Whoever desires to comprehend the political condition and the

industrial or commercial resources of Mexico, ought to commence

as Humboldt commenced. It is only through a strict investigation

of its material interests that Mexico can be understood. To begin

with an examination of its political history is to begin where

the labor should end. Mexico, for three hundred years, was a

colony, and, like other colonies, had no history, no policy of

its own; no armies, no navies, no wars; nothing of statesmanship

peculiar to itself; for all were absorbed in the history of the

mother country. When emerging from a colonial chrysalis, it did

not become a nation; it may be somewhat doubted if it has even

yet reached that position. As a republic, its federal government

has been without a policy, its administrations without stability,

its finances without an exchequer; its armies unable to conquer

abroad, or contend with foreign invaders at home; it has no navy;

it is almost destitute of all the essential elements that

constitute a people. True, Mexico has had great vicissitudes of

fortune, with changes, frequent changes, and for the most part

violent overthrows, of the federal rulers. But these convulsions

have produced no serious results. The storms passed over without

indications of wide-spread disaster. Sunshine came again without

any visible improvement; no signs of increasing intelligence, no

symptoms of decay to the superficial observer; for these petty

conflicts originated in personal motives, and so ended. Having no

political object, they are devoid of grave consideration, of any

interest or profit. Their civil wars have been of regular

periodical return, but these wars are of no more historical

significance than the wars of the Saxon Heptarchy. Mexico, for

many reasons, must still be contemplated, while a sovereign

nation, as she was viewed when a viceroyalty of Spain. The

country now appears in Christendom as an enigma full of strange

anomalies. In the erroneous estimation of most men, it is

hastening on to ruin and decay: calamities that came upon the

people in their revolt from Spain, and which will cling to them

until their race is extinct. The royal finger of scorn, too, is

pointed at the republic, as a reproach and warning to all

republican governments of their ultimate failure. It would be

vain to waste time on its political records, to elucidate Mexican

questions. These annals are dumb. But to the mountains, the

mines, the mills, where the rich minerals are produced and

industry is developed, the inquirer must go to find out what

Mexico really is. In observing the people in their private

pursuits, he will imperceptibly be led to comprehend their

political institutions. In daily contact with the distinct

classes, divided into castes, he will in like manner be soon

conversant with the most noted men. Enigmas will vanish upon

nearer approach and on closer inspection; anomalies will no

longer embarrass. Perhaps previously formed opinions may be

shocked, rudely assailed, and demolished. He may see many

lingering remnants of Astec superstition in one caste, where they

often disobey the priest; and much affectation of infidelity in

another, where they kneel as suppliants at the confessional to

crave a blessing. He will perceive marks of seeming decay

everywhere, amid indications of progress. The federal government

will be pronounced not only bad, but bad as government in a

republic can be; yet will he find some consolation in knowing

that the viceregal government was far worse. In the dregs of a

popular polity, some protection for the people will be manifest,

which was denied under a king.

{336}

He will hear Spain, on all sides, spoken of with reverence and

respect; he will soon understand, on all sides, that Spaniards

are detested. He will be gratified with the cordial welcome

bestowed upon Americans; and wonder at the common hatred, in all

classes, to the United States. While he is aware that millions

upon hundreds of millions of dollars, from outlying provinces

torn from the nation, have been yielded to their neighbor on the

north, he will also discover that the heart of the Mexican

territory has not been reached. Nor need he be surprised when the

truth is revealed, that the Liberal executive will sooner forget

the hostile invasion by France, than forgive the moral support

extended to the native cause by that American neighbor.

On the whole, he may conclude that the Mexicans, after all, are

somewhat rational and sensible, not entirely deficient in

refinement and intelligence, or in energy and industry. But these

opinions can only be formed by pursuing the method of Humboldt,

and bearing his elaborate production in mind. By constant

comparison of his statements with more recent publications from

the Mexican press on the same subjects, not only greater accuracy

in details will be reached, along with later information, but the

advancement in knowledge and wealth will be made apparent. It is

thus a just estimate of Mexico at present with Mexico of the past

can be formed; and while many imperfections in the parts of the

_Essay_ will be detected, no one can fail to admire and

appreciate its general excellence.

--------

One Fold.

"And there shall be one fold."

Disciple.

"One Fold! Good Lord, how poor thou art,

To have but one for all!

Methinks the rich with shame will smart

To stand in common stall

With ragged boors and work-grimed men;

And ladies fair, with those who when

They pray have dirty, hands.

Dost think the wise can be devout

When, close beside, an ignorant lout

With mouth wide-gaping stands?

{337}

I would thou wert a richer Lord,

And could an hundred folds afford

Where each might find his place.

Look round, good Lord, and thou wilt see

Most men the same have thought with me,

And herd with whom they best agree

In fashion, creed, and race."

Master.

"Good child, thou hast a merry thought!

But folds like mine cannot be bought,

Nor made at fancy's will.

If any find my fold too small

'Tis they who like no fold at all,

The same who heed no shepherd's call,

Whom wolves will find and kill.

_My_ fold alone is close and warm,

Shielding its inmates from all harm--

Its pastures rich and sweet.

Hither, with gentle hand, I bring

The peasant and the crownèd king

Together at my feet.

Here no man flings a look of scorn

At him who may be baser born,

For all as brothers meet.

The wise speak kindly to the rude;

The lord would not his slave exclude;

Proud dames their servants greet.

My fold doth equally embrace

The men of every clime and race,

And here in peace they rest.

Here each forgets his rank and state.

And only he is high and great

Who loveth me the best.

The rich, the poor, the bond, the free,

The men of high and low degree,

My fold unites in one with me--

With me, the Shepherd, called The Good,

Who rules a loving brotherhood.

Therefore, in that my fold is one,

Believe me, it is wisely done."

------

{338}

Translated From The French Of M. Vitet.

Science And Faith.

Meditations On The Essence Of The Christian Religion,

By M. Guizot.

Some time ago political life seemed to be the prominent

occupation in France. M. Guizot was then cautiously defending his

opinions, and was really wearing out his energy and his life in

this work. At that time, we have heard it wished more than once,

not that the struggle should cease, but that death might not

surprise him with his mind occupied solely with these passing

events. He needed, as a last favor and at the end of an ambitious

career, some years of quiet and retreat to meditate upon the

future, and to revive the faith of youth by the lessons of riper

years. He required this for himself, for the interest of his

soul. Nothing then foretold that he would soon be engaged in the

arena of metaphysical and religious controversy. The disputes

about these questions seemed almost lulled to sleep. Not that

doubt and incredulity had surrendered their arms; they followed

their accustomed work, but without noise, without parade, and

without apparent success. This was a truce which had allowed

Christian convictions to become reanimated, to increase, and to

gain ground. The proof of this was seen in those gloomy days,

when the waves of popular opinion, which threatened to destroy,

bent, completely subdued and submissive and with an unlooked-for

respect, before sacred truths and the ministers of religion. This

was the natural result of that bitter struggle which had lasted

for fifteen years. The aggressors could not undertake two sieges

at one time, and so political power became the target against

which all their efforts were directed.

It is not the same now. Power is protected by an armor which has

disheartened its adversaries; and the more surely it is guarded,

the more exposed and compromised are other questions, which equal

or even exceed it in importance. The spirit of audacity and

aggression compensates itself for the forced forbearance from

politics, imposed upon it by the political power. It sees that in

religious matters the ground is not so well protected; it feels

more at ease there and not nearly so hard pushed. From this fact

there arises a series of bold attacks of a new order, which

scandalize the believing, and astonish the most indifferent, when

they think for a moment of the preceding calm. It is no longer

men or ministers, it is not a form of government, it is God

himself whom they attack? We do not ask that the government

should place the least restriction on the rights of free thought,

even should it be to the advantage of the truths that we venerate

the most. We desire to state the fact, and nothing more. It may

be that these attacks are not important enough to cause as much

anxiety as they have done.

{339}

They are passionate, numerous, and skilfully arranged; but they

cannot shake the edifice, and will serve rather to strengthen it,

by summoning to its aid defenders who are more enlightened, and

protectors who are more vigilant. Still, they are a great source

of trouble. The restlessness, the distress, and the vague fears

that the agitation of political affairs seemed alone capable of

producing, now arise in the heart of the domestic circle and in

the depths of the individual soul from these new discussions. It

is not personal interests that are now risked, but souls that are

in danger; and if the crisis is apparently less violent and

intense, it is really graver and more menacing, and no one can

remain neutral in the struggle.

And so M. Guizot wishes to take a part, and has entered the fray.

He is of the number who, at certain times and upon certain

subjects, do not know how to be silent. In politics he held back

and he forbore. He saw the events, but he did not say what he

thought of them. His debt in politics is now amply paid; all the

more since he owed it to himself, as well as to his cause, to

reestablish the real sense, the true physiognomy of the things he

did. He had to explain clearly his views, his intentions, his

acts; to interpret them and to comment upon them, we can almost

say, to finish them during his own life; to give the true key to

his future historians; in a word, to write his own

_memoirs_. This was his duty, and he has acted rightly in

not delaying it. It was not less for other ends, and in the

design of a greater work, that he wished for twenty years'

solitude and repose at the end of his life. His desire was heard.

The days of calm and retreat have come, not, perhaps, at the time

that he desired, and still less under conditions that he would

have chosen, but for his glory they are such that he can well

think them fruitful, worthy, valuable, full of vigor and of

ardor. Happy autumn! when the recollections of the world and the

echoes of political strife are only the recreation of a soul

incessantly engaged with more serious problems. It is in these

heights, in these serene regions, while he is questioning himself

on his destiny and on his faith, that war has come to seek him;

not the personal war of former times, but another kind of war,

less direct and more general, yet perhaps more provoking. He is

not the man to refuse the contest. Under the weight of years that

he bears so well, stronger, more resolute, younger than ever, he

has entered the arena; he will be militant until the end.

What will he do? What is his plan? What position will he take?

The volume which is before us is an answer to these questions. It

is only a first volume; but it is complete in itself, it is a

work that one cannot study too closely, nor diffuse too widely.

The developments, the additions, and the supplements which the

three remaining volumes will soon add to the work, will, without

doubt, make it still more comprehensive and solid; but as it is

now, we consider it, without any commentary whatsoever, to be a

most effective reply to the attacks which have recently been

levelled against Christian doctrines, or, to speak more

correctly, against the essence of all religion.

Before entering into the work, let us say something of the manner

in which it is written. We are not going to speak of the author's

style. We would announce nothing new to the world by saying that

M. Guizot, when he has time and really tries, can write as well

as he speaks.

{340}

His pen for many years has followed a law of progress and of

increasing excellence. He has shown in these _Meditations_ a

new skill, perhaps higher than in his _Memoirs_ even, in the

art of clothing his ideas in excellent language; learnedly put

together, yet without effort or stiffness, true in its coloring,

sober in its effects, always clear and never trivial, always firm

and often forcible. Something more novel and more characteristic

appears in this book. It is in reality a controversial work, but

a controversy which is absolutely new. It is more than courteous,

it is an _impersonal_ polemic. The author has, certainly,

always shown himself respectful to his opponents; he has ever

admitted that they could hold different opinions from his in good

faith; and even at the rostrum, in the heat of contests, his

adversaries were not persons, they were ideas; but the people he

disputed with were always, without scruple, called by their

names. Here it is different; there is not a single proper name,

the war is anonymous. In changing the atmosphere--in passing, if

we can be allowed the expression, from earth to heaven, or, at

least, from the bar to the pulpit, from politics to the gospel,

he changes his method and takes a long step in advance. He

endeavors to leave persons entirely out of consideration, for

they only embarrass and embitter the questions. He forgets, or at

least he does not tell us, who his adversaries are; he refutes

them, but he does not name them.

Is not this discretion at once, good manners and good taste? It

is also something more. Without doubt, by speaking only of ideas

and not of those who maintain them, one loses a great means of

effective action. In abstract matters, proper names referred to

here and there are a very powerful resource--they arouse and

excite attention, they give interest and life to the argument;

but what is gained on one hand is frequently lost on another. The

use of proper names, though it may have nothing to provoke

irritation, still always incurs the danger of causing the debate

to degenerate into a personal dispute. The questions are reduced

to the capacity of those who sustain them. Better take a plainer

and more decided path, and keep persons completely out of view.

