an account of this transaction by Bishop England himself, as it is
hardly to be expected that Americans can otherwise believe it; but
undoubtedly Bishop Hughs, of New York, and Bishop Fenwick, of Boston,
must have files of the Miscellany, containing an account of this
miraculous event.
Is this not enough of itself to deter any man, endowed with the faculty
of reason, from holding any communion whatever with Roman Catholic
bishops and priests? A degradation of the understanding like this, and
among a people like ours, cannot exist, unaccompanied with depravity
of heart. The intellect cannot be darkened, when the heart is pure and
bright, and such a heart cannot be possessed by a Papist who remains so
after a thorough knowledge of Popish iniquities, which all priests and
bishops are supposed to have. I declare it as my solemn conviction, and
from my perfect knowledge of Popery, that a thoroughly educated Popish
priest, I mean thoroughly educated in Popery, can no longer retain
the image of the Deity, which the God of nature has stamped upon every
created mind, undefiled or undebased, while he has any connection with
the church of Rome. That church is and ever has been the curse of the
earth, the scourge of all good governments, and the greatest obstacle to
the Divine Will. Under this conviction, I have addressed myself to the
public in this book. Under this conviction I have taken the liberty
of appealing to Protestant families, and cautioning them against
the intrigues of priests. It was this conviction that induced me to
disregard that ancient aphorism which says, "If the people will be
deceived, let them be deceived." I felt that the people had no chance *
to escape deception, unless the truth were known and fairly explained
to them. When dust is thrown into the eyes of the people, or even into
those of private families, it is the duty of every man, and mine as well
as that of others, to remove and clear it away; otherwise, I should be
undeserving of the blessings and privileges secured to me by the laws
of this country. Could I rest supinely and see a body of men prevail by
artifice, who hate the very name of liberty, without resisting them as
far as in me lay, I should be acting criminally. It is bad enough to
tolerate amongst us miracle-mongers and convicted idolaters; but to
allow them to continue in the practice and propagation of such deeds,
without warning our people and cautioning them against being drawn
into the whirlpool of Popish corruption, which now foams and boils and
bubbles over our land, would show in me an ingratitude towards this
country, to which I owe everything I am, and which gives me as good a
right as others to expect much more.
It is strange that we should have amongst us a society called Puseyites,
who believe as firmly as Papists do in the long-exploded doctrine of
miracles,--a doctrine upon which age after age has pronounced an
unqualified verdict of censure and reprobation. Yet so it is. Allow me
to give you an example of the long list of miracles in which they
believe.
"Sixty confessors were made prisoners by Humeric, the tyrant king of the
African Vandals, in the 4th century. He ordered their tongues to be cut
out, even to the roots, inclusively; but notwithstanding this loss of
their tongues, roots and all, they lived many years after, and spoke
more plainly than ever."
The reverend Mr. Ward, a distinguished friend of Puseyism, now living in
England, and looked upon by the Puseyites in the United States as one
of the most able advocates of their wild doctrine, assures us with great
gravity, and on the authority of the holy fathers of the middle ages,
that the above fact is true, and as much entitled to credit as anything
related in the holy Scriptures. He even tells us that "to attribute
anything like idolatry, or anything approaching it, to such men as
related the above and similar facts, was a _fearful approximation to
blasphemy against the Holy Ghost_."
The Mr. Ward to whom I allude is well known to many literary men in this
country, as the author of a work recently published, and called _Wards
Ideal of a Christian Church_, The name of the work is assuredly an
appropriate one. His church must be ideal indeed. It is something
invisible, intangible, hitherto unknown and never heard of before.
either in scriptural or church history; and where he found the
materials, out of which he formed this ideal of a Christian church, must
be known only to himself. But Mr. Ward is a philosopher,--so say the
Puseyites,--and philosophers now-a-days have some strange dreams. They
had such in all times and in all ages of the Christian, as well as the
heathen world. "Oh! there is a husk and shell, Yorick, which grows up
with learning, which their un-skilfulness knows not how to fling away.
