Mustapha despairing, after this sanguinary resistance to his arms, of

subduing the garrison so long as communication was kept open with the

town, by which the attenuated ranks were {486} supplied with fresh

troops, resolved, as his surest resort, to extend his works across the

neck and connect with the harbor in the rear. This work was executed

with much difficulty and loss. At this time Dragut, the most

accomplished naval officer of the Ottoman empire, was killed. Great as

was this loss, Mustapha did not hesitate, but seemed with every new

adversity to strengthen in his purpose of encompassing the Christians

with ruin.

Having rendered, by this precautionary expedient, the reception of

supplies from the town impossible, he again renewed the assault. The

four spirited attacks which were made upon the 31st of July were

repulsed by the Knights and soldiers, displaying, in the words of our

author (Watson), "a degree of prowess and fortitude which almost

exceeds belief, and is beyond the power of description."

Intelligence having been conveyed to the grand master of the perilous

situation of the fortress, troops were despatched to the rescue; but

they were forced to return, leaving the little garrison weak but

determined, faced with certain destruction, yet prepared to meet it

heroically. It commands our deepest admiration to see, even through

the film of distance, that little band, undaunted, cooped up within

that fiery furnace awaiting that doom which was drawing nearer and

nearer, and which heralded its dreadful approach with a pageantry at

once terrible and sublime; to see them with the blazing canopy

showering death down upon their uncovered heads; to see them, having

only to regret their former cowardice, adding to their already

resplendent laurels. A prouder moment does not come to the

historian--a moment more replete with the fulness of joy than can ever

be known to the fictionist, as he lingers with enchanted pen upon such

scenes; and yet, when followed by those which are revolting to our

more refined sense of enlightenment, he painfully discharges his duty.

Having spent the night which witnessed the blasting of every hope of

relief in prayer, they bade each other affectionate adieus, and

repaired to their death posts. To throw themselves upon the mercy of a

foe which indeed knew no mercy, was not for a moment entertained by

those who were wedded to the Catholic Church. The wounded and

disabled, at their request, were placed where sure death might meet

them. St. Elmo was attacked upon the 23d of July, 1505, which day saw

the infidel flag flaunting triumphantly over its ramparts, so soon to

be struck in disgrace and be replaced by the standard of St. John. The

resistance which its handful of defenders made provoked rather the

rage of the Turks than incited their admiration, and, after an

unparalleled struggle of four hours, nothing was left but the broken

walls to urge resistance to the overwhelming foe. Supremely grand was

the terrific display which its heights commanded amidst the fiercest

of the strife! A multitude of swaying human beings, actuated by a

maddened revenge, hurtling one against the other, stretching away,

whilst those more closely drawn to its sides were in numbers joined in

fiery chains, and in the embrace of their blazing bonds expired with

the wildest shrieks of agony! St. Elmo, wrapped in fire, arrayed in

its funereal pall of lowering smoke, became the prey of the Turks.

Mustapha surveyed the scene of his dear-bought victory with feelings

no doubt adverse to those which flattered him upon his arrival.

Brutal, indeed, were the means by which he sought to carry

consternation to Il Borgo; all that had been found yet alive were

ripped open, and, with the holy symbol of their faith gashed upon

their bodies, they were thrown into the harbor, and winds and tides

invoked to beat these messengers to the gates, to inform the town of

the fall of St. Elmo.

But a period awaited the siege of Malta which reflected more disgrace

upon Mustapha than one hundred victories could efface.

La Valette looked out upon the harbor now filled with the floating

bodies, {487} horribly gashed, of the gallant defenders of St Elmo,

but no one could read his reflections as he viewed those

dead-freighted waves depositing their burden upon the beach; no matter

what his acts may have been when suggested by such an inspiration, for

they were no index by which to read his heart.

We are informed by the historian that he dissembled his true feelings

that the Knights and soldiers might not see in him a cowardly

exemplar. But it is not impossible that the grand master looked

unmoved upon those whose dress and sacred wounds alone betrayed them

to have been bound to him by the endearing ties of the order. His

retaliation, however, is not in accordance with our finer conceptions

of right, but who will question the justness of _war_-expedients? La

Valette was the master-spirit of the defence, and he evinced himself

not unworthy his station. For had he been less decided, and succumbed

to the importunities of his subordinates, indeed the siege of Malta

would have been of short duration; no Spanish forces that would have

been sent could have retrieved the advantages that would have been

lost by a cowardly precipitation. And thus to him may we ascribe the

glory of the long masterly defence which kept an enemy, thirsting for

Christian blood, at bay, and which made an ultimate recovery

practicable; which, indeed, made the Turkish triumph but preparatory

to an indelible disgrace. La Valette's emotions of sorrow soon

hardened, and he ordered his captives to be decapitated and their

heads shot from the cannon's mouth into the enemy's camp. The

significance of this act, in part, may justify its commission, though

it would be more in harmony with our ideal to believe him incapable of

perpetrating such an offence. The object which Mustapha aimed to

accomplish in forwarding those ghastly dead to Il Borgo was to

intimidate the place into submission; the return which La Valette made

was designed to bespeak an unwavering disposition, and to hurl

defiance in the face of the infidels.

Mustapha, incensed at the undaunted response made to his white flag,

and the message sent back by his Christian slave, that they hoped soon

to bury him and his janissaries in the only ditch which they could

consistently surrender, immediately invested the town and re-commenced

the carnage. Subsequent to the fall of St. Elmo, the basha had been

strengthened by the arrival of Hascem with the bravoes of Alters,

amounting to 2,500 choice troops.

Il Borgo and St. Michael were now continuously under fire; but, to

expedite his purposes, Mustapha adopted the suggestion of Piali, to

make the Christian slaves draw their shipping across the neck upon

which stood St. Elmo, into the harbor, that there might be a

simultaneous charge from both land and Naval forces. This hardship was

rendered necessary because the grand master had caused a heavy chain

to be swung across the mouth of the harbor, to which impediment were

added the resources of St. Angelo, which commanded its entrance.

Having mastered this difficulty, Mustapha consented to the pompous

demands of Hascem to intrust to him the assault of St. Michael,

promising to support him if necessary. Hascem shared his command with

Candelissa, an experienced corsair, who was to sustain the attack by

sea.

With much display Candelissa proceeded to perform his part. Meeting

with unexpected resistance in the staccato which had been erected to

perplex his landing, he suffered great loss from the fort, which did

not delay in improving so cardinal an advantage, He resolved to

abandon this and attempt the intrenchments under the care of Gulmaran;

the Christians reserved their fire until it might be spent

effectively, and, at their first discharge, cut down 400 of the

assailants. Candelissa pushed vigorously on whilst Gulmaran was

reloading, and gained the shore; the latter, having prepared {488} for

such an emergency, now threw from his cannon grapeshot, which did

overwhelming execution, and Candelissa, seeing with dismay his

wavering troops, ordered his boats to be put off a little from the

shore.

The Algerines, seeing no avenue of escape, were conscious that through

success alone could they secure their safety. They therefore marched

forward with maddened resolution upon the earthworks. Before their

irresistible charge the Knights fell back in confusion. But stung with

shame upon seeing the infidel colors planted upon their works, they

rushed to the rescue, having been reinforced; the ardor of their

charge struck terror to the hearts of the assailants, and Candelissa

was among the first that fled. Of 4,000 only a fifth escaped. The

Christians continued firing upon the boats, sinking many, and covering

the waters with wrecks. Amidst this vast devastation, dying and dead

bodies were mingled in the wildest confusion. This defeat was decided,

and Candelissa's untimely exultation, which characterized his

reparation to the contest, was of a marked contrast to his inglorious

return as his craft ploughed their way through the thickly strewn

waters. The Knights were in nowise discouraged in this sudden turn in

the fortunes of the day.

In the meantime the attack was also going on by land. Hascem had

well-nigh expiated in disgrace his taunting threat; having led his

troops to the charge, he was confounded with the confusion which the

fearful havoc wrought among the ranks. Being driven back, he renewed

the assault in the face of the belching cannon roaring defiance to his

arms in vindication of the sanctity of invaded rights, but to no

purpose. His mortification was extreme in being compelled by the

intrepid garrison to sound a retreat. The basha now advanced with his

janissaries, and the united forces compelled the Knights to retire

from the beach, where, with undaunted spirits, they had proceeded to

meet the fresh troops. But they did not yield without the most

strenuous exertions, and the invaders had paid a dear price for the

dreadful spot. Though exhausted by fatigue, their determination knew

no abatement, and they awaited within the breach the renewal of the

conflict. Their hopes were now reinspired by the addition of those

forces which had contributed so largely to the discomfit of

Candelissa. The janissaries, unable to withstand their onslaught, were

forced to retire amidst the showering missiles and cheers of the

gallant Christians.

Mustapha, enraged beyond control by the obstinate defence, employed

one-half of his troops under Piali against the town, and with the

remainder resolved to reduce the fort at any cost. To secure every

chance of success he raised more batteries, dug new trenches, sprung

mines, and prepared in every way possible to facilitate his design.

But upon every hand did the valiant Christians, animated by the

presence of the grand master, baffle his arms. Mustapha's principal

engineer constructed a machine, upon the efficacy of which they

entertained high hopes; it was a huge cask, firmly made, and filled

with powder, chains, bullets, and everything calculated to work

mischief which the place could command. This was projected into the

midst of the Christians, who, ere it exploded, managed to roll it back

upon its artificers, which did fearful execution among them. Whilst

yet the Turks were paralyzed by the effect of its report, the Knights

rushed out and engaged them hand to hand. Many of the infidels were

killed, and the remainder made good their escape. But Piali was not

idle. Though coping with superior strength, he was more successful

against Il Borgo than his rival against St. Michael. He had gained

great advantages, and, as night terminated his operations, he prepared

the minds of his intimates for the glorious entry which he proposed to

make on the morrow. He had, by a piece of stratagem in calling off the

{489} attention of the garrison by a furious assault, managed in

another and important position to erect a platform of earth and

stones. It was upon this that night closed his work, and which

inflamed within his breast lively hopes of speedily terminating the

siege, and of reaping new laurels.

A council of the Knights was now held, and an abandonment of the works

advised by the principal part; but La Valette was inexorable, and

defeated every such proposition by his superior wisdom. He employed

all available hands in digging trenches during the night, and by a

master-stroke gained possession of the cavalier which had so excited

the exultation of the Turkish basha. He detailed a select body of

troops to steal along the foot of the wall, and who, when arrived at

the spot designated, raised a loud shout and rushed upon the guard;

these, supposing that the whole garrison were upon them, precipitately

fled. The Christians were not slow in securing this advantage beyond

any hope of recovery which the Turks might entertain.

The delay of the Spanish troops was inexplicable to La Valette, who

attributed it to the treachery of the Viceroy of Sicily, but which

historians impute to the infidelity of Philip. Now, the grand master

was aware that their only hope was to hold out till they brought

relief; and the bashas were fearful lest they should arrive after so

long a delay at this very opportune moment.

Piali, receiving intelligence that the Spanish forces were to be

landed at St. Angelo, lay in wait there, after interposing every

obstacle practicable to impede their progress. Resolved to urge every

possible resistance, the infidels awaited the Spanish sail, and were

ill prepared for the tidings which came, to the effect that they were

already landed in another part of the island. Thus was accomplished by

the duplicity of the Catholic king a result which was not anticipated;

his object in landing his forces at the extreme of the island was to

shield, as far as possible, his subjects from the rigors of the siege.