M. Guizot has done well. In no part of his book is there reason

to regret the vivacity and attraction of a more direct polemic;

whilst the urbanity and the omission of names, without really

changing or diminishing the questions, spread a calm gravity

throughout the work, almost a perfume of tolerance, which gains

the reader's confidence and disposes him to allow himself to be

convinced. It is true that this kind of polemics can only be

maintained when greatness of thought compensates for the lack of

passion. It is necessary to take wing, mount above questions,

conquer all and enlighten all. Such is the character of these

_Meditations_. The comprehensiveness of his views, the

greatness of his plan, and the clearness of his style, alike

impress upon it the seal of true originality.

It is not a theology that M. Guizot has undertaken; he has not

written for doctors; he discusses neither texts nor points of

doctrine; he does not attempt to solve scholastic difficulties;

still less does he wish to mingle in the discussion of incidental

events, to descend to the questions of to-day, and to follow,

step by step, the crisis which agitates the Christian world at

this time. He has grappled with more weighty and more permanent

questions.

{341}

He wishes to show clearly the truth of Christianity in its

essence, in its fundamental dogmas, or rather in its simplicity

and innate greatness, without commentary, interpretation, or

human work of any kind, and consequently before all disunion,

schism, or heresy. He has tried to expose the pure idea of

Christianity, so that he can be more able to demonstrate its

divine character.

Such is his intention. What has he done to attain it? The book

itself must answer this question. But in these few pages how can

we speak of it? How can we analyze a work when one is tempted to

quote every paragraph? And on the other hand to give many

extracts from a book, is only to mutilate it and give an

incorrect idea of its real value. Let us only try, then, to say

enough to inspire our readers with the more profitable desire of

studying M. Guizot himself.

I.

The beginning and the foundation of these _Meditations_ is a

well-known truth, which the author establishes with absolute

certainty, and which at this time it is useful to keep in mind.

This truth is, that the human race, since its first existence and

in every place where it has existed, has been engaged in trying

to solve certain questions which are, so to speak, personal to

it. These are questions, of destiny, of life rather than science,

questions it has invincibly tried to determine. For example, Why

is man in this world, and why the world itself? Why does it

exist? Whence do they come, and where do they both tend? Who has

made them? Have they an intelligent and free Creator? or are they

merely a product of blind elements? If they are created, if we

have a Father, why, in giving us life, has he made it so bitter

and painful? Why is there sin? Why suffering and death? Is not

the hope of a better life only the illusion of the unhappy; and

prayer, that cry of the soul in anguish, is it only a sterile

noise, a word thrown to the mocking wind?

These questions, together with others which develop and complete

them, have excited the deepest interest of the human race since

it first existed upon the earth, and it alone is interested in

them. They speak only to it; among all living creatures, it alone

can comprehend and is affected by them. This painful yet grand

privilege is the indisputable evidence of its terrestrial

royalty; it is at once its glory and its torment.

This series of questions, or rather mysteries, M. Guizot places

at the beginning of his _Meditations_, under the title of

_Natural Problems_. Man, indeed, possesses them by his very

nature; he does not create or invent them, he merely submits to

them. We do not mean by this that for humanity in general these

problems are not obscure and confused, without a distinct form or

outline, surrounded with uncertainties and frequently rather seen

than clearly apprehended. This must be true of the great mass of

mankind, who live from hand to mouth, who go and come and work,

absorbed in petty pleasures or occupied with dreary toil. Still

we think that there is not a single one, even among these

apparently dull and heedless men, in whatever way he may have

lived and whatever hardships he has had to sustain, who has not

at least once in his life caught a glimpse of these formidable

questions and felt an ardent wish to see them solved. Make as

many distinctions as you please between races, sexes, ages, and

degrees of civilization; divide the globe and its inhabitants by

zones or climates; you will no doubt discover more than one

difference in the way in which these problems are presented to

the soul; you will find them more or less prominent, and more or

less attention paid to them; but you will find a trace of them

everywhere and among all people. It is a law of instinct, a

general law for all times and places.

{342}

If such is our lot, if these questions necessarily weigh upon

minds, these questions which are "the burden of the soul," as M.

Guizot calls them, are we not really compelled to try to solve

them? It is on our part neither vain curiosity, nor capricious

desire, nor frivolous habit which leads us to attempt it. It is a

necessity, quite as serious and as natural to us as the problems

are themselves; a need we feel in some way to have lifted from us

the weight which oppresses. We must have a reply at any cost; who

can give it to us?

Faith or Reason? Religion or Philosophy? At every moment we see

in what a very limited manner reason, science, and all purely

human resources suffice to satisfy us. It can be said that, from

the very infancy of human society up to the present day, it has

been from the various religions, thought to be divine and

accepted as such by faith, that humanity has asked these

indispensable responses.

We readily see from this, what a deep interest is attached to

these natural problems. Who will presume to tell us that religion

proceeds from an artificial and temporary want, which men have

gradually overcome, if the problems to which it answers are

inherent in the race and can only perish with it? It is the

constant work and watchword of every materialistic and

pantheistic system to distort the character of these problems and

make them simply accidental and individual, the result of

temperament or of circumstances. Farther than this, they had not

yet gone. They did not dare to deny, in the face of universal

testimony, the continued existence of the problems themselves.

They disguised their significance, they did not aspire to destroy

them. Now they take another step. In order to get the advantage

in answering, they begin by suppressing the questions. This is

the characteristic feature, the first step of a system which

makes a great deal of noise in the world to-day, although it only

claims to reproduce efforts which have been already more than

once defeated. It has, however, this kind of novelty, this

advantage over its associates which, like it, have issued from

pantheism, that it is not vague. It sets forth its opinions

clearly and without equivocation, and by this fact this school of

philosophy has gained the title by which it is commonly known. We

need hardly say that it is to _Positivism_ that we are

alluding. This promises with the greatest seriousness, if we will

only lend it our attention, to free humanity from these untoward

problems which now torment it.

Its remedy is extremely simple: it simply says to the human race,

Why do you seek to know whence you have come and what is your

destiny? You will never find out a word of this. Do then your

real duty. Leave these vain fancies. Live, become learned, study

the _evolution_ of things, that is to say, secondary causes

and their relations; on this subject science has wonders to

reveal to you; but final causes and first causes, our origin and

our destiny, the beginning and the end of the world, these are

all pure reveries, words completely without meaning! The

perfection of man as well as of society consists in taking no

notice of these things. The mind becomes more enlightened, the

more it leaves in obscurity your pretended natural problems.

{343}

These problems are really a disease, and the way to cure it is,

not to think of them at all.

Not to think of them! Ingenuous proposition! Wonderful ignorance

of the eternal laws of human nature! "Our age," say they,

"inclines to these ideas: but let us not be disturbed by this."

Men will not be persuaded by speaking to them in such a clear

way, any more than Don Juan could overcome Sganarelle by his

discourses on "two and two are four." Positivism not only

attempts the impossible, but it frankly acknowledges it. Let us

suppose for a moment that by some miracle it should triumph; that

man, in order to please this system, should cease to pay any

attention to the problems which beset him, should renounce the

idea of fathoming these questions, and should despise every

attempt at a religious or even a metaphysical solution, every

inspiration toward the Infinite. How long does any one believe

this would continue? We do not think that the human mind would

consent to be thus mutilated and imprisoned for two days in

succession. Were this system far more fascinating, the human soul

would still rise above the limit to which Positivism would

confine it, and would say with a great poet:

"Je ne puis, l'infini malgré moi me tourmente."

And so we see, whatever may happen, Positivism is not destined to

give us the solution of these natural problems. After, as before,

its appearance, the mystery of our destiny claims the attention

of the human race.

M. Guizot describes another attempt, of an entirely different

character. It is apparently less bold, for its aim is not to

suppress inquiry, but merely to elude any definite solution of

these natural problems. It cannot be properly called a system; it

is rather a state of the individual soul, which not unfrequently

is found among cultivated minds; it is a tendency to substitute

what is called religious sentiment for religion itself. They do

not deny the great mysteries of life, but consider them as being

very serious and extremely embarrassing. But in the place of

precise solutions and categorical replies, which could be

required of a system maintaining fixed and clearly defined

dogmas, they content themselves with frequent reveries and long

contemplations. "This is," say they, "the religion of enlightened

intellects; we care for no solutions, for they only serve to

agitate and annoy." It offers a complete contrast to Positivism.

That recommends us, as a sort of moral hygiene, never to think of

invisible things; but these "enlightened minds" would have us

reflect much, if not continually, upon them, but always with the

proviso that we must come to no conclusion.

The human race will not be satisfied with these modes of

interpreting its destiny. It requires something more than the

blind negations of the one, or the vague aspirations of the

other. Man is not merely an intellectual or an emotional being;

he is both united. He requires real answers, and not beautiful

dreams; he requires true replies, which satisfy his intellect as

well as his heart, which point out the way he must take, which

sustain his courage, which animate his hope and excite his love.

The ideal that he seeks is a system of facts, of precepts, and of

dogmas, which will correspond to the wants that he finds within

himself. Let us search for it, for it is the great question for

us all. As we have already said, there are two sources from which

we may hope to learn the truth, one entirely human, the other

half divine. Does the first suffice? Let us see.

{344}

II.

If science can reply to the appeals of our souls, if by its own

power and light it can reveal to us the end of this life, can

make us see clearly the beginning and the end, so much the

better; we will cling to science without asking for anything

more. We have this exact and sure guide completely within our

control; why should we seek adventitious aid and inexplicable

revelations? It is true that everybody cannot be learned, but

everybody believes in science. However scanty her proof may be,

the most rebellious yield as soon as she has pronounced her

decision. There is no schism or heresy with her. If sometimes the

_savans_ quarrel, which they can do perhaps even better than

other men, they are not long in finding a peacemaker: they take a

retort, a microscope, or a pair of scales; they weigh, compare,

measure, and analyze, and the process is terminated: until new

facts are ascertained, the decree is sovereign. What an admirable

perspective opens before humanity if these hidden questions,

which now puzzle and confuse, will in the future be cleared up

and accurately determined by the aid of science. Time and the law

of progress give us an easy way of putting an end to our

perplexities. The fruit of divine knowledge, the old forbidden

fruit, we can now pluck without fear, and we can satiate

ourselves without danger of a fall!

Unfortunately, all this is only a dream. In the first place, the

authority of science is not always admitted. It has more or less

weight, according to the subject it may treat. In the

investigations of natural things, in physics, and in mathematics,

its decisions are law. But when it leaves the visible world, when

it turns to the soul, interminable controversies arise. Its right

to be called science is then disputed; for it appears to be only

conjectural, and half the time its principal efforts consist in

trying to demonstrate that it has the right to be believed. This

is exactly the kind of science with which we have to do. The

questions which disturb man are not the problems of algebra or

chemistry; they are the secrets of the invisible world. We cannot

expect unanswerable solutions of these doubts, for science, in

the field of metaphysics, has none such to give us.

Can science gratify its fancy in these investigations with

perfect liberty and without limit? No, an impassable barrier

opposes and imprisons it in the invisible universe, as well as in

the breast of physical and material nature. All science, whatever

it may be, has its determined limit in the extent of finite

things. Within this limit, everything is in its power; beyond it,

everything escapes it. Could it possibly be otherwise? It is the

product of our mind, which is finite; how then could human

science be anything but the explication of the finite? Induction,

it is true, transports us to the extreme frontier of this

material world, to the door of the infinite, and the results of

induction are with reason called scientific; yet what does this

wonderful faculty, this great light of science, really do?

Nothing else than to put us face to face with the unknown

mysteries which are completely closed to us. It shows them in

perspective, it makes us see enough to persuade us that they

really do exist, but not enough to make known any truth

precisely, exactly, practically, or experimentally--in a word,

scientifically. The invisible finite, that is to say; the human

soul, the dwelling of the human _Ego_, science is capable of

explaining; the invisible infinite, the supreme, creative spirit,

escapes it completely.

