, did no more than

place him upon a par with her. Certainly, Isabel's prospects of

happiness were very fair.

And so she passed away to adorn a new house, very much missed by

all at the old, and by none more than by Mary, who succeeded to

the place and honors of elder sister, though confessedly by no

means so beautiful, brilliant, or clever as "Miss Hartland that

was." But Mary was a good girl, played and sang very sweetly, and

was always ready to gratify her father with those simple ballads

in which he chiefly delighted. Home was quieter, but perhaps

scarcely less happy, and home happiness was constantly augmented

by the pleasure of anticipating Isabel's visits.

If Mr. Hartland really expected George to get over his love for

and belief in the Catholic religion, he was evidently doomed to

disappointment; for, to all appearance, it every day penetrated

more and more the very substance of his being, though he had

always been so sincerely religious that his external conduct was

modified by it less than might have been supposed. Fanny never

repeated her preposterous request for permission to go to church

with brother George; but she was perpetually slipping into his

room, peeping into his books, admiring his little pictures and

statuettes, trying, in fact, with a girl's insatiable curiosity,

to discover why the forbidden fruit was so unspeakably poisonous.

She incurred repeated scoldings for her restless inquest; and,

after being reproved the twentieth time for taking possession of

brother George's books and carrying them off into her own room,

she fairly disconcerted her mother by indignantly inquiring, "Why

they had no '_creed_,' and what right the people who first

started the Protestant religion had to hide away the 'Apostles'

Creed' from everybody, so that hundreds of persons who thought

themselves Christians, and meant to be Christians, lived and died

without ever knowing there was any 'creed.'"

Poor Mrs. Hartland was completely nonplussed; she knew nothing

about creeds herself, but she hesitatingly suggested that they

had a "form of covenant." This, Fanny insisted, was not the least

like the "Creed," and her mother, having no other forces in

reserve, took refuge in the usual invective, and assured her

daughter in the most solemn manner that she would prefer to see

her in her grave rather than have her imbibe her brother George's

sentiments.

{555}

Fanny, of course, was obliged to go to George for a satisfactory

answer to her question, and having learned from him the gradual

process by which the first Protestantism had dwindled down into

New England Congregationalism, her reverence for the system in

which she had been brought up was not increased.

Meanwhile, almost another year has passed away. Little Annie

Hartland is creeping about the carpet, or pushing herself round

with a chair, and, under great persuasion and generous bribery,

making some diffident attempts to talk. Isabel has been at home

some weeks, and is domiciled in her own old room. Philip's visits

are frequent, but short and uncertain, for though a rich he is by

no means an idle man. All are improving the last beautiful days

of autumn, in anticipation of the disagreeable weather of settled

winter.

Fanny, especially, who was fond of riding and a capital

horsewoman, rode almost every afternoon, sometimes without any

escort, and sometimes accompanied by Robert, who was very proud

of the elegant figure his sister made on her spirited yet gentle

horse.

On one of the loveliest of these days, as George, returning from

a long walk, was sauntering up the drive, he was startled at

seeing Robert upon the lower end of the piazza without a hat,

trembling, and excessively pale.

"Do you know? did you see her?" he asked, quivering with

excitement, and without waiting for an answer, "Fan--she's been

thrown--and mother says she's been terribly hurt."

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

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

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

Philip come?"

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

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

The poor child was settled in her mother's room, out of the way

of Isabel, whose little boy was only a week old, and from whom

the sad news was to be kept as long as possible. For some days it

seemed very doubtful whether Fanny would recover; but her youth

prevailed, and at last the doctor pronounced that, with great

care, she would be perfectly restored, though she would scarcely

be able to leave the house before spring.

During this interval Belle, who was rapidly convalescing, had

repeatedly asked for Fanny, and wondered so much that she did not

come to her room that it was at last no longer possible to

conceal her sister's injury. Isabel's excitement and agitation

were at first extreme; but the assurance that the invalid was now

doing well soon soothed and cheered her, and she pleased herself

that before long she could go into her mother's room and show

Fanny her beautiful baby.

"He is four weeks old to-morrow," said Isabel, "and the doctor

says I may go down-stairs to-morrow. Poor dear little Fanny! I

wonder when she will be able to go out? Do you know, George, I

think, considering all that has been said on several occasions

about preferring that we should be dead and buried rather than

that we should be this and that, we all ought to be very thankful

that Fanny was not killed outright?"

"Of course."

"I wonder if mother ever thought of it?"

{556}

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

"You ought to have this dear little fellow baptized, now, while

Philip is here."

"O clear!" said Isabel, "we don't dream of having him baptized

till spring; it is too cold; and Philip is going to-morrow

evening. Annie was almost six months old before she was

baptized."

"I know, but it is very wrong; most Catholic children are

baptized before they are ten days old."

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

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

"Why, it is a pious observance," said Isabel. "What hurry is

there? besides, we can't have him baptized now, for Philip and I

have not agreed what to call him."

"And while you are debating that point, you run the risk of

having him die without being baptized at all."

"I don't think there is any danger. He is as well as he can be.

And mother's little--I forget what his name was--died without

being baptized at all, and I don't believe it makes any

difference."

"Just as I told you last year, Belle," said George, smiling,

"gifts despised; you place a sacrament instituted by our blessed

Saviour himself on the same footing with grace at table; a pious

observance, of course; to be attended to, no doubt, when one is

not in too much of a hurry."

Isabel half smiled; but she was too proud and happy, and too busy

petting her darling, to regard much the drift of her brother's

words. At that moment Philip came in to get the baby to show

Fanny, and the three adjourned into their mother's room, Philip

carrying the baby, of whom he was evidently very proud.

"There are most too many of you," said Mrs. Hartland; but she

could not choose which to dismiss, so they all went in. "I don't

let Fanny hold _levees_, but you need not stay long."

Fanny was very fond of babies, and they made her examine his

beautiful eyes and forehead and dimpled chin; and then Belle

called her sister's attention to the exquisitely embroidered

dress which she herself had worked.

"I wonder how long it will be before I shall be able to work

another," said Fanny, with a patient smile.

"You will soon be well enough, dear Fanny, for me to come and

read to you," said George.

"Oh! yes, I shall enjoy that; and if Belle is going down-stairs

to-morrow, she can play a little, and if the doors are left open,

I shall hear."

"Yes, and Mary can play to you; for I shall be carrying Belle off

pretty soon," said Philip.

"No, indeed," said mamma, "she can't go till after Christmas; so

you will have to come back and spend Christmas with us."

"It will be a great drawback to our Christmas, having Fanny

upstairs," said Isabel.

"Yes," returned mamma; "but if she recovers, we shall have no

reason to complain."

"I have been telling Isabel that she ought to have the baby

baptized while Philip is here," said George.

"Nonsense, George!" replied his mother; "nobody thinks as you do,

and why will you be forcing your peculiar notions upon us?" And

so the suggestion passed and was thought of no more.

"Put him down and let me kiss him," said Fanny; "dear little

fellow! I wish I could take him." But she knew it was impossible,

and she made no objection when, after a few minutes, Mrs.

Hartland put them all out of the room.

{557}

That evening, when the baby was put to bed, Mrs. Hartland thought

he seemed dull; but this was natural enough; nurse said he was

sleepy. He slept very well and was bright in the morning, but

toward night became dull again. Another day brought no

improvement, and Mrs. Hartland became uneasy. She consulted the

doctor, and strictly followed his suggestions, but the symptoms

were only aggravated. She did not like to show Belle her anxiety,

and proposed taking the baby herself into Fanny's vacant room, in

order, she said, that Isabel need not be disturbed. For two

nights she watched and tended him, hardly sleeping herself until

daylight, when she suffered Mrs. Reilly to take her place.

Mrs. Reilly was a kind, prudent, motherly woman, and very fond of

Mrs. Hartland's children, most of whom had been washed and

dressed by her for the first time in their lives. She was also a

Catholic.

The second night George sat in his room till very late, reading.

Shortly before midnight, he went to bed, and slept uneasily for

two or three hours, then rose, and finding that it wanted some

minutes to four o'clock, he dressed, and resumed his reading,

listening the while till some one in the house should stir.

Soon after the great hall-clock struck five, Mrs. Reilly left

Isabel's room very softly, and went into Fanny's to take the

baby. George waited until he heard his mother pass from the

little room into her own, and close the door. Then he went

down-stairs and into Fanny's room, where Mrs. Reilly sat with the

poor little suffering child upon her lap.

"Is there any change?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"He'll not live till night, Mr. George," she whispered. "Poor

Miss Belle! what will she do?"

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

Belle."

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

"Indeed I have, sir."

"Then you can do it once more," said he, smiling sadly. "We must

not let this child die without baptism." And he poured water into

the basin, and brought it to her.

And the humble Irish nurse performed those sacred acts which, by

the power of the Word made flesh, sanctify the soul.

George replaced the basin, kissed the little creature upon whose

head the baptismal water was still glistening, and returned to

his own room as silently as he came.

Isabel slept heavily and uneasily, and woke unrefreshed and with

a vague sense of apprehension. She rose on hearing the bell ring

for family prayers, and hearing her brothers go down-stairs she

dressed languidly and went into the next room.

The babe still lay upon the pillow in the nurse's lap, and,

although the breakfast-bell had already rung, Mary was sitting in

the window, looking silently and with folded arms at the sick

child.

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

pain and alarm.

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

Mary had always helped her mother more than Belle in taking care

of the little ones, and she knew better than her sister how to

judge of illness. Isabel asked several questions, to which Mrs.

Reilly gave only the most vague and cautious answers. The faint

ring of silver was heard in the hall.