But Mustapha no sooner learned of their approach than he withdrew all

of the Turkish forces into the shipping. In his haste he had deserted

St. Elmo, manned with his best cannon. Ere long he was informed by a

deserter that he had thus disgracefully fled before a force of 6,000

poorly officered Spaniards, the same being only little more than

one-third of his own numbers. His rage knew no bounds. From this

indelible disgrace he knew his only escape was to disembark and

retrieve his fallen fortunes; but his command was shared by those

whose personal considerations and jealousies prevented them from

extending any sympathy to him.

La Valette improved the interim in taking every precaution to prevent

the fort from again falling into the hands of the Turks. The grand

master was now looked upon as the one to whom too much credit could

not be given, and whose orders were obeyed with cheering alacrity by

all who were able in any way to assist. A stronger affection was

generated toward him, to which his merits entitled him, as the most

fitting reward which the Knights could return.

Mustapha having convened a council of his principal officers, they

determined with little dissent to land and renew the siege. The

soldiery, greatly disheartened at their late reverses, were very

reluctant to obey, and frequently force was resorted to to compel

them. But it must have been patent to the commanders that thus, being

forced to use compulsory means, they could not expect them to effect

what willing and eager troops could easily accomplish. Mustapha was

unable to stay the current of flying soldiers, and was hurled along

with it; twice was he jostled from his horse, and was with difficulty

rescued from being captured. Such was the overwhelming defeat visited

upon Mustapha's command, who, we doubt not, would have welcomed even

captivity rather than face the sultan, whose arms he had {490} thus

signally disgraced. What the reflections were that this destiny

animated in his mind, we are left to infer--a destiny so different

from what he anticipated for the thousands who were to destroy the

Knights of Malta, only as an insignificant incident collateral to the

brilliant career which awaited them at the hands of the larger

Christian powers. When he saw the mere skeleton of his army returning,

he might well be impressed with the vanity of human calculations.

The siege of Malta continued four months, and it, amid the general

destruction, worked no little benefit to the Knights of Malta. This

success created joy throughout Christendom, which was expressed in the

most gratifying manner. If they were left to fight their battles

alone, it was only to achieve the greater glory. And thus ended the

famous siege of Malta, whose valorous defence is unparalleled in the

records of history.

------

From The Literary Workman.

A SONG OF THE YEAR.

Solemnly comes thy last hour, Old Year,

Mercy and love were thy dower, Old Year;

Though with thy gifts came the sigh or tear.

Parting, we'll bless thee, Old Year, Old Year.

With thy best gifts in thy hand, Old Year!

Dying while blessing the land, Old Year!

Welcoming Christians again, again.

Joyous Old Year, how we loved thee, then!

Softly thou com'st in the night, New Year!

Robed all in pure virgin white, New Year!

Deeds all unknown of shall fill thy days.

Songs now unheard of will sound thy praise.

Meeting, we fear thee almost, New Year,

Welcome might sound like a boast, New Year

When thou art old, like the year just past,

Then let us bless thee, New Year, at last.

{491}

Translated from the Civiltà Cattolica.

THE RELIGIOUS STATISTICS OF THE WORLD.

1. NUMBER OF CATHOLICS IN FIVE DIVISIONS OF THE WORLD.

2. CLASSIFICATION OF THE INHABITANTS OF THE EARTH AFTER THE

DIFFERENT RELIGIONS.

3. PROGRESS OF CATHOLICITY IN GREAT BRITAIN.

4. IN HOLLAND.

5. IN THE UNITED STATES.

6. MISSIONS OF ASIA.

7. ITALIAN MISSIONARIES.

I. Let us, at first, take a comprehensive view of the number of

Catholics scattered over the globe. In this very year some writers

have limited their number to _one hundred and fifty millions_, with

the remark that the figure is rather above a real census. Mr. Balbi, a

writer of fame in statistics and in geography, gave, as far back as

1827, in his work published in Paris, his own estimate of the various

populations of the world, classifying them under the heading of

Religions Professed; and, according to his calculations, he allotted

to the Catholic Church only _one hundred and thirty nine

millions_(139,000,000), his figures exceeding those of many

geographers who had preceded him. The _eleven millions_ by some

authors allowed this day to the Catholic denomination, are rather a

restitution than an augmentation. The former reckoning was a mistake,

and new statistics, when accurately put together, have exhibited a far

larger number both of inhabitants and of Catholics. But we still take

this restitution as very inadequate. From an accurate investigation of

the matter, we aver that the _minimum_ of Catholics, over the world,

amounts to _two hundred millions_ (200,000,000). To afford the reader

the means of testing the accuracy of our opinion, we shall here give

the number of Catholics found in the different states of every part of

the world. We have taken for our guide official statistics, either

civil or ecclesiastical, whenever we could obtain them, or, otherwise,

statements of modern geographers and of most trustworthy national

writers. We have only omitted such fractions which were under _five

hundred_ (500); but when they were above the _half thousandth_ we have

set them down at _one thousand_. Thereby, in a computation, which

cannot be but approximate, omissions will counterbalance the

additions, and the final result will not undergo any material change.

Let it, moreover, be borne in mind that we have not been actuated by

any desire to attain large figures. We have only aimed at fixing the

surest, or, at least, the most probable amount. Thus, for example, we

have accepted only _six hundred and ninety thousand_ (690,000)

Catholics for the Portuguese possessions in Africa, although national

authors, by no means exaggerating, have reckoned them at _two

millions_.

With such preamble, here is the result of our investigations:

[Transcriber's note: View these tables with a fixed pitch font.]

NUMBER OF CATHOLICS.

I. EUROPE.

Papal States 900,000

Two Sicilies 9,500,000

Tuscany 1,900,000

Sardinian States and Lombardy 7,700,000

Modena 660,000

Parma 560,000

Monaco and San-Marino 10,000

Spain 17,000,000

Portugal 4,300,000

Andorra 12,000

Switzerland 1,120,000

Great Britain 7,500,000

France 36,000,000

Carried forward 89,462,000

{492}

Brought forward 89,462,000

Belgium 4,800,000

Netherlands 1,300,000

Austrian Empire 30,000,000

Bavaria 3,500,000

Prussia 7,000,000

Baden 960,000

Brunswick 6,000

Bremen 5,000

Frankfort 12,000

Hamburg 8,000

Grand Duchy of Heese 240,000

Hesse Electoral 200,000

Würtemberg 580,000

Mecklenburg-Schwerin +

Mecklenburg-Strelitz 4,000

Nassau 226,000

Oldenburg 86,000

Lesser Duchies of

Sachsen-Weimar,

Sachsen-Coburg,

Sachsen-Altenburg, etc. 60,000

Lubeck 3,000

Hanover 256,000

Luxemburg 209,000

Saxony 65,000

Denmark 5,000

Sweden and Norway 7,000

Poland 4,000,000

Russia 3,000,000

European Turkey

and Montenegro 1,000,000

Greece 100,000

Catholic population

in Europe 147,194,000

H. ASIA AND OCEANIA.

Asiatic Turkey 600,000

Moldavia and Wallachia 130,000

Asiatic Russia 100,000

British India 1,100,000

Netherland India 25,000

French India 170,000

Portuguese India,

Islands, and Macao 546,000

Spanish India and

Philippine Islands 4,750,000

Persia 120,000

Anam 600,000

Siam 25,000

China 1,000,000

New Holland 300,000

Tasmania 40,000

New Zealand 60,000

New Caledonia and

adjoining islands 70,000

Sandwich Islands 80,000

Catholic population in Asia and Oceania 9,666,000

III. AFRICA.

Egypt 172,000

Abyssinia 2,000,000

Tripoli, Tunis, and Morocco 30,000

Spanish Possessions 25,000

Canaries 260,000

Portuguese Possessions 690,000

Madeira and islands 260,000

Continental French Possessions 250,000

Reunion and other islands 180,000

Continental British Possessions 30,000

Mauritius and other islands 150,000

Liberia 4,000

Madagascar 10,000

Gallas 10,000

Catholic population in Africa 4,071,000

IV. AMERICA.

United States 5,000,000

Mexico 8,500,000

Guatemala 1,200,000

San Salvador 700,000

Honduras 400,000

Nicaragua 500,000

Costa Rica + Panama 200,000

New Granada 3,000,000

Venezuela 2,000,000

Ecuador 1,500,000

Bolivia 2,200,000

Peru 2,800,000

Chili 1,800,000

Argentine Republic 1,500,000

Paraguay 1,600,000

Uruguay 360,000

Brazil 3,500,000

British Guiana 60,000

Netherland Guiana

and Islands 40,000

French Guiana

and Islands 305,000

Jamaica, Trinidad,

and other British Isles 150,000

Spanish Islands 2,260,000

Danish Islands 34,000

Canada and British

Possessions 1,560,000

Hayti 800,000

Catholic population

in America 46,970,000

RECAPITULATION.

I. Catholic population in Europe 147,194,000

II. Catholic population In Asia and Oceania 9,666,000

III. Catholic population in Africa 4,071,000

IV. Catholic population in America 46,930,000

Catholic population in the four

parts of the globe 207,801,000

Thus we reach the sum of nearly _two hundred and eight millions_; nor

do we fear exaggeration in the number. But were even some one

reluctant to accept our results, such attenuating doubts could never

diminish our total beyond _eight millions_. Thus when we asserted

that there are _two hundred millions_ of Catholics in the world, we

gave a figure far under our calculations, in order to place it above

all doubt.

II. We will now exhibit, in very simple tables, the grand division of

the inhabitants of the world, according to the different religious

creeds:

_Christianity_ 344,000,000

Catholic Church 208,000,000

Eastern Churches,

schismatic or heretical 70,000,000

Protestantism 66,000,000

Total 344,000,000

{493}

_Judaism_ 4,000,000

_Islamism_ 100,000,000

_Brahminism_ 60,000,000

_Buddhism_ 180,000,000

_Worship of Confucius, Sinto,

of Spirits_, etc. 152,000,000

Total of inhabitants of the world 840,000,000

These results are not from data as certain as those which we were

enabled to obtain for the Catholic Church; yet they are founded on

great probability. There is a remarkable increase in all, owing to the

fact that more reliable researches have given a larger number of

inhabitants on the globe.

Let us now compare our own results with those of the most celebrated

geographers. Malte-Brun wrote in 1810, Pinkerton and Balbi in 1827,

and yet, although so near to one another, they are not of one accord

as to the inhabitants of the earth, and consequently they do not agree

in their divisions. More recent geographers admit a number far larger

than that allowed by Balbi, and seem to hesitate between _eight

hundred and a thousand millions_. We are of opinion that the grand

total cannot, with any good reason, be reckoned beyond _eight hundred

and forty millions_ (840,000,000); at the same time it cannot be set

at any figure much below it. The following figures represent

_millions_:

Malte-Brun. Pinkerton. Balbi. Civ. Catt's.

_Christianity_ 228 235 260 344

_Judaism_ 5 5 4 4

_Islamism_ 110 120 96 100

_Brahminism_ 60 60 60 60

_Buddhism_ 150 108 170 180

_Other creeds_ 100 100 147 152

Total 653 700 737 840

III. A glance at some particular countries will show how much the

Catholic Church has gained in numbers and influence within a few

years. Let us begin from two Protestant countries in Europe.