{345}

But this is exactly what must be penetrated and thoroughly known,

if we expect to resolve the great problems which concern our

destiny in a scientific manner. It is then impossible, it is more

than an illusion--it is folly to hope for a solution of these

questions from human science.

Is this equivalent to saying that philosophy is powerless to

speak to us about natural problems? that it has nothing to say to

us about our duties, our hopes, our destiny? No, certainly not.

It is qualified, it has the right to treat of these questions; to

_treat_ concerning them, not to resolve them. The most

daring effort of spiritual philosophy can never span the abyss;

it can only make the borders more distinct. Noble task, after

all! A sound philosophy, which abstains from useless hypotheses,

which gives us that which it can give, namely, the clear proof

that an invisible order does exist, that realities are behind

these mysterious problems, that they justly disturb us, that we

are right in wishing to solve them; all this, certainly, is not

worthless knowledge nor a trifling success for the human race. As

soon as this philosophy flourishes in a place, if it be only

among a small number of generous spirits, the perfume is spread

abroad, and, little by little, one after another, the whole

people feel its influence, and society is reanimated, elevated,

and purified. And religion, we do not fear to say it frankly, is

badly advised and wants prudence, no less than justice, when, in

the place of accepting the aid of this system and welcoming it as

a natural auxiliary, seeing in it a kind of vanguard, which is to

prepare minds and overcome prejudices, she keeps it at a distance

almost with jealousy, combats it, provokes it, places it between

two fires, and loads it with the same blame and bitter reproaches

as the blindest errors and the most perverse doctrines receive.

If these unfortunate attacks had not been made, perhaps we should

not see certain reprisals, an excess of confidence, and a

forgetfulness of its proper limits that its friends do not now

always avoid; for if it is true that we should be just toward it,

it is no less true that it should be held in check. M. Guizot, as

a real friend, has frankly rendered it this service. Perhaps no

one before him has traced with so sure a hand the limits of

philosophical science. He claims for it the sincerest respect,

and ably sustains its legitimate authority, but clearly points

out the limit that must not be passed.

More than one, its adherents will complain: "You discourage us.

If you wish us to maintain the invisible truths against so many

adversaries, do not deprive us of our weapons; do not tell us in

advance how far we may go; let us trust that some day this gate

of the infinite, at which we have struggled for so many

centuries, will at last be opened."

We could answer: "If you had only made some progress during these

centuries, we could hope for more in the future. We would not

have the right to say, 'So far shall you go, but no farther.' But

where are the advances of metaphysics? Who has seen them?

Possibly there has been a progress in appearance, that there is

now more clearness and more method. In this sense, the great

minds of modern times have added something to the legacy of the

philosophers of ancient history; but the inheritance has ever

remained the same. Who will presume to boast that he knows more

of the infinite than did Socrates, Aristotle, and Plato? The

natural sciences seem destined to increase.

{346}

Feeble at first, they gradually go from victory to victory, until

they have created an empire, which is constantly increasing and

always more indisputable. Metaphysical science, on the contrary,

is great at its birth, but soon becomes stationary; it is

evidently unable ever to reach the end it is ever seeking. If

anything is needed to prove this immobility of metaphysics, it

will be done by referring to the constant reappearance of four or

five great systems, which in a measure contain all the thousand

systems that the human mind has ever, or will ever invent. From

the very beginning of philosophy, you see them; at every great

epoch, they are born again; always the same under apparent

diversities, always incomplete and partial, half true and half

false. What do these repeated returns to the same attempts,

ending in the same result, teach us, unless the eternal inability

to make a single advance? Evidently man has received from above,

once for all and from the earliest times, the little that he

knows of metaphysics; and human work, human science, can add

nothing to it."

If, then, you rely on science to pierce the mystery of these

natural problems, your hope is in vain. You see what they can

attain--nothing but vague notions, fortified, it is true, by the

firm conviction that these problems are not illusory, that they

rest upon a solid foundation, on serious realities.

Is this enough? Does this kind of satisfaction suffice for your

soul? What does it signify if a few minds, moulded by philosophy,

comprehending everything in a superficial manner, remain in these

preliminaries, contented with this half-light, and need no other

help to go through life, even in times of the most severe trial?

We are willing to grant what they affirm of themselves, but what

can be concluded from this? How many minds of this character can

be found? It is the rarest exception. The immense majority of

men, the human race, could not live under such a system; it is

too great a stranger to the philosophical spirit; it has too

limited a perception of the invisible. All abstraction is Hebrew

for it. And even supposing that the vague responses that come

from science were to be presented in a more accessible form;

still the essential facts would be for most men without value or

efficacy, and a most inadequate help.

What is the human race going to do if, on one side, it cannot do

without precise responses and dogmatic notions concerning the

invisible infinite, and if, on the other, science is the only

means of attaining this end? If it aspires to learn truths which

transcend experience, and yet takes experience for its only

guide? If, in short, it will only admit and accept the facts that

it observes, confirms, and verifies itself? How shall we escape

from this inextricable difficulty?

To Be Continued.

-----------

{347}

Cowper, Keble, Wordsworth; Or, "Quietist"

Poetry, And Its Influence On Society.

The Spanish priest, Michael Molinos, who spent the last eleven

years of his life in the prisons of the Inquisition, was destined

to exert considerable influence over many of the most thoughtful

and gifted spirits of his age. It was in 1675, and in the heart

of Rome, that he published a _Spiritual Guide_, in which he

pointed out various methods calculated to raise the soul to a

state of contemplation and quietude, in which she makes no use of

her faculties, is unconcerned about all that may happen, and even

about the practice of good works and her own salvation; reposing

on the love of God, and, through his presence, safe,

all-sufficient, and entirely blest. It can be easily imagined how

acceptable the unction of ascetic eloquence might render such

doctrine to minds mystically disposed. Multitudes in every age

are ready to run after any quack of human happiness who is

ingenious enough to hide his fallacies under a show of reason;

and Molinos had this advantage over many charlatans, that before

deceiving others he had completely deceived himself. He was

honest, therefore, and certainly a great advance on the Quietists

of the 14th century, called in Greek Hesuchasts, who in their

monastery on Mount Athos passed whole days in a state of

immobility, "contemplating," as their historians say, "their nose

or their navel, and by force of this contemplation finding divine

light." Molinos found many partisans in Italy and in France,

where his system was fervently embraced by the celebrated poetess

and mystic, Madame Guyon, who conceived herself called from above

to quit her home and travel, inculcating everywhere the gospel of

quietism. Fenelon, whose sweetness and goodness flung a charm

around every opinion he expressed, adopted in part the theories

of Molinos, and Madame de Maintenon herself is numbered among

Madame Guyon's converts to the Spaniard's novel and dreamy creed.

The inmates of Port-Royal, and the Jansenists in general, had, as

may be conjectured from the example of Fenelon, strong affinities

for quietism; and the sympathy entertained for their sufferings

by English Calvinists in the last century, sufficiently accounts

for the poet Cowper becoming an admirer of Madame Guyon's

writings, and imitating in the _Olney Hymns_ many of her

fervent compositions.

Without falling into the errors of the Quietists, Cowper imbibed

much of their spirit, and transfused it into his verses very

happily. His poetry is essentially of a quietist description,

provided the term be understood in a favorable sense. His mind

was naturally tranquil, and even during the melancholy of his

later days, his mental aberration partook of the original

placidity of his character. His rhythm is musical, his language

choice, and the flow of his thoughts calm and tranquillizing. He

discards stormy and passionate themes from instinct rather than

resolve. He delighted in such subjects as "Truth," "Hope,"

"Charity," "Retirement," "Mutual Forbearance," and

"Domestic happiness, the only bliss

Of Paradise that has survived the Fall."

{348}

And he has clustered around them all the graces of poetry and

charms of Christian philosophy. In that work in which his powers

are exhibited to most advantage and at greatest length--_The

Task_--he has touched on every topic that is most soothing,

and in verses, many of which have become proverbs, has expressed,

with unrivalled precision and ease, thoughts and feelings common

to every Christian who is

"Happy to rove among poetic flowers,

Though poor in skill to rear them."

He is never obscure, his emotions are never fictitious, his humor

is never forced, nor his satire pointless. Hence he became

popular in his generation, and has lost no particle of the credit

he once obtained. Brighter stars than he have in the present

century come forth and dazzled the eyes of beholders, by the

intensity of their radiance and the boldness of their career; but

they have not thrown the gentle Cowper into the shade. He still

shines above the horizon, "a star among the stars of mortal

night," of heavenly lustre, unobtrusive, steadfast, and serene.

He still exerts a wholesome influence on society, still refreshes

us in the pauses of the battle of life, still refines the taste,

fills the ear with melody, elevates the soul, and fosters in many

those habits of reflection from which alone greatness and

goodness spring. The "Lines on the receipt of his Mother's

Picture" have rarely been surpassed in pathos. There never was a

poet more sententious or a moralist more truly poetic. "He was,"

says one of his biographers, "an enthusiastic lover of nature,

and some of his descriptions of natural objects are such as

Wordsworth himself might be proud to own." His poems, observes

Hazlitt, contain "a number of pictures of domestic comfort and

social refinement which can hardly be forgotten but with the

language itself." Of all his encomiasts, none has spoken of him

with more fervor than Elizabeth Barrett, afterward Mrs. Browning,

and the following stanzas from her beautiful poem called

"Cowper's Grave" deserve to be quoted in connection with the

present subject:

"O poets, from a maniac's tongue

Was pour'd the deathless singing!

O Christians, to your cross of hope

A hopeless hand was clinging!

O men, this man in brotherhood

Your weary paths beguiling,

Groan'd inly _while he taught you peace_,

And died while ye were smiling."

But has Cowper had no successor in the peculiar path he so

successfully trod? Was Wordsworth not in one sense a Quietist?

Were the subjects he selected not as passionless as those of his

master, and treated with equal thoughtfulness and calm? No doubt.

Yet there was an important difference between them. The quietude

which Cowper inculcated was to spring from religion; while that

which Wordsworth promoted had its sources principally in

contemplation of the beauties of Nature, and in obedience to her

powerful influences. Each of these gifted minds has benefitted

society, but in different ways; and it is well that, in a

poetry-loving age, there should be some counter-balance to the

morbid excitement and passionate intensity which the school of

Byron, Moore, and Shelley rendered so popular. It is well that

minor and gentler streams should irrigate the ground which has

been desolated by their torrents of impetuous verse. It is well

that divine no less than human love should have its

laurel-crowned minstrels, and that principle and conscience

should be proved no less poetical than passion and crime.

{349}

It is undoubtedly difficult for one who foregoes the passions to

rise to a very high eminence as a poet, since the violent

emotions of our nature are well adapted to verse, and full of

dramatic effect. The bard of Rydal-Mount has, nevertheless,

attained a lasting celebrity, after patiently enduring

years--long years--of neglect and ridicule. He has carefully

eschewed those stormy and harrowing subjects with which poets of

the highest genius had, before his time, generally delighted to

familiarize our minds. He leaves such themes as Prometheus bound

by Jupiter to a rock, with a vulture preying perpetually on his

entrails, [Footnote 58] Count Ugolino devouring the flesh of his

own offspring in the Tower of Famine, [Footnote 59] and Satan

summoning his fallen peers to council in the fiery halls of

Pandemonium, [Footnote 60] to such masters as "AEschylus the

Thunderous," Dante, and Milton, and addresses himself to the

softer and more homely feelings, and to the calmer reason of men.

He is firmly persuaded that a truer and deeper source of poetic

inspiration is to be found in the every-day sights and sounds of

Nature; that the changing clouds and falling waters, the

forest-glades, wet with noon-tide dew, the rocky beach, musical

with foaming waves, the sheep-walks on the barren hill-side, and

the "primrose by the river's brim," supply the imagination with

its best aliment, and effectually tend to calm, elevate, and

hallow the mind. This is his great, his constant theme. His

longer and more philosophical poems ring ever-varying changes on

it, and may be called an Epithalamium on the espousals of Man and

Nature. But for his devoting a long life to the poetic

development of this fundamental idea, we should never have seen

our literature enriched by the productions of Shelley and

Tennyson's genius. In poetry, as in all that concerns the human

mind, there is a law of progress. The poetic harvest-home of one

generation is the seed-time of that which is to follow. Thus

Dante speaks of two poets (Guinicelli and Daniello) now

forgotten, or known only by name, in terms of strong admiration,

as predecessors to whose writings he was considerably indebted.

