The Breton has preserved a thoroughly Celtic hatred of his ancient

conqueror. “Yes,” said a little peasant girl, describing a shipwreck;

“I saw them buried here in the sand; they were Saxons, you know, not

Christians; and many an evening I have come with the village children

to dance on the graves of the Englishmen who were turning to dust

below there.”

Footnote 137:

Namely, of Anne, daughter of Francis II., the last duke, to Charles

VIII., and after his death to Louis XII. of France. Brittany was her

dowry.

Footnote 138:

The insect popularly known as dragon-fly the Bretons call _nadoz-aër_,

or “needle of the air.”

Footnote 139:

_Goazenn-Hêault_—Breton expression for a ray of sunlight piercing the

clouds.

Footnote 140:

_Chercheur de pain, Klasker_—the Breton name for beggar.

Footnote 141:

_Treid lué zo éné voutou_—_i.e._, he must be an idiot.

Footnote 142:

_Genowek_—a Breton insult equivalent to “imbecile.”

Footnote 143:

Faou, in the department of Finisterre (the ancient Pays de

Cornouailles), was so called.

Footnote 144:

We are not to take literally, says M. Souvestre in a note, these

Breton exaggerations. The church of Rumengol (corruption of _remed-ol_

= _tous les remèdes_) is remarkable without being a wonder; the

_golden statues_ are gilded figures of rude workmanship, and the spire

is far from being comparable to that of Kreisker at St. Pol de Léon.

Footnote 145:

_Pen-god_ or _pen-scod_—literally, a maul-pate, the Breton shillelagh.

Footnote 146:

_Pennérèz_—Breton for heiresses, marriageable girls.

Footnote 147:

Lovers met behind the gable end, because there there were no windows

from which they could be overlooked; hence the expression for

courtship, _to talk behind the gable_.

Footnote 148:

_Morzolik an ankou_ the Bretons call the wood-louse, in allusion to

its faint, regular rapping. Cf. our _Death-watch_.

Footnote 149:

The precise distance at which the Bretons locate hell.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

PHILOCHRISTUS. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1878.

The peculiar merits of this book cannot be too highly valued by any

sincere lover of Christ. Its sweet, earnest, intensely religious tone

leads the reader through its learned pages over a most delightful walk

of spiritual and intellectual recreation. Dry and unsatisfactory

discussion is wholly avoided, and the all-absorbing subject, the human

life of the divine Redeemer, is pictured in a light glowing with

fascinating love and luminous with precise intelligence. Assuming the

character of a disciple who actually lived with and followed Christ

until the Ascension, the author represents himself as writing in

Alexandria ten years after the destruction of Jerusalem, and when, he

says, “almost all those disciples who with me saw the Lord Jesus in the

flesh are now fallen asleep.” He admits the impossibility of portraying

Christ “as he was in himself,” but he “determined rather to set forth an

history of mine own life, wherein, as in a mirror, might perchance be

discerned some lineaments of the countenance of Christ, seen, as by

reflection, in the life of one who loved him.”

The book opens with a brief but strikingly graphic statement of the

condition of Judea, both religiously and politically, at the time of our

Lord’s public appearance. Its subjection to Roman domination had

eliminated its existence as an independent state, whilst the excessive

love of ceremonial into which the law had degenerated betokened the need

of a new law and a new law-maker. For to be pious in those days meant

“to be obedient to the light precepts of the law, such as the laws

concerning the exact observance of the Sabbath, and concerning

purifications, and concerning the consumption of nail-parings and the

like” (p. 27). The nicety to which these casuistic pietists carried

their human observances is shown from the example of one of them,

Abuyah, who extolled the Law of the Tassels as most perfect; and so, he

says, “once, because I had chanced to tread upon a portion of the fringe

of my garment, going up a ladder, I steadfastly refused to move from the

spot where I stood till such time as the rent had been repaired.” It was

this same pious man that chid his mother “because she wore on her dress

a ribbon that was not sewn but only fastened to her vesture, for thus

she transgressed the law by bearing burdens on the Sabbath.”

Bringing in Philo and some Alexandrine Jews, with an exposition of their

philosophical opinions, adds much interest to the narrative. The

patriotic spirit of the enthusiastic Galileans who hastened to gather

around Jesus, whom they thought to have come for the restoration of the

ancient glory of Israel, is well depicted, and shown to have been the

chief motive leading so many from that province to follow him. How

slowly even the disciples learned the true mission of our Redeemer

appears from the fact that Philochristus himself had no definite

conception of it in the beginning. Conversing with Gorgias, a travelled

Jew, he sees advancing the tetrarch’s Thracian guard, whose description,

as well as that of the Roman soldiers, is admirable: “I looked and saw a

band of about three hundred men, of a wild and savage aspect, bearing

targets and girt with scimitars. But Gorgias, noting, as I suppose, the

anger in my countenance, answered: ‘These dogs (may the Lord destroy

them root and branch!) are swift indeed to shed the blood of women and

children, but they are as naught compared with the Romans. Couldst thou

see a Roman legion how they march, these would seem unto thee but as

jackals at the lion’s tail. Mark but how the dogs straggle. But when the

Romans march the spears in their hands all point one way, and the swords

by their sides hang all after one fashion, and even their stakes and

tools (which they carry behind their backs) do all swing to one time,

and their feet, arms, and heads, yea, even to the winking of their eyes,

go all together after the manner of a five-banked corn-ship of

Alexandria, with her five hundred oars all keeping time; and when they

charge, they charge like ten thousand elephants clad in iron.... Verily

these Roman swine are all as children of Satan; but a Roman legion is as

Satan himself’” (p. 126). As he had been listening to Christ teaching

that whosoever would enter the kingdom should become as little children,

it seemed not easy to him to reconcile this with the temporal

restoration of Israel, and “methought,” he says, “it would be very hard

to overthrow these Thracians, and much more the Romans, by becoming as

little children” (_ibid._)

Although the work does not come out as a Catholic production, it is very

encouraging to those who desire the spirit of Christ to be more

universally diffused to find such books receiving extensive circulation.

Dogmatic or formally doctrinal propositions are not to be found in it,

yet the substantial doctrine of the Gospel is clearly discernible in the

body of the work. Excepting the brief exposition of the doctrine of

divorce at p. 213, there appears nothing in the whole book inconsistent

with a candid, Catholic exegesis of Scripture. The beautiful exposition

of Peter’s faith and the founding of the church thereupon, at p. 249,

could not be easily surpassed. It is a good sign when Protestants have

such works placed in their hands, and the publishers deserve well of the

public for the creditable manner in which they have brought out this

admirable volume. No professing Christian can read it without very much

profit, and, indeed, he will be filled with the author’s declaration

concerning Christ: “For in his presence I find life; but to be absent

from him is death” (p. 242).

HOLY CHURCH THE CENTRE OF UNITY; or, Ritualism compared with

Catholicism. Reasons for returning to the True Fold. By T. H. Shaw.

London: R. Washbourne. 1877.

This pamphlet is not a little remarkable among those which issue from

the pens of converts. It is very different from what its title leads us

to expect. But perhaps it will take the Protestant mind all the better

for its peculiarities. We confess, for our own part, to being

disappointed at the same time that we are pleased. There is occasionally

an exhibition of something like bad taste. There is extravagant use of

italics—the effect of which is always weakening. There are outbursts of

pious sentiment—a thing never suitable to polemical pages. Then, too,

there is no continuity of argument. Each chapter stands by itself and

needlessly repeats what other chapters have dealt with. Still, in spite

of these defects, there is an earnestness from beginning to end which

cannot fail to impress the mind of a real inquirer. And together with

this earnestness there is a force in the way some of the arguments are

put which is greater, by contrast, than it would appear in pages of the

usual style of controversy.

The writer begins by telling us that he has been “for nearly fifty years

a member of the Church of England.” He is therefore no hot-brained

undergraduate. He adds that his “misgivings were first aroused as early

as the year 1851”; and that his “convictions have become matured by

means of earnest prayer for Divine guidance.” Here is a mental process

that ought to strike a Protestant, and make him ask his conscience: “Am

I seeking that I may find? Am I praying for light as this man did? Can I

believe that such persistent prayer has ended in delusion?”

The author’s next paragraph is a specimen of his way of putting things:

“Regarding the Church of England—to say nothing of the overwhelming

testimony against her through lack of ‘apostolic commission’ and her

want of unity in doctrine—the endowments, the system of patronage, the

untrained priesthood, are in themselves facts glaringly inconsistent

with the idea of the guidance of the Spirit of that God who is the

author and source of all unity. There is no trade or profession for

which it is required that a youth should go through less training than

that which suffices for the English clergy. Almost any scholar would

pass for holy orders whose father had a lucrative benefice at his

disposal. Is it so in Rome? I rather think that learning,

self-sacrifice, and poverty are the main worldly requirements. Which

most corresponds to our Blessed Lord’s life upon earth, whose ‘kingdom

is not of this world’?”

On pages 22-25 he quotes from Father Harper’s reply to Dr. Fraser,

Bishop of Manchester, on infallibility. The learned Jesuit is appealing

to the testimony of the Third, Fourth, and Sixth Œcumenical Councils.

All Anglicans profess to receive the Third and Fourth, some even the

Sixth. If their divines should honestly state, as arguments on the

Catholic side, the passages cited by Father Harper, their cause would be

a lost one indeed, as many of them know but too well. It is therefore a

great service to lay these passages before the candid inquirer, who, in

all probability, has never heard of Father Harper’s “reply,” or would

fear to read it if he had. Further quotations follow, from page 25 to

page 27, showing how the dogma of Papal Infallibility, like all other

definitions, is “at once old and new,” and thus refuting the stale

charge of innovation.

