"As for that, Mick, it needn't, nor it won't, disthress Tom a bit.

There's many a fine girl in the parish that i'd answer Tom betther nor

my little girl; and when I find that she's not for him, Mick awochal,

I tell you I won't disthress the colleen by harsh mains, so say no

more about it."

"Athen, Ned, I think you tuck it aisy enugh afther all you tould me

d'other day; you'd do this, an' you'd do that, an' you'd cut her off

wid a shillin', an' you'd bring her to her senses, an' what wouldn't

you do, Ned? I tould you to be studdy, or she'd cum over you wid her

pillaver; and I tell you now what I tould you then, that it is all

through the mains of that pauper Lennon she has done this--a purty

_scauhawn_ for her to be wastin' your mains an' your hard earnin's

upon. Arrah, Ned, I wondher you haven't more sense than to be

deludhered by that beggarman out of your little girl an' your money."

"No, Mick, young Lennon has nothing to say to it; if he never was

born, Winny wouldn't marry Tom. I would not misbelieve Winny on her

word, let alone her oath; an' she tould me she tuck her oath to Tom

that she'd never marry him. He taxed her wid young Lennon, an' so did

I; an' she declared, an' I believe her there too, Mick, that there

never was a word between them on such a subject; an' let there be no

more now between us. It can't be helped. But I will not disthress my

little girl by spakin' to her any more about Tom."

"Oh, very well, Ned; that'll do. But, be the book, Tom's not the boy

that'll let himself be med a fool of by any one; an' I'm the very

fellow that is able an' willin' to back him up in it."

"Athen what do you mane, Mick?--for the devil a wan of me can

undherstan' that threat, af it beant the law you mane, an' sure the

gandher in the yard beyant id have more sense than to think iv that.

My little girl never held out the smallest cumhither upon Tom; but,

instead iv that, she tells me that she always med scarse iv herself

wheen he was to the fore. So af it be law you mane, Mick, you may do

your worst."

"No, it isn't the law I mane, Ned. Law is dear at best, an' twiste as

dear at worst; but I mane to say that I'll back up poor Tom 'ithin

there, that's brakin' his heart about Winny; an' if you have any

regard for her, you'll do the same thing; an' you'll see we'll bring

the thing round, as we ought; that's what I mane. The girl can't deny

but what she med much iv Tom, until that other spalpeen cum across

her. Tom's no fool, an' knows what a girl mains very well."

"She does deny it, Mick, an' so she can. But there's no use, I tell

you, in sayin' any more about it. I can see plane an' aisy enough that

Winny isn't for him. I tould her I wouldn't strive to force her likin'

or dislikin', an' I won't; so just tell Tom that the girl is in

earnest. She tould him so herself, an' you may tell him the same

thing. He can't think so much about her, Mick, as you let on, for

there never was any courting betune them from first to last. I'll

spake to you no more about it, Mick, an' you needn't spake to me."

With this final resolve, Ned turned his back completely round upon his

neighbor, and walked with a hasty but firm step into the house.

{202}

Old Mick stood for some moments looking after him in a state of

perplexed surprise. He had some fears, though they were not very

great, that Winny's influence over her father was sufficiently strong

to determine him according to her wishes, if she was really averse to

a match with his son; but this latter was a point upon which he had

scarcely any fears at all; except such as were suggested by the hints

his son himself had thrown out about young Lennon. Upon this part of

the case he had spoken to Ned in such a way as to make him determined

to be very strict and decided in his opposition to any leaning on his

daughter's part in that quarter.

Old Mick, as he stood and looked, was perplexed on both these parts of

the case. If he believed that Winny Cavana had really and decidedly

refused to marry his son, he could only do so upon the supposition

that young Lennon was the mainspring of the whole movement. And,

again, to suppose she had preferred a "secret colloguing with that

pauper," behind her father's back, to an open and straight-forward

match with a rich young man, and what he called a handsomer man than

ever Lennon was, or ever would be, and with her father's full consent,

was what he could not bring himself to believe of any sensible girl.

But this he did believe, that if "that young whelp" was really not at

the bottom of Winny's refusal, a marriage with his son, be it brought

about _by what means it could_, would end in a reconciliation, not

only of Winny to so great a match, but of old Ned, as a necessary

consequence, to his daughter's acquiescence.

With these thoughts, and counter-thoughts, he too turned toward his

house, where he found Tom just going to his breakfast, in no very good

humor with the past, the present, or the future.

His father "bid him the time of day," and said "he had to look after a

cow that was on for cavin'," an' that he'd be back by the time he had

done his breakfast. This was a mere piece of consideration upon old

Mick's part.

Loss of appetite and uneasiness of manner in a handsome young man of

two-and-twenty is unhesitatingly set down by the old crones of a

parish to his being "in love," and they are seldom at a loss to supply

the _colleen dhass_ to whom these symptoms are attributable. In Tom's

case, however, there were other matters than love which were

accountable for the miserable attempt at breakfast he had made,

notwithstanding the elaborate preparations Nancy Feehily had made to

tempt him. His father was surprised to find him so soon following him

to the fields. But Tom, knowing his father's energy of action when a

matter was on his mind, suspected he had not been to that hour of the

day without managing an interview with old Cavana, and was on the

fidgets to know what passed. But love--as love--had nothing whatever

to say to his want of relish for so good a breakfast as had been set

before him.

He met his father returning toward the house, not far from the

celebrated gate already so often mentioned in this story. The spot

where they now met was a little more favorable for a conference than

the gate in question, for, unlike it, there was no private bower for

eavesdroppers to secrete themselves in.

"Well, father," said Tom, breaking into the subject at once, "have you

seen the old fogie about Winny?"

"I have, Tom, an' matthers is worse nor I thought. She has cum round

him most complately; for the present anyhow."

"I told you how it would be, father, and be d--!"

"Whist, Tom, don't be talking that way; there's wan thing I'm afther

being purty sure of, an' that is, that that spalpeen has nothin' to

say to it. It's all perverseness just for a while, an' she'll cum

round afther a bit."

"Well, father. I'll cut my stick for that bit, be it long or short; so

tell me, what can you do for me about money? You know if she was never

in the place, it's nothing to keep me here stravaging about the road."

"Thrue for you, Tom avic. It isn't easy, however, layin' a man's {203}

hand upon what you'd want wid you for a start; but sure my credit is

good in the bank, an' sure I'll put my name upon a bill-stamp for you

for twenty or thirty pounds. Take my advice an' don't go past your

aunt's in Armagh. Tom, she's an illigant fine woman, an' will resave

you wid a _ceade mille a faltha_, an' revive you out an' out afore you

put a month over you. There's not a man in Armagh has a betther thrade

than her husband, Bill Wilson the carpenter--cabinet-maker, I b'lieve

they call him--an' b'lieve my words, she'll make the most of her

brother's son. Who knows, Tom avic? Arrah, maybe you'd do betther down

there nor at home. Any way Winny won't be gone afore you come back,

an' if we can't manage wan thing maybe we would another--_thig um,

thee?_"

"Well, I hope so; but, father, I'll be off before Sunday, and this is

Wednesday."

"You'll have lashins of time, Tom; but the sorra wan but I'll be very

lonely; for although, Tom, you do be wandhering from home by day, and

stopping out late sometimes by night, sure I know you're not far off,

an' I always hear you lettin' yourself in betune night an' mornin'.

Though Caesar doesn't bark at you, I hear him whinin' an' shufflin'

when you're coming to the back doore?"

"No matter about that now, father; I suppose I can get the money

tomorrow or after, and start for my aunt's?"

"Any minute, Tom. I'm never without a bill-stamp in the house in

regard of the fairs. Come in, and I'll dhraw it out at wanst, an' I'll

engage they'll give you the money on it at the bank; don't be the

laste taste aleared of that, Tom."

Whether Tom then intended to be guided by his father's advice, and not

go past his aunt's in Armagh, it is not easy to say; but at all events

he "let on" that he would not do so. When he got his heels loose, with

a trifle of cash in his pocket, he could turn his steps in any

direction he wished.

They then returned to the house, and old Mick, putting on his

spectacles, opened a table-drawer in the parlor, where he kept his

writing materials, accounts, receipts, etc. After some discussion,

which had well-nigh ended in an argument, as to whether the amount

should be twenty or thirty pounds, a bill was ultimately drawn by the

son upon the father for the former sum, at three months. Tom had,

other reasons than the mere increase of ten pounds in the amount, for

wishing to have the word thirty instead of twenty written in the bill;

however, he could not screw more than the latter sum out of the old

man, which he said was ample to take him to his aunt's in Armagh,

where he'd get lashins an' lavins of the best of everything. Tom knew

that for this purpose it would be ample, and therefore failed to bring

forward any arguments to sustain his view as to the necessity of

making it thirty; but as it was he himself who wrote it out, he patted

the blotting-paper over it in great haste--a matter which was not, of

course, observed by the old man, nor if it had been would he have

supposed there was anything unusual, much less for a purpose, in the

act. The father having read it carefully over, and seeing that it was

all correct, wrote his name with some dignity of manner across the

bill. This portion of the writing Tom took care to let dry without any

blotting at all, for he held it to the fire instead. Neither did the

old man observe this unusual course, the manifest mode being to have

used the blotting-paper, as in the first instance.

The matter being now thus far perfected, Tom asked his father if he

could have Blackberry--one of the farm horses--to go into C. O. S.

early next morning.

"An' welcome, Tom, if he was worth a hundred pounds," said the old

man, locking the drawer.

{204}

CHAPTER XVI.

Tom spent the remainder of that day very quietly, most of it in his

own room. His first employment, whatever it may have been, was over an

old portfolio, where he kept his own writing materials. What were the

chief subjects of his caligraphy is not known. Perhaps love-letters to

such of his numerous _enamoratas_ as could read may have formed a

portion, nor is it impossible but the police might have given a trifle

to have laid their hands upon some others. Neither were likely to see

the light, however, as Tom Murdock kept that old portfolio carefully

locked up in his box.

The next morning at an unusually early hour for him Tom proceeded upon

Blackberry, fully caparisoned with the best saddle and bridle in the

place, to C. O. S.; where, after ten o'clock, he found no difficulty

in procuring cash upon his father's acceptance.

Now, although in the first instance Tom had no notion of stopping at

his aunt's in Armagh, or perhaps of going there at all, upon

reflection he changed his mind altogether upon the subject. He had

some congenial spirits there beside his aunt--spirits with whom he

occasionally had had personal communication as well as more frequent

epistolary correspondence. Beyond Armagh, therefore, upon second

thoughts, he resolved not to go upon this occasion. As to any

depression of spirits on account of Winny Cavana, he had none, except

the loss of her fortune, which would have stood to him so well in his

present circumstances. And here he remembered that his father had told

him the interest of "that same" was all he could have touched, and

even that at only three per cent.; so that for the mere present he had

done as well, if not better. What he had drawn out of the bank upon

his father's credit, would settle the two harassing and intricate

cases, which two different attorneys, on the part of those whom he had

most grievously wronged, had threatened to expose in a court of law.

He would have some over--he took care of that--to take him to Armagh

and back, where he could not manage _this time_ to go at the expense

of "the fund." He did not purpose, however, to stop very long at his

aunt's. He would tell Winny when he came back that her refusal of him

had driven him away--he knew nor cared not whither; but that he found

it impossible to live without sometimes seeing her, if it was only

from his own door to hers: yes, he would follow that business up the

moment he returned. In the meantime it might not be without some good

effect his being absent for a short time.

Such were the thoughts and plans with which Tom, after he had settled

with the attorneys, left his poor old father, we may say completely

alone; for after the rather sharp words which had taken place between

the two old men, he could hardly continue his customary visits, or

half-casual, half-projected meetings with Ned Cavana, by their

respective mearings. Hitherto in this respect, more than in actual

visits, the intercourse between these two old men had been habitual,

indeed it may be said of daily occurrence, mutually watched for. If

one saw the other overlooking his men, either sowing or reaping, or

planting or digging, according to the time of the year, the habit

almost amounted to a rule, that, whichever saw the other first, quit

his own men, and sloped over toward his neighbor to have a look at

what was going on, and having there exhausted the pros and cons of

whatever the work might be, a general chat was kept up and the visit

returned on the spot.

Now, however, matters were to a great extent changed. This "untoward

circumstance" between Tom Murdock and Winny Cavana, together with the

subsequent conversation upon the subject between the fathers, rendered

this friendly {205} intercourse impossible. From all his son had told

him, old Mick thought Winny Cavana had treated him badly, and he

considered that old Ned had "gone back of his word" to himself. He was

a plucky, proud old cock, and his advice to Tom would be "to see it

out with the pair of them, without any _pillaver_."