[Footnote 61] The following lines are but a sample of a thousand

passages in Wordsworth which set forth the agency of natural

scenery in the work of man's education and refinement. It is

taken from the _Prelude_, a long introduction to the

_Excursion_, which lay upon the author's shelves in

manuscript during forty-five years: [Footnote 62]

"Was it for this,

That one, the fairest of all rivers, loved

_To blend his murmurs with my nurse's song_,

And from his alder-shades and rocky falls,

And, from his fords and shallows, sent _a voice_

_That flowed along my dreams?_ For this didst thou,

O Derwent! winding among grassy holms

Where I was looking on, a babe in arms.

_Make ceaseless music, that composed my thoughts_

_To more than infant softness_, giving me,

Amid the fretful dwellings of mankind,

A foretaste, a dim earnest of _the calm_

_That Nature breathes among the hills and groves?_"

[Footnote 58: _Prometheus Vinctus_.]

[Footnote 59: _L' Inferno_, c. xxxiii.]

[Footnote 60: _Paradise Lost_, Book i.]

[Footnote 61: _Il Purgatorio_, xi. 97; xxvi. 115, 142,

92, 97.]

[Footnote 62: 1805 to 1850.]

Wordsworth's life was an exemplification of the doctrine he

taught. Cheerfulness and peace marked his character at each stage

of his eighty years' pilgrimage, and, towards the close of his

career, he had the satisfaction of perceiving that his works were

slowly effecting the result to which he had destined them--making

a lasting impression on the literature of his age, and leading

many a thoughtful spirit from artificial to natural enjoyments,

from the imagery of dreamland to that of daily life, from bombast

to simplicity, from passion to feeling, and from turmoil to

repose.

"O heavenly poet! such thy verse appears,

So sweet, so charming to my ravished ears,

As to the weary swain, with cares opprest.

Beneath the silvan shade, _refreshing rest_;

As to the fev'rish traveller, when first

He finds a crystal stream to quench his thirst." [Footnote 63]

[Footnote 63: Dryden's _Virgil_, Pastoral v.]

{350}

Nor was Wordsworth's love of nature and her soothing influences

dissociated from religious belief. He was no materialist,

maintaining the eternal existence and self-government of the

universe by fixed and exclusively natural laws. He was no

pantheist, worshipping nature as an indivisible portion of the

divine essence--a body of which God is actually the soul. He

believed in other laws besides those which regulate the movements

of the celestial bodies, and the gradual formation and

destruction of the strata that compose the surface of our globe.

The view which he took of the material universe was such as

became a Christian, and is luminously expressed by him in the

following lines:

"I have seen

A curious child applying to his ear

The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell.

To which, in silence hushed, his very soul

Listened intensely, and his countenance soon

Brightened with joy; for murmurings from within

Were heard--sonorous cadences! whereby,

To his belief, the monitor expressed

Mysterious union with its native sea.

E'en such a shell the universe itself

Is to the ear of faith, and doth impart

Authentic tidings of invisible things.

Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power,

And _central peace subsisting at the heart

Of endless agitation_."

It is impossible to read the _Prelude_ and the

_Excursion_ without perceiving that Wordsworth's passion for

natural scenery was no fictitious emotion, assumed for the

purpose of appearing brimful of philosophy and sentiment, and

making an effective parade of moon and stars, flowers and

rivulets, in verse. No, it was a deep and abiding principle--a

feeling of which he could no more have divested himself than

Newton of his bent toward science, or Beethoven of his ear for

music. This unaffected enthusiasm enabled him to speak with the

authority of a master, and to instil into the minds of disciples

the ideas that had taken so strongly possession of his own.

From the poetry of inanimate nature, the transition was easy to

that of simple feelings, particularly in rustic life. In the

innocent plays of children of the cot, and the sparkling dews on

the cheeks of wild mountain maids, Wordsworth found themes for

reflection deep enough to sink into the memory of men. Who has

not felt the inimitable simplicity of the verses in which the

child, who often, after sunset, took her little porringer, and

ate her supper beside her brother's grave, persisted in saying:

"Oh! no, sir, _we are seven_," and in ignoring the power of

death to sever or to annihilate? Purity marks all which this

chief of the Lake School has composed; for how could he soothe

the spirit if, like Moore and Byron, he pandered to vicious

inclinations? Hence his successor as Poet-Laureate congratulates

himself very properly on wearing

"The laurel greener from the brows

Of him that uttered nothing base."

A poet's best eulogy is that which comes from a poet. Having

quoted that of Tennyson, therefore, I shall add that which

Shelley also bestows on Wordsworth:

"Thou wert as _a lone star_, whose light did shine

On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar:

Thou hast like to a _rock-built refuge_ stood

Above the blind and battling multitude

In honored poverty thy voice did weave

Songs consecrate to truth and liberty."

The quietude commended by infidel poets is, at the best, that of

despair. It is rest without repose, pathetic but not peaceful--a

spurious and delusive calm, difficult to attain for a moment, and

certain not to endure.

"Yet now despair itself is mild.

Even as the winds and waters are;

I could lie down like a tired child.

And weep away the life of care

Which I have borne and yet must bear." [Footnote 64]

[Footnote 64: P. B. Shelley.]

{351}

Such is their language; so writes one of the most distinguished

of these "apostles of affliction." How different are the feelings

of the Christian "quietist:"

"Nor let the proud heart say.

In her self-torturing hour,

The travail pangs must have their way.

The aching brow must lower.

To us long since the glorious Child is born,

Our throes should be forgot, or only seem

Like a sad vision told for joy at morn,

For joy that we have waked, and found it but a dream." [Footnote 65]

[Footnote 65: Keble. _The Christian Year_. Third Sunday

after Easter.]

Nor is this strain unreal. The writer's life was the best

guarantee for the sincerity of his sentiments, and the response

he has wakened in myriads of hearts is a seal set on the depth of

his convictions. He hymned not the happiness of the Christian,

because the theme suited an ambitious lyre in that it is lofty,

or an ordinary one in that it is familiar, but because he was

persuaded that the poet's highest glory consists in calming the

agitated spirit, as David did when he played cunningly on the

harp in the presence of Saul; and that, while it is incumbent on

us to make others happy, our paramount duty is to be happy

ourselves; that if we are not so, the fault is our own; and that

there are in the religion we profess, in every crisis and

condition, ample provisions for that happiness to which all

aspire.

"O awful touch of God made man!

We have no lack if thou art there:

From thee our infant joys began,

By thee our wearier age we bear." [Footnote 66]

[Footnote 66: Keble. _Lyra Innocentium_.]

This is the key-note of his thoughtful rhymes.

Keble's reputation as a poet was established long before the

leading periodicals of the land called attention to the beauty of

his compositions.

Their publication in the first instance is said to have been

owing to his seeing several of them in print without being able

to conjecture by what means they had found their way to public

light. He soon learned, however, that some of his manuscripts,

which he had lent to a lady, had been dropped in the street and

lost. He therefore resolved on completing and publishing _The

Christian Year_. It was not till nearly twenty years after its

first appearance that it received in the _Quarterly Review_

that meed of applause to which it was justly entitled. The

article which there called attention to its extraordinary merits

was written, we believe; by Mr. Gladstone, whom neither the

bustle of parliamentary life, nor the aridity of financial study,

renders insensible to the charms of those muses who are generally

supposed to haunt woods and caves, and to smile only on the

recluse.

To us Catholics the name of Keble will always be remembered with

interest, because he shared with Drs. Newman and Pusey the

leadership of that great party in the Anglican Church which has

given so many children to the true church, and has spread through

England and through the world many Catholic doctrines and

practices long dormant or forgotten. We think of him with

affection, because he carried on to the end the work of soothing

the troubled spirit by means of religious verse; because he was

through life the friend of that distinguished convert to whose

genius and writings we owe so much; and because he has, both in

prose and verse, laid down, more clearly and explicitly than any

other Protestant writer, the grounds of our veneration of the

blessed Mother of God Incarnate.[Footnote 67]

[Footnote 67: _See Lyra Innocentium_, "Church Rites;"

and _The Month_, May, 1866, "John Keble."]

{352}

He did not, indeed, follow out his convictions to their

legitimate results; he fancied that he responded to them

sufficiently by remaining where he was. But his poems will ever

remain a witness against the church in which they were composed,

because it can never reduce to practice the doctrines he taught

in reference to the holy eucharist, the confessional, and the

communion of saints. Meanwhile they are silently imbuing the

minds of Anglican readers with feelings and arguments favorable

to the divine system of the Catholic Church. Though his

_Christian Year_ is adapted to the services of the Church of

England, and though its chief purpose, as stated in the preface,

is "to exhibit the soothing tendency of the Prayer-Book," the

author's sympathies are with the Book of Common Prayer in its

Catholic, and not in its Protestant aspects. During more than

forty years it has been chiselling the Anglican mind into a more

orthodox shape. It moulds the chaotic elements of faith into

substance, form, and life. It supplies the lost sense of

Scriptures, and lays the foundation of towers and bulwarks it

cannot build. It opens bright vistas of realized truth, and

points to glorious summits from the foot of the hill. It is not

inspired with genius of the highest order; the range it takes is

more circumscribed in some respects than that of Cowper; it

seldom reaches the sublime, and is always pleasing rather than

original. But in spite of these drawbacks, it has wound itself

more and more into public esteem. No poetry is read more

habitually by members of the Established Church. The number of

those is very large who take down _The Christian Year_ from

their bookshelves every Sunday and festival. It rings every

change on the theme Resignation, and presents it in all its

truest and most beautiful lights. It has extracted from the

sacred writings the very marrow of the text, has developed in a

thousand ways the typical and mystic import of Scripture

histories, expressed from them abundantly the wine and oil of

consolation, and conveyed it to us in poetic ducts of no mean

kind.

"As for some dear familiar strain

Untired we ask, and ask again.

Ever, in its melodious store.

Finding a spell unheard before;" [Footnote 68]

so, many Anglicans of the devouter sort recur to Keble's poems

year after year, and end the perusal only with death. Other poets

charm and instruct the mind, he forms it; and while others are

but read, he is learnt. Even the conviction which he cherished of

the heavenly mission of the church of Queen Elizabeth, though

misplaced, added to the sweetness and soothing character of his

verses. But it is deserving of note that his latter volume,

_Lyra Innocentium_, which contains more lamentation than he

uttered before over the shortcomings of his own communion, and

more intense aspirations after Catholic dogma and practice,

evinces at the same time less inward quietude in the writer, and

imparts less of it to the reader. One poem, indeed, called

"Mother out of Sight," on the absence of the holy Mother of God

from the English mind, invoking her, as it did, in a strain of

glorious verse, was omitted, lest it should perplex and disquiet

those who were unused to such invocations, and believed them to

be forbidden by the Anglican Church.

[Footnote 68: _Christian Year_, "Morning."]

To cite passages from Keble's poems illustrative of their

soothing tendency, would be to copy almost all he wrote. They

fell like the dew of Hermon, and were a sign and symbol of the

man himself.

{353}

"His bright, fresh, joyous, and affectionate nature," says one

who knew him well, "was an ever-flowing spring, always at play,

_always shedding a gentle, imperceptible, and recreating dew

upon those who came within its reach. There was a Christian

poetry about him_, a natural gift, elevated and transformed by

his consistent piety and religious earnestness, which gilded the

commonest things and the most ordinary actions, and cast the

radiance of an unearthly sunshine all around him." [Footnote 69]

What wonder that the illustrious author of the _Apologia_

used to look at him with awe when walking in the High Street at

Oxford? What wonder that, when elected a Fellow of Oriel, and for

the first time taken by the hand by the Provost and all the

Fellows, he bore it till Keble took his hand, and then, as he

said, "felt so abashed and unworthy of the honor done him, that

he seemed desirous of quite sinking into the ground"? [Footnote

70] Yet the greater was blessed of the less. For depth and

subtlety of reasoning, for power and pathos in prose composition.

