CHAPTER X.

A DESPAIRING CHAPTER.

After all, no person's story can be truly told without beginning

at the creation of the world. Not that we would invoke Darwinian

aid, or inquire into the family peculiarities of the sponge--"O

philoprogenitive sponge!" Nor would we intimate that the soul is

as passive to circumstances as a rudderless ship to wind and wave,

but assert rather that it is like the steamer, the great struggling

creature, with a will at heart. But circumstances are strong, even

very old circumstances, and our ancestors have a word to say, not as

to our final destination, but as to the road by which we shall reach

it. Coarser natures get their bent after the manner commemorated by

the Mohammedan legend: some Eblis of an ancestor spurned their clay

with his foot when the angels had kneaded it, and the dent is long in

filling out; but finer souls are strung like the wind-harp, and from

the long line-gale of ghosts preceding them is stretched now and then

a viewless finger, which sets vibrating some silent inherited chord.

Is it a vanishing and perpetually recurring strain of a Gregorian

chant, breaking awfully into the pauses of a godless life? Is it an

airily riotous Bacchic wreathing the slow minims of a choral? Catch

up the strain and repeat it as you will, all your life shall be a

palimpsest with _Te Deum laudamus_ written largely over the fading

errors; still the merit of good-will is not all your own. Or trip as

your dutiful measure may, tangled in that wild song; the fault is not

all yours. Many a Cassius may claim indulgence on the score of some

rash inherited humor.

Does the reader perceive that we are trying to excuse somebody?

The truth is, Carl has disappointed us. We meant him to be an

exquisite and heroic creation, perfect in every way; and we had a

right to expect that our intentions would be realized; did not we

make him ourself? But just as the clay model was finished, and we

were complacently admiring it, into our _atelier_ stepped the grand

antique mother, Nature. She came with a sound of scornful sweet

laughter, which seemed to roll cloud-wise under her feet, and curl

up around the strong and supple form, and wreathe the wide slope of

her shoulders. "Look you," she said, and pointed her finger, a little

shaken with merriment, "that is not the way _I_ make men. There are

no muscles in those limbs, there is no sight under that brow, there

is no live heart beating in that narrow chest. You have left no

chance for a soul to get into your manikin." So saying, she stretched

her finger yet further, and mockingly pushed it through the skull of

our model; then disappeared, leaving all the air behind her tremulous

with mirth.

Let us hurry over the present of this Carl with a hole in his head,

out of which all his ideal perfections are escaping, but into which

his true soul may some day enter. Outwardly he is studying law,

inwardly he is studying chaos. What books Mr. Griffeth gave him

to read, we know not; but we do know that the sentences were like

smooth, strong fingers untying from him many of the restraints

of his former education. With Theodore Parker, he could call the

sacred Scriptures the "Hebrew mythology," and describe baptism as

"being ecclesiastically sprinkled with water;" and having got so

far--"What," said he, "is the use of Mr. Theodore Parker?" and so

dropped him. The conversations Mr. Griffeth held with him we know

little of, but may presume that they were not profitable. We only

know that they were frequent. The two were constantly together, more

constantly than suited Mr. Yorke, who lost faith in the minister. "He

has no pity," he said. "He seems to have studied theology only to

see how many sins he can commit without losing his soul." But this

disapprobation of his step-father's had no effect on the young man,

who was perfectly infatuated with his new friend. This quiet life of

Carl's had produced a mental stagnation, from which arose all sorts

of miasmata. He dimly knew them as such, but that did not prevent his

breathing and poisoning himself with them. Perhaps he also suspected

that Mr. Griffeth's wings would melt off if he were exposed to a

strong and searching light; but the companionship was fascinating,

and Carl fancied that he had found his like. It was not so; they were

alike only as sharp six and flat seven are; they had identical moods;

but Carl stooped to where his new friend rose.

One of the fine things the young man learned was the use of opium.

"It makes you feel like a god while it lasts," says Mr. Griffeth,

"puts you into a perfectly Olympian state. But I warn you," he added,

with a tardy touch of conscience, "it does not last long, and from

Olympia you sink to Hades."

"And then," says Carl, "you go about as Dante did, with your hands

folded under your mantle, and people stand aside, and whisper about

you. I will take the dark with the bright."

So saying, he measured out the drops, and drank them with the

invocation: "Come, winged enchantment, and bear me wherever thou

wilt."

Reader, didst thou ever see one dear to thee made tipsy with liquor?

and dost thou remember the mingled pain, and pity, and contempt with

which thou didst look on his abasement? A man, a king of the earth,

a brother of saints, a friend of the Crucified, a child of the Most

High, grovelling thus!

One comfort, nature, and not we, made this man fall so. O better

comfort! he is earning mountain-loads of self-contempt, which shall

one day be paid with interest.

Only a few other items have we to record at this time. The young

ladies had made their proposed literary venture--Melicent with signal

failure, Clara with partial success. Publishers had twenty-five

different reasons, each better than the last, why a volume of

European travels would not be at that particular time a fortunate

venture, and were unanimously unable to say at what future period the

prospect would be brighter. Miss Yorke was not entirely blind. She

perceived that her book was a failure, and withdrew it. Whether she

contemplated any other work, her family did not know. She maintained

a profound silence on the subject. They suspected, however, that

she was studying out a novel. Clara's first story, read with great

applause to the family at home, was modestly offered to a respectable

second-class magazine, and accepted, with a request for more. So Miss

Clara occupies the proud position of being independent in the matter

of pocket-money, and an occasional benefactor to the others.

Of more consequence to us is the fact that Father Rasle is now

settled in Seaton, and building a church there. Something else is

also being built in Seaton--a "Native American" society, alias

Know-nothing. This society excited much attention and enthusiasm,

especially in Mr. Griffeth's congregation, and among their friends.

All the young men joined it. It seemed precisely to suit the genius

of Seaton.

Against this party Mr. Charles Yorke fought with all his strength.

It was contrary to the spirit of the constitution, he persisted; it

had nothing in common with the Declaration of Independence. The views

and aims of the party were narrow and bigoted, and their leaders were

ignorant demagogues.

But all that he gained by his denunciations was unpopularity, and

the party prospered yet more. It had not only the young and the

infidel for active members; it had a sly encouragement from Mr.

Griffeth, a cool approval from Doctor Martin, and an earnest help

from the Rev. Mr. Conway, the gentleman whom we left in a soiled

state half-way from Bragon to Seaton. He had preached the next Sunday

with acceptance to his congregation, and was now settled among them.

We may remark that he has not yet forgiven Mr. Griffeth the mistake

about the pulpit, nor will he be convinced that it was a mistake.

In consequence of this obduracy, the two ministers live in a state

of feud, in which their congregations take part, to the slight

disedification of old-fashioned people.

TO BE CONTINUED.

THE SERIAL LITERATURE OF ENGLAND.

Considering the number of periodicals at present published in Great

Britain, the extent of their aggregate circulation, and the range

and variety of topics discussed in their pages, their effect on

the public mind of that country for good or evil can scarcely be

overestimated. A magazine holds a middle place between the legitimate

literature of books and the ephemeral and generally ill-digested

effusions of newspapers, and appeals, especially to the middle

classes, as it were, in science, taste, and art. Business men

who have not time to read long histories or elaborately compiled

scientific works, and indolent ones who have not industry enough to

do so, seek information or pleasure in perusing their periodicals,

while the traveller as he is hurried along over the ocean or the

railroad, and the overwrought student as he closes his ponderous

folio or lays aside his pen, alike find recreation and relief in the

lighter and more mirthful contributions which, judiciously dispersed,

usually grace the pages of our monthly and semi-monthly press. Books,

too, of late have accumulated to such a fearful extent that the

bibliographer finds it impossible to read even a moiety of them to

ascertain their value, and so is forced to form his opinion of them

second-hand by accepting the _dicta_ of the industrious reviewer,

whose decision, when judiciously and intelligently given, thus

becomes of the utmost benefit to authors and readers.

Of late years the number and variety of English magazines have

greatly increased, and we presume the patronage bestowed on them has

kept pace with their growth. We would be glad to be in a position

to say that, in liberality of spirit, fairness and originality,

the improvement is equally apparent; but such is not the case,

and in this respect forms a marked contrast to the progress which

distinguishes a similar class of publications in this and some

European countries. Propriety of expression and artistic construction

of sentences, which have always characterized the composition of

English writers, even of second or third order of ability, remain,

but much of the force, mental grasp, and wide range of view, as

well as profound and exact knowledge, which once distinguished

their criticisms and essays, are wanting. We are aware that the

generation of able men whose genius once illuminated the columns of

_Blackwood_, _Fraser_, _Household Words_, etc., has passed away; but

why have they left us no literary heirs, no worthy successors, to

fill their places and wield their trenchant pens? Has the English

mind deteriorated, or is it that English public taste has become so

corrupted by the unwholesome sweets of the Trollopes, the Braddons,

and like sensationalists, that it rejects the salutary food presented

it by more serious and natural writers? We can hardly believe that

this latter is the efficient cause; for before the era of Griffin,

Dickens, Thackeray, Lever, and many other favorite authors, several

of whose admirable novels and essays first reached the public through

the magazines, the taste of the masses was even more vitiated by the

romances of the last century, hundreds of which were sure to be

found on the shelves of every circulating library in the country.

Neither can we properly attribute this "dearth of fame" to a want

of adequate pecuniary reward; for we are assured that encouragement

in this respect is sufficiently ample, and, compared with that of a

generation ago, might be called munificent. We are, therefore, forced

to the conclusion that there is an actual present deficiency of

mentality among the majority of English writers--another indication,

perhaps, of that decay of the Anglo-Saxon race, so-called, in England

which has been so long and so pertinaciously asserted by her rivals.

It is certainly true that the spirit of money-getting is more and

more engrossing the attention of the people; and, while other and

younger nations, like Russia, Germany, and the United States, are

rapidly growing into immense proportions, both artistic and literary

as well as politically, England, wrapped up mentally in her own

self-conceit, as she is geographically shackled by the four seas, is

sinking into comparative provincialism.

The tone and temper of her writers when treating foreign subjects,

we submit, amply prove this, were all other evidence wanting. Their

views of the affairs of other nations lack fairness, amplitude, and,

not unfrequently, truthfulness, and always seem like those of men who

look upon the broad outer world through the wrong end of a spy-glass.

Can anything be more unjust than the following passage, which we find

_en passant_ in an article on France in the May number of _Blackwood_?

"There is, however, one cause of hopelessness as

regards France, and for the life of me I do not see

how it is to be encountered. Here are the people who

not only asserted that they were the politest and most

civilized, but the bravest and boldest in Europe, now

exhibiting themselves not only as utterly degraded and

debased, but actually as destitute of courage as of

morals."

Apart from the want of generosity exhibited by the writer above in

thus ungraciously stigmatizing an unfortunate ally, his estimate of

her condition is exceedingly unfair, and, as he professes in the

article to have been a frequent visitor to her shores in bygone days,

we must attribute his obliquity to something else than ignorance.

In her recent struggle, France showed nothing like cowardice; but,

on the contrary, her children, veterans and recruits, exhibited a

courage and heroism worthy of her proudest days of military glory.

Her signal and rapid overthrow was due to other causes than the

want of bravery of her soldiers. Within the space of about two

hundred days, her badly organized, poorly equipped, and generally

indifferently commanded troops fought seventeen pitched battles and

one hundred and sixty-five general engagements against three-quarters

of a million of the best disciplined troops in Europe. Of the merits

of the quarrel we have nothing to say, but we feel assured that the

troops of Kaiser William would feel little complimented at being told

that their splendid victories were gained over a demoralized and

cowardly nation. As to France being destitute of morals, the contrary

is the fact. It is true that Paris, like London and other large

centres of population, contains much that is immoral and unholy; but

Paris is no longer France, and those best acquainted with the whole

country allege that religion was never more securely enthroned in the

hearts of the people, nor her ministers so much respected, as at the

present moment.