We conclude our notice with another piece of excellent advice to

professed inquirers:

“We should call a man insane who endeavored to roof in his house before

he had laid the foundation or measured its dimensions; just so it is in

fact when people seeking the true church begin by attacking and trying

to understand every dogma. These can never be fully understood. It is

only as the house becomes built up that the roofing begins; so it is in

the spiritual house of the soul. Faith leads us to the church. Faith is,

then, the foundation. As the soul _grows_ in grace and _humility_, so

the mysteries of godliness expand before the eye of the soul, revealing

that which at one time appeared most obscure.... The great thing needed

is divine faith; and this is never found by mere arguing and reading. It

is the free gift of God, to be obtained only by earnest prayer.... Get

_this_, and then search whether Jesus Christ did establish a visible

church.”

The “faith” here spoken of is not _fides formata_, for that “comes by

hearing”; but the grace of a right disposition for accepting the “word

of Christ.” And this disposition is not merely an attitude of earnest

attention, but, essentially, a spirit of _humility_—the “becoming as a

little child.” It is precisely the lack of this child-like spirit that

makes our arguments barren of result even where they are listened to

with respect.

LIFE OF ST. WINFRID, OR BONIFACIUS, MARTYR, ARCHBISHOP OF MENTZ AND

APOSTLE OF GERMANY. By the author of _St. Willibrord_. London: Burns

& Oates. 1878. (For sale by The Catholic Publication Society Co.)

This latest life of the great apostle of Germany is a truly interesting

contribution to the early missionary history of the church, and as such

seems to commend itself in an especial manner to those of his wandering

Anglo-Saxon children who would fain be of the church without being

within it; since in this short narrative these may learn how, in the

eighth century, their great English saint laid his spiritual allegiance

at the feet of Peter before he went forth successfully to undertake the

conversion of the heathen and the reform of abuses among half-hearted

and unruly Christians. And might not these also ponder on the counsel of

Pope St. Zacharias, addressed to the Saxon monk, when commenting on

certain of the Gallic clergy who held nationality above unity, the

fringes of the episcopal robe of greater value than the seamless raiment

of the Bride of Christ? “Preach, dearest brother,” writes the holy pope,

“the rule of Catholic tradition we have received from the Holy Roman

Church which we serve, and of which God is the founder.”

The present English biographer of St. Boniface has enriched the

historical account of the saint’s labors with letters that give a vivid

picture of the faith and simplicity of those troubled times that seem so

confusing a maze as we look back on them with the clouded memories of

early school-days, when English history was a tangled web of Ethelwulfs

and Ethelberts.

To American ears the name of St. Boniface grows familiar through the

churches that rise in his honor among his German children in the United

States, yet, while we seem to know him better under the title given him

at Rome, we heartily enter into the feeling of loving pride that makes

his English biographer dwell on the sweetness of the Saxon name, and

with its peaceful syllables waken patriotic echoes among the forests of

Thuringia and the waves of the Zuyder Zee—Boniface or Winfrid, he is

alike peacemaker and worker of good for all the nations.

VOYAGE OF THE PAPER CANOE: A Geographical Journey of two thousand

five hundred miles, from Quebec to the Gulf of Mexico, during the

years 1874-5. By Nathaniel H. Bishop, Author of “One Thousand Miles’

Walk across South America,” and corresponding Member of the Boston

Society of Natural History, and of the New York Academy of Sciences.

Boston: Lee & Shepard; New York: Charles T. Dillingham. 1878.

Mr. Bishop has given us a most interesting and instructive book. It

cannot fail to be interesting to every one who has any love for nature,

or any appreciation of out-of-door life and adventure; and it is

instructive in two ways: first, by showing what can be done by a paper

boat (a thing which most people know little or nothing about) under

skilful management, and, secondly, by the information it gives regarding

that remarkable inland line of navigation which runs along almost our

whole Atlantic coast, the very existence of which is perhaps known to

comparatively few persons.

Mr. Bishop started from Quebec on July 4, 1874, in a large wooden canoe,

with which he had at first proposed to make his journey, under the

impression, in which well-informed seamen shared, that two hundred miles

of his route would be on the open ocean. With this boat he ascended the

St. Lawrence and Richelieu rivers to Lake Champlain, thence proceeding

by the Champlain and Erie canals to Albany. At this point he concluded

to adopt a lighter craft, which was made for him at Troy by Mr. Waters.

This was the paper canoe with which the rest of the voyage was made; it

was only one-eighth of an inch in thickness, and weighed only

fifty-eight pounds. In this seemingly frail but really very strong boat

he rowed along down the Hudson, through the Kill von Kull, up the

Raritan, through the canal to the Delaware, down the Delaware to the bay

and Cape Henlopen, thence along the coast nearly to Cape Charles. Here

he had to take the steamer across Chesapeake Bay; but thence, with the

exception of short land-portages, the voyage was pursued through the

sounds and inlets skirting the coast, and the Waccamaw River, to the

Florida line at St. Mary’s, and across Florida by the St. Mary’s and

Suwanee Rivers to the Gulf of Mexico.

We have given a short sketch of what Mr. Bishop did; but how he did it,

and the various incidents and adventures of his trip, must be learned

from the book itself, which we commend heartily to the perusal of all

who like to read a most interesting story, which has the advantage of

being true from beginning to end.

SEVEN YEARS AND MAIR. By Anna T. Sadlier. New York: Harper &

Brothers. 1878.

This is a pleasing and graceful little tale quite out of the common

track. It opens amid the wild scenery and the wild people of the

Shetlands, passes thence to France, and goes back to a happy ending in

its Shetland home. The out-of-the-way scenery and characters afford

unusual scope for a picturesque imagination, which Miss Sadlier seems to

possess in a very high degree, but which she holds under, a wise

restraint and never allows to run away with her. She delights in the

long, low sunsets, the gloom of night, the roar of the tempest, the

swell of the sea, the grey and the rosy dawn of morning, the solemn

beauty of the starry night. All these have a meaning, a poetry, almost a

life for her; and she is very happy in her descriptions of them. These

are enhanced by a sweet, clear English, which she has doubtless caught

from a mother whose name is and will long remain a household word among

Catholic readers. The narrative is fresh and pure and simply quaint.

Miss Sadlier does not affect to depict the psychological monstrosities

which are the ambition of most of the story-writers of the day. She

avoids microscopic inspections of the interiors, so to say, of

impossible personages, and gives us instead a pleasing story of the

romantic style, with a few characters strongly marked and well

contrasted, the whole forming a refreshing change from the average

fiction of the day.

THE CHRISTIAN REFORMED IN MIND AND MANNERS. By Benedict Rogacci,

S.J. The translation edited by Henry James Coleridge, S.J. London:

Burns & Oates. 1877. (For sale by The Catholic Publication Society

Co.)

This volume is the twenty-third of the quarterly series brought out by

the Jesuits in London. The original is a work of the seventeenth

century. “It may be considered,” says the editor, “as the fruit of the

great experience of Father Rogacci in giving retreats,” and “is one of

those series of meditations in which the whole substance and system of

the Exercises of St. Ignatius are worked up, although not precisely in

the form in which they lie in the Exercises themselves.” Moreover, “the

meditations are meant for persons of all classes, not only for religious

persons; and those who are familiar from practice with the text of the

book itself of St. Ignatius will not fail to see how perfect an

acquaintance with and mastery of it must have been possessed by Father

Rogacci.”

The meditations are arranged for an eight days’ retreat, at the rate of

four a day. But since this may be considered excessive, a “selection” is

given on page xii. “for persons who desire to make only three a day.”

Indeed, Father Rogacci’s own practice was “not to give more than three

meditations a day, with a repetition, or some practical considerations

helping to the reformation of life, in the afternoon.” “The place of

these considerations,” continues the editor, “is supplied in the present

work by a number of practical reflections which he calls _réforme_, one

of which he would have the exercitant read each day at the time of the

consideration. There are sixteen of these considerations, in order that

the exercitant may choose for himself, or as directed by his spiritual

guide, whose assistance is supposed in works like this, according to his

special needs.”

Our own judgment of the work is that it is most excellent as a whole,

and we recommend it specially to those who are called upon from time to

time to give retreats, whether to religious or to sodalities. We regret,

however, that the meditations on hell, which are assigned to the fifth

day, have been left without annotations for those who may use the book

in private. “Pious” exaggerations and figures of speech which may be

necessary, by way of economy, to impress gross and sensual natures are

very much out of place, we think, in a work of the kind before us.

OUR SUNDAY FIRESIDE: OR, MEDITATIONS FOR CHILDREN. By Rory of the

Hill. London: Burns & Oates. 1878. (For sale by The Catholic

Publication Society Co.)

The author of this series of stories, as we find stated in the preface,

aims “to supply, for the use of children, some meditations on the choice

of life,” while he endeavors so to clothe, in a garb attractive to

childish minds, great truths of salvation and of every-day morality—as

well as the more complex relations of “church and state”—that, the

picturesque raiment winning the eyes, the soul may be led to weigh the

half-hidden substance. How far he has attained his aim remains for the

children to prove to whom his words shall be read. To us the garb seems,

in many cases, too deep-freighted with cabalistic embroidery for little

hands to lift, and the substance too heavy with the world’s fate for

little minds to weigh. “Many carps are to be expected when curious eyes

come a-fishing,” says gentle Robert Southwell, and so our curious eyes

open wide with wonder at the wise little maiden of thirteen years who

discourses of “amphibologics” and “the hypodichotomy of petty schisms”;

who quotes from Renan and Voltaire, Walpole and De Tocqueville, citing

almost volume and chapter, and who sets before her younger brothers and

sisters the question of the great social conflict of the age, the

ceaseless war between Christ and the world in its modern phase of

“Liberalism” versus the divine voice of the church of God. In his ardent

interest in the subjects whereof he treats we fear the scholar has often

forgotten himself, and so has failed to stoop low enough, or rise high

enough, to reach the hearts of the little people for whom he writes,

picturesque as are his descriptions and full of meaning as are his

tales, among which we like best “The Way of Life,” for the greater

simplicity of its action; “Forgiveness,” for the Christian pathos of its

close; and “The Last Mass,” for the solemn beauty and true poetry of its

cathedral vision.

A MANUAL OF NURSING. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons. 1878.