The "Catholic Directory," annually issued in England for the last

hundred years, will, by comparing a few data, exhibit the progress of

Catholicity in Great Britain's most Protestant sections--we mean

England and Scotland. We limit ourselves to the official returns given

within the last nine years. We mass them in two tables, which will

place our assertion upon the strongest basis of truth. The _first_

will show that in these two kingdoms, so totally averse to

Catholicity--nay, intensely hostile to it--England and Scotland, the

number of clergymen has increased, within _twenty-five_ years, at the

rate of 137 per centum; that of churches 30; religious houses for men

222, for women 105. The _second_ table will give the same numbers, but

divided in the various dioceses, in varied ratio indeed, but

everywhere with the same tokens of increase:

GENERAL STATISTICS OF ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND.

Years |Clergymen| Churches | Relig Men | Relig Women | Colleges

&Chapels

1856 1142 849 17 91 12

1857 1162 894 23 106 11

1858 1204 902 27 109 11

1859 1222 926 34 110 11

1860 1236 950 37 123 12

1861 1342 993 47 155 12

1862 1388 1019 50 162 12

1863 1417 1065 55 177 12

1864 1445 1098 56 186 12

But if we draw our figures from earlier dates, the comparison will be

even more striking. Behold the result within the last twenty-five

years:

1839 610 513 0 17 10

1849 897 612 13 41 10

1864 1445 1098 56 186 12

Limiting our researches only to England, we find the increase within

_eight_ years, between 1856 and 1864, stated in the official returns

of the several dioceses, at the following rates:

Churches Clergyman Convents Monasteries

Dioceses 1856 1864 1856 1864 1856 1864 1856 1864

Westminster 56 117 129 214 5 15 18 31

Beverly 75 90 93 116 3 6 7 19

Birmingham 96 100 132 141 3 3 19 27

Clifton. 37 49 50 62 2 3 5 13

Hexham 63 81 72 99 -- 1 4 11

Liverpool 94 110 166 195 2 5 12 25

Newport 35 42 29 47 -- 3 3 6

Northampton 30 36 25 31 -- -- 2 5

Nottingham 42 52 47 59 3 5 5 5

Plymouth 26 35 28 34 -- -- 3 8

Salford 47 70 72 107 1 5 9 14

Shrewsbury 53 59 52 71 1 3 3 7

Southwark 79 100 90 147 3 9 10 15

Total 730 941 985 1321 23 58 100 187

-730 -985 -23 -100

Increase 211 336 35 87

{494}

IV. Let us now step over to the Continent, and investigate the

increase of Catholicity in a province where Protestantism has had it

all its own way since the beginning of the Reformation--we allude to

Holland. To understand the progressive development of Catholicity in

the Low Countries, we need only compare the figures of two years, with

an interval of half a century intervening between them:

Years |Catholic population | Parishes | Clergyman | Churches

1864 1,300,000 941 1725 976

1814 850,000 814 1216 898

Increase

in 50 years 450,000 127 310 78

The amount expended in repairing the old and building new churches is

reckoned, during this lapse of time, at _thirty_ millions of Dutch

florins, a little more than _sixty-four_ millions of francs [over

$18,560,000--Ed. CW.] All that government has contributed of its own

toward this sum amounts only to _two_ millions of florins. In the

above sum of _thirty_ millions no account is taken of what has been

expended in churches and chapels belonging to religious communities,

or for convents, hospitals, charitable institutions, orphan asylums,

and the like. Add to this what has been contributed for the endowments

of those places, and the original sum of sixty-four millions of francs

becomes well-nigh double its amount.

V. But nowhere has the Catholic Church increased so prosperously,

within the last fifty years, as in the United States of America. Above

two thousand churches and chapels built; an increase of one thousand

and eight hundred clergymen; one hundred and sixty schools

established, for the Catholic training of 18,000 boys and 34,600

girls. Moreover, there existed in 1857 _sixty-six_ asylums, with 4,963

orphans of both sexes; _twenty-six_ hospitals, with _three thousand_

beds; _four_ insane asylums, with _eighty-two_ patients, beside many

other charitable institutions, all established and supported by the

private charity of Catholics. Here we copy a comparative table from

the "Metropolitan Catholic Almanac" of 1857:

Year Dioceses Vicariates Bishops Clergyman Churches Ecclesiastic Colleges Schools

Apostolic & Stations Institutions for Girls

1808 1 -- 2 68 80 2 1 2

1830 11 -- 10 232 230 9 6 20

1840 16 -- 17 482 812 13 9 47

1850 27 -- 27 1081 1578 29 17 91

1854 41 2 39 1574 2458 34 20 112

1857 41 2 39 1872 2882 35 29 134

1861 43 3 45 2317 3795 49 -- -- [Ed. Cath. World]

VI. Canon Joseph Ortalda, in a work of great value, [Footnote 68] the

result of much labor and accurate investigations, supplies us with two

very interesting documents. One is a _Synoptic Table_ of the

_missions_ in Asia, exhibiting both the number of Catholics in each

_mission_ and that of missionaries employed in them; a number, by the

way, generally very inadequate, especially when we take into

consideration the vast territories over which every mission is

extended.

[Footnote 68: "Italian Apostolic Missionaries in the Foreign

Missions, over the Four Parts of the World." Turin: G. Marietti,

1864. Ortalda's intent is to prove before the Senate of the Kingdom

of Piedmont how the suppression of religious orders would be

injurious to the Church and to civilization, whilst from their

bosoms go forth so many missionaries to all parts of the world.]

APOSTOLIC VICARATES MISSIONARIES CATHOLICS

Aleppo 25 80,000

Asia Minor 70 100,000

China and adjacent kingdoms:

Xensi 16 30,000

Xansi 12 20,000

Hu-pè, in the Hu-quang,

native missionaries, 14 11 15,865

Hu-nan, in the Hu-quang 7 10,000

Sut-chuen, North-west vicariate 15 23,000

Sut-chuen, Eastern Vicariate 12 17,000

Sut-chuen, Southern Vicariate 14 20,000

Konein-kon 7 10,000

Lassa 5 7,000

Jun-nan 6 8,000

To-chien 14 30,000

Nankin 36 73,000

Pekin, Western Vicariate 17 30,000

Pekin, Southwestern Vicariate 15 26,600

Pekin, Eastern Vicariate 12 13,000

Tse-Kiang 6 5,000

Kiang-si 8 10,000

Lenotung 9 11,000

Mongolia 8 10,000

Xan-tung 11 12,000

Ho-nan 6 5,000

Siam, Western Vicariate 12 10,000

Siam, Eastern Vicariate 20 30,000

Cochin, Eastern Vicariate 29 32,000

Cochin, Northern Vicariate 21 25,000

Cochin, Western Vicariate 19 30,000

Camboge, and the people of Laos 10 15,000

Tonchin, Eastern Vicariate 13 54,000

Tonchin, Western Vicariate 85 135,000

Tonchin, Southern Vicariate 49 80,000

Tonchin, Central Vicariate 62 150,000

Corea 12 15,000

East Indies:

Japan 10 12,060

Ava and Pegu 11 8,000

Bombay, South Mission 20 15,000

Bombay, North Mission 15 13,000

Bengal, Western Vicariate

(Calcutta) 12 15,000

Bengal, Eastern Vicariate 6 9,000

Ceylon--Colombo 18 84,900

Ceylon--Safnapatam 17 60,000

Madras 18 44,880

Hyderbad 7 4,000

Visagapatam 15 7,130

Pondicherry 53 100,000

Mayssour 16 17,110

Coimbatour 11 17,200

Sardhana 12 15,000

Agra 25 20,000

Patna 10 4,000

Verapolis--native priests,

Latin rite 28, Syriac 340 7 330,000

Canara, or Mangalor--

Native priests 24 7 40,000

Quilon--Native priests 17 8 50,000

Madura 37 140,000

APOSTOLIC DELEGATIONS

Persia, Mesopotamia,

Kurdistan, and Armenia Minor 30 25,000

Syria--Holy Land alone counts 54 28,986

APOSTOLIC PREFECTURES

Aden, in Arabia 3 1,300

Hong-Kong, in China 7 5000

Hai-noou, Quan-tong,

Quan-si, China 31 40,000

For the French colonies in India 12 7,000

For the Dutch colonies in

India and Oceania 7 1,000

Laboan and adjacent places 6 3,000

{495}

VII. The chief object of Ortalda's work is to show how many

missionaries Italy gives to the Catholic Church. He gives the name,

the grade in the hierarchy, and the residence of each, adding such

items of information as will aid him in the object he has in view. We

draw from his laborious work the following table, which, by way of

conclusion, gives the final result of all his researches:

_Italian Apostolic Missionaries in

Foreign Missions over the Whole World._

MISSIONARIES Europe Asia Africa America Oceania Total

Bishops 14 21 4 2 -- 41

Secular priests 33 45 11 65 8 162

Benedictines 7 9 -- 5 3 24

Minor Conventuals 9 2 -- 2 -- 13

Minor Observants 31 115 30 184 8 368

Minor Capuchins 369 108 35 130 5 447

Minor Reformed 60 58 29 67 1 215

Dominicans 22 11 -- 1 -- 34

Carmelites -- 39 -- -- -- 39

Augustinians 1 -- -- 1 -- 2

Jesuits 106 118 46 207 13 490

Lazarists 8 22 9 12 -- 51

Alcantarines -- -- -- 1 -- 1

Barnabites 24 12 3 10 8 57

Friars of St. Bonaventure 5 6 -- -- -- 11

Redemptorists -- -- -- -- 3 3

Servite -- -- -- -- 1 1

Oblates -- 16 -- -- -- 16

Pallottines (of A. Pallotta) 2 -- -- -- -- 2

Rosminians 16 -- -- 4 -- 20

From the Seminary of Milan 4 22 -- -- 3 29

From the seminary

of Brignole Sale 17 6 -- 5 -- 23

529 610 167 696 53 2055

----------

BOOKS.

Welcome, my books, my golden store!

Your leaves my eyes, my hands explore;

With you my sweetest hours have flown--

My best of life with you alone.

When none in the wide world could cheer,

Your wisdom dried the bitter tear;

When summer skies were fresh and blue,

None could rejoice with me like you.

What living voice may speak among

Your silent and time-hallowed throng?

For you, the best of every age,

I quit the world's degenerate stage.

_Translation from Ranzan._

------

{496}

From The Month.

THE ANCIENT FACULTY OF PARIS.

At the corner of the Rue de la Bûcherie and the old Rue des Rats, now

known by the more dignified appellation of the Rue de l'Hôtel Colbert,

may still be seen, unless the unsparing hand of "modern improvement"

has very recently swept it away along with so many other memorials of

the past, a dirty, dilapidated building topped by a round tower, which

you might take for some old pigeon-house. The half-obliterated

inscription upon an escutcheon on one of the facades of the edifice

indicates, however, some heretofore high and venerable

destination--_Urbi et orbi salus_. If curiosity lead you to penetrate

into the interior of this dismal edifice, you find yourself, after

mounting a damp staircase, in a great circular hall, divided into four

irregular compartments. Above some empty niches hollowed in the

thickness of the wall runs a wide cornice, the now-defaced sculptures

of which represent alternately the cock--Esculapius's bird and emblem

of vigilance--and the pelican nourishing its young, the type of

self-sacrifice--watchfulness and unselfish charity, the two great

duties incumbent on the professor of the healing art. You stand, in

fact, in the midst of the ancient amphitheatre of the Faculty of

Medicine. There studied, and there, in their turn, taught, the great

anatomists of the seventeenth century, Bartholin, Riolan, Pecquet,

Littre, Winslow. This building was an old adjunct to a large and

handsome hotel belonging to the medical body, containing their chapel,

library, laboratory, a vast hall for solemn disputations, with minor

saloons for the daily lectures, etc., with the addition of a large

court and botanical garden. It was abandoned long before the

Revolution, and not a trace of all this corporate glory of the medical

faculty now remains. The quarter of Paris in which it stood, known

formerly as the Latin quarter, long preserved a peculiar stamp and

physiognomy. Here were the colleges of St. Michel, of Normandy and

Picardy, of Laon, Presles, Beauvais, Cornouailles, and that long

succession of churches, convents, colleges, and high toppling houses,

filled with a studious youth, which formerly crowded the Rue St.