What he meant by "seeing it out" he hardly knew himself, for he had

repudiated the law in a most decided manner when taxed with it by Ned.

What, then, could he mean by "seeing it out?" Perhaps Tom would not

require his advice upon the subject.

From this day forth, however, old Mick was not the man he used to be.

A man at his age, however well he may have worn--ay, even to have

obtained the name of an evergreen--generally does so having his mind

at ease as well as his body in health--the one begets the other; and

so an old man thrives, and often looks as well at seventy as he did at

sixty. But these old evergreens sometimes begin to fail suddenly if

the cold wind of disappointment blows roughly upon their hitherto

happy hearts; and Tom Murdock was not three weeks away, when the

remarks of the people returning from the chapel, respecting old Mick,

were that "they never saw a man so gone in the time." And the fact was

so.

Old Mick Murdock had been all his life a cheerful, chatty man, one

with whom it was a comfort to "be a piece of the road home." Moreover,

he had always been erect in person, with a pair of cheeks like a

scarlet Crofton apple--not the occasional smooth flush of delicacy,

but the constant hard rough tint of health. There were many young men

in the parish whom a walk alongside of old Mick Murdock for a couple

of miles would put out of breath, while you would not see a heave,

however slight, out of old Mick's chest.

Look on him now: "he has not a word to throw to a dog," as the saying

has it; he is beginning to stoop in his gait, and more than once

already he has struck his heel against the ground in walking. As yet

it is not a drag, and those indications of a break-up in his

constitution are comparatively slight. Ere long, however, you will see

him with a stick, and you will be hardly able to recognize him as the

Mick Murdock of a few months before.

Tom, as we have seen, having settled with the attorneys, started for

his aunt's; where, as his father had predicted, he was received with

open arms, and a joyful clapping of hands and a _ceade mille a

faltha_. "Oh, then, Tom, avic macree, but it's you that's welcome; an'

shure I needn't ax you how you are. Oh, but it's you that's grown the

fine young man since I seen you last. An' let me see--how long ago is

that now, Tom agra? It'll be four years coming Easthre Sunda' next

since I was down in Rathcashmore. An' how is Mick a wochal? an' how's

_herself_, Tom, the 'colleen dhass' you know?" And she gave him a poke

with her finger between the ribs. "Ah, Tom avic, yon needn't look so

shy; shure I know all about it, an' why wouldn't I? It'll be an

illigant match for the pair iv ye; as good for the wan as for the

other--coming Shraft, Tom, eh? In troth Winny will be a comfort to

you, as well as a creedit; that's what she will, won't she, Tom?"

"Let me alone now, aunt; I'm tired after the journey; and it's not of

her I'm thinking."

"See that now--arra _na bocklish_, Tom, don't be afther telling me

that; shure didn't Mick himself write to me two or three times to let

me know how matthers was going on, and the grand party he gev on

Hallow-Eve, and the fun ye all had, and how you danced wid her a'most

the whole night."

"Nonsense, aunt! Did he tell you how anybody else danced?"

"No, the sorra word he said about any wan that was there, barrin'

yourself an' herself."

"Well, never heed her now. I'll {206} tell you more about her

to-morrow or next day, and maybe ask your advice upon the subject at

the same time."

Their conversation was here interrupted, as Tom thought very

opportunely, by the entrance of Bill Wilson, whose welcome for his

wife's nephew was as hearty, in a manner, as that which he had

received from herself. The conversation, of course, now "became

general;" and Bill Wilron, although he had never been out of Armagh,

seemed to have everybody down about Tom's country pat by heart, for he

asked for them all by name, not forgetting, although he left her to

the last, to ask for Winny Cavana. It was evident to Tom, from his

manner, that he was up to the project in that quarter; and as evident

that, like his aunt, he knew nothing of how matters up to this had

turned out, or how they were likely to end. He answered his uncle's

questions, however, with reasonable self-possession; and his aunt,

having perceived from his last observation to herself that there was

"a screw loose," turned the conversation very naturally to the subject

of Tom's physical probabilities, saying,

"Athen, Tom jewel, maybe it's what you're hungry, an' would like to

take something to eat afore dinner; shure an' shure it's the first

question I ought to have asked you."

"No, aunt, I thank you kindly, I'll take nothing until your dinner;

there's a friend of mine lives in the skirts of the town; I want to

see him, and I'll be back in less than an hour."

"A friend of yours, Tom? athen shure if he is, he ought to be a friend

of ours; who is he, Tom a wochal?"

"Oh, no, aunt, you never heard of him. He's a boy I have a message to

from, a friend in the country."

"Why, then, Tom, you'll be wanting to know the way in this strange

place, an' shure I'll send the girl wid you to show you. Shure how

could you know, an' you never in Armagh afore?"

"No, aunt, I say, I have a tongue in my head, and I'm not an

_onshiough_. I'll find him out without taking your girl from her

business."

"Athen, Tom jewel, whoever bought you for an _onshiough_ would lay out

his money badly, I'm thinking; an' although you were never in this big

city afore, the devil a bit afeared I am but you'll find your way, an'

well have lashins iv everything that's good for you, and a _ceade

mille a faltha_ when you come back."

Tom then left them, bidding them a temporary good-bye. He he did not

think it at all necessary to enlighten his aunt to the fact that he

had paid periodical visits to Armagh from time to time, and had on

these occasions passed her very door. But these visits were of short

duration, and have been only hinted at. They were sufficient, however,

to familiarize him with the portions of the city to which he now

directed his steps. But as we are not aware of the precise spot to

which he went, nor acquainted with those whose society he sought, we

shall not follow him.

His aunt, after he had left, was in no degree sparing in her praise of

him to her husband, who had never seen him before, but who indorsed

every word she said with the greatest promptitude and good-humor, "as

far as he could see."

Bill Wilson was no fool. He gave his wife's nephew a hearty and a

sincere welcome, and he knew it would be an ungracious thing not to

acquiesce in all that she said to his advantage; but it was an

indiscreet slip to add the words "as far as he could see." It implied

a caution on his part which did not say much for the confidence he

ought to have felt in his wife's opinion, and went merely to

corroborate her praises of his personal appearance.

"As far as you can see,' Bill! Well, indeed, that far you can find no

fault at all, at all; that's shure an' sartin. Where would you find

the likes iv him, as far as that same goes, William Wilson?--not in

Armagh, let me tell you. I ax you did you {207} ever see a finer head

iv hair, or a finer pair iv ejes in a man's head, or a handsomer nose,

or a purtier mouth? An' the whiskers, Bill!--ah, them's the dark

whiskers from Slieve-dhu; none of your moss-colored whiskers that you

see about here, Bill. Look at the hoith iv him! He's no leprahaun,

Bill Wilson; an' I say if you go out an' walk the town for three

hours, you'll not meet the likes iv him till you come back again to

where he is himself'."

"Faix, an' I won't try that, Mary, for I believe every word you're

afther sayin'. But, shure, I didn't mane to make Little of the young

man at all."

"You said 'as far as you could see,' Bill; an' shure we all know how

far that is. But amn't I tellin' you what is beyant your sight,--what

he is to the backbone, for larnin', an' everythin' that's good, manly,

an' honest? There now, Bill, I hope you don't misdoubt me,--'as far as

you can see,' indeed!"

"Well, Mary, I meant nothing against him by that; indeed I believe,

and I am shure, he's as good as he's handsome. But I must go out now

to the workshop to look after the men. Let me know when he comes

back."

Tom was not so long away as he had intended. The person whom he went

to look for was not at home, and he returned to his aunt at once. He

had not many acquaintances in Armagh, and they were such as might be

better pleased with a visit _after dark_ than so early in the day.

Before "the dinner" was prepared, Tom had another chat with his aunt,

and, as a matter of course, she could not altogether avoid the subject

of Winny Cavana. She had been given to understand by her brother that

a successful courtship was carrying on between Tom and her. But the

humor in which Tom had received her first quizzing upon the subject at

once told that intelligent lady of the "loose screw" on some side of

the question. Upon so important a matter, a married woman, and own

aunt to such a fine young man, one of the parties concerned, Mrs.

Wilson could not permit herself to remain ignorant. Her direct

questions in the first instance, and her dexterous cross-examination

afterward, showed Tom the folly of hoping to evade a full confession

of his having been refused; and it may be believed that he set forth

in no small degree how ill-treated he had been by the said Winny

Cavana _and_ her father.

His aunt consoled him, so far as she could, with hopes that matters

might not be so bad as he apprehended; reminding him at the same time

of the extent of the sea, and the number of good fishes which must

still be in it uncaught. That shrewd woman could also perceive, from

Tom's manner, under his confession, as well as his first ill-humor,

that the loss of Winny Cavana's fortune, and the reversion of her fat

farm, were more matters of regret to him than the loss of herself.

"And why not?" she thought, under the impression of Winny's

ill-treatment of such a fine han'som' young fellow as her nephew.

"Shure, couldn't he have his pick an' choice of any girl in that, or

in any other parish; ay, or among her acquaintances in Armagh, for

that matter? But as for young Lennon! she was sartin shure Winny

couldn't be such a born idgiot as to make much of the likes of him

where Tom was to the fore."

She thus encouraged her nephew, taking much the same view of his case

as old Mick had done, and giving him pretty much the same advice--

"not to dhraw back at all, but to persavare an' get a hoult in her by

hook or by crook, an' thrust to a reconciliation aftherwards. He might

take her word for it, it was more make b'lief than anything else.

Don't give it up, Tom; them sort of girls like persavarince; I know I

did, a wochal, in my time. What's on her mind is, {208} that it's

afther her money you are, an' Not hersel'."

"The devil a much she's out there, aunt; but I wish I could make her

think otherwise."

"Lissen here, Tom; 'a council's no command,' they say, an' my advice

is this. Let on when you go back that you could get an illigant fine

girl in Armagh wid twiste her fortune; but that nothing would tempt

you to forsake your own little girl at home, that was a piece iv your

heart since ye were both the hoith of a creepeen; do you see? an' I'll

back you up in it. Tell her she may bestow her fortune upon Kate

Mulvey or any one she likes; that herself is all you want. You know

she won't do that when it comes to the point."

"Not a bad plan, aunt. But sure I should let on to my father, and to

every one in the neighborhood; and they'll be asking me who she is,

and about her father and her mother, and all about her; and I should

have answers ready, if I mean the thing to look like the truth."

"An' won't I give you all that as pat as A, B, C? Don't I know the

very girl that'll answer to a T, Tom?"

"Why then, aunt dear, mightn't you bring me across her in earnest?"

"Faix, an' I could not, Tom, for a very good reason--that I'm not

acquainted wid her, except to see her sometimes; an' I know her name,

an' who she is, an' her father's name, an' how he med his money.

They're as proud as paycocks, I can tell you; an nayther the wan nor

the other would look the same side iv the street wid the likes iv us,

Tom; but they don't know that at Rathcash; an' shure, if Winny thries

to find out about them, she'll find that you're tellin' the truth as

far as the names an' money goes, an I'll let on to be as thick as two

pickpockets wid them."

Tom was silent. The closing words of his aunt's speech made him wish

that he could pick some of their pockets of about a hundred pounds.

The plan, however, seemed a good one, and had the effect of putting

Tom Murdock into good humor; and when Bill Wilson joined them at

dinner Tom was so agreeable and chatty, that Bill thought his wife,

although she was Tom's aunt, had not said a word too much for him; and

he regretted more than ever that he had used the words "so far as he

could see." He anticipated--nay, he dreaded--that they would be

brought up to him again that night with greater force than ever.

CHAPTER XVII.

The most part of ready cash, whatever the sum may have been, which Tom

had received at the bank, having been, as he called it, "swallowed up

by them cormorants, the attorneys," he had, after all, but a trifling

balance in his pocket. He was determined, therefore, to live quietly

for some time at his aunt's upon "the lashins and lavins," taking her

advice, and arranging with her his plan of operations upon his return

to Rathcashmore. And his aunt's advice, in a prudent and worldly point

of view, was not to be controverted, if anything could tend toward the

attainment of his object; that was the question.

It was impossible, however, that Tom could rest altogether satisfied

with the company of his aunt and her husband, and three or four

children between ten and seventeen years of age; particularly as the

eldest of his cousins was a long-necked boy with big, stuck-out ears,

who worked in his father's shop, instead of a graceful girl with dark

hair and fine eyes, whose domestic duties must keep her in the house

as her mother's assistant, or perhaps enable her, when she could be

spared, to guide him through the principal parts of the town, of which

he would have feigned the most profound ignorance. But the eldest

child just past seventeen, as we have seen. {209} happened to be a

boy, not a girl, and Tom did not consider this the best arrangement

that could be wished. In consequence, he sometimes spent an evening

from home, with one or other, or perhaps with all the congenial

spirits with whom, as a _delegate_--for the truth may be

confessed--from another county, he could claim brotherhood. On this

occasion, however, he was not on official business in Armagh; and

whatever intercourse took place between them was of a purely social

nature.

