"Wa'al," he replied in a voice cracked, as it were, by the northern

blasts to which he had long been exposed, and marked by the sharp nasal

twang of his native State--"wa'al, I'm Hezekiah Hulburt, at your

sarvice. I hail from Conneticut, and follow trappin' for a livin'.

The Injins call me Big Foot, and they've told me 'bout you and your

dewins. Though I haint no great 'pinion of 'em, wild or tame, and don't

put much faith in what they say, I conclude, from all I've seen and

heard, that you're a preachin' the Christian religion among 'em under

consid'able many difficulties. An Injin needs more'n a double load

of Gospil truth to overbalance the evil that's in him, and then's,

like's not, the fust you know, his Christianity'll kick the beam when

opportewnity sarves. I know the critters well; and here, a while ago

when our Methodist preachers undertook 'em, I told 'em 'twas no go, the

Christian religion wouldn't fit an Injin no how; and they found t'was

so. Mebbe you'll come eout better; and I guess likely you will, for

you seem to know better how to go to work with 'em and keep the right

side on 'em, which is everything with Injins. And then, you've got

more things to 'tract their attention, and help to 'splain and 'spound

Scripter truths to an Injin's idees. But this an't what brought me here

neow. I come to have a little talk with you 'bout the doins of these

here fur companies that are kickin' up such a shine among themselves

and the trappers. It's gittin' to be a plaguy risky bizness to trade

with any on 'em, they're so 'tarnal jealous of one another, and each

one's so mad if a fellow trades with any but themselves. Nat'rally

enough, I take to my own folks, and would ruther trade with the new

company, bein's they're Americans and my own flesh and blood, as a body

might say. Now, in this awfully spread-out country, for one who's only

a pilgrim and sojourner, as 'twere, like myself, and who has nothin'

but his own broad shoulders to depend on for carrying his marchandise,

it makes a sight of odds whether he can trade it off near by, or has to

foot it across the plains, and as like's not clean to the big lakes,

'fore he can onshoulder it. I'm a man of peace, and haint no notion

of goin' in for a fight with 'em, du what they will. But they better

look out for them Injins! These Nor'westers haint seen the airthquake

yet that's to foller that are bizness of the Big Feather; but when it

comes, it'll shake 'em in their shoes for all their big feelin's, and

swaller their proud and scornful leader quicker'n a feller could wink.

I wash _my_ hands of the whole consarn, but I've hearn the rumblin'

on't, and it's a-comin' as sure's my name is Hezekiah, if suthin' an't

done, an' pretty quick time, too! Revinge is an Injin's religion; and

be he Christian or be he pagan, what's bred in the bone stays long in

the flesh."

The attention of the reverend father was now thoroughly awakened. He

had heard from the Indians of the friendly Big Foot and the frequent

assistance he had given to protect them from the dishonesty of the

traders. He proceeded at once to draw from the trapper further

particulars of an affair, the rumor of which had reached him and been

alluded to by him in his interview with his preceding guest, but of

which he could gain but little information from the natives.

The facts communicated were, that as soon as the new company was

formed, the Northwest traders had scattered their spies among the

Indians to watch any symptoms of an intention to transfer the trade,

withheld from them on account of their dishonest conduct, into the

hands of their rivals. These scouts had reported a general movement

of all those tribes to whom the American stations were accessible,

indicating their intention to unite among themselves, and open a

friendly traffic with the new traders.

The "Northwesters," as those connected with the old company were

called, took the alarm at the prospect of seeing a large and very

lucrative branch of their business pass to the benefit of rivals, who

were the more formidable from being on their own territory and under

the protection of the United States government.

Their leader in that department, who visited the lodge of the

missionary, was a man of unlimited resources; clever and crafty in

scheming, unscrupulous in executing his devices. He entered without

delay upon a systematic course of harassing and perplexing measures

to clog the machinery and impede the operations of his competitors.

There is reason to believe he found efficient aid in these from former

partners and clerks of the Northwest Company, who, in accordance with

the terms of agreement between the two companies at the time the

American association was organized, had unfortunately been retained in

its service.

He also enlisted a motley crew of _voyageurs_, _coureurs des bois_,

half-breeds, free trappers, and renegades from civilization, to carry

out his well-concerted plans for embarrassing the enterprises of his

rivals by land and water, and discouraging their officers and agents in

every department. All these designs were accomplished with such silent

adroitness as not only to baffle detection, but to avoid awakening any

suspicion in the minds of his victims, who found themselves thwarted

and defeated at every point without being able to discover the cause.

As part of his general policy, he dispersed a large body of hirelings

among the tribes who had formerly been hostile to those embraced in

the newly contemplated alliance (but whose animosity had been quelled,

and mutual friendly relations between the factions established, by the

diligent exertions of the missionaries), representing to them that

their ancient enemies were about to unite, under the approbation of

the missionaries, with the American companies, to destroy them and

take possession of their hunting-grounds; that the missionaries had

been insincere in their professions and instructions, aiming only to

keep them quiet until measures were perfected for their ruin. These

emissaries were also instructed to offer them arms and ammunition, if

they would waylay the different parties on their course to the American

trading-posts, and prevent their reaching them; and the highest price

for any peltries thus obtained.

The most considerable body of Indians, bound for one of these posts

with a large amount of valuable furs, was under command of the great

chief, Big Feather. Against this band the hostile force was directed.

It was surprised, completely routed, and the chief, with many of his

followers, killed. All the goods were conveyed by the victors without

delay to the nearest station of the Northwest Company.

Their operations were equally successful in other quarters, and the

trade entirely secured for that season.

The free trapper whom the Indians called Big Foot had held himself

neutral, but had noted, with the keen shrewdness of his race, the

course affairs were taking, and had traced the disturbing cause to his

own satisfaction. He exerted all his influence to pacify the outraged

Indians, so cruelly betrayed and plundered, and used his best efforts

to convince the victors of the stratagems and falsehoods by which they

had been deceived.

Both parties listened with cool decorum to his arguments, but would

make no reply. This silence was deemed an ill omen by the priest and

the hunter.

Now, this chief, Big Feather, had a young daughter, who was the delight

of his heart and the glory of the whole tribe. She was beautiful,

graceful, and modest; with a quiet stateliness of manner that

distinguished her among the daughters of her people, and was attributed

by them to the power of the Christian faith, which she was the first

of her nation to profess, and soon led her father and brother also to

receive.

She had been so unfortunate as to captivate the unprincipled commander

of the Northwestern trading-posts, who had used every artifice to gain

her young heart, and, it was well known, had long sought an opportunity

to get her within his power. On the night of the ambush and attack

by which her father lost his life, the quarters where she was left

were also attacked, some of the women and children cruelly massacred,

but her body and that of her nurse, or attendant--with whom she was

provided, as daughter of the chief, according to the custom of the

natives--were not to be found among the slain. Her people suspected

they had been carried captive to the headquarters of the company.

The trapper was convinced that her brother, who escaped from the fatal

affray, and was now chief in the place of his father, was preparing to

make a vigorous effort to recapture her and avenge the death of the

old chief. It would need little persuasion to bring all the natives

friendly to his tribe to make common cause with him in such a conflict,

and scenes of frightful bloodshed must ensue, the end of which could

hardly be conjectured.

The question discussed with painful anxiety between the missionary

and the trapper was, whether anything could be done to prevent this

shocking result. To this end, a Christian brave of the village was

summoned, and the subject of their conference explained to him.

"And now," said the reverend father, "if you know of any plans of this

kind, or of any means by which their execution can be prevented, it is

your duty, and I conjure you, to reveal them."

"The voice of our father is good," replied the Indian with great

respect, "and, when he speaks for the Great Spirit, his words are

strong; but would he make of his son a babbling woman? Who drew the

knife? Was it the hand of thy children that dug up the hatchet? And

shall they talk of peace when the blood of their chief and his men

cries to them for vengeance. When the daughter of our nation is seized

for the wigwam of him whose words filled the coverts with creeping foes

to drink our blood, shall we give him our Bird of Heaven and say 'it is

well'?"

"But if she could be recovered without the shedding of blood; if a

council of the Indians on both sides could be called, that the truth

of this matter might be fully revealed and understood, would it not be

better than useless strife? The traders care not for your race. They

care not if you fight until there is no one left of your tribes to tell

the tale; and will you give them that satisfaction? They have set you

against each other. They have deceived your brothers with lying words;

and will you crown their lies with success? Above all, shall it be said

that we have delivered the message of peace and the commands of the

Great Spirit to his children of the wilderness in vain?"

"If he loves his children, why did he not smite their foes? The tongue

of the pale-face is long; its words reach afar. They are sweet as

honey, while his heart is full of poison. His arm is strong, and the

knives in his camp are sharp. His coverts in the wilds are many, and

past finding out. Who shall find and bring back our daughter, if we

take not the war-path to the strong house of the pale chief?"

"I'll warrant ye I will!" exclaimed the trapper, unable to remain

silent any longer. "I haven't wandered through this awfully mixed-up

part of God's creation, where the woods and the waters, the mountains

and the valleys, lay round in a permiscus jumble that'd puzzle a

Philadelphy lawyer, for these twenty years, without sarchin' out

as many hidin'-places as there's quills on a hedgehog. And to say

that I've sojourned all that time among Injins of all sorts, on the

freendliest tarms, and 'thout a hard word with any on 'em, drunk or

sober, heathen or Christian, to be carcumvented by a pesky Britisher

at last, is an idee that'd raise a Yankee's dander if anything would.

No, no! Just you jine hands with me, and he'll find he's no match

for Injins and a Yankee, or my name an't Hezekiah! We'll be too much

for the 'tarnal sarpent!" And he fell into a series of low chuckles

expressive of his foregone persuasion of victory.

"Enough!" said the Indian gravely. "The ear of the young chief shall

be filled with the words of our father and the Big Foot, and his voice

make reply." And he departed. The missionary requested the trapper to

remain with him through the night and until the answer of the young

chief should be made known.

TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.

S. CATHARINE OF RICCI.[137]

[The following sketch of a great Dominican saint is from the pen of

a member of the same order who escaped in an extraordinary manner

from the massacre of Paris. We are pleased to learn that a colony

from the French province so auspiciously restored by F. Lacordaire

is about to be established in St. Hyacinthe, Canada.--ED. C. W.]

"All the mysteries of Jesus Christ gleam with the same brightness,"

says Bossuet; they are stamped with the mark of that divine folly which

is the summit of wisdom, and of which S. Paul spoke when he confessed

that he knew nothing but Jesus Christ crucified, and wished no other

glory than his sublime ignominy. Now, this scandal of the cross is

especially manifested in the lives of the saints; for the saints are

the most faithful images of Jesus Christ crucified. The world does not

understand these magnanimous souls, all of whose desires tend to the

things above; it is offended by this scandal, and sympathizes only

with those lives in which the mysteries of divine love are closely

concealed. It does not understand the Gospel, and is, as it were,

blinded by these words of Jesus Christ. "Father, I thank thee that

these things have been concealed from the proud, and revealed to the

humble of heart."

"Whenever," again says Bossuet, "we attempt to fathom the depths of

divine wisdom by our own strength, we are lost and confounded by our

pride; whereas the humble of heart may enter therein undisturbed."

Such are the maxims to be kept in view whilst reading the lives of the

saints, and especially the admirable life of S. Catharine of Ricci,

wherein God pleased to manifest to the world all the riches and all the

folly of his love.