Dr. Newman has surpassed beyond all measure everything which

Keble did or could accomplish. In poetry, the world in general

has awarded the palm to Keble, and the world, we believe, is

right. In the art, at least, of calming the ruffled spirit, the

poet of _The Christian Year_ has outdone his beloved rival

and friend.

[Footnote 69: _The Month_, vol. iv. p. 142.]

[Footnote 70: J. H. Newman's _Apologia_, p. 76.]

The _Lyra Apostolica_ brought Keble and Newman together as

athletes in the arena of poetry; and that series of poems affords

a good opportunity of comparing their several merits, to those

who have the key to the writers' names. They appeared in the

_British Magazine_, signed only with Greek characters

representing the following writers:

Alpha J. W. Bowden.

Beta R. H. Froude.

Gamma John Keble.

Delta J. H. Newman.

Epsilon R. J. Wilberforce;

Zeta Isaac Williams.

By far the greater number of the pieces were written by Keble and

Newman, and almost all by the latter have reappeared this year in

a series, which supplies a poetic commentary on the author's

life. These _Verses on Various Occasions_ range over a

period of forty-six years, and having each of them the date and

the place where composed attached to it, the interest of the

whole is thereby greatly increased. Among the poems is that

remarkable one, "The Dream of Gerontius," which was published in

_The Catholic World_ in 1865. But neither Dr. Newman's

verses thus collected, nor the series entitled _Lyra

Apostolica_ in general, are marked by that repose which is the

prevailing feature of _The Christian Year_. The motto chosen

by Froude for the _Lyra_ was truly combative, and shows the

feeling both of Newman and himself, then together at Rome. It was

taken from the prayer of Achilles on returning to the battle, and

it implores Heaven to make his enemies know the difference, now

that his respite from fighting is over.

[Greek text] [Footnote 71]

[Footnote 71: _Iliad_, [Sigma] 125. _Apologia_, p. 98.]

The scars of warfare are visible even in Newman's hymns. He has

evidently passed through many an inward conflict, and fought

with, many an external foe. He has vacated ground he once

occupied, and he defends principles which he once assailed. He

pierces many heights, and depths, and has to be always on his

guard against his lively imagination.

{354}

He is lucid as any star, but not always as serene. He flashes now

and then like a meteor; he hints and suggests in nebulous light.

He is a pioneer of thought; he shoots beyond his comrades; he

walks "with Death and Morning on the Silver Horns." He sees,

where others grope; he is at home, where others feel confused and

out of place. He is, like Ballanche, [Footnote 72] more satisfied

of the truth of the unseen than of the visible world. Mysteries

are his solemn pastime. He strikes his harp in Limbo, as

Spaniards weave a dance in church before the Holy Sacrament. His

dreams are Dantesque; he is half a seer. The veil of death is

rent before him, and his soul, by anticipation, launches into the

abyss. The chains of the body are dropped, and angels and demons

come round him to console and to harass his solitary spirit in

its transition state. His condition there, like his poetry, and

like himself on earth and in the body, is one of mingled quietude

and disturbance;

"And the deep rest, so soothing and so sweet,

Had something, too, of sternness and of pain."

[Footnote 73]

[Footnote 72: _Dublin Review_, July, 1865, p. 10.

"Madame Récamier."]

[Footnote 73: "Dream of Gerontius," § 2.]

The happy, suffering soul ("for it is safe, consumed, yet

quickened, by the glance of God,") sings in Purgatory in a strain

identical with that to which it was used in this mortal life:

"Take me away, and in the lowest deep

There let me be,

And there in hope the lone night-watches keep,

Told out for me.

There motionless and happy in my pain,

Lone, not forlorn--

There will I sing my sad perpetual strain

Until the morn;

There will I sing and soothe my stricken breast,

Which ne'er can cease

To throb and pine and languish, till possest

Of its sole peace." [Footnote 74]

[Footnote 74: Ibid. § 6.]

There is, indeed, one of Dr. Newman's poems, and that one the

most popular and beautiful he has ever composed, which is

singularly pathetic and peaceful. Yet even here darker shades are

not wanting. The angel faces are "lost awhile," and the "pride"

and self-will of former years recur to the memory like spectres.

It was in June, 1833, when becalmed in the Straits of Bonifacio

in an orange-boat [Footnote 75] that Dr. Newman wrote "Lead,

Kindly Light." The _Pall Mall Gazette_--no mean critic--has

said of it recently, [Footnote 76] "It appears to us one of the

most perfect poems of the kind in the language."

[Footnote 75: _Apologia_, p. 99.]

[Footnote 76: Jan. 23, 1868]

"Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom.

Lead thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home--

Lead thou me on!

Keep thou my feet: I do not ask to see

The distant scene--one step enough for me.

"I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou

Would'st lead me on.

I loved to choose and see my path; but now

Lead thou me on!

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears.

Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

"So long thy power hath blest me, sure it still

Will lead me on

O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till

The night is gone;

And with the morn those angel faces smile

Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile."

Fond as Dr. Newman is of modern poetry he has not imitated it.

His style is original--a rare mixture of strength, sincerity, and

sweetness, moulded rather after the choruses of Greek dramas,

than the rich creations of Keats, Shelley, Tennyson, and

Longfellow. Hence his poems bear a nearer resemblance to Milton's

_Samson Agonistes_ than to any other English production. His

lyrical pieces, again, often remind us of George Herbert, and of

Shenstone, Waller, and Cowley. They have a clearness of

expression and bright fluency, which makes you love the writer

even when you cannot greatly admire his verse. One of the best

specimens of his poetic faculty in the _Verses on Various

Occasions_ is a poem called "Consolations in Bereavement,"

written in 1828.

{355}

It turns on one idea--the rapidity of death's work in the case of

the dear sister whom he mourns. He solaces himself with the

reflection that the deed was quickly done, and thus derives

comfort from a thought which is in most cases afflictive. Perhaps

Byron's lines were unconsciously running in his head:

"I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade:

......

Thy day without a cloud hath past,

And thou wert lovely to the last;

_Extinguished, not decayed_;

As stars that shoot along the sky

Shine brightest as they fall from high."

Dr. Newman's poetry did not properly fall within the scope of

this article, but we have been led to speak of it because he was

Keble's colleague in the _Lyra Apostolica_, and because the

verses of the surviving poet have just appeared in England in a

new form, and have attracted general attention and been made the

subject of admiring and affectionate criticism not merely by

Catholic periodicals, but by non-Catholic reviews and newspapers

of every political and religious shade. Indeed, the praise

bestowed on them by such journalists has exceeded that of our own

critics, because it has, generally speaking, been more

discriminating and uttered by higher authorities in the literary

world.

Let us then rejoice that English literature includes three poets

at least--Cowper, Keble, and Wordsworth--who are in a good sense

quietists, and the tenor of whose writings, from first to last,

is tranquillizing. They may not, perhaps, be the authors who will

afford us most pleasure in the tumultuous season of youthful

enjoyment; but as years advance, and the trials of life present

themselves, one by one, in all their painful reality; as reason

matures and reflection ripens; as the probationary character of

our mortal existence becomes more and more clear to our

apprehension; as the discovery of much that is formal and hollow

in society enamors us of rural retreats and sylvan solitudes; as

the inexhaustible treasures of beauty and magnificence in the

material universe unfold before our gaze; as the things unseen

triumph over visible objects in our thoughts and affections, we

shall find in such poetry as we have attempted to describe, more

that is congenial and charming, and shall cherish with fonder

remembrance the names of Cowper, the mellifluous exponent of

Christian ethics and delights; of Keble, the bard of Biblical

lore; and of Wordsworth, the child and poet of nature. Like

skilful tuners of roughly-used instruments, they will reduce to

sweetness our spirits' harsher and discordant tones, and fit us

to take our part in the everlasting harmonies of the boundless

universe. They will each make poetry, in our view, the handmaid

of science and revelation, accepting with rapture the vast,

amazing discoveries of the one, and ever seeking to harmonize

them with the momentous and soul-subduing disclosures of the

other. They will impart to mute matter the voice and power of a

moral teacher, imbue inanimate things (to our imagination) with

life and feeling, inspire us with "a glorious sympathy with suns

that set" and rise, with "flowers that bloom and stars that

glow," with the birdling warbling on her bough, and the ocean

bellowing in his caves; and will lead us by nature's golden steps

to the footstool of the Creator's throne; for, in the eyes of

such poets, earth is "crammed with heaven," and every common bush

on fire with God.

----------

{356}

The Early Irish Church. [Footnote 77]

[Footnote 77: _Essays on the Origin, Doctrines, and

Discipline of the Early Irish Church_. By the Rev. Dr.

Moran, Vice-Rector of the Irish College, Rome. Dublin, 1864.

Pp. vii., 337. For sale by the Catholic Publication Society,

New York.]

The early Irish Church is now the subject of a close scrutiny and

deep study, that bids fair to shed upon it all the light that can

be poured upon the subject by such written material as war,

oppression, persecution, and penal laws have been insufficient to

destroy. There are two schools, and their emulating labors will

allow little to escape, both being well versed in ecclesiastical

history, the Irish language, annals, and literature.

It is needless to say that there are a Catholic and a Protestant

school--the latter of comparatively recent origin. The Anglican

Church in Ireland, studying what it had long despised, now seeks

to hold forth to the world that it is the real successor and

representative of the early Irish Church; while the Catholic

Church in Ireland is simply a papal continuation of the foreign

church, forced on Ireland by Henry II. and Pope Adrian IV., and

their respective successors. Unfortunately, however, the memory

of man records not the fact that, in the sixteenth century and

later, the Thirty-nine Articles and Book of Common Prayer were

presented to the Irish as being the creed and liturgy of its

early saints. Those who burnt the crosier of Patrick broke with

the early Irish Church as effectually as they did with the

romanized Irish Church of later days.

At the beginning of this century, Ledwich, following in the wake

of the wild theories of Conyers Middleton, denied entirely the

existence of St. Patrick, and his theory met with no little favor

among those opposed to the church. Now his existence is admitted,

his life studied and written, and efforts made, with no little

skill, industry, and learning, to show that the Roman Catholic

Church has no claim to St. Patrick or the church which he

founded; a church so full of life, that its missionaries spread

to other lands, and went forth with papal sanction to plant

catholicity or revive fervor on the continent. It is to this

curious phase of controversy that we are indebted for the volume

of Essays which are here contributed by Doctor Moran, and which

evince his learning and research, as well as his fitness for

close historical argument.

That there should be much material for a discussion as to so

early a period as the fifth century may surprise many, especially

those who have always been taught to clear with a bound some ten

or more centuries prior to the sixteenth. And it must be admitted

that it is indeed surprising, when we consider the wholesale

destruction of Irish manuscripts by the English in Ireland from

the time of Henry down to the present century. From the period of

the invasion to the Reformation, though invaders and invaded were

alike Catholic, the English treated the Irish with such contempt

that only five families or bloods were recognized as human, and

even monasteries were closed to men of Irish race. The literature

of the proscribed was of course slighted and despised.

{357}

From the Reformation the literary remains of earlier days were

proscribed and destroyed, not only as Irish but as popish.

In this almost universal destruction, the ecclesiastical books,

missals, sacramentaries, breviaries, penitentials, the canons of

councils, doctrinal books, many historical and biographical

treatises perished. The Irish people and their church hold by

tradition to their predecessors, and claim to be direct

successors of the church and converts of St. Patrick. Nor can the

Anglican party which destroyed so much of Irish literature now

base any argument on the silence of manuscript authority or draw

any inference in their favor from the absence of proofs, for

whose disappearance they are themselves accountable.

The uninterrupted adherence of the Irish nation to the Roman

Church gives it the force of prescription, and it will hold good

against all but the most direct and positive evidence.

No mere inferences can invalidate her claim.

The documents regarding the early Irish Church begin with the

confession of Saint Patrick and his letter to Coroticus, a

piratical British chief, published by Ware in 1656, from four

manuscripts, and by the Bollandists from a manuscript in the

Abbey of Saint Vaast.