"There is your breakfast, Belle, dear," said Mary, "go into your

own room and take some coffee; you ought not to be standing about

here without having taken anything." "O dear!" said Isabel, "I

don't want any breakfast. I wonder when Philip will come, and

what will he say to see the baby so sick?"

{558}

After a few moments, she followed her sister's advice.

Mechanically she put the sugar and cream into the coffee, and had

just drunk it off, and pushed away the little stand, when the

door opened and Philip entered.

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

He had been sent for, and she knew why.

"Oh! no, no, they don't think he will die," cried Isabel

passionately, throwing herself into Philip's arms; "they don't

think he will die! O my darling! my baby! my beautiful boy!" And

she rushed into the next room.

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

himself.

"He has changed a good deal since daylight," said Mrs. Reilly,

looking up at Philip; but she was sorry she had looked, and

hastily turned her eyes again upon the child.

Presently Mrs. Hartland came in, and insisted that Philip should

go down and have some breakfast, and he felt bound to obey.

Isabel was stunned. It had never entered her head that _he_

could die; he was so strong and bright and beautiful, and he was

_hers_. She threw herself helplessly upon the couch, and

cared for nothing. By and by she remembered that now she could

see him for a little while, but that soon she could see him no

more, and she rose and went into the room.

George and Philip were both there. The quiet little form lay

sweetly, as in sleep, upon the white counterpane of Fanny's cot.

Death had only beautified him. The tiny waxen hands clasped upon

the breast, almost as white as the white rosebud they enfolded,

the smile of beatitude upon the face, the beautiful forehead, the

closed eyes with their long lashes--no pain, no sorrow, the

ineffable peace there, contrasting with the tumult of agony in

her own soul, brought the tears to Belle's eyes.

George could not help thinking of his own little brother, just

about as old, whom, years ago, he had seen lying in the same way

in that very room, upon whose head the baptismal water had never

fallen; and he thought Isabel very happy.

And thus was laid away, till the morning of the resurrection, the

fair casket which had enclosed, for so short a time, a beautiful

soul.

Isabel's room was neatly set in order. It was the brightest and

prettiest chamber in the house, but it looked empty and desolate,

though the family inclined to congregate there, every one wishing

to do something to comfort their poor sister.

"It is five weeks to-day since my little darling was born," said

Isabel; "how proud and happy I was only a week ago, showing him

to Fanny."

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

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

Belle fixed a look of anguish upon her brother's face, and then

wept bitterly, until having stopped, apparently from mere

exhaustion, she said,

"I have been properly punished."

"What do you mean, Belle dear?"

"I mean I have been punished for making so light of one little

life, or rather, for my own life-long selfishness," said she,

looking at Annie who was playing upon the carpet.

George looked at Isabel with much concern and tenderness, but

said nothing.

{559}

"I deserve to be punished, I know, George. I have been perfectly

selfish. I have thought more, all my life long, about dress and

vanity and pleasure than about anything else in the world. I have

been a member of the church and have had a class in the

Sunday-school, and I have thought myself a very good Christian;

but I have really occupied all my life in thinking how I should

contrive to look prettier and to dress better than others, and to

secure my personal gratification. And I have always thought

everything a nuisance that has stood in my way. When the dear

baby came, I have been thinking ever since he was born how I

should dress him and make him look pretty--and now the body that

I thought so much of--" She stopped and sobbed again.

"Don't make yourself so unhappy, my darling sister," said George

tenderly, as he rose and kissed her.

She seemed soothed, and presently ceased weeping.

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

"Dear Belle, you must not be too hard upon yourself; the gifts of

God are as many as the sands upon the sea-shore, and one honest

sight of one's self is a Christmas gift worth having. Even if we

think we are punished, his chastisements are always gifts, if we

know how to receive them; my dear sister, isn't it so?"

"I have heard so times enough from the pulpit," said Belle,

through her tears; "but you know, George, I have never thought

about those things. And then, my baby's soul, which I cared so

little about--dear George, do you really think it makes any

difference?"

"What, dear?"

"Whether he was baptized or not?"

"I don't _think_ anything about it, my darling sister; I

_know_ that it makes all the difference between going

instantly to the heaven of heavens, where God is, and staying,

perhaps for ever and ever, in a place which, though not an

unhappy place, is by no means so happy as the very

presence-chamber of the King of kings. But you need not grieve

about that; for he was baptized, and your little darling has gone

to keep a joyful Christmas in heaven."

And then he told Belle how he came down that morning, and how

Mrs. Reilly had baptized the child.

Isabel listened and wept and seemed comforted.

"I am sure I thank you, dear George, you are always so kind and

thoughtful. I know father and mother don't think it makes the

least difference in the world, and I don't know why I should

trouble myself about it; but still, now that I have lost him, I

can't bear to think that anything was left undone which could

have been done to his possible advantage. And then Philip--Philip

is a great deal better than I am; I have thought very often,

George, of what you said last year about Philip being a gift to

me--a gift from God; he really is very good, and he seemed to

feel so badly because baby was not baptized."

"Our blessed Saviour has given us the sacrament of baptism for

_something_, no doubt," said George, "and it is taking

considerable upon ourselves, short-sighted creatures as we are,

to pronounce that it is of no consequence to any one, even to a

babe a day old. But you must be comforted now, my darling sister,

and remember that God has given you this year for your Christmas

gift, not merely that little grave, but a spotless soul before

his throne, who will never cease to pray for you and Philip until

you are so happy as to arrive there yourselves."

Then bending over her, he made the sign of the cross on her fair

forehead, and in his heart invoked on her those Christmas

benedictions which faith alone can give.

----------

{560}

The American College In Rome.

We design, in the few following re to call the attention of our

readers to a work which is in process of execution in this

country at present, to secure an endowment for the American

College in the Eternal City. In the earnest appeal which will be

found at the end of this article, made by the most Rev.

Archbishop of Baltimore and the Rt. Rev. Bishop of Philadelphia,

in the name of their brethren of the Episcopate, to the more

wealthy among our American Catholics, the reasons are plainly

stated why this should be done. The voice of our prelates is to

us the voice of God; and we believe that we are furthering the

designs of his providence in sustaining this institution, which

was founded by the Holy Father for the benefit of the Catholics

of the United States. We have had the college in Rome for some

years, and we are now called upon to decide whether we shall

permit it to be closed for want of proper support, and thus show

that we are not able to appreciate the gift of his Holiness, to

maintain the College when he has given the building, to do our

share when he has so generously done his.

The prelates have placed the whole question with admirable

practical wisdom before us. Their plan is both grand and

feasible, and is characterized by that energy of purpose, zeal

for religion, and attachment to the real progress of the church,

which eminently distinguish the hierarchy, the clergy, and the

faithful of the United States.

It is not necessary to recapitulate the arguments which are

contained in the circular, for they speak for themselves.

Reference, however, may be briefly made to some of the immense

advantages which are enjoyed by the young Levites brought up in

the centre of unity, as Samuel of old within the precincts of the

temple. In the first place, the constant presence of the visible

head of the church upon earth reminds them continually of our

blessed Lord's promises to his first Vicar, so perfectly

fulfilled in the long line of his successors, the gates of hell

continually striving but never prevailing against them, and

excites in their hearts that true devotion to the Holy See which

is the surest test of orthodoxy, as it is the most perfect

safeguard against error. Wherever they turn, they behold the

evidences of the victory achieved by the faith of Christ over

paganism and infidelity. The despised cross has fully conquered.

The student in Rome is continually reminded of the immense

revolution which took place first in Rome, when Constantine

embraced the faith of Christ, and the Caesars gave place to the

pontiffs, and heathen temples were converted to the worship of

the one true God, and Rome became the centre of another empire

grander far than the one of which she was the centre before,

which stretches "from sea to sea, and from the river to the ends

of the earth." There is something, moreover, in the atmosphere of

Rome provocative of study; nor is there wanting that generous

competition which serves to awaken every energy in the endeavor

to excel in the various departments of learning. Rome is, in this

sense, an intellectual arena in which contend bright intellects

from all parts of the known world, whose powers are brought out

and strengthened by their very exercise.

{561}

Not only are there many advantages to be enjoyed there in a

literary and intellectual point of view, but even greater in a

spiritual. Where else are the great festivals of our holy

religion celebrated with the splendor and magnificence that they

are there? Where else is God awarded the first place, and

religion paramount? Where else is devotion to the blessed

sacrament practised as it is in Rome? To say nothing of the

countless masses, of the churches open from early dawn to dusk;

the kneeling worshippers; no day in the year but what, in the

beautiful devotion of the Forty Hours, the blessed sacrament is

exposed to the adoration of the faithful--now here, now

there--the Son of God upon his earthly throne; lights burning as

they burn nowhere else; and the silent throng adoring,

worshipping, thanking, praying. Then the intense devotion to the

Blessed Virgin, the Madonna at every street corner, in every

shop, in every house, and the light which love and reverence have

lighted, burning before it. It has well been said that the

business of Rome is prayer. What an advantage for one who must

labor in a country like ours, filled with every form of religious

error, to have these memories to fall back upon, to encourage him

in the midst of the contradiction of these dogmas of our holy

faith in which he has to dwell, to stimulate both himself and the

flock committed to his care to imitate the example of fervent

piety and devotion which Rome sets to the world. How powerful

there, too, the example of the saints! Nowhere else so much as in

Rome does the truth spoken by the apostle, that we are "the

fellow-citizens of the saints and the domestics of God," come

home to us; we seem to stand in their footsteps, from the martyrs

who laid down their lives during the fearful persecutions of the

first three centuries to the confessors and virgins almost of our

own day. There lie, side by side, the bodies of the great

apostles, Peter and Paul; of Peter, who received from our blessed

Lord the charge of the sheep and lambs of his flock; of Paul,

miraculously converted to faith in Him whose followers he had

persecuted; who, in turn, became the great instrument in the

hands of God of preaching that holy faith and leading thousands

to embrace it. There, in that amphitheatre, the martyrs were torn

in pieces by wild beasts from the Libyan deserts. There, in those

catacombs, their bodies were reverently laid. Here, one martyr

after another suffered. There is the resting-place of Lawrence,

of Sebastian, of Agnes, of Cecily. Here lived those holy popes

whose names are found in the calendars of the saints; and, to

come nearer home to our own day, there St. Ignatius lived; here

St. Aloysius and St. Stanislaus Kostka passed their angelic

lives, and breathed out their pure souls to God. This was the

home of St. Philip Neri, the apostle of Rome; here he preached,

said mass, and heard confession.