Tom was not altogether such a _mauvais sujet_ as perhaps the reader

has set him down in his own mind to be, from the inuendos which have

been thrown out respecting him, as well as the actual portions of his

character which have made themselves manifest. It must be

confessed--nay, I believe it has been admitted not many lines

above--that he was a Ribbonman; and although that includes all that is

murderous and wicked, when a necessity arises, yet in the absence of

such necessity a Ribbonman may not be altogether void of certain good

points in his character. It is the frightful _obligation_ which he

_labors_ under that makes a villain of him, should circumstances

require the aid of his iniquity. Apart from this, and from what is

termed an agrarian grievance, a Ribbonman may not be a bad family-man,

although the training he undergoes in "The Lodge" is ill calculated to

nourish his domestic sympathies.

Tom had now been upward of a month enjoying the hospitality of his

aunt; and notwithstanding that she had done all in her power to

entertain him, and "make much" of him, he was beginning to tire of the

eternal smoke and flags, and stacks of chimneys, which were always the

same to the eye: no bright "blast of sun," no sudden dark cloud, made

any difference in them; there they were, always the same dark color,

no matter what light shone upon them. No wonder, then, Tom Murdock

began once more to long for the fresh breeze that blew about the wild

hills of Rathcashmore, the green fields of his father's farm, and the

purple heather of Slieve-dhu, with the white rocks of Slieve-bawn by

her side.

Absence too had done more really to touch Tom's heart with respect to

Winny Cavana than to wean him from the "saucy slut," as he had called

her in pique on his departure. He had "come across,"--this is the

Irish mode of expressing, "had been introduced,"--through his aunt's

assistance, several of what she called illigant fine girls, nieces of

her husband's and others, and his heart confessed that none of them

"were a patch" upon Winny Cavana, after all. He thus became fidgety,

and began to speak of returning home. Of course the aunt opposed her

hospitality to such a step, for the present at least: "Just as we were

beginning to enjoy you, Tom avic," said she; and of course her husband

made a show of joining her, although he knew there had been more beer

drunk in the house in the last month than in the six preceding ones;

neither did the cold meat turn out to half the account. He knew this

by his pocket, not by his knowledge of the cookery. Tom, however, made

no promise of further sojourn than "to put the following Sunday over

him," and it was now Thursday. But the next morning's post hurried

matters. It brought him a letter from his father, which prevented his

aunt from pressing his stay beyond the following day, when it was

finally settled by Tom that he would start for home. "It ran thus," as

is the common mode of introducing a letter in a novel or story:

"DEAR TOM,--This comes to you hoppin' to find you in good health,

which I am sorry to say it does not lave me at present; but thank God

for all his mercies. I was very lonesum entirely afther you left me;

an the more, dear Tom, as I had not my ould neighbor Ned Cavana to

spake to, as used to be the case afore that {210} young chisel of a

daughter of his cam round him to brake wid us. She's there still,

seemingly as proud as ever; but she'll be taken down a peg wan of

these days, mark my words. I have wan piece of good news for you, Tom

avic; an' that is, that young Lennon never darkened their doore since

you went; and more be token, she never spoke a word to him on Sunda's

after mass, but went straight home with her father from the chapel.

This I seen myself; for although I have been very daunny since you

left me, I med bowld wid myself not to lose prayers any Sunda' wet or

dhry, for no other purpose but to watch herself an' that chap. So,

dear Tom, you needn't be afeared of him. I think, indeed; I seen him

going down the road the three Sunda's wid Kate Mulvey; so I think

Winny tould the truth to her father about him. Dear Tom, I have not

been well at all at all for the last three weeks, an' I am not able to

be out all day as I used to be, an' I hardly know how matthers are

goin' on upon the farm. I see old Ned a'most every day from the doore

or the garden, where I sometimes go out when it's fine; I see him

wandherin' about his farm as brisk an' as hard as ever. I think

nothin' would give that man a brash. Dear Tom, I did not like writin'

to you to say I was lonesum or unwell until you had taken a turn out

of yourself at your aunt's; but I am not gettin' betther, an' I think

the sight iv you would do me good. Tell your aunt to let you cum home

to me now. Indeed, dear Tom, I'm too long alone; an' havin' no wan to

spake to makes me fret, though I wouldn't interfere wid you for a

while afther you went. If ould Ned Cavana was the man I tuck him to

be, he wouldn't let the few words that cum betune us keep him away

from me all this time, an' I not well; but he never put to me, nor

from me, since you left, nor I to him. Dear Tom, cum back to me as

soon as you can, an' maybe we'll get the betther of him an' Winny,

afther all. Hopin' your aunt, an' the childer, an' Bill himself, is

all in good health, I remain your father till death,

"Michael Murdock."

Tom, as I have hinted, was not without his good points, and, as he

read over the above letter from his poor lonely father, his heart

smote him for having been so long away, and where, to tell the truth

to himself, he had no great fun or pleasure. His conscience, moreover,

accused him of one glaring act of ingratitude and villany, he might

call it, toward the poor old man. There was something tender and

self-sacrificing in the letter, yet it was not without a complaining

tone all through, that brought all Tom's better feelings uppermost in

his heart; and he resolved to start for home early the next morning.

He now felt that he had business at home, which at one time he had

never contemplated taking the smallest trouble about, beside keeping

his poor old father better company than he had hitherto done. Yet,

with all this softening of his disposition, he was never more

determined to carry out his object with respect to Winny Cavana, by

fair means---or by _foul!_

What his father had said about young Lennon gave him hopes that, in

the end, a scheme which he had planned for the latter might not be

_necessary_.

Tom knew there could be no use in writing to his father to say he

would so soon be home with him. The nearest post-town was seven miles

from Rathcashmore; and although any person "going in had orders" to

call at the post-office, and bring out all letters for the neighbors

of both the Rathcashes, yet were he to write now, his letter was sure

to lie there for some days, and he would undoubtedly be home before

its receipt. Thus he argued, and therefore endeavored to content

himself with the resolution he had formed to make no delay; and

whatever "his traps" may have been, they were got together and locked

in his box at once.

{211}

He had engaged to meet a _particular friend_ on the following evening,

Friday, partly on _business_ previous to returning to _his own part_

the country. But he would now anticipate this visit by going there at

once, so as to enable him to leave for home early next morning. He

hoped to find his father better than his letter might lead him to

suppose; and he had no doubt his presence and society, which he was

determined should be more constant and sympathizing than heretofore,

would serve to cheer him.

Nothing, then, which his aunt could say, and certainly nothing which

her husband had added to what she did say, had any effect toward

altering Tom's resolution to start for home on the following morning.

By this means he hoped to reach his father on the evening of the

second day,--railways had not been then established in any part of

Ireland, not even the Dublin and Kingstown line,--and he would save

the poor old man from the lonesome necessity of going to church on

Sunday, "be it wet or dry."

He carried out his determination without check or hindrance, and

arrived at the end of the lane leading up to Rathcashmore house soon

after dusk in the evening of Saturday. He travelled by car from C--k;

and the horse being neither too spirited, nor too _fresh_, after his

journey, stood quietly on the road, with his head down, and his off

fore-leg in the "first position," until the driver returned, having

left Tom Murdock's box above at the house.

The meeting between old Mick and his son was as tender and

affectionate on the old man's part as could well be, and as much so on

Tom's as could well be expected. Old Mick had some secret

anticipations--presentiment, perhaps, I should have called it--that

they would never part again in this world, until they parted for the

last time. Daily he felt an increasing weakness of limb, weariness of

mind, which whispered to his heart that that parting was not far

distant. His son's arrival, however, had the effect which he had

promised to himself. He seemed to improve both in spirits and in

health. If he had not thrown away the stick,--which the reader was

forewarned he would adopt,--he made more use of it cutting at the

_kippeens_, and whatever else came in his way, than as a help to his

progress.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

------

From The St. James' Magazine.

THE INVENTOR OF THE STEAM-ENGINE.

In 1828 the learned Arago, a Frenchman, published a remarkable work on

the history of the steam-engine. It contains much information that had

hitherto been little known on the scientific labor and discoveries of

Salomon de Caus. He cites the work of the latter, entitled "_Les

Raisons des Forces Mouvantes_," which was first published at Frankfort

in 1615, and reprinted at Paris in 1624; and M. Arago draws from it

the conclusion that Salomon de Caus was the original inventor of the

steam-engine.

Six years after this notice of the life and labor of the French

engineer, there appeared in "_Le Musée des Familles_" a letter from

Marion Delorme, supposed to have been written on the 3d of February,

1641, to her lover Cinq-Mars, in which she tells him that she is doing

the honors of Paris to an English lord, the Marquis of Worcester, and

showing him all {212} the curiosities of that city. She goes on to say

that among other institutions she had taken milord to Bicêtre, where a

madman was confined for insisting on a wonderful discovery he had made

on the application of steam from boiling water; that the

superintendent of the asylum had shown a book to the marquis written

on the subject by this lunatic; and that after reading a few pages the

English nobleman begged for an interview with Salomon de Caus, from

which he returned in a grave and pensive mood, declaring that this man

was one of the greatest geniuses of his age.

Such is the substance of the letter of Marion Delorme; and the editor

of "_Le Musée des Familles_" adds that the Marquis of Worcester

appropriated the discovery to himself, and recorded it in his work

entitled "Century of Inventions," thus causing himself to be looked

upon by his countrymen as the inventor of the steam-engine.

The anecdote became very popular, and was copied into standard works,

represented in engravings, etc., etc. At length some incredulous

authors examined more closely into the matter, and found that not only

had Salomon de Caus never been confined in a lunatic asylum, but that

he had held the appointment of engineer and architect to Louis XIII.

up to his death in 1630, while Marion Delorme is asserted to have

visited Bicêtre in 1641!

On tracing this mystification to its source, we find that M. Henri

Berthoud, a literary man of some repute, and a constant contributor to

"_Le Musée des Familles_," confesses that the letter imputed to Marion

Delorme was in fact written by himself!

But the most curious part of the story is that the world refused to

believe in M. Berthoud's confession, so great a hold had the anecdote

taken on the public mind; and a Paris newspaper went so far even as to

declare that the original autograph of this letter was to be seen in a

library in Normandy, in which province Salomon de Caus was born. M.

Berthoud wrote again denying its existence, and offered a million to

any one who would produce the letter. From that time the affair was no

more spoken of, and Salomon de Caus was allowed to remain in

undisputed possession of his fame, as having been the first to point

out the use of steam in his work, "_Les Raisons des Forces

Mouvantes_." He had previously been employed as engineer to Henry,

Prince of Wales, son of James I., and he published a volume in folio,

in London, "_La perspective avec les Raisons des Ombres et Miroirs_."

In his dedication of another work to the queen of England, 15th of

September, 1614, we find some allusion made to the construction of

hydraulic machines. On his return to France he, as before said, was

appointed engineer to Louis XIII., and was doubtless patronized by

Cardinal Richelieu, that great promoter of the arts and letters.

The writings of Salomon de Caus were held in much estimation among

learned men during the whole of the seventeenth century. He had,

however, been anticipated in the discovery of steam for the propelling

of large bodies, for on the 17th of April, 1543, the Spaniard, Don

Blasco de Garay, launched a steam-vessel at Barcelona, in presence of

the Emperor Charles V. It was an old ship of 200 tons, called the

_Santissima Trinidad_, which had been fitted up for the experiment,

and which moved at the rate of ten miles an hour.

The inventor of this first steamer was merely looked upon as an

enthusiast, whose imagination had run mad; and his only encouragement

was a donation of 200,000 maravedis from his sovereign, but the

emperor no more dreamt of using the discovery than did Napoleon I.,

three centuries later, when the ingenious Fulton suggested to him the

application of steam to navigation. It is well known that Fulton was

not even permitted to make an essay of this new {213} propelling force

before the French emperor. So then, we must date the fact of the

introduction of steam navigation as far back as 1543; anterior to the

discovery of Salomon de Caus in 1615; to the Marquis of Worcester in

1663; to Captain Savary in 1693; to Dr. Papin in 1696; and to Fulton

and others, who all lay claim to the original idea.

But perhaps we may be wrong in denying originality to these men, for

we have no proof that either of them had any knowledge of the

discoveries of his predecessor.

It was only on the 18th of March, 1816, that the first steam-vessel

appeared in France, making her entrance into the seaport of Havre; she

was the _Eliza_, which had left Newhaven, in England, on the previous

day.

------

From The Fortnightly Review.