In reading this little volume it will be seen that nursing is an art

only to be acquired by a large experience and under competent

instruction. Although this _Manual_ has been published expressly for the

Training School for Nurses at Bellevue Hospital, nevertheless it would

repay perusal by any person who is liable to be called upon to act as

nurse. As is truly remarked in the preface, the infirm and superannuated

are not suitable as nurses. The young and vigorous are the proper

subjects to act in such capacity. Judging from its past record, the

Training School is a success, and its pupils are far in advance of the

old-time nurses who vegetated about Bellevue and charity hospitals. Many

physicians state that numbers of patients are lost through injudicious

acts on the part of the nurse. A careful perusal of this _Manual_, and a

careful attention given to the physician’s advice, will certainly be

important, and would repay the trouble a hundred-fold.

FREDERIC OZANAM, PROFESSOR AT THE SORBONNE: HIS LIFE AND WORKS. By

Kathleen O’Meara. (First American Edition.) New York: The Catholic

Publication Society Co., 9 Barclay Street. 1878.

We greet with pleasure the appearance of an American edition of this

delightful biography, an article on which appeared in THE CATHOLIC

WORLD, February, 1877, on the event of its publication in England. This

edition has, we understand, been published at the request of the Supreme

Council of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul of this city, and we trust

there is not a member of the society in the country who will not read

this life of one of the founders, in fact we may say _the_ founder, of

the great and useful Society of St. Vincent de Paul.

VACATION DAYS: A Book of Instruction for Girls. By the author of

_Golden Sands_. Translated from the French. New York: D. & J.

Sadlier & Co. 1878.

This is another of the admirable little series of devotional and

instructive works which Miss McMahon has been the happy means of setting

before the English-reading public. _Vacation Days_ follows _Golden

Sands_ in its method of appealing simply and tenderly and with apt

illustration to the young heart. We recommend it strongly to young

people who have the opportunity of idling during these idle days. A

passing glance once a day at a page or two of it will form an excellent

antidote to the literary trash which nowadays constitutes the staple

commodity of summer reading.

SELECT WORKS OF THE VENERABLE FATHER NICHOLAS LANCICIUS, S.J. Vol.

I. London: Burns & Oates. (For sale by The Catholic Publication

Society Co.)

This is the first volume of a selected edition of the works of one who

was a very holy Jesuit and great master of spiritual life during the

first half of the seventeenth century. It is a spiritual treatise

developing the eight days’ retreat which is founded on the Exercises of

St. Ignatius, and contains many pious considerations supported and

illustrated by opinions of the saints. We do not question the _doctrine_

of the book; it is solid, orthodox, and inviting; but we believe the

book is one which, on the whole, is not adapted to people living in the

world, and had better be confined to that class of persons, religious

and people retired from the world, for whom it was originally written.

Some of the examples taken from the lives of saints are “hard to be

understood,” and several of the illustrations given in the chapter on

“Helps to escape Purgatory” are not specially edifying to us. We do not

care to believe in the vision of a certain monk, or even to think about

numerous souls _impaled upon spits and roasted like geese before a large

fire_, with a lot of devils around them acting the part of cooks. The

work is well translated from the Latin, and contains a short preface by

Father Gallwey, S.J., whose name stands deservedly high in England.

THE MYSTERIOUS CASTLE: A Tale of the Middle Ages. Translated from

the French by Mrs. Kate E. Hughes. Baltimore: Kelly, Piet & Co.

This quaint autobiography of the Baron de Rabasteins is charmingly

written. It is full of pleasant, lively incidents of travel, with

descriptions of the life and manners of the French people during the

middle and latter half of the last century, a period which can hardly be

classed as mediæval, as the title given to the translation imports. The

adventures of the young baron in the so-called “mysterious” castle of

Monségur surpass any story of the kind we have ever read in fiction. If

they knew what a treat was in store for them by its perusal, there is

not one of our young folks who would not like to get it as a school

premium or as a Christmas present. However, we feel it our duty to say

that there are numerous faults in translation which in future editions

should be corrected. As, for example, on the first page we are

confronted with the expression “decision of the holy siege,” by which we

presume is meant “the judgment of the Holy See.”

THE ART OF KNOWING OURSELVES, etc. By Father John Peter Pinamonti,

S.J. With TWELVE CONSIDERATIONS ON DEATH, by Father Luigi La Nuza,

S.J., and FOUR ON ETERNITY, by Father John Baptist Manni, S.J.

Translated by the author of _St. Willibrord_. London: Burns & Oates.

1877.

DAILY MEDITATIONS ON THE MYSTERIES OF OUR HOLY FAITH, and on the

lives of our Lord Jesus Christ and of the Saints. First Part,

containing Meditations for the five weeks of Advent, for the six

weeks after Christmas, as also on the Mysteries of the Life of

Christ. Translated from the Spanish of Rev. Father Alonso de

Andrade, S.J. London: Burns & Oates. 1878. (For sale by The Catholic

Publication Society Co.)

Here are two more volumes of meditations written for other times and

rescued from oblivion. Of the three brief treatises contained in the

first volume, the “ART OF KNOWING OURSELVES” is a veritable gem. It may

well be called “the looking-glass which does not deceive.” Regarding the

other two treatises—the “Twelve Considerations on Death” and the “Four

on Eternity”—we have to remark again that there is much in them unsuited

to the present age. We greatly prefer the second volume from the Spanish

of Father Andrade; for though here, too, in the meditations for the

first week of Advent, will be found things rather calculated to irritate

than to edify, yet the rest of the book is the more delicious for its

quaintness, and has a way we have never seen surpassed of making us

familiar with Jesus and Mary as our models, and of showing us what

wealth is treasured up in the gospels which the church has chosen for

her Mass.

ST. TERESA’S OWN WORDS; or, Instructions on the Prayer of

Recollection, etc. London: Burns & Oates. (For sale by The Catholic

Publication Society Co.)

This is a good English translation, by Bishop Chadwick, of St. Teresa’s

admirable method of interior prayer. It contains the sense and substance

of the whole third book of the _Imitation of Christ_, showing us in

brief how Truth speaks within, without the noise of words; and that

interior conversation of Christ with the faithful soul is the surest

means of possessing our Sovereign Good in this world and the next. It

is, as Edmund Waller says, “infinite riches in a little space.”

THE NOTARY’S DAUGHTER. From the French of Mme. Donnet, by Lady

Georgiana Fullerton. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co.

As the translator, Lady Fullerton, announces that this very pretty tale

is an adaptation, and not in a strict sense a translation, we are

assured that the gifted authoress of _Lady Bird_ has not only avoided

servility in translating the parts of _Un Mariage en Province_ which she

has decided to employ, but has added to a very charming French story

some of her own excellent ideas, both in relation to plot and dialogue.

The story brings us to the south of France, about Toulon, and is

strikingly illustrative of the French theories in regard to matrimony. A

notary, M. Lescalle, who possesses great political influence, has a very

pretty daughter, Rose, whom he successively offers to all the great men

in the neighborhood, desirous of his support, as a suitable wife for

their sons. His offer is accepted by a rich roturier, but is abruptly

broken off by M. Lescalle himself, in consequence of another offer of

marriage by M. le Comte de Védelles, in behalf of his younger son,

George. Now George, being considered a fada—namely, a half-witted

person—is an object of aversion to Mlle. Rose; but, in spite of her

repugnance, the ceremony takes place. It is needless to say that George

is not a fada, but is a poet, unappreciated by his relations, and so

everything is brought to a happy conclusion. The dialogue is above the

average of novels, but even so, it is not very sprightly. The moral tone

is exceptionally good. The plot affords an opportunity of condemning the

system by which marriages are arranged in France, and invites

reflections which cannot be discussed in a brief criticism.

THE PRECIOUS PEARL OF HOPE IN THE MERCY OF GOD. London: Burns &

Oates (For sale by The Catholic Publication Society Co.)

We welcome this beautiful little book as a great addition to our

ascetical literature. It is translated into English from the Italian,

and, to judge by its grace and elegance, by a master of both languages.

The aim of the pious author was to awaken and increase in us a sense of

confidence in God, which is so necessary to our spiritual life; and he

admirably answers objections drawn from certain passages of the Sacred

Scriptures which heretics and others have abused, and from some opinions

of the Fathers insisting on the severity of the divine judgments. We are

reminded by this little work of the great and constant account which the

early Christians made of the virtue of hope, whose symbol was an

anchor—suggested by St. Paul to the Hebrews vi. 18-19—and which, either

alone or in connection with the fish (symbol of our Lord and Saviour),

or combined with a cross, substituted for the ring by which the anchor

is attached, was a very common device cut or impressed on lamps, rings,

and other objects of daily use. Among early Christian inscriptions,

also, few are more frequent than those which express hope in the mercy

of God, such as _Spes in Deo, Spes in Christo, Spes in Deo Christo_.

THALIA. From the French of Abbé A. Bayle, by a Sister of St. Joseph.

Philadelphia: Peter F. Cunningham & Son.

The vast majority of the lovers of light literature look upon classical

stories with a certain mistrust. They fear them either to be too

pedantic or wanting in “esprit.” _Thalia_ opens in Arles, thence we

voyage to Alexandria, then to Rome, from Rome to Nicomedia, and so on.

There are a few good scenes and descriptive passages; but, although a

somewhat agreeable way of learning the history of the time, it does not

necessarily make a pleasing romance. A Sister of St. Joseph has

translated _Thalia_ into very correct English. The book is likely to be

discarded as a light production by one who can appreciate its learned

allusions, and to one who cannot, to read it will seem a task rather

than a pleasure.

IRELAND, AS SHE IS, AS SHE HAS BEEN, AND AS SHE OUGHT TO BE. By

James J. Clancy. New York: Thomas Kelly. 1877.