American questions are treated by our transatlantic contemporaries

in a manner somewhat different. Occasionally they speak of us in

impartial and even complimentary terms, but generally in a vein

of lofty patronage, such as an indulgent and much-enduring father

might be supposed to use to his erring but not altogether godless

offspring. If we exhibit a leaning toward Russia, we are forthwith

admonished to beware of encouraging despotism; if we recall our

ancient friendship with France, we are likely to be reminded that

with England we are the same in language, blood, and religion;

but, if there is a treaty favorable to the "mother-country" to be

concocted, or a European coalition adverse to the interests of our

mother aforesaid apprehended, Shakespeare, Milton, and Newton are

resurrected and become our joint inheritance, and Great Britain and

the United States are instantly declared to be two, and the only

two, "free governments in the universe" having a common interest

and a common destiny. Occasionally this maternal surveillance is

varied by an allusion to our social or topographical peculiarities,

really ludicrous from its very absurdity, while it shows, with all

this assumption of superiority, how very inaccurate is the knowledge

of our kind relations. In a late article on the destruction of

the ancient forests, a writer in the _Fortnightly Review_ gravely

protests against "the further destruction of scenery unique in Great

Britain, and, if represented in America at all, but imperfectly

represented by the oak openings of Michigan." Now, if an American

were to talk of the extensive prairies of Caermarthenshire or

the picturesque mountains of Kent, his ignorance of the physical

peculiarities of even those small subdivisions would be apt to evoke

the severe censure of our London critics.

Again, in their reviews of American works, the English magazines,

whether through design or from want of knowing better, usually fall

into serious error in respect to the constituent elements of our

population. They affect to regard the American mind simply as a

mere emanation of that of England, weakened, it is true, by time

and distance, but still worthy of some consideration. How such a

patent fallacy can be tolerated in that country, our nearest European

neighbor as we are her best customer, is incomprehensible. We have,

it is true, generally adopted what was good in her civil polity at

the time of the Revolution, and the majority of us speak her language

as our native tongue; but we are no more English than we are German,

Irish, French, or Spanish in our origin, temperament, habits of

thought, or development of genius. We are all these combined, as

well as something more which only the free spirit of a republic can

call into being, and, if modesty would permit us, we could say with

truthfulness that there is contained within that word "American" all

the best elements of every European race. The latest instance of this

self-deception we recently noticed in _Saint Paul's Magazine_, in

what was otherwise a very excellent notice of Hawthorne's works.

But America has the advantage of the practical arguments of material

prosperity and rapidly developing æsthetic tastes on her side, and is

fast becoming indifferent to adverse criticism. With less fortunate

countries, like Ireland, for instance, the case is altogether

different. The English magazine writers, when at a loss for an

illustration or "an awful example," never hesitate to draw on the

history or pretended history of the sister kingdom for the required

materials. We have before us some dozen periodicals published in

London and Edinburgh, the majority of the articles in which are

either on Irish topics or contain allusions to the affairs of that

unfortunate and misgoverned people, and that, too, as it may be

supposed, in no very partial or eulogistic terms. This unrelenting

hostility to a weak nation, while it may do very well for placemen

and land-agents who live by the griefs and afflictions of others,

is unworthy the chivalrous spirit which should distinguish the true

knight of the quill. We fear, however, that Burke's saying with

regard to the chivalry of the middle ages is equally applicable to

our own times, and that the free lances of the English metropolis,

who will fight in any and every cause, are more in demand than the

earnest searchers after truth and the honest correctors of public

morals.

We argue this from two facts: It is not unusual for the same person

to be employed in writing for two or more publications altogether

opposed in aim and character; and, secondly, from the total absence

of anything like religious sentiment in nearly the entire periodical

press, if we except those published in the direct interests of

Protestantism, and in those it degenerates into absolute bigotry.

We do not say that all the magazines are positively immoral, but

they certainly are negatively so, and in this respect probably more

dangerous to the well-being of society. Take their method of treating

some late publications which have been much spoken of, for example.

We find that Darwin's elaborately nonsensical theory of the origin

of the human race is handled with as much delicacy and seriousness

as if the reviewers had grave doubts in their own minds as to

whether their ancestors had or had not been monkeys, or at least as

if they considered it an open question not yet definitely settled;

while the blasphemies of Renan, instead of eliciting condemnation

and reproof, are carefully and quietly reproduced and laid before

the reader with a gentle caution against their novelty. Still, the

prevailing tone of the English magazines can scarcely be said to be

actively anti-Catholic or unchristian. It partakes more of paganism

in a modified form, which, while not openly violating the laws of

society, practically ignores the interference of Providence in the

affairs of men, like the Universalist preacher whose highest eulogy,

as pronounced by a friend, was that he was perfectly neutral in

politics and religion. The short prose fiction sketches in which the

English periodicals abound and which in artistic merit far excel

ours, are based on the same inamiable sentimentalism--a sort of

polite indifferentism, by which the heroes and heroines are made to

walk through life unconscious that there is a Being to whom the fall

of a sparrow is not unknown, and who directs the destiny of nations

as well as individuals. Fiction, if not the best, is certainly a very

effective medium of communicating correct ideas and pure morality to

the young, and, while it should be read sparingly, cannot in this

age be altogether dispensed with; and therefore it is that too much

care cannot be taken to see that it is not only free from grossness,

but that it is actively and primarily permeated by the spirit of

religion. Where this is not observed, as we regret to find in the

case of the English magazines, mere style of composition, felicity of

diction, and power of description count for nothing. They are simply

evidences of the perversion of the gifts of God, which ought always

and in all places to be used for the greater glory and honor of the

Giver.

MEMOIR OF FATHER JOHN DE BRÉBEUF, S.J.

Well acquainted as was Father Brébeuf, from long study and

intelligent observation, with the character and customs of the

Hurons, he knew thoroughly how to propitiate their favor and regain

their respect. His manly and courageous bearing during the prevalence

of the fever, and his undaunted coolness and fearlessness of death

in the midst of the late persecution, had won for him the admiration

of all the nobler spirits in the tribe. In December, 1637, he gave a

grand banquet, to which were invited the chiefs and warriors of the

country. He there addressed his assembled guests on the necessity of

embracing the true faith. In January of the next year, the head chief

of the Hurons, or Aondecho, as he was called, returned the compliment

by giving a similar banquet, to which Father Brébeuf was invited;

when he came to the banquet, the chief presented him to the assembly,

not as a guest, but as the host of the occasion, addressing them thus:

"Not I, but Echon, assembled you; the object of the deliberation I

know not; but be it what it may, it must, I am convinced, be of great

moment Let all then hearken attentively." The ever-ready and zealous

missionary then addressed the assembly on the same subject--the true

faith. He followed this up with another banquet in February, where

his address was followed by the evident but silent conviction of his

hearers. At its close, the Aondecho arose, and exhorted his warriors

and subjects to yield themselves to the counsels of the fathers. The

deep guttural expression of approval, ho! ho! ho! resounded on all

sides, and the grateful missionaries made their joyful thanksgiving

by chanting the hymn of the Holy Ghost. Then, with one acclaim, the

chiefs and warriors adopted Father Brébeuf into their tribe, and

created him one of the chiefs of the land--a dignity which invested

him with the power of summoning assemblies of the people in his own

cabin.

In the spring of 1638, the fever began to disappear from the country.

Now, too, the first Christian marriage was solemnized. The wife of

Joseph Chiwattenwha had been baptized in March, and the two were

united together in holy matrimony by Father Brébeuf on St. Joseph's

Day. Peter Tsiwendaentaha united with them in approaching the holy

communion.

The public duties of the mission occupied the entire time of Father

Brébeuf. The abandonment of Ihonitiria, in consequence of the recent

scourge, caused Fathers le Mercier, Ragueneau, Garnier, Jogues,

Pijart, and Chatelain to remove that mission to Teananstayaé, the

residence of Louis de Sainte Foi. But they felt great fears about

that place, since its chief had shortly before instigated the

warriors to canvass the murder of the missionaries at Ossossané.

But Father Brébeuf, with characteristic courage and zeal, went to

the village, and as a chief of the nation summoned a council of

the chiefs and warriors. The mission was formally announced on the

spot, and we shall soon see the fathers offering up the Holy Mass at

Teananstayaé. The year before, an Iroquois prisoner had received

baptism there from the hands of Father Brébeuf; and now nearly a

hundred prisoners, condemned to death, were instructed and baptized

by the missionaries on the eve of their execution. About this time

an entire tribe, the Wenrohronons, abandoned by their allies, the

Neutrals, came and threw themselves upon the hospitality of the

Hurons. They were wasting away from the effects of the recent

plague, and the fathers at Ossossané rushed to their relief. They

nursed their sick, instructed and baptized their dying, many of

whom expired with the waters of baptism fresh upon their brows.

The Hurons themselves were moved in favor of a religion capable of

producing such heroic examples; and on the 11th of November, St.

Martin's Day, one entire family, and the heads of two others, were

baptized in health. On the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, others

were converted and baptized, numbering in all thirty; so that at

Christmas there was assembled, around that rude but holy altar in the

wilderness, a sincere and fervent little congregation of Christians,

adoring and offering their gifts to the infant Saviour.

The missionaries were now distributed in sets of four, consisting

of three of the earlier and one of the recently arrived fathers, at

the various points through the country where missions were located.

Many new missions were opened, and the flying visits to villages

whose missions had been broken up by the persecution were renewed.

Among the new missions now opened was the one already alluded to

at Teananstayaé, or St. Joseph's, whose commencement on New Year's

Day was cheered with fifty baptisms. The indefatigable Brébeuf was

its founder, and with him were associated Father Jogues, whose

Indian name was Ondesson, and Father Ragueneau. The most perfect

system, both as regards the internal regulation of the affairs of

the mission-house and its inmates, and the external labors of the

fathers, was introduced by Father Brébeuf, which enabled them to

perform an almost incredible amount of missionary labor. Among the

natives, an aged chief named Ondehorrea, who was now a Christian, was

of great assistance to them in their labors. He had once repulsed the

fathers from his bed of illness, and, having called in the sorcerers,

he then rejected them, and recalled the fathers, who were at once

at his side. He was soon sufficiently instructed to be baptized,

and at the moment that the saving waters touched his forehead, he

arose suddenly in perfect health, to the amazement of all. He ever

afterwards showed his sincerity as a Christian, and his gratitude

to the fathers, by remaining their constant friend and faithful

assistant.

A curious affair now arose, which will convey to us some idea of

the trials with which those devoted missionaries had to contend. A

woman living in a little village near Ossossané, as she was passing

along one night, saw the moon fall upon her head, and immediately

change into a beautiful female, holding a child in her arms. The

apparition declared herself to be the sovereign of that country and

all the nations dwelling therein, and required that her sovereign

power should be acknowledged by each nation's making a present or

offering. The apparition designated the offering which each nation

should bring, not omitting the French, who were required to present

blue blankets. The woman was taken ill, and demanded that the order

of the divinity should be complied with for her recovery. A council

was accordingly held at Ossossané, to which the missionaries were

invited. They attended, and were bold enough to oppose so wicked a

homage to a false deity. But all was in vain, for the whole country

was in a ferment of excitement. The most abominable orgies known to

savage life were celebrated in honor of this new goddess, and men

were hurrying in all directions to procure the required presents.