THE CLOUDS AND THE POOR.

No one can write upon the clouds without some reference to Mr.

Ruskin's labors. Few will forget the four chapters in the first volume

of "Modern Painters," dealing first with men's apathy for those forms

of beauty which daily flit around us, and ending with the magnificent

contrast between Turner and Claude, showing with what difference they

had rendered the calm of the mist and the shock of the tempest, the

crimson of the dawn and the fire of sunset We are, indeed, all of us

too apathetic, and the summer and the winter clouds are alike unheeded

by us. And yet our grey English clouds have impressed themselves upon

even our language and our daily speech. Our word "sky" has nothing in

common with the _ciel_ of the French and the _cielo_ of the Italians,

which through the Latin _coelum_ refer to the clear blue chasm of the

air. Our "sky" is connected with the Old-English _seua_, and literally

means "the place of shadows." Our "welkin" is connected with _wolcen_,

"a cloud," and is derived from a root which points to the incessant,

rolling, billowy motion of the clouds.

But if we have failed to notice the clouds and their beauty, others

have not failed. Men, seeing their power, feeling their blessings,

have worshipped them. Upon them our Scandinavian ancestors built their

creeds, and from them created their gods and goddesses. The beauty and

the delicacy of the early Aryan mythology is interwoven with the

storm-cloud, which alike inspires the story of the Odyssey and solves

the mystery of OEdipus. Mr. Ruskin has already quoted from

Aristophanes. We could wish that he had supplemented the Athenian

poet, who gives merely the latter sensuous mythological view of the

clouds, with passages from the fathers, who so deeply penetrated into

both their beauty and their moral aspect. With them the clouds appear

no longer puissant goddesses, daughters of Father Ocean, thronging in

troops from Maeotis and Mimas, their golden pitchers filled with the

waters of the Nile. Their fleecy forms told them of him who "giveth

snow like wool, and scattereth the hoar frost like ashes," of him who

"maketh the clouds his chariots, and rideth on the wings of the wind."

They could not feel the whirlwind's blast without remembering that it

had borne Elijah heavenward, nor hear the thunder without remembering

the thunder and lightning which clothed God on Sinai, {214} nor watch

the evening rack without remembering that the clouds, such perhaps as

they were gazing at, had received their Master out of his disciples'

sight, and that again from them he should descend at his second

coming. In these days of atmospheric laws, of measurements of

rainfalls, and weather forecasts, we cannot by the utmost effort of

the imagination place ourselves in their position. To them, as to the

first Christians, heaven was directly above their heads, divided from

the earth only by the screen of clouds. They must have regarded those

white ethereal shadows, those dark rolling masses, in much the same

way as the early sacred painters,--peopled each flake with cherubs and

angels, and heard the air rustle with wings.

Be this as it may. Even if religion inspired them with such thoughts,

they certainly were not insensible to the beauty which daily blossoms

in the sky. "There is," cries St. Chrysostom, "a meadow on the earth

and a meadow, too, in the sky. There are the various flowers of the

stars, the rose below, the rainbow above." [Footnote 31] "Look up to

heaven," he says, "and see how much more beautiful it is than the roof

of palaces. The pavement of the palace above is much more grand than

the roof below." [Footnote 32] His writings are full of metaphors

drawn from the sky and the clouds. He speaks of "snow-storms of

miracles," and "thick-falling showers of cares," and cries, "When God

doth comfort, though sorrows come upon thee by thousands like

snow-flakes, thou shalt be above them all." He reproaches men for

looking down like swine to the earth, and not up to the sky,

[Footnote 33] which he declares is the fairest of roofs, guiding them

by its beauty to their Maker. [Footnote 34] And filled with that

democratic spirit which so burns in all his writings, he cries to the

poor man, "Seest thou this heaven here, how beautiful, how vast it is,

how it is placed on high? This beauty the rich man enjoyeth not more

than thou, nor is it in his power to thrust thee aside, and make it

all his own; for as it was made for him, so it was, too, for thee. . .

. . . Do not all enjoy it equally--rich and poor? . . . . . Yea,

rather, if I must speak somewhat marvellously, we poor enjoy it more

than they. . . . . The poor more than any enjoy the luxury of the

elements." [Footnote 35]

[Footnote 31: "Homilies on the Statues." The Oxford Translation.]

[Footnote 32: "Homilies on 1 Thessalonians iv. 12." ]

[Footnote 33: "Homilles on St. Matthew." Part II. ]

[Footnote 34: "Homilles on St. John." Part II.]

[Footnote 35: "Homilles on 2 Corinthians." ]

The passage is full of the deepest interest. Mr. Ruskin has shown us

with what mixed feelings the Greeks loved the clouds, and how the

mediaevalist feared them. It would be well to know how they have been

and are still viewed in England by the lower classes. For, as we

before said, the upper classes care little about the clouds. The

[Greek text] (changeful days) of England pass by unnoticed, except to

fill up a gap in a conversation. St. Swithin is our national saint,

but we are not enthusiastic devotees. Only when a picnic or a cricket

match is involved do we trouble ourselves about the clouds. Then the

barometer is studied, and the weathercock becomes an object of

interest. In short, only when our pleasures are at stake do we care

whether the day is wet or fine. On the other hand, life with the poor,

man depends on the weather. Three continuous wet days in London throw

no less than twenty thousand people out of employment. Fine weather is

the poor man's bread-winner, his comforter, his physician. He may

therefore be pardoned if, with Ulysses, he in the first place regards

it from an economical point of view. Thus the laborers in the north

midland counties speak of showery weather as "rich weather,"--that

is, not only enriching the crops, but themselves. On the contrary, as

producing a different effect on their calling, the sailors on the

north-east {215} coast speak of such weather as "shabby weather," and

call rain--useless to them--"dirt." This indeed must be the case. In

the lowest as in the earliest stages of society, this utilitarian

spirit--not necessarily base, but co-existent with even a passionate

love of beauty--must prevail. The laborer whose day's wage depends on

the clouds, and the fisherman whose meal rests with the winds, will

naturally first think of them as subservient to the needs of life.

Badly clothed, and ill-fed, they cannot possibly appreciate Mr.

Kingsley's admiration of the east wind. The fisherman only knows it as

producing a dearth of fish. To the midland peasant it is his "red

wind,"--just as Virgil spoke of _nigerrimus Auster_, and as the Greeks

called the north wind "the black wind," still the _bise_ of the

Mediterranean. In the east of England the nightingale is not the bird

of song, not Ben Jonson's "dear good angel of the spring," but the

"barley-bird," because it arrives when the barley is sown. For, on the

whole, barley is more important to the peasant than song, and

therefore the bird is thus called. Nevertheless the song may be highly

prized, but it is still secondary. Thus we stumble upon a curious

explanation of the utilitarian spirit observed in Homer and the

earliest painters. And the terms of our country-people throw a plain

light upon the Homeric epithets "fruitful" ([Greek text]), and "loamy"

([Greek text]), applied to the earth; and the phrases of our fishermen

curiously illustrate the terms "barren" ([Greek text]), and "teeming

with fish" ([Greek text]), as applied to the sea. Society in the same

or parallel stage ever gives the same utterance.

The reality, too, of the elements, as Lear and Jacques would say,

touches the poor to the quick. Hence in the north they simply call

rain "waters," just in the same way as the Greeks used [Greek text]

whilst in the midland counties they nearly as often say "it is

wetting" as "it is raining." Their proverbs, too, smack of the

fierceness of men who have struggled with the storm. So the Anglian

countryman sings of the first three days of March,

"First comes David, then comes Chad.

Then comes Winnol blowing like mad."

Their vocabulary, too, teems with words expressive of every shade and

variety of weather. Our skies and clouds have entered far more into

the composition of popular phrases than we are commonly aware. Such

trivial expressions as "being under a cloud," "laying up for a rainy

day," unconsciously reflect the character of our weather. Its power

overshadows even the altar and the grave in the common rhyme:

"Happy the bride whom the sun shines on.

Happy the dead whom the rain rains on."

And the rhyme at one time really exercised a spell. You find it used

by lovers amongst our Elizabethan dramatists, who so faithfully

reflected the spirit of the day. Thus, in Webster's _Duchess of

Malfy_, Ferdinand cries to the duchess about her lover:

"Let not the sun

Shine on him till he's dead."

_Act iii. Sc._ 2

But the poor possess an abundance of such expressions. And as life is

real to them, so their sayings are quickened with reality. Thus, "to

be born in a frost" is in Yorkshire an euphemism for being foolish. In

the same county, "to obtain anything under the wind" means to obtain

it secretly. In Norfolk the ploughman says "there is a good steward

when the wind-frost blows." Just consider, too, the richness of their

vocabulary of weather-terms, and the observation which it implies.

Take Yorkshire alone, and there we shall find "dag," "douk," "pell,"

"pelse," "rouk," "rag," "sops," all standing for different kinds and

degrees of rain and showers. There the white winter-mist is the "hag"

the hoar-frost the "rind," the snow-flakes "clarts of snow," and the

summer heat-mist the "gossamer," as Wedgwood {216} notices, the

_Marien fäden_ of Germany. Go into the eastern counties, and the

dialect is as rich. The sea-mist is the "sea-fret" and the "sea-roke."

The heavy rain, which soaks into the earth, is the "ground-rain." The

light rain is the "smur" in Suffolk, the "brange" in Essex, and the

"dag" in Norfolk, from which last word the various corruptions

"water-dogs" and "sun-dogs" are formed.

Passing, however, from words, let us note a few of the weather-rhymes

and weather-proverbs which show what accurate observers necessity has

made our peasants. There is not a village where the local phenomena of

mists and clouds are not preserved in some rhyme. From Cumberland to

Devonshire the land echoes with these weather-saws. In the former

county we have--

"If Skiddaw hath a cap,

Criffel wots full well of that."

In the latter, the rhyme--this time really a rhyme--runs:

"When Haldon wears a hat,

Let Kenton beware of a skat."

The Warwickshire and Worcestershire peasants in the Vale of Evesham

repeat a similar couplet about their own Bredon, and the

Leicestershire and Lincolnshire churls about their Belvoir.

Weather-rhymes lie treasured up throughout the midland counties about

"The green-blue mackerel sky,

Never holds three days dry;"

in the northern counties about "mony haws, mony snaws," and in the

eastern of the "near bur, rain fur."' In England we, too, can rhyme

about _la journée du pèlerin_. For centuries the village poet has sung

of "mare's tails" and "hen-scrattins," and the great "Noah's Ark

cloud," and the "weather-head," of the changes of the moon, how

"Saturday change, and Sunday full,

Never did good, nor never wull."

For the peasant in his rude fashion is a meteorologist and has studied

the ways of the clouds, "water wagons," as in some counties he calls

them. From him Aratus might have filled another _Diosemeia_, and

Virgil improved his first Greorgic. Our Elizabethan dramatists have

borrowed some of their most life-like touches from the peasant's

weather-lore. Thus Cunningham, in Beaumont and Fletcher's _Wit at

Several Weapons_, says of wrangling:

"It never comes but, like a storm of hail,

'Tis sure to bring fine weather in the tail on't."

_Act. iii., Sc._ 1.

And Webster, borrowing from the sailor, makes Silvio say of the

cardinal that he

"Lifts up hit nose like a fool porpoise before storm."

_Duchess of Malfy, Act, iii., Sc. 3._

Shakespeare borrows from both peasant and sailor. His finest

descriptions of cloud scenery, as we shall show, are based upon

popular phrases. Two of his most beautiful similes illustrate the

villager's weather lore. Thus Lucrece is described:

"And round about her tear-distrained eye.

Blue circles streamed like rainbows in the sky.

Those water-galls in her dim element,

Foretell new storms to those already spent."

And again, in _All's Well that Ends Well_, the countess says to

Helena:

"What's the matter

That this distempered messenger of wet,

The many-colored Iris, rounds thine eye?"

_Act. i., Sc. 3._

And the peasant's rhymes and sayings undoubtedly contain some germs of

truth, or they could never have so long held their ground. Admiral

Fitzroy, in his "Weather Book," has rightly given a collection of such

saws, though it might with advantage be greatly enlarged. Science has

before now been forestalled by some bold guess of the vulgar. And

often has some happy intuition outstripped the slow labor of the

inductive process.

But with the English peasant a sense of the beautiful accompanies that

of the useful. Living ever out of doors, he names his clouds after

natural objects. He thus gives a {217} reality to them which is

unknown to scientific nomenclature. The "lamb storms" of Derbyshire,

and the "pewit storms" in Yorkskire, significantly mark the time of

year when the lambs are yeaned in the cloughs, and the pewits return

to the moors to breed. His symbolism is always true. The peasant in

the eastern counties talks of "bulfinch skies" to express the lovely

warm vermilion tints of sunset clouds. Tennyson's "daffodil sky" is

not truer, nor Homer's [Greek text] more poetical. In Devonshire the

peasan has his "lamb's-wool sky" the _tenuia lanae vellera_ of Virgil.