S. Catharine of Ricci was born at Florence on the 23d of April, 1522.

On the day following, she was baptized in the church of S. John the

Baptist, and received the name of Lucretia Alexandrina Romola. Her

father was the head of the family of Ricci, one of the most illustrious

in Florence, and her mother was the last offspring of the noble house

of Ricasoli. From her earliest years Alexandrina gave evidence of the

eminent sanctity to which God had predestined her. When only three

years old, she began to devote herself to prayer. She sought solitude

and silence, that she might more freely converse with God, who wished

to draw to himself the earliest affections of this chosen soul. When

God predestines a soul to heroic sanctity, he generally bestows on her

many special graces, even before the development of free will gives

to the creature the full possession of herself. True, there are many

exceptions; God calls to himself some, who, having allowed themselves

to be deceived by the artful smiles of the world, bring to the foot

of the altar only the shattered fragments of their hearts; but in

general, he comes before the dawn, knocks at the door of the heart, and

cries out, as in the Canticle: "Open to me, my sister, my spouse; for

my head is covered with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night."

It was at once evident that Alexandrina was not made for the empty

and turbulent pleasures of worldly life. God could not permit so

pure a chalice to be profaned; so sweet a flower could blossom only

under the quiet shelter of the cloister. It was in the convent of the

Benedictine nuns of S. Peter de Monticelli that the daughter of Pier

Francesco de Ricci was initiated into the monastic life. It was a house

of education, and Alexandrina entered there as a pupil. The religious,

seeing the angelic piety of the child, doubted not that she would one

day take the habit of their order. Unfortunately, the primitive fervor,

charity, self-abnegation, and humility ceased to dwell within these

cloisters; and Alexandrina, perceiving that she could not there make

her permanent abode, at the age of nine years returned to her father's

house. There she continued, as well as she could, the customs of the

convent, without objection from her father, who, considering them as

innocent plays of a puerile piety, allowed her full liberty to exercise

her devotions.

But Alexandrina had higher views. Already had she decided, in her own

mind, to become a religious. One day, two lay Sisters of the Monastery

of S. Vincent de Prato came to Pier Francesco to beg alms. Alexandrina

was so edified by their piety, their modesty and recollection, that

she decided at once that the convent of Prato was the one to which God

called her. She acquainted her father with her determination; but he,

unwilling to be separated from a child who was all his joy, replied by

a formal refusal. He knew not that when God calls a soul to himself,

even the heart of a father must yield to the irresistible attraction of

that love in comparison with which all other affections, even the most

holy, are incapable of enchaining a soul which listens to the voice of

Jesus Christ. Therefore, rather than see his daughter wither like a

plant kept from its native soil, he permitted Alexandrina to receive

the veil in the convent of Prato. She received the habit of S. Dominic

on Whitmonday, May 18, 1535, having completed her thirteenth year. She

took the name of Catharine, in memory of her mother, who had been dead

several years. The fervor of the young novice can be easily imagined;

but God, who had destined her to the most sublime revelations,

wished to cast into the depth of her soul the foundation of all

solid virtue--humility; therefore, he permitted that this precious

treasure should not be appreciated by the community during her year of

novitiate. The supernatural gifts which had already been bestowed upon

her rendered more difficult the obligations of common life. Meanwhile,

she was admitted to profession on the 24th of June, 1536. From that

day the order of S. Dominic received a new and most pure glory. This

glory had been foretold by Savonarola, who, one day pointing to a place

in his neighborhood, said to some religious of S. Dominic: "There a

fervent community of pious sisters will be soon established." As soon

as the soul of Catharine, like an altar prepared for a long sacrifice,

was consecrated by her religious vows, Jesus Christ surrounded her with

his sweetest favors, and illumined her with his most brilliant lights.

But lest the sublimity of these revelations might weaken the profound

humility of this soul, God permitted that the Sisters of Prato, far

from admiring in her the wonders of the divine operations, understood

nothing of these ecstasies, which they attributed to the most common

causes; and, in fine, she was afflicted by two terrible diseases, which

lasted two years, after which she was miraculously cured by blessed

Jerome Savonarola. At this time the Sisters of Prato began to judge

more rightly their holy companion, and her confessor commanded her to

tell him faithfully all that God deigned to reveal to her in these

intimate communications.

It is here begins that wonderful succession of extraordinary favors

bestowed on S. Catharine de Ricci. Her life seemed one continual

ecstasy; her visions participated more and more in the divine light;

her union with Jesus Christ, consecrated by a nuptial love and the

stigmata, became more intimate; the report of her sanctity spread

itself abroad; the most important personages of Italy came to Prato

to consult and venerate the humble religious, whose whole life is an

eloquent teaching and living representation of Jesus Christ crucified.

This part of the saint's life contains facts of too elevated a

character to be completely treated of in a synopsis; it is necessary to

read those chapters in which the author has so well treated of the most

difficult questions of mystical theology. But it is easier to follow S.

Catharine in the government of her monastery and her salutary influence

abroad.

She was elected prioress in the first month of the year 1552. Her

immediate duty was to instruct her sisters, and to inspire them with an

appreciation of their sublime vocation. Often she called her community

to the chapter-room, and, addressing to them a doctrine which came

from God himself, she taught her spiritual daughters the way they were

to follow in order to reach the summit of religious perfection. She

has left us an abridgment of her mystical teaching in a letter which

she addressed to a religious. "At first," says she, "we must endeavor

to be disengaged from every earthly affection, loving no creature but

for God's sake; then, advancing a degree, we must love God, not only

from self-interest, but purely for himself and because of his supreme

excellence.

"Secondly, all our thoughts, words, and actions should tend towards

God; and by our prayers, exhortations, and good example, we should aim

only at procuring his glory in ourselves and in others.

"Thirdly, and lastly, we should rise still higher in the fulfilment of

God's will, to such a degree as to have no longer any desire in regard

to the misfortunes or joys which happen to us in this miserable life.

"But we shall never arrive at this height of perfection unless

by a firm and courageous denial of our own will. To acquire such

self-abnegation, it is absolutely necessary to lay the foundation of

profound humility, that, by a perfect knowledge of our own misery and

fragility, we may ascend to the knowledge of the greatness and goodness

of our God."

It appears that the whole spiritual doctrine of S. Catharine is

contained in these two fundamental points--self-abnegation and

humility, in order to deserve the enjoyment of divine contemplation:

this is the true and the only way to sanctity.

Although the first duty of a superior is to guide those confided to

his care, he has, however, a more painful task--he must govern them;

and it is here that the superior meets the most serious obstacles in

the exercise of his charge. It is always difficult to govern others;

for government is the application of laws with firmness, yet without

too much severity. Now, human nature shrinks from submission, which,

nevertheless, the superior is obliged to require, unless he be a

prevaricator; on the other side, he must often adopt measures of

government which can be discerned only by the most consummate prudence

and a profound knowledge of the weakness of human nature.

In a religious community the difficulty is still greater; for the law

is supported by conscience only, and it tends to guide those who have

accepted it to that ideal perfection in which the soul is no longer

attached to the earth. During forty years S. Catharine governed the

convent of Prato with a prudence, a sweetness, and a firmness that

made it the perfect type of a religious community. She combated most

energetically all abusive exemptions from common life, and showed

herself a faithful guardian of holy observances. But if she was the

enemy of relaxation of the rule, she also censured severely the proud

zeal of those souls whose whole perfection consisted in repeating the

prayer of the Pharisee: "O God, I thank you that I am not as the rest

of men. I fast twice a week."

Under the direction of a prioress so holy and so wise, the Sisters of

Prato walked with rapid strides in the way of perfection; and how could

it be otherwise, when they beheld their superioress tender towards them

as a mother, and discharging her offices sometimes even in the raptures

produced by the divine revelations?

The influence of S. Catharine was not confined to the monastery of

Prato. God would not permit that this community should be the only

witness of such elevated sanctity. The religious of her order--her

brethren in S. Dominic--were the first witnesses of the extraordinary

graces which she had received from heaven, and, on her side, S.

Catharine had for them the greatest esteem, the most lively affection,

regarding them as laborers chosen by God to cultivate his choicest

vineyard. Every time the fathers came to Prato to exercise the

functions of prior, confessor, or preacher, they seemed to her as "so

many angels descended from heaven, whose presence alone was sufficient

to inspire the sisters with sentiments of respect, and whose coming was

to infuse fresh zeal for a more perfect life."

By degrees the influence of S. Catharine, and the renown of her

sanctity, were spread throughout Italy. Persons from all parts came

to consult her and beg her prayers. Joan of Austria, Archduchess of

Tuscany, was bound to her by a tender friendship; she went often to

the convent of Prato to confide to the holy prioress all the vexations

and sorrows of her life. She profited so well by the counsels of her

holy friend that she was no longer called by other name than the good

archduchess. As if Germany envied Italy the treasure she possessed

in the monastery of Prato, the King of Bavaria sent his son there

to convince himself of that which the renown had spread concerning

this servant of God, and to recommend himself and his kingdom to her

prayers. The influence of S. Catharine in the world had been deepest on

those whom the author of her life so justly calls her spiritual sons:

Antonio de Gondi, Philippo Salviati, Giovanni-Batisti de Servi, Lorenzo

Strozzi, and many others.

The first and most celebrated of all was of the illustrious house of

Gondi. A branch of this family established itself in France at the

commencement of the XVIth century, and from it descended the famous

Cardinal de Retz.

The author, in devoting a short and interesting biography to some of

the spiritual sons of S. Catharine, shows us what salutary influence

she exercised over the chief persons of her country, and to what degree

of eminent sanctity she conducted those souls who sought her direction.

Faithful to all the suggestions of gratitude, she did not forget that

the great Apostle of Tuscany had prophesied the glory of the monastery

of Prato, and that twice she had been cured by his supernatural

intervention; therefore, she forwarded in every way devotion to

Savonarola. She charged Brother Nicholas Fabiani to revise the writings

of that celebrated Dominican, and she addressed herself to Count Luis

Capponi to procure a beautiful portrait of Savonarola. She had for that

illustrious character the tenderness of a daughter and the admiration

which a great life inspires in a soul capable of comprehending it.

The last years of the life of S. Catharine was a union the most

intimate with God, a continual succession of ecstasies; her body was on

earth, but her soul was in heaven.

Towards the month of January, she fell sick, and died on Friday, the 2d

of February, in the same year. Numerous miracles attested the eminent

sanctity of her life. She was beatified by Pope Clement XII. on the

30th of April, 1732, and was canonized by Benedict XIV. on the 20th of

June, 1746.

This is an incomplete synopsis of the two volumes published by R. P.

Bayonne. This work, destined to make known one of the greatest glories

of the order, recommends itself to us by the grandeur of the subject

itself, and unites a solid doctrine to a brilliant style, and all the

charms of a perfect narration. We hope it will soon be translated into

English, that the American public may become more fully acquainted with

a book which takes an honorable place in modern literature.

FOOTNOTES:

[137] _Life of S. Catharine of Ricci_, Religious of the Third Order of

S. Dominic. By R. P. Hyacinth Bayonne, O.S.D.

THE GREATEST GRIEF.

FROM THE FRENCH OF MARIE JENNA.

Yes, Father! on the altar of the past

We may lay down a joy, too sweet to last;

See the flowers wither that our pathway strewed,

Incline our brows beneath the tempest rude,

Behold the rainbow glory fade away

That made fair promise for our opening day:

And yet, like that poor stricken plant, survive,

Blighted by frost, half dead and half alive,

Give to the desert winds our morning dream,

And _still_ support our agony supreme!

We may behold, stretched on a bed of pain,

The form to which we minister in vain--

The last, the dearest, the _consoling_ friend--

Count every moment of his weary end,

Kiss the pale brow, and watch each wavering breath;

Close the cold eyelids, murmur, "This is death!"

And still _once more_ to life and hope belong.