Jacques and the Rue de la Harpe. All these and many other sanctuaries

of religion and of science, so intimately connected in the middle

ages, clustered around the faculty. Here, in fact, was the centre of

the university of Paris, whose origin is lost in the obscurity

investing the early mediaeval period. The methodical classification

under the head of faculties of the different studies pursued at that

celebrated institution dates, however, from the close of the twelfth

century. These faculties formed independent companies, attached to

their common mother, the university, like branches to the parent stem.

Disregarding all apocryphal pretensions to antiquity, we cannot assign

an earlier date for the formation of the medical body into an

independent corporation than the year 1267. About that time we find

the faculty in possession of its statutes, keeping registers and

affixing to documents its massive silver seal. The term Faculty of

_Medicine_, it must be observed, is modern. The title _Physicorum

Facultas_, or _Facultas in Physica_, was long preserved. Whatever we

may think of the empirical practice and dogmatic character of the

medical art in those times, we cannot but see in this an {497}

indication that natural science was even then the recognized basis of

medicine. We have here, if not a principle clearly understood and

habitually followed, at least an intuition and a kind of programme of

the future. A memorial of the old designation survives in our own

country in the title of physician, while in the land where it

originated it has been discontinued.

Born in the cloister, medicine long retained an ecclesiastical

character. Most of the doctors in early times were canons; and those

who were neither priests nor even clerks were still bound to celibacy;

a regulation which remained in force long after councils had decreed

the incompatibility of the exercise of the medical profession with the

ecclesiastical state.

The general assemblies of the faculty were held sometimes round the

font of Notre Dame, sometimes at St. Geneviève des Ardents, sometimes

at the Priory of St. Eloi; while, for the ordinary purposes of

instruction, it shared fraternally with the faculty of theology the

alternate use of some common room with a shake-down of straw in the

Quartier St. Jacques. But by-and-bye riches began to pour in, chiefly

through the means of the legacies of members of the medical corps or

other well-wishers; and, thanks to the liberality of Jacques Desparts,

physician to Charles VIl., the corporation of doctors was finally

installed in the abode we have just described. To the general worth

and respectability of the body in the fifteenth century we have the

testimony of Cardinal d'Estoutteville, who, in 1452, was deputed by

the Pope to reorganize the university of Paris, and who found less to

reform in the faculty of medicine than in any other department.

Indeed, no change of much importance was introduced, with the

exception of the revocation of the law of celibacy, which the cardinal

pronounced to be both "impious and unreasonable."

Independence of spirit and great reverence for its own traditions were

characteristic of the medical body from its earliest beginnings. It

loved to describe itself as _veteris disciplinae retentissima._ In

those days men gloried in their respect for antiquity. In common with

all the different bodies which composed the university of Paris, the

medical corporation possessed great privileges--exemption from all

taxation, direct or indirect, from all public burdens, from all

onerous services or obligations. When we sum up all the advantages

enjoyed by this and other favored bodies and classes in the middle

ages, the reflection naturally suggests itself--what must have been

the condition of the poor, who possessed no privileges and bore all

the financial burdens? In the days, however, when standing armies in

the pay of government had no existence, when the king himself was a

rich proprietor with large personal domains, when national debt and

its interest were things unheard of, the ordinary imposts, as

distinguished from all arbitrary and accidental exactions, were, of

course, very much lighter than those of modern times. Liberty in those

days assumed the form of privilege; and its spirit was nursed and kept

alive within the bosom of these self-ruling corporations, and in none

more remarkably than in that of medicine. The _esprit de corps_

naturally existed with peculiar strength in a body not merely

organized for purposes of instruction, but exercising a liberal

profession, of which it had the monopoly. [Footnote 69] Hence a

minute internal legislation imposed upon all its members, and

willingly accepted in view of the interests of the body. Its _alumni_

were aspirants to a life-long membership; whereas with us the medical

man's dependence upon the faculty virtually ceases the day he takes

his doctor's degree. He has nothing more to ask or to receive from it;

his affair is now with the public; {498} and the sense of brotherhood

with his colleagues in the profession is lost, it is to be feared, not

unfrequently in a feeling of rivalry. But it was otherwise in the

olden time. The day which now sends forth the full-fledged doctor to

his independent career drew the tie closer which bound him to his

order, in which then only he began to take his solemn place. The honor

and the interest of each member thus became common property, and

unworthy conduct was punished by summary exclusion from the body.

[Footnote 69: It is probably this peculiarity which caused the

medical to be considered as pre-eminently _the_ faculty. Its

practice brought it into intimate contact with the world at large;

and this has also doubtless led to the exclusive retention, in this

instance, of a designation common in its origin to other departments

of learning.]

Unfortunately this _esprit de corps_ had its bad as well as its good

results. It produced a certain narrowness of mind, a love of routine,

and no slight attachment to professional jargon. It is not that the

faculty was actually the enemy of all progress, but progress must come

from itself. As no association of men, however, can enjoy a monopoly

of genius, useful and brilliant discoveries emanating from other

quarters had to encounter the hostility of the chartered body. This

spirit was exemplified in its animosity toward surgery, long a

separate profession, in its prejudice against the doctrine of the

circulation of the blood, because an English discovery; against

antimony, because it originated with the rival Montpelier school;

against quinine, because it came from America. To these subjects we

may hereafter recur; in the meantime we note them as instances of

medical bigotry, which exposed the profession to just ridicule, but

which has drawn down upon it censure and disesteem of perhaps a

somewhat too sweeping character. It would be unfair to judge the

ancient faculty solely from its exhibitions of foolish pedantry and

blind prejudice; and it is our object on the present occasion to give

a slight sketch of its constitution and internal government, such as

may enable the reader to form a juster and more impartial view both of

its faults and of its substantial merits. Indeed, without some solid

titles to general esteem, it would seem improbable that the faculty

should have attained to the high position which we find it occupying

in the seventeenth century.

One accidental cause, no doubt, of the importance of the doctors

during the whole period which we are considering was their small

relative number. From a computation made by a modern member of the

medical profession in France, [Footnote 70] to whom we are indebted

for our facts, the average number of doctors in the capital from the

year 1640 to the year 1670 did not exceed 110. Compared with the

population of Paris, which is reckoned at 540,000 souls, this gives

one doctor for every 4,900 of the inhabitants. The medical corps is

now 1,830 strong, while the population has risen only to 1,740,000.

Great as is this increase of population, greater, we see,

proportionally has been that of the medical practitioners, who are at

present as 1 to 940. If sickness was as prevalent in the seventeenth

century as it is now, and recourse to physic and physicking as

frequent, we can imagine that the faculty must have necessarily

occupied a distinguished position. Many offices now undertaken by

public institutions or by government devolved, also, at that time on

the faculty, which to the best of its ability supplied the want of

sanitary regulations, and exercised a kind of medical police,

including the supervision of articles of diet. All this must have

helped to swell their importance. A large proportion of the doctors

received during this selected period of thirty years were Parisians;

and nothing is more common than the perpetuity of the profession in

certain families. This circumstance must have combined with the

corporate reverence for their traditions to intensify their attachment

to a received system, and to strengthen that spirit of union which is

a source of power. The respect which the lower bench paid to the

upper, and the young to the ancient {499}--and by "young" we mean

young in their degree, not in years--must have contributed toward the

same result. It required ten years of doctorate to qualify a man to

take his place amongst this venerable class; and the statutes are

prolix on the subject of the respect due to the ancients from their

juniors on the bench; a respect which was to be marked by every

external act of deference.

[Footnote 70: Maurice Raynaud, Docteur en Médecine, Docteur ès

Lettres. _Les Médecins au temps de Molière.--Moeurs, Institutions,

Doctrines_. Paris, 1862. Didler.]

But the first and great tie which bound all the members together was

religion. To profess the Catholic faith was long an essential

condition of admission to the examinations. The faculty gave an

energetic proof in 1637 of the importance it attached to this

fundamental rule, when it withstood the pressing solicitations of the

king's brother, the Duke of Orleans; in favor of a certain Brunier,

the son of his own physician and a Protestant, although the prince

condescended to address a flattering letter to the dean of the

faculty, signing himself "Votre bon ami, Gaston," and although his

request was backed by a royal injunction. The sovereign must needs bow

to the authority of the statutes, respectfully but firmly urged in

contravention of his regal pleasure. Yet this would seem to have been

a closing effort, for in 1648 we find four Protestant doctors on the

lists. Every year there was a solemn mass on St. Luke's day, at which

all the members were bound to be present, and which even at the

commencement of the seventeenth century was still sung by the doctors

of the faculty. After mass the statutes were publicly read. There was

a like obligation, with a penalty for its neglect, to attend an annual

mass for deceased doctors, and another for benefactors, as also to

accompany the bodies of their brethren to the grave.

The head of the corporation was the dean. His powers were extensive,

and the honor paid to him unbounded. He was the "guardian of the

discipline and statutes" of the faculty, _vindex disciplinae et custos

legum_; he was at once its foremost champion and its highest

dignitary. He was also its historian, entering in its great registers

all facts interesting to the corporation which occurred during the

course of his administration. The account of each diaconate is headed

thus:

[Illustration: Latin Cross]

"_In Nomine Omnipotentis Dei, Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.

Incipit commentarius rerum in decanatu . . . gestarum._"

Amongst other topics judged worthy of registration is a necrologic

notice of members deceased during the period. Take as a specimen,

which marks at the same time the high estimation in which the

diaconate was held, the account given of Merlet's death in 1663. He

was the "ancient of the company," and had been remarkable for the zeal

he exercised in its behalf. The then dean, the illustrious Antoine

Morand, pays the venerable doctor a visit just before he expires; and

the dying man breaks out in a kind of _Nunc dimittis_--"Now I can die

contented, since it has been given me to behold once more the dean of

the faculty." Valot, the king's physician, who had come to see the

patient, expresses in language of much reverence his hope that Merlet

may still live to illustrate the supreme dignity in which he stands

amongst them. The "patriarch" with his last breath energetically

refuses such excessive honors. He confesses that he holds a high rank

as ancient of the school, but not the highest. "To the dean alone," he

says, "belongs supreme honor." "Sublime words," observes Morand in his

funeral notice: "veritable song of the dying swan, proceeding from a

man truly wise and endowed with all perfection! May he rest in the

peace of the Lord." Of course, it is a dean who is speaking. The

charge was indeed a weighty one, both externally and internally; for

in spite of general respect, the medical corporation, like most

privileged bodies, had active enemies. Every two years a fresh

election took place on the first Saturday after All Saints'. The dean

deposed the insignia of his dignity and gave a report of the state of

affairs to {500} the assembled doctors, who, as usual on all solemn

occasions, had previously attended mass. All their names were then

placed in two urns; one containing those of the ancients, the other

those of the juniors. The dean shook the urns, and drawing three names

from the first and two from the second, proclaimed them aloud. The

five doctors thus chosen by lot as electors, and, as such, themselves

ineligible, swore to nominate the worthiest, and retired to the chapel

to implore the divine aid. They then elected by a majority of their

number three doctors, two ancients and one junior. Amidst solemn

silence, the dean once more drew the lot, and the name which came

forth was proclaimed dean for the next two years. The professors, who

for long years were but two in number, were also chosen biennially,

and by a similar combination of lot and election. Some good must have

arisen from the liability under which every practitioner of the

medical art lay of being called on to teach it. Another not unwise

regulation was that which, reversing the order observed in the case of

the dean, placed in the professional urn two junior names against one

ancient. Long practice of teaching is apt to wear out the powers of

the most able. Considering the times, the elements of instruction were

abundantly supplied. The bachelors were not permitted to do more than

comment upon and expound the ancients, and their programme was

furnished to them. The professors took the higher and more original

branches; they alone could dogmatize from the great pulpit of the

amphitheatre (_ex superiore cathedrâ_). The teaching embraced,

according to the quaint phraseology of the day: 1. natural things,

viz., anatomy and physiology; 2. non-natural things--hygiene and

dietetics; 3. things contrary to nature--pathology and therapeutics.