Sciences may be learned by rote, said my father to Yorick. Yorick
thought my father inspired."
Whether Puseyites think Mr. Ward inspired or not, I am at a loss to
know; nor am I a judge; but that he is a philosopher, is beyond doubt.
Nor do I feel the least hesitancy in saying that he will have, one day
or another, his name inscribed in the same niche, and his ashes rest in
the same urn, with such distinguished men as Joe Smith, Hiram Smith and
O. Brownson, all conspicuously eminent philosophers. The fact of my not
understanding one word these eminent philosophers have uttered, is no
argument against their ideal churches, or their ideal theories.
"I will enter into obligations this moment, said my father, to lay out
all my Aunt Dinah's legacy in charitable uses, if the corporal has any
one determinate idea, annexed to any one word he has repeated." Thus
spoke the learned author of the Tristrapedia to Trim; but it by no means
followed, that Trim was not a philosopher, no more than it does that Mr.
Ward and other Puseyite doctors are not philosophers, though not one of
them has any one determinate idea annexed to any one word they have said
or written.
Thrice honored, then, be Monks, Mormonites, Millerites and Brownsonites.
All will have their day, and so will common sense.
I am apprehensive that some will accuse me of levity in my manner of
alluding to Puseyism. Others will say that I should have mentioned
no names, or, if I did, I should have treated them with respect and
kindness. Far be it from me to treat a grave subject lightly; but when
I see the whole Christian world represented as profligate and the Popish
world alone represented as sinless and pure, by the authors of Puseyism,
I can scarcely treat such a false representation and perversion of truth
otherwise than with contempt and irony; and when I bring before the
public the names of some of the individuals who have merited this,
by exhibiting themselves as the authors and abettors of these gross
outrages upon all that is sacred among men and among nations, I only do
them justice. Are acts alone, and not their consequences, to be noticed?
Are we to take cognizance of effects, and pass by in silence their
causes? Are we to wage a seven years' war against Ward's _Ideal of a
Christian Church_, and against other ideals of moonstricken dreamers,
and say not a word of the dreamers themselves, or the consequences
that follow from them? Suppose we had here in Boston, or New York, the
hydrophobia; suppose a citizen were in pursuit of the mad dog which
introduced it; would any of my readers say to the citizen, never mind
the dog, let him go but take care of the hydrophobia? Assuredly not
the name, the color, the appearance of the dog, and the symptoms of his
madness, should be proclaimed to the public, lest he might scatter the
hydrophobia still further amongst them. Suppose an incendiary was
seen on the streets of one of our large and populous cities, say, for
instance, Boston or New York, and that our police officers were in
pursuit of him; let us fancy a crowd of sympathizers interfering and
saying to the officers, let that man alone; pursue him no farther;
do not even mention that he is an incendiary; it may be the cause of
sending him to gaol, or, perhaps, to the state prison for life; say
nothing to any one against him,--but take care of fires. See well to it
that the city is not burned. What, under these circumstances would be
thought of the sympathizers? Who would feel for them if the city was
reduced to ashes? Who would feel for them if their homes were rendered
desolate, and their wives and children made houseless. I would not check
the generous or natural flow of human sympathy, but I do not know that I
should do wrong in saying, that such men deserved no commiseration.
Under these circumstances, why should I be accused of treating a grave
subject lightly or ironically? Never did the witty Lord Shaftsbury
utter a plainer truth than when he said, that ridicule is one of those
principal lights or natural mediums by which things are to be viewed, in
order to a thorough recognition.
I am aware that there are many objections to the use of ridicule and
irony, in speaking on grave subjects; but, as Fielding very properly
observes, there can be no objection to making use of its assistance in
expelling and banishing all falsehood and imposture when once fairly
detected; and as this method is for my present purpose unexceptionable,
I think it will also prove efficacious.