O God! _thou_ knowest through faith the heart grows strong

But, ah! another human soul to love

So fondly that we tremble as above

Its purity and beauty we incline,

Then suddenly to mark its depths divine

Shadowed and chilled, and from our Paradise

Perceive an icy, vaporous breath arise,

Whence blew sweet zephyrs, odorous with grace!

To seek in vain religion's luminous trace

Amid the ashes of her ruined shrine,

To pray, to weep, to doubt, to hope, divine

All _but_ the truth; and at the last to dare

The long, deep look that tells us our despair,

Revealing vacancy, a faith withdrawn

Without a glance towards the retreating dawn,

Without a cry of grief, a sigh, a prayer--

O God! that loss is more than we can bear!

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

CATHOLICITY AND PANTHEISM--ALL TRUTH OR NO TRUTH. An Essay by the

Rev. J. De Concilio, etc., etc. New York: Sadliers. 1874.

This essay was first published in THE CATHOLIC WORLD, and we are

glad to see it published in a separate volume. It is not a complete

treatise, but only one complete part of a treatise, the _prima primæ_

of a more extensive work, which we hope the author may be able to

write and publish. F. De Concilio is one of our most learned and

acute philosophers and theologians, a disciple of no modern clique

or innovating system, a vender of no patent contrivance of his own

for reconciling contraries, but a modest yet intrepid advocate and

defender of the old time honored scholastic wisdom of S. Thomas. In

its own line, his essay is superior to anything ever before produced

in this country, and we trust that due attention and a just meed of

praise will be awarded to it by the few who will be able to understand

it, in Europe as well as in America. If the author, who has for a long

time struggled to bring his work into the light, is left in the lurch

by everybody, as the learned Dr. Smith has been in England with his

splendid unfinished work on the Pentateuch, it will be a sad proof of

our intellectual degeneracy.

We will not make a critical review of F. De Concilio's argument in

the present short notice, but we think a few words in reply to some

criticisms which have been made, and may be repeated, either publicly

or in private, are almost imperatively called for.

The only one of these criticisms really worth any attention relates

to the argument from reason for the Trinity. It has been objected by

some very respectable theologians that the rational argument for the

Trinity professes to demonstrate from purely rational principles of

natural human intelligence the entire revealed mystery of the Trinity.

We admit frankly that, if the supposition is correct, the censure

founded on it, that the author has undertaken something pronounced by

Catholic doctrine impossible and unlawful, is just and inevitable. We

have never, however, understood the author in this sense. We understand

him to profess to argue in part from premises given by revelation,

and thus merely to explicate a theological doctrine, and in part to

furnish proofs from pure reason, first, that the rational objections

against the dogma are invalid; and, second, that the dogma as disclosed

by revelation taken as a philosophical hypothesis, and it alone,

satisfactorily solves certain difficult problems respecting the divine

nature, which otherwise would be insoluble. So far as any direct proof

of the distinction and proprieties of the three persons in God is

concerned, we understand that such proof is put forward as inadequate

and only probable, but by no means either a complete or strictly

demonstrative argument.

We think, therefore, with due submission to higher authority, that the

author escapes the censures of the Syllabus and the Vatican Council,

and attempts no more than has been done by Bossuet, Lacordaire, and

other great thinkers, who have never been thought to have gone beyond

the bounds of allowed liberty. We leave the author, however, to defend

and advocate his own cause, if it requires to be further vindicated,

and merely give this statement as an explanation of our own reason

for admitting his admirable articles into this magazine without any

alteration.

Another criticism, which the author himself has sufficiently answered,

imputed to him the doctrine of a necessary creation and of _optimism_.

It is only necessary to read his book carefully to see how unfounded is

this imputation.

Still more futile is an objection, urged by the author of the criticism

just now noticed, that F. De Concilio's opinion of the precedence

of the decree of the incarnation to the decree of the redemption of

fallen man is contrary to the opinion of S. Thomas and the _schola_

generally. Be it so! But what then? Must we follow the common opinion,

or that which is extrinsically more probable, if the contrary opinion

has a real intrinsic and extrinsic probability? _Minime gentium!_ F.

De Concilio but follows S. Athanasius, Suarez, and other authors whose

works have passed the Roman censorship, against S. Thomas; and he gives

good intrinsic reasons for doing so. Let any one who wishes to attack

him do so by refuting his arguments; but it is most untheological to

find fault with his opinion as any less sound and orthodox than the

contrary. Let us be rigorous in censuring opinions which are really

unsound and untenable, but let us beware of that carping and unfriendly

spirit which has always been the bane of theological discussions, and

which throws out the imputation of unsoundness without a certain and

sufficient warrant of authority. We do not concur in all the opinions

which are held in the school which F. De Concilio follows, and which

must inevitably come out with greater distinctness in the second part

of his essay; but we shall look forward with pleasure to see him

develop and defend them with his usual masterly ability, and we express

our great desire that he should write as much as his pastoral duties

will permit on philosophical and theological topics.

THE CHRISTIAN TRUMPET; or, Previsions and Predictions about

Impending General Calamities, the Universal Triumph of the

Church, the Coming of Antichrist, the Last Judgment, and the End

of the World. Divided into three parts. Compiled by Pellegrino.

"The testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy," Apoc. xix.

10. Boston: Patrick Donahoe. 1873.

It is beyond question among learned and devout Catholics that many

saints and pious servants of God in all ages have received private

revelations in which are contained predictions of events in a near or

remote future time to the recipients of this supernatural light. It

is, moreover, certain that a number of supernatural and miraculous

events of a most extraordinary character, and evidently intended

as warnings to the good as well as to the wicked, and some very

credible revelations respecting great judgments and great mercies

of God which are impending, have occurred in our own time. It must

be, therefore, not only interesting, but useful, to have authentic

and judicious accounts of grave and sacred matters of this kind

published and circulated among the faithful. A collection of this

sort has been published in France by a learned priest, the Abbé

Curicque, with the approbation of several bishops, entitled _Voix

Prophétiques_; and several other critical and judicious writers in

Europe have published books or articles relating to different persons

and events of this extraordinary class, which are truly valuable,

instructive, and edifying. The end and object of the compiler of the

book before us is, therefore, one which we must approve, although we

are sorry not to be able to give an unqualified commendation to the

manner in which he has executed his task. That he is a very pious and

zealous priest is evident at first sight. That he has laid down in

general terms the sound theological doctrine about the credibility of

private revelations, and made some very just reflections and timely

exhortations about the times in which we live, and the sentiments we

ought to cherish and put in practice in view of the certain approach of

the consummation of this world, is also obvious to any reader of his

book. The research and painstaking which he has used in collecting his

materials are very great, and the greatest part of them are undoubtedly

derived from respectable and trustworthy sources of information, and

therefore entitled to credit.

Nevertheless, as a whole, the compilation lacks the sobriety,

discretion, and authority which a book of this kind ought to have,

in order to give it proper credibility and weight with the general

class of readers, who cannot judge for themselves or discriminate

properly, and who need, therefore, that evidence should be given them

by reference to standard authorities, and by the guarantee of names

which are known to them and sufficient to warrant their belief in the

genuineness and credibility of such remarkable documents as those

contained in this compilation. An anonymous author, whose work appears

without any ecclesiastical approbation or recommendation of persons

known to the Catholic public, is entitled to no credit on his own mere

assertion. He must cite his authorities and witnesses, and must exact

no assent without giving a sufficient motive. A translation of the work

of the Abbé Curicque would, in our opinion, have been much more likely

to accomplish the end of the pious author than a compilation like the

one he has made. Moreover, there are some things in this book, and

these the very matters which make the most exorbitant demand on the

credulity of the reader, for which no evidence whatever is furnished

but the _on dit_ of certain unknown parties. Other things are very

doubtful; some are contradictory to one another. The author mixes

up with the citations he makes his own favorite view of the course

of present and coming events, especially about the schism and the

anti-popes, whose coming he forebodes; and a haze of the visionary,

the wondrous, and the improbable is thus thrown over the whole, which

envelopes even that which is really entitled to credence and pious

veneration, and tends to bring the whole into suspicion and discredit.

The hint thrown out that a certain cardinal, whose name might as

well have been given, since every one will know who is meant, may

become an anti-pope, is contrary to Christian charity and prudence;

and, in general, we must notice with regret that the author's zeal

is sadly lacking in discretion, and devoid of that delicate tact and

discernment, more necessary in one who handles such difficult and

perilous themes than in any other sort of writer or teacher of the

people.

It is not the fault of the author, who is a foreigner, that he has

fallen into many inaccuracies of language; but we think the publisher

might have secured a revision of the text by some competent person, and

that it would have been in better taste, as well as more befitting the

reserve and sobriety due to matters which are so very serious, if he

had made a less sensational announcement of the book. It is, however,

notwithstanding these drawbacks, certainly a very curious collection

of documents and pieces of information which are interesting to know

about, and contains so much that is truly valuable and edifying that we

hope it will not only gratify curiosity, but also do good to a great

many of its readers, by turning their attention to the great subjects

which it presents in such vivid colors, and in a startling proximity to

the present and coming events of our own age.

In order to assist those of our readers who may wish to have some

direction to guide them in perusing this book with discrimination and

understanding, we will specify in part which are the most valuable

and trustworthy portions, which are less so, and which are altogether

without sufficient grounds of probability to entitle them to any regard.

First, there are the prophecies of canonized or beatified saints, whose

authenticity is well established and their interpretation more or

less clear. These are the prophecies of S. Remigius, S. Cesarius, S.

Edward, S. John of the Cross, and the B. Andrew Bobola, S.J. In regard

to those of S. Bridget of Sweden and S. Francis of Paul, they would be

entitled to equal respect, if clearer evidence were furnished of their

authenticity than that given by the author--a matter in regard to which

we are not able to pronounce any judgment. The prophecy of S. Malachy

is one in respect to which there is great difference of opinion. We

give our own for what it is worth, after some reading on the subject,

in its favor. After these come the prophecies of persons of recognized

sanctity, which have gained credit with judicious and well-informed

persons competent to form an enlightened opinion. The most valuable

and trustworthy of these are from the V. Holzhauser, the V. Anna Maria

Taigi, the V. Curé of Ars, F. Necktou, S.J., Jane le Royer, Sœur de la

Nativité, and Mary Lataste. The prophecies of the Solitary of Orval

and of the Nun of Blois have their warm partisans and opponents, the

Abbé Curicque being among their defenders. The Signora Palma d'Orio

is a person whose ecstatic state seems to be beyond reasonable doubt,

yet it is difficult to ascertain with certainty what she has really

predicted; so that what is reported from her, although interesting, is

scarcely to be considered as having evidence enough to be classed among

authentic predictions. The revelations made to Maximin and Melanie

appear to us to belong to a similar category, as worthy of the greatest

respect in themselves if we had an ample guarantee of their genuineness

and authenticity, but as not yet placed in a sufficiently clear light

to warrant a prudent assent. The remainder of the contents we pass

over without any special remark, with the exception of those few

matters which we have noted above as making an exorbitant demand on the

reader's credulity without any evidence to warrant it. One of these

points is the story of David Lazzaretti, another about Zoe Tonari,

"destined soon to be a second Joan of Arc," and the most censurable

of all is what is said about Antichrist having been born in 1860, and

other things connected with the same. (Pp. 265-268.)

In connection with the wonderful narrative of David Lazzaretti the

author has woven a very flimsy texture of conjectures out of the

materials furnished by some of the curious documents which he cites for

his hypothesis of a schism and two anti-popes to come immediately after

the death of Pius IX. It is with regret that we are compelled to touch

on these subjects in such a superficial manner; they require careful

handling. Excessive and imprudent credulity in those who have faith and

piety is certainly unreasonable, and may be blamable and hurtful.