But the list is too long, and we must stop. Let the examples

given suffice. There can be no question of the advantages of such

influences as these upon the lives of those who are surrounded by

them, and specially upon those who are to be consecrated to God

in the service of his sanctuary.

{562}

Another point must be remembered, and that is, that as Rome is to

us what Jerusalem was, under the old dispensation, in a certain

sense, the place whither the "tribes of the earth go up," so it

is very desirable that every nation should have a college there

which should serve as a kind of headquarters to represent them,

and to which persons coming from that nation could go, and feel

that they were at home. Thus, the Englishman naturally finds his

way to the English college, the Irishman to the Irish, and so on;

and he finds those there who can speak to him in his own tongue,

and to whom he can apply for advice and information. Again, at

Rome are the _limina apostolorum_, which every bishop is

bound to visit at certain periods of his episcopate. We have now

between forty and fifty bishops in this country, and from time to

time they go thither, as Paul did to see Peter, to expose to the

Chief Pastor the condition of their flocks, to consult with him,

and to obtain for themselves and their flocks the blessing of the

Vicar of our Lord upon earth. During the late gathering at Rome,

fourteen of our bishops were lodged at the American College.

During the coming council there should be more; and at other than

these special times there will be sometimes one, sometimes

another of our bishops there, not for himself, but for us; and

this alone should be a strong argument why the college should be

sustained, that as the bishops of other nations have homes in

Rome, so ours should have one too.

There can be no doubt, then, about the advantages of the college

and the importance of maintaining it. It involves an outlay of

money, but the return will be sure and great. There is no more

pressing need at the present time than that which this college,

with many others, supplies, namely, an increased number of

priests. There are five millions of Catholics in this country,

and it is impossible that with so many to prevent it, and

specially of the class now called upon, the necessity of closing

the college should occur.

We are proud of our country, of its lakes, and its rivers, and

its mountains, surpassed nowhere in the world. Let us not be

content with these natural excellences which are not of our

making, but come to us from the hand of God. Let us try to excel

in those things which are under our control--in virtue, in

learning, and in all that makes man great and good; and in this

particular instance let us try to excel the other nations in our

college in Rome. Let it be a model in discipline, in spirit, and

in intellectual culture. Let us try to make it the leading

college in this respect, and also in the number of students. In

this point let it be second only to the Propaganda. Let us not be

satisfied until we have it fully established, and at least a

hundred students within its walls. That this may be accomplished,

we call the attention of our readers to the appeal, and trust

that every one who is able will take part in this great

undertaking to the utmost of his ability.

Appeal To The More Wealthy Among

The Catholics Of The United States.

Beloved Children In Christ: You are aware that some years ago

the cluster of National Colleges in Rome was increased by one,

and that one was the College representing our own nation.

Almost every nation had previously been represented there: the

Irish, the English, the Scotch, the French, the Germans, the

South Americans, etc. At last the deficiency was supplied,

through the munificence of our beloved Pontiff, Pius IX., who

generously bestowed a spacious and centrally located site for

the purpose. Our College was opened, and it has already trained

a number of priests for the American Mission; while it has also

been a place to which Americans in Rome, no matter what their

faith, might resort, and feel that they were at home.

{563}

Unfortunately, however, sufficient means were not provided, at

the commencement, to establish the College on a solid basis;

and after struggling on for some years, it is now in imminent

danger of being closed. It would be one thing never to have had

the College, but it is another altogether to have had it and to

lose it. This latter contingency, besides being a great

disgrace to us, would be also an irreparable loss to the

country.

The late Plenary Council ordered a general collection for the

relief of the immediate wants of the College; nor is it our

intention to supersede this collection, but rather to aid it

toward effectually accomplishing the object in view. This

collection will still be necessary to pay debts already

incurred, and to provide for pressing needs.

But, in addition to the general collection, which we hope will

soon be taken up, it has been suggested to propose to our

wealthier Catholics, for their imitation in this matter, the

noble example of their forefathers in the faith, who did great

things for religion and for God. Instances of this occur in

Rome itself, where, besides several other colleges for various

nationalities, founded principally by the munificence of

particular wealthy Catholics to rear up priests for their

respective countries, the English College, since such a

blessing to the English nation, was founded by Ina and by Offa,

Saxon princes, first as a resting-place for English pilgrims,

and then as a nursery to train up priests for the English

Mission. In those days, kings and princes, and men of wealth

willingly founded and endowed churches, colleges, asylums,

hospitals, institutions of religion, learning, and charity,

whose very ruins, in lands where they have been allowed to go

to ruin, are monuments of former Catholic munificence while

they are a reproach to our own degenerate days. It has been

thought that, at this juncture, this glorious example of our

ancestors would be promptly imitated; and that an appeal made

to those Catholics in this country, whom God has blessed with

abundant means, to come to the rescue, and not only to save the

College, but to put it at once on a sound and substantial

basis, would not be made in vain, but would be generously

responded to.

It is with this view, that we make our earnest appeal to you at

this time, and propose a plan which, we think, with your

co-operation, will be successful in speedily founding and

endowing the American College in Rome. We urge the matter upon

you the more strongly, as next year the great General Council

is to be convened in Rome, and we are to meet the bishops of

the whole world in one of those grand assemblies which mark an

era in the history of the Universal Church. To the Councils of

Nice, Ephesus, Chalcedon, Lateran, Lyons, Florence, and Trent,

is to be added that of the Vatican. Let us, before we go to the

Holy City, have the consolation of knowing that, through your

munificence, we have a college there to which we can proudly

point, as bishops of a great Catholic people; let us be spared

the disgrace of going thither to find its doors closed, and its

name blotted out from the list of National Colleges existing in

the Eternal City. We confidently appeal to you as Catholics and

as Americans, loving your religion and your country, that this

may not be so. Surely, the means with which God has blessed you

can be applied to no higher or holier purpose than this; nor

can there be any which will draw down upon you and your

families a more abundant blessing of heaven. The prayers and

holy sacrifices which will be cheerfully offered up in your

behalf by those who, through your bounty, will be trained up

for the holy ministry, cannot fail to draw down upon you

heaven's choicest benedictions. Our plan, then, is briefly

this:

We wish to raise from $250,000 to $300,000. We have appointed,

as our agent in the matter, the Rev. G. H. Doane, Chancellor of

the Diocese of Newark, to visit all the principal dioceses of

the United States, and call upon those who are most able, to

contribute their subscriptions. We propose that of these

generous contributors to a noble work there should be three

classes:

1. Founders Of Burses; who will contribute, once for all,

_five thousand dollars_ in currency, yielding something

over two hundred dollars, in gold, of yearly interest; and who

will have the right of selecting, from those who will be

recommended and approved of their respective bishops for this

purpose, one student of the College for ever.

2. Patrons; who will contribute _one thousand dollars_,

once for all, and will be entitled to send a student, approved

of by the bishop, for three years.

3. Life Members; who, by contributing _five hundred

dollars_, will share in the holy sacrifices and prayers of

the College and of the students.

The names of all these three classes will be enrolled, and

placed in a handsome frame, to be kept in the Chapel of the

American College; and solemn high mass will be celebrated for

them in Rome twice a year--once for the living and once for

the deceased benefactors; besides the private masses which the

priests educated at the College will feel impelled by gratitude

to offer up frequently for their respective patrons and

benefactors and their families.

{564}

This plan, if zealously and efficiently carried out, will, we

are convinced, accomplish the desired result in very short

time. One Catholic gentleman in Baltimore has already founded a

Burse, and others will follow his good example. We believe that

we can safely calculate on the following amounts to be realized

in the United States, under the three heads above named:

Twenty Burses, at $5,000---- $100,000

One Hundred Patrons, at $1,000---- 100,000

One Hundred Life Members, at $500.---- 50,000

Total $250,000

The reverend father to whom we have entrusted this important

matter, and in whose zeal and efficiency we have the utmost

confidence, will call upon you during the course of the coming

winter. You will, we are quite sure, receive him worthily, as

our representative; and you will enable him, we trust, to

return to us with fresh and abundant proofs of your well-known

generosity and self-sacrifice, and with an ample and sufficient

sum not only to save, but to endow, and render perpetual for

all time, our _American College in Rome_.

M. J. Spalding,

_Archbishop of Baltimore, and Chairman of Metropolitans._

J. F. Wood,

_Bishop of Philadelphia, Chairman Executive Committee

of Bishops, and Treasurer._

_Baltimore_, Feast of the Presentation of the

Blessed Virgin, 1868.

Letter Of Rev. George H. Doane.

Having been appointed by the Most Rev. Archbishop of Baltimore,

and the Rt. Rev. Bishop of Philadelphia, as Chairmen

respectively of Metropolitans, and of the Executive Committee

of Bishops, who have charge of the affairs of the American

College in Rome, with the duty of endeavoring to raise an

endowment fund for the College, I have, with the consent of my

own bishop, accepted the trust which they have confided to me,

and propose to enter upon the work at once. Before Christmas I

hope to visit, with the consent of the Archbishops and Bishops

of those Sees, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Albany, Boston, and

Hartford; during the holidays, New-York, Brooklyn, and Newark;

and about the middle of January to start for the North, West,

and South.