Soon all the offerings were collected together, except the blue

blankets of the French, and the missionaries were called upon to

do homage in the manner required of them. They resolutely refused

compliance with such a requisition, and, as may be well imagined,

they immediately became the objects of general indignation. Amid

threats and imprecations, and the glare of the uplifted tomahawk,

those courageous priests refused to let a blanket go from their

cabin, except upon condition of the immediate cessation of all that

was going on, and the dismissal of the woman. These terms were

rejected, the orgies were continued, and peril surrounded the fathers

at every step; still they could not be induced to yield the points.

Fortunately for the missionaries, however, the apparition paid the

woman another visit, and released the French from the unholy tribute.

In September, 1639, new missionaries arrived. Unfortunately, an

Indian in one of the canoes of their flotilla was infected with the

small-pox, and that disease was thus introduced into the country.

The malady began to spread with fearful rapidity, and, as usual,

the origin of this evil, as of all others, was attributed to the

missionaries. Persecution was at once renewed, the cross was

violently dragged down from their houses, their cabins were invaded,

their crucifixes torn from their persons, one of them was cruelly

beaten, and all were threatened with death. So great was their peril

at one time that they calmly prepared themselves for martyrdom. They

were finally ordered peremptorily from the town. In the midst of

these persecutions, the heart of Father Brébeuf was consoled with

a vision: the Blessed Virgin, as the Mother of Sorrows, came to

console her son and to confirm his courage; she appeared to him with

her heart transfixed with swords. At once his resolution was taken;

he remained at his post of danger and of care, and continued his

missionary labors.

In consequence of these repeated persecutions, and the constant

exposure of the fathers to the renewal of them by the malice of the

medicine-men, it was determined to erect a missionary residence apart

from the villages and their vicious population, which might prove a

safe retreat for the fathers in time of trouble, and a convenient

place for instructing the catechumens and others well disposed to

receive the faith. During the years that Father Brébeuf was at

Ossossané, displaying the most heroic zeal and disinterested charity,

he had met with the blackest ingratitude from the persons whom he

had fed by depriving himself of nourishment, and on one occasion he

was ignominiously beaten in public. The other fathers had suffered

similar indignities and maltreatment. While glorying, like the

saints, in these sufferings for the sake of God and his church, he

yet saw the necessity, for the sake of the mission, of a separate

residence. It was this necessity that originated St. Mary's on the

river Wye.

In the various missions whose establishments we have mentioned,

there had been baptized up to the summer of 1640 about one thousand

persons: of these two hundred and sixty were infants, and though some

of them were restored to health, by means apparently miraculous, most

of them went in baptismal purity to swell the ranks of the church

triumphant in heaven. It was about this time that Father Brébeuf

ceased to be superior of the mission, and was succeeded by Father

Jerome Lalemant. The Jesuit, ever true to his institute, passed from

command to obedience with the gladness and alacrity known only to the

humble soldiers of the cross. His career as superior, arduous and

glorious, was also abundant in fruit to the church. He was indeed

the father of the Huron mission. Our eloquent Bancroft, in speaking

of his and his companions' labors to introduce Christianity among

the aborigines of our continent, says that St. Joseph's chapel,

wherein, "in the gaze of thronging crowds, vespers and matins began

to be chanted, and the sacred bread was consecrated by solemn Mass,

amazed the hereditary guardians of the council-fires of the Huron

tribes. Beautiful testimony of the equality of the human race! the

sacred wafer, emblem of the divinity in man, all that the church

offered to the princes and nobles of the European world, was shared

with the humblest of the savage neophytes. The hunter, as he returned

from his wild roamings, was taught to hope for eternal rest; the

braves, as they came from war, were warned of the wrath that kindles

against sinners a never-dying fire, fiercer far than the fires of the

Mohawks; and the idlers of the Indian villages were told the exciting

tale of the Saviour's death for their redemption."

Father Brébeuf, already the founder of so many missions, now starts

out with unabated ardor to open others. Accompanied by Father

Chaumonot, he advanced into the country of the Neutrals, naming the

first town he entered "All Saints." He pushed onward to the Niagara,

to the residence of Tsoharissen, the chief whom all the Neuter towns

obeyed. Hither the calumnies of some hostile Hurons had preceded

him, and represented Echon as the most terrible of sorcerers. The

two missionaries were repulsed on all sides, and in their retreat

from place to place were pursued by the arrows of their enemies.

Still they persevered, and they succeeded in visiting eighteen towns,

preached the Gospel in ten of them, and announced for the first time

the words of truth to at least three thousand souls. During these

labors, the keen eye of Brébeuf saw the importance to New France

of an occupation of the Niagara by missions and trading posts; the

travels of the missionaries would be greatly shortened, the warlike

Iroquois restrained, the Hurons saved from a war of extermination,

and the whole interior continent opened to European civilization

and the faith of Christ. The plan of Father Brébeuf received little

attention at court: a neglect which decided the fate of empires. We

cannot determine precisely how far Father Brébeuf advanced into the

country; only one town received the missionaries, which they called

St. Michael's. They, however, approached as far into the Iroquois

country as was possible; still Bancroft says it is uncertain that he

ever stood upon the territory of our republic.

But the hostile Hurons, not contented with the furious persecution

they had raised against the fathers in their own country, pursued

them into their new mission. Two Huron deputies soon arrived, and

proclaimed a tempting reward for such as would deliver the country

from those devoted men. While the council was engaged in debating

the question of his expulsion or death, Father Brébeuf was making

his examen of conscience in the cabin where he lodged, and suddenly

he beheld a fearful spectre: the figure held three darts, which were

successively hurled against him and his companion, but were averted

by an unseen hand. Presaging evil from the vision, the two fathers

made their confessions to each other, and, thus prepared to die, they

went to rest. They afterward learned from their post, who returned

to the cabin late at night, that the session of the council was long

and stormy; three times the young braves had insisted on butchering

them on the spot, but were restrained by the sachems. But now,

such was the state of the feeling aroused against them, that they

could not advance a step in safety. Turned from every shelter, and

encountering death at every step, they wandered as outcasts over the

country. Believing that their longer continuance was only calculated

to increase the savage hatred of the people against them, and retard

the introduction of the faith, the fathers retreated to the Neuter

town which they had named All Saints. Here they wintered and spent

the time in instructing the people. In the spring, they advanced

as far as Teotongniatou, or St. Williams, where a charitable woman

gave them a shelter. While thus lingering, Father Brébeuf arranged

his Huron dictionary to the Neuter dialect, in which he had made

considerable progress in four months. No sooner had the ameliorating

influences of spring rendered travelling just possible, even to

such travellers as those who had been accustomed for years to brave

every hardship, than Father Brébeuf and his companions started on

one of the most extraordinary journeys on record. Already spent with

fatigues and privations, and pursued by danger, Father Brébeuf had

to remain six days in the woods, sleeping on the snow, and without

a covering or shed over his head. The cold was so intense that the

trees themselves did split with a noise like the crack of a rifle. A

special Providence protected him, for he exhibited no evidence that

he had been cold or exposed. Loaded with the provisions which he was

compelled to carry, as there were no relays on the way, he travelled

two days across a lake of ice; and while thus struggling onward, his

heart and eyes lifted up to heaven, he fell upon the ice. His portly

frame gave such violence to his fall that he was unable to rise from

the ice. After a long time he was lifted up by one of his companions,

and then found that his extremities were palsied, and he could not

lift his feet from the ground. Besides, his collar-bone was broken.

He bore the last in silence, as it was not apparent. This fact was

only discovered two years later by the surgeon who attended him at

Quebec. In vain his companions begged the privilege of drawing him

the remaining thirty-six miles of the journey in a sled, and at

other times to assist him on the way; he declined all their generous

offers, and labored onward, scarcely able to drag one foot after the

other. It was thus he crossed the level country, and when he came

to the mountains, he crept up on his hands and feet, and allowed

himself to slide down on the opposite side, retarding his too rapid

descent with his bruised and aching hands. Thus he completed his

journey, which for love of suffering, patience, and humility compares

with some of the most heroic achievements recorded of the saints.

His companions went forward on other labors, but Father Brébeuf,

while waiting for the next flotilla bound for Quebec, determined to

take what he styled his "repose"--a repose busily spent in making

important arrangements for the missions, which his superior knowledge

of everything relating to them enabled him alone to effect.

On the passage to Three Rivers, Father Brébeuf was accompanied by

Sondatsaa, an exemplary catechumen, and a party chiefly Christians or

catechumens. They arrived at Three Rivers after a narrow escape from

the murderous blades of the Mohawks, who were lying in wait for them.

Finding it impossible for Fathers Ragueneau and Menard to reach their

missions in Huronia without a strong guard, Father Brébeuf proceeded

with Father Ragueneau and Sondatsaa to Sillery, in order to obtain

succor for them. Here, moved by the entreaties of all, and especially

of Sondatsaa himself, and having completed his instruction, Father

Brébeuf consented to baptize that zealous convert. The ceremony was

performed at Sillery, on the 27th of June, with great pomp, and in

the presence of a concourse of Indians. The Chevalier de Montmagny

was godfather to the convert, who received the Christian name of

Charles. He now returned, a Christian, to his own country, bearing in

his little flotilla the two fathers destined for the Huron mission.

While Father Brébeuf was dwelling at Sillery, the next flotilla of

Hurons that came bore its usual freight of calumnies against Echon.

They now accused him of being colleagued with the Iroquois for the

destruction of the Hurons. This renewal of calumny checked, for a

time, his success; but he continued his preparations and arrangements

for the Neuter mission and his endeavors to convert his persecutors

to the faith. He endeavored to persuade some of these Hurons to

remain and winter with him, in order to receive instructions. Two of

them, who were left behind in the chase, were induced to remain, and

Father Brébeuf, after the usual instruction and probation, had the

consolation of receiving these into the one fold of the One Shepherd.

He also succeeded in gaining a number of other Huron converts.

Father Nimont, struck with the happy results of his labors, resolved

to detain him another winter at Sillery. It was during this summer

that Father Jogues came to Sillery for supplies. Here these future

martyrs met in the prosecution of their noble labors; but soon the

unconquerable Brébeuf saw his saintly companion set forth on his

perilous mission over the country infested by the Iroquois, to carry

relief to the Huron missionaries. Himself was soon to follow.

In the spring of 1643, Father Brébeuf proceeded to Three Rivers,

where he was cheered by tidings of Father Jogues. That holy

missionary, in returning from Sillery to bring succor to his

companions in Huronia, had fallen a captive into the hands of the

fierce Iroquois, and his fate was the object of intense anxiety.

Father Brébeuf now learned that he was still living. The bold and

generous Brébeuf arranged with a Huron, who was going out, to wait

for letters to Father Jogues at Fort Richelieu; the father, bearing

the letters, penetrated as far as the fort, but the courage of the

Huron messenger failed; he had passed and was afraid to return, and

the Jesuit was compelled to retrace his steps without succeeding in

conveying a word of comfort and encouragement to his captive brother.

In the spring of 1644, Father Bressani also, in endeavoring to

reach Huronia, fell into the hands of the Iroquois. But the Huron

missionaries must be succored at every hazard, and Father Brébeuf was

now chosen for this perilous enterprise. Setting out in the summer,

with an escort of twenty soldiers given to him by the governor, he

reached the Huron missions in safety on the 7th of September. The

Huron mission had ever been the dearest object of Father Brébeuf's

heart. Restored now to his chosen vineyard, he devoted himself to

the task of converting those tribes with a zeal and an energy worthy

of his former glorious career. Year after year he continued his

heroic labors; and, though our pen cannot follow him, step by step,

through the trials, sacrifices, and exertions which his seraphic love

inspired him to encounter, they were recorded in minutest detail by

angelic pens in heaven. Success crowned the efforts of Father Brébeuf

and his companions. Persecution ceased, and the whole country was

becoming conquered to the faith. In August, 1646, Father Gabriel

Lalemant, full of zeal and courage, was joined with Father Brébeuf in

the mission of St. Ignatius, which embraced the town of St. Louis and

some smaller villages. By this time, the horrid superstitions of the

country had given way to the pure and holy rites of Catholic worship,

and the cross, so lately despised, feared, and hated, had now become

the object of love and veneration. Father Bressani writes: "The faith

had now made the conquest of the entire country." "We might say they

were now ripe for heaven; that naught was needed but the reaping-hook

of death to lay the harvest up in the safe garner-house of paradise."