In the year 1634 a course of lectures on surgery, delivered in Latin,

and exclusively for the medical students, was added--a practical

course of surgery in French already existed for the barber

apprentices; and the faculty began to perceive that if they would keep

their supremacy over the barber-surgeons, it would be as well to know

as much as their disciples.

The oath taken by the professors is remarkable, especially the

exordium: "We swear and solemnly promise to give our lessons in long

gowns with wide sleeves, having the square cap on our heads, and the

scarlet scarf on our shoulders." This we see was their first duty.

Their second engagement was to give their lessons uninterruptedly, and

never by deputy, save in case of urgent necessity; each lecture to

last an hour at least, and to be delivered daily, except in vacation

time, which extended from the vigil of St. Peter and St. Paul, the

28th of June, to that of the exaltation of the cross, the 13th of

September, and on festival days, which were pretty numerous, including

also certain other solemnities, as well as the vigils of the greater

feasts, when the schools were closed, _causa confessionis_, as the

statutes have it.

Practical instruction was much more meagre than the oral, but this is

hardly to be imputed as a fault. Anatomy cannot be learned except by

dissection, and no bodies but those of criminals were procurable. The

faculty had to look to crime to help on its progress in this study.

When an execution took place, the dean received formal notice, and

convoked the doctors and students on the occasion "to make an

anatomy," as it was called. When the faculty was at peace with the

surgeons, the latter were favored with an invitation. By a strange

prejudice, theory and practice, as we have noticed, were kept

distinct. The learned professor would have demeaned himself by

becoming an operator, while the acting surgeon was condemned to be a

mere intelligent machine, and was formally interdicted from being

initiated in the higher mysteries of the profession. It was a barber

who generally filled this inferior office, and he not unfrequently

would display more knowledge than his masters; for which {501} offense

he was sure to be severely reprimanded. "_Doctor non sinat dissectorem

divagari, sed contineat in officio dissecandi_"--"Let not the doctor

suffer the dissector to stray beyond his province, but keep him to his

duty of dissecting." This is one of the rules laid down in the

statutes. He was to work on and hold his tongue. But not only was the

barber condemned to silence--a hard sentence, some will say, on one of

his loquacious profession--but he was to receive no pay. For

remuneration he was to look to his brethren of the razor. There were

more facilities for the study of botany than for any other practical

branch of the medical science. Beside the garden in the Rue de la

Bûcherie, the doctors had afterward the use of the Jardin Royal

founded by Richelieu; and these advantages do not seem to have been by

any means neglected. Clinical instruction was peculiarly defective.

Absorbed by erudition, philosophy, and the interminable disquisitions

of the schools, our medical forefathers seem to have forgotten that

experimental knowledge can be obtained only by the bedside of the

sick. Most of the students had never seen a single patient before they

reached the honors of the baccalaureate. After this they attached

themselves to some doctor, whom they followed on his rounds, in order

to learn the application of what they had theoretically mastered, and

were by him introduced to his clients, much as was the practice in the

days of ancient Rome. The poor sufferer's room was thus not

unfrequently turned into a pedantic lecture-hall. We instinctively

recall to mind Molière's two Diafoiruses, father and son, stationing

themselves each on one side of the unhappy patient, and discoursing in

pompous medical phraseology of the character of his pulse and of the

humors of his body. [Footnote 71] The practical and, as such, the

most important department of medical science received, it must be

confessed, the least attention. All the prizes, whether of honor or

emolument, which the future held out, tended to concentrate zeal and

emulation on dialectics. It seemed as if the medical art were designed

for the benefit of the doctors rather than the doctored, and that it

was of more importance to be able to descant learnedly upon a malady

than to cure it. To figure advantageously at one of those solemn

public sittings of the medical body, which were often graced with the

presence of members of the high aristocracy and of the magisterial

body; to be able to deliver a brilliant harangue, and confound an

opponent by a well-timed and well-chosen quotation--such was the

highest ambition of the student. To preside with distinction over the

discussion of a thesis--such was the battle-field on which the doctor

hoped to win his laurels. If he acquitted himself with applause, he

had gained a victory which raised him higher in his own esteem, and in

that of the world at large, than the most successful practice of his

profession could possibly do. The first two articles of the statutes

contain this spirit in a condensed form, and may be regarded as the

abridged decalogue of the faculty, summing up their duty toward God

and toward man: 1. the divine offices shall be celebrated with the

customary forms, and in the usual places, at the same hours and on the

same days as heretofore; 2. the medical students shall frequently

attend public disputations and dissertations.

[Footnote 71: "_Duriuscule repoussant, et même un peu capricant."

"L'intempérie de son parenchyme splénique et l'état de ses méats

cholidoques_."]

The process through which the student had to pass in order to make his

way to his degree of licentiate was a trying ordeal. The examination

for the bachelor's degree, after a few previous solemnities, including

the usual attention first to religion, next to dress and formal state,

lasted a week, during which the candidate might be questioned not only

by the regular examiners on the usual round of the natural, the

non-natural, and the unnatural, but by any doctor present, each having

the right to propose a certain number of questions. In conclusion, the

aspirant {502} had to comment on some aphorism of Hippocrates. When

the examiners gave in their report, votes were taken, and a favorable

majority, secured to the aspirant his degree. The new bachelors swore

to keep the honorable secrets, and observe all the practices, customs,

and statutes of the faculty; to pay homage to the dean and to all the

masters; to aid the faculty against all opponents and all illicit

practitioners, and to submit to the punishments which it might

inflict; to assist in gown at all the masses ordered by the faculty,

coming in at least before the epistle, and remaining till the end;

and, finally, to assist at all the academic exercises and disputations

of the schools during two years, where they were to maintain some

theses on medicine or hygiene, observing good order and decorum in

conducting their argument.

Their great ordeal was now to come. One is amazed to read of the

succession of tilts they had to run in the intellectual tourney of

these two probationary years; how from St. Martin to the Carnival they

had to maintain, always in full dress and before a large assembly,

their _quodlibetary_ [Footnote 72] theses of physiology or medicine;

how from Ash-Wednesday to vacation time it was the turn of the

Cardinal theses, so called from their institution by Cardinal

d'Estoutteville. These chiefly related to hygienic questions. It is

from among these latter that most of those puerile and absurd queries

have been extracted which have drawn down so much ridicule on the

faculty. It is scarcely possible to imagine that such questions as the

following can have been intended for serious discussion: Are heroes

the children of heroes? Are they bilious? Is it good to get drunk once

a month? Is woman an imperfect work of nature? Is sneezing a natural

act? It is only fair, however, to remember that by far the greater

number of the subjects proposed were of a very different character,

and such as might profitably be considered at the present day. But if

the frequent occurrence of these intellectual jousts was trying to the

combatant, their interminable length was perfectly appalling. From six

o'clock to eight he had to stand a preliminary skirmish with the

bachelors. For the next three hours he had to encounter nine doctors,

who successively entered the lists, each bringing his fresh vigor to

bear on the exhausted candidate. The sitting ended with a general

assault, in which all present had liberty to take a share and

overwhelm the poor bachelor with a very hail-storm of interrogatories,

to which he had to reply single-handed. During the Cardinal theses the

debate was still hotter and more prolonged. From five in the morning

till midday, the candidate was plied with questions by the bachelors,

all ready to pounce upon him at the slightest flaw in his argument or

the merest slip of his tongue. As a climax of cruelty, during the

_quodlibetary_ examinations he was bound to furnish his persecutors

with refreshment in an adjoining apartment, of which he alone was

forbidden to partake. The sound of the great clock striking twelve

must have been a joyful reprieve to the athlete in the ring; the

wonder is that any constitution could stand the probationary two years

during which this process was energetically kept up.

[Footnote 72: So called because selected at pleasure.]

At the close of this period the candidates were subjected to private

examination before the doctors, in order to ascertain their practical

capacity and personal qualifications for exercising the medical art.

Great strictness prevailed on all points which nearly concerned the

honor and interests of the faculty; and if the candidate had ever

practiced any manual art, including surgery, he was bound on oath to

renounce it for the future. Then followed a separate private

examination by each individual doctor as to a thousand personal

details affecting the competence of the applicant. A secret scrutiny

then decided on the admissibility, not as yet the admission, of {503}

the candidates to the honors and privileges of actual members of the

faculty. The spirit of the old days was preserved even in the

seventeenth century, and the licentiates had to receive ecclesiastical

sanction and a quasi-ordination. They proceeded accordingly in

procession to the house of the chancellor of the academy, to whom they

were presented by the dean, who, on their request, fixed a day for

their reception. This form was one of the most cherished traditions of

the university. Gallican as was the spirit of that body, it gloried in

tracing its privileges and constitution to the Holy See; a cheap

homage, which entailed no inconvenience, and of which at times it knew

how to avail itself in its contests with the king and the parliament.

The chancellor, who was a canon of the metropolitan see of Paris, had

long enjoyed sovereign jurisdiction over the schools; and although in

the seventeenth century his power was purely nominal, no one disputed

his right upon this occasion to represent the sovereign Pontiff, the

supreme teacher of the Catholic world. Other curious ceremonies

attended the solemn admittal to the licentiate. All the high

functionaries of state, and other important personages, were invited

to attend the schools on an appointed day, in order to learn from the

paranymph the names and titles of the medical practitioners whom the

faculty were about to present to the city--nay, to the whole world:

"_Quos, quales, et quot medicos urbi, alque adeo universo orbi,

medicorum collegium isto biennio sit suppeditaturum._" The paranymph,

as is well known, was, among the Greeks, the friend of the bridegroom,

who accompanied him in his chariot when he went to fetch home the

bride. Now it was held that the new licentiate was about to espouse

the faculty, much as the Doge of Venice married the sea. The friend of

the spouse, the paranymph, was in fact the dean, who presented the

young spouses to the chancellor with a complimentary address. That

dignitary invited the assembly to repair on a fixed day to the great

archiepiscopal hall, which upon this occasion was thrown open to all

the notabilities of the capital, who attended to add honor to the

solemnity. Then the list of the candidates was read out in their order

of merit, as previously decided after a strict inquiry by the doctors.