The comprehensive title of this work indicates the author’s intentions

in giving it to the public, and, if he has not succeeded in doing

justice to a theme so important, he has at least produced a very

readable book, in which will be found many historical facts clearly and

succinctly stated, and several suggestions that will command the

attention of the thoughtful reader. With some of Mr. Clancy’s views on

the past and present of his native country we cannot agree. They are

those entertained by a certain class of radical and impracticable

politicians whose sole claim to attention consists in the fact that they

are continually inveighing against the inevitable, and criticising the

acts of the able men who, like Edmund Burke and Daniel O’Connell, have

conferred dignity on their native land and earned for themselves the

world’s applause. Still, the author of the book before us advances his

opinions with so much comparative moderation that, while they do not

compel conviction, they certainly command our respectful consideration.

Those who have read Mr. Sullivan’s _New Ireland_ will probably like to

read this Irish-American version of the oft-told tale of Ireland’s

wrongs and rights.

WRECKED AND SAVED. By Mrs. Parsons. London: Burns & Oates. 1878.

(For sale by The Catholic Publication Society Co.)

The author of this very pretty and instructive tale is already well

known to the public as the writer of several moral stories which, while

thoroughly Catholic in tone and interesting in plot, are sufficiently

attractive in an artistic point of view to command the attention of all

intelligent readers. _Wrecked and Saved_ is a story of everyday life

very simply and gently told. The hero, who has been a shipwrecked babe,

passed through all the phases of the life of a foundling, winning to

himself friends by his good conduct, cheerful disposition, and intrinsic

merits. Wrongfully accused of a heinous crime, he suffers imprisonment

and mental torture, but, having finally been proven innocent, all ends

happily. The plan of the book can scarcely be called original, but the

lessons of patience, industry, and dependence on the will of Providence

inculcated are excellent.

FORBIDDEN FRUIT. From the German of F. W. Hackländer. By Rosalie

Kaufman. Boston: Estes & Lauriat. 1878.

This is a novel with the threadbare plot of a young heir being obliged

to marry before a certain age or lose a considerable fortune. There is

no grace or lightness about the dialogue, and scarcely a particle of

humor in the entire book. There are one or two characters well drawn, of

whom an old gentleman named Renner, and a young and vivacious beauty,

Fräulein Clothilde, are possibly the best. As a rule, this kind of novel

does not prove a success when translated for an American public. How it

may succeed in Germany it is impossible to say, but certainly the book

is even uncommonly stupid. When it is remarked that all the young ladies

and gentlemen are distinguished for their elegance and beauty, the

character of the story will be appreciated.

TOTAL ABSTINENCE IN ITS SOCIAL AND THEOLOGICAL ASPECTS. An address

by the Rev. James J. Moriarty, Catholic pastor of Chatham Village,

N. Y. Published by special request. Chatham Village, N. Y.:

_Courier_ Printing-House. 1878.

This is a very earnest and eloquent address, which was delivered to a

mixed audience of Catholics and Protestants. Studiously popular in its

style, it is for that reason especially adapted to go home to the hearts

of the people. Father Moriarty has happily hit on the peculiar danger

and fascination of the vice of intemperance in the following passage:

“It is a vice that lies in wait for the most prominent members of

society, the highest in station, the most influential over their

fellow-men. It is not the vice of the naturally mean, the selfish, or

the miserly. It is more apt, of its nature, to attack those of the

finest mind, the most brilliant talent, the brave, the frank, the

generous-hearted, those open to the influence of the highest, the

purest, the noblest sentiments.”

ERLESTON GLEN: A Lancashire Story of the Sixteenth Century. By Alice

O’Hanlon. London: Burns & Oates. 1878. (For sale by The Catholic

Publication Society Co.)

The scene of this tale, as the title indicates, is laid in England, and

the time is that of Queen Elizabeth, before the Catholic gentry of the

country became almost extinct, and the persecuting spirit of the

“Reformers” had died out for want of material upon which to exercise its

fanaticism. The plot of the book is simple, and the story is, taken all

together, sad. Two happy, unobtrusive families, allied by long

acquaintance and sincere friendship, but still more by the bond of a

common faith, are suddenly and cruelly interrupted in their retired

happiness by the agents of that government which it is the boast of some

modern historians to characterize as one of the most glorious England

has ever had. Then follow espionage, arrests, mental suffering and

physical torture, that, though less than historical facts and by no

means distorted from the truth, sicken the heart and move us to thank

God we live in the nineteenth and not in the sixteenth century. As a

work of art _Erleston Glen_ is by no means perfect. Its stiffness of

style argues an unpractised hand, and the incomprehensible Lancashire

dialect is too often introduced to suit the general reader; but as a

picture of English life as it was during the sudden paroxysm of

Protestant reformatory zeal which characterized the reign of Elizabeth,

it is both truthful and vivid. Many who do not care to read the more

serious works lately printed in England on the same topic—the sufferings

of Catholics in that country—will be both edified and instructed by a

perusal of Miss O’Hanlon’s clever book.

* * * * *

The Catholic Publication Society Company has in press, and will shortly

issue, one of the most important of its excellent series of educational

works. This is the _History of the United States_ (for the use of

schools), advance sheets of which lie before us. It is written by one of

the most experienced and cultured of our writers, Mr. J. R. G. Hassard,

author of the _Life of Archbishop Hughes_, _Life of Pius IX._, etc. Its

letter-press, illustrations, and maps are beyond criticism. Its method

is singularly well adapted to assist both scholar and teacher. At the

foot of every page are questions on what has gone above. The _History_

begins with the discovery of America and brings us down to our own

times. It has this special distinction to recommend it: it gives

Catholics their due prominence in a history of which they occupy so

large a place, but a place that has hitherto been resolutely denied

them. It is well, it is necessary, that Catholic children should feel

and know that they have as grand a share in the history, the

development, the life, the struggles, the triumphs of their country as

has any other class. Placing this _History_ in their hands at school is

the very best means of instilling into their minds facts which it has

been the custom to ignore in the histories thus far published.

The work is intended for the more advanced students in our schools and

colleges. For younger scholars an _Introductory History_, arranged on

the catechetical plan, has been prepared as an abridgment of the larger

work, and will be issued simultaneously with the latter.

* * * * *

We would again call the attention of our readers to the new and

excellent works published by the Catholic Publication Society Co., and

especially intended for light summer reading. Such are _Six Sunny

Months_, _Sir Thomas More_, _Letters of a Young Irishwoman_, _Alba’s

Dream_, and the various volumes of stories collected from THE CATHOLIC

WORLD. We only call attention to these because they are the most recent

of their kind. The field of Catholic fiction is now happily a large and

rich one, and Catholics who are given to this kind of reading might well

turn aside from the foolish romances that are made to suit a vicious

popular taste to works which are fully as interesting as the others

without their nauseous flavor and immoral tone and tendency.

THE CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXVII., No. 162.—SEPTEMBER, 1878.

THE MATHEMATICAL HARMONIES OF THE UNIVERSE.[150]

ARGUMENT.

The primary light of reflection which awakens the human mind to a

distinct consciousness of itself at the same time reveals a world of

unknown forms, the universe of space and succession, teeming with

evolutions of order, beauty, and power. With the dawn of reason comes

also the principle of causality, and man asks himself, What mean these

mighty changes on earth and in the sky? What urges the wonderful motions

of wind and wave, of sunshine and of shadow, and yonder golden fires

that sparkle and burn in the high vault of heaven? Whence are they all,

and whence am I? And the very first attempt to answer these spontaneous

questions produces the first theory of natural theology, inaugurating

the reign of the earliest natural religion.

But the curiosity of the intellect never slumbers, and the problem

repeats itself from age to age: What is the magnificent and mysterious

power above man and before nature, the primordial Cause of all

phenomena? And in response to this constant and ever-recurring

interrogatory the annals of speculation have presented several

contradictory solutions, as the atheistic, the sceptical, and the

pantheistic, none of which I shall now pause to criticise. I shall

simply undertake to prove, in accordance with the rigorous rules of

inductive logic, that the great cause, the fundamental efficient of all

facts whatsoever, must possess the attributes of intelligence, and

especially mathematical reason.

It will be remembered, however, that on the subject of causation, as to

the reality of the abstract idea itself, the schools of both ancient and

modern philosophy stand divided. The disciples of one sect assume the

existence of secret forces in the bosom of nature, whose development

results in those varied manifestations of mingled matter and motion

which become perceptible to our senses; while their opponents, now

including the _élite_ of the most enlightened thinkers, as strenuously

contend that the knowledge of efficient causes lies altogether beyond

the reach of the human faculties; that our science must therefore be

limited to the strict generalization of phenomena according to their

invariable conjunctions of simultaneity and succession, without the

possibility of discovering any hidden _nexus_ or closer tie between

them. This is the doctrine taught alike by the great names of Reid,

Locke, Hume, Brown, Kant, and Comte.

But it is fortunate that the path of the present argument will not carry

us into the mist of that interminable controversy. I shall not pretend

to determine the specific qualities of causation in general. On the

contrary, the whole extent of my purpose is to show that the fundamental

efficient of all material facts, whatever else it may or may not be,

must be endowed with the attribute of rationality.

I will begin by laying down the universal proposition: Every natural

phenomenon having the characteristics of mathematical order and harmony,

to the exclusion of chance, must be the effect of a rational cause.[151]

Now, it is evident that the foregoing assertion, the major premise of my

intended syllogism, predicates a uniformity of relation between a

certain class of facts and the power which produces them. In other

words, it affirms an invariable correspondence betwixt a given quality

in the consequent, or effect, and a like definite attribute in the

antecedent, or cause, whichever terminology different schools may

prefer. The existence of this relation would by some be deduced from _à

priori_ principles founded on a mental analysis of the abstract notion

of causation, while a large majority of mankind actually take it for

granted as an intuitive axiom of self-evident truth; and thus, wherever

they behold the appearances of design or the beautiful evidence of

mathematical order, their inference of previous or contemporaneous

causal intelligence is immediate and irresistible.

But neither of those procedures can be regarded as either certain or

scientific. No sequence of events can attain to the dignity of a general

and philosophic law until the antecedent and consequent are brought face

to face and tested by the rigid rules of an infallible induction. The

complicated web of circumstances must be unravelled to eliminate the

extraneous facts, and discover what precise quality alone in the cause

produces mathematical harmony in the effect.