"Religion seemed at last the peaceful mistress of the land."

Allusion has several times been made to the visions from on high

which were mercifully sent to warn Father Brébeuf of danger

impending, or to sustain him under the extraordinary afflictions,

persecutions, and sufferings which at times seemed to exceed even

his remarkable powers of endurance. Some of these have already been

described. To the Protestant and non-Catholic mind, these miraculous

communications to the saints are but the imaginings of morbid and

diseased intellects. Parkman, in his _Jesuits in North America_,

relates the following visions of Father Brébeuf only to classify them

as psychological phenomena: "It is," he says, "scarcely necessary to

add that signs and voices from another world, visitations from hell

and visions from heaven, were incidents of no rare occurrence in the

lives of these ardent apostles. To Brébeuf, whose deep nature, like a

furnace white-hot, glowed with the still intensity of his enthusiasm,

they were especially frequent. Demons, in troops, appeared before

him, sometimes in the guise of men, sometimes as bears, wolves, or

wild-cats. He called on God, and the apparitions vanished. Death,

like a skeleton, sometimes menaced him; and once, as he faced it with

an unquailing eye, it fell powerless at his feet. A demon, in the

form of a woman, assailed him with the temptation which beset St.

Benedict among the rocks of Subiaco; but Brébeuf signed the cross,

and the infernal siren melted into air. He saw the vision of a vast

and gorgeous palace, and a miraculous voice assured him that such was

to be the reward of those who dwelt in savage hovels for the cause of

God. Angels appeared to him, and more than once St. Joseph and the

Virgin were visibly present before his sight. Once, when he was among

the Neutral nation, in the winter of 1640, he beheld the ominous

apparition of a great cross slowly approaching from the quarter

where lay the country of the Iroquois. He told the vision to his

companions.

"'What was it like? how large was it?' they eagerly demanded.

"'Large enough,' replied the priest, 'to crucify us all.'

"To explain such phenomena is the province of psychology and not of

history. Their occurrence is no matter of surprise, and it would be

superfluous to doubt that they were recounted in good faith and with

a full belief in their reality. In these enthusiasts we find striking

examples of one of the morbid forces of human nature; yet, in

candor, let us do honor to what was genuine in them--that principle

of self-abnegation which is the life of true religion, and which is

vital no less to the highest forms of heroism."

Bancroft, alluding to the same subject, and to the life, austerities,

and self-sacrifice of Father Brébeuf, says: "The missionaries

themselves possessed the weaknesses and the virtues of their order.

For fifteen years enduring the infinite labors and perils of the

Huron mission, and exhibiting, as it was said, 'an absolute pattern

of every religious virtue,' Jean de Brébeuf, respecting even the

nod of his distant superiors, bowed his mind and his judgment to

obedience. Besides the assiduous fatigues of his office, each day,

and sometimes twice in the day, he applied to himself the lash;

beneath a bristling hair-shirt he wore an iron girdle, armed on

all sides with projecting points; his fasts were frequent; almost

always his pious vigils continued deep into the night. In vain did

Asmodeus assume for him the forms of earthly beauty; his eye rested

benignantly on visions of divine things. Once, imparadised in a

trance, he beheld the Mother of him whose cross he bore, surrounded

by a crowd of virgins, in the beatitudes of heaven. Once, as he

himself has recorded, while engaged in penance, he saw Christ unfold

his arms to embrace him with the utmost love, promising oblivion of

his sins. Once, late at night, while praying in the silence, he had a

vision of an infinite number of crosses, and, with mighty heart, he

strove, again and again, to grasp them all. Often he saw the shapes

of foul fiends, now appearing as madmen, now as raging beasts; and

often he beheld the image of death, a bloodless form, by the side of

the stake, struggling with bonds, and at last falling, as a harmless

spectre, at his feet. Having vowed to seek out suffering for the

greater glory of God, he renewed that vow every day, at the moment

of tasting the sacred wafer; and as his cupidity for martyrdom grew

into a passion, he exclaimed, 'What shall I render to thee, Jesus my

Lord, for all thy benefits? I will accept thy cup, and invoke thy

name: and in sight of the Eternal Father and the Holy Spirit, of the

most holy Mother of Christ and St. Joseph, before angels, apostles,

and martyrs, before St. Ignatius and Francis Xavier, he made a vow

never to decline an opportunity of martyrdom, and never to receive

the death-blow but with joy."

In the eye of Catholic faith, these visions and special revelations

are but the fruits and blessings of a revealed and supernatural

religion. While they do not fall to the lot of us ordinary

Christians, nor are they necessary helps in the little we accomplish

for God and his church, it is difficult to conceive how the saints

and martyrs could have performed their sublime actions, or met their

cruel and unjust deaths for God's sake with a smile--sacrifices

so far above and even repugnant to our nature--without the aid of

these supernatural supports. The dedication of himself to martyrdom,

and the heroic courage and joy with which he met his appalling

fate, could only be achieved in the bosom of a church believing in

miracles, and presenting to her children the crown of martyrdom

as the highest reward attainable by man. The visions of Father

Brébeuf, like other miracles, depend wholly upon the evidence and

circumstances by which they are supported to entitle them to belief.

It was not his habit to disclose them; it was only when commanded by

his superiors that he committed them to writing. They thus rest upon

his solemn written words, and upon their perfect agreement in many

instances with contemporaneous facts transpiring beyond his sight and

knowledge. To suppose him to have been deluded would be to contradict

every quality of mind and character so universally attributed to him

by all Protestant historians.

Father Brébeuf's aspirations for the crown of martyrdom were

prophetic of his appointed and glorious end. But to him all

historians have attributed the most practical views in relation

to the Indian missions, and the coolest and wisest manner of

dealing with them. There was no mere sentimentality in his nature.

He addressed his powerful energies and resources to the actual

conversion of the Indians to Christianity, and we have seen how great

were the results he achieved. But now, alas! a dark cloud was seen

gathering over the happy Christian republic of the Hurons. Already,

during the winter of 1649, the fierce Iroquois hordes, numbering

upwards of one thousand, had secretly passed over a space of six

hundred miles of Huron forests, and on the sixteenth of March they

appeared suddenly before the town of St. Ignatius, while the chiefs

and warriors were absent on the chase, and the old men, women, and

children were buried in sleep. Strongly as the place was fortified,

this overwhelming force carried it by storm, and murdered its

unsuspecting inhabitants. Three only escaped, half-naked, from the

slaughter, and gave the alarm to the village of St. Louis, where

the fathers were then laboring. Here preparations were at once made

to offer a gallant but unequal resistance. The women and children

were sent over forty miles of ice and snow to seek a shelter in

the cabins of the Petuns. The chiefs exhorted the fathers also

to fly, since they could not go to the war. But Father Brébeuf,

with all the heroism of his great soul, answered that there was

something more necessary than fire and steel in such a crisis; it

was to have recourse to God and the sacraments, which none could

administer but they--that he and his companion, the gentle Lalemant,

would abandon them only in death. The two fathers, says Father

Bressani, "now hurried from place to place, exhorting all to prayer,

administering the sacraments of penance and baptism to the sick and

the catechumens, in a word, confirming all in our holy faith. The

enemy in fact remained at the first fork only long enough to provide

for the safe keeping of the prisoners and the safety of those left

as a garrison to guard them. After this they marched, or rather

rushed, directly upon St. Louis. Here none were now left but the old

and sick, the missionaries, and about a hundred braves to defend

the place. They held out for some time, and even repulsed the enemy

at the first assault, with the loss of about thirty killed, but the

number of the assailants being incomparably greater, they overcame

all resistance, and, cutting down with their axes the palisades which

defended the besieged, were soon in possession of the town. Then

putting all to fire and steel, they consumed in their very town, in

their very cabins, all the old, sick, and infirm who had been unable

to save themselves by flight."

What contrasts the events of history present! While this relentless

slaughter was at its height, and the worst passions of the fiercest

of heathens were let loose, the scene of blood, fire, and death

was relieved by the presence of Christian heroes the most gentle,

merciful, and self-sacrificing. They stood in the breach to the last

stroke of the enemy, encouraging the dying Christians to fortitude

and hope, the wounded to patience, and the prisoners to courage

and perseverance in the faith. The palisades of St. Louis finally

were cut away. The infuriate Iroquois swept in, and the whole

surviving garrison, warriors and priests, were all made prisoners

together. The savages rejoiced especially at the capture of such a

prisoner as Father Brébeuf, whom they immediately showed signs of

torturing, when a generous Oneida chief, more magnanimous than the

rest, purchased him from his captors for a large price in wampum. It

seemed as though he was about to be deprived of his coveted crown;

but no! the victors retracted their bargain, and Father Brébeuf was

again seized by his enemies. He and Father Lalemant were stripped,

bound fast, and cruelly beaten, and their nails were torn out. But

lest some change in the tide of war should deprive them of their

prisoners, the latter were all sent, closely bound and tightly

secured, to St. Ignatius. Here, as they entered the town, they were

beaten and bruised by the rabble with sticks and clubs. The large

and conspicuous frame of Father Brébeuf attracted a double share of

blows on his already bruised and lacerated head and body. In the

midst of these cruelties, he was forgetful of himself, and anxious

only that his Christian Hurons, who were now his fellow-prisoners,

should be encouraged and consoled in their extreme danger. From the

stake to which he had been tied, beholding them assembled for the

torture, he lost sight completely of his own greater calamities and

sufferings, and thus he addressed them: "My children, let us lift up

our eyes to heaven in the worst of our torments; let us remember that

God beholdeth all we suffer, and will soon be our reward exceeding

great. Let us die in this faith, and hope from his goodness the

accomplishment of his promises. I pity you more than myself, but

support manfully the little torment that yet remains. It will end

with our lives; the glory which follows will have no end." How great

must have been his consolation when he heard their heroic answer, a

convincing proof that Indians may be truly converted to Christianity,

and possess the constancy to die in the faith. "'Tis well, Echon,"

they cried, "our souls will be in heaven, while our bodies suffer

on earth; entreat God to show us mercy; we shall invoke him to our

latest breath." Enraged at his exhortations and unflinching zeal,

even in death, some Hurons adopted by the Iroquois rushed upon him

and burned his flesh with a fire which they kindled near him, they

cut off his hands, and while Father Lalemant's flesh was cut and

punctured with awls and other sharp instruments, and hot irons placed

under his armpits, they led him forth to torture and death before the

eyes of Father Brébeuf, in order to add to the agonies of the latter.