The canons ascribed to the saint were published by the same, as

well as by Spelman and Usher.

Of the lives of the saint, the least valuable of all is that by

Jocelin, an English monk, who wrote soon after the conquest. This

is given in the Bollandists and in Messingham's Florilegium.

Earlier and better lives, four in number, were collected and

published by Colgan in his Acta Triadis Thaumaturgae, a work of

which we doubt the existence of a copy on this side of the

Atlantic.

Among these earlier lives, one by Probus is of much value. It was

printed, strangely enough, among the works of Venerable Bede, in

the Basil edition of that father issued in 1563, and, apparently,

the whole work was taken from manuscripts preserved at the Irish

convent at Bobbio.

These are the more important material for the life of the apostle

of Ireland, together with unpublished matter in some very ancient

Irish manuscripts, codices known for centuries, such as the Book

of Armagh, a manuscript of the eighth or ninth century, which

contains a life of Saint Patrick by Muirchu-Maccu-Mactheni; the

Leabhar Breac, considered the most valuable Irish manuscript on

ecclesiastical matters; the Tripartite Life in the British

Museum, the early national annals, etc.

As to the antiquity and value of these ancient codices Westwood

in his _Palaeographia Sacra Pictoria_ (London, 1843-5) may

be consulted.

For the liturgy of the early Irish Church, we have a missal

preserved at Stowe, in England, and ascribed to the sixth

century, but which unfortunately has never been fully and

completely published; a missal preserved in the monastery founded

by Saint Columbanus at Bobbio, and printed by Mabillon in his

_Iter Italicum_; the _Antiphonarium Benchorense_; the

Exposition of the Ceremonies of the Mass preserved in the Leabhar

Breac and a treatise on the Mass Vestments in the same volume, as

well as the Liber Hymnorum, and various separate hymns.

The lives of the Irish saints, many of which have been published

by Colgan, Messingham, the Bollandists, as well as the meagre

Irish secular annals, throw much light on the social and

religious life of the ancient Irish.

{358}

Such is, in brief, the documentary array to be appealed to in the

controversy, as to the origin and character of the Irish Church.

And surely what has come down in fragments shows a church which

the Anglican Church could not but condemn. The warmest advocate

of the identity of the Anglican Church in Ireland with the early

Irish Church, would find the old Irish mass, as preserved in the

Stowe or the Bobbio missal, a very objectionable worship; the

monks and nuns unsuited to our age; and the prayers,

penitentiary, and belief in miraculous powers in the church

utterly inconsistent with Protestant ideas; while the Catholic

Irish would find the mass, if said in one of their churches, so

like that they daily hear, that it would excite scarce a word of

comment; monks and nuns would certainly excite less; and the

prayers of that early day still circulate with the commendation

of the actual head of the Catholic Church, the successor of

Celestine.

The position having been abandoned that St. Patrick never

existed, national pride, which from the days of Jocelin has bent

its energies to prove that he was a Briton of the island of Great

Britain and born in Scotland, now would prove that he was a

genuine Englishman in his total renunciation of papal authority.

In the recent life of St. Patrick by Dr. Todd, this, though

treated lightly as a matter of slight import, is really the

marrow of the book.

The mission of St. Patrick has been uniformly attributed to Pope

St. Celestine, who held the chair of Peter from 422 to 432; and

is intimately connected with a previous one of the deacon of

Celestine, St. Palladius, who made an unsuccessful attempt to

christianize Ireland; and the mission of St. Palladius grew out,

it would seem, of a deputation of Gallic bishops to Britain to

check the progress of Pelagianism.

Todd endeavors ingeniously to break up these connected facts. He

seeks to show that Palladius was a deacon not of St. Celestine,

but of St. Germain, Bishop of Auxerre; that the history of

Palladius and Patrick have been confounded; and that Patrick was

not sent to Ireland till 440, and consequently could not have

been sent by St. Celestine. This would, to some extent, deliver

the early Irish Church from the terrible responsibility of having

received its origin from Rome.

Dr. Moran's work is made up of three essays: "On the Origin of

the Irish Church and its Connection with Rome;" "On the teaching

of the Irish Church concerning the Blessed Eucharist;" and, on

"Devotion to the Blessed Virgin in the Ancient Church of

Ireland."

In the first of these essays he meets the arguments of the Senior

Fellow of Trinity by a careful and close examination, showing

that both Palladius and Patrick owed their mission to Rome and to

St. Celestine, and settles conclusively the date of St. Patrick's

landing in Ireland.

He discusses at length the mission of Palladius; sketches the

life of St. Patrick, and his connection with St. Germain; and

states briefly the proofs of his Roman mission. He then refutes

the array of modern theories in regard to the great apostle from

Ledwich to Todd, and accumulates evidence to show how the early

Irish Church regarded the holy see.

The period when Saint Palladius and Saint Patrick successively

proceeded to Ireland, was not one of obscurity. The church was

full of vitality, and met Nestorius in the east, Pelagius in the

west, the Manichees in Africa, with the power and might of a

divine institution.

{359}

It was the day of St. Augustine, St. Germain, of Vincent of

Lerins, of Cassian, Chrysostom, St. Gregory of Nyssa, St. Jerome.

St. Basil, St. Ambrose, St. Athanasius, even, and St. Anthony

were still fresh in the memory of those who had heard the words

of life from their lips, or gazed on them in reverence. The

Council of Ephesus was actually in session defining the honor due

to the Mother of God. The canon of Holy Scripture had been

settled thirty-five years before, in the Council of Carthage, and

St. Jerome's version was gradually supplanting the Vetus Itala in

the hands of the faithful.

The monastic life, a vigorous tree planted at Rome by Athanasius,

had already spread over the Latin Church, in its multiform

activity and zeal. It grew under the mighty hand of Augustine,

was nurtured by that St. Martin of Tours, whose reputation was so

widespread. It gave a Lerins, with its school of bishops,

writers, and saints; the abbey of St. Victor at Marseilles, where

Cassian prayed and wrote.

But if this was a great age of the church, the Roman empire

showed no such signs of vitality. It was tottering to its fall.

Along its whole western territory, stretching from Italy to

Caledonia, the pagan barbarians of Germany were pressing with

relentless power, threatening destruction to Roman, romanized

Briton, and romanized Gaul--for all of whom the German had but

one name, still preserved by the race, the Anglo-Saxon terming

the descendants of the Britons Welsh, as the Fleming does the

French or the south of Germany the Italian. A little later this

German race, last in Europe to embrace the faith and first to

revolt from it, overran Britain, establishing the Saxon monarchy,

making Gaul the land of Franks, and giving Spain and Italy Gothic

sovereigns.

Before this torrent burst, the church in Italy, Britain, and Gaul

was closely united. Heresies appeared and gained ground in

Britain. To meet this Pelagian enemy, the insular bishops

appealed for aid to Gaul. The bishops of that country in council,

selected St. Germain and St. Lupus to go to Britain; and Prosper,

in his chronicle, assures us that, through the instrumentality of

Palladius the deacon, Pope Celestine in 426 sent Germain in his

own stead to root out heresy there, and direct the Britons to the

Catholic faith.

But this was not the only work. To recover what was straying was

well; but a new island was yet to be conquered to the faith, one

in which the Roman eagle had never flashed, but which seems to

the eye of faith a field white for the reaper.

Attached to Germain by ties of which there is no doubt, was a man

of Roman-British race, whose whole associations were with the

church of Gaul, who had been a slave for several years in

Ireland, and yearned to return to it as a herald of the Gospel.

He is stated, in the earliest lives, to have been recommended by

Saint Germain to Pope Celestine, as one fitted for such a work.

The pope, however, either to give greater dignity to the new

mission, or to leave no doubt of the Roman character of the work,

chose in 431 Palladius, deacon of the Roman Church, already

mentioned, to be the first apostle to the Scots, as the Irish

were then termed. Saint Germain and Saint Lupus went to Britain

in 429, and labored with zeal and success there during that year

and the next. The ancient Irish writer, who wrote a commentary on

a hymn in honor of Saint Patrick by St. Fiacc, and who is cited

by Irish scholars as scholiast on Saint Fiacc's hymn, states that

Saint Patrick accompanied the Gallic bishops to Britain.

{360}

In itself it would be probable. The intimate relations between

the Bishop of Auxerre and the British priest, would naturally

lead that prelate to choose him as a companion. That Palladius,

who had been the pope's agent in the matter, accompanied them,

also, would seem natural. His selection for the Irish mission

after Saint Germain's return in 430, would follow as naturally.

He was made bishop, and sent to the Scots (Irish) in 431; and

that Saint Patrick was in some manner appointed by the pope to

the same work, or connected with the mission with a degree of

authority, is evident from the fact that, when Saint Palladius,

after an ineffectual attempt to establish a mission in Wicklow,

was driven from the country, and died, as some say, in Scotland,

his Roman companions at once hastened to Saint Patrick, to notify

him as one who possessed some jurisdiction in the matter; and all

accounts agree that on this intelligence, Saint Patrick at once

proceeded to obtain the episcopal consecration, and sailed to

Ireland.

Looking at the whole action of the pope in regard to the checking

of Pelagianism in Britain, and the conversion of Ireland, this

theory, first suggested by Dr. Lanigan, answers every

requirement. It contravenes no fact given by any early author,

and is in perfect harmony with every part. The Rome-appointed

subordinates of Palladius reported to Patrick as a recognized

superior, and it is utterly impossible that between him, the

disciple of Germain and Palladius, the Roman delegate to Germain,

there could have been diversity of faith or ecclesiastical

discipline. The appointment of Patrick to the Irish mission was

simultaneous with that of Palladius, to whom the priority was

given. On the death of Palladius he succeeded, and required but

the episcopal consecration to begin his labors as a bishop in

Ireland.

This would make the Roman origin of the Irish Church too clear

for Dr. Todd to accept it without a struggle. With what might

almost be termed unfairness, he ignores the statement of a

perfect catena of Irish writers as to the character of Palladius,

in order to make him a deacon, not of the pope, but of Saint

Germain.

Later lives of Saint Patrick, written long after the death of the

saint, by introducing vague traditions, have doubtless

embarrassed the question. That some took his appointment by,

Celestine to have required his visiting Rome after the death of

Palladius, was natural; but he would really have been appointed

by Celestine, even though consecrated in Gaul after the death of

that pope, if this was done in pursuance of previous orders of

the holy see. It would not be strange to Catholic ideas that

Saint Patrick had what would be now termed his bulls unacted

upon, either from humility or some other motive; and the history

of the church contains many examples where bulls have been so

held, to be acted on ultimately only when the necessity of the

church made the candidate feel it a duty to assume the burden

from which he shrank.

Dr. Moran proves that Patrick drew his mission from Rome by a

solid array of authorities, which embrace some of the most

ancient Irish manuscripts extant. The Book of Armagh contains two

tracts, one the _Dicta Sancti Patricii_, expressing his wish

that his disciple should be "ut Christiani ita et Romani;" the

other the annals of Tirechan, written about the middle of the

seventh century, stating absolutely that in the thirteenth year

of the Emperor Theodosius the Bishop Patrick was sent by

Celestine, bishop and pope of Rome, to instruct the Irish.

{361}

The Leabhar Breac, styled by Petrie "the oldest and best Irish

manuscript relating to church history now preserved," furnishes

us evidence no less clear and decisive. The second Life of Saint

Patrick, ascribed to Saint Eleran, (ob. 664;) the scholiast on

Saint Fiacc, the Life by Probus, are all equally explicit,

showing it to have been a recognized fact in Ireland within two

centuries after the apostle's own day.

Dr. Moran, besides these, accumulates other authority of a later

period, some hitherto uncited, and due to the researches of

German scholars among the manuscripts still extant, due to the

hands of the early Irish apostles of their land.

One argument of Dr. Todd was based on the silence of Muirchu

Maccu Mactheni in the Book of Armagh; but Dr. Moran answers this

fully by showing that part of that early writer's work is

missing; and that, as the Life of Saint Probus follows, word for

word, the parts extant, we may assume that Saint Probus followed

him in other parts; and in regard to Saint Patrick's mission,

Saint Probus is clear and plain.