But the utter incredulity and dogged refusal to admit anything

miraculous and supernatural which is exhibited by our modern illuminati

is the very _ne plus ultra_ of unreason, and the acme of wilful,

despicable, and wicked folly. The most sensible, as well as the most

pious rule is, to follow the church without reservation in all that

she teaches and sanctions, and in those things concerning which she is

silent to follow her saints and doctors, who are the most enlightened

of all men.

SPAIN AND CHARLES VII.; or, "Who is the Legitimate Sovereign?" By

General Kirkpatrick. Published under the sanction of the Carlist

Committee. London: Burns, Oates & Co. 1873. (New York: Sold by

The Catholic Publication Society.)

This timely and clearly-written plea for Don Carlos places beyond

a question his right to the Spanish throne. The Bourbons succeeded

to the Spanish throne through the marriage of Louis XIV. with the

Infanta of Spain, eldest daughter of Philip IV. Her grandson, Philip

V., became king on the failure of direct issue from his grand-uncle,

Charles II., the son of Philip IV. The Salic law, confirming the

succession to the heirs male of the royal house, was established by

Philip V. and his cortes, with the consent of all the great powers,

in order to prevent the union of the French and Spanish crowns, the

King of Spain relinquishing all his rights as a French prince. This

law has never been validly repealed. Christina of Naples, the queen of

Ferdinand VII., a most ambitious and unprincipled princess, had this

law violently and illegally set aside in order to make way for her

daughter Isabella to ascend the throne. The base and illegal nature of

the intrigues by which Don Carlos and his family were exiled from Spain

and deprived of their just rights is fully exposed by Gen. Kirkpatrick.

Charles V., the brother of Ferdinand VII., was succeeded in his claim

to the throne by his son, Charles VI., in 1845, who, dying in 1861

without issue, was succeeded by his brother, Don Juan, who abdicated

October, 1868, in favor of his son, the present Don Carlos, who is now

twenty-five years of age, and married to the niece of the Comte de

Chambord. Charles V. would undoubtedly have succeeded in regaining his

throne but for the shameful interference of Louis Philippe of France,

and the English crown. The party of Christina was composed of all the

liberals, communists, and enemies of the church, and Isabella was

merely tolerated by the sound and Catholic majority of the nation from

necessity.

The clergy, the ancient nobility, the peasantry, and most of the

friends of order and religion in all classes, desire the restoration

of Don Carlos to the throne, which belongs to him by the laws of the

Spanish constitution. It is very true that a mere restitution of

legitimate monarchy is not a certain guarantee for good government, and

that many of the Bourbons have been bad rulers. It is, nevertheless,

the only hope for Spain; and the character and principles of Don Carlos

give reason to hope that, taught by adversity and trained by experience

to value the sound Catholic traditions of Spain, he will prove to be a

good sovereign. We wish him, therefore, most cordially, a speedy and

complete triumph, which we believe he is in the way to win.

ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. By His Eminence Cardinal Wiseman. In

Six Volumes. Vols. V., VI. New York: P. O'Shea. 1873.

These two volumes complete the series of the famous cardinal's

_Essays_. The Catholic reader is under great obligations to Mr. O'Shea

for the reprint of these splendid compositions, the London edition

being out of print. It is to be regretted, however, that the references

adapted to that edition should not have been changed to suit the

present issue. Having indicated one fault, we might as well inquire of

the publisher why he _will_ use perfumed paper in his books? Though not

a serious objection, it is an annoying one to reasonably fastidious

readers, as we happen to know.

Vol. V. opens with an article on Spain, which takes up more than

half the book. It is superfluous to remark that this essay is of

peculiar interest at the present hour. Next we have a vindication

of Pope Boniface VIII.--a very important subject. Then a review of

Montalembert's _S. Elizabeth of Hungary_. The three remaining articles

are specimens of the writer's scholarship as an antiquarian. Vol.

VI. contains ten essays. The first treats learnedly of S. Peter's

chair at Rome. A plate accompanies the article. The fifth administers

flagellation to Charles Dickens for certain things in his _American

Notes_; and also to Mrs. Trollope, for her _Visit to Italy_. Then

follow four other essays on the subject of Italy: "Italian Guides and

Tourists," "Religion in Italy," "Italian Gesticulation," and "Early

Italian Academies." The volume concludes with "Sense _vs._ Science."

We are reminded, while noticing the completion of this work, of an

article on the Donatist schism, "Catholic and Anglican Churches" (p.

199, v. iii.), which "caused in no slight degree" the doubt which first

crossed the mind of Dr. John Henry Newman "of the tenableness of the

theological theory on which Anglicanism is based," and which we cannot,

therefore, do better than commend to the serious attention of all

honest and conscientious Episcopalians.

BIBLE HISTORY, with Maps, Illustrations, Examination Questions,

Scriptural Tables, and Glossary. For the use of Colleges,

Schools, Families, and Biblical Students. By the Rev. James

O'Leary, D.D. _Permissu Superiorum_. ✠ John, Archbishop of New

York. New York: Sadliers. 1873.

We cordially recommend this excellent and beautifully printed manual

to all those for whom the title states it has been prepared by its

learned author. It will be a favorite, especially with young people

and children, whether used as a class or a reading book, particularly

on account of its pictures, which are generally good, and many of

which are remarkably fine. Such a book, which, so far as we know, is

much the best of the kind, must do incalculable good; and we hope it

will be appreciated by parents and teachers, so as to find its way

into every family and school throughout our country and elsewhere,

wherever Catholics are found who use the English language. The author

has done well by taking into account those generally received facts

and hypotheses of natural science which have a bearing on topics

handled, in their connection with the facts and truths of revelation,

by the sacred writers. His statement, however, that the surface of the

earth bears on it the marks of perturbations caused by the Deluge,

and otherwise not capable of scientific explanation, is not one which

geologists would admit, and we doubt very much its correctness.

On page 16 the author observes that, "as the divinity of Christ was

doubted before the Council of Nice, so these [deutero-canonical] books

and passages might have been doubted before the decision of the church."

The cases are not parallel. The divinity of Christ was an article

of faith before the definition of the Council of Nice, and no good

Catholic could doubt it. But the canonical authority of certain books

was not an article of faith before it was defined, and might have been,

as it indeed was, doubted by good Catholics.

We think the author would improve his work by inserting a good,

succinct historical account of the events which occurred between the

period of the Books of the Machabees and that of the Evangelists.

Moreover, we do not like the termination "eth" in the index, which

is unnecessarily quaint and old-fashioned, or approve all the rhymes

which precede the chapters, although some of them are not without a

quaint poetic vigor, and most of them are terse and ingenious, likely,

therefore, to strike the fancy and stick in the memory of children.

It is seldom that we take the trouble to make so many criticisms on

a book. This one, however, is so good and so very important that we

would like to see the author continue to improve it in every new

edition, and therefore offer our suggestions in the most kindly

and respectful spirit to the reverend and learned author, adding to

what we have already said in commendation of the _Bible History_

that it is not merely a good school-book, but a work of really sound

and solid scholarship. We are very glad to see that the author has

sought and obtained the approbation of the ecclesiastical authority

before publishing his work, and we trust that his good example will be

generally followed, and, moreover, that the law of the church will be

enforced in every diocese and in all cases, requiring this approbation

for all books treating _de rebus sacris_.

MEDITATIONS FOR THE USE OF THE CLERGY, for every day in the year.

On the Gospels for the Sundays. From the Italian of Mgr. Scotti,

Abp. of Thessalonica. Revised and edited by the Oblates of S.

Charles. Vol. II. From Septuagesima Sunday to the Fourth Sunday

after Easter. London: Burns & Oates. 1873. (New York: Sold by The

Catholic Publication Society.)

We have already noticed the first volume of these invaluable

_Meditations_, and need not repeat what we then said. The present

volume fully sustains the promise of the first, and makes us look

eagerly for the completion of the work.

THE ILLUSTRATED CATHOLIC FAMILY ALMANAC FOR THE UNITED STATES FOR

THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1874. Calculated for different Parallels of

Latitude, and adapted for use throughout the Country. New York:

The Catholic Publication Society.

The season does not bring a brighter, pleasanter, or more useful and

necessary book than this cleverly executed little work. From cover to

cover the reader finds something to catch the eye and attract him in

every page. For a wonder, the title is an exact index of the book; it

is illustrated, and remarkably well illustrated; it is Catholic, and

it is a _family_ almanac, which the children will pore over for hours,

delighted with the pictures of famous Catholic men, women, and places,

and the short but well-written sketches accompanying them; which their

parents will consult in order to find all the information concerning

feasts, fasts, and the like necessary for the coming year; which all

will read who wish to obtain accurate information on matters relating

to the spread and progress of the church, particularly in the United

States. When this has been said, there is really nothing more to say,

as far as recommending this almanac to Catholics goes; but there is a

great deal to be said concerning this present number, which in many

respects is an improvement even on its predecessors. For instance,

in the matter of filling in a page with short but pithy notices of

Catholic works, in the excellent but necessarily incomplete tables of

statistics of the Catholic Church in the United States, and in the

fulness of the Catholic chronology for the past year, which forms, as

it were, the headlines of Catholic history in this country--all this

displays enterprise, and the excellence of the whole speaks tact and

care on the part of the editor.

Glancing at the illustrations, we find portraits and sketches of Abp.

Odin; Rt. Rev. Michael O'Connor, first bishop of Pittsburgh and of

Erie; Bishop Fitzpatrick, of Boston; Father Southwell, S.J., whose

poems and writings are now being collected and given to the public;

Father Lacordaire, Father De Smet, and others. Here is a head of

Manzoni, in another place the Comte de Montalembert; here John Banim's

well-known face looks out, and here is genial Thomas D'Arcy McGee

smiling at us. In another place is a portrait of S. Ignatius in armor,

and a sunny picture of his birth-place. Miss Honora Nagle, foundress

of the Ursuline Order in Ireland, Mother Mary of the Incarnation,

Blessed Margaret Mary Alacoque, Church of Our Lady of Lourdes, of

S. Stephen of the Mount, Abbey of Cluny, and others, form subjects

for illustrations and sketches, all careful, accurate, and finished.

Looking again at the _Almanac_, and then considering its price, the

publishers may congratulate themselves on having accomplished that

miracle of presenting to a Catholic public something which is _cheap

and excellent_ throughout.

SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS, AND OTHER POEMS. By John Boyle

O'Reilly. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1873.

These _Songs_ have a rare charm of novelty about them. Australia is a

land yet unconquered to the muse, but evidently as fruitful in poetic

themes as any of "the shores of old romance."

Our author is peculiarly at home, perhaps, in the scenes from which his

book is named. Yet some of the "other poems" are of considerable merit;

such as "A Wail of Two Cities" (Chicago and Boston), "The Wreck of the

Atlantic," and "The Fishermen of Wexford."

We thank him for his modest volume, and hope to hear from him again.

RECENT MUSIC AND MUSICIANS, as described in the Diaries and

Correspondence of Ignaz Moscheles. Edited by his wife, and

adapted from the original German by A. D. Coleridge. New York:

Henry Holt & Co. 1873.

Born in 1794, and living to the advanced age of seventy-six, this

distinguished musician had the opportunity of cultivating an intimate

acquaintance, or of holding more or less correspondence, with all the

composers, artists, singers, and patrons of music who flourished during

his long life. Reference is made in this exceedingly interesting memoir

to the names of over five hundred of these, furnishing to the reader

a vast amount of information concerning musicians and their works in

this century. The book is written in an agreeable, vivacious style, and

is altogether the best of the several memoirs of the kind which have

appeared.

THE STORY OF WANDERING WILLIE. New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co.