As Father Brébeuf continued to speak and to exhort his Christians,

and to threaten the vengeance of heaven upon their persecutors,

they cut off his lower lip and nose, and thrust a red-hot iron down

his throat. Even after this, when he saw his superior, the gentle

Lalemant, led out to death, he called out to him with a broken voice

in the words of St. Paul, "We are made a spectacle to the world,

to angels, and to men." Throwing himself at Father Brébeuf's feet,

Father Lalemant was ruthlessly torn away, and in a few moments he

was enveloped in flames at the stake, and his gentle soul preceded

that of the intrepid Brébeuf to heaven. Turning next upon Father

Brébeuf, they threw a collar of red-hot axes around his neck, which

seethed and burned their way into his flesh; he stood, in the midst

of such agonies, erect and motionless, apparently insensible to pain,

intent only on vindicating the faith he had so long and faithfully

announced. His tormentors were awed by his constancy, which seemed to

them a proof that he was more than man. But they again taxed their

ingenuity for new tortures. An apostate Huron, who had been a convert

of Father Brébeuf in the Huron mission, and had since been adopted by

the Iroquois, was the first to signalize the zeal of the renegade. He

proposed to pour hot water on the head of Father Brébeuf, in return

for the quantities of cold water he had poured on the heads of others

in baptism. The suggestion was received with fiendish joy, and soon

the kettle was swung. While the water was boiling, they added fresh

cruelties to their victim's sufferings. They crushed his mouth and

jaw with huge stones, thrust heated iron and stones into his wounds,

and with his own eyes he beheld them devour the slices of flesh which

they cut from his legs and arms. Let us not cut short the appalling

story; for surely, what a martyr bore a Christian may have courage

to Three.'and bringing the scalding water from the caldron, they

poured it over his bruised head and lacerated body amidst shouts and

imprecations, and, as they did so, the high-priests of the occasion

mockingly said to him: "We baptize you that you may be happy in

heaven; for nobody can be saved without a good baptism." By this time

Father Brébeuf's mouth and tongue could no longer articulate, but

even yet by his erect posture, the struggling and brave expression

of his almost expiring eye, and even by his half-formed words, he

encouraged the Christian captives to perseverance, and endeavored

to deter the savages from torturing them by threats of heaven's

vengeance. Again cutting slices from his body and devouring them

before his eyes, they told him that his flesh was good. Some of the

renegade Hurons, more fiendish than even the Iroquois, again mocked

him by saying: "You told us that the more one suffers on earth, the

happier he is in heaven. We wish to make you happy; we torment you,

because we love you; and you ought to thank us for it." They next

scalped him, and even after this they poured the boiling water over

his head, repeating the torture three times; they cut off his feet,

and splitting open his stalworth and generous chest, they crowded

around and drank with exultation the warm blood of the expiring hero.

His eye, firm and expressive to the last, was now dimmed in death,

and at last a chief tore out his noble and brave heart, cut it into

a thousand pieces, and distributed it to the savage cannibals that

crowded around to receive a share of so exalted and unconquerable

a victim. Thus perished of earth, while crowned of heaven, the

illustrious Brébeuf, "the founder of the Huron mission--its truest

hero, its greatest martyr."

The Iroquois, now glutted with carnage, and apprehensive of the

approach of a superior force, retired to their own country. The

fathers from St. Mary's came to St. Ignatius to bestow the last

honors upon the earthly remains of their martyred companions. It

was with difficulty they discovered their burned and mangled bodies

among the mass of slain the victorious Iroquois had left. Their

precious remains were solemnly and sorrowfully carried to St. Mary's,

and affectionately and religiously interred. A portion of Father

Brébeuf's relics were subsequently carried to Quebec. A silver bust,

containing the head of the martyr, was presented by his family to the

Canadian mission, and is still reverently preserved by the convent of

hospital nuns in that city. So great was his reputation for sanctity

that it became a familiar and pious practice in Canada to invoke his

intercession. There are well-attested cases recorded of the wonderful

intervention of heaven in favor of those who invoked his aid as a

saint in heaven.

Among the many virtues which adorned the life and character of

Father Brébeuf may be particularly mentioned his ardent love of

holy poverty and suffering, his purity of soul, his singleness of

purpose, his profound obedience and humility, his zeal and courage,

his love of prayer and penitential austerities, and his generous

longing for the salvation of souls. "The character of Brébeuf,"

says Bancroft, "was firm beyond every trial: his virtue had been

nursed in the familiar sight of death. Disciplined by twenty years'

service in the wilderness work, he wept bitterly for the sufferings

of his converts, but for himself he exulted in the prospect of

martyrdom." "Thus," writes Mr. J. G. Shea in his _History of the

Catholic Missions_, "about four o'clock in the afternoon, after

three hours of frightful torture, expired John de Brébeuf, the real

founder of the [Huron] mission, a man such as the Catholic Church

alone can produce; as a missionary, unequalled for his zeal, ability,

untiring exertion, and steady perseverance; as a servant of God,

one whose virtues the Rota would pronounce heroic; patient in toil,

hardship, suffering, and privation; a man of prayer, of deep and

tender piety, of inflamed love of God, in whom and for whom he did

and suffered all; as a martyr, one of the most glorious in our annals

for the variety and atrocity of his torments." "He came of a noble

race," says Parkman, "the same, it is said, from which sprang the

English Earls of Arundel; but never had the mailed barons of his line

confronted a fate so appalling with so prodigious a constancy. To the

last he refused to flinch, and his death was the astonishment of his

murderers."

Praise has become exhausted on such a subject. Would that we might

hope for some national good from the sublime lesson he has taught us!

The red men are our brothers. The most precious blood of a God-man

was poured out for them as for us; and God's martyrs have joyfully

given their noble lives for their salvation. Might not a Christian

nation, in its power and goodness, yea, in its justice, save at

least the poor remnant of them from further slaughter; and say to

the ever-ready and zealous missionaries of the Catholic Church: "Go,

christianize and save our brothers; we will not slay them more; there

is land enough for us and for them; we confide them to your heroic

charity. We will protect you and them in the peace and good-will of

the Gospel. Go, save our brothers"?

THE ANCIENT LAWS OF IRELAND.

Next to written and well-authenticated historical annals, the

clearest insight that can be afforded us of the civilization, polity,

and social condition of the nations of antiquity is derived from

the study of ancient laws and customs, when their authenticity is

guaranteed by existing contemporary authorities, and they bear in

themselves the intrinsic evidence of adaptability to time, place,

and circumstance, so easily recognized by the antiquarian and the

philologist. Were it possible to conceive the total destruction

of this republic with all its material monuments and historical

literature, nothing being left for posterity but our books of law,

the philosophical student a thousand years hence would be able to

form a pretty correct and comprehensive idea of the state of society

at present existing and of the nature of the institutions under

which we have the good fortune to live. From the large number of

statutes regulating the intercourse of man and man, he would deduce

the fact that we were a commercial and ingenious people; from our

laws relating to real estate, he would necessarily argue that its

ownership was general and its transmission from one to another a

matter of everyday occurrence; and from the few restrictions imposed

on its possession or sale, that the facilities for its acquisition

were comparatively easy and unrestricted; while from the care that

has been taken by our national and local legislatures to guard the

life, liberty, and prosperity of the citizen, he would naturally

conclude that our right to the enjoyment of these inalienable rights

formed the corner-stone of the edifice of our government.

In the same manner, we of this century, looking back to a country so

old as Ireland, one of the most antique of the family of European

nations, by examining the laws framed in the early days of her

dawning civilization, can picture to ourselves, even without the aid

of history, the genius of her inhabitants, and form comparatively

accurate opinions of how much or how little intelligence and natural

sense of justice and the "eternal fitness of things" were exhibited

by them in their efforts to regulate and organize society. Strange

to say, we are partly indebted for this opportunity to the English

government, never very generous in its patronage of Irish interests,

though of course the principal credit is due to that noble band of

Irish scholars, formerly headed by the late lamented O'Curry, Petrie,

and O'Donovan, who by their antiquarian lore, profound knowledge of

their vernacular, and untiring industry, have reconstructed from

the scattered and almost illegible manuscripts deposited in various

libraries the body of the laws of ancient Ireland, and have presented

them to the world in the language in which they were originally

written, with the elaborate glosses of after-years, accompanied by

an accurate English translation. This long-desired work bears the

appropriate and principal title of _Senchus Mor_, or great law, and

contains all the laws that were enforced in Ireland from the fifth

to the seventeenth centuries, if we except a small portion of

the island which was occupied by the Anglo-Norman colony from the

invasion till the reign of James I. That it was admirably adapted

to the wants and dispositions of the people, we can judge by the

affection and tenacity with which the natives so long clung to it, in

despite of all the efforts of the invaders to induce them by force or

fraud to adopt that of the conquerors, and that it was more liberal

and equitable than the harsh restrictions of the feudal system is

proved from the alacrity of the Anglo-Norman lords who resided

without the "pale" in conforming to it in preference to their own

enactments.

Like most of her other blessings, Ireland owed the possession of this

excellent and merciful code to the Catholic Church, for it was in the

eighth or ninth year of the ministration of her great apostle and at

his instance that it was framed as we at present find it, purified

from all the grossness of paganism, and freed from the uncertainty

and doubt which always attach to mere tradition. Up to his time,

law in Ireland had been administered at the discretion of Brehons

or judges, and, being preserved only in the poems of the bards and

_ollamhs_ (professors), was deficient in those essential qualities

of all human legislation, exactness and uniformity. That there were

learned and wise lawgivers in Ireland before the introduction of

Christianity, we know from history and from the introduction to and

the text of the _Senchus_ itself, in which frequent mention is made

of decisions and writings, but they were necessarily the exponents

of that limited sense of justice which the human mind, unaided by

religion, is capable of comprehending. The propagation of the faith

in Europe created a complete and permanent revolution in the laws of

each country successively visited with the light of the gospel, and

while the darkness of paganism vanished before it, the municipal laws

which upheld idolatry were either totally abrogated or modified so as

to conform, as much as possible, to the benign spirit of the church.

The immediate occasion of the revision of the Irish laws is stated to

have been the deliberate murder of one of St. Patrick's servants by a

relative of the reigning sovereign, but the real cause, no doubt, was

the desire of the saint to root out of the judicature of the people

all traces of paganism as effectually as he had erased it from their

hearts.

Accordingly, by virtue of his high office, he summoned a convention

of the learned men of the country, a few years after his arrival, and

proceeded to execute his important reforms. His principal assistants,

we are informed, were Laeghaire, monarch of all Ireland, Corc, and

Dairi, two subordinate kings, whom we may suppose represented the

temporal authority of the nation, and without whose countenance

and support it would have been difficult, if not impossible, to

enforce the new code; Rossa, Dubhtach, and Fergus, those poets and

professors whose duty it had been to preserve and perpetuate the

legal traditions of their race and the decisions of the Brehons;

and two ecclesiastics, Saints Benen and Cairnech. The former of

these bishops, afterward known by the name of Benignus, was one

of St. Patrick's earliest and favorite converts, and eventually

his successor in the primatial see of Armagh, and the latter, a

Briton from Wales, was remarkable alike for his piety and extensive

learning. Thus sustained by the civil arm, and assisted by the advice

and knowledge of men well versed in the common and canon law, the

saint, in addition to his other apostolic labors, succeeded in

leaving to the people he loved so well a harmonious and Christian

code, the spirit of which, like that of all his teachings, sank

deep in the popular heart, and defied the efforts of time and the

ruthlessness of man to eradicate it.

While this code remained the rule of guidance for the mass of the

people, it was sacredly preserved by the Brehons, who, though not

empowered to alter it in any respect, added elaborate commentaries

explanatory of its general or obscure provisions; but when the

country was divided into counties by the conquerors, and their system

took the place of the national one, the manuscripts of the ancient

laws were scattered through the country, in England and on the

Continent, whither they were brought by the exiles.