The church in Ireland, then, was the spiritual child of Rome and

Gaul. Her great missionary, a Breton, came from the schools of

Gaul, with authority from Rome, and the church which he founded

was in harmony with the church in Britain, Gaul, and Italy. What

the faith of the church in those countries was, admits of no

doubt; and were there no monuments extant to give explicit

evidence of the faith of the Irish Church, this would give us

implicit evidence sufficient, in the absence of any contradictory

authority, to decide what its faith, doctrines, and liturgy were.

The vice-rector of the Irish College marshals his authorities

again and shows that the church founded by an envoy from Rome

retained its connection with the holy see and its reverence for

the See of Peter. He adduces hymns of the Irish Church, various

writings of successive ages, express canonical enactments

regarding Rome, and finally the pilgrimages to the holy city, in

itself an irrefragable proof of the veneration entertained for

Rome; but he crowns all this by adducing the many extant cases in

which Irish bishops and clergy appealed to Rome.

But it may be thought that the terrible changes caused by the

invasion of the barbarians which in a manner isolated Ireland may

have led insensibly to differences of faith or practice in that

island, cut off from the centre of unity by the pagan England

that had succeeded Christian Britain, and the pagan France that

replaced Christian Gaul.

Have we aught to prove what the Irish Church believed and taught;

at what worship the faithful knelt; how they were received into

the body of believers; what rites consoled them in death?

Fortunately there is much to console us here, as well as to

convince us. One of the most important parts of the work we are

discussing is the clear and distinct manner in which he proves

the Irish character of the missal found at Bobbio, and reproduced

by Mabillon in his _Iter Italicum_. Having, by what light we

possessed, come to the conclusion that it was in no sense Irish,

we examined this portion with interest, and must admit that the

proof is clear. Bobbio was a monastery founded by St. Columbanus,

and its rich library gave much to the early printers, and yet

much still remains in the Ambrosian library at Milan.

{362}

This missal has no distinctive Irish offices, and its containing

an office of St. Sigebert, King of Burgundy, seemed to refute any

idea of its being Irish. Yet we know that St. Columbanus founded

a monastery at Luxeu before proceeding to Bobbio, and in both

places retained his Irish office. The adding of a local Mass

would not be strange. In itself this missal corresponds with that

Irish missal preserved at Stowe in many essential points, and

with no other known missal; the orthography and writing are

undoubtedly Irish; the liturgy in itself is not that of Gaul; it

resembles it in many respects, but the canon is that of Rome.

This striking feature appears in the Stowe missal. Mabillon, from

its antiquity, himself infers that Saint Columbanus brought it

from Luxeu, and it is as probable that he brought it from

Ireland.

It gives us the Mass of the ancient Irish Church, and Curry gives

in his lectures a translation of an "Exposition of the Ceremonies

of the Mass" from the Irish in the Leabhar Breac. The Mass and

the exposition place beyond a doubt the belief of the Irish

Church in the Real Presence. The exposition is as distinct as if

written to meet any opposition. "Another division of that pledge,

which has been left with the church to comfort her, is the body

of Christ and his blood, which are offered upon the altars of the

Christians; the body even which was born of Mary the Immaculate

Virgin, without destruction of her virginity, without opening of

the womb, without the presence of man; and which was crucified by

the unbelieving Jews out of spite and envy; and which arose after

three days from death, and sits upon the right hand of God the

Father in heaven." (_Curry's Lectures_, p. 307.)

The words of the Mass are no less explicit, and the Bobbio missal

contains these words: "Cujus carne a te ipso sanctificata, dum

pascimur, roboramur, et sanguine dum potamur, abluimur." The

whole early literature, the lives of the saints, and other

monuments teem with allusions to the sacrifice of Christ's body

and blood, and the saying of Mass is not unfrequently expressed

by the term "conficere Corpus Domini."

The proofs adduced by Dr. Moran on this point extend to sixty

pages, showing the most exact research and learning, and

accumulating evidence on evidence, meeting and refuting

objections of every kind.

The sacrament of penance and its use is no less apparent; nor is

the devotion to the blessed Virgin and the saints a point on

which the slightest doubt is left.

Dr. Moran's work is certainly, since the appearance of

_Lanigan's Ecclesiastical History_, (4 vols. Dublin, 1822,)

the most valuable treatise on the early Irish Church, and

completely sets at rest the theories set up by W. G. Todd, in

_A History of the Ancient Church in Ireland_, London, 1845;

and with great learning and skill by James H. Todd, in his

_Saint Patrick, Apostle of Ireland: A Memoir of his Life and

Mission_, Dublin, 1864.

We need now a popular treatise embracing the result of his labor,

in a small volume, like the work of W. G. Todd, and a volume

containing the Bobbio missal, (that at Stowe is probably sealed,)

with the treatise on the Mass and vestments from the Leabhar

Breac, and a selection of the prayers and hymns of the early

church that have come down to us. With these common in the hands

of the clergy, to familiarize them with what remains of the

church of their fathers, we may hope to see the old Irish Mass,

the "Cursus Scottorum" or Mass of the early Irish Church, chanted

by the cardinal archbishop of Dublin on the great patronal feast,

as the Mozarabic liturgy is in Spain, or the Ambrosian at Milan.

It would be a living proof that, if the Irish and other churches

laid aside their peculiar liturgies to adopt exclusively that of

Rome, it was not that the former were objectionable; but that

unity was too desirable to be postponed.

--------

{363}

My Angel.

"He hath given his angels charge over thee."

There's an angel stands beside my heart,

And keepeth guard.

How I wish sometimes that he would depart,

And its strong desires would cease to thwart

With his stern regard!

But he never moves as he standeth there

With unwinking eyes;

And at every pitfall and every snare

His silent lips form the word, "Forbear!"

Till the danger flies.

His look doth oft my purpose check

And aim defeat.

And I change my course at his slightest beck.

'Tis well, or I soon would be a wreck

For the waves to beat.

------

{364}

Translated From The French.

An Italian Girl Of Our Day. [Footnote 78]

[Footnote 78: _Rosa Ferrucci: her Life, her Letters,

and her Death_, By the Abbé H. Perreyve.]

[The first Italian edition of the _Letters of Rosa

Ferrucci_ appeared at Florence in 1857, a request for their

publication having been made to her mother by his Eminence

Cardinal Corsi, Archbishop of Pisa. The pious prelate was not

less desirous of seeing the account of so edifying a death

published, when he had learned the circumstances from the Prior

of San Sisto, who had attended Signorina Ferrucci in her last

moments.

A second edition appeared in 1858, enriched with numerous

details, at the express request of Monsignor Charvaz,

Archbishop of Genoa.

During a brief stay which I made at Pisa, Monsignor della

Fanteria, vicar-general of the diocese, spoke to me of the

profound impression which the death of Signorina Ferrucci had

left on all memories, and of the edification which he hoped

from her _Letters_. He expressed a wish that they should

be made known in France, and even urged me to undertake their

translation myself.

Authorities such as these, and the testimony of persons of

undoubted judgment as to the good this little work has already

done, have determined me to publish it for the second time. May

it edify yet again some young souls, by showing them in

Christianity an ideal too often sought elsewhere.

_December_, 1858.]

The following are the circumstances which led to the publication

of the _Letters_ here presented to the reader.

Toward the end of April, last year, (1857,) as I was returning

from Rome, I stopped at Pisa. The hand of God conducted me then

into the midst of a family, of whose unclouded happiness I had

been the witness only a few months before, but which had now,

alas! been visited by death. It was one of those sudden,

heart-rending bereavements which make one falter on the desolated

threshold of his friend, and which chill on one's lips the

tenderest words of consolation.

What would you say to the father and mother who lose an only

daughter--their joy, their life, and, moreover, the pride and the

edification of a whole town? Better be silent and ask God to

speak.

Happily, in this case, God did speak; and the noble souls whose

sorrows are to be recounted here, were of the number of those who

know his voice.

After the first tears and the first outpouring of a grief which

time rendered only the more poignant, the poor mother asked me to

accompany her to the house where her daughter had died, and which

she herself had quitted from that day. A servant belonging to one

of the neighboring houses had the keys of this funereal dwelling,

and he opened the doors for us. We expected to find only the

presence of death and the vivid remembrance of the sorrows of

yesterday in the silence of those deserted chambers; but

Christian charity had watched over the spot, and from our first

steps a delicate perfume of roses betrayed its loving attentions.

{365}

Indeed, we found the chamber of the dead girl strewn with

flowers. They were fresh, some faithful hand having renewed them

that very morning. This unlooked-for spectacle awakened in our

minds the thought that the Christian's death is not so much a

death as a transformation of life. Therefore it was that, when,

kneeling near the poor sobbing mother, I asked her if she wished

me to recite the _De Profundis_, she answered in a firm

voice and almost smiling, "No, let us recite the _Te Deum_."

The hymn concluded, I led the pious woman from that room where

her sorrow seemed changed into exultation, and I said to her on

the way: "From all that I know, from all that I can learn of your

daughter, she was a saint. The delicate piety of your neighbors

attests how powerful is still the recollection of her: the

example of her life, and the details of her holy death, must not

be lost. You must preserve them for the edification of her

companions; for the edification of the town which has known her,

loved her, venerated her; for the edification of ourselves also,

who must one day die, and whom the examples of all holy deaths

encourage and support." I was not the first to express this

desire; many friends had anticipated me in begging for a history

which they believed well calculated to reflect honor on our holy

religion.

Before I left Pisa, I had obtained the desired promise, pledging

myself, at the same time, to make known in France, to some

Christian readers, this history, wrung from the anguish of a

mother by the single desire of promoting the glory of God. Some

months later, the book appeared at Florence, with the following

title, _Rosa Ferrucci, and some of her Writings, published

under the supervision of her Mother_. It remains, then, for me

to fulfil, on my part, the pious obligation I have contracted.

Rosa Ferrucci was the daughter of the celebrated Professor

Ferrucci, of the University of Pisa, and of the Signora Caterina

Ferrucci, a lady well known in Italy for her poetry, and for some

excellent works on education. It is little more than a year since

this young girl was, by her brilliant intellectual gifts and the

holiness of her life, the honor of the city of Pisa. The grave

habits of a Christian family, all the veils, all the precautions,

all the fears of modesty, had not been able to shield her from a

sort of religious admiration which she inspired in all who saw

her. How prevent mothers from pointing out the holy child to

their daughters, or the poor from blessing her as she passed?

Rosa possessed natural talents of a high order, and her education

was singularly favorable to the full development of every gift of

mind and heart. At six years of age she read Italian, French, and

German. At a later period she knew by heart the whole of the

_Divine Comedy_. She read in the original, under the

direction of her mother, Virgil, Cicero, Tacitus; and, among

modern authors, Bossuet, Bourdaloue, Fenelon, Fleury, Milton,

Schiller, Klopstock. I mention at random the authors' quoted by

her in her letters to her friends, passing by writers of our own

day. She has left a correspondence in three languages--French,

German, and Italian. The greater number of the Italian letters

are addressed to a young gentleman of Leghorn, Signor Gaetano

Orsini, a distinguished lawyer and perfect Christian, to whom

Rosa was betrothed, and whose hopes have been shattered by her

death.

{366}

Each part of her correspondence is remarkable, but it is of the

last-mentioned letters that I propose particularly to speak.

Independently of her correspondence, Signorina Ferrucci wrote

many short treatises on religion and Christian morality, several

of which have been published since her death.

Here, then, we find in a young girl a degree of mental

cultivation--a depth of learning, I might say--which would be

remarkable in a man even of distinguished education. To dwell

long on gifts so rare would interfere with the object I proposed

to myself in writing this little history. I will, then, remark

here, once for all, that, having for several weeks lived on terms

of intimacy with this excellent family, I have witnessed in this

extraordinary girl only a child-like modesty, which made her

always skilful in self-concealment.

I omit, then, all that relates to this intellectual culture, and

to this taste for classical learning--a taste which was so pure,

so exalted, in this young Christian maiden. Understood and

accepted in Italy, this literary turn of mind would seem strange

in France, where there exists an extravagant fear of raising

woman above a certain intellectual level. I prefer, therefore,

having said on this point merely what was necessary, to speak

henceforth only of the virtues of the saintly girl.