1873.

We have been attracted by the beauty and pathos of this simple tale,

and by its high moral tone, in which it contrasts favorably with many

more pretentious works.

THE LIFE OF THE MOST REV. M. J. SPALDING, D.D., ARCHBISHOP OF

BALTIMORE. By Rev. J. L. Spalding, S.T.L. New York: The

Catholic Publication Society. 1873.

We had contemplated an extended notice of this very interesting

biography, but were unable to finish it in time for the present number.

We fancy, however, that few intelligent Catholics who are made aware of

the subject, author, and superior mechanical execution of the volume,

will delay securing possession of a copy.

BOOKS RECEIVED.

From BURNS & OATES, London (through "The Catholic Publication

Society," New York): Meditations for the Use of the Clergy. From

the Italian of Mgr. Scotti. Vol. ii., 1873. 12mo, pp. viii. 280.

From WEED, PARSONS & CO., Albany: Fourteenth Annual Report of the

Superintendent of Insurance, Fire and Marine, pp. lviii.-463.

Life and Casualty, pp. lvii.-249. 8vo, 1873.

From SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., New York: Lombard Street: A

Description of the Money Market. By Walter Bagehot. 12mo, pp.

viii. 359.

From KELLY, PIET & CO., Baltimore: Little Manual of the Holy

Angels' Sodality. 1873, 24mo, pp. 68.

From P. O'SHEA, New York: Mrs. Herbert and the Villagers. By the

Comtesse E. M. De Bondenham. 2 vols, in 1, 18mo, pp. xii. 341,

vii. 318.

From D. & J. SADLIER & CO., New York: The Irish on the Prairies,

and other Poems. By Rev. Thos. Ambrose Butler. 12mo, pp. 161.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XVIII., No. 106.--JANUARY, 1874.[138]

THE PRINCIPLES OF REAL BEING.

All knowledge which is truly scientific rests on demonstration, and all

demonstration depends on principles or axiomatic truths. But, besides

the principles of demonstration, there are other principles on which

not only the knowledge, but the very existence of things, and their

origin and constitution, essentially depend. These latter principles

are nowadays less known than the former, as we may argue from the fact

that they are scarcely ever alluded to in modern speculations; and yet

they undoubtedly have the best claim to the attention of philosophical

minds, for it is in such principles that the real germs of all true

science are hidden. For this reason, we have determined to offer our

readers a short but accurate summary of the philosophical doctrine on

principles; which, if presented, as we shall try to do, with becoming

perspicuity, will prove to be a kind of popular introduction to

metaphysical studies.

I. NOTION OF PRINCIPLE.

By the name of _principle_ philosophers designate that whence anything

originally proceeds in any manner whatever: _Id, unde aliquid

quomodocumque procedit_. This definition implies that there are many

different manners of proceeding, and consequently many different kinds

of principles. And so it is. Aristotle, however, shows that principles

of all kinds can be reduced to three classes; that is, to those

principles of which a thing consists, those through which or out of

which a thing is made, and those by which a thing is known: _Primum,

unde aliquid est, aut fit, aut cognoscitur_.[139]--Arist. _Metaph._ 5.

The first class comprises the principles through which a thing is,

viz., by which the thing is intrinsically constituted. These principles

are called _constituent_ or _intrinsic_ principles, and are always

present _by their own entity_ in the thing principiated; as the matter

in the body, and the soul in the animal.

The second class contains the principles through which a thing _is

made_. These principles serve to account for the origin of the thing,

and are called _extrinsic_ principles, because they are not present by

_their own entity_ in the thing principiated. Thus, the motive power of

the sun is not, by its own entity, in the planets to which it imparts

movement, but in the sun only; and the medical art is not in the person

who has been cured through it, but in the doctor. There is, however,

in the planets something proceeding from the motive power of the sun,

and in the person cured something proceeding from the medical art, as

every one will acknowledge. Whence it is obvious that the extrinsic

principles by their very principiation must leave some mark or vestige

of themselves in the thing principiated.

The third class consists of those principles through which any

conclusion is _made known_. These principles are general truths, which

are made to serve for the demonstration of some other truth, and are

called principles _of science_.

Among the principles of this third class we do not reckon the

principles from which the first apprehension and immediate intuition

of things proceeds; to wit, either the power through which the object

makes an impression on the cognoscitive faculty, or the faculty itself

through which the object is apprehended. Our reason is that these

principles, thus considered, do not form a class apart. The power of

the object to make its impression on the subject is an _extrinsic_

principle of knowledge, and ranks with the principles of the second

class above mentioned; whilst the power of the subject to perceive

through the intelligible species is an _intrinsic_ principle of

knowledge, as well as the species which it expresses within itself,

and, therefore, is to be ranked among the principles of the first

class. Accordingly, the third class is exclusively made up of those

principles which serve for the scientific demonstration of truth; and

this is what Aristotle himself insinuates, at least negatively, as he

gives no instance of principles of this third class but the premises by

which any conclusion is made known.

Before we advance further, we have to remark that, in metaphysics,

the first principles of science are assumed, not as a subject of

investigation, but as the fundamental base of scientific demonstration.

Thus, the principles, _Idem non potest simul esse et non esse_,[140]

_Non datur effectus sine causa_,[141] _Quæ sunt eadem uni tertio

sunt eadem inter se_,[142] and such like, though usually styled

"metaphysical" principles, are not the subject of metaphysical

investigation, but are simply presupposed and admitted on the strength

of their immediate and incontrovertible evidence. Such principles

are perfectly known before all metaphysical disquisition, and need

not be traced to other principles. On the other hand, metaphysics,

which is the science of reality, deals only with the principles of

_real_ beings; whence it follows that the principles of demonstration,

which, like the conclusion deduced therefrom, exist in the intellect

alone (and therefore are _beings of reason_, and principiate nothing

but other beings of reason), are not comprised in the object of

metaphysical inquiry. Hence, the only principles which metaphysics is

bound to investigate are those that belong to the first and second

class above mentioned; that is, the intrinsic and the extrinsic

principles of things: _Primum unde aliquid est_, and _primum unde

aliquid fit_.[143]

Principles and causes are often confounded, although it is well known

that they are not identical. Hence, our next question is: In what does

a cause differ from a principle?

It is commonly admitted that all causes are principles, but not all

principles causes; which evidently implies that a cause is something

more than a principle. In fact, when we use the word "cause," we wish

to designate a being in which we know that there is a principle of

causation; whence it is evident that the common notion of cause implies

the notion of principle, _and something else besides_--that is, the

notion of a subject to which the principle belongs. Thus, we say that

the moon causes the tides by its attractive power; the moon is the

_cause_, and the attractive power is its _principle_ of causation. In

like manner, we say that an orator causes great popular emotion by

his eloquence; the orator is the _cause_, and his eloquence is his

_principle_ of causation.

From these instances it would be easy to conclude that the difference

between a cause and a principle lies in this, that the cause is a

complete being, whilst the principle is only an appurtenance of the

cause. But as we know from theology that there are principles which

cannot be thus related to causes, we cannot consider the above as an

adequate and final answer to the question proposed.

Some of the best modern scholastics account for the difference between

cause and principle in the following manner: A principle, they say, is

conceived to differ from a cause in two things: first, in this, that

a cause always precedes its effect by priority of nature,[144] whereas

a principle does not require such a priority; secondly, in this, that

the cause does not communicate its own identical nature to its effect,

whereas the principle can communicate its own identical nature to that

which it principiates.[145] From these two differences a third one

might be gathered, viz., that the effect has always a real dependence

_from_[146] its cause, whilst the thing principiated does not always

really depend _from_ its principles.[147] These grounds of distinction

between principles and causes have been thought of, with the avowed

object of paving the way to explain how the Eternal Father can be the

principle, without being the cause, of his Eternal Son, and how the

Father and the Son can be the principle, without being the cause, of

the Holy Ghost.

But we must observe that there are four genera of causes and of

principles: the _efficient_, the _material_, the _formal_, and the

_final_; and that the two differences alleged by these writers between

principle and cause do not apply to principles and causes of the same

genus, but are applicable only when some principle belonging to one

genus is wrongly compared with some cause pertaining to another genus.

That there are four genera of causes we will take for granted, as it

is the universal doctrine of philosophers. That there are also four

genera of principles corresponding to the four genera of causes is

evident; for every cause must contain within itself the principle of

its causality; and, in fact, Aristotle himself clearly affirms that

there are as many causes as principles, and that all causes are also

principles,[148] in the sense which we have already explained. Lastly,

that the two aforesaid differences between principle and cause do not

apply to principles and causes of the same genus can be easily verified

by a glance at each genus. Let the reader take notice of the following

statements, and then judge for himself.

The efficient cause (the agent) and the efficient principle (its active

power) are _both_, by priority of nature, prior to the thing produced

or principiated, and _both_ have a nature numerically distinct from

that of the thing produced or principiated.

In the same manner the final cause (the object willed) and the

finalizing principle (the known goodness and desirability of the

object) _both_ are, by priority of nature, prior to the act caused or

principiated, and _both_ have a nature numerically distinct from that

of the act caused or principiated.

Thus, also, the material cause (actual matter) and the material

principle (the passiveness of matter) are _both_, by priority of

nature, prior to the thing effected or principiated, and _both_

identify themselves with the thing effected or principiated.

Accordingly, with regard to these three kinds of causation and

principiation, it is quite impossible to admit that the difference

between a cause and a principle is to be accounted for by a recourse to

the two aforementioned grounds of distinction, so long as the causes

and principles, which are compared, belong to one and the same genus.

As to the formal cause and the formal principle, we shall presently see

that they are not distinct things; but, even if we were disposed to

consider them as distinct, such a distinction could not possibly rest

on the two grounds of which we have been speaking; for the formal cause

and the formal principle have no priority of nature[149] with respect

to the thing caused or principiated, and _both_ identify themselves

with the same. We are, therefore, satisfied that the opinion which we

have criticised has no foundation in truth.

Let us, then, resume our previous explanation, and see how the

difficulty above proposed against its completeness can be solved. We

have shown that the notion of cause implies the notion of principle,

together with that of a subject to which the principle belongs. We

must, therefore, admit that a principle differs from a cause of the

same genus, as an incomplete or _metaphysical_ entity differs from a

complete or _physical_ being; or, in other terms, that a real cause,

rigorously speaking, is a complete being, _which_ gives origin to

an effect; whilst a real principle, properly speaking, is only that

_through which_ the cause gives origin to its effect. The cause is _id

quod causat_;[150] the principle is _id quo causa causat_.[151]

The formal principle, however, is an exception to this general

doctrine, as formal principles do not differ from formal causes. The

form, in fact, not only _has_ within itself something through which it

is fit to cause its effect, but also _is_ itself that very something,

and _through itself_ brings its effect into existence. Thus the soul,

which is the form of the body, _through itself_, and not through any

of its faculties, actuates the body and vivifies it. On this account,

then, any form might be indifferently called either a formal _cause_

or a formal _principle_. But we must further consider that a form, as

such, is an incomplete entity, since no formal act can exist apart from

its essential term;[152] and on this ground we maintain that the name

of _principle_ suits it better than the name of _cause_.

And this conclusion will be approved even by those philosophers

whose opinion concerning the distinction between cause and principle

we have just refuted; for the two differences which they allege as

characteristic of cause in opposition to principle have no room in

formal causation or principiation, since we have seen that the formal

act has no priority of nature with respect to its essential term, and

identifies itself with the thing of which it is the act. Consequently,

the form, even in the opinion of said philosophers, is not a cause, but

a principle.