They immediately fell on their knees, bareheaded, in an attitude of

deep recollection, to receive the apostolic benediction given by the

chancellor in these terms: "_Auctoritate Sanctae Sedis Apostolicae,

qua fungor in hoc parte, do tibi licentium legendi, interpretandi, et

faciendi medicinam hic et ubique terrarum, in nomine Patris, et Filii,

et Spiritus Sancti_." A question was then proposed by this dignitary

to the licentiate first in the order of merit, who was bound to give

proof of his competency by solving it on the spot. As the chancellor

was not a doctor, and as the assembly was miscellaneous, this query

was usually religious or literary, and, to judge from the recorded

questions, rather curious and subtle than profitable. The whole

assembly forthwith repaired in a body to the cathedral to thank our

Blessed Lady for the happy conclusion of a work begun under her

auspices. With his hand stretched over the altar of the martyrs, the

chancellor murmured a short prayer, the purport of which was

calculated to remind the newly-elected that, belonging henceforth as

they did specially to the Church, they ought to be prepared to

sacrifice themselves in all things, even to their very life: _usque ad

effusionem sanguinis_. It depended entirely upon the licentiates

themselves whether or no they were ultimately decorated with the

doctor's cap, which conferred the full privileges at once of the

medical corporation and of the university to which it belonged; and

although a few, from modesty or other causes, declined to aim at this

honor, with by far the greater number it was the consequence and

complement of the licentiate. The degree of licentiate introduced the

recipient to the public; {504} that of doctor admitted him into the

very sanctuary of the faculty. Accordingly it was conferred, not less

ceremoniously, but more privately. It was, so to say, a family affair.

Although, as we have said, there was no further examination respecting

medical competency, another minute inquiry was made into the life and

morals of the applicant, which was followed, if the scrutiny proved

satisfactory, by a preparatory act called the Vesperie, because it

took place in the afternoon. At this sitting, the president addressed

the candidate in a solemn discourse, intended to impress him with a

high sense of the dignity of the healing art, and of the maxims of

honor and probity which ought to guide its professors. The ordeal of

questions was not altogether closed; for we find the president

proposing a query, and entering into a discussion with the candidate,

who had thus still something to undergo before he passed on from the

class of the questioned to the more enviable rank of the questioners.

Upon the great day, the doctor in _posse_, preceded by the

mace-bearers and bachelors, with the president on his left, and

followed by the doctors _in esse_ selected to argue with him,

proceeded to the hall of the great school. The grand apparitor then

addressed him thus: "Sir candidate for the doctorate, before you are

initiated, you have to take three oaths,"--"_Domine doctorande,

antequam incipias, habes tria juramenta_." The three oaths were: 1. to

observe the rights, statutes, laws, and venerable customs of the

faculty; 2. to assist the day following the feast of St. Luke at the

mass for deceased doctors; 3. to combat with all his strength against

the illicit practitioners of medicine, whatever might be their rank or

their condition in life. "Will you swear to observe these

things?"--"_Vis ista jurare?_"--asked the grand apparitor; and the

candidate replied with that memorable _Juro_ ("I swear") which was

Molière's last word. [Footnote 73] The president, after a brief

address, turned toward him with the doctorial square cap in his hand,

and making with it the sign of the cross in the air, placed it on the

head of the candidate, to which he then administered a slight blow

with two of his fingers, and forthwith bestowed upon him the

_accolade_. The recipient was now duly dubbed doctor. He made

immediate use of his new powers by asking a question of one of the

doctors present. The president had then a tilt with the doctor who had

presided at the Vesperie, and the sitting was closed by the new

doctor's delivering a discourse of thanksgiving to God, to the

faculty, and to his friends and relations present. The statutes enjoin

that this speech should be _elegant_. We may conceive that the notion

of elegance entertained by the faculty differed considerably from that

which the word suggests to our minds. On the St. Martin's Day

following the recently-chosen doctor did the honors of his new grade

by presiding over a _quodlibetary_ thesis. This was a sort of bye-day,

being out of course. It was called the "_acte pastillaire_," in

allusion probably to the sugary wafers presented to the dean stamped

with his likeness, or to the _bonbons_, of which there was a general

distribution on the occasion. The next day the new doctor was entered

on the registers, and took his place on the junior bench for ten

years.

[Footnote 73: The great comic dramatist played the part of Argan on

the first representation of his play of the _Malade Imaginaire_, now

always performed on the anniversary of his death. He had probably

long had within him the seeds of a mortal complaint; and after

pronouncing the word _Juro_ in his character of Bachelor of Medicine

taking his degree, which is the object of the famous ceremonial

ballet succeeding the comedy, he was seized with a suffocating

attack, and left the playhouse only to expire shortly afterward.]

Every one must be struck with the close resemblance which the famous

ceremony in Molière's _Malade Imaginaire_ bears to those scholastic

solemnities. Who, indeed, would now remember these antiquated customs

of an age from which we are drifting more rapidly in habits of thought

and {505} in manners than even the stream of time is carrying us, if

the comic dramatist had not conferred upon them the immortality of

ridicule? Yet it may well be questioned if it were not for Molière's

ludicrous picture, from which we have formed our notions and judgment

of the old faculty, whether, did we now for the first time discover in

some old forgotten document the record of these proceedings, our

impression might not be widely different; whether we might not see as

much in them to command our respect as to provoke us to laughter.

Old-fashioned ways--that is, ways which no longer reflect the ideas

and feelings of the day--always lend themselves specially to ridicule.

In Molière's time society was beginning to divest itself of its

mediaeval garb, and men's minds were being formed, not always to their

advantage, on a new type. The old type, however, was so strongly

impressed on the medical corporation--in which the traditionary spirit

was peculiarly powerful--that the garb, which, as we know, follows

rather than precedes a change, still sat naturally on the venerable

body of doctors. So entirely was this the case, that where, as

individuals, they were more or less under the influence of the Spirit

of the day, in their professional capacity they had as it were a

second self, clinging tenaciously in all that concerned the faculty to

ancient ideas and forms. Of this combination the well-known Guy Patin,

to whom we may hereafter have occasion to allude, was a curious

example. It is difficult to look upon men performing acts, to them

most serious, however absurd in our eyes, as purely ridiculous.

Assuredly they have their respectable side. Neither is it easy to

believe that all these good doctors, indefatigable as we have seen

them, and enthusiastically devoted as they were to their calling, were

all such pedantic idiots as Molière has painted them. It is a

well-known fact that the inimitable piece of buffoonery to which we

have alluded was concocted in the salon of Madame de la Sablière, a

noted rendezvous of the "_beaux esprits_" of the day. Molière

furnished the canvas and laid-in the colors of the first painting; but

his witty friends had each some lively touch to contribute. It is

probable that two or three of the medical profession--men who were

more or less sceptical as to the perfection of every saying and doing

of the faculty, and with whom Molière is known to have lived in habits

of intimacy--were present at these meetings, and supplied many of the

technical expressions. It does not follow that these physicians were

actuated by any spite against their order, any more than Cervantes

hated chivalry, to which, while quizzing its eccentricities and

exaggerations, he unwittingly gave a fatal blow.

One remark forcibly suggests itself, when we consider the hyperbolical

praise which the medical body so liberally administered to itself, and

with which Molière has made us familiar in passages of his comedies

which can scarcely be considered as caricatures. We are apt severely

to censure as grossly servile and almost idolatrous the flattery with

which the men of letters and courtiers of Louis XIV.'s reign dosed the

monarch. But some abatement must be made of this harsh judgment when

we find the reception of an obscure bachelor to his degree made the

occasion of a prodigal expenditure of the most exaggerated metaphors.

He is a new star, a pharos destined to shed its light on the latest

posterity; he is the compendium of all virtue, talent, and glory; he

equals, if he does not surpass, all the heroes of antiquity. And if

such were the eulogies bestowed on a successful candidate for the

honors of the faculty, what was the laudation reserved for the faculty

itself, the source of all this splendor? Hyperbole went mad. We find,

for instance, an orator taking as his text, "The physician is like to

God." He sets forth this resemblance in the attributes of power,

beneficence, mercy: physicians are {506} the ministers and the

"colleagues" of God. But this is not enough. The orator kindles as he

proceeds: all comes from God; _ergo_, evil as well as good. "But from

you, medical gentlemen," he exclaims, "comes nothing but good.

Doubtless God is just in afflicting us, and has his reasons. But still

evil is evil, and medicine is always salutary." (Rather a bold

assertion!) The conclusion is, that we should owe more to the

physician than to God, seeing that, while the Lord wounds, the

physician heals, did we not after all owe to him the physician

himself.

One lost trait to complete this sketch of the old customs of the

faculty. Molière has hinted at it in the closing line of the exordium

of his comic president:

"Salus, honos, et argentum,

_Atque bonum appetitum_."

The culinary and gastronomic side of the medical physiognomy is not

the least curious. Brillat-Savarin, who has made a classified

catalogue of gourmands, places physicians under the head of gourmands

by virtue of their profession. It is, he says, in the nature of

things. Everything contributes to make them gluttons. The hopes and

the gratitude of patients combine to pamper them. They are crammed

like pigeons, and at the end of six months have become irretrievable

gourmands. There seem to be reasonable grounds for this accusation. In

what may be called the heroic age of the faculty--the palmy days of

medical ceremonial, which had already begun to decline in Molière's

time, although the ancient forms were in the main

preserved--corporation repasts were frequent. After every examination

the doctors dined; after every thesis they dined--on this latter

occasion at the expense of the successful candidate. On St. Luke's Day

they dined; and again when the accounts were given in, and when a dean

was elected. When a chair of botany was erected; a "botanic banquet"

ensued as a matter of course. But it would be too tedious to enumerate

all these feastings, since almost everything furnished the pretext for

an entertainment. At one time, the faculty even officially appointed

two of their number to taste the wines before their repasts. Under the

pretence of hygienic considerations, questions appertaining to what

may be styled transcendental cookery were of frequent occurrence; and

it was gravely debated whether salad ought to be eaten at the first

course, and potatoes at the second; whether it were good to eat nuts

after fish, cheese after meat, etc.

We will conclude with some reflections of a more pleasing character as

to the spirit which animated the old faculty. Some of its statutes are

memorials of the virtuous principles which, in spite of all

absurdities of form, were held in honor by their body. For instance,

the doctors were enjoined to cultivate friendship with one another.

They were never to visit a patient without an express invitation. The

juniors were always to rise before the ancients, and the ancients were

to protect the juniors, and treat them with kindness. The secrets of

the sick were sacred; and no one was to reveal what he had seen,

heard, or so much as suspected in a patient's house. Gravity,

mildness, and decorum were to reign in their assemblies, where each

was to speak in his proper order and without interrupting others.

Disorderly behavior, recriminations, and abusive language are to be

banished for ever from the faculty. These regulations are admirable;

and at any rate bear witness to the sound views of the body of whose

collective wisdom they were the expression. Indeed the great strength

of the faculty resided in its attachment to its salutary moral laws.

Mere formalism would never have possessed such vitality and endurance.

When we penetrate into the life of this old society, we meet with a

tone of genuine uprightness, manliness, and candor quite refreshing to

the mind. We may add that {507} most of the great liberal

professions--the bar, the magistracy, and the educational bodies of

the seventeenth century--make the same favorable impression upon us.

They exhibit the _bourgeoisie_ of the day in a respectable light, as

manifesting in no ordinary degree the qualities of probity,

disinterestedness, and the family spirit, with all the sober virtues

and homely charities which appertain to it.