In parts of the midland counties he has his "sheep clouds" the

_schäffchen am himmel_ of the German, the same clouds which the

Norfolk peasant boy has described with so perfect a touch:

"Detached in ranges through the air,

Spotless as snow, and countless as they're fair.

Scattered immensely wide from east to west,

The beauteous semblance of a flock at rest."

The Derbyshire countryman knows the hard stratified masses of cloud

(_cumulo-strati_) by the happy name of "rock clouds" and the great

white rolling avalanches (_cumuli_) as "snow packs" and "wool packs"

the former being rounder than the latter, which lie in folds pressed

and packed upon one another. Further living amongst hills and

mountains, watching them, as Wordsworth says, "grow" at night,

enlarging with the darkness, he finely calls the great hill at the

entrance to Dovedale, Thorpe Cloud. He had seen it apparently shift

and move with the changes of light and atmosphere, and he could only

liken it to a cloud. Perhaps, even at times, some faint glimmering

might flit across his mind of the instability of the hills, and the

rack to him thus became a symbol of the world's unsubstantial pageant.

The midland counties peasant, too, employs such old-world phrases as

the sun is "wading" when it is straggling through a heavy scud, and

the sun is "sitting" when her dark side is turned toward the earth.

The poets themselves may be in vain searched for a finer expression

than the first. The beginning of Sidney's sonnet, which Wordsworth has

adopted,

"With how sad steps,

O moon, thou climb'st the sky,"

and Milton's description,

"As if her head she bow'd

Stooping through a fleecy cloud,"

are somewhat parallel. But the peasant's expression is equally fine.

Most readers of "Modern Painters" will remember Mr. Ruskin's vivid

description of what he so well calls the "helmet cloud," which rests

on the peaks of mountains. But long before Mr. Ruskin wrote, the

Westmoreland and Cumberland dalesman named the cloud that at times

floats round the tor of Cross Fell by the still better names "helm

cloud" and "helm bar."

We could indeed wish that Mr. Ruskin had more deeply studied peasant

life and peasant habits. The meaning of the clouds in Turner^s

"Salisbury" and "Stonehenge" would have then been more thoroughly

appreciated. Fine and poetical as is Mr. Ruskin's interpretation, yet

we venture to think that he misses the truth when, in this case, he

refers Turner's inspiration to Greek sources. To those who have lived

near the Plain, and have mixed with the shepherds, the meaning and the

symbolism come far nearer home, and more closely touch the heart.

Turner was here no Greek, except as all men who love beauty are

Greeks. Here he was, at all events, intensely English. Sprung like so

many great poets and painters from the lower class, he could

sympathize with the shepherds of the Plain. To them, as to the

shepherd in the "Iliad," standing on the hill-top facing the sea,

shepherding their flocks, far away from any village, on the vast

treeless down, the clouds become a constant source of fear or joy.

Their hearts gladden as the light white clouds roll up from the

English Channel, and then, as they say, "purl round" and retreat.

{218} In spring and summer they joyfully hail the "water dogs," the

"gossamer" of the Yorkshire peasant, which herald the fine weather.

They, above all other English peasants, solitary on that wide plain,

watch with fear the "sun-galls," Shakespeare's "water-galls," as the

broken bits and patches of rainbows are called, hanging glorious, but

wrathful, in the far horizon. They mark with dread "the messengers"

and "water streamers," and at night, too, anxiously note the amber

"wheel-cloud" round the moon.

With all this, like a true poet, Turner sympathized. He entered into

the reality of shepherd life upon the Plain; its joys and its dangers.

In one picture, therefore, he has given us the rain-clouds showering

their blessings upon man, and in the other revealed the dread

fatalistic power that ever darkens the background of life.

But we must leave the peasant, and turn to the fisherman. More even

than the peasant, he naturally regards the weather in its effects upon

his calling. The rain with him--we are speaking more especially now of

the North Country fisherman--is "dirt," and a rainy sky a "dirty sky."

The "water-galls" of the Salisbury shepherd, from which Shakespeare

took those most exquisite similes, have with him lost their beauty,

and are changed into "sea-devils," evil prophets of tempest. The

flying clouds, that herald the storm, are with him "the flying devil

and his imps." He realizes the danger, and therefore christens the

clouds with rough names.

He too, like the peasant, is learned in weather-lore, and keeps an

almanac of weather-rhymes in his memory. In such fishing villages as

Staithes and Runswick, on the north-east Yorkshire coast, a large

collection might easily be formed. They partake of the roughness and

the truthfulness of the inhabitants. Such jingles as:

"When wind comes before rain

Then let your topsails remain:

But if the wind follows rain.

Then you may close reef again,"

are certainly more accurate in sense than rhythm. Again, the couplet:

"When the sun crosses line, and wind's in the east.

It will hand (hold) that way meast, first quarter at least,"

contains a warning not always to be despised. The riddle of the

"brough," that amber halo of clouds seen sometimes round the moon,

which the shepherds of Salisbury Plain call "the wheel," and the

midland peasants "the burr," is solved by the rhyming adage:

"A far off brough

Means a near hand rough."

But we must not be too critical, and demand both sense and rhythm. It

is something if in poetry we obtain truth. At all events, the

Yorkshire fishermen's rhymes are quite as good as a great many of

those in which Apollo formerly conveyed his prophecies to mankind. And

we think that Admiral Fitzroy might have profitably added some of them

to his collection.

Many a time have we seen at some little fishing village the fishermen

all detained by some "breeder," or "flyer," whose meaning their eyes

alone could read. If the threatened storm has not visited the coast,

yet the heavy sea tumbling in without a breath of air has shown that

the gale has broken not far distant. Still mistakes arise. Life is

constantly sacrificed. But the glory and the pride of science is,

that, whilst serving the sublimest ends, it still helps the humblest.

We may be unable to control the elements. But we shall triumph over

the law by obeying the law. The day will come when the notion of

chance will be altogether eliminated, and the law by which the clouds

are governed recognized. And in the blessings of science all men are

partakers. Alike shall the fisherman steer his craft with a firmer

faith in the essential goodness of all things, and the hand of the

artist gain strength and his eye see a {219} deeper beauty when each

knows that the clouds are as regular in their movements as the stars.

Of course men living by the sea, daily watching the clouds, life

itself hanging upon a knowledge, however uncertain, of the meaning of

their color and their shapes, have naturally named them in a rude

fashion. Landsmen, who only now and then gaze at the clouds, are apt

to regard them as ever changing. But not "a wisp" flies in the highest

air, not "a creeper" rises out of the sea, whose shapes are not

moulded by a definite law. Day by day the same forms repeat themselves

with unceasing regularity. The clouds might be mapped out like the

land and sea over which they fly. More than half a century has passed

since Howard first gave them names. After him Forster wrote, and like

him illustrated his theory with diagrams of the principal cloud-forms.

And now Admiral Fitzroy has so improved upon their nomenclature, that

there is not a cloud that cannot be scientifically named and defined.

But our sailors and fishermen have long ago known these facts. Not a

stray waif of film flecks the heavens which they have not christened.

They know all kinds and shapes, from the "crow-nests," those tiny

white spots (_cirriti_) dotting the sky, up to the glorious "Queen

Anne's feather," waving far away into the horizon its soft downy

plume, rippled and barred by the wind.

Thus to take a few examples. The North Yorkshire fisherman has his

"dyer's neif," a small dark purple cloud, so called from its supposed

resemblance to the black grained fist (neif) of a dyer. Some three

thousand years ago, Elijah's servant, on Mount Carmel, cried that he

saw a little cloud rising out of the sea like a man's hand. And still

on the Yorkshire coast the fisherman utters the same language, and

knows that cloud still as the forerunner of storm and rain. Quite as

striking, too, is the way in which his names of clouds throw a light

upon Shakespeare. All readers will remember the passage between Hamlet

and Polonins, ending with "Very like a whale;" a phrase which has

passed into a proverb for anything very improbable. And no actor can

utter it on the stage without producing a peal of laughter. Yet the

proverb and the laughter are equally inappropriate. The names of the

clouds in the passage are all real names. The "dromedary cloud," or,

as Shakespeare calls it, "the camel cloud," is well known to sailors.

It is a species of cumulus, a white, packed, humped cloud, and when

seen in the southern hemisphere is said to foretell heat; but, in the

northern, cold. It is also called the "hunchback cloud." "See, there's

the hunchback; look at its pads," North Country fishermen will say.

The "weasel-cloud" also is known, though not so well, and is more

often called "the hog-cloud" and the "wind-bog," from its being the

forerunner of wind. But the "whale-cloud" is as well known to sailors,

especially those employed in the Greenland trade, as the

"bridge-cloud," or "feather-cloud," or any other well recognized form.

"We shall hae a bit o' a puff, lads. See that sea-devil; and yonder's

a regular finner to the norrard," have we heard North Sea captains

say. A "finner," it should be explained, is a small whale. If ever

there was a realist, Shakespeare was. He drew direct from nature. But,

like a true artist, he knew how to mould and shape mere barren

naturalism by the vitalizing power of the imagination. In its white

heat he fused all things. And so, noting the common names of clouds as

daily used in conversation by sailors and fishermen and seafaring

folk, he could rise from the satire of Hamlet to the high pathetic

pitch of Antony's speech:

"Sometime we see a cloud that's dragonish;

A vapor, sometime, like a bear or lion,

A towered citadel, a pendent rock,

A forked mountain, or blue promontory.

With trees upon't, that nod into the world,

And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast these signs;

They are black vesper's pageants.

_Eros._ Ay, my lord.

_Antony_.

That which is now a horse, even with a thought

The rack dislimns; and makes it indistinct

As water is in water.

_Eros._ It does, my lord.

_Antony_.

My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is

Even such a body."

_Anthony and Cleopatra, Act iv, Sc._ 12.

{220}

Here the whole scene is colored by the imagination and ennobled by

human pathos, such as no other man ever possessed. But the basis of

the thought is the simplest naturalism, such as other men had seen and

observed a thousand times before. The Flying Dragon is mentioned as

far back as the latter part of the sixteenth century by Hyll in his

"Contemplation of Mysteries," where the first rude ideas of weather

forecasts may be found. The "pendent rock" and "forked mountain" are

nothing more than the "rock-clouds" of the Derbyshire peasant,

concerning which a local rhyme runs:

"When clouds appear like rocks and towers,

The earth's refreshed by fragrant showers."

We must not, however, lose sight of our North Country fisherman. If to

him the sky is at times black with terror, yet it is also splendid

with beauty. In fine weather it is his garden, the heavenly "meadow,"

as St. Chrysostom would say, blossomed over with flakes and garlands

of cloud-bloom, white and peach-colored. He has his names for them,

his "crow buds," and his "cherry flowers," and the great "tree cloud"

with its purple branches. It is, too, his fairyland full of loveliest

shapes flying and wandering here and there, "pigeons," as he calls

those white detached winged "flyers," "flying fish," "streamers," and

pencilled "plumes."

Thus far of the peasant and the sailor. They certainly more than any

one else recognize the terror and the beauty of cloud scenery. The

well-to-do man knows the clouds only as they affect his pleasures.

Life is not dependent upon them, and he therefore misses that true

enjoyment which springs from reality. On the whole, he thinks with the

Epicurean that rain ought to fall by night, whilst his wife sighs for

Italy and blue skies. But let us, on the contrary, love the grey

cloud, and rather hold with that fine old skipper, who, after enduring

six months of unbroken weather in the Bay of Naples, cried out on

seeing a cloud, "Turn out, boys, turn out; here's weather as is

weather; none of your everlasting blue sky." Let us rather love the

storm-rack that beats against our island. This it is that gives the

color to the cheeks of our maidens; this that has moulded our

features, and deepened the lines of our faces, and hardened the

national character.

Let us be thankful, with Mr. Raskin, that nowhere can the swiftness of

the rain-cloud be seen as in England, nowhere in such perfection as

among the Derbyshire hills; nowhere the keenness of the storm be felt

as on a Yorkshire wold. [Footnote 36] But in these days even the

power of the elements is threatened. We have seen in Derbyshire, when

the west wind blows, the cloughs filled, not with troops of clouds

dashing slantwise up the valleys, but choked with dull rolling

Lancashire smoke; seen, under this canopy of fog, the snow on the

Edges turn yellow and brown. One by one, too, the blast furnaces are

burning up the Yorkshire moors. And instead of white wreaths of clouds

crowning the wolds, a pillar of fire lights them up by night, and a

cloud of smoke darkens them by day.