For example, it is known that the air supports animal life as well as

combustion. But that same atmosphere consists of two elements, oxygen

and azote; how, then, shall it be ascertained which ingredient is the

supporter of life and flame? To determine this question the natural

philosopher performs an _experimentum crucis_ by plunging a bird or a

lighted candle in a jar of pure azote from which the oxygen has been

removed, when the bird instantly dies and the candle is extinguished.

The problem is solved according to the inductive canon of difference.

Nevertheless, to make sure he reverses the experiment, and treats the

animal or the flame with oxygen instead of azote, when the functions of

vitality and combustion proceed without disturbance—indeed, with

additional vigor. Here there can be no longer any room for doubt. It is

manifest as any demonstrated theorem in geometry that of the two

elements in atmospheric air, the oxygen, and not the azote, sustains

both life and combustion. And as I said before, this is the procedure of

induction by what Mill so happily terms the method of difference—the

most potent and unerring of all the five canons for the investigation of

causes.

Now, what we need for our induction as to the real and absolute

efficient of mathematical order and harmony in the motions of the

universe is a similar analyzed instance, where the naked antecedent and

consequent shall be detected in the very act of conjugation. And, by a

propitious arrangement of nature in the great fact of our complex

organization, we have it in our power to perform this decisive

experiment in the same manner and with as much certainty as in the

previous example. We can act as individual causes, either with or

without the presence of a rational purpose. Then, let the student seat

himself, pen or pencil in hand, to make marks on the paper, without any

intelligent design, as we sometimes do in a state of reverie when the

reason is exclusively occupied with some other subject. The result is a

medley of irregular and disconnected figures, of letters and words

written mechanically, without beauty, order, or consecutive meaning.

Again, let the experimentalist apply the test of his intelligence. The

effect is a series of united diagrams solving some profound problem in

geometry, or a divine page of impassioned and classical eloquence, or

the elegant delineation of any particular object of nature or art,

according to the specific intention of the person. Here the analysis is

perfect, and realizes the exact conditions imposed by the inductive

canon of difference. The circumstances are all precisely identical in

both cases, save the presence of rationality and its consequent

mathematical harmony in the one instance, and their absence in the

other. Hence there can be no question that in human causation the

attribute of reason is the actual efficient of every species of order.

Besides, even nature herself presents the same experiment in every case

of total insanity. The madman is deprived of reason, but not of simple

volition or bare causal power; and the consequence is utter disorder and

want of method in his actions. He cannot produce mathematical effects,

because he is deficient in mathematical intelligence.

The same general law is demonstrated also by the canon of agreement.

Universal experience shows in every department of science, industry,

literature, and art that intelligence is the invariable antecedent of

order, and that the absence of that mental quality involves the

corresponding absence of all regular and harmonious sequence.

It remains, however, to prove our major premise by the method of

concomitant variations, the canon of which has been expressed with such

clear and scientific accuracy in Mill’s _Logic_: “Whatever phenomenon

varies in any manner whenever another phenomenon varies in some

particular manner, is either a cause or an effect of that phenomenon, or

is connected with it through some fact of causation.”

For instance, in the case of heat, by increasing the temperature of a

body we enlarge its bulk, but by enlarging its bulk we do not increase

its temperature; therefore heat must be the cause, and not the effect,

of expansion. In a similar manner philosophers demonstrate the first law

of motion, or uniform velocity in a straight line, by showing that

retardation, or divergence, is always in the definite ratio of the

obstacles encountered by the moving body.

The application of this rule to our argument, although its force cannot

be augmented, gives the evidence the greatest variety and splendor. For

the annals of all ages and nations, without one single exception, bear

witness that, in exact proportion to the increase of rationality, the

human mind has always displayed corresponding effects of beauty and

order in every sphere of art and civilization. What investigators have

extended the limits of natural knowledge by perfecting the science of

geometry, or discovering the differential calculus, or fixing the true

_principia_ of the material universe? Not a low class of intellects with

feeble faculties of reason and no broad sweep of mathematical

perception, but men of the loftiest genius, such as the immortal names

of Euclid, Archimedes, Leibnitz, or Newton.

But I have already spent sufficient, and perhaps the reader will think

too much, time on this primary induction, which indeed, from the

universality of the law, has every appearance of being self-evident.

Nevertheless, this fulness of discussion was indispensable to my

purpose, that being to place all the premises of the argument on a

scientific rather than a popular basis. And, if I am not mistaken, we

are now entitled to consider the first proposition as completely proven:

“That all natural phenomena having the attributes of mathematical order

and harmony to the exclusion of chance must be the effects of a cause,

or of causes, possessing rationality.”

I am aware, however, of the specious objection that the general

induction is too wide for the warrant of its particular instances. It

may be urged that although the demonstration is perfect as to the

logical relation of intelligence as a cause and harmony as the

consequent, yet still we are not justified in affirming that no other

cause is capable of producing the same result. For example, a hundred

separate antecedents may lead to death; and many ordinary facts follow

very different material or mental efficients. Upon what principles,

then, it will be asked, are we enabled to pronounce the universal

negative that there cannot exist any unintelligent forces in the bosom

of nature entirely adequate to the production of the mathematical order

which we behold in the world of time and space? I state the adverse

criticism in all its strength, because it is the only answer that can be

interposed by the sceptical philosopher; and, besides, it constitutes

the main difficulty in the minds of the multitude. Nevertheless, it

cannot claim the slightest pretension to the dignity of a scientific

argument.

In the first place, I remark that the objection, if it has any semblance

of validity, proves too much, as it goes to overthrow every general

proposition which can possibly be framed on the subject of causation, so

far as assertion can proceed from the antecedent to the consequent. It

cuts off from the realms of logic, at one reckless blow, the whole

category of universal as to the predication of any causal sequence even

among perceptible phenomena. Nay, it also denies the legitimacy of

particular affirmations in all cases of causation; for if the sceptic

has the logical liberty to assume the hypothesis of unknown and

invisible efficients in one instance, he may with equal plausibility do

so in all; and therefore these secret and unseen causes may be the real

producing antecedents of every phenomenon whatever, and thus all

knowledge must be reduced to naked conjecture.

By what rule, let me inquire, are we justified in extending the sublime

law of gravitation to the various planets of the solar system, and even

as high as the fixed stars? Obviously for the only reason that we

perceive in the magnificent evolutions of the celestial bodies the same

class of effects which appertain to terrestrial attraction. And upon

that identical principle we are entitled to infer the existence of a

rational cause wherever we behold mathematical harmonies or the manifest

evidences of intelligence and design. The most stringent canons of

induction give us this right, and I can see no motive for refraining

from its exercise, if the process should perchance conduct us to the

recognition of a Supreme Being. But as to this last point, we have not

yet advanced far enough in the discussion to venture a positive

declaration.

It must be admitted, however, that the axiom by which we are enabled to

deduce a cause with specific attributes from any definite facts, such as

we know by previous experience to be the natural consequents of that

particular efficient, must be restricted to the special case where we

have no acquaintance with any other cause competent for the production

of the given phenomena. And this is precisely the condition of the case

in our present argument. We have the most abundant and perfect

experience that intelligence is adequate to produce the harmonious

regularity and beautiful order of nature; but we are altogether

destitute of scientific, or even superficial, knowledge as to the

reality of any different cause which might yield those results.

As I have already observed, the most advanced schools of modern sensist

philosophy entirely ignore the investigation of efficient or producing

causes, _as removed beyond the sphere of the human senses_. On this

point the Scotch metaphysicians speak as decidedly as the disciples of

Locke and Hume, or the more profound and intensely critical Kant.

Indeed, Dr. Thomas Brown has clearly demonstrated that in the physical

world we can never hope to discover by sensation anything save

phenomena, either antecedents or consequents, with their invariable laws

of simultaneity and succession; while the deepest as the most laborious

thinker of all, M. Auguste Comte, refuses even so much as to use the

term cause in his _Course of Positive Philosophy_.

On the other hand, those who aver the existence of imperceptible powers

and occult qualities as the actual efficients of phenomena do not

attempt to define their character, nor pretend that they fall within the

limits of sensible or intellectual cognition. A member of that sect,

like the pedant in the old play, may explain “that opium produces sleep

because it has a soporific property”; but if you ask him how he knows it

to possess such a property, he can only answer, from the fog of his

vicious circle, “because it produces sleep.” And such must ever be the

virtual avowal of utter ignorance as to the nature of causation by the

adherents of this obsolete school. And could they thus solve, even to

their own satisfaction, the question of _secondary_ causes, they leave

the question of the First Cause untouched.

It therefore follows, in accordance with all the rules of the most rigid

and thorough induction, that the mathematical harmonies of the universe

furnish conclusive proofs of an intelligent cause; and if we reject this

inference there is not, and cannot be, the faintest shadow of a possible

hypothesis for the explanation of natural phenomena.

I will next proceed to state my second proposition: All natural

phenomena have the characteristics of mathematical order and harmony to

the exclusion of chance.

Now, it is evident that a generalization so sweeping and universal as

the above could only be made good by an immense, an almost infinite

series of inductions. Nevertheless, we are not bound to assume an _onus_

of such overpowering magnitude. For as the syllogism of our argument

belongs to the first figure, and we have to deal at present with the

minor premise, that may well be particular; and the conclusion will be

valid as to everything embraced within its terms, and that will be found

sufficient to warrant our conclusion.

As a preliminary, however, it becomes necessary to explain the logical

process for the exclusion or mathematical elimination of chance. Suppose

there be two dice in a box, what are the chances of our turning an ace

at a single throw? Obviously one-sixth, leaving six chances _minus_ one

against the probability; while the chances against our throwing two

aces, or any other equation, may be set down, with sufficient accuracy

for the purpose of this argument, as the square of the last number, or

thirty-six. The chances against an equation of four dice are 1,296;

while against eight they amount to the enormous sum of 1,679,616—an

impossible throw, unless the cubes have been loaded. And it is manifest

from this example how very soon the multiplication of coincidences

indicative of order must demonstrate causation to the utter elimination

of chance. I will now commence with the particular cases of the general

law announced in my second premise.