Love for Rome, and the desire to make some little return for

the many blessings I received while a student in one of the

National Colleges there, (the American College not having then

been founded,) by trying to procure the same blessings to

others; and love for my country, with the desire to see

preserved for her, in the very heart of the Eternal City, a

place where some of her young Levites may grow up in the

schools of Rome, under the shadow of St. Peter's, and in the

immediate presence of the Vicar of our Lord upon earth, are the

motives which prompt me to undertake this arduous duty.

That it may succeed, I earnestly beg the prayers of the

faithful, the generous and zealous co-operation of all in the

good work, and remembrance on the part of my fathers and

brethren at the altar of God in the daily sacrifice.

G. H. Doane.

----------

{565}

Catholicity And Pantheism.

Number Three.

The Problem Of Multiplicity.

In the development of the Catholic idea of God, which we have

given in the previous number, we have met with no opposition from

pantheism.

Here, however, it raises the most difficult as well as the most

sublime and profound question which can be proposed to human

intelligence--the problem of multiplicity. We shall let a

pantheist propose it in his own words.

It will be remembered that the last of the attributes which we

vindicated as belonging to the infinite was that of absolute

unity. This attribute gives rise to the problem.

"What is unity," says Cousin, "taken by itself? A unity

indivisible, a dead unity, a unity which, resting in the depths

of its absolute existence, and never developing itself, is, for

itself, as if it were not. In the same manner, what is variety

without unity? A variety which, not being referable to a unity,

can never form a totality, or any collection whatever, is a

series of indefinite quantities, of each of which one cannot say

that it is itself and not another, for this would suppose that it

is one; that is, it would suppose the idea of unity; so that,

without unity, variety also is as if it were not. Behold what

variety or unity isolated would produce; the one is necessary to

the other in order to exist with true existence; with that

existence, which is neither multiple, various, mobile, or

negative existence; nor that absolute, eternal, infinite

existence, which is, as it were, the negation of existence. Every

true existence, every reality, is in the union of these two

elements; although, essentially, the one may be superior and

anterior to the other. You cannot separate variety from unity,

nor unity from variety; they necessarily coexist. But how do they

coexist? Unity is anterior to multiplicity; how then has unity

been able to admit multiplicity?" [Footnote 162]

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

Again: "Reason, in whatever way it may occupy itself, can

conceive nothing, except under the condition of two ideas, which

preside over the exercise of its activity; the idea of the unit,

and the idea of the multiple; of the finite and the infinite; of

being and of appearing; of substance and of phenomenon; of

absolute cause and of secondary causes; of the absolute and of

the relative; of the necessary and of the contingent; of

immensity and of space, of eternity and of time.

"Analysis, in bringing together all these propositions, in

bringing together, for example, all their first terms, identifies

them; it equally identifies all the second terms, so that, of all

these propositions compared and combined, it forms a single

proposition, a single formula, which is the formula itself of

thought, and which you can express, according to the case, by the

unit and by the multiple, the absolute being and the relative

being, unity and variety, etc. Finally, the two terms of this

formula, so comprehensive, do not constitute a dualism in which

the first term is on one side, the second on the other, without

any other relation than that of being perceived at the same time

by reason.

{566}

The relation concerning them is quite otherwise

essential, unity being eternity, etc.; the first term of the

formula is cause also, and absolute cause; and, so far as

absolute cause, it cannot avoid developing itself in the second

term, multiplicity, the finite and the relative.

"The result of all this is, that the two terms, as well as the

relation of generation which draws the second from the first,

and which, without cessation, refers to it, are the three

integral elements of reason. It is not in the power of reason,

in its boldest abstractions, to separate any one of these three

terms from the others. Try to take away unity, and variety

alone is no longer susceptible of addition--it is even no

longer comprehensible; or, try to take away variety, and you

have an immovable unity--a unity which does not make itself

manifest, and which, of itself, is not a thought; all thought

expressing itself in a proposition, and a single term not

sufficing for a proposition; in short, take away the relation

which intimately connects variety and unity, and you destroy

the necessary tie of the two terms of every proposition. We may

then regard it as an incontestable point, that these three

terms are distinct but inseparable, and that they constitute at

the same time a triplicity and an indivisible unity." [Footnote

163]

[Footnote 163: Lecture Fifth.]

As the reader may have observed, Cousin raises the problem of

multiplicity. He expresses it under a logical form, but the

problem is a metaphysical one, and hence applicable to all

orders, logical as well as ontological. It is raised by all

pantheists, whose words we abstain from quoting for brevity's

sake; and so far as the problem itself is concerned, it is a

legitimate one; and every one, who has thought deeply on these

matters, and is not satisfied with merely looking at the surface

of things, must accept it.

Let us put it in its clearest light. The infinite, considered

merely as unity, actuality, (all words which mean the same

thing,) can be known neither to itself nor to any other

intelligence. It cannot be known to itself. For to know implies

thought, and thought is absolutely impossible without a duality

of knowing and of being known, of subject and of object. It

implies an intelligence, an object, and a relation between the

two. If, then, there is no multiplicity in the infinite, it

cannot know itself. It is, for itself, as if it were not; for

what is a being which cannot know itself?

Nor can it be known to any other intelligence; for mere

existence, pure unity does not convey any idea necessary to

satisfy the intelligence.

Moreover, the mere existence and unity of an object does not make

it, on that account, intelligible. For an object to be

intelligible, it is required that it should be able to act on the

intelligence, such being the condition of intelligibility.

[Footnote 164] Now, action implies already a multiplicity, a

subject and the action. Therefore, if the infinite were mere pure

unity, it could not be intelligible to any intelligence. But in

the supposition that there is a kind of multiplicity in the

infinite, how would multiplicity be reconciled with unity? How

would these two terms agree?

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

Intelligibility.]

Multiplicity seems to be a necessary condition of the infinite,

without which it would not be intelligible either to itself or to

others. Absolute unity seems also to be a necessary attribute of

the infinite, and yet these two necessary conditions seem to

exclude each other. How then must we bring them together?

{567}

This is the problem to be solved; the grandest and most sublime

problem of philosophy; which has occupied every school of

philosophy since man began to turn his mind to philosophical

researches.

The two great antagonists, pantheism and catholicity, give an

answer to the problem, and it is the province of this article to

discuss the two solutions, and see which of them can stand the

test of logic, and really answer the problem instead of

destroying it. We shall enter upon the discussion, after

premising a few remarks necessary to the right understanding of

the discussion.

The first remark which we shall make is to call the attention of

the reader to the absolute necessity for the existence of the

problem.

It is not pantheism, nor Catholicity, which arbitrarily raises

the problem; it exists in the very essence of being, in the very

essence of intelligibility. Those philosophers who cannot see it

may have taken a cursory glance over some pages of what purports

to be philosophy, but they never understood a word of that which

really deserves the name of that sublime science. We make this

remark for two different reasons: First, in order to close the

door to all the objections raised against the problem. For if it

is demonstrated that a multiplicity is required in the infinite,

then to raise objections against it only shows want of

philosophic depth, but does not prove anything against the

existence of the problem. We shall return to this subject. The

second reason is a consequence of the first, to wit, that should

we find that the answer to the problem is not as clear and

evident as we might desire, we must not, on that account, reject

the problem, but should be satisfied with the light that is

afforded. This is but reasonable. Deny the problem we cannot. It

follows then that we must be satisfied with an answer which,

whilst it saves the problem, throws as much light on it as is

possible, under the circumstances.

Pantheistic Solution Of The Problem

Of Multiplicity And Unity In The Infinite.

Pantheism arrives at infinite unity by eliminating from it all

possible determination, definition, reality, ideality, thought,

will, consciousness; and rising from abstraction to abstraction,

from elimination to elimination, from a more limited

indefiniteness to a higher and broader and less restricted one,

up to mere simple, unalloyed abstraction and unity.

All pantheists follow the same process in order to arrive at

unity. Cousin calls it dead, immovable, inconceivable; a thing

existing as if it were not; the Being--Unreality of Hegel. But

ascended to such a summit, all multiplicity eliminated, and pure

unalloyed unity once found, how is multiplicity to be

reconstructed? With the greatest ease in the world. Pantheists

make this Being--nothing unfold and develop itself like a

silkworm; alleging, as a reason for such development, an

intrinsic necessity of nature, an imperative instinct which

broods in its bosom.

Thus they reconstruct multiplicity by making the Infinite become

finite, cosmos, matter, spirit, humanity, etc. Let us hear

Cousin: "This is the fundamental vice of ancient and modern

theories; they place unity on one side, and multiplicity on the

other; the infinite and the finite in such an opposition that the

passage from one to the other seems impossible."

{568}

And, after having remarked that this was the error of the school

of Elea, he continues: "Immensity or unity of space, eternity or

unity of time, unity of numbers, unity of perfection, the ideal

of all beauty, the Infinite, the absolute substance, being

itself, is a cause also, not a relative, contingent, finite

cause, but an absolute cause. Now, being an absolute cause, it

cannot avoid passing into action. If being, in itself alone, is

given as absolute substance without causality, the world is

impossible; but if being in itself is also a cause and an

absolute cause, movement and the world naturally follow. The true

absolute is not pure being in itself; it is power and cause taken

absolutely, which consequently creates absolutely, and, in

_developing_ itself, produces all that you see around you."