We hope to give a fuller explanation of this point on a later occasion;

but what we have just said suffices to show what we at present intend,

viz., that the doctrine which considers principles as appurtenances

of causes admits of a remarkable exception in the case of formal

principles, and by such an exception is competent to account for the

existence of other principles importing real principiation without

real causation. Now, this is exactly what the theological doctrine on

divine processions requires. The fact, therefore, that the procession

of one of the divine Persons from another involves no causation, but

only principiation, can be accounted for by a simple reference to the

nature of formal principiation. The Eternal Father is certainly not the

efficient, but the _formal_, principle of His Eternal Son; and this

already suffices to explain how the being of the Son is not _a new

being made_ by the Father, but is the very same being of the Father

communicated identically to the Son. Thus, also, the Holy Ghost not

efficiently, but _formally_, proceeds from the Father and the Son,

through their conspiration into a simple actuality of love; and this

suffices to explain how the Holy Ghost is not _made_ by the Father and

the Son, but is the very actuality of the one in the other.

To sum up: Formal principiation is not causation; hence, that which

immediately proceeds from a formal principle is not caused by it, but

only principiated; it is not its effect, but its connatural term; it

has not a distinct nature, but the very nature of its formal principle

identically communicated; lastly, it has no real dependence _from_

its formal principle, but only real relative opposition; for real

dependence has no place where there is identity of nature. This is

eminently true of God, and, by imitation, of every primitive contingent

being, which is strictly one in its entity, and consequently also

of all the ultimate elements into which a physical compound can be

resolved; for the ultimate elements of things cannot but be primitive

beings.

The preceding remarks regard those formal acts which enter in the

essential constitution of being as such, and which are called strictly

_substantial acts_. Of accidental forms we have nothing to say in

particular, as it is too evident to need explanation that they are not

causes, but mere principles. It is, therefore, to be concluded that the

distinction between cause and principle applies only to _efficient_,

_material_, and _final_ causality and principiativity. Thus, as we have

said, _the sun_ is the efficient cause of certain movements, and _its

attractive power_ is the efficient principle of those movements; _the

object_ is the final cause that moves the will, and _the goodness_,

through which the object moves the will, is the finalizing principle of

the volition: _the steel_ is the material cause of the sword, but the

material principle of the sword is _the passive potency_ of the steel,

which allows it to receive the form of a sword or any other form.

We must not forget, however, that the words _cause_ and _principle_

have been, and are, very frequently used without discrimination by

philosophical writers, even of the highest merit. It is by no means

uncommon to find, for instance, the premises described as the _cause_

of the conclusion, the rules of the art as the _cause_ of an artificial

work, the exemplar as the _cause_ of that in which it is reproduced or

imitated. In these examples, the word _cause_ stands for _principle_.

The old Greek theologians even said that God the Father is the _cause_

of his Eternal Son; the word _cause_ being undoubtedly used by them in

the sense of _principle_. We should not be astonished at this. Indeed,

while we ourselves persist in giving the name of cause to the formal

principle, we should be the last to be surprised at the Greek fathers

doing the same.

And now, let us come to another part of our subject. Philosophers,

when wishing to give a full account of things, besides principles and

causes, point out _metaphysical reasons_ too. We think it our duty

to show in what such reasons consist, and in what they differ from

principles.

A reason, in general, may be defined as _that from which anything

immediately results_; and since a formal result is not made, but simply

follows as a consequence from a conspiration of principles, we can

see at once that a reason, or the formal ground of a given result,

must consist in a conspiration of given principles. There are logical

reasons, which give rise to logical results; and there are metaphysical

reasons, which give rise to metaphysical results. We will give an

example of each.

In a syllogism, the consequence is the result of a conspiration of

two propositions, called premises. The propositions themselves are

the _principles_ from which the conclusion is to follow; but the

actual following of the conclusion depends on the actual comparison of

the two propositions, and on the actual perception of the agreement

of two extreme terms with a middle one. It is, in fact, through the

middle term that the two premises conspire into a definite conclusion.

Hence, when we are asked the reason why a conclusion follows from two

premises, we point out not only the fact that the two premises are

true, but especially the fact that the extreme terms, which are to be

directly united in the conclusion, are already both linked, in the

premises, with the same middle term. For it is evident that the whole

strength of a legitimate conclusion lies in the universality of the

axiom, _Quæ sunt eadem uni tertio, sunt eadem inter se_. The words,

_sunt eadem uni tertio_,[153] express the formal reason, and the words

_sunt eadem inter se_[154] express the formal result. In scholastic

language, the premises would be called the _principium formale

quod_[155] of the conclusion, and the suitable connection of their

terms would be called the _principium formale quo_,[156] or the _ratio

formalis_[157] of the conclusion; whilst the conclusion itself would be

called the _rationatum_.[158]

For an example of the metaphysical order, we will take a known subject,

_animal life_, and ascertain its formal reason. Every one knows that

the soul is a principle of life; but animal life, besides the vivifying

soul, requires also an organic body as its other principle. These two

principles, however, are, with respect to animal life, in the same

relation as the two premises with respect to their conclusion. For as

the conclusion proximately results from the connection of the premises

and their bearing on one another, as we have just explained, so, also,

animal life results from the connection of soul and body--that is, from

the actuation of the latter by the former, and consequently by the

completion of the former in the latter. Hence, the formal reason, or

the _principium formale quo_, of animal life is the very information

of the body by the soul, while the soul and the body themselves, taken

together, constitute the _principium formale quod_.

From these two examples, to which it would be easy to add many more,

it is manifest that what we call _formal reason_ is _a conspiration of

correlative principles towards a common actual result_. All results are

relations between terms, or principles, communicating with one another,

either through themselves or through something which is common to them.

In the first case, the result, or relation, is transcendental, and is

nothing else than the _actuality_ of one principle in the other--of

the soul in the body, for instance. In the second case, the result,

or relation, is either predicamental or logical (according as its

principles and its formal reason are real or not), and is nothing else

than the _actuality_ of the terms as correlated.

Let the reader remark that we have pointed out three kinds of so-called

formal principles, viz., the form, or act, which is a _principium

formale_ properly, and without qualification; then the _principium_,

_formale quod_ of a resultation, consisting of correlated principles

conspiring together into a common result; lastly, the _principium

formale quo_, or the proximate reason of the resultation, consisting

in the very conspiration of the correlated principles. In English,

the better to distinguish the one from the other, it would be well

to retain the name of _formal principle_ for the first alone; the

second might be called the _formal origin_, and the third the _formal

reason_, of a resultation. Thus the name of _formal principle_ would be

preserved to its rightful owner, without danger of mistaking it for a

formal reason, or _vice versa_.

Before we conclude, we beg to add, though it may appear unnecessary,

that the _conditions_ of causation are not principles. We make this

remark because nothing, perhaps, is more common in ordinary speech

than to confound conditions with principles and causes. It is not

uninstructed persons only, but educated people and men of science too,

that express themselves as if they believed that conditions have their

own active part in producing effects. If a weight be suspended by a

thread, the cutting of the thread is popularly said _to cause_ the

fall of the weight. He who throws a piece of paper into the fire is

said _to burn_ the paper. He who rubs a match is said _to light_ the

match. A change of distance between the sun and a planet is said _to

cause_ a change of intensity in the central forces. Now, it is scarcely

necessary to show that _cutting_ the thread, _throwing_ the paper,

_rubbing_ the match, etc., are only conditions of the falling, the

burning, the lighting, etc., respectively; and conditions are neither

causes nor principles of causation. A _condition_ of causation may be

defined to be _an accidental relation between principles or causes,

inasmuch as they are concerned in the production of an effect_. Causes

and principles cause and principiate in a different manner, according

to the difference of their mutual relations, but do not cause or

principiate _through_ such relations, as is evident.

A weight suspended by a thread falls when the thread is cut. But he

who cuts the thread is not the real _cause_ of the falling. The true

_cause_ is, on the one hand, the earth by its attractive power, and,

on the other, the body itself by its receptive potency. Cutting the

thread is only to put a condition of the falling. The fall, in fact,

depends on the condition that the body be free to obey the action of

gravity; and this condition is fulfilled when the thread is cut. In

like manner, he who throws a piece of paper into the fire does not burn

it, but only puts it in the necessary relation with the fire, that it

may be burnt; and he who rubs the match does not light it, but only

rubs it, the rubbing being a condition, not a cause, of the lighting.

In fact, the lighting of the match is caused by the actions and

reactions which take place between the molecules of certain substances

on the end of the match; and such actions and reactions depend on the

rubbing only inasmuch as the rubbing alters the relations of distance

between molecules, disturbs their equilibrium, and places them in a new

condition with respect to their acting on one another. Of course, the

rubbing is an effect, and he who does the rubbing is a cause; but he

causes the rubbing only. So, also, the change of distance between the

sun and a planet is neither the cause nor the principle of a change

of intensity in the mutual attraction. The action of celestial bodies

follows a law. With such or such relation of distance between them,

they act with such or such intensity; but distance is evidently not an

active principle, and therefore a change of distance is only the change

of a condition of causation.

As we have just mentioned the fact that celestial bodies are subject

to _a law of action_, it might be asked whether _law_ itself be a

real principle. We must answer in the negative; for _law_ is nothing

but _the necessity for every agent or patient of conforming to its

own nature in the exertion of its powers, and in the subjection of

its potency_. Such a necessity is permanent, since it arises from

the determination of nature itself, and may be divided into _moral_,

_physical_, and _logical_, according as it is viewed in connection

with different beings or powers; but it is certainly neither an active

power nor a passive potency, but only a natural ordination of the same,

and accordingly is not a cause nor a principle, but an exponent of the

constant manner in which causes and principles bring about the various

changes we witness throughout the world.

These few notions may suffice as an introduction to what we intend to

say about the principles of things. We have seen that a principle is

less than a cause, a reason less than a principle, and a condition

less than a reason; and we have determined as exactly as we could the

general character of each of them, by ascertaining the grounds of their

several distinctions. This was our only object in the present article;

and therefore we will stop here, and reserve particulars for future

investigation.

TO BE CONTINUED.

FOOTNOTES:

[138] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by

Rev. I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at

Washington, D. C.

[139] The principle whence anything exists, is made, or is known.

[140] The same thing cannot at the same time be and not be.

[141] There is no effect without a cause.

[142] Things which are equal to a third thing are equal to each other.

[143] The principle whence anything is, and the principle whence

anything is made.

[144] Philosophers teach that one thing can precede another in three

ways, to wit, by priority of _time_, by priority of _nature_, and by

priority of _reason_. A thing existing while another thing is not yet

in existence has, with regard to this latter, a priority of time. A

thing, on the existence of which the existence of another depends,

has, with regard to this latter, a priority of nature. A thing, the

conception of which is needed to form the conception of another, has,

with regard to this latter, a priority of reason. The priority of

_origin_, by which one of the divine Persons is prior to another, is a

priority of reason, not of nature, and implies no real dependence of

one Person from another.

[145] See Liberatore, _Metaph. Gen._, n. 125.

[146] We advisedly employ the preposition _from_. There is a vast

difference between depending _on_ and depending _from_. To depend

_from_ is properly to be hanging from, as a lamp from the ceiling; but

nothing forbids the use of the phrase in a metaphorical sense in order

to translate the Latin phrase, _pendere ab_, for which we have no other

equivalent. The usual English phrase, _to depend on_, corresponds to

the Latin _pendere ex_. Were we to employ it also for _pendere ab_, a

confusion would arise of the two different meanings. Certainly, the

two phrases, _Homo pendet a Deo_, and _Exitus pendet ex adjunctis_

express different kinds of dependence; and we cannot translate them

into English in the same manner without setting their differences at

naught. We would, therefore, say, that _Man depends from God_, and that

_Success depends on circumstances_. In philosophy, both prepositions

are needed, and, if used with proper discrimination, they will save us

the trouble of many useless disputes.