As early as 1783, Edmund Burke, ever mindful of the fame of his

native country, suggested the propriety of collecting and publishing

in English or Latin those remarkable remnants of former greatness

and wisdom, but it was not till the year 1852 that the English

government, at the repeated solicitation of several distinguished

and influential Irish gentlemen, consented to lend its aid to the

great work, which from its very magnitude was beyond the ability of

any individual or voluntary association to accomplish. In that year,

at the special instance of Doctors Todd and Greaves, both eminent

Protestant clergymen, a commission was issued appointing them and

several other well-known scholars "to direct, superintend, and carry

into effect the transcription and translation of the ancient laws

of Ireland, and the preparation of the same for publication," etc.,

with power to employ proper persons to execute the work. The persons

selected by the commissioners were Dr. O'Donovan and Professor

O'Curry, both thoroughly qualified to perform so momentous and

laborious a labor, and whose conscientious discharge of the duties

so assigned them ended only at their much lamented deaths. With the

patience and zeal of true antiquarians, they set about transcribing

the various MSS. relating to the old laws, deciphering the

half-obliterated characters of the earlier centuries, and rendering

the peculiar phraseology of the Gaelic into modern English. They were

succeeded by W. N. Hancock, LL.D., professor of jurisprudence in

Queen's College, Belfast, and the Rev. Thaddeus O'Mahony, professor

of Irish in the Dublin University, under whose auspices the two

volumes already in print were prepared for publication, having first

received the sanction and approval of the commission. With such

endorsement, we do not wonder that, speaking of the authenticity of

the _Senchus Mor_, O'Curry should have said in one of his admirable

lectures on Irish history, "I believe it will show that the recorded

account of this great revision of the body of the laws of Erin is as

fully entitled to confidence as any other well-authenticated fact in

ancient history."

The principal materials used by the distinguished translators are

thus described in the preface to the first volume:

"I. A comparatively full copy among the manuscripts of

Trinity College, Dublin. H. 3, 17.

"II. An extensive fragment of the first part, 432, of

the Harleian manuscripts in the British Museum.

"III. A large fragment of the latter part among the

manuscripts of Trinity College, Dublin, H. 2, 15.

"IV. A fragment among the manuscripts of Trinity

College, Dublin, H. 3, 18."

Of the capacity of the gentlemen above-mentioned to faithfully

transcribe and translate these valuable relics of past legislation

there can be no doubt, nor of the genuineness and authenticity of the

records themselves. They are not, of course, the originals as written

in the fifth century, but are accurate copies, as far as they have

been saved from destruction, made centuries ago by the Brehons and

_ollamhs_, and handed down by them from father to son, for the Brehon

order was hereditary, and from generation to generation, until the

beginning of the seventeenth century. Besides this, by their peculiar

wording and reference to contemporaneous events and opinions, they

bear the undoubted impress of great antiquity, and of having been

intended for the government of a primitive people, who had little or

no intercourse with the outside world. We have thus before us for the

first time a complete body of written fundamental laws, collected

and perfected over fourteen hundred years ago by a segregated and

peculiar race, occupying a remote part of Europe, the only part,

in fact, of the civilized portion of that continent that never

echoed to the tread of a Roman soldier, or bowed before the edicts

of an imperial Cæsar. In reading over the laws of that unique and

ancient people, so unlike all we know of the Roman and Anglo-Saxon

jurisprudence, we find, not without some regret, we must confess,

that the halo of exalted virtue and unsullied purity with which the

poetic fancy of subsequent historians and poets led them to surround

their pagan ancestors, vanishes like the mists of a summer morning,

but we discover also that the epithets, barbarous, ignorant, and

unlettered, so freely bestowed on them by the venal scribes of the

dominant race, rest on no foundation whatever save on the malice

or deficiency of knowledge of the Anglo-Norman authors. In truth,

the Irish of the pagan era seem to have had nearly all the virtues

and failings of their posterity of to-day, the former being brought

more actively into play under the influence of Christianity, and the

latter repressed by the unlimited authority of the Catholic Church

and the judicious regulations of the _Senchus_.

We find this more particularly the case in studying the laws

regulating the domestic relations of the family, which, being the

unit of which society is but an aggregate, is the most vital and

important part of all human enactments. Ample provision is made for

the mutual protection of husband and wife, and the reciprocal rights

and duties of parent and child are clearly and minutely defined;

but we observe with regret that much of this portion of the code

is occupied with provisions for the distribution of property on

the disagreement or separation of married people, and for other

domestic infelicities of a more criminal nature. The prohibition of

an offence in a statute does not necessarily imply the frequency of

the commission of the crime itself; but so much pains are taken to

point out the rights and disabilities of persons cohabiting without

the sanction of lawful wedlock that the conviction is forced upon us

that they were not by any means unnecessary. As an offset to this,

however, we find that a lawful wife was treated with the greatest

indulgence, being in many ways the equal of her husband, and in this

respect the _Senchus_ presents a marked contrast to all the other

European legislation of that time, by which woman was held little

better than a slave, and generally at the mercy of her father

or husband, even in some instances to the taking of her life. We

feel certain that our strong-minded sisterhood who are so manfully

battling for social and political equality will be gratified to learn

that a portion of their principles, at least, were fully recognized

fourteen centuries ago, and for their edification we quote the

following passage from the expressed wisdom of our ancestors:

"In the connection of equal property, if with equal

land and cattle and household stuff, and if their

marriage state be equally free and lawful, the wife

in this case is called the wife of equal rank. The

contract made by either party is not a lawful contract

without the consent of the other, except in cases of

contracts tending equally to the welfare of both; such

as the alliance of co-tillage with a lawful tribe when

they (the couple) have not the means themselves of

doing the work of ploughing; the taking of land; the

collection of food; the gathering for the festivals;

the buying of breeding-cattle; the collecting of

house-furniture; the collecting of litters of pigs; the

buying of stacks and other necessaries.... Each of the

two parties has the power to give refection and feast

according to their respective dignity."

In case of separation, adequate protection was thrown around the

wife's rights of property. If her property were equal to that of

her husband at the time of marriage, she took an equal moiety of

the collective lands, goods, and chattels, and, in case of dairy

produce and the proceeds of the loom, two-thirds. If the property

had originally belonged wholly to the husband, the wife was entitled

to one-third on her separation, and if it had been her own before

marriage, to two-thirds. Whether these provisions extended to their

mutual claims after death, we are not informed by the glossators,

but it is not improbable that they were, thus creating estates not

unlike the more modern _dower_ and _courtesy_ of the English law.

This equality of married persons was still further extended in the

right of each to the disposal or guardianship of their offspring,

and in their authority to demand in return the assistance of their

children in poverty or decrepitude.

The relations between parent and child were the subjects of careful

and minute legislation. The father was obliged to see that his

daughter was educated in a manner becoming her rank, and, when at

a marriageable age, to procure her a husband of suitable means

and family. In return, she was to give him one-third of her first

marriage gift (_coibhche_), and a certain proportion of other

gifts received after her nuptials. Should the father be dead, his

son, succeeding him as heir, was also obliged to assume the same

responsibility, and received from his sister a proper equivalent at

her marriage. The mother's duty to her son was similar to that of

the father to his daughter, he being required to assist her in her

poverty or old age, and in conjunction with the daughter to provide,

if necessary, for both his parents, an obligation imposed even on

grandchildren. That the father should especially have care of the

daughter and the mother of the son is something very contrary to the

modern ideas of domestic discipline, but it doubtless, in a primitive

state of society, had the advantage of equalizing the stronger and

weaker elements of the family, giving to the woman the benefit of

manly protection, and to the rougher masculine nature a gentler and

more humanizing influence.

Fosterage, though not unknown in other countries, was so general

in ancient and mediæval Ireland as to give it a character almost

peculiar to that island.

It is known to have been of very ancient origin, and to have

originated in the natural relations that existed between the sept

or tribe and its chief, which was one of mutual rights and duties;

for, observes the _Senchus_, "every head defends its members, if it

be a goodly head, of good deeds, of good morals, exempt, affluent,

capable. The body of every head is his tribe, for there is no body

without a head. The head of every tribe, according to the people,

should be the man of the tribe who is most experienced, the most

noble, the most wealthy, the wisest, the most learned, the most

truly popular, the most powerful to oppose, the most steadfast to

sue for profits and be sued for losses." It will thus be easily

understood, particularly by the citizens of a republic, that the

authority of a chief, thus qualified, depended to a great extent

on the affection and good-will of his constituents; and, in order

to create more close relations between himself and them, it was

customary for him to send his children at an early age to be nursed

and trained by some family of his sept. The children thus placed

under tutelage were regarded with equal, if not greater, affection

by the foster-parents than their own. The existence of this custom

may still be traced in Ireland, and well-authenticated instances

of the most self-sacrificing devotion on the part of the natural

child of the foster-parent to his foster-brother or sister form the

theme of many of our best Irish stories and historical romances. The

foster-parent for the time being stood in the place of the actual

parent, and was obliged to feed, clothe, and educate the foster-child

for a certain number of years, males till they had attained the age

of seventeen, and females fourteen years, and the children were

expected in return to compensate, succor, and in some cases support

their foster-parents, as if they were their actual progenitors.

The statutes regulating fosterage occupy a large portion of the

_Senchus_, so far as published, and affords us a fuller and more

accurate knowledge of the social habits and condition of the Gaelic

people in and before the fifth century than any other portion of

the collection, or even all the histories of Ireland extant which

profess to treat of that remote epoch. Fosterage, we are told, was

of two sorts, for affection and compensation. When the latter, the

fosterage price was regulated according to the rank of the chief, and

varied from three cows in the case of the son of an _Og-Aire_, or

lowest chief, to thirty cows for the son of a king. The services to

be rendered for their payments, being food, raiment, and education,

were proportioned to the amount, and seem to have been the subject

of much elaborate legislation, not easily reconcilable to our modern

notions. For instance, in the matter of food, Dr. O'Donovan renders a

very ancient commentary on the first clause of the law of fosterage

as follows:

"What are their victuals? They are all fed on

stirabout; but the materials of which it is made,

and the flavoring with it, vary according to the

rank of the parents of the children. The children of

the inferior grades are fed to bare sufficiency on

stirabout made of oatmeal on buttermilk or water, and

it is taken with stale (salt) butter. The sons of the

chieftain grades are fed to satiety on stirabout made

of barley-meal upon new milk, taken with fresh butter.

The sons of kings are fed on stirabout made of wheaten

meal upon new milk, taken with honey."

According to one authority, every foster-child should be provided

with two suits of clothing, in color and quality according to the

rank of his father--blay, yellow, black, and white colored clothes

for the inferior grades, red, green, and brown for the sons of

chieftains, and purple and blue for princes. According to another,

the distinction of rank was indicated in the following manner:

"Satin and scarlet are for the son of the king of Erin,

and silver on his scabbards, and brass rings on his

hurling-sticks; and tin upon the scabbards of the sons

of chieftains of the lower rank, and brass rings upon

their hurling sticks.... And brooches of gold having

crystal inserted in them with the sons of the king of

Erin and of the king of a province, and brooches of

silver with the sons of the king of a territory."

The course of instruction to be pursued by the foster-children was

likewise regulated by the degree of the dignity of their parents.

The sons of the "lower classes" were to be employed in "the herding

of lambs, and calves, and kids, and pigs, and kiln-drying and

combing, and wood-cutting," while the girls were expected to learn

the use of the _quern_, or hand-mill for grinding grain, the useful

household art of making bread, and winnowing corn, etc.; the young

chieftains were to be taught horsemanship, shooting, swimming,

and chess-playing, and their sisters, sewing, cutting-out, and

embroidery. We have thus placed before us in all its simplicity,

and upon the best authority, the modes of living prescribed for the

youth of both sexes in Ireland at the time of its conversion to

Christianity--a record valuable to the historian and the antiquarian,

dissipating alike the poetic imaginings of too partial Celtic

chroniclers and the voluntary misrepresentations of the Anglo-Norman

writers. It may be objected that such limited views of education

argued little for the civilization of the race who entertained them;

but when we recall the condition of Western Europe at the time the

_Senchus_ was composed, we may well be surprised at the sound sense

and practical wisdom so often found in its pages. Nor must it be

supposed that the labors of the child ended with the performance of

the tasks thus assigned him. There existed another and correlative

species of tutelage called literary fosterage, which is thus defined

in the "law of social connections":

"The social connection that is considered between the

foster-pupil and the literary foster-father is, that

the latter is to instruct him without reserve, and

to prepare him for his degree, and to chastise him

without severity, and to feed and clothe him while he

is learning his profession, unless he obtains it from

another person, and from the school of Fenius Forsaidh

onward this custom prevails; and the foster-pupil is to

assist his tutor in poverty and to assist him in his

old age, and the honor price of the degree for which he

prepares him and all the gains of his art while he is

learning it, and the first earnings of his art after

leaving the house of his tutor, are to be given to the

tutor."