We quote Cousin in preference to others on account of his

lucidity of style and expressions; but every one acquainted with

the systems of the German pantheists knows that their answer to

the problem of multiplicity is substantially the same. We refer

the reader, in confirmation of our assertion, to the excellent

lectures on the systems of the German Pantheists, of Heinrich

Moritz Chalybäus, professor at the University of Kiel.

Now, does the answer resolve the problem? Does it really

conciliate unity with multiplicity in the Infinite? Does it

really maintain intact the two terms of the problem? We think

that it does not, and maintain that it destroys both terms of the

problem. The leading idea and principle of Pantheism is that

unity is _becoming_ multiplicity.

It is an existence in a continual _ex-sistere_ in an

emergence and manifestation. [Footnote 165]

[Footnote 165: Chalybäus' Lectures, etc.]

Now, who can fail to perceive that if unity is such, that is,

unity when it is merely potential, when it has only the power of

becoming, of passing into multiplicity, it is doubtless destroyed

as soon as it passes from the power into the act; or, in other

words, it is destroyed as unity when it becomes multiplicity?

Strip this idea of a potential unity becoming actual

multiplicity, strip it of all the logical phantasmagoria with

which it has been adorned, especially by pantheists of the German

school, which phantasmagoria can only impose upon the simple, and

you can see, as clearly as that two and two make four, that the

whole thing amounts to nothing but to this; that unity vanishes

as soon as it becomes multiplicity. It is with a special

intention that we have made use of the simile of the silkworm.

This poor creature too, like the unity of the pantheists, has an

instinct given it by God, of unfolding and developing itself, and

the effect of its operation is the silk which serves to set off

the beauty of man. But unfortunately, the process of development

exhausts the little creature; for when it is completed, the poor

creature dies, and its development is its death, and its

production is its shroud; yet, it has this advantage over the

unity of the pantheists, that its remains continue to exist,

whereas their unity evaporates completely in multiplicity. To

speak more seriously, it is perfectly evident to every mind, that

the answer of the pantheists destroys the very problem it

undertakes to solve. Unity is unity so long as it is a potency, a

power of becoming; it vanishes as soon as it becomes

multiplicity. Add to this, that their unity, to be infinite, must

remain undefined, potential, and in the possibility of becoming;

such being their idea of the Infinite.

{569}

For which reason they eliminate from it every limitation, all

individuality, all thought, all consciousness. The natural

consequence of this principle must be that it remains infinite so

long as it is wrapped up in its vagueness and indefiniteness. Let

it come forth from its indefiniteness, let it become definite,

limited, concrete, and its infinity together with its unity is

gone. It evaporates in the finite forms it assumes. On the other

hand, let it remain absorbed in its indefiniteness, in its

abstractiveness, and consequently, in its infinity, and

multiplicity can no longer be conceived. It is absurd then to

speak of multiplicity in the Infinite of the Pantheists, since it

is clear that, when it assumes multiplicity, it can no longer be

either infinite or one; and when it remains infinite it cannot be

conceived as multiple. All this we have said, conceding the

premises of pantheism. But we have, in the first article,

demonstrated the following principles:

1st. If the pantheists take their unity in the sense of a pure

abstraction, a transient act, the elements of which do not last

one single instant, it is in that case an absolute nonentity, an

utter unreality, and then it is useless to speak of multiplicity,

since _ex nihilo nihil fit_.

2d. Or, they suppose their unity as something really existing,

having the power of gradual development, and in that case we have

demonstrated that such a being could not develop itself without

the aid of a foreign being.

The premises of pantheism then being false, the solution of the

problem falls to the ground independently of its intrinsic value,

if it have any, which we have shown it has not.

Pantheism cannot answer the problem of multiplicity. How can we

then attain to its solution?

We answer: the Catholic Church resolves it, giving such an

explanation of it as the finite and limited intellect of man may

reasonably expect. For the Catholic Church does not pretend to

give such a solution of the problem as to enable us thoroughly to

understand it. She proceeds from two premises, to wit, that God

is infinite, and that man, necessarily distinct from God, is

finite, and therefore endowed only with finite intelligence. That

these premises are true, appears evident from the demonstration

we have already given, in which we have shown that the

pantheistic idea of the infinite is the idea of finite being when

it is not taken as meaning only an abstraction, a pure

mathematical point. The ideas of the infinite and the finite

exist, and therefore there must be also objects corresponding to

these ideas. We shall return to this subject in a following

number.

From these two ideas of the finite and the Infinite, it follows

that man can never comprehend God; or, in other words, that the

intelligence of man, with the relation to God as its object, must

find mysteries or truths above and beyond its capacity. For, as

it is absurd to shut up a body of large size in a body of much

more limited size, supposing the present conditions of bodies not

suspended, so it is absurd to suppose that the intellect of man,

limited and finite, could grasp or take in God, who is infinite.

We are aware of the opposition which is made by many to mysteries

or super-intelligible truths; but we insist upon it, that all

such opposition would vanish, if men would study philosophy more

deeply and more assiduously. Why, a real philosopher, one who has

sounded the depths of creation, and plunged into the profundity

of the great ideas of being, of substance, of the absolute, of

the infinite, the finite and the relative, into the ideas of

eternity, of immensity, of immutability, of space and time, into

the ideas of cause, of action, of movement; one who has entered

into the labyrinth of his soul, and tried to catch the flying

phenomena of its life, and to analyze all the fibres of its

consciousness; such a one meets, at every step, with mysteries,

and the more he digs into them, the profounder and the wider is

the abyss lying at his feet.

{570}

If we should meet with a man denying mysteries, and desirous to

engage in a discussion, we would beg of him to go and first study

the alphabet of philosophy.

The problem, then, proposing the reconciliation of unity with

multiplicity in the Infinite, is held by the Catholic Church as a

mystery, a truth which cannot be thoroughly understood by the

human mind. But, notwithstanding all this, the solution which

Catholic doctrine affords, though a mystery, is clear enough to

be perceived, and distinct enough to make us see through the

agreement of the two terms of the problem; so that, through the

help of the Catholic Church, we shall have all the light thrown

upon the problem in question which man may reasonably expect,

seeing that the object of the problem is the Infinite, and the

intellect apprehending it only limited and finite.

----------

New Publications.

Philip II. Of Spain.

By Charles Gayarré.

Author of the _History of Louisiana under the French,

Spanish, and American Domination_.

With an Introductory Letter by George Bancroft.

New York. 1866. W. J. Widdleton.

8vo, pp. viii. iv. 366.

Mr. Gayarré is not unknown among American authors. Of Spanish

origin, born and nurtured in Louisiana, he has connected his name

with the history of that State by his devotion to its annals.

Laborious research has enabled him to give to the world three

volumes, comprising the history of Louisiana, under French,

Spanish, and American domination. Unfortunately, the first volume

was taken up rather as a romance of history; and in the treatment

of his subject imagination is allowed a scope that the stricter

schools of history deny that faculty. Imbued to no small extent

with the petty philosophism of the worst age of France, he seldom

fails to give the Church, where it enters his historic paintings,

darker colors than truth will warrant.

His present work is not a life of Philip II. It is a series of

studies, not complete enough, indeed, to form a character of that

great and singular ruler, who made Spain a great power in Europe,

but failed to bequeath to his successors the ability and

statecraft that enabled him to maintain the influence of the

peninsula in European affairs.

Mr. Gayarré's studies are disconnected, involve repetitions, and

fail to give us the salient points which mainly need discussion

and examination. He begins with the death of Philip; then treats

of his religious policy; his love of art; his reign in general;

Antonio Perez; the Cortes during his reign; literature. The point

of view may be inferred from Mr. Bancroft's remark, that the

present work is written "with a mind superior to the influences

of superstition"--an idea we have already expressed in somewhat

different terms, vocabularies differing slightly, as Saul of

Tarsus notes, in giving the estimate made by the most civilized

and enlightened people of his day in regard to the cross.

{571}

Philip as ruler of Spain, Portugal, and the Indies; Philip and

the Low Countries; Philip in his relations with foreign

countries; Philip and the Inquisition in Spain; Philip and his

family, here were indeed themes to discuss, to examine by the aid

of the soundest authorities. Had Mr. Gayarré done this in true

historic spirit, his work, whatever the judgment at which he

arrived, would have been of real value to every thinking man. As

it is, we cannot say that we see any necessity or utility for the

work. In Prescott there is at least a complete picture and an

array of authority. Gayarré gives neither, and can scarcely be

read without obtaining false views--without the facts which in

Prescott often enable you to see the fallacy of statements based

really on erroneous arguments.

----

Recollections Of A Busy Life.

By Horace Greeley.

New York. J. B. Ford and Company. 1868.

The autobiographical papers, which compose the larger part of

this volume, were originally published in a weekly journal of

this city, and have probably attracted the attention of many

thousands of readers. They are now issued in a permanent form,

under Mr. Greeley's personal supervision, and will take their

place among the standard works of American biography.

Whatever may be said or thought of the religious and political

principles from time to time professed and advocated by the

"Editor of _The Tribune_," no man can deny to him the

character of an earnest, outspoken, indefatigable supporter of

what, at the moment, he believes to be just and right. The manner

in which he braved a public opinion thoroughly tyrannical, both

at the opening and close of the late war, sufficiently attests

his independence of spirit and his fidelity to the dictates of

his own judgment.

One interest, however, attaches to Mr. Greeley, chiefly as a man

who, from the humblest beginnings, has raised himself, by his own

exertions, to one of the most influential and honorable positions

in this country. The story of his projects and reverses, of his

perseverance and his triumphs, is well told in the volume before

us, and will serve to encourage and refresh the hearts of many

young men, whose struggles after influence and honest wealth are

meeting with continual disappointment.