[147] A being and its constituent principles may be said to have a

certain dependence _on_ one another, inasmuch as they have such an

essential connection with one another that the one cannot be conceived

apart from the other. But this so-called "dependence" means only

correlation and "mutual exigency"; and therefore does not entail a

priority of nature of the one with respect to the other. In a being,

which is strictly _one in its entity_, there are three principles: an

act, its term, and the actuality of the one in the other. The act has

only a priority of origin with respect to its essential term, and both

have only a priority of origin with regard to their formal actuality.

They depend _on_ one another in the sense explained, but not _from_ one

another. We shall treat of them in a future article.

[148] _Toties autem causæ quoque dicuntur (qucties principia); omnes

namque causæ principia sunt._--Aristotle, _Metaph._ 5.

[149] Priority of nature implies in that which is prior an existence

independent of that which is posterior; but a mere formal act has

no existence independent of the being of which it is a constituent;

therefore, the formal act is not prior, by priority of nature, to such

a being.

[150] That which causes.

[151] That by which the cause causes.

[152] To say that the human soul can exist apart from the body, is no

objection. Our soul is not merely a formal act; it is a _subsistent_

being--that is, an act having its own intrinsic term, and therefore

possessing an independent existence; which cannot be said of other

forms. And on this account the soul is the only form which without

impropriety might be called a formal cause as well as a formal

_principle_.

[153] Are equal to a third.

[154] Are equal to each other.

[155] The formal principle _which_.

[156] The formal principle by which or through which.

[157] The formal reason.

[158] The product of reasoning.

THE SERIOUS "VIVE LA BAGATELLE."

Bright world! you may write on my heart what you will,

But write it with pencil, not pen;

Your hand hath its skill: but a hand finer still

What you write soon erases again.

To the moment its laugh, and its smile to the flower!

Not niggard we give them; but why?

Old Time must devour the year as the hour:

Remains but Eternity.

AUBREY DE VERE.

THE FARM OF MUICERON.

BY MARIE RHEIL.

FROM THE REVUE DU MONDE CATHOLIQUE.

VIII.

Jean-Louis, on leaving the _curé_, went to pray in the church, which

remained open all day for the consolation of devout souls. In the

presence of God he reviewed the sad history of his life, shed many

tears, but soon felt wonderfully strengthened. This fourteen-year-old

boy had a more resolute heart than many a man of thirty. What he swore

before the altar of God and the statue of Our Blessed Lady was the oath

of a Christian, who knows the value of an engagement made in the face

of heaven. It was the contract of his whole life that he then signed,

and it will be seen if he knew how to keep it. His first weakness

on learning the secret of his birth had passed; he determined to be

courageous, humble, and docile, should it cost him his heart's blood;

and full of these brave resolutions, he retook the road to Muiceron.

Nevertheless, he failed in one, and you as well as I will excuse him

for it.

As he had remained rather long in the village, Pierrette, who had heard

him reprimanded, and had seen him depart with his books under his arm,

became very anxious, fearing that he had been more hurt than he had

shown. She was standing on the threshold of the door, watching the

path by which he would return; and when she perceived him, she could

not conceal her joy, for the child's face was bright and animated, and

seemed the mirror of a happy heart.

"Oh! I am so happy to see you, my Jeannet," cried the good woman in a

burst of joy.

"Were you alarmed at my absence?" asked Jean-Louis, running to her.

"Alarmed?" said she. "No ... that is to say, yes, I was a little....

Your father sometimes conceals his great kindness under rather too

quick a manner. A child like you, who never deserves to be scolded,

will be easily hurt at a severe word; and I thought, on seeing you go

away so quickly, you were unhappy. But now you are at home again, are

you neither hot, nor hungry, nor troubled? Where do you come from? What

do you think of doing? Tell all to your mamma, who loves you so dearly."

These gentle questions pierced the soul of the poor child more than

the severest words would have done. Gratitude and grief choked him and

prevented him from replying, and made his emotion the greater, as these

two sentiments seldom go together. He looked at his dear mother, with

his great, black eyes filled with tears, and could only take her hand

and press it to his bosom.

Thus they entered the house together, and Ragaud, whom they thought

in the fields, but who had returned by the door that opened on the

bleaching yard, was standing before the hearth, as if awaiting them.

You doubtless know, as you must have many times experienced it, that

when one suddenly sees somebody, thought to be half a league away,

without wishing it, he looks rather taken aback, as we say. You can

well believe that Pierrette and the child so looked, as they remained

dumb as fish, like poachers hiding from the forest-guard.

"Well," said the good man in a loud voice, "what is the matter with you

both? It seems I was not expected. And the supper, wife?"

"Here it is," Pierrette hastened to reply; "only move a little to one

side, that I may take off the pot."

And in the twinkling of an eye, the excellent green-cabbage soup was

smoking on the table; but Jeannet, who stood like one petrified, did

not move.

"You are not hungry, then?" asked Ragaud. "What is the matter? You look

as if you had been crying."

"Excuse me," replied Jeannet. "I do not feel like eating this evening."

"None of that," answered Ragaud; "to punish his stomach is the act of a

spoiled child. Sit down and eat; be quick about it, do you hear?"

Jeannet obeyed, but only to sit down; eat, he could not.

"See here," said Ragaud in a joking manner, looking at him, "you are of

the true modern style. Formerly, my boy, when parents reproved their

children, they did it oftener with the hand than the voice, and things

were not the worse for it. My father used to give us blows with his

cudgel without counting them; in his opinion, it was a language easily

understood, and which he preferred to reasoning, as it saved his time.

We rubbed our backs, and it was over; none of us thought of losing our

appetites, still less of crying. But nowadays children must be handled

with gloves; and even with that they think themselves martyrs. The

parents must endure everything without a murmur, even to see the house

catch fire. Ha! ha!--is what I say true?"

"Oh! yes," said Jean-Louis, "you have always been good and kind to me;

and believe me, believe me when I say that I am truly grateful, that I

thank you with my whole soul. I was guilty without knowing it; but I

am penitent and sorry for having offended you. I have carried back my

books, which, in reality, I did not need, and never again will you have

to reproach me about them."

"That is right, that is right," said Ragaud. "You are a good child,

Jeannet, and now it is ended. What I said, you see, was to your own

interest; so now eat and be cheerful. I don't like tears, above all

in a boy who will soon be a man; give me your hand without any bad

feeling."

"No, no! embrace him," said Pierrette. "His heart is full; isn't it so,

my son?"

"Kiss me, if you wish," said Ragaud, extending his honest, bearded

face. "Generally I don't like these baby-kisses; but if it is

necessary, in order that you may eat your soup, make yourself happy,

boy."

Just at this time it was too much for Jean-Louis; nearly fainting, he

fell on his knees by the side of Ragaud; he threw his arms around him,

pressed him to his breast, and kissed him in the tenderest manner, to

the great astonishment of the good farmer, who could not understand

such a wonderful display of affection.

"Good, good," said he; "but be easy, Jeannet. Don't I tell you I am no

longer angry?"

"O my father! my dear father!" cried the child, "how can I ever repay

you?"

And seeing that Ragaud looked at him in amazement, he added, sobbing,

"Father, mother, I know all...."

"Explain yourself," said Ragaud, beginning to understand what he meant.

"What do you know, my child?"

"_All_" he repeated in a tone which expressed everything.

"There," cried good Pierrette, her heart melting with pity, "I

understand. I know now what he means. But after fourteen years that the

secret has been so well kept, where has the creature been found wicked

enough to make this poor child so unhappy?"

"Dear mother," exclaimed Jean-Louis, "he who told it to me did it from

true kindness of heart; you must not be displeased with him. It is to

him I owe my life, after God and you. Do not mistake my tears; they do

not come from grief, but from the gratitude which will last through all

eternity."

"My dear, dear child," said Pierrette, "you have already well repaid us

by your tender affection and good conduct. Isn't it true, Ragaud?"

"Yes," replied he; "and I will add, my boy, that the Lord God, through

love of whom we received you, made joy and prosperity enter into the

house at the same time with you. Thus, although I like the gratitude

which comes from a truly filial heart, in good conscience I think we

are quits."

"Oh! never, never," cried Jeannet. "At the moment of my death I will

still thank you."

"On condition that you die before us, which is scarcely probable," said

Ragaud, smiling. "Come, child, get up, and let it all be over. Since,

from what I can make out, no other than our _curé_ has told you the

story, I am happy to think we are all 'big John, as before'--that is

to say, that nothing is changed. You will remain our child, the elder

brother of Jeannette, and the prop of my old age."

"Your servant and your slave for ever!" cried Jean-Louis.

"Bah! bah! No slave, Jeannet; that is an accursed word to fall from

your lips. Let it all remain in the _curé's_ library, which it never

should have left. As for me, I am not learned; but, to my mind, a slave

is a man changed into a beast of burden. I ask you if I have brought

you up in that way? No, my son, you will serve me--it is my wish--but

in working as a free man by my side, according to your strength. Is it

well understood?"

"I have no other desire but to please you; and I pray to God, my

father, that I may prove it to you every day."

"I hope so, my boy. The past, they say, is the guarantee of the future;

and never have you caused me serious displeasure. As for the little

affair of this morning, I tell you it was nothing. Don't regret it; the

only result will be that we will love each other still more."

"I think so, too," said Pierrette, "if it is possible."

"O my dear parents!" cried Jeannet, kissing them both, "if ever the

history of your kindness could be written, who would believe it true?"

"Don't let that trouble you," said Ragaud, laughing heartily, "there is

no chance of its being written; and, besides, things do not improve by

being known to men, as evil is more easily believed than good."

"It is very well," said Pierrette, "that mademoiselle kept Jeannette at

the château this evening; she would have been in the way, dear little

thing!"

"As regards that," replied Ragaud, "I request you, Jean-Louis, never

to breathe a word to Jeannette of what has just been said. Do you

understand me? I have my own idea about it."

"I promise you, my father," answered Jeannet.

The name of the little girl, thus pronounced by chance, led to further

conversation about the two children. They remembered the infant plays,

where she was so lively and wilful, her great romps with the shepherd's

dog, and many other little details, which recalled the innocent

pleasures of her infancy and gave such zest to their tranquil country

life. Jeannet, well consoled, and with lightened heart, told his

parents a crowd of little events, which he loved to relate in praise

of Jeannette, and which proved the goodness of her heart and mind,

to the great delight of the Ragauds. From that to remarking that the

little girl had nearly disappeared from the family was but a step, and

which, in my opinion, was a leap easily made. In the meantime, Ragaud,

who appeared half asleep--I rather think so as not to talk upon the

subject--suddenly awakened, and ended by acknowledging that if Jeannet

were not at Muiceron, the house would be as destitute of children as it

was fifteen years before.

"My dear husband," said Pierrette, "it is not to-day that we are to

learn that parents must sacrifice everything to the happiness of their

children."

"For their happiness, yes," replied Ragaud; "but it remains to be seen

if Jeannette will always be as happy as she is now."

And as he was clear-sighted, when the momentary vanity had passed, he

related with earnestness the conversation with Jacques Michou, which he

had so unwillingly heard at the time.

"There," said Pierrette, "is something which does not please me. If

people already commence to talk about our daughter, it is a sign that

we should think about our course in regard to her, and perhaps change

it."

"Think about it we should," replied Ragaud; "but to change it is

another question. For then we would have to take Jeannette from

mademoiselle; and as her regard for our little girl is a great honor

for us and a great happiness for her, never will I behave in that

manner to the daughter of our lords, seeing that I owe them everything."