In addition to this excellent and equitable plan of intellectual

culture, we also find in the law of tenures that the sons of tenants

holding church lands were entitled to receive instruction from the

holders of the benefices, which, we may presume, were not necessarily

altogether of a spiritual nature. We thus find that fosterage

constituted one of the most important elements of society, and,

though much condemned by subsequent and partial writers, contained

within itself most of the duties and responsibilities which we now

divide among corporations and individuals under different names.

The importance which ancient Irish lawgivers seemed to attach to

this crude but not altogether unsuccessful attempt to define the

relations of parent and child, employer and employed, master and

scholar--questions still raised in this enlightened age--is shown

in the number of the statutory enactments originally made, and the

elaborate and critical glosses afterward appended to them, the whole

not unworthy the notice of the modern legislator.

The land tenure has always been a subject of doubt and difficulty

in Ireland, and the laws of the _Senchus_ appear to us as little

satisfactory and as hard to be understood as that recently passed in

the British Parliament under the supervision of Mr. Gladstone. It

seems to us, from the careful examination of the different statutes

relating to it, that each chief held the whole of the land of his

tribe in his own name, not, however, in his own right altogether,

but partly as trustee of his tribe, and in this respect the Irish

system differs materially from the feudal, which for centuries

prevailed in all parts of Europe, except in the country of which

we are writing. The tenants were divided into two classes, those

who held by _saerrath_ or _daerrath_, terms for which we can find

no equivalents in the English language. The first class received

from their chief, upon taking the land, and without security,

sufficient cattle to stock the same, for which they were obliged

to return an annual rental in kind, or, at the chief's option, its

value in personal service and labor, such as working on his _dun_

or _rath_, and following him in his wars. This species of tenure,

except in the case of those who held immediately from the king,

could at pleasure be turned into holding by _daerrath_, by which the

tenant gave security for the stock received, and was exempt from

personal and military service. The rents and their manner and time

of payment varied according to circumstances, but always subject to

the above restrictions, and were, of course, the exclusive property

of the landlord or chief for the time being. The restrictions on

the alienation of land, or rather of the good-will of it--for in

fact the fee did not rest in the individual, but in the tribe as

represented by its chief--were many and onerous, including forfeiture

and other penalties, and were generally directed to the exclusion

of members of neighboring or hostile tribes. The agrarian portion

of the ancient code, in fact, while far superior in point of

liberality to that of many of the then existing nations, resembled

more the laws that govern our Indian reservations than those of any

enlightened country of the present day. It was full of fatal and

mischievous errors, and to its baleful operation have been ascribed

many of the evils which centuries before and after the Anglo-Norman

invasion afflicted Ireland. By jealously confining the occupancy of

a certain district to one particular tribe or family, it engendered

a feeling of faction, and what might be called parish patriotism,

which unfortunately have outlived the cause that gave them birth,

and, by persisting in considering the tribal land as indivisible, it

destroyed that high sense of independence and spirit of enterprise

which can only be felt and maintained by him who owns his own farm

and calls no fellow-man master.

The laws relating to distress, or the form of collecting claims,

such as debts, tributes, forfeitures, etc., are the least attractive

and instructive portion of the work, and for dense obscurity and

incomprehensibleness can only be compared to our own Code of

procedure. We gather, however, from them that all civil claims and

damages for injuries were collectable by a short process of the

seizure of the goods and chattels of the defendant, and the retention

of the same on the premises of the plaintiff, or, as in the case

of cattle, in the public pound. After the expiration of a certain

number of days, if the defendant did not replevin his property

or disprove his opponent's claim, the goods became the absolute

property of the creditor. With a humanity, however, which many

suppose to be the growth of our century, the plaintiff should exhaust

first the property upon the possession of which the subsistence of

the defendant's family did not immediately depend, and even some

articles of primary necessity were altogether exempt from seizure.

Imprisonment for debt, however, partially existed, and, when the

debtor had no goods and did not belong to the class of freemen,

he was arrested and compelled to labor for the creditor until the

demands of the latter were fully satisfied.

Such, in brief, is a _résumé_ of the laws contained in the two

volumes of the _Senchus Mor_ already published, and which we hope

soon to hear of occupying a position on the shelves of every library

of reference in the country. Much yet remains of the ancient _Code of

St. Patrick_[148] to be given to the world before the entire work is

completed, and we are assured that this will be done at an early day,

and in as scholarly a manner as the portion before us. We shall look

eagerly for its appearance, not for its practical value as a legal

study, but as a picture of a remote but interesting era and race, and

as an additional evidence of how much the world owes to the Catholic

Church even in the civil and political affairs of life. The science

of true government has been a plant of slow but sure growth, and,

while we enjoy so many of its fruits in our favored land, we must not

forget that the seeds were planted with so much suffering and labor

by the apostolic men who have gone to their rest centuries ago.

FOOTNOTE:

[148] The _Senchus Mor_ was sometimes known as _Cain Patraic_, or

_Patrick's Law_.

THE STORY OF AN ALGERINE LOCKET.

I.

In the sunshine of a May morning stood an old gray house, with a

porch draped in woodbine and sweetbrier. A mass of wisteria climbed

to the very chimneys, and on the lawn a bed of red and golden tulips

swayed with the soft breeze. A wren was building in an acacia and

singing, while a young girl watched his work and sang also, trying

with her fresh soprano voice to catch his melody.

The old house was the homestead of Holly Farm, and the young girl was

Sybil Vaughan, the heroine of a very short story.

"Sybil looks charming in white," thought Miss Mildred, sitting at the

window of the green parlor with her mending-basket beside her; "and

the locket is quite becoming."

It was before the day when every one began to wear medallions, and

the one that hung by a quaint twisted chain from Sybil's neck was a

locket of rich enamel, brought to her from Algeria by a midshipman

cousin, and quite unlike our gewgaw from the Palais Royal.

As we have said, Miss Mildred sat at the window of the green parlor,

raising her eyes now and then from her work to watch her pretty

niece, her adopted daughter. During the seventy years of her life,

she had sat at that same window almost every morning since she was

old enough to work a sampler, or to read a paper in the _Spectator_

or a chapter of _Evelina_ to her mother and younger sisters.

In her girlhood, Holly Farm had been a lonely place, remote from town

and village. The trees, now rising luxuriantly around the house,

were then, like her, in their youth, and revealed whatever might be

passing in the lane below the lawn. At a period of life when young

people gaze abroad in vague expectation of some wonderful arrival

or event that shall alter the current of existence, Mildred Vaughan

had turned longing eyes toward this lawn hour after hour, and she

had thought her morning's watch well rewarded if the old doctor had

trundled by in his high-topped chaise and nodded to her in friendly

greeting.

With a capacity for painting that in these days of potichomania,

decalcomania, and the rest would have passed for originality, if not

genius, she had received one quarter's lessons in oil-painting, and

by dint of studying a few beautiful family portraits had acquired a

keenness of perception that made her hunger for the world of art.

With an earnest love for books, she had been obliged to devote her

time to the care of her younger brothers and sisters. And so, out of

her monotonous life, she had brought into old age an exaggerated idea

of the value of learning and luxury, with a belief in possibilities

and a regret for what might have been generally supposed to belong

exclusively to youth.

This sounds more melancholy than it really was. Miss Mildred had

kept her ideal of happiness fresh and vivid, and that is in itself a

source of keen enjoyment. And, being a devout and trusting soul, she

had framed for herself a prayer out of the thwarted aspiration of her

heart and mind: "I thank thee, Lord, that there are joys so beautiful

on earth, and I thank thee that they are not for me. Thy will is

dearer to me than the realization of any dream."

Every one loved to come to Miss Mildred for sympathy. She believed

in the reality and the durability of their joy, in the depth and in

the cause of their grief. She did not say to the mother who had lost

her little baby, "He is saved from sorrow and sin." She did not say

to the young widow, "You have had the best part of life; later come

trial and vexation of spirit." She knew that in bereavement the balm

often enters with the sting; that the stainless beauty of the thing

we lose is our only earthly consolation for its loss.

A great change had come to Holly Farm since the time when the

doctor's visit was an important event. The sweep of meadow-land west

of the house now served as camping-ground for the --th Regiment,

Massachusetts Volunteers, in which young Henry Vaughan held a second

lieutenancy. Drumming and fifing, the arrival of carriages full of

gayly dressed people to visit the camp, the music of the regimental

band on moonlight evenings, such was the course of daily life on

green slopes which cattle and sheep had once possessed without

dispute, nibbling the grass and drinking from the river in all

contentment.

Indeed, Miss Mildred's standard of events had so naturally changed in

that course of seventy years that, when the little white gate swung

open, and a young man in uniform walked across the lawn, she merely

said to herself: "That must be Captain Adair coming to see Harry. He

walks better than any man I ever saw. The maid's hanging out clothes;

I do hope Sybil will have sense enough to come and speak to him

instead of letting him knock."

Sybil had the amount of sense requisite for the emergency. She led

the way into the green parlor, and, leaving Captain Adair with her

aunt, went to announce the arrival to her brother, who was trying on

his new uniform, and blushed to be caught admiring the epaulettes

before a mirror in the library. There was no need of apology. Sybil

was in full sympathy with the occasion, and returned to the parlor

feeling as proud of her brother's military outfit as he of the beauty

of the sister leaning on his arm.

It was a pleasant meeting. Adair's frank and sympathetic manner had

won its way through Miss Mildred's reserve; and his familiarity with

the world and its ways secured him an easy victory over his young

lieutenant. Sybil was less impressionable than the other two. Her

manners were gentle and courteous to all, but it was not easy to

penetrate her likes and dislikes, or to find out their cause. Just a

trifle uninteresting, she was, poor Sybil, like many nicely poised

young persons before they have enjoyed or suffered keenly. The very

finish of her beauty, of her lovely manners, of her pleasant voice

and accent, left nothing to be desired--no suggestion of anything

beyond. But a soul so brave, so pure and honest as hers deserved to

be developed, and the occasion for development came.

II.

ADAIR'S LETTERS TO HENRY ALLEYNE.

CAMP EVERETT, May, 1861.

I had an adventure yesterday that should have fallen to your lot, my

dear Alleyne, not to that of a prosaic dog like me.

Hearing that my second lieutenant lived near the camp, and that he

could not enter upon his duties for a day or two, I took it into my

head to go and see what stuff he was made of, for, Alleyne, I am

awfully interested in Company B, and in every creature connected with

it. How could I ever have lived in that bore of a city, or slept

within four walls, or used a silver fork! "Going off at half-cock, as

usual," you say? Well, perhaps that is better than never going off at

all. But to return to my story.

I went through a shady lane, leading from the camp to Vaughan's

house. (Vaughan is the second lieutenant and owner of the

camping-ground.) As I drew near the gate, I heard a woman's voice

singing. A little further on came a gap in the trees, and I took a

reconnoissance--such another I can never hope for during my military

career. A low-spreading stone house, covered with vines, stood among

fine old trees. Great bunches of blue blossoms draped the walls, and

on the velvety lawn were clusters of brilliant flowers. Beneath a

tree, honor bright, Alleyne, if ever angels do appear in white gowns

with broad rose-colored sashes, it was an angel that stood beneath

that tree, answering a bird with a voice as fresh, an expression

as natural as his own. I stood there looking and listening--it was

really very fascinating--until I suddenly remembered my errand. Then

I pushed open the gate, and, walking across to the porch, lifted the

bright brass knocker. But the rival of the wren, without letting me

wait the coming of some creature of baser clay, came from among the

trees, and asked if I wished to see Mr. Vaughan.