In the hurry of preparing this work for the press, Mr. Greeley

has fallen into an historical error which should certainly be

corrected. In his opening chapter he informs us that, in 1641,

during the insurrection which occurred in the province of Ulster

in Ireland, against the British power, "40,000 Protestant

settlers were speedily massacred, with small regard to age or

sex." The number who actually suffered in that "rebellion" has

been variously estimated by historians not favorable toward

Ireland or her people. Sir John Temple fixes it at 150,000;

Milton, in his _Eiconoclastes_, at 154,000 for one province

alone; Clarendon puts the number at 40,000. Mr. Greeley follows

Clarendon, but with equal reliability he might have taken Temple

or Milton for his authority. He might also have stated with the

former, that "Hundreds of the ghosts of Protestants, that were

drowned by the rebels at Portadown Bridge, were seen in the

river, bolt upright, and were heard to cry out for revenge on

these rebels. One of these ghosts was seen with hands lifted up,

and standing in that posture from December 29th to the latter end

of the following Lent." For additional testimony about the

presence of the ghosts, he might have called upon Dr. Maxwell,

the Protestant Bishop of Kilmore. But if instead of relying upon

such ghostly authorities, Mr. Greeley had consulted a little

work, entitled _Memoir of Ireland, Native and Saxon_,

written by Daniel O'Connell, and published by Greeley & McElrath

in 1844, he would have seen that, in 1641, there were less than

200,000 Protestants in the entire island, and that the number

massacred (?) in its most northern province failed to reach any

thousands whatever. He would also have discovered that in these

insurrections it was the Catholics who suffered, and not

Protestants, as, for instance, at Island Magee.

{572}

Mr. Greeley is too wise and liberal a man wilfully to repeat so

stale a calumny, and he is not so inconsistent as to contradict,

in 1868, the statements of a work which he deemed worthy of

public confidence in 1844. While, therefore, we point out the

error, we impute no malice to the writer; to whom, in view of his

constant activity, some inaccuracies may be pardoned. But the

injury inflicted by his mistake is not lessened by its

thoughtlessness, and the least that can be done to remedy the

evil is to correct the error in the next edition, should one be

ever issued.

----

The Ideal In Art.

By H. Taine.

Translated by J. Durand.

New York: Leypoldt & Holt. 1869.

The object of these two lectures, first delivered by M. Taine to

the students of the School of Fine Arts in Paris, and now

published in an American translation by Messrs. Leypoldt & Holt,

is to erect a standard of criticism in art, independent of the

taste and fancy of the individual critic, and so based upon

established principles as to be worthy of the name of "a law." To

our mind, the distinguished author has approached, if not

attained, success. The fundamental rule with which he starts,

distinguishes between that mechanical skill by which the

production of the artist is made a faithful representation of his

own ideal, and that artistic genius by which the loftiness and

grandeur of the ideal is itself determined. He then proceeds to

measure the ideal itself, and, upon the purity and elevation of

this, bases the standing of the artist and the merit of his

works.

A complete sketch of M. Taine's system would necessitate a

reproduction of the work itself. In his volume there are no

wasted words; and while, perhaps, not altogether intelligible to

the utterly unlearned in art, the treatise which he gives us will

serve to stimulate the reader to an inquiry which cannot fail to

improve his taste in literature as well as in the peculiar domain

which it professes to explore.

We especially welcome this volume at this time, because of the

opportunities which are now afforded for a study of the

principles of M. Taine, in connection with the great schools of

Italian art themselves. In the Jarves Collection, now at Yale

College, may be found paintings of representative masters, from

the dawn of Italian art to the commencement of its decline.

Hundreds of visitors have examined this treasure-house of

painting, and thousands more should follow their example. And we

venture to suggest that a careful study of the work before us

will render, at least in the case of cultivated persons, what

would otherwise have been a mere visit of curiosity, a most

valuable lesson on that ideal in art in which the true artists of

every age have given the measure of their own genius and the

pledge of their artistic immortality.

----

The Illustrated Catholic Family Almanac,

for the United States, for the Year of our Lord 1869.

New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1869.

This is the first attempt by any Catholic publisher in this

country to get up an Almanac suitable for Catholic families. It

contains a complete calendar for the year 1869, with a variety of

other matter both useful and entertaining. The illustrations,

nineteen in number, are excellent. We are glad to be able to

state that it is the intention of the Society to issue such an

almanac every year, and we hope that this first attempt may meet

with the success which it so well deserves.

It should be found in every Catholic household in the United

States. Almanacs have become almost a necessity, and are looked

for as regularly as the new year. It is, then, highly important

that an almanac, to say the least, should contain nothing

objectionable to morals, and this cannot be said of too many

frequently met with, which are only mere advertising mediums for

quack medicines, etc. We hope _The Catholic Family Almanac_

will henceforth supersede all such trashy productions--which no

father of a family should allow to endanger the faith and

morality of his children. The excuse heretofore urged for their

presence in the house, that there was no Catholic family almanac

to be had, is no longer valid.

----

{573}

Criminal Abortion: Its Nature, its Evidence, and its Law.

By Horatio R. Storer, M.D., LL.B., and Franklin Fiske Heard.

Boston: Little, Brown & Company. 1868.

This subject is here brought before the public in a manner

proportioned to its importance; and Dr. Storer, for his

indefatigable efforts in ferreting out the statistics of this

crime, and his outspoken honest opinions, deserves the thanks of

the American people. The evidence adduced in support of the

author's assertions is so conclusive that the question suggests

itself, Whither are we drifting? In a note on page 74, the moral

effect of the Catholic religion is shown in preventing this

"slaughter of the innocents," but the author fails to suggest the

general dissemination of the religion throughout the country as a

means of checking this rapidly growing evil.

Book II. gives ample extracts from the Common and State Laws on

the subject, as well as quotations "from English reports, which

are not generally accessible even to the legal profession in this

country," making the work an indispensable addition to the

library of every lawyer and physician in the country.

----

The Knowledge And Love Of Jesus Christ.

By the Rev. Father St. Jure, S.J.

New York: P. O'Shea, 39 Barclay street.

St. Jure was one of the best spiritual writers in France of the

early part of the seventeenth century, and this is one of his

best works. It is full of solid thought and learning, as well as

of the purest and warmest piety. I cannot, therefore, be too

highly recommended as a book for spiritual reading, well adapted

to the wants of the most intelligent and highly educated persons,

and approved by the judgment of the most enlightened men in the

church for two centuries. The translation was made by the

accomplished authoress of the _Life of Catharine Macaulay_,

and the publisher has issued it in a very good style.

----

O'Shea's Popular Juvenile Library.

Second Series. 12vols. Illustrated.

New York: P. O'Shea. 1868.

This series is an acceptable addition to our rapidly increasing

list of Catholic "juveniles." The titles of the volumes it

contains are as follows:

The Generous Enemy, and other stories;

Anna's Vacation, and other stories;

The Beggar's Will, and other stories;

Bertrand du Guesclin;

Kasem the Miser, and other stories;

The Blind Grandfather, and other stories;

Trifles;

The True Son, and other stories;

Marian's History;

Patience Removes Mountains, and other tales;

The Best Dowry, and other tales.

----

Rural Poems,

by William Barnes.

Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1869.

These poems have received unqualified praise by English critics

in the principal literary reviews. It is said of them that they

are "in a high degree pleasant and novel;" "invested with a

simple beauty," "clothed in homely, healthy language," etc. We

might, and do, say the same of the renowned Melodies of Mother

Goose, whose "Poems" the greater part of the present collection

very much resembles. Who will not be forcibly reminded of "Ride a

cock-horse to Banbury Cross" by the following verses?

"Bright was the morning and bright was the moon,

Bright was the forenoon and bright was the noon,

Bright was the road down the sunshiny ridge,

Bright was the water and bright was the bridge:

Bright in the light were two eyes in my sight,

On the road that I took up to Brenbury tower.

The eyes at my side were my Fanny's, my bride,

The day of my wedding, my wedding's gay hour.

{574}

We think that if the author had been an American, the English

critics would have laughed at him. The book is elegantly

published, with good illustrations, and would make a nice holiday

present for children.

----

Beginning German.

Lessons introductory to the Study of the German

Language. With a Vocabulary, Select

Phrases for German Conversation, and

Reading Lessons.

By Dr. Emil Otto, Professor of Modern Languages and

Lecturer at the University of Heidelberg.

First American Edition. With additional reading

matter and notes, arranged by L. Pylodet.

New York: Leypoldt & Holt. 1869.

Dr. Otto deserves a great deal of praise for the attention that

he has shown to the wants of the student. In the above work he

has carefully collected all the necessary matter for the

commencement of a systematic study of the German.

The book has been prepared for young persons; but contrary to the

usual method, Dr. Otto does not overtask the memory of the

learner with endless vocabularies, which serve only to hide the

important parts. He first explains the alphabet, and also German

accentuation and punctuation. Next he gives a thorough

_drill_ upon each of the parts of speech, and by the aid of

foot-notes, gradually places before the student the salient

points of the German grammar. After which comes select phrases

and reading lessons.

The vocabularies in nearly all French and German grammars are

made up of the most foolish and impracticable sentences that

could possibly be invented; and Dr. Otto cannot put forth the

claim of originality for his selection of sentences.

The "partitive sense" and the possessive case create an immense

amount of confusion in the minds of those who plan German

methods, and they accordingly attempt to perpetuate their trouble

by filling their exercises with childish and improbable examples.

Dr. Otto forms no exception to the general custom. The rules

given at the bottom of the pages in regard to declensions, are

spread over so many pages that they will not be of much

assistance, and the student will be obliged to turn at once to

the synopsis of German Grammar, which the book also contains, if

he desires to thoroughly understand this part of the German.