[Footnote 36: "Modern Painter," vol v., part vii., chap. iv., § 14.]

Luckily the sea-coast still remains unpolluted. And if any one really

wishes to study the clouds, let him go to the North Yorkshire and

Northumberland coasts in winter. Then will he understand something of

their majesty and power; then will he see the true purple wind-tints,

see the sky a wilderness full of strange weird creatures--"wild hogs,"

those purple hump-backed clouds running one after another in a line,

and the "Flying Devil and his imps" marshalling the storm, which is

banking up out of the German ocean; see, too, the "Norway bishop"

rise--a man's figure clothed {221} in white, with outstretched arms,

under whose ban many a fisherman from Staithes and Runswick has sunk;

see the figure melt and disappear in a mist of sleet and snow and

hail; and then, last of all, see "the weather-gleam," when all objects

loom against the one pale rift of sky, as ships loom in an east wind.

These sights have never been painted, and never can. Even Turner

cannot give them. For who can give that which is the greatest pleasure

in watching the clouds, the feeling of change? Yon cannot paint the

movement of the rack, as the vapor shifts from form to form, now a

mountain, now a dragon, now a fish, each change answering to the

changes of the spirit. Only the poets can paint the clouds and their

lessons--only Shelley and Shakespeare. But put away even Shakespeare

himself. Love them, study them from nature. And, as St. Chrysostom

says, the poor man, more than any one else, enjoys "the luxury of the

elements." The lawyer may hold _cujus solum ejus ad coelum_; but he

who most enjoys the clouds, as with all things else, is their real

possessor. And the artist and the poor man, though they may not have a

rood of ground to call their own, here reign over an empire.

------

Translated from the German.

MALINES AND WÜRZBURG.

A SKETCH OF THE CATHOLIC CONGRESSES HELD AT MALINES AND WÜRZBURG.

BY ANDREW NIEDERMASSER.

CHAPTER II.

ART.

The Catholic reunions, both in Belgium and in Germany, have taken a

special interest in Christian art; for religion is at once the source

and the end of true art. "Religion," says Lasaulx, "is the soul of

every useful measure, the vivifying principle in the life of nations,

the permanent basis of true philanthropy. In its infancy, as well as

during its most flourishing periods, at all times and among all

nations, art has ever been the handmaid of religion. What is the last

and highest aim of architecture? The erection of churches. How has

sculpture won its noblest triumphs? In pagan antiquity, by

representations of the heathen deities; since the dawn of

Christianity, by presenting to the admiration of the world statues of

our Saviour and his saints. In like manner the noblest subjects of

painting have been furnished by religion, and by history, both sacred

and profane. And do we not meet with the same phenomenon in music and

religions poetry? Hence we may safely conclude that art is the

barometer of a nation's civilization, and above all of its religious

status. A people animated with a lively faith will not hesitate to

manifest it outwardly, sparing neither trouble nor expense, and art

affords the most suitable means of giving expression to its feelings.

If, on the other hand, art is neglected by a nation, it is a certain

sign that its mental and spiritual condition is abnormal; that it must

be under the influence of some disturbing agency.

Art, in its relations to religion and the Church, is one of the

subjects that have claimed the attention of the Catholic congresses;

they discussed the principles of religious architecture, painting,

sculpture, and of church music; they considered the subject of

decorating the sanctuaries of religion in all its branches, and

examined the highest and most important problems of art.

Art, as cultivated during the first {222} ages of Christianity and

during the middle ages, is a subject complete in itself, for we can

trace its use, its progress, and decay, as well as the development of

the ideas which gave it life. Between Christian and pagan art there is

no doubt a connecting link; in fact, we may safely assert that in this

respect, no less than in all others, there is a great unbroken chain

that unites the present age with antiquity. Still, no one can deny

that there is a great and immense difference between Christian nations

and those of antiquity. For, since the birth of Christianity, we may

trace in history a new, active, and all-pervading principle. What the

greatest minds of the pagan world scarcely suspected, has become the

common property of all nations and of all men. Christianity is built

on foundations very different from those on which rested the cumbrous

fabric of paganism. It has impressed an original character on art, in

every branch of which it has produced results of undoubted excellence,

worthy of our admiration. Christian art suffers not by comparison with

the masterpieces of antiquity. Narrow-minded and prejudiced persons

only will maintain that the Greeks alone excelled in the arts. The

independence and excellence of Christian art, compared with that of

classic Greece and Rome, is by no means generally admitted; for many

are unwilling to allow to the Church the credit, which it may justly

claim, of promoting and patronizing the arts. During the last century

art has lacked its proper basis--truth, for art is founded on truth.

But since nations have been led astray by the erroneous idea that art

was revived at Florence, and thence spread over all Europe, it has

lost its independence, confined itself to mere imitations of the

Greeks and Romans, and gradually decayed more and more. In the history

of art no period appears darker than the so-called age of renaissance,

and since then Christian art has been either misunderstood or entirely

despised. Not long ago the masterpieces of Gothic architecture were

looked upon as barbarous; paintings on wood which had for ages graced

the European temples were removed, broken to pieces, and burnt, and

alters of the most elaborate workmanship were treated as mere rubbish.

To level to the ground the noble cathedrals of the thirteenth and

fourteenth centuries was considered a service to art. And this was

done, not by the ignorant, but by the protectors of learning; nay, by

artists themselves, who were foremost in the work of destruction. A

French architect published an essay to prove that it would advance the

interests of art to turn the cathedral of Spires into a warehouse. On

the cathedrals of Cologne and Strasbourg, also, French architects,

living at the beginning of the nineteenth century, had pronounced

sentence of condemnation. No later than 1825, when Charles X. was

crowned in the cathedral of Rheims, the heads of two hundred statues

were struck off, through fear that the statues might be thrown down on

occasion of the royal salute. No one seems to have thought of

fastening the images; in fact, why should they trouble themselves

about the workmanship of barbarians? During the revolution of 1789,

the French had unfortunately acquired too much skill in smashing the

statues that crowned their grandest cathedrals.

During the period of which we speak, how false was the appreciation of

what is beautiful in art! To man's proud spirit it is humiliating,

indeed, to know his own weakness; to know that for years he may remain

in the darkness of error, without having the strength to burst the

chains that fetter him.

At the beginning of the present century more correct ideas on this

subject were entertained and spread by several eminent German artists,

and for the last thirty years justice has been done to the claims of

the middle ages. Actively co-operating with this {223} movement, the

Catholic conventions of Germany and Belgium have achieved many

desirable results.

At Malines, in 1864, the section for Christian art was very numerously

attended; more than a hundred archaeologists and artists from every

country in Europe had there met to take part in lively and interesting

debates on Christian art, whilst seventy musicians, professionals, and

amateurs held their sessions in another part of the building. Several

years ago, I was present at the general meeting of the German

architects at Frankfort, but I own that in interest their discussions

fell far below those to which I listened at Malines. In 1857, at the

general reunion of the Christian art associations in Germany, which

met at Regensburg, several hundred commissioners were present, and on

that occasion were displayed the same enthusiasm, the same freshness

and interest, which distinguished the discussions at Malines. But this

zeal has long died out; the Christian art associations of Germany

never met again; and at Würzburg, Frankfort, and Aix-la-Chapelle, the

Catholic conventions scarcely deigned to notice Christian art.

The chairman of the section for Christian art at Malines was Viscount

du Bus de Ghisignies. The viscount's appearance is noble and striking;

he seems to have been born to command. In the heat of the combat du

Bus never loses his self-possession; his clear and steady eye watches

the battle; not a word escapes his notice; fair and unprejudiced, he

deals out equal justice to all. If the opinions of a speaker clash

with his own, he twirls his martial moustache with more than ordinary

vigor; but he allows to every one the rights he may justly claim. As

chairman, his duties are not unattended with difficulty. Romans and

Teutons, Frenchman and Britons, Dutchmen and Belgians, meet

alternately in friendly strife; many a blow is exchanged, principle

clashes with principle, and deeply-seated prejudices are uprooted.

Convinced that the harmony of mind, as that of sounds, is the product

of contrast, du Bus acted in accordance with his convictions and nobly

fulfilled the task assigned him. The debates of his section were more

animated and more instructive than those of any other.

At the right of du Bus sat the vice-president of the section.

Professor Cartuyvels, of Louvain, a man well-versed in parliamentary

usage, in which he was excelled by no one except, perhaps, by A.

Reichensperger. A young clergyman from Brabant, Cartuyvels displays a

master mind; equally skilled in aesthetics and in the philosophy and

history of art, the value of these acquirements is enhanced by his

knowledge of the liturgy, of canon law, and of holy writ. He is

thoroughly acquainted with the works of the great masters of Germany

and Italy. His words proclaim the enthusiasm with which he devotes all

the faculties of his soul to the service of Christian art.

Always prepared to speak, he boldly upholds the principles which he

deems correct. He defends them with ardor and confidence of success,

and he seldom fails to carry his point; few are able to cope with him.

It was a glorious sight to see A. Reichensperger and Cartuyvels

engaged in discussion; for

"Sublimest beauty comes to light

When powerful extremes unite!"

James Weale was a representative of England and English art at

Malines. For many years Weale has made Bruges his home, and exerted

considerable influence on Belgian art; nevertheless, he is a thorough

Englishman. He is a convert and a disciple of Canon Oakley. By

becoming a Catholic, as is often the case in England, Weale incurred

pecuniary losses; but this sacrifice has only purified and

strengthened his love for the Church. The trials he has undergone have

unveiled the heroic qualities of his heart The greater number of

English converts (and this no one who has had {224} the happiness of

personal acquaintance with them will dispute) are men distinguished

for their great learning and affable manners, and Weale is no

exception to this rule. His principles of art are rigorous, I had

almost said exclusive, but he is convinced of their correctness. In

his views he is unique and definite; he propounds them with uncommon

clearness and precision. When opposing false principles, he is not

very choice in his expressions, generally preferring the strongest.

Weale is the uncompromising enemy of all sham and equivocation. In the

domain of art fails attainments are immense. He knows England, the

Netherlands, Germany, France, and Italy. His quick eye instantly

discovers the merits of a painting. That the clergy may become

familiar with every branch of Christian art, is his most ardent

desire. At Bruges Weale publishes "_Le Beffroi_," an archaeological

journal; he would have been the most suitable candidate for the newly

founded chair of archaeology at Louvain.

Having spoken of Weale, we are now led to notice his friend Bethune,

of Ghent. He is a painter, but confines himself chiefly to painting on

glass. Brought up in the school of the celebrated English architect,

Welby Pugin, who, though only forty years of age when he died, in

1852, had already built more than two hundred churches and chapels,

his figures are distinguished by purity of style; he carries out in

practice the theories of Weale. However, he does not by any means

reject everything modern, but judiciously seeks to combine the

beauties of the modern with those of the ancient style of art. Bethune

is remarkable both for his piety and his learning, and this accounts

for the charm and instructiveness of his conversation. He admires

Germany and German art, without being blind to its defects; on the

contrary, his criticisms on the best productions of modern German

painting are severe, not to say harsh. His paintings on glass are in

marked contrast to the productions of the Munich school. He does not

delight in great historical paintings on glass, which tend to make us

forget that we are looking at a window, but seeks to attain unity of

design by subordinating his picture to the plan of the architect. In

the debates at Malines, Bethune did not take so prominent a part as

Weale. Another active member of the section of Christian art was

Bethune's brother, Canon F. A. L. Bethune, professor of archaeology in

the seminary at Bruges. Among the French members, Lavedan deserves to

be mentioned in the first instance. He is a well-known French

journalist, who seems to have a great taste for the fine arts. With

untiring ardor he spoke on every question discussed, and, in spite of

being somewhat prolix, his remarks were always listened to with

pleasure. Although noted rather for wit and polite literature than for

depth of learning, he was master of the situation, and to unhorse him

was not an easy task. He pleaded eloquently for the establishment of a

permanent art exhibition. Whilst Lavedan, like Weale, applies himself

to the theory of art, Jaumot, like Bethune, is a practical artist. Of

the few artists that France can boast of, Jaumot is one of the best;

but he was not permitted to exhibit his cartoons, and has not met with

the encouragement so indispensable to the artist Jaumot complainant of

this at Malines, and maintained that the Belgian clergy are much

better acquainted with the principles of Christian art than the clergy

of France. The Abbe Carion attracted attention by his profound

knowledge of archaeology; all his remarks proved that he understands

thoroughly the subject he treated, though he does not present his

ideas in so pleasing a manner as others. Any seminary may justly be

proud of such professors as Messrs. Carion, Bethune, and Cartuyvels.