Now, I had wished to see Mr. Vaughan, and as it would not do to

say on so short an acquaintance that my wishes were too completely

satisfied by the vision before me to leave any want unfulfilled, I

stoutly declared that I did wish to see Mr. Vaughan, and that I was

Captain Adair.

And then she showed your too susceptible friend into a summer parlor,

where the general effect was white and sea-green, and where there

were hanging-baskets of flowers surrounded by vines and soft moss,

and where an elderly lady in a lavender dress, with white lawn apron

and kerchief, sat sewing, and where portraits of rosy-fingered dames

and periwigged gentlemen gazed on us from the walls and read our

destinies--mine must have been too plainly legible on my ingenuous

countenance. And the old lady received me very courteously, and

the maiden went to find her brother, and, when the brother came,

he looked like his sister, and surely never before was lieutenant

greeted by his superior officer with such ineffable tenderness. And

we dined, so far as I could judge, off dishes of topaz and crystal,

heaped high with ambrosia, and soon after dinner I returned to Camp

Everett, and met the colonel going his rounds.

"You come from young Vaughan's, I see," he said. "What impression did

he make upon you?"

"Charming, highly delightful, very promising," I replied, with a

happy combination of diffidence and child-like openness of manner.

He gave me a look out of his shrewd old eyes. "So attractive a person

will be an acquisition to the regiment," he remarked, and let me pass

on to my tent.

I am half-asleep. Good-night!

ROBERT ADAIR.

CAMP EVERETT, June, 1861.

Things go on grandly at the camp, and between ourselves the colonel

has just said that Company B is better disciplined than any other in

the regiment--a compliment I'm very proud of, coming, as it does,

from an old West Point martinet.

And now for the second part of my idyl. Every afternoon, Vaughan

and I go up to his place and smoke awhile in the orchard. Then, by

accident--it is wonderful, the unerring accuracy of accident at

times--we appear at the east window of the green parlor, and there

are Miss Vaughan and her niece, sewing or drawing, and sometimes

Miss Sybil sings, to the accompaniment of a charming Pleyel piano,

canzonets of Haydn in a style as fine, as pure, as exquisite as the

composition. She--Sybil, I mean--has never danced a German or heard

_Faust_! Duly shielded by the presence of aunt or brother, she is

sometimes taken to hear the _Nozze di Figaro_ or to see _Hamlet_,

or to some other unexceptionable afternoon entertainment. I smile

sometimes to see her absolute ignorance of life, and wonder that,

in a village not twenty miles distant from a city where the world

runs riot, this being has sprung into womanhood, unconscious of the

existence of anything less spotless than herself.

This guarded life has given to her manners a certain high breeding

that would keep one at a distance but for her kind, frank nature. No

one can venture to fancy himself distinguished above others.

Do you know what this makes me feel? That hitherto, and I am nearly

twenty-five years old, I have looked at women with a coxcomb's eyes.

Any day, any hour, I feel ready to throw myself on her mercy, but an

instinct tells me that her love must be won by something better than

professions. When I have suffered in the cause she loves well enough

to give her only brother to defend it, then I will speak.

_Noblesse oblige_--I see that in a certain lofty sense this is the

motto of her life, and it shall be mine. Do you remember what our

dear old philosopher used to say in the scientific school? "The

better you begin, the harder is the work before you." And when we

asked what he meant, he only said, "Noblesse oblige." It is true,

whether the _noblesse_ acts upon us in the form of intellectual

strength or of spiritual gifts, or in the old material sense of

inherited rank.

Except the hour spent at Vaughan's each day, and an occasional

visit to my mother in town, I am wrapped up in the affairs of

Company B. The life here is to me most fascinating. You would laugh

to see me with a set of wooden soldiers before me on the little

table in my tent, studying manœuvres, extricating my company from

the most astounding and unheard-of perplexities. The progress of

my lieutenants; the health, morals, and immorals of the company;

the incapacity of our bugler to draw the faintest sound from his

instrument--in short, everything that indicates growth or decay of

discipline in Company B, seems to me a matter of national importance.

One word more about Miss Sybil Vaughan. My mother has seen her, and

sympathizes with me. When she came to visit the camp, I took her

to Vaughan's house to rest. As we left Holly Farm, she gave a sigh

of relief, and said: "Robert, I feel as though I had stepped back

half a century. When I was a girl, young ladies were like Miss Sybil

Vaughan."

One more last word. In your letter you said, with an air of superior

wisdom, plainly expressed in the tails of your letters: "You are in

love."

Of course I am, and I should be a fool if I were not.

Your friend,

ROBERT ADAIR.

III.

It was June still. The laburnum path was all aglow with blossoms, and

the grape-walk, just beyond, made a shadowy retreat toward evening.

Sybil was sitting there with her work lying on her lap. She had not

sewed three stitches. Why had not Harry come as usual that afternoon

to the east window to get his cup of black coffee? Why--O dear! there

are so many whys in the case, and never an answer anywhere. Why was

there an indefinite air of bustle in the camp as she looked down

on it from her bower? Why was there an undefined sense of stir in

everything?

She watched the sun drop nearer and nearer to the distant hills. The

air was full of saffron light, and heavy with the perfume of flowers.

Nature was so new and fresh in her June loveliness; and life was full

of a promise of coming beauty, as it had never been before to Sybil

in any other of her nineteen Junes. That sense of stir was in her own

soul no less than in external nature.

There came the click of an iron heel upon the gravelled path. Sybil

half-rose from the bench, and then sank back again. Adair stood

before her. "We are ordered off," he said. "We go in an hour. I've

but one moment to stay, for I promised Harry to leave him time to

come and say good-by."

In the white, scared look on Sybil's face he read the right to speak.

But it had all been so hurried, she thought, when he was gone. Oh!

for one of those minutes to return, that she might express to him a

tenth part of the joy and pain, the hope and terror, that filled her

heart. She could remember nothing clearly or in order, and yet she

would have given all the other memories of her happy life to recall

each word as it was spoken. He had asked her to give him something

of her own, a ring, a glove, a ribbon, no matter what. And she had

taken from her neck the medallion, and laid in it a little curl of

her hair, and given it to him; and she had felt his hand upon her

head, and heard him say, "God keep my sweet, innocent love!" And

when she lifted her head he was gone, and she had told him nothing.

It could not be a dream, for on her left hand was the ring he placed

there--one that she had seen him wear, and thought too beautiful a

jewel for a man to have, but now she felt so glad that he had worn

it. He had said this was to be the guard of the wedding-ring that he

would place there as soon as he could get a furlough to come home;

and she had said--yes, thank God! she did remember saying that, at

least--she had said that no one but himself should take off this ring

or put another in its place; yes, thank God! she had said it.

Then Harry had come, too overjoyed at the news of her engagement to

feel the pain of parting. That memory was full of turmoil; mixed,

too, with self-reproach that all other emotion was so lost in her new

joy or pain, whichever it might be called, that Harry's going gave

her no uneasiness.

The sun dropped behind the hills; star after star pierced through the

darkening blue. Stillness lay on the valley below, so lately full of

tramping horses, and shouting men, and shifting lights.

At last she heard her aunt's voice calling her, and roused herself

to go and tell her beautiful story, old as the human race, new as

that very June evening. She wondered that Aunt Mildred understood it

all so well. Short-sighted Sybil! it was you who were beginning to

understand Miss Mildred.

One August day, when a sultry fog held the earth in bondage, and

scarlet geraniums blazed like red pools among the wilted grass, Miss

Mildred pushed open the little white gate, and, with that hurried

step that in old age so poorly simulates speed, hastened across the

lawn. She gave a quick glance into the two parlors which were vacant,

and then went up-stairs, grasping nervously the low hand-rail. In the

upper hall she stopped, and leaned against the balustrade to take

breath, and courage, too. Then, opening the door of Sybil's room,

she stopped on the threshold to see her lying on the floor with a

newspaper crushed in her hand. A bulletin in the village post-office

had told her all: "Found dead on the field, Captain Robert Adair,

--th Regt. Mass. Vols." They lifted Sybil up and laid her on her bed.

She did not "strive nor cry," but in that first grief it pleased God

to measure her power of endurance.

It was not in victory that Adair had fallen, but in one of those

engagements where, humanly speaking, life seems thrown away. But

such thoughts should not disturb the mourners cradled in the

providence of God. He chooses the time and the occasion, and what is

lost in the current of human events he gathers up and cherishes.

Weeks passed away. Letters came--precious in their recognition of

Adair's high integrity, his courage, his compassion; letters, too,

from his mother, far away in her summer home, acknowledging Sybil

as one with her in love and bereavement. But she lay, white and

listless, on her bed, taking little notice of anything except in the

expression of gratitude. Harder than anything else for her aunt to

bear was the pathos of Sybil's resignation.

There came a soft afternoon, early in September, when for the

first time Sybil's easy-chair was placed in the open air, under a

striped awning that made an out-door room on the west side of Holly

Farmhouse. Here she could be sheltered from the direct rays of the

sun, and yet enjoy the trees and flowers.

Great velvet bees hid their heads buzzing in the freshly-opened

cups of the day-lilies; a hummingbird dipped his dainty beak into

the sweet-peas, and then flashed away to hide himself among the

nasturtiums pouring in a golden stream over a broken tree-trunk on

the lawn.

Amid the glow of nature, Sybil looked very wan and frail. She had

begun to think a little now, and her thoughts ran thus: "I am

resigned to God's will. I've not the shadow of a doubt that this

is all right. I am more than willing to die; I am willing to live,

if only there is a thread to hold by--a stone, a stick, a straw to

begin to build my life upon. Other women have borne this and lived.

I've seen them going about among their fellow-creatures, talking,

smiling, laughing, when others talked, and smiled, and laughed. I

have no more sensibility than they. What I have lost was perfect; but

what they had lost was perfect, perhaps, to them. I don't rebel, but

I am dying of pain. It goes on, and on, and on; if it would stop but

for ten minutes and let me take breath, I think I could catch hold of

something on earth and begin to live again. There's that dear Aunt

Mildred coming through the hall. Now, I _will_ give her a free, happy

smile, and lighten her burden if I cannot lighten my own."

Miss Mildred held in her two hands a great vase of spreading

golden-rod, which she set down on the little garden-table. Just where

she had placed it, against a background of dark-green leaves, it made

so beautiful a picture that Sybil uttered an exclamation of surprise

and pleasure. There was a delighted look on her aunt's sweet old

face that made her think: "Here is something to hold on by; here is

something to build on, if only I am generous enough to try."

Miss Mildred arranged the cushions in Sybil's chair, and then took

her hand very gently.

"There is a man in the hall, dear, who brings you a little packet

from Virginia. Can you see him?"

"Yes; at once, if you like. Please let him come out here. I can talk

to him better in the open air."

He came--a shy, elderly man, whom Sybil remembered seeing once at

the camp. He stood awkwardly, shifting his military hat from hand

to hand, till she asked him to sit down near her, and said a few

reassuring words. Then, seeing that he was struggling to conquer his

emotion, she fixed her eyes on the vase of flowers, trying to keep

down the impatience struggling within her.

"My name is Abel, lady," he said, at length. "May be you've heard the

cap'n say as how I couldn't play the bugle, at the camp below there.

The folks all said I couldn't learn, I was so old and dull; but he

allus believed everybody was good for something, he did."

Sybil was leaning forward, breathless to hear more.

"I remember you," she said. "Oh! do go on. Tell me everything--every

little thing about it all."