INSTANCE I.—MYSELF.

I survey my right hand: it has five fingers; I look at my left: it has

five also—the other member of an algebraic equation. I then turn to my

feet, and behold a similar equation of five toes on each. I next turn to

my bodily senses, and again find the mystic five. The wonder is

increasing. And now all the incalculable millions of my fellow-men rise

up and sweep before the eye of the mind, in all the rich and radiant, or

coarse and unseemly, varieties of humanity; and all these, too, present

the identical God-announcing miracle, the quintuple equation of fives.

Let us, however, apply the rigorous rules for the calculation of

chances, not forgetting the judicious remark of Whately: “That the

probability of any given supposition must be estimated by means of a

comparison with each of its alternatives.”

Now, there can be but two suppositions possible as to this uniform

combination by which the number five is five times repeated in the human

organism. The cause, whatever that may be, which produces these

invariable equations must be endowed with intelligence or not. There is

no other conceivable alternative; for the _abscissio infiniti_ effected

by the word not, in logical division, always exhausts the whole category

of things, both real and imaginary. Every object must be rational or

not—rational in thought and in fact.

Therefore all these millionary equations of fives must have been

produced by a cause, or causes, possessed of reason, or by a power

destitute of that attribute. If we assume the first alternative there

will be no chances for calculation, the efficient itself being amply

adequate to develop the mathematical harmony.

But take up the other and only remaining supposition, that the causal

agent producing the human organism is mere blind force of some unknown

and unimaginable nature; what are the chances against such a hypothesis?

We might say, in all logical strictness, that as we have no scientific

knowledge of any such unintelligent cause capable of effecting the given

phenomena of order, while we are acquainted with an efficient fully

competent for the purpose, the chances against the naked assumption of

blind force must be stated as infinity to zero. The chances against the

equation of five fingers on each hand would be twenty-five. Add the five

toes on each foot, and the chances will be six hundred and twenty-five.

Then incorporate into the calculation the five senses, and the chances

are three thousand one hundred and twenty-five. Let me procure a larger

sheet, as the measureless sea of infinite and nameless numbers is

flowing fast upon me. Next reckon the chances in the case of two

persons, and they swell to the vast sum of nine millions, seven hundred

and sixty-five thousand, six hundred and twenty-five; while the chances

for four men will be the square of that number, and so on for ever. But

the enormous sums soon overpower all the magnificent processes of our

algebra, and no logarithmic abbreviations can aid us to grasp what

stretches away into the unexplored fields of immensity. The attempt to

apply the calculation even to the inhabitants now living on the globe

would be as idle as the endeavor to enumerate the sunbeams shed during a

solar year. The arithmetic of the archangel would perhaps be

insufficient for the mighty computation.

In reference also to a single individual the subject might be pushed

indefinitely farther—to the bones of the arms, head, feet, and the

convolutions of the brain; for everywhere, and all through the physical

framework, there runs a wonderful duality, where the series of constant

equations counterbalance each other.

It must be borne in mind that I have shown in my major premise the

necessity of rationality in the cause which effects mathematical order

in the sequences of any natural phenomena. Hence such a cause is

demonstrated for the whole of humanity. But, apart from the rigid logic

of the argument, the question presents itself to popular apprehension:

Could a cause without the intellect to perceive, the faculty to

calculate and arrange, numerical relations, produce this infinity of

mathematical harmonies?

If it be answered that the efficient is some unknown power or secret

quality involved in the facts themselves or concealed beneath them, the

problem still remains unsolved and rebounds upon us with accumulated

force: Is that supposed secret power or occult quality self-conscious?

Hath it the attribute of mathematical reason competent to the

calculation and production of all these beautiful and boundless

equations?

INSTANCE II.—CHEMISTRY.

Let us take our next comparisons from chemistry, that youngest sister of

all the sciences, the splendid child of the galvanic battery, whose

birth was brilliant as that of lightning.

Go analyze a cup of water. You find it composed of two parts of hydrogen

to one of oxygen by volume, and eight parts of oxygen to one of hydrogen

by weight. Nor do these numerical ratios ever vary. Freeze it into ice

hard as the crystal of the jewelled mountains; dissipate it into vapor

of such exquisite tenuity that a million acres of floating mist would

scarcely form a single dewdrop; bring it from the salt solitudes of the

ocean, or from the central curve of a rainbow, and submit it to the test

of analysis; and still the pale chemist, as he watches the evolutions of

the perpetual wonder from the depths of his laboratory, calls out: “Two

to one, and one to eight, now and for ever!”

Let no one hope to estimate the chances against the hypothesis of the

production of these mathematical relations by an unintelligent agent,

unless he can first reckon the drops of a thunder-storm or measure the

capacity of the sea.

A similar numerical harmony prevails in the atmosphere, which contains

twenty parts of oxygen to eighty of nitrogen in every one hundred by

volume, very nearly; the definite proportions never varying. Can it be

imagined that the cause of this constant order, which rolled the aerial

ocean of the breath of life forty-five miles deep around the globe, is

itself destitute of the reason to perceive the ratios of its own

wonderful works?

But select as another example a bit of limestone. You discover its

elements to bear a quadruple proportion. There are twenty-two parts by

weight of carbonic acid, and twenty-eight of lime. Lime yields on

analysis twenty parts of the white metal calcium and eight of oxygen

gas; while carbonic acid is composed of sixteen parts of oxygen to six

of pure carbon. And these fixed relations of numbers are the same in

every particle of limestone on the earth: in the snowy stalactite torn

from the roof of coral caverns, in the ponderous fragment hurled up from

the heart of the globe by the fiery hand of world-rocking volcanoes, and

in the gleaming pebble which the child picks up from the waters of the

brook. What a field is here for the calculation of chances! What a theme

for devout and transcendent wonder! What a magnificent Bible with leaves

of crystal is this among the old silent rocks! Must not such marvels of

mathematical order have been produced by an efficient endowed with

rationality—a cause that, to borrow the sublime language of Hebrew

poetry, had the skill “to weigh the mountains in scales and the hills in

a balance”?

But not only do we find numerical ratios here; symbolical angles are

also detected. All the hundred forms of carbonate of lime split into

six-sided figures, or regular rhombohedrons, whose alternate angles

measure 105 deg. 55 min. and 75 deg. 5 min. Let the mathematician come

with his trigonometry fresh from the schools to study this lofty lesson;

although no science can avail for the computation of the chances against

the hypothesis of an unintelligent cause for this celestial geometry of

the crystal mountains.

INSTANCE III.—BOTANY.

We will make our next inductions in that study so charming to all

genuine lovers of nature. Not over smoky furnaces or in darkened

chambers will we read this division of our theme, but out in the sunny

fields, and in the green-robed valleys, among the silken sisterhood of

vegetable beauties, and beneath the radiant smile of the blue-eyed

heavens.

The first ten classes of Linnæus are arranged simply according to the

number of stamens presented in each blossom. For example, let us analyze

a flower of the tobacco plant. It is of the fifth class, and of course

has five stamens. But the equation does not end here; its corol has five

parts, and the emerald cup of its calyx as many points.

Now, suppose that every bloom is produced by some efficient which cannot

count; what are the chances against this combination of fives three

times in a single specimen? Obviously one hundred and twenty-five; while

for two flowers they amount to the sum of fifteen thousand, six hundred

and twenty-five. For four blossoms the chances would be the square of

the last number, and so on _ad infinitum_. What, then, must be the

chances against the supposition of atheism in the flowers of a solitary

field, in all the fields of a solar summer, in all the summers of sixty

centuries?

But similar equations hold with all the vegetables to be found on the

globe, and in their fruit as well as flower. Some blossoms are perfect

time-pieces, marking the eternal march of the celestial lights in the

firmament. Many open to the morning sun; some only to the fiery kisses

of noonday; others at purple twilight when the gentle dews begin to

fall; and a few in the depth of darkness, as it were to gaze on the

glory of the midnight stars.

INSTANCE IV.—LIGHT.

I shall not hazard a remark as to the nature of that wonderful agent

whose coming at the dawn of every day is like the sweet smile of some

viewless yet omnipresent divinity, bringing with it the revelation of a

new world. At present we have only to deal with mathematical evolutions,

and not with the substantial essence of any fact or phenomenon.

The first law of light is an algebraic formula: The intensity of the

fluid decreases as the square of the distance increases, and _vice

versâ_.

The second law is equally mathematical: The angles of incidence and

reflection are equivalent for every ray. Thus a sunbeam, falling on the

table before me at an angle of forty-five degrees, will be reflected at

the same angle.

Here, then, in the development of these two general laws, we behold the

miracle of innumerable squares, circles, angles, such as sweep over

countless millions of leagues in the stellar spaces, with a regularity

that no Euclid or Legendre might ever hope to trace. And can it be

possible that after all the great cause which thus _geometrizes_ may be

devoid of all geometrical knowledge—nay, of even the faculty of

rationality? If so, then might a blind mole, or the abstraction of a

nonentity, compose a system of beauty and order superior in both

accuracy and splendor to the _Principia_ of Newton or the sublime

theories of La Place!

You can scarcely commence the estimation of chances in reference to

these luminous angles being continually formed all over the material

universe. Even imagination reels before the immensity of the conception.

Think of all the fire-beams that emanate from the sun during one long

summer day—of all the rays which flash out from the high stars for only

a single night! Then let the mind travel back over the march of dim and

distant centuries, gathering age upon age, rolling cycle after cycle, in

those vast segments of eternity where the Alps and Andes seem evanescent

as the snow-flakes that ride on the gyrations of the whirlwind around

their hoary summits; where Platonic years are fleeting as the pulsations

of the pendulum, and even the starry galaxies come and go “like

rainbows.” Then bid your soaring fancy lift her lightning-wings away

from world to world, and behold the horizon of the space which hath no

limits, still opening for ever onwards and upwards, and thickening all

around with serial columns of suns and stars, and undulating like some

shoreless sea with its waves of nebulous light. Then tell me the number

of rays that have shot athwart this teeming expanse of immensity since

the sons of heaven shouted their choral hymns in the morning of

creation. And answer me, who shall calculate the chances against the

sceptical hypothesis here? Only a God of infinite intelligence may solve

this infinite problem.