No one contributed more to the merriment of the assembly than Van

Schendel, of Antwerp, {225} an old painter, who delights in sketches

of Dutch family life. He railed at everything, and at times he became

quite sarcastic. To find fault seemed to be his sole purpose; whether

justly or not, was of little consequence. He succeeded most admirably

in boring the chairman. Van Schendel seems to dislike the French

language, for he always preferred to speak Dutch. I might speak of

many more, but I shall only mention Delbig, a German painter, residing

at Liege; Alfred Geelhand, Leon de Monge, Martin, Isard, Mommaerts, of

Brussels; Bordeau; de Fleury, an enthusiastic admirer of Flandrin, the

great French painter; Van de Necker, the Abbé Huguet, and the Abbé Van

Drival.

I cannot forbear speaking of A. Reichensperger, of Cologne. For almost

a quarter of a century Reichensperger has been the champion of

Christian art, not only in Germany, where he is looked upon as the

foremost defender of German art during the middle ages, but also in

France and England. In Cologne he had been at the head of the society

for completing the cathedral. In the Prussian chambers at Berlin he

has always exerted himself in favor of true art. He was president of

the general meeting of the Christian art unions, held at Regensburg in

1857, and distinguished himself as an orator at the congress of

artists that assembled at Antwerp some years ago. He was also present

at Malines, and his presence was of great advantage to the Romanic

delegates. Reichensperger is delighted to meet with opposition; nay,

he calls it forth, for without it he appears dissatisfied. In fact, a

debate is impossible without opposition. At Malines, it is true,

opponents were not wanting, but he vanquished them all. Manfully

upholding his German principles, he convinced many of their

correctness. Reichensperger has often earned applause, he has been the

hero of many a parliamentary triumph, during the twelve years that he

has been considered one of the five best speakers in the Prussian

parliament, but in the Petit Seminaire at Malines he gained his most

brilliant successes. His French may not at all times be classical; but

his pointed expressions charmed his French audience. His style is not

florid, but his speeches sparkle with wit, humor, and sarcasm. His

ready logic completely astounded his adversaries. All his remarks

called forth thundering applause, which finally grew so noisy that the

chairman of the first section, "_Les OEuvres Religieuses_" deemed it

necessary to interfere and request a little more moderation.

But what was the subject of all these learned deliberations? Many

questions were discussed, and variety constituted one of the principal

charms of the proceedings, AEthetics were treated in the first place;

the learned speakers philosophized concerning the ideas of truth, of

goodness, and of beauty. One hundred and two years have rolled by

since Baumgarten, the father of aesthetics, died. In 1750 and 1758 he

published the two volumes of his celebrated work entitled

"_AEsthetica_." For more than a hundred years, therefore, aesthetics

have been cultivated with more or less zeal, but with very little

success; the science seems to stagnate because the principles on which

it is based are unsound. Hence most books on aesthetics are loathed.

The best among the recent works on this subject was written by

Lasaulx; but a philosophy of art, from a Catholic point of view, we do

not yet possess, for Dursch's "AEsthetics" has many defects. Jacobs'

"Art and the Church" might, if completed, have supplied a want long

felt.

The discussions on the beautiful led to no important results. Of more

practical consequence was the resolution condemning French pictures.

Mommaerts made an attempt to establish in Brussels a society whose

object was to be the diffusion of pictures artistically

unobjectionable. At Paris Meniolle, assisted by German artists, {226}

intends to do the same for France, where hitherto Schulgen, of

Düsseldorf, has, so to say, held a monopoly. I hope that both projects

may be successful, and escape the fate of many similar enterprises,

which are nipped in the bud. In all likelihood no similar society will

do so much good, and extend its influence so far, as the Düsseldorf

association for the diffusion of good pictures.

Much time was spent in discussing the establishment of museums like

those of Sydenham and Kensington, near London, and in listening to

speeches on fresco paintings, on the stations of the cross, on

exhibitions of works of art, and on the encouragement of artists. On

motion of Weale, a resolution was adopted to found a Belgian national

museum at Louvain, and Reichensperger prevailed on the assembly to

pledge itself to further the completion of St. Rombaut's cathedral at

Malines.

Let this suffice. The musicians would complain, perhaps, were we to

pass them unnoticed. At the request of the general committee at

Brussels, Canon Devroye and Chevalier H. Van Elewyk had prepared eight

theses for discussion. These propositions treat of choral music, of

the education of organists, of the influence of religious music, of

the establishment of societies for the promotion of church music, and

the like. It was proposed to found a musical academy, in which a

special department for religious music is to be established.

Canon Devroye presided; his interesting remarks were always listened

to with pleasure. Dr. Paul Alberdingk-Thijm, of Amsterdam, formerly of

Louvain, was vice-president. He is well acquainted with Gregorian

music and church music in general--of German music also; even of our

most common popular songs he has a thorough practical knowledge; many

of our German songs he renders with exquisite taste. We shall see more

of him hereafter. Verooitte, of Paris, was chosen to be honorary

vice-president. He is well known in France. He founded the academy for

religious music in Paris, which has been in successful operation for

some time, and has contributed materially to raise the character of

religious music in that country. Chevalier Van Elewyk has done all in

his power to establish in Louvain a society for the promotion of

church music, and his exertions were not in vain. A society having the

same object in view was formed at Amsterdam. At Malines there were

also several organ-builders, whose practical advice was of great

advantage to the musical section; the foremost among them were

Cavaillé-Coll, of Paris; Mercklin, of Brussels; and Loret, of Malines.

One of the most remarkable personages at the congress was F. Hermann,

prior of the Carmelites in London. F. Hermann Cohen, the pianist is a

native of Hamburg, and greatly esteemed by the Catholics of Germany.

The manner of his conversion was most wonderful and in many of its

features resembled that of Alphonsus Ratisbonne. Whenever I saw F.

Hermann, in his fine Carmelite habit, I thought of another great

musician, Liszt, whom I had seen and admired at Rome, and of the

Franciscan, F. Singer, who invented the wonderful instrument to the

tones of which I had the pleasure of listening at the general

convention held at Salzburg in 1857. True, F. Hermann is not only an

eminent musician--God has gifted him with many other endowments; as an

orator, especially, he is overpowering, able to move the most

unfeeling. Another monk, a fine and imposing figure and a master of

religious music, the Franciscan friar Egidius, of Jerusalem, offered

very valuable advice. Friar Julian, of Brussels, who has supplied

three nations with organists, took an active part in the debates.

Beside these I shall mention, Arthur de la Croix, of Tournay, who has

written several works on religious music; the Abbé Loth, of Rouen, who

deserves honorable mention as one of {227} the most zealous promoters

of church music; Lemmens, editor of "_L'Organiste Catholique_;" Emile

Laminne, of Tongres, who most eloquently insists on the cultivation of

music in seminaries, and on the appointment of a special committee for

music in every diocese. F. Faa di Bruno, of St. Peter's, in London,

spoke on oratorios; the Abbé Deschutter, of Antwerp, on sacred music

at concerts, Edmund Duval presented a paper on the accompaniment of

plain chant. L'Abbé de Mayer, Prof. Deyoght, and Hafkenscheid, of

Amsterdam, also made important suggestions. On motion of Dr. Paul

Alberdingk-Thijm, the most eminent authorities on sacred music were

appointed corresponding members. The following were elected: Meluzzi,

musical director at St. Peter's, Rome; Dandini, secretary of the

academy of St. Cecilia at Rome; Don Hilarion Eslava, of Madrid; the

Duke de San Clemente, of Florence; John Lambert, of London; Tornan,

archaeologist at Paris; Charles Verooitte, of Paris; the Abbé Loth, of

Rome; Friar Egidius, of Jerusalem; F. Hermann, of London; T. J.

Alberdingk-Thijm, publisher at Amsterdam; and F. Stein, pastor of St.

Ursula's, Cologne.

Hitherto very little has been done for the reformation of church

music; in Germany, as elsewhere, there still exist many reasons for

complaining. Nevertheless, the Gregorian chant is no more antiquated

than the ceremonies of the Church, her liturgy, her liturgical

language, or the vestments used at her offices. Who is there that does

not admire the melody of the sacred hymns, their perfect form, their

solemnity, and their dignity? Moreover, the plain chant demands no

violent exertion on the part of the singer. The voice is strained

neither by difficult figures nor by unnatural intervals, nor does it

require the same compass as the modern music. Unlike instrumental

music, choral music does not stun the hearer by its noisy effect, so

unbecoming divine service.

Nor has sufficient attention been paid to several other points; to the

more thorough study of the liturgy, and of the sacred hymns of the

Church, and to the cultivation of popular music.

Lastly, we must briefly notice the exhibition connected with the

congress of Malines. It was very interesting, and formed a pleasing

feature of the first and particularly of the second congress. Those

who contributed most towards its success were, James Weale, of Bruges,

Bethune, of Ghent, Canon de Bleser, and Abbé Deloigne. Many weeks of

patient research, under the most favorable circumstances, would not

enable us to meet with so many specimens of mediaeval art; in fact,

the collection was of great importance to the student of archaeology.

The works of living masters, too, were on exhibition, and many of them

called forth our especial interest and admiration. They proved

conclusively that the attempts recently made to restore Christian art

to its pristine purity have not been altogether fruitless. In many

places our artisans have again begun to study the medieval art, and

many of them rival in the excellence of their productions the masters

of the middle ages. How beautiful were many pieces of bronze statuary,

of jewelry, and of embroidery, that we found at Malines! The bronze

chandeliers, candelabra, and desks sent by Hart, of London, surpassed

in purity of style and beauty the best works of the old Belgian

masters. The Romanic and Gothic ciboria, chalices, remonstrances,

chandeliers, reliquaries, censers, crosses, croziers, and the like,

contributed by such artists as Bourdon de Bruyne, of Ghent, Martin

Vogeno, of Aix-la-Chapelle, Hellner, of Kempen-on-the-Rhine, rivalled

the most admired productions of the middle ages; the three artists

above-mentioned fully deserved the prizes awarded them by the

congress. Among the sculptors whose statuary graced the exhibition,

well-merited praise was bestowed on de Broeck and Van Wint, of

Antwerp, and {228} Pieckerey, of Bruges. The paintings on glass, also,

exhibited by Westlake, of London, met with general approbation. The

committee which awarded the premiums consisted of Voisin, of Tournay;

von Bock, of Aix-la-Chapelle; Van Drival, of Arras; Felix Bethune and

John Bethune, of Ghent; Cartuyvels, of Liege; Weale, of Bruges; and

Helbeig, of Liege.

Lambotte, of Liege, Reinhold Aasters, of Aix-la-Chapelle, John Goyers,

of Malines, and several others had sent samples of workmanship in

gold. The silk embroideries of Von Lambrechts-Martin, of Louvain,

attracted considerable attention, as did also the sculptures of

Champigneulle, of Metz, and of Phyffers, a Belgian sculptor living in

London. Many other names I have forgotten; but on the whole the

English and Germans excelled the French and Belgians. J.F. Casaretto,

of Crefeld, had brought to Malines a number of vestments, banners,

chasubles, copes, etc, and displayed them to advantage at the Hotel

Liederkercke. They attracted the notice of the Belgian bishops no less

than of the foreign clergy, and their excellence was acknowledged by

all, especially by Bishop Dupanloup, of Orleans. In Germany, for the

last twelve years, Casaretto has enjoyed the patronage of the bishops

and clergy. Though there were at Malines many excellent samples of

workmanship, there was also much that did not soar above mediocrity,

and much that fell beneath it. Even many experienced artisans are

guilty of gross mistakes; some goldsmiths, for instance, manufacture

patens entirely unfit for use. The paten should be perfectly smooth

and even, without any ornament. In Malines there were many chalices

whose feet were so made that it would be next to impossible to hold

them firmly without injuring the hand of the celebrant. In many of the

remonstrances and other sacred vessels, also, serious defects were

noticeable, a proof that there is still room for improvement. To

attain a proper degree of perfection, there should be a closer union

of the mechanical and the fine arts and of both with science. Let our

artisans be acquainted with the principles of art, let them be

thoroughly instructed in the rules laid down by the Church for the

guidance of the artist, let them come into closer contact with men of

science; in fine, let them, thus instructed, be penetrated by the

spirit of faith, purified and ennobled thereby, and they will

certainly produce workmanship worthy of our admiration. On this

subject many useful suggestions were made by Cardinal Wiseman in 1863,

in his well-known lecture on the "Connection between Science and Art."