We naturally know less of the life of the students; but it was

probably moulded upon that of their elders and superiors. Even

Molière's pompous Thomas Diafoirus, with whose rejection by Angélique

for the handsome, rich, and agreeable Cléante the reader of course

heartily sympathizes, is by no means a contemptible personage; and

when divested of his priggish solemnity, and of all those ludicrous

accidental qualities which go to make up the caricature, it cannot be

denied that he is a well-principled, sober, and industrious youth. It

is, therefore, no unreasonable conclusion to draw, that such was the

general character of the body of aspirants to the honors of the

venerable doctorate.

------

From The Lamp.

ALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.

BY ROBERT CURTIS.

CHAPTER XX.

For many hundred yards total silence prevailed among our pedestrians.

Even Kate Mulvey seemed at a loss what first to say, or whether she

ought to be the first to say anything.

Winny, seeing that her poor dog was getting on famously, was rather

pleased, "since the thing did happen," that it had been brought to so

satisfactory an end after all; and by whom? Her poor dog might have

been killed, and would, undoubtedly, but for Emon-a-knock's fortunate

arrival at the last moment, and his prompt and successful assistance.

There was poor Bully-dhu now, walking to all appearances almost as

well as ever, and tied up in _his_ handkerchief. She was glad that the

road had become by this time comparatively deserted, for she was timid

and frightened, she knew not why. Perhaps she was afraid she might

meet her father. She was thinking with herself, too, how far Emon

would come with them, and who they might meet who knew them, before he

turned back. Emon-a-knock's heart was wishing Kate Mulvey at "_Altha

Brashia_," but his head was not sorry that she was one of the party,

for common-sense still kept his heart in subjection.

Thus it was that silence prevailed for some time. Bully-dhu was the

first to break it. Whether it was that the whiskey had got into his

head, or, as the present fashion would say, that he was "screwed," I

know not; but he felt so much better, and had so far recovered his

strength and spirits, that he had almost pulled the handkerchief from

Emon's hand, and cut an awkward sort of a rigadoon round Winny,

barking, and looking up _triumphantly_ in her face. Could it have been

that while the others had been thinking of these other things, he had

been deluding himself with the notion that he had been the victor in

the battle?

"Poor fellow," said Winny, patting him on the head, "I do think

there's nothing very bad the matter with you {508} after all. Emon, I

am beginning to believe you."

"I hope you will always believe me, Winny Cavana," was his reply, and

he again sunk into silence.

She could not think why he called her Cavana, and "yet her color

rose;" I believe that is the way your experienced novelists would

express it in such a case.

A longer silence now ensued. None of the three appeared inclined to

talk--Emon less than either. Kate Mulvey, who had always plenty to

say for herself, seemed completely dumb--foundered, I was going to

add, but I find the word will do as well, perhaps better, in its

purity. But, notwithstanding their silence, they were shortening the

road to Rathcash. Winny was framing some pretty little speech of

thanks to Emon for the _trouble_ he had taken, and for his _kindness_;

but she had so often _botched_ it to her own mind, that she determined

to leave it to chance at the moment of parting. Kate had no such

excuse for her silence, and yet she was not without one, which to

herself quite justified it.

Some few desultory remarks, however, were made from time to time,

followed by the still "awkward pause," until they had now arrived at

the turn in sight of Kate Mulvey's house.

Emon was determined to go the whole way to the end of the lane turning

up to Winny Cavana's. He had not sought this day's happiness; he had

studiously avoided such a chance; but circumstances had so far

controlled him, that he could not accuse himself of wilful imprudence.

Emon knew very well that if a fair opportunity occurred, he would in

all probability betray himself in an unequivocal manner to Winny, and

he dreaded the result. Up to the present he was on friendly and

familiar terms with her; but once the word was spoken, he feared a

barrier would be placed between them, which might put an end to even

this calm source of happiness. That he loved Winny with a

disinterested but devoted love, he knew too well. How far he might

hope that she would ever look upon his love with favor, he had never

yet ventured to feel his way; and yet his heart told him there was

something about herself, which, if unbiassed by circumstances, might

bid him not despair. But her rich old father, who had set his heart

upon a marriage for his daughter with Tom Murdock, and a union of the

farms, he knew would never consent. Neither did he believe that Winny

herself would decline so grand a match when it came to the point.

Emon had argued all these matters over and over again in his mind; and

the fatal certainty of disappointment, added to a prudent

determination to avoid her society as much as possible, had enabled

him hitherto to keep his heart under some control.

Kate Mulvey, though "book-sworn" by Winny, if she did not exactly

repeat any of the confidential chat she had with her friend about Tom

Murdock and himself, felt no hesitation in "letting slip" to Emon, for

whom she had a very great regard, a hint or two just casually, as if

by accident, that Tom Murdock "was no great favorite" of Winny

Cavana's--that the neighbors "were all astray" in "giving them to one

another"--that if she knew what two and two made, it would all "end in

smoke;" and such little gossiping observations. Not by way of

_telling_ Emon, but just as if in the mere exuberance of her own love

of chat. But they had the desired effect, now that Emon was likely to

have an opportunity of a few words with Winny alone, for Kate was

evidently preparing to turn up to her own house when they came to the

little gate.

Emon had heard, even in his rank of life, the aristocratic expression

that "faint heart never won fair lady;" and a secret sort of

self-esteem prompted him to make the most of the fortuitous

circumstances which he had not sought for, and which he therefore

argued Providence might have thrown {509} in his way, "What can she

do," thought he, "but reject my love? I shall know the worst then; and

I can make a start of it. I'm too long hanging about here like a fool;

a dumb priest never got a parish; and barring his acres and his

cash--if he has any--I'm a better man than ever he was, or ever will

be."

These were his thoughts as they approached the gate, and his heart

began to tremble as Kate Mulvey said:

"Winny, dear, I must part with you here. I saw my father at the door.

He came to it two or three times while we were coming up the road; and

he made a sign to me to go in. I'm sure and certain he's half-starved

for his dinner, waiting for me!"

"Well, Kitty, I suppose I can't expect you to starve him out-and-out,

and I'll bid you good-bye. I'm all as one as at home now, I may say.

Emon--I--won't bring you any further."

"You're not bringing me, Winny; I'm going of my own free will."

"Indeed, Emon, you have been very kind, and I'm entirely obliged to

you for all your trouble; but I won't ask you to come any further

now."

Kate's father just then came to the door again; and she, thinking that

matters had gone far enough between Emon and her friend in her

presence, bid them a final good-bye, and turned up to her father, who

still stood at the door, and who really did appear to be starving, if

one could judge by the position of his hands and the face he made.

The moment had now arrived when Emon must meet his fate, or call

himself a coward and a poltroon for the remainder of his natural life,

be it long or short.

He chose the least degrading and the most hopeful alternative--to meet

his fate.

As Winny held out her hand to him, and asked him to let out the dog,

he said:

"No, Winny; I'll give him up to you at the end of the lane; but not

sooner."

Winny saw that remonstrance would be no use. She did not wish to

quarrel with Emon, and she knew that at all events that was no time or

place to do so.

They had not advanced many yards alone, when Winny stopped again, as

if irresolute between her wishes and her fears. She had not yet spoken

unkindly to Emon, and she had tact enough to know that the first

unkind word would bring out the whole matter, which she dreaded, in a

flood from his heart, and which she doubted her own power to

withstand.

"Emon," she said, "indeed I will not let you come any further--don't

be angry."

"Winny, you said first you would not ask me, and now you say you will

not let me. Winny Cavana, are you ashamed of _any_ one about Rathcash,

or Rathcash_more_, seeing you walking with Emon-a-knock?"

"You are very unjust and very unkind, Emon, to say any such thing. I

never was ashamed to be seen walking with you; and I'm certain sure

the day will never come when you will give me reason to be ashamed of

you, Emon-a-knock;--there now, I seldom put the two last words to your

name, except when I wish to be kind. But there is a difference between

shame and fear, Emon."

"Then you are afraid, Winny?"

"Yes, Emon, but it is only of my father--take that with you now, and

be satisfied, but don't fret me by persevering further. Let the dog

go--and good-bye."

All this time she was counting the pebbles on the road with her eyes.

"No, Winny, I'll not fret you willingly; but here or there it is all

the same, and the truth must come out. Winny, you have been the

woodbine that has twined itself and blossomed round my heart for many

a long day. Don't wither it, Winny dear, but say I may water and

nourish it with the dew {510} of your love;" and he would have taken

her hand.

"Not here, Emon," she said, releasing it; "are you mad? Don't you see

we're in sight of the houses? and gracious only knows who may be

watching us! Untie your handkerchief and give be the dog. For goodness

sake, Emon dear, don't come any further."

"No, Winny, I'd die before I'd fret you. Here's the dog, handkerchief

and all: keep it as a token that I may hope."

"Indeed, Emon, I cannot--don't ask me."

Emon's heart fell, and he stooped to untie the handkerchief in

despair, if not in chagrin, at Winny's last words.

But Bully-dhu appeared to know what his mistress ought to have done

better than she did herself. It was either that, or Emon's hand shook

so, that when endeavoring to untie the knot, the dog got loose,

"handkerchief and all," and, turning to his mistress, began to bark

and jump up on her, with joy that he had gained his liberty, and was

so near home. Winny became frightened lest Bully-dhu's barks might

bring notice upon them, and she endeavored to moderate his ecstacy,

yet she felt a sort of secret delight that she was in for the

handkerchief in spite of herself. She was determined, therefore, not

to send poor Emon-a-knock away totally dejected.

"There, Emon dear; for God's sake, I say again, be off home. I'll keep

it in memory of the day that you saved my poor dog from

destruction--there now, will that do?" and she held out her hand.

"It is enough, Winny dear. This has been the happiest day of my life.

May I hope it has only been the first of a long life like it?"

"Now, Emon, don't talk nonsense, but be off home, if you have any wit

--good-bye;" and this time she gave him her hand and let it lie in

his.

"God bless you, Winny dearest, I oughtn't to be too hard on you. Sure

you have raised my heart up into heaven already, and there is

something now worth living for." And he turned away with a quick and

steady step.

"She called me 'dear' twice," he soliloquized, after he thought she

had fairly turned round. But Winny had heard him, and as she took the

handkerchief from Bully-dhu's neck, she patted him upon the head,

saying, "And you _are_ a dear good fellow, and I'm very fond of you."

Emon heard every part of this little speech except the first word, and

Winny managed it to perfection; for though she had used the word "and"

in connection with what she had heard Emon say, she was too cunning to

let him hear that one small word, which would have calmed his beating

heart; and the rest she would fain have it appear had been said to the

dog, for which purpose she accompanied the words with those pats upon

his head. She spoke somewhat louder, however, than was necessary, if

Bully-dhu was alone intended to hear her.

Emon saw the transaction, and heard some of the words--only some. But

they were sufficient to make him envy the dog, as he watched them

going up the lane, and into the house.

It might be a nice point, in the higher ranks of life, to determine

whether, in a "breach of promise" case, the above passages could be

relied on as unequivocal evidence on either side of a promise; or

whether a young lover would be justified in believing that his suit

had been successful upon no other foundation than what had then taken

place. But in the rank of life in which Winny Cavana and Edward Lennon

moved, it was as good between them as if they had been

"book-sworn"--and they both knew it.