The reading lessons are simple and well selected; but there is no

necessity for the abundant notes which are appended.

On the whole, this is a very excellent work: being far in advance

of the German text-books that are so much used in the schools of

this city, by serving to impress upon the minds of the learner a

true regard for the grammatical formation of their own language.

----

The Little Gypsy.

By Elie Sauvage.

Illustrated by Lorenz Frölich.

Translated from the French by I. M. Lyster.

Boston: Roberts Brothers. Pp. 133. 1868.

This is a charming little story--one that we can heartily

recommend, both from its intrinsic merits and the beautiful

manner in which it is got up, as a suitable Christmas present.

----

Verses On Various Occasions.

Boston. Published by Patrick Donahoe. 1868.

On the reception of the English edition of this exquisite volume,

we called the attention of our readers to the true Catholic

beauty and fervor of the poems which it contains. The edition by

Mr. Donahoe is elegantly printed on toned paper, and faultlessly

bound. We can think of no more appropriate book for a Christmas

gift than this.

----

The Calamities And Quarrels Of Authors:

with some Inquiries respecting

their Moral and Literary Characters,

and Memoirs for our Literary History.

By Isaac Disraeli.

Edited by his Son, the Right Hon. B. Disraeli.

New York: W. J. Widdleton. 2 vols. pp. 349, 411. 1868.

{575}

These two volumes complete an edition in nine volumes of the

writings of the elder Disraeli. His works are too well known to

need, even if the limited space at our disposal this month

permitted, an extended notice.

----

Twentieth Annual Report Of The Regents Of The University Of

The State Of New York, On The Condition Of The State Cabinet

Of Natural History, And The Historical And Antiquarian

Collection Annexed Thereto.

Albany: Van Benthuysen and Sons' Printing House. 1868.

The study of Natural History is in its infancy in the United

States, yet it is encouraging to know that there are a few

earnest men who continue their investigations in spite of the

almost universal indifference upon the subject. It is not so much

because there are no men of science to determine the species of

our fauna, as that there is a general lack of attention to these

questions. Perhaps one of the most gratifying features of the

present Report is the indication of a newly-awakened interest

among our citizens. A large number of types have been presented

to the Museum by private collectors; among the more interesting

of these is the skeleton of a Mastodon found recently at Cohoes.

This animal has been imbedded in such an unusual stratum of rock,

and in such a peculiar manner, that the learned Curator of the

Cabinet believes it will afford a valuable guide in determining

its natural history and geological relations. The Smithsonian

Institute has generously presented more than two thousand

specimens to the collection of shells. These, as will be seen

from the catalogues given, are of great value, because they

embrace almost exclusively species from distant quarters of the

globe, and which consequently can only be obtained through some

State institution.

However, the zealous efforts of the Curator and Regents seem to

be much impeded by the want of proper cases for the display and

arrangement of specimens. A similar difficulty was experienced by

the Society of Natural History in this city; they at one time

possessed a large and interesting collection of insects, which

were packed in boxes and stored in the basement of the Medical

College of the New York University. The destruction of that

building by fire has relieved the officers of the society from

any further trouble concerning them. It is to be hoped that a

similar fate does not await the State Collection, but that the

modest request of the trustees for a small appropriation will be

granted at the present session of the Legislature. The catalogue

of books scarcely numbers a hundred volumes, and does not merit

the name of a library. This is a serious obstacle in the way of

those who are charged with the duty of classifying the specimens

sent to them, but one which the Regents of the Cabinet anticipate

to see gradually removed.

The statement of the necessities and financial condition of the

State Cabinet is followed by an essay of Prof. W. D. Wilson, of

Hobart College, on Local Climatology. This is chiefly interesting

because of a new theory accounting for the cold weather of

winter. Of course, one of the principal reasons why the

temperature is lower in winter than in summer is because the days

of winter are several hours shorter. But the sun's heating power

is also determined by its altitude. Herschel and Pouillet have

demonstrated that a large proportion of the sun's rays are

absorbed by passing through the atmosphere, or rather by the

moisture in the atmosphere, so that only about seventy-five per

cent of its heat reaches the earth. Hence, it is evident that the

temperature will vary, not only for places of different

latitudes, but also at the same place at different seasons of the

year, and during the different hours of the day. Still, the mere

fact of the absorption of heat does not explain the difference of

temperature. Heat absorbed always increases the temperature of

the absorbing body, except when the heat becomes latent by

passing from a solid to a fluid, or from a fluid to a gaseous

state.

{576}

As an atmosphere does not change the form of the heat, it would

itself be increased in temperature, and consequently the

influence of the heat would be felt in precisely the same degree

as if it were conducted directly to the earth. But this

difficulty is removed by Prof. Wilson, who claims that the

atmosphere has the same power of reflecting as of absorbing heat;

hence the heat is never transmitted beyond the outer boundary of

our atmosphere, but is immediately reflected into space, and

loses its influence upon anything within the power of our

observation. The decrease of heat has long been known to depend

greatly upon the sun's altitude. It varies with what is commonly

termed the sine of the sun's altitude. It is worthy to be

remarked, therefore, that on this theory the decrease of heat

will depend upon the angle at which the sun's rays strike the

atmosphere, and hence it must always, as in fact it does,

coincide with the sun's height.

The result of Prof. Hall's labor for the year is seen in several

elaborate notices upon the Palaeontology of the State. Those who

feel interested in this enticing department of Natural History

will take pleasure in the clear analysis of certain families and

genera described in the Report. The effort to aid beginners in

this study, as seen in the monogram upon the Graptolites, is

particularly commendable. These sciences cannot make any

substantial progress until they are brought down to the capacity

of learned men engaged in other pursuits, because they all depend

upon the careful observation of phenomena which require the

united attention of many individuals. Hence, all domestic

contributions to the determining of the species of our own fauna

should be sufficiently elementary to be understood by amateurs in

the science. And to the want of such works as these may fairly be

attributed the fact, that many young men begin to investigate the

various branches of natural science, but very few persevere.

The volume is increased in value by a number of well-executed

plates, which appear to be accurate copies of the specimens in

Prof. Hall's collection. It shows, at least, that he recognizes

their importance in conveying scientific knowledge. A figure

skilfully drawn will frequently determine a species in a moment's

comparison, which would have cost many hours' careful study of

the descriptions of even the most accurate and painstaking

observer.

----

Beginner's French Reader.

Short and Easy Pieces in Prose and Verse,

with a complete Vocabulary.

Arranged by L. Pylodet.

New York: Leypoldt & Holt.

This little book seems to be very well adapted to fully carry out

the end indicated by its title-page.

----

MESSRS. JOHN MURPHY & Co. have just published a small volume

containing the life of _John M. Costelloe, or The Beauty of

Virtue, exemplified in an American Youth_. The author simply

proposes to lay before the reader "the virtues of a young man who

passed seventeen years of his short life in the peaceful

seclusion of his home, and the remaining two and a half in the

quiet routine of a college, and who, therefore, could have

practised only what St. Francis of Sales calls 'little virtues.'"

----

Books Received.

From CHARLES SCRIBNER & Co., New York:

Madame Thérèse; or, The Volunteers of '98.

By MM. Erckman-Chatrian.

Translated from the thirteenth edition,

with ten full-page illustrations.

From PATRICK DONAHOE, Boston:

Le Petit Catéchisme de Quebec.

The Farleyes of Farleye: or, Faithful and True.

By Rev. Thomas J. Potter,

All Hallows College, Dublin.

From LEE & SHEPARD, Boston:

Dr. Howell's Family.

By Mrs. H. B. Goodwin.

Hillsboro Farms.

By Sophia Dickinson Cobb.

The Mimic Stage.

A series of Dramas, Comedies, Burlesques, and

Farces, for Public Exhibitions and Private Theatricals.

By George M. Baker.

From LEYPOLDT & HOLT, New York:

Madame de Beaupré.

By Mrs. C. Jenkin.

From JOHN MURPHY & Co., Baltimore:

The Purgatorian Consoler.

A manual of prayers, containing a selection of devotional

exercises originally prepared for the use of the members of the

Purgatorian Archconfraternity; enlarged and adapted to general

use by a Redemptorist Father. Published with the approbation of

the Most Reverend the Archbishop of Baltimore.

The Visitation Manual:

A collection of prayers and instructions, compiled according to

the Spiritual Directory and Spirit of St. Francis de Sales,

founder of the Religious Order of the Visitation of B. V. Mary.

Published with the approbation of the Most Reverend Archbishop

of Baltimore. 1869.

----------

{577}

THE CATHOLIC WORLD,

Vol. VIII, No. 47. February, 1869.

Cardinal Ximenes.

The greatness of Cardinal Ximenes has weathered the storms of

time. It has spread far beyond the people by whom it was first

recognized and proclaimed. All Europe has done it homage, and the

whole civilized world hails it with gratitude and joy. It is a

small thing in comparison to excel as a prelate, a statesman, a

general, or a man of letters; but to shine foremost in each and

all of these capacities, as did Ximenes, to make a lasting

impression on the age in a fourfold character, and to mould anew

the destinies of a nation in virtue of it, have been the lot of

few, and scarcely the ambition of any. Ximenes de Cisneros is

part of the Spaniard's nationality. They admire, they love him,

they boast of him; and so lately as April, 1857, they assembled

in vast numbers in the city of Alcalá to deposit his remains in

the Iglesia Magistral, just 340 years after his decease. The

precious memoirs left by Gomez have never been employed with

greater effect than by Dr. Von Hefele, who, from these--the

basis of all lives of Ximenes--and from a variety of collateral

sources, has produced a complete and most valuable history of the

illustrious cardinal.