Even of these I shall specify but one. I leave it to pious

imaginations to guess what there must have been of meekness, of

purity, of obedience, of modesty, of angelic devotion, in such a

soul. I shall speak only of her charity. Love for the poor was

with her a passion, and that from her tenderest years. Certain

souls seem to come into this world commissioned by God to do

honor to a particular virtue; everything in them converges to

that as to a divine centre. The voice of a mother and the voice

of the church have but to quicken the germ of holiness committed

to such souls before their terrestrial journey, and, as soon as

the development of reason allows them to act, they tend quite

naturally to the end which the finger of God had pointed out to

them from above. Rosa Ferrucci brought with her a tender and

unbounded love for the poor. From the little birds which, while

yet an infant, she used to feed in winter-time, to the poor

beggars of Pisa, whom she relieved by denying herself in dress

and amusements, and the neglected graves to which she carried

flowers, "because," she used to say, "I feel a pity for neglected

graves," all poverty touched her heart. Her mother relates some

affecting incidents of her great charity. During a severe winter

her parents remarked that she no longer ate bread at her meals,

although she never failed to pick out the largest piece for

herself. They affected not to know her motive, which she

explained, blushing: "Have I done wrong? Indeed, I did not know

it was wrong; but bread is so dear this year, and this piece

would be sufficient for one poor person."

If she met in her walks a poor woman tottering under the weight

of a load of wood, her first impulse would be to run to help her,

and it was difficult to restrain this charitable eagerness. She

would then complain, declaring that she could never get

accustomed to seeing poor people toiling so hard.

On her birthday she ran to her mother and said to her: "Gaetano

is indeed all that I could wish! We have just formed a project

which makes me quite happy. We have promised that on our

birthdays and saints' days, instead of making each other

presents, which are often useless, we will give a large alms to

some poor family."

{367}

She was a good musician, and knew how to interpret truly the

sentiment of the masters. One day she went to Florence,

accompanied by her brother, to purchase some pieces of music. But

just as she was entering the town, she met a poor family, who

seemed to be in the last extreme of wretchedness. Their rent must

be paid the next day, or these poor people would be homeless.

Farewell to the pieces of music! And on her return home, when her

friends, to conceal their real joy and admiration, affected to

chide her, she answered: "What would you have had me do? I could

not help it. Tell me yourselves how I could have done otherwise

than I did? Now, you see well that it was impossible!" O holy

_impossibilities!_ which embarrass only those who can never

be resigned to the sufferings of others.

Innumerable are the incidents of this kind which might be related

of Rosa; for charity is never weary, the more good it has done,

the more it desires to do; but I leave this subject--reluctantly,

indeed--to dwell at more length on the two episodes of this

Christian life, in which I think may be found the most solid

edification and the best encouragement for souls. I speak of a

love and a death, both transfigured by the cross.

The transfiguration of the life and heart of man in chastity, in

hope, in sacrifice, is a palpable glory of Christianity and one

of the surest marks of its divinity. Jesus Christ, when he came

to sanctify the world, did not destroy the natural conditions of

human life. Since, as before, the shedding of his blood, man is

born in suffering; he weeps, combats, loves, and dies. And yet,

if he is a Christian, all is changed for him. From his cradle to

his grave he walks in a marvellous light, which transfigures all

things in his eyes and thoroughly changes the meaning of life. He

suffers, but each day he adores suffering on the cross; he weeps,

but he has heard that, Blessed are they who weep! he combats, but

with his eyes fixed on heaven; he loves, but in all that he

loves, he loves God; he dies, but then only does he begin to

live. Nay, even the entrance into beatitude is for the Christian

not the last transfiguration; for a blissful eternity is but a

continuous transfiguration in a glory ever increasing, and, as it

were, the eternal flight of created love toward Infinite Love.

This divine flight finds in heaven its region of glory; but it

must not be forgotten that its starting-point is earth--that

before finally gaining the eternal heights, it must first cross

"the fields of mourning, _lugentes campi_." [Footnote 79]

[Footnote 79: Virg. AEn. i. 4.]

Hence it is, that for the saints there is no interruption between

heaven and earth; the same path that conducted them yesterday

from virtue to virtue, will lead them to-morrow from glory to

glory, and their death is but an episode of their love. Hence,

also, perhaps that mysterious fraternity of love and death which

is the soul of all true poetry; men catch a glimpse of it and

chant it in their own tongue:

"The twin brothers, love and death,

At the same time, gave birth to fate." [Footnote 80]

[Footnote 80: Léopardi.]

But only the saints know its true secret: "Having a desire to be

dissolved and to be with Christ." [Footnote 81]

[Footnote 81: Phil. I. 23.]

When the young soul of whom we now speak had reached a certain

elevation in her flight toward God, she, too, met the sweet and

austere company of those two strong-winged angels--Christian love

and death. She loved: almost as soon she presaged death, and she

died. But she loved as a child of God loves, and she died as a

saint.

{368}

I have, then, little more to do than to translate her

_Letters_, in which shines gloriously the beauty of

Christian love, and to give an account of that death worthy of

the church's brightest days. As I have already remarked, these

_Letters_ are addressed to a young gentleman of Leghorn, to

whom Rosa had been betrothed for two years before her death; a

truly noble character whom heaven seemed to have made worthy of

her. A profound and tender love united these two kindred souls.

The simple and sweet manners of good Italian society allowed

their seeing each other often, and did not forbid their almost

daily correspondence. An entire conformity of faith, of piety, of

holy desires, blended into a still closer union those hearts

already so strongly bound to each other; but a more celestial ray

was continually passing from the soul of Rosa into that of

Gaetano. Through her joys, her hopes, the festive preparations

for her wedding, and the dreams of the future, this pious young

girl always saw God. One idea, immense and insatiable, was

dominant over all her desires, the idea of perfection. She gazed

through the veil of her joyous dawnings on the divine sun of

eternal beauty. Her happiness embellished earth to her, but the

earth thus embellished immediately reminded her of heaven;

earthly love put a song on her lips, but the song soon became a

hymn, and always ended with God. It is this insensible and almost

involuntary transition, of which she herself seems unconscious,

from an earthly affection to ardent longings after divine love

and perfection, which constitutes all the beauty of her

_Letters_. The reader must not forget that they were written

by one who was little more than a child, and that whatever there

was of maturity in her young soul was derived from that sun of

Christian faith whose warm rays ripen the intellect, in the

continued childhood of the heart.

I would fain believe that this young Christian's sisters in the

faith, will find in her _Letters_ something more than a

subject of poetical dreaming. In truth, no life is so really

practical as that of a saint; and, through the veil of beautiful

language, we may discover in the letters of Rosa Ferrucci many

duties faithfully performed by her, many lessons of duty

faithfully to be performed by ourselves. I would then beg of

those young persons to read the following pages with

recollection, and, in order to penetrate their true meaning, to

enter as much as possible into this young girl's ardent desire of

perfection.

I have spoken of the eternal soaring of souls toward God. Have

you ever, in the beginning of autumn, watched those flights of

birds which, lengthening out in a long train, follow, to the very

last, the same sinuosities? 'Tis said that the strongest, flying

in advance, cleaves the air; and that the weaker, coming after,

enter with ease the aerial furrow. Ah! too feeble that we are to

attempt alone the road to heaven, let us at least learn to enter

the furrows of the saints. Their strong and certain wing will

draw us onward in their track; and when we shall see them so

lovely because they were so loving, we shall advance with less

fear toward Him who was the supreme object of their love.

{369}

Rosa To Gaetano.

Pisa, April 6, 1856.

I can never thank God enough for giving me in you, Gaetano, an

example and a guide for my whole life. I cannot refrain from

often saying so to my mother, and I say it because it is in my

heart. Spite of all the faults and imperfections which have so

many times prevented me from remaining faithful to the good

resolutions which I constantly make before God, I have so high an

idea of the perfection of a Christian wife, and of the duties I

shall soon have to fulfil, that I should indeed be terrified if I

did not confide in the goodness of God, who can do all, and who

will aid me who can do nothing. I often speak to my mother of the

holy respect with which the sacrament we are going to receive

inspires me; and I earnestly beg of you to ask our Lord for the

graces which are necessary to make me what I ought to be. I

promise you to use all my efforts for this end; and I will

dedicate the prayers of the month of May to this intention, for I

have great confidence that the Blessed Virgin will obtain for me

what I still lack. I believe that we shall have made great

progress toward perfection when we come to detest sincerely all

those little daily faults which seem trifles to us, but which

must be so very displeasing to the infinite perfection of God. In

all this, be sure that I will receive your counsels and

admonitions as they ought to be received from him who, by the

will of God, takes the place of father and mother.

April 17.

I am persuaded that the true means of preparing ourselves to

receive the sacrament by which we shall be united for time and

eternity is, to use all our efforts to attain that state of

Christian perfection to which God calls us; and I am also sure

that, if we cannot arrive absolutely at that degree of perfection

which we ardently desire, we can at least kindle in our hearts

the flames of that divine love which is itself the whole law. In

this you will be my guide and my example, Gaetano; we two shall

have but one will, one love also, loving each other in God, in

whom all affections become holy. Our affection did not spring

from outward accomplishments, nor from fleeting beauty, that

flower of a day. It was a stronger tie that bound our souls

together. We love each other because we love God. In him does our

union consist, because in him is all the strength, all the purity

of our love; because in him also is our supreme end. Hence come

those alternations of joy and sadness, according as we approach,

or seem to be receding from, that ideal type of perfection which

is the object of our desires. Ah! how good God is; and how often

I bless him for having put such desires and such hopes into our

hearts. For me, I now see in God not only the eternal power which

created heaven and earth, or the eternal love which redeemed us,

but also that sweet mercy which has given me in you, as it were,

his crowning blessing.

April 25.

Forgive me, Gaetano, my eternal repetitions; but what can I do?

For some time I have been able only to say the same things over

and over again. This very day reminds me of another day, a dear

and solemn one to me. I recollect with unspeakable pleasure the

solitary walk I took, with my mother to speak of you. The

stillness of the country, the fresh aspect of all nature, the

distant voices of the peasants, which alone from time to time

broke the profound tranquillity of the scene--all seemed new to

me, all spoke to my heart. I shall never forget the humble little

church in which, for the first time, I ventured to pray to God to

bless these new thoughts--thoughts which held me suspended, as it

were, between doubt and hope, but which found my heart firmly

resolved to do the divine will in all things.

{370}

From that day I have implored, and still unceasingly implore, the

graces which we need in order to lead together a truly Christian

life. Do you do the same, Gaetano; and let me assure you that I

cannot now pray to God for myself, without at once finding your

name mingled in my supplications.

April 30.

He only is worthy of a reward who has merited it. Do you not know

that combat--and what is life but a continual combat?--must

precede victory? No, Gaetano, we will not be like cowardly

soldiers who would fain have the honors of a triumph without

having seen the face of the foe. Let us rather strive to lay hold

on eternal felicity, which alone can satisfy our desires, by

faithfully performing all our duties; by supporting, for the love

of God, all the trials of life, heavy or light; by devoting

ourselves as much as possible to good works; then the desire of

heaven will not be for us a dreamy ideal or subject of vague

speculation, but it will enter into our daily life to sanctify

it. May your life be prolonged to serve the cause of God by

strong and constant virtues!

May 2.

I believe that, without proposing to ourselves a too ideal and,

as it were, an unattainable type of perfection, we can effect

much by earnestly striving to strengthen our will. Let us keep a

watch over it, and never allow it to incline toward what is evil,

even in the smallest things. Let us always bear in mind those

beautiful words of the _Following of Christ_: "If each year

we corrected one fault, how soon we should become better!" Yes,

strength of will is always necessary, and not less in small

trials than in great ones. In this, it seems to me Christian

perfection really consists; for what can be more pleasing to God

than to see our will always conformed to his? [Footnote 82]

[Footnote 82: The desire of Christian perfection had inspired

Rosa Ferrucci with the idea of collecting some short maxims,

which were well exemplified in her pious and innocent life.

Among her papers were found this little selection, which

seems to us worthy of translation.