Before Winny went to her bed that night she had washed and ironed the

handkerchief, and she kept it ever after in her pocket, folded up in a

piece of newspaper. It had no mark {511} upon it when she got it, but

she was not afraid, after some time, to work the letters E. A. K. in

the comer, as no one was ever to see it but herself, not even Kate

Mulvey.

Old Ned Cavana, after returning from prayers, determined to rest

himself for some time before taking a tour of the farm, and lay down

upon an old black sofa in the parlor. There is no shame in the truth

that an old man of his age soon fell fast asleep. The servant-girl

looked in once or twice to tell him that the spotted heifer had cut

her leg jumping over a wall, as Jamesy Doyle was turning her out of

the wheat; but she knew it would not signify; and not wishing, or

perhaps not venturing, to disturb him, she quietly shut the door

again. He slept so long, that he was only just getting the spotted

heifer's leg stuped in the farm-yard while the scene already described

was passing between Winny and young Lennon upon the road. Were it not

for that same heifer's leg he would doubtless have been standing at

the window watching his daughter's return. Upon such fortuitous

accidents do lovers' chances sometimes hang! This was what Winny in

her ignorance of her father's employment had dreaded; and hence alone

her anxiety that Emon should "be off home, if he had any wit."

On this point she found, however, that all was right when she entered.

Her father was just coming in from the farm-yard, "very thankful that

it was no worse;" a frame of mind which we would recommend all persons

to cultivate under untoward circumstances of any kind.

Of course Winny told her father of the mishap about poor Bully-dhu's

battle; she "nothing extenuated, nor set down aught in malice," but

told the thing accurately as it had occurred; and did not even hide

that young Lennon--she did not call him Emon-a-knock--had ultimately

rescued the poor dog from destruction. She did not think it necessary

to say how far he had accompanied them on their way home.

"He's a smart young fellow, that Lennon is, an' I'm for ever obliged

to him, Winny, for that same turn. There would be no livin' here but

for Bully-dhu. I believe it was Emon himself gev him to us, when he

was a pup."

"It was, father; and a very fine dog he turned out."

"The sorra-betther, Winny. If it wasn't for him, as I say, betune the

fox an' the rogues, we wouldn't have a goose or a turkey, or a duck,

or a cock, or a hen, or so much as a chikin, in the place, nor so

much, iv coorse, as a fresh egg for our breakfast. Poor Bully, I hope

he's not hurt, Winny;" and he stooped down to examine him. "No, no,"

he cried, "not much; but I'm sure he's thirsty. Here, Biddy, get Bully

a dish of _bonnia-rommer_, and be sure you make him up a good mess

afther dinner. That Emon-a-knock, as they call him, is a thundering

fine young man; it's a pity the poor fellow is a pauper, I may say."

"No, father, he's _not_ a pauper, and never will be; he's well able to

earn his living."

"I know that, Winny, for he often worked here; an' there's not a man

in the three parishes laves an honester day's work behind him."

"And does not spend it foolishly, father. If you were to see how

nicely he was dressed to-day; and--beside all the help he gives his

father and mother."

She was about to add a remark that work was just then very slack, as

it was the dead time of the year, but that there was always something

to be done about the farm; but second thoughts checked the words as

they were rising to her lips; and second thoughts, they say, are best.

Old Ned here turned the conversation by "wondering was the dinner near

ready."

Winny was not a little surprised, and a good deal delighted, to hear

her father talk so familiarly and so kindly {512} of Emon. There never

was a time when her father's kind word of him was of more value to her

heart. Perhaps it would be an unjust implication of hypocrisy on the

old man's part to suggest that he might have only been "pumping" Winny

on the subject. She felt, however, that she had gone far enough for

the present in the expression of her opinion, and was not sorry when a

touch of the _faire gurtha_ put her father in mind of "the dinner."

We, who, of course, can see much further than any of our _dramatis

personae,_and who are privileged to be behind the scenes, could tell

Winny Cavana--but that we would not wish to fret her--that Tom Murdock

was looking on from his own window at the whole scene between her and

young Lennon on the road; and that from that moment, although he could

not hear a word that was said, he understood the whole thing, and was

generating plans of vengeance and destruction against _one_ or both.

CHAPTER XXI.

Matters were now lying quiet. They were like a line ball at billiards

which cannot be played at, and there was nothing "to go out for" by

any of the players in this double match. But occasionally something

"comes off," in even the most remote locality, which creates some

previous excitement, and forms the subject of conversation in all

ranks. Sometimes a steeple-chase, "five-sovereigns stakes, with fifty

or a hundred added," forms a speculation for the rich; with a farmer's

class-race for twenty pounds, without any stakes, for horses _bona

fide_ the property, etc.

A great cricket-match once "came off" not very far from the locality

of our story, when Major W--n lived at Mount Campbell, between the

officers of the garrison at Boyle and a local club. We belonged to the

major's province of constabulary at the time, and, as members, were

privileged to take part therein. The thing was rather new in that part

of the world at the time, but had been well advertised in the

newspapers for the rich, and through the police for the poor; and the

consequence was--the weather being very fine--that a concourse of not

less than a thousand persons were assembled to witness the game. There

can be little doubt that some of the younger portion, at least, of our

_dramatis personae_ in this tale were spectators upon the occasion. It

was within their county, and not an unreasonable distance from the

homes we are now writing of.

January and February had now passed by in the calm monotony of nothing

to excite the inhabitants of the Rathcashes. Valentine's Day, indeed,

had created a slight stir amongst some of the girls who had bachelors,

or thought they had; and many a message was given to those going into

C.O.S., to "be sure and ask at the post-office for a letter for me,"

"and for me," "and for me." A few, very few indeed, got valentines,

and many, very many, did not.

It was now March, and even this little anxiety of heart had subsided

on the part of the girls; some from self-satisfaction at what they

got, and others from disappointment at what they did not.

During this time Tom Murdock had seen Winny Cavana occasionally. It

would be quite impossible, with one common lane to both houses, and

those houses not more than three hundred yards apart, that any plan of

Winny's, less than total seclusion, could have prevented their

sometimes "coming across" one another; and total seclusion was a thing

that Winny Cavana would not subject herself to on account of any man

"that ever stepped in shoe-leather." "What had she to him, or to be

afraid of him for? Let him mind his own business and she'd mind hers.

But for one half hour she'd never shut herself up {513} on his

account. Let him let her alone."

Tom Murdock was not without a certain degree of knowledge of the

female heart, nor of a certain amount of tact to come round one, in

the least objectionable way; at all events, so as not to foster any

difference which might have taken place. He did not appear to seek her

society, nor did he seek to avoid it. When they met, which was really

always by accident, he was civil, and sufficiently attentive to show

that he harbored no ill-will against her, and respected her enough to

make it worth his while not to break with her. He was now certain of a

walk home with her on Sundays from mass. On these occasions her father

was generally with her, but this Tom considered rather to be wished

for than otherwise, as he could not venture, even if alone, to renew

the forbidden subject. But he knew the father had approved of his

suit, and his wish was now to establish a constant civility and

kindness of manner, which would keep him at least on his side, if it

did not help by its quietness to make Winny herself think better of

him.

What had passed between Winny and Emon was not likely in a human heart

to keep up the constrained indifference which that young man had

burdened himself with toward her. He had, therefore, upon two or three

Sundays ventured again to go to the chapel of Rathcash.

It is not very easy to account for, or to explain how such minor

matters fall out, or whether they are instinctively arranged

impromptu; but upon each occasion of Emon having re-appeared at

Rathcash chapel, Tom Murdock's walk home with Winny was spoiled; more

particularly if it so happened that her father did not go to prayers.

Emon-a-knock was never devoid of a considerable portion of self-esteem

and respect. Though but a daily laborer, his conduct and character

were such as to have gained for him the favorable opinion and the good

word of every one who knew him; and apart from the innate goodness of

his disposition, he would not lose the high position he had attained

in the hearts of his neighbors for the consideration of any of those

equivocal pleasures generally enjoyed by young men of his class. He

felt that he could look old Ned Cavana or old Mick Murdock straight in

the face, rich as they were. He felt quite Tom Murdock's equal in

everything, mentally and physically. In riches alone he could not

compare with him, but these, he thanked God, belonged to neither mind

nor body.

Thus far satisfied with himself, he always stopped to have a few words

with Winny, when chance--which he sometimes coaxed to be propitious--

threw him in her way. Even from Rathcash on Sundays he felt entitled

now, perhaps more than ever, to join her as far as his own way home

lay along with hers, and this although her father was along with her.

If Tom Murdock had joined them, which was only natural, living where

he did, Emon was more determined than ever to be of the party,

chatting to them all, Tom included; thus showing that he was neither

afraid of them nor ashamed of himself.

The first Sunday after the dog-fight was the first that Emon had gone

to the chapel of Rathcash for a pretty long time. But, as a matter of

course, he must go there on that day to inquire for poor Bully-dhu,

and to ascertain if Winny Cavana had recovered her fright and fatigue.

We have seen that Winny had told her father sufficient of the

transaction of poor Bully's mishap to make it almost a matter of

necessity that he should allude to it to Emon, if it were merely to

thank him for "the trouble he had taken" in saving the dog. When Winny

heard the words her father had used, she thought them cold--"the

trouble he had taken!" her heart suggested that he might have said,

and said truly, "the risk he had run."

But, Winny, there had really been no risk; and recollect that you had

{514} used the very same word "trouble" to Emon yourself, when you

knew no more of his mind than your father does now.

Tom had walked with them on this occasion, and old Ned's civility to

"that whelp"--a name he had not forgotten--helped to sour his temper

more than anything which had passed between Winny Cavana and him. But

all these things he was obliged to bear, and he bore them well, upon

"the-long-lane-that-has-no-turning" system.

But now a cause of anticipated excitement began to be spoken of in the

neighborhood; how, or why, or by whom the matter had been set on foot,

was a thing not known, and of no consequence at the time. Yet Tom

Murdock was at the bottom of it--and for a purpose.

There existed not far from about the centre of the locality of our

story a large flat common, where flocks of geese picked the short

grass in winter, and over which the peewit curled with a short

circular flap, and a timid little hoarse scream, in the month of May.

It consisted of about sixty acres of hard, level, whitish sod,

admirably adapted for short races, athletic sports, and manly

exercises of every kind. It formed a sort of amphitheatre, surrounded

by low green hills, affording ample space and opportunity for

hundreds, ay thousands, of spectators to witness any sport which might

be inaugurated upon the level space below.

Upon one or two occasions, but not latterly, hurling-matches had come

off upon Glanveigh Common. At one time these hurling-matches were very

common in Ireland, and were considered a fair test of the prowess of

the young men of different parishes. Many minor matches had come off

from time to time, but they were of a mixed nature, got up for the

most part upon the spot, and had not been spoken of beforehand--they

were mere impromptus amongst the younger lads of the neighborhood. The

love of the game, however, had not died out even amongst those of

riper years; and there were very many men, young and old, whose hurls

were laid up upon lofts, and who could still handle them in a manner

with which few parts of Ireland could compare. Amongst those Tom

Murdock was pre-eminent. He had successfully led the last great match,

when not more than twenty years of age, between the parishes of

Rathcash and Shanvilla, against a champion called "Big M'Dermott," who

led for the latter parish. He was considered the best man in the

province to handle a hurl, and his men were good; but Tom Murdock and

the boys of Rathcash had beaten them back three times from the very

jaws of the goal, and finally conquered. But Shanvilla formally

announced that they would seek an early opportunity to retrieve their

character. The following Patrick's Day would be three years since they

had lost it.