INSTANCE V.—ASTRONOMY.

The first law of the celestial motions discovered by Kepler, like all

the rest, expresses a mathematical formula: All the planetary orbits are

regular ellipses, in the lower focus of which stands the sun.

Now, as the ellipse contains an infinite number of geometrical points,

it follows that the chances against the repetition of this figure by the

progress of the same body along the same path in space must be infinity

multiplied into infinity, compared with zero.

The second law is equally decisive. It may be stated thus: The times

occupied by a planet in describing any given arc of its orbit are always

as the areas of the sectors, formed by straight lines from the beginning

and end of the arcs to the sun as a common centre. And here it cannot

fail to be remarked that every term of the enunciation is purely

mathematical.

But the third law of Kepler is still more astonishing. The squares of

the periods of the planetary revolutions vary as the cubes of their

distances from the sun.

What amazing evolutions are these to be the work of unthinking masses of

matter! What angel’s music is this among the stars to be chimed by the

choir of tongueless atoms! And well might the inspired old man exclaim

when the heavenly harmony first broke upon his ear: “I have stolen the

golden secret of the Egyptians. I triumph. I will indulge my sacred

fury. I care not whether my book be read now or by posterity. I can

afford to wait a century for readers, when God himself has waited six

thousand years for an observer.”

We will not speak of chances in the production of such a mathematical

marvel. We dare not approach the stupendous calculation, unless we might

borrow the geometry of the morning star.

But every region of astronomy overflows with similar wonders; yet I have

only time to adduce one more. The sun and all his suite of luminous

attendants rotate from west to east, on axes that remain nearly parallel

to themselves. La Place has computed the probability to be as four

millions to one that all the motions of the planets, whether of rotation

or revolution, originated in a common cause. Is it, then, even so much

as conceivable that the efficient of such an endless order should be

itself destitute of all reason and foresight? For it is universally

conceded that the discovery and quick perception of mathematical

relations evince intellect of the most lofty character; how incomparably

superior, therefore, must have been the rationality required for the

primary composition and arrangement of these relations! If to think

geometrically demands intelligence, can any cause work geometrically

without possessing the attributes of thought? We admire the genius of a

Kepler and of a Newton as almost superhuman, because they were enabled

to understand the harmonious laws of the heavenly bodies; what madness,

then, must it be to deny the existence of mind as the necessary

efficient for the production of these very harmonies!

I might go on to career all over the fields of science, and show the

prevalence of mathematical ratios and equations in every department of

approachable nature. But on the strength of the instances already

adduced I think we are entitled to assume our minor premise as

thoroughly proven: that all natural phenomena have the characteristic of

mathematical order and harmony to the exclusion of chance. And this

induction, although it only rests for support on the canon of

agreement—_per enumerationem simplicem, ubi non reperitur instantia

contradictoria_—nevertheless has as broad and firm a basis as the

philosophic axiom that every fact has a cause. For as we have never

found a phenomenon without an efficient, so neither can we ever find one

without its relations of mathematical order.

And now calling to mind our major premise—that every natural phenomenon

having the characteristics of mathematical order and harmony must be the

effect of a rational cause—it follows irresistibly by the rules of

logic, from the conjugation of the two propositions, that all natural

phenomena are the effects of a rational cause.

But we are not yet justified in dignifying the efficient of all these

natural phenomena with the name of God. For the cause, though

demonstrated to be intelligent, may be one or many, permanent or

transient, good or evil. We have only inquired as to its existence,

without considering any other attribute. However, we have not far to go

in the sequel of the investigation, as the laws of logical inference

founded on our previous inductions will enable us to give a speedy

solution of the remaining problems, at least so fully as they may be

susceptible of scientific explanation.

On the subject of causal unity it may be laid down as a general

principle: That in the same sphere of time and space the identity of an

efficient is to be concluded from the identity of the phenomena which

experience has shown it to be capable of producing. Thus we refer all

the electrical facts in the universe to a single imponderable agent; and

we always predicate the power of heat whenever we witness its usual and

well-known effects. Nevertheless, these instances are only analogous.

But the following are precisely in point. The affirmation of a single

human being, the truth of his separate existence as a real and rational

unit, is inferred alone from his manifestations as a cause in time and

space. He stands demonstrated, present or absent, by the power that he

develops, or has developed, in his individual sphere. His physical

features may change, yet he will still be revealed in his intelligent

actions. The divine pictures of a Raphael or a Rubens may be identified

for long ages after the hand that sketched the now immortal lineaments

of some mortal face has been mouldering, like the lovely original, in

darkness and dust. No two persons—that is to say, human causes—present

exactly the same effects. Every fact evolved will differ more or less.

And, lastly, every cause is manifested as a unit by its occupation or

pervasion of a given space.

Applying, then, this axiom of identity to the efficient of natural

phenomena, the unity of the great Cause becomes at once apparent.

Everywhere we behold the same laws of mathematical harmony. The

identical principle of gravitation, which we have proved to be the

effect of a sublime rationality, carries us away to the utmost limits of

the solar system, and shows us one sovereign efficient, one pervading

force, that we may henceforth call God, all over those immeasurable

fields of infinite azure. And when this path grows so dim and distant

amidst that far-off wilderness of flaming worlds that we can no longer

trace the footsteps of attraction, there still remains heaven’s own

highway of radiant light to conduct us on and on towards the centre, or

perchance it may be the circumference, of the universe, revealing the

same God enthroned on every sun; because every ray that flashes from the

great blue deep of the firmament preserves the same identical laws of

reflection and refraction.

Who can elevate his mind to the contemplation of these amazing and

magnificent depths of distance, those profound caverns of space, teeming

and sparkling with worlds like crystals? That light which travels almost

two hundred thousand miles in a second does not reach us from the star

61 Cygni until after a journey of nine years and three months; and yet

that is one of the nocturnal luminaries which may be termed the nearest

neighbors of our system. The number of registered stars amount to two

hundred thousand; while the entire host accessible to the sweep of the

telescope have been reckoned as a hundred millions, from some of which

it takes the luminous rays thousands of years to fly down to the earth.

What mathematician, then, shall measure this celestial expanse, brimming

over with suns and stars, and swarming with galaxies of living flame?

Imagination stoops beneath such a giddy summit, nor dares attempt to

scale those cliffs of golden fire. Reason, faltering on the brink of

that boundless ocean of immensity, recoils as from the verge of

annihilation. None but God can walk the heights of those starry

pinnacles, and the light that burns and flashes around his feet falls

down to man as the proof of the divine presence. In fine, if we had

never before known a Deity, the telescope would have revealed him.

The unity of God being established, can we predicate his eternity? In

the first place, all history bears witness to the permanence of the same

grand principles of causation, since the primary annals of the species;

and then geology takes up the subject, and carries it back for countless

ages through those records inscribed on the ancient rocks by the pencil

of central fire, or the fierce pen of earthquakes and blazing volcanoes;

and still everywhere we see the evidence of the same mathematical laws,

the same attraction and gravitation. Everything alike shows the

existence of the same all-creating Deity as anterior to itself; and

further than this the canons of mere induction cannot go.

Nor can the goodness of God be demonstrated in the precise and

conclusive manner which has marked our previous propositions. The

beauties of nature and the blessings of Providence are sufficient proofs

to the majority of mankind; and for all the rest one must depend on _à

priori_ reasoning, or look to the clearer light of a divine revelation.

It must be observed that the foregoing argument differs essentially from

that of the celebrated Paley. His is founded on the mechanical phenomena

of the universe, but this on the mathematical relations of order and

harmony—on the present as well as the past physical evolutions in time

and space, thus proving the continued agency of the supreme Cause, the

Deity, both in immanence and in act.

But it is not my purpose to criticise other theories, nor to answer

objections, which must be impotent unless they can overthrow the

legitimacy of my inductions. Accordingly, I submit the whole.

Footnote 150:

The following article was recently found in Chicago among the

posthumous papers of Judge Arrington, who died in that city nine years

ago, a convert to the Catholic Church. It was written twenty years

previous, when he was struggling to escape from the meshes of

pantheism, and seems to be a vigorous effort to prove to his own

satisfaction the reality of a personal, rational Deity.

Some of the illustrations are recognized as having been used in a

similar article published in the _Democratic Review_ about thirty

years ago, which was extensively copied, and even translated into the

French and German languages. The present is a much more elaborate

statement than that, as if the author still dwelt upon the subject,

and as the years rolled on wished with increasing knowledge to more

strongly substantiate to his intellect what his higher nature so

instinctively craved.

At the bar Judge Arrington stood almost without a peer in the great

Northwest for legal learning and oratorical power. Whenever he

indulged in the luxury of literary and poetical composition he showed

an ability that promised a like pre-eminence in those pursuits, had he

devoted himself to them.

This struggle of a great mind to fling off the incubus of modern

error, whose every maze he had thoroughly explored, coupled with his

subsequent conversion to Catholicity and his saint-like death in its

communion, is an admirable practical illustration of the truth that

nothing short of the light and grace to be found only in the true

church of Christ can ever thoroughly satisfy a great soul.

Footnote 151:

Judge Arrington had devoted much time and attention to studying the

nature and results of sagacity in animals; but he so distinctly saw

that they are not _responsible agents_, and that the harmonious and

orderly results produced by them—as, for example, the mathematical

regularity of the cells of bees—are to be attributed not to them but

to the Author of their wonderful instinct, that he does not even pause

to treat this as an objection to his proposition or to draw a

distinction between mediate and immediate causes.

PEARL.

BY KATHLEEN O’MEARA, AUTHOR OF “IZA’S STORY,” “A SALON IN THE LAST DAYS

OF THE EMPIRE,” “ARE YOU MY WIFE?” ETC.