The results of the debates of the section on art were, as we stated

above, the establishment of a professorship of ecclesiastical

archaeology at Louvain and the foundation of a national museum at the

same place. Considering the many reasons as eloquently urged in its

favor, we doubt not that active and immediate measures will be taken

for the completion of the cathedral of Malines. On the success of the

German artists at the Malines exhibition we lay the more stress

because, at the same time, Ittenbach, of Düsseldorf, surpassed all his

competitors at the Antwerp exhibition of paintings, and the historical

painter, Edward Steinle, of Frankfort-on-the-Main, by his cartoons,

exhibited at Brussels, gained new triumphs for true Christian art. To

the latter fact, Güffers and Swerts, the best Belgian painters,

cheerfully bore witness. In the debates at Malines the superiority of

German art was repeatedly acknowledged by representatives of all

nations.

To return to our fatherland. At the head of the movement for the

regeneration of art in Germany, which distinguished the first half of

the nineteenth century was a Catholic prince, King Louis I. of

Bavaria. It was he, also, who, partly by renovating the cathedrals of

Regensburg, Bamberg, and Spires, and partly by erecting so {229} many

beautiful temples at Munich, rescued Christian art from the disrepute

into which it had fallen. Rarely has so much been done for art in so

short a time as in Bavaria under Louis I.; few monarchs have been more

liberal patrons of every department of art. Many are of opinion that

King Louis' protection should have been confined to German art, but

his great soul scorned such narrow-minded ideas, and he extended his

care to ancient classical art. Foremost among those who, since 1842,

strove to regenerate Christian art in its purely German form was King

Louis' friend, Cardinal Geissel, of Cologne. The association for

completing the cathedral of Cologne called forth great artistic

activity; in that famous edifice was seen the symbol of the Catholic

Church in Germany, and of the final return of all Germany to the one

true faith.

To their exertions we must ascribe the advancement of Christian art

previous to the meeting of the first Catholic general convention.

These conventions have always upheld the claims of Christian art. At

Linz, in 1850, was founded the "Christian Art Union of Germany." In a

few years this society spread over every part of our country. The

Rhenish art unions were the most active, and exercised considerable

influence on those of southwestern Germany; the latter, however, have

proved more lasting and have accomplished more important results.

When once fairly established, the Christian art union held several

general meetings, the first of which took place at Cologne in

September, 1856. The beginning was insignificant, for scarcely a

hundred delegates assembled, and many of these hailed from the Rhenish

provinces. In spite of this drawback, the transactions were far more

interesting than those of many so-called "historical associations,"

that busied themselves with Celtic, Roman, and German antiquities.

Nay, considering the merit of the speeches delivered, they compare

favorably with those of the German architectural society. A still more

brilliant future, however, was in store for the Christian art union.

In 1857, the second general meeting was held at Regensburg, at which

the number of archaeologists and artists amounted to several hundred.

For three days they assembled in the splendid church of St. Ulric,

discussed some most important questions, and listened to several

brilliant speeches. The treasures of mediaeval art, sent from every

part of the diocese of Regensburg, formed a magnificent collection,

for, among all the cities of Germany, Regensburg is one of the richest

in monuments of mediaeval times, whilst its cathedral is one of the

finest in the world. A. Reichensperger, the chairman, enforced strict

order in debate; next to him sat Dr. F. Streber, professor at Munich.

As a successful student of numismatics, his fame was European; in fact

he was a man of superior learning. His best work is his "History of

Christian Art," which was not published previous to his death, but

whose excellence no one will undervalue. If an illustrated edition

were published, it would supplant all other class-books on the same

subject, and be a sure guide and basis of all future researches. And

no wonder, for no man had a clearer and more general knowledge of

everything relating to the history of art than Streber. We hope soon

to see this history grace every collection of the Catholic classics of

Germany.

Another eminent member of the assembly was Dr. Zarbl, canon of the

cathedral at Munich. An eloquent speaker, a writer who recounted his

travels in an interesting manner, and a zealous pastor of souls, the

canon was a patron of Christian art, and intimately acquainted with

its literature. His residence resembled a museum of mediaeval

curiosities. He was president of the Regensburg art union, and well

was he fitted to fulfil his duties. When he walked up the aisles of

his cathedral, his appearance was majestic {230} His words were

impressive and his actions cautious and well considered. Overtopping

most men, and inspiring all with respect, strangers looked up to him

with a feeling akin to awe, whilst to those who knew him he was a kind

and esteemed friend. Canon Zarbl departed this life long ago, to

receive the reward of his virtues. A Benedictine of the abbey at

Metten, on the Danube, a man whose memory is cherished by thousands of

his pupils, F. Ildephonsus Lehner, was the soul of the Regensburg art

union in 1857. As director of the seminary he labored successfully to

imbue his students with an ardent love of Christian art, the

principles of which he had mastered at an early age. This he effected

not so much by aesthetic: theories as by practical instruction. At

Metten he founded a museum of mediaeval art, he formed a school which

was frequented by many talented young men, and assisted by several

friends he founded the Regensburg diocesan art union, and encouraged

artistic literature. Foremost among his disciples is George Dengler,

of Regensburg, who bids fair to attain considerable eminence in

architecture. At the Würzburg general convention, in 1864, F.

Ildephonsus was chosen chairman of the section of Christian art, and

in an eloquent address he urged the German clergy to study the

Catholic liturgy and the regulations of the Church regarding Christian

art.

We must not forget to mention G. Jacob. He was associated for a long

time with Dr. Amberger, one of the first theologians of the present

age, and Grillmaier, the most pious priest that I have ever met with,

in the direction of the seminary at Regensburg, where he was professor

of the history of art. At the suggestion of the Regent Dirschedl, of

Regensburg, and of F. Ildephonsus, Jacob wrote his work on art in the

service of the Church, which was published at the time of the

Regensburg congress. It is a truly admirable work, especially as a

manual for theologians and priests.

In a few weeks it spread all over Germany, and during the last seven

years nothing has been written equal to it in its kind. The

publication of Streber's "History of Art" and a new edition of Jacob's

"Handbook" would be of great service to the German clergy, and would

greatly promote the study of Christian art.

Sighart, of Freising, who had just published his "Albertus Magnus,"

also spoke at Regensburg. He is the most distinguished of the many

writers on the history of art of whom Bavaria justly boasts; twelve

years have elapsed since he began the long series of his valuable

works by his history of the cathedral of Freising. His "History of

Plastic Art in Bavaria," published in 1863, was the crowning effort of

his genius and labors. No other German country can boast of so

complete and perfect a history. He also called into existence a museum

of mediaeval art, and brought to the notice of the learned all the

artistic treasures of the archdiocese. His example has been imitated

in several Bavarian dioceses.

Himioben, of Mayence, was the representative of the art union founded

by him in that diocese. In fact Himioben was one of the firmest stays

of the Catholic association in Mayence, and a prominent orator at all

the general conventions. His appearance was striking, and predisposed

all in his favor. His sparkling eyes, his fine flowing hair, his noble

figure, his sonorous voice, and his youthful ardor and enthusiasm,

made him the favorite of all who had the pleasure of listening to him.

"I have seen the seed germinate, and the flowers bud; you will see

them in full bloom, and reap the fruit." Such were his words to a

younger friend in the fall of 1860, and well do they express his ideas

concerning the regeneration of religious life in the nineteenth

century. Himioben used all his influence in favor of renovating the

cathedral of Mayence, though he did not live to see the repairs

completed. Would that he had witnessed {231} the twentieth of

November, 1864, when the Catholic cause acquired new strength by the

confederation of the Rhenish cities!

Stein, of Cologne, spoke on church music; Professor Reischl, of

Regensburg, on hymnology; Dr. Durch, of Rottweil, on aesthetics;

whilst Wiest urged the renovation of the cathedral at Ulm. But I

cannot mention all who addressed the assembly at Regensburg. But

though there were many and distinguished orators at Regensburg, the

palm of superior success belongs to a musician, J. Mettenleiter, who

edited the "_Musica Divina_" in connection with Canon Proske, and who

at Regensburg gave a practical proof of what true church music is. All

were transported by the magical power of harmony. Regensburg possesses

the best school of church music in Germany, and the choir of its

cathedral rivals that of the Sistine chapel. Besides Mettenleiter and

Proske, we must mention Schrems, Wesselack, and Witt.

The zeal displayed at Regensburg was short-lived; the German art union

never met again in general convention. Since 1858 it has again become

a mere section of the general conventions of the Catholic societies in

Germany. At the Munich convention, in 1861, considerable interest was

taken in Christian art; but at Aix-la-Chapelle, Frankfort, and

Würzburg it had few any friends. At Aix-la-Chapelle, Professor

Hutmacher was chairman of the section of art, at Frankfort Prof.

Steinle, whilst at Würzburg the most active members were F.

Ildephonsus and Dean Schwarz, of Böhmenkirch, in Wirtemberg.

But though much has been done for Christian art by the establishment

of art unions and their general meetings, it has likewise been

promoted in many other ways. The members of the Catholic art unions

not only devoted themselves to the study of art, but also encouraged

others to make researches on this subject, and it is but just to add

that during the past twelve years much has been accomplished that

deserves unqualified praise. To the Bozen art union we owe the

"History of the Development of Religious Architecture in the Tyrol,"

the second part of which was published a year ago by Karl Atz. The

Linz art union, after commissioning Florian Wiener to write directions

for researches on religious monuments, is now preparing a history of

art in the diocese of Linz. Many years ago Giefers rendered a similar

service to Paderborn, Schwarz and Laib to Rottenburg, and

Reichensperger to the Rhenish dioceses. Besides establishing the

Diocesan museum, the richest collection of this kind in Germany, the

Cologne art union founded the "Journal of Christian Art." The

Regensburg union published the work of Jacob mentioned above, and

distributed it among its members. Sighart made researches in the

archdiocese of Munich; whilst Adalbert Grimm, of Augsburg, wrote a

history of his native diocese. Great services were rendered to

Eichstädt by Maitzl, to Bamberg by Kotschenreuter, to Würzburg by

Wieland, to Limburg on the Lahn by Ibach, to Spires by Remling and

Molitor, and to Münster by Zeke. By the advice of Prof. Alzog, the

Freiburg union commenced in 1862 the publication of an art journal. To

the Rottenburg art union we are indebted for an important work on

altars, by Dean Schwarz and Pastor Laib. One of the most active

societies is that of Luxemburg, which has published an art journal

since 1861. These researches were based on those of the historical

associations and on some valuable essays, some of which had been

written long before. Almost every cathedral in Germany can boast of

its historian. Thus Geissel wrote the history of the Imperial

cathedral (1826-8); Wetter and Werner that of the cathedral at Mayence

(1835); Boisserée that of the Cologne cathedral (1821-3); and Giefers

that of the cathedral at Paderborn. To Perger we owe a sketch of St.

Stephen's at {232} Vienna; to Himmelstein, one of the Cathedral at

Würzburg; whilst Grimm and Allioli published an incomplete sketch of

the cathedral at Augsburg, and the histories of the Hildesheim,

Xanten, and Freising cathedrals were written by Kratz, Zehe, and

Sighart. One of the most instructive works lately published is

Schreegraf's history of the cathedral at Regensburg, in three volumes.

Every diocese in Germany has not yet done its duty, and much can and

should still be done by the German clergy. Let us not think lightly of

these laborious researches; their usefulness and importance to science

will one day be made evident to all. Catholics and Protestants must

aid alike in gathering the voluminous materials, which must be placed

at the disposition of him whom God will call to write a national

history of German art. The labors of these societies have already

enabled several prominent men to undertake more extensive works, among

which I will mention Sighart's "History of Art in Bavaria," Lübke's

"History of Art in Westphalia," Heideloff-Lorenz' "Suabian Art during

the Middle Ages," Heider-Eitelberger's "Mediaeval Monuments of the

Austrian Empire," Haas' "History of Styrian Art," Ernst aus dem

'Werth's "Monuments of the Lower Rhine," and Hassler's "Ancient

Monuments of Wirtemberg." A year ago, Lotz published an excellent

work, in two volumes, entitled, "Art-Topography of Germany," whilst

Otte's "History of German Architecture" is on the point of appearing.

Schnaase, too, in his "History of Art" has profited by the labors of

the Catholic art unions, and the same may be said of Müller-Klunzinger

and Nagler, of Munich, in their cyclopedias of art.

Let us not grow languid in our investigations concerning German art

during the middle ages, until the last monument has been discovered

and the last inscription deciphered. Many years must elapse before we

shall arrive at this point. When, in his wanderings throughout Europe,

Böhmer, the author of the great work on imperial decrees, found an

undiscovered document, his joy was indescribable. Equally great was

the delight of the editors of the "_Monumenta Germaniae_" when they

brought to light some annals that were supposed to have perished. The

same pleasure awaits any one who has the good fortune of discovering a

Roman basilica, a remarkable arch, or any other important monument;

who deciphers and explains an old inscription, and adds to the stock

of our knowledge.