"It is very embarrassing," said Pierrette, who spoke rather from the

feelings of the heart than of the head.

"Not so very much," replied Ragaud. "By acting with gentleness and

respect, without causing pain to mademoiselle, we can, in the end, make

her wishes accord with ours."

"Oh! if Jeannette could return," cried Jean-Louis, "what happiness for

us all, dear father!"

"You!" said Ragaud. "You may boast of being very brave in her absence;

but I can remember seeing you many and many a time racing together over

the meadows; the girl would torment you to her heart's content, and

you, like a big simpleton, never once stumbled so as to humbug her in

return. Thus you accustomed her to think herself the mistress, which

she did not hesitate to show."

"She is so sweet," said Jeannet, "and so good-natured; if she had half

killed me, I would not have minded it."

"If you only wished to know Latin that you might talk such nonsense,"

replied Ragaud, "you did very well to give up the study. You, too,"

added he, turning towards Pierrette, forgetting he should be the first

to accuse himself--"you, too, have so completely spoiled Jeannette, I

will be obliged to undertake the difficult task of repairing your work.

But patience; to-morrow I will take the shovel and the spade. I will do

it."

"What are you going to do?" asked Pierrette, alarmed.

"I am going to see," said Ragaud, "if my daughter is of the good and

true blood of her father. I will ask mademoiselle to give her to me

for the octave of S. Martin; and during that time I will make her

resume her peasant-life as though she should never quit it again. If

she becomes sullen and cross, I won't say what I will do; but if, as

I believe, she will appear happy and contented, we will know that the

château does not injure her, and then we will sleep in peace. How do

you like that?"

"Oh! that is a capital idea I never would have dreamt of," said

Pierrette, clasping her hands in admiration.

Ragaud appeared pleased at being thought so brilliant; he resettled

himself in his big linen collar, drank a glass of good cider, and knelt

down to say the Our Father and Hail Mary, which he always did before

retiring.

Jeannet made no remark; he had too much sense to think that this little

trial would be sufficient and satisfy every one; but he would see

Jeannette for a whole week, and he decided to amuse her in such a way

that she would not regret her life at the château.

Ragaud's plans were fully carried out. Mademoiselle willingly gave up

Jeannette, thinking by that means she would have still stronger claims

for keeping her afterwards; and the little one, led by her father,

returned to Muiceron the eve of S. Martin's day, which is, among us,

the feast of the vine-dressers.

If you are anxious to know how she behaved, I will inform you that the

very next day, and without any one having to tell her, she tumbled

over the things in the chest to find her woollen skirts and coarse

linen apron. She had grown so much, she was obliged to rip and remake

for a full hour before she could put them on, which caused much talk

and laughter that rang through the house. Her wooden shoes, which had

remained in a corner during the past fifteen months, were likewise too

small; and as that could not be remedied by the needle and thread, it

was a real difficulty; but Jeannette, who had not lost her habit of

having an answer for everything, declared she would wear Pierrette's.

You can imagine the amusement this caused; and, in fact, at her first

step she stumbled, and nearly fell down.

Thereupon Jeannet darted off like an arrow, and brought a new pair from

the harness-maker at Ordonniers.

Jeannette was equally well pleased with the eating, sleeping, and all

the old habits of her country life. Never had she appeared happier,

more active, and better disposed to assist her mother in her household

labors. It could be well imagined that, having heard of the gossiping

about her, she wished to prove by every means the good people were

wrong; and Ragaud had only one wish, which was that the busy-bodies of

the village could look through the key-hole and see her at work.

This was scarcely possible; but he could, at least, satisfy Jacques

Michou, the first grumbler, whom he had so well repulsed, as you may

remember.

For that purpose, without mentioning the return of Jeannette to the

farm, with a frank and simple air, he asked his old comrade to come and

break bread with him on S. Martin's day. M. le Curé was also invited,

and on the morning of the feast Ragaud gave Pierrette her lesson:

"Understand well this day I wish you to be quiet. You can tell the

child all that must be done, not only for the cooking, but for the

table and the serving of it. I don't wish to have the shame of seeing

the children seated at table, whilst the mother is going around the

hearth, skirts pinned up, doing the servant's work; which is not

proper. It is very well to be a good woman, always ready to sacrifice

herself; but it is also well every one should know there is but one

mistress of Muiceron."

"Jeannette is too little," Pierrette gently objected; "she could not

reach up to the stove, and I am afraid the dishes will be too heavy for

her arms to carry, little darling!"

"You will make Marion, the dairy-maid, aid her in the heavy work," said

Ragaud. "I don't ask impossibilities, and I would be the first to fear

if our little girl ran the risk of burning herself. What I wish is that

she, and not you, should have all the trouble."

Pierrette yielded to this good argument, although a little afraid that

Jeannette would have too much trouble. As for the little girl, she was

very proud to give orders to Marion, and commenced immediately to play

her part of mistress of the farm.

Then could be seen how bright she was. She came and went, passing

from the barn-yard to the wood-house, from the wood-house to the

linen-chests; bravely looking on when they bled the chickens and cut up

the meat; selecting the beautiful, white table-cloths; superintending,

polishing the glasses, dusting, flying about like a will-o'-the-wisp.

Big Marion trotted after her on her heels, scarcely able to follow her,

stifled half with heat and half with laughter at the sight of such an

active young mistress.

Who would have thought, on seeing her thus occupied, that the very

evening before she had been seated at the right of mademoiselle in her

beautiful carriage, driving around the country? It was really wonderful

to see her so quick at everything, young as she was; and you would have

been as much surprised as the Ragauds, who gazed at her in astonished

admiration--parental vanity easily forgiven in this case--and asked

each other where Jeannette could have learned so much that even

housekeepers of thirty hardly knew.

The truth was, she had never learned anything from anybody or anywhere;

but she was precocious in every respect. It was enough for her to hear

or see a thing once always to remember it; so she had only to think an

instant to put in practice what she had observed. Add to this she was

as sly as a fox, and ardently loved to give satisfaction, and you will

easily understand there was nothing very astonishing in her performance.

About twilight, Jacques Michou made his appearance, accompanied by

the _curé_, whom he had overtaken on the road. Jeannette came forward

to meet them, and made a low reverence in true peasant style, totally

unlike the bows made in M. le Marquis' _salon_. It was a great surprise

for these honest souls, who had been conversing along the way about the

blindness of Ragaud in regard to his daughter, and they were both too

frank not to show their satisfaction.

"So you have come back, my child?" said the _curé_, patting her kindly

on the head.

"To wait upon you, M. le Curé," she sweetly replied.

"And your beautiful dresses?" asked Jacques Michou.

"They are hanging up in the wardrobe," said Jeannette, laughing.

"Indeed! And do you like to have them there as much as on your back, my

little girl?"

"Why not?" she replied. "I am happy here with my father, my mother, and

Jeannet."

"It is your best place," said the _curé_. "I am delighted, Mme. Ragaud,

to see your daughter at home. Is it for some time?"

"If mademoiselle does not reclaim her," said Pierrette, blushing, for

she never would speak falsely, "it will be for ever."

"Well, I hope it will be so," said he. "And you, Jeannette, do you

desire it also?"

"I am always happy with my dear parents," replied the little one; "but

mademoiselle is so kind and good, I am always happy with her also. If

my mother sends me to the château, I will go; and if she commands me to

return, I will come back."

They could not help being pleased with this speech of the good,

obedient little girl, and they took their places at table without any

further questions or raillery. Jeannette, during the supper, rose

more than twenty times to see that all was right; and Ragaud, you can

well imagine, did not fail to inform his guests that everything had

been prepared under his daughter's eye. It was strictly true, as they

clearly saw; and, consequently, the compliments were freely bestowed.

Nevertheless, when the dessert was brought on, Ragaud could not resist

saying to Michou, with a significant look, as he held up his glass:

"Well, my old fellow, will you now give me credit for knowing how to

bring up my children?"

Jacques nodded his head, and, holding up his glass, replied, "I will

come to see you eight years from now, comrade, and then I will answer

your question."

"Very good," said Ragaud. "M. le Curé, you will be witness. I promise

to give a cow to Jacques Michou, if, at that time, Jeannette is not

the best housekeeper in the country."

"I take the bet," replied Jacques, laughing; "and I add that I hope to

lose it as surely as the good God has no master."

"Come, come," said the _curé_ gravely, "it is not worth such an oath.

Between good men, my friends, it is enough to say yes or no. I consent

to be witness, and I also say I hope that Jacques will lose the bet."

They stopped as they saw Jeannette, who returned to the table, crimson

with pleasure. Behind her came big Marion, carrying, with great care, a

large dish, upon which stood, erect on his claws, a beautiful pheasant

that seemed ready to crow. As it was at the end of the meal, every

one looked at it with amazement, especially Pierrette, who had not

been let into the secret. It was a surprise invented by Jeannette, who

clapped her hands and laughed heartily, and then wished them to guess

what it was. After she had thoroughly enjoyed their astonishment, she

rapidly took out the feathers, and then they saw it was a delicious

pudding, stuffed with plums, which she had manufactured, with Marion

and Jeannet's assistance, after the style of M. le Marquis' cook.

Pierrette, it must be acknowledged, wept tears of admiration; for this

was a wonder that surpassed her imagination.

This magnificent performance increased Ragaud's good humor; and I

verily believe, but for the presence of M. le Curé, he would have

emptied more than one bottle in honor of Jeannette and the pheasant.

But our good pastor, without being the least in the world opposed

to innocent enjoyment, did not like the gaiety which comes from

drinking, as we already know. Consequently, they soon rose from the

entertainment, and wished each other a cordial good-night. The little

pet was so worn out with her extraordinary efforts, she soon after fell

asleep in her chair, and they had to carry her off to bed. She was

thoroughly tired, and Pierrette observed it was not surprising, after

such a day's work, which, perhaps, she herself could not have stood.

IX.

That night something occurred which appeared of small importance at the

time, but that had great results, which many persons never understood,

and that I will reveal to you at the proper time and place. For many

years it was a great mystery; and I remember, when I was young, my

honest and pious father was conversing in a whisper one evening, in

the dim twilight, with an old friend, and I hid myself under a chair

to find out what he was saying; but not one word of the secret could I

make out. Nevertheless, one fearful expression I remembered for a long

while. When my father was tired with talking, he dismissed his chum,

saying:

"Now we will stop; and be silent as the grave. You know you might lose

your head!"

And at these terrible words, the friend replied by placing the finger

of his left hand on his lips, and with his right pulled down his cap

over his ears, as if to make sure that his head was still safe on his

shoulders. It was really a gesture which froze one with terror; and as

for me, I shook so I thought I would overturn the chair which served me

for a hiding-place.

And now, I beg of you not to be as curious as I was, for you would gain

nothing by it. I am only going to tell you what happened the night

after the dinner on S. Martin's day.

No matter how late it might be, Ragaud, excellent manager as he was,

never went to bed without having carefully made the tour of all his

buildings with a dark lantern. He remained seated by the fire, while

Pierrette carried off the little girl to bed, and Jean-Louis retired to

his room. When all was still, he rose and went out softly to commence

his round.

It was a beautiful night, rather dark, but mild for November. Ragaud

walked through his little orchard, from whence could be seen the

stables and barns, behind which rose the tall fir-trees, unruffled

by a breath of wind. He passed into the barn-yard, silent likewise;

chickens, geese, ducks, and turkeys slept soundly, heads under their

wings, on the perches appropriated to them by Pierrette. All was quiet

and in good order, and Ragaud, content with himself and the world,

prepared to re-enter, when, accidentally raising his head, he saw in

the distance something so astonishing he remained as though nailed

to the spot, and nearly dropped his lantern in the excitement of the

moment.