Early next day Mrs. Monteagle sent down to the entresol to know if Col.

Redacre was well enough to come up and see her, or, if not, could she go

down and see him; she wanted to speak to him on a matter of importance.

The answer came on a card of Mrs. Redacre’s, written in pencil:

“I am so sorry! Hugh is really not able to see any one this morning.

I hope you will come down to-morrow.—Yours affectionately,

“A. R.”

Mrs. Monteagle was surprised. There was nothing in the fact that the

colonel was not able to come up-stairs—Balaklava sometimes made a great

difficulty about stairs; but why could she not go down to him? The hope

that she “would come down to-morrow” was clearly an intimation that she

was not to go to-day. Why should she not go and see Mrs. Redacre, even

if her husband was not in a humor to see people? The forenoon passed,

and neither of the girls came near her. She inquired if the doctor had

been sent for, but the servants said not. M. le Colonel had nothing the

matter with him; he complained of Balaklava just as usual; there was no

question of such an extreme measure as sending for the doctor. This made

it all the more curious why an old friend like herself should be kept

out for the day. Mrs. Monteagle, however, was not a gossip, and, after

turning it in her mind for a reasonable time, she concluded that it was

no business of hers, and that it would be a nuisance, having friends

living in the same house with one, if one could not be left alone for a

day without their seeing a mystery in it.

Late in the afternoon she went out to pay some visits. It was Mme. de

Kerbec’s day. Mrs. Monteagle had rather a horror of “days,” but she was

pretty regular in attending this one. Mme. de Kerbec was very particular

about people calling on her day, and apt to take offence if they

neglected it. To her it was the grand recurring opportunity of her life.

She loved dress with a passionate love, tenderly, humanly; and her day

was an opportunity for doing it honor, making a kind of feast to it.

This was a trial to some of her friends; they felt obliged to respond to

the challenge and come always finely dressed, and many were not inclined

to don their first-best costumes on so ordinary an occasion. People,

however, like Mrs. Monteagle, who had passed the age when society

exacted this kind of homage from them, found great amusement in looking

at the fine fashions, laughing at them very often, and at the mistress

of the house, who, fat, fifty, and not fair, sat on her crimson satin

sofa, with the latest and most magnificent costume spread out over it.

To-day she was gorgeous in a _Bismarck-en-colère_ moire antique, so

trimmed that the original material nearly disappeared under elaborate

passementerie, lace, and fringe. Nothing pleased her like being

complimented on her dress; and Mrs. Monteagle, though she was fond of

snubbing people when they deserved it, was fond, too, of pleasing them,

and occasionally gratified this weakness of Captain Jack.

“How beautiful Mme. de Kerbec’s dress looks!” said some one, breaking a

pause in the languishing conversation.

“That’s because it _is_ beautiful,” said Mrs. Monteagle in her literal

way. “Where do you get those splendid costumes, countess? One does not

know which to wonder at most, their magnificence or their variety. I

suspect you have a Titania who works some time of the night weaving

those lovely silks and making them up into costumes.”

“Oh! no,” said Mme. de Kerbec gravely. “I never would keep my maid up of

a night working, and I always tell the dressmaker that I would rather

wait any time than have her keep those poor girls up all night at my

dresses; but I dare say she does it all the same—they are so selfish,

that class of people.”

“Will you tell me the class that is not selfish?” said Mrs. Monteagle;

but she happened to catch Mr. Kingspring’s eye, and there was a

dangerous twinkle in it which made her look quickly away and observe

that there would be a fine display of dresses at the ball to-night, no

doubt.

“Yes, I should think there would be,” said Mme. de Kerbec, composing her

countenance, as she always did when dress was spoken of, assuming that

peculiar gravity of manner which many people put on when anything

connected with the life to come is mentioned.

“It is a pity you don’t go to the Tuileries, countess,” said Mr.

Kingspring; “you would cut them all out with your dress.”

“It is a pity in one way,” she replied; “but one has a principle or one

has not. It would make no end of a scandal if we were to be seen at this

court. The count would never be forgiven by the faubourg; and I have to

consider his position before my own pleasure.”

“Of course, certainly,” said Mr. Kingspring.

“It is to be an unusually brilliant affair to-night; the Redacres are

going, I believe,” some one remarked.

“I fancy not; the colonel is not well,” said Mrs. Monteagle.

“The young ladies are going with Mme. Léopold,” said Mr. Kingspring. “I

met her just now, and she told me Mrs. Redacre had written to ask her to

chaperone them, as their father would not go.”

Mrs. Monteagle looked at Mr. Kingspring as he announced this, and she

fancied there was a glance of answering intelligence in his eyes.

“The colonel is not seriously ill?” inquired Mme. de Kerbec, who was

rather proud of her intimacy with the Redacres.

“He’s not ill at all,” said Mr. Kingspring.

“Then why is he sending his daughters to the ball with Mme. Léopold?”

“I really can’t say, unless it be that he is not in a humor to go; a man

does not always feel inclined to go to a ball, especially a man like

Redacre.”

“Ah! to be sure. Balaklava is a constant trial to him, poor, dear man!”

sighed Mme. de Kerbec.

“Have you seen him lately?” inquired Mrs. Monteagle.

“Yes,” said Mr. Kingspring. “I turned in there this morning for a

moment. What does M. de Kerbec say of the ‘situation,’ as they call it?

Does he think we shall have war?” This was to Mme. de Kerbec.

“He never tells me what he thinks,” said the lady in an aggrieved tone.

“I have, in fact, given up asking him. He only cares to talk politics

with men; that is the way with most of you.”

Mrs. Monteagle began to be seriously mystified. This sudden interest in

M. de Kerbec’s view of the situation did not deceive her. Mr. Kingspring

evidently had turned off the conversation from Col. Redacre on purpose.

And why? She was not a meddling person or touchy, but really it was

enough to set her wondering, this odd behavior of the Redacres. They

were distinctly keeping her out of the way while Mr. Kingspring was

allowed to come in! And then Mrs. Redacre writing to Mme. Léopold to

chaperone the girls to-night! What did it all mean?

Suddenly it flashed on her that they were anxious to bring about a

marriage between Pearl and Léon, and had seized on the ball to-night as

an opportunity for suggesting the same idea to the Léopolds. On the

other hand, this was such a thoroughly un-English way of proceeding that

it was hardly fair to suspect the Redacres of adopting it. Pearl, too,

was the last girl she knew who would be likely to fall in with such

French manœuvring. Altogether it was puzzling. Mrs. Monteagle was angry

with Mr. Kingspring, turned her back on him, and began to converse with

a French lady near her. People were dropping in in ones and twos, and

Mme. de Kerbec was in high delight, sweeping her glittering train behind

her as she rose to greet each new-comer. Mrs. Monteagle took advantage

of one of these triumphant moments to say good-by, and, without casting

a glance on the offending Kingspring, made her exit.

Just as she reached her own porte cochère Mr. Kingspring overtook her.

“Are you going in to see the Redacres?” he said.

“No; Mrs. Redacre sent me word that she hoped I would go to-morrow,

which meant evidently that I was not to go to-day.”

“If I were you I would not mind that; I would go at once. You are their

oldest friend here; they will be the better for seeing you.”

“There is something amiss, then?” And Mrs. Monteagle forgot her

grievance in real concern.

“There is. I can’t tell you any more. They will tell you themselves; you

had better go in and see them.”

He shook hands and hurried away, fearing to say more if he loitered with

her. Mrs. Monteagle went slowly up to the entresol, and, after an

interval of hesitation, she pulled the bell. “The idea of my being

nervous at pulling Alice Redacre’s bell!” she said to herself.

It was answered quickly.

“_Madame ne reçoit pas aujourd’hui_,” said the servant.

“She is not well?”

“Madame is a little indisposed; M. le Colonel also.”

Mrs. Monteagle left her compliments and regrets, and went on her way

up-stairs.

“It is quite clear they do not wish to see me,” was her comment. “What

can it mean? It looks odd—it is odd,” she added, correcting herself, as

she was in the habit of doing to other people for the same inaccurate

mode of speech.

Great was her surprise an hour later to see the two girls going out on

horseback, accompanied by an old general officer who sometimes replaced

their father in this way. Would they also go to the ball, in spite of

the something that was amiss? They always ran up to show themselves to

Mrs. Monteagle in their ball-dress whenever they went out; but she did

not expect they would do so this evening. At nine o’clock, however,

there was a ring, and in they came. Pearl looked sad, though there was

no sign of tears in her face; but Polly looked, as she always did on

occasions like this, a vision of triumphant beauty. Her blue-black eyes

were all aglow with soft, tender lightnings, her curved red lips parted,

her delicate skin bright as tinted alabaster. If the combined

misfortunes of life had fallen on her as she stood there in her exulting

loveliness, Polly might have defied them. She looked a creature born to

happiness, buoyant, supple, invulnerable; you might as well have tried

to hurt the mounting flame by sticking pins in it as to quench the glory

of her youth in that royally beautiful maiden.

“Does she not look pretty?” said Pearl, surveying the young queen

proudly.

“She _is_ pretty, you vain puss!” said Mrs. Monteagle. “But why do you

always wear white, my dear? Pink would suit your brown eyes better, eh?”

“White is Polly’s color, and any color does for me,” said Pearl.

“Papa likes us to dress alike,” said Polly; “and pink does not go very

well with my hair.”

“Tut, nonsense, child! Duckady mud would go well with your hair,” said

the old lady. “But Pearl spoils you—that’s what it is.”

“She does indeed!” said Polly heartily, and she twined her lovely arms

around Pearl and kissed her.

A voice came from the stairs announcing that Mme. Léopold’s carriage was

at the door. The two girls kissed Mrs. Monteagle and hurried away,

looking very like a couple of swans as they floated off with their waves

of white tulle round them.

“Come up early to-morrow morning and tell me all about it,” said Mrs.

Monteagle in a _sotto voce_ to Pearl; “of course it will be settled

to-night.”

Pearl blushed up, and there was a sudden look of distress on her face as

with an exclamation of protest she hastened after Polly.