Like many eminent prelates in the Catholic Church, Ximenes was a

self-made man. He was born at Tordelaguna--a small town--in

1436. His father, though of noble descent, was comparatively

poor, and collected tithes for the king. His mother likewise came

of a valiant stock decayed in fortune; so that Ximenes enjoyed on

both sides the advantage of gentle blood. From an early age he

was destined for the Church; at Alcalá he was well schooled, and

at Salamanca he studied canon and civil law, theology, and the

Scriptures. It was here that his love of biblical lore first

displayed itself, and gave promise of that abundant growth which

afterward made the name of Ximenes famous in the literary world.

Poverty was his good angel. It urged him to exertion, and he

supported himself at the university by giving lessons. Then,

having taken his bachelor's degree in canon and civil law, he

boldly turned his face toward Rome, and resolved to better his

fortune, if possible, in the heart of Christendom.

{578}

Twice on the way he was plundered by robbers, and but for the

kindness of a former school-fellow would have been stopped at

Aix, in Provence, and compelled to return, _minus_ money,

clothes, and horse. To Rome, however, he came, and worked

steadily in the ecclesiastical courts during six years, till his

father died, and he was recalled to Spain to perform a parent's

part to his bereaved family. Happily he carried in his pocket an

_expectative_ letter, by which the pope granted him the

first vacant benefice in the diocese of Toledo. The right of

bestowing benefices in this manner had often been questioned,

often resisted; but with such controversies Ximenes had nothing

to do. It was not till the Council of Trent that _Gratia

Expectativae_ were finally suppressed; [Footnote 166] and it

was clearly his interest to obtain a living from the holy father,

if he could, according to established precedent. Uzeda soon fell

vacant, and though Ximenes laid claim to it immediately, Carillo,

the archbishop, was in no degree inclined to yield it to him. The

more Ximenes pressed his claim, the more stoutly Carillo

resisted, and the result was that the claimant, though backed by

papal authority, soon found himself a prisoner in the very parish

of which he sought to be pastor. Nothing could break his iron

resolution, and being removed to the fortress of Santorcaz, he

there spent six years in confinement, till the archbishop,

wearied by his firm and constant refusal to forego his claim, at

length yielding the point, restored him to liberty, and confirmed

him in possession of the benefice.

[Footnote 166: Sess. xxiv. cap. 19.]

His constant study of the Scriptures could not escape

observation, and he was often referred to as an authority in

Hebrew and Chaldee. Being made vicar of the diocese of Sigüenza,

and agent for the estates of a nobleman who had been taken

prisoner by the Moors, Ximenes sighed for retirement, and entered

as a novice a convent of the Franciscan order. But his interior

life was still disturbed. Numbers resorted to him for counsel and

instruction. He prayed to be sent to some more lonely retreat,

and accordingly found his home in a small convent near Toledo,

called after our Lady of Castañar. It stood in the midst of a

forest of chestnuts, and here, like an anchorite of old, he built

a hermitage and supported life on herbs and roots, with water

from the neighboring rill. Though a scourge was in his hand and a

hair-shirt on his body, the Bible he so prized was before him,

angels surrounded him, and the Holy Ghost established within him

a reign of serenity and light.

According to the rule of the Franciscans, he was, ere long, again

removed. He became guardian of the convent of Salzeda, and it was

here, in his fifty-sixth year, that his career, so far as it

concerns history, began. A confessor was required for the devout

and beautiful Queen Isabella, and Cardinal Mendoza, who had been

Bishop of Sigüenza, and knew Ximenes well, recommended him as the

fitting person to guide her conscience. Being summoned to court

on pretence of business, the Franciscan recluse was introduced,

as it were by accident, into the royal presence. Isabella was

charmed by his candor, his modesty, and native dignity. In vain

he declined the office for which he was designed. The queen would

take no refusal, but consented to his residing still in his

monastery, away from the splendor and temptations of a court. He

strove to avoid interference in politics, but Isabella so much

the more applied for his advice in the affairs of state.

{579}

Thus influence over others is often given to those whose only aim

is to acquire the mastery over themselves. Not long after being

made confessor to the queen, Ximenes was elected Provincial of

the Franciscan order for Old and New Castile. He made his

visitations on foot, begged his way like any other of his

brethren, and often lived on raw roots. The order had relaxed its

original strictness, and was divided into _Conventuals_ and

_Observantines_, of whom the latter only adhered to the

letter and spirit of their founder's laws. The report, therefore,

which the provincial had to make to his royal mistress was

anything but favorable, and he consequently became himself an

object of calumny and dislike to those whose vices he sought to

correct. Many of the _Conventuals_ who would not reform were

ejected from their sanctuaries by his order, and his conflict

with evil was silently and surely preparing him for the high post

of Archbishop of Toledo, Primate of Spain, and Chancellor of

Castile. This see had generally been filled by one of noble

birth, and Ferdinand was anxious to bestow it on his natural son,

Alfonso, Bishop of Saragossa. But Isabella was strong in her

resolve to promote Ximenes. On Good Friday, 1495, she sent for

her confessor, and placed a paper in his hands. It was addressed

by his holiness Alexander VI., "To our venerable brother,

Francisco Ximenes de Cisneros, Archbishop-elect of Toledo." As he

read this the friar turned pale. "It cannot be meant for me," he

said, and abruptly left the apartment, dropping the packet.

"Come, brother," he exclaimed to his companion, "we must be gone

in haste." But the royal messengers overtook him on the road to

Ocaña, trudging along bravely in the noontide heat. He was flying

from an archbishopric with 80,000 ducats a year, from power and

influence second only to that of the king, and from towns and

fortresses with numerous vassals. No arguments could induce him

to accept these earthly goods. During six months he persisted in

refusing them, and yielded at last only in obedience to a command

from the sovereign pontiff.

He was now in his sixtieth year. In October, 1495, he was

solemnly consecrated in presence of the two sovereigns, and when,

after the ceremony, he came to do them homage, he said: "I come

to kiss the hands of your majesties, not because they have raised

me to the first see in Spain, but because I hope they will assist

me in supporting the burden which they have placed on my

shoulders." Ximenes was, on the whole, the model of a prelate;

and accordingly we see in him modesty and self-confidence

singularly combined. In the well-balanced mind they react upon

each other and produce each other. Hence, humility is the source

of moral power. No silver adorned Ximenes's table, no ornaments

hung on his walls. His garment was the habit of St. Francis, his

food was coarse, his journeys were made on foot or on a mule's

back, and his palace was turned into a cloister. But many persons

cavilled at this austerity and ascribed it to spiritual pride.

The pope thought it undesirable in the case of a primate of

Spain, and exhorted Ximenes, by letter, to "conform outwardly to

the dignity of his state of life in his dress, attendants, and

everything else relating to the promotion of that respect due to

his authority."

{580}

In private, however, Ximenes continued as mortified as before.

The hair-shirt was next his skin, and he mended with his own hand

the coarse garments concealed by the silks and furs of office.

The sumptuous bed, adorned with ivory, purple, and gold, which

stood in the palace, was never used by him; he slept, though, his

attendants knew it not, on the bare floor, and thus, by night and

day, he kept up in his own person a ceaseless protest against the

prevailing luxury of the times. He feared the seduction of

wealth, and was ever on his guard against the temptations of his

princely domain, consisting of fifteen cities, besides many

villages and towns. But if any presumed on his unworldly habits,

and thought that he must be pliant because he was devout, they

were soon disabused of their mistake. He refused, at the outset

of his primacy, to make any appointments at the instance of great

men, and declared that he was willing at any time to return to

his convent and his beads; but that "no personal considerations

should ever operate with him in distributing the honors of the

Church." Even the brother of Cardinal Mendoza was unable to

obtain from Ximenes the confirmation of his appointment to the

governorship of Cazorla, and his relations, highly incensed,

could gain no redress from the queen. Having thus established his

own independence and freed himself from importunate suitors,

Ximenes saluted Don Pedro de Mendoza one day by the title of

_Adelantado_ of Cazorla, saying that, as no suspicion of

sinister influence could now attach to him, he was happy to

restore Don Pedro to a post for which he knew him to be

qualified.

In the biographies of Gomez and Quintanilla, of Oviedo and

Robles, Marsollier, Fléchier, Baudier, Von Hefele, and Barrett, a

number of such anecdotes may be found, illustrating the diocesan

life of Ximenes, his wonderful penetration, piety, and zeal. But

these, for the most part, we must pass over, and dwell rather on

those events in his career with which the history of his country

is concerned. Several years had passed since the last Moorish

king in Spain had been defeated and stripped of his dominions.

The genius of Washington Irving, the research of Prescott, and

the fancy of Southey and Bulwer have found full scope in

detailing the history of the war of Granada, the surprise of

Zahara, the exploits of the Marquis of Cadiz, the fierce

resistance of the Moors, and the capture of Alhama. But the

Moors, though conquered, had reason to be satisfied with the

terms of the victors. They were allowed by treaty to retain their

mosques and mode of worship, their property, laws, commerce, and

civil tribunals. They had some privileges of which even the

Spaniards were deprived; and if, during the governorship of

Tendilla and the archbishopric of Talavera, the Moors of Granada

were brought under various Catholic influences, they could not

complain of any force or severity being employed by those who

sought to convert them. Talavera, indeed, whom Ximenes had

succeeded as confessor to the queen, was ceaseless in his efforts

for their salvation. He learned Arabic at an advanced age, and

required his clergy also to do the same. He caused portions of

the Scriptures, Liturgy, and Catechism to be translated, and so

recommended the religion he professed by his consistent life and

amiable temper that Mohammedanism in Granada melted away before

the genial light of the gospel, and the Moors themselves came to

love and revere the Christian bishop, whom they called "The Great

Alfaqui," or Doctor.

{581}