Having perused the dreams, or, if the reader prefers it, opinions of
the holy fathers, and taken a glance at those of a new sect amongst us
called Puseyites,--which is but another name for Popery,--I could
see no reason why I should believe them of higher authority than the
Scriptures, or why I should not prefer the latter for my rule of faith.
The holy fathers of the church of Rome, and her unbaptized children,
Puseyites, seem to me of equal authority. I say unbaptized, because I
know not that their reputed parents, the Pope and his spouse, the church
of Rome, ever thought of such a thing as Puseyite. I am rather inclined
to think that the venerable couple are, up to this moment, unconscious
of having any paternity whatever in Puseyism. At any rate, their holy
fathers, such as Mr. Ward, Newman and others, appear to me as _demented
and clean daft_ as any that ever existed in the middle ages. The "Knight
of Cervantes," as a late number of the London Quarterly expresses it,
"never abandoned himself to delirious musings, on the faded glories of
chivalry, more madly than these sentimentalists to visions of Popish
powers, and the glories of the saints."
The Bible was with them a matter of minor consideration. I knew by
experience that it was so; and I know that it is so at the present day,
with every priest and bishop of the Romish church. I was aware then, as
I am now, that it was perfectly useless to attempt reasoning with them,
and I had, of course, no alternative left but to cast from me their
writings and doctrines, as the veriest trash that ever was written, and
seek from the Bible, the fountain of truth, instructions for my future
life. I looked upon the majority of the holy fathers either as notorious
blockheads or dishonest knaves. There is no alternative. There is not
even a medium.
But to return to the subject, from which I have so widely, though
unconsciously deviated.
Soon after my arrival in Philadelphia, I became acquainted with a
Protestant family. I had the pleasure of dining occasionally with them,
and could not help noticing a seemingly delicate young man who
waited at the table. There was something in the countenance and whole
appearance of this individual which struck me as singular. I could see
no indication of positive wickedness or signal depravity in the external
configuration of the young man's head. The expression of the eye
indicated meekness, humility, and habitual obedience, rather than
anything else; but I could see, nevertheless, in the closely-compressed
lips and furtive glance, which I could only occasionally catch,--and
even then by a sort of stealth,--something that puzzled me. I know not
why, but I could not like him. There was no cause, as far as I could
see, why I should dislike the young man. Constitutionally, I was myself
rather fearless than otherwise. I cannot recollect that, with equal
means of defence, I ever before feared any one, I do not desire to be
considered a braggadocio, nor do I make this assertion with any such
view. I have not in my composition,--if I know myself,--a single
particle of bravery, neither do I covet its possession. I have often
seen men of bravery tremble at the roaring of a lion, caged up and
strongly chained in a menagerie. I have often seen and heard a brave man
whistle as he passed through a church-yard; a brave man will shudder
and quail at the very sight of his own shadow. A bully, a cut throat,
a highway robber, a Jesuit, or a traitor, may be brave; conspirators
against the peace and prosperity of their country may be, and have been,
brave men. I desire not to belong to this class; but I desire sincerely
to merit the high distinction of being considered a man of courage. To
this class all sincere Christians belong. To this class all who
were distinguished for virtue and morality, even among the heathens,
belonged. Witness the conduct of Cicero. He sought to shelter himself
against the violent assaults and personal attacks of the conspirator
Catiline; he wished no unnecessary, uncalled-for collision with this
blood-thirsty villain, when no good could follow, and his duty did not
require it. But when the good of his country demanded it, and the voice
of conscience called upon him, Cicero came forth, alone, and met the
conspirator, Catiline, in the presence of the whole senate of Rome,
and charged him, face to face, with his crimes, his treason, and his
conspiracy. Cicero was not a brave man, according to the acceptation of
the word bravery among the assassins and stiletto-bearers of his day,
nor would he be considered so in the acceptation of the word among the
brawling _repealers_ O'Connellites, traitors and conspirators of the
present day; but he was a man of courage.
There is a wide difference between a brave man, and a man of courage.
A brave man may stand at the mouth of the cannon, while under the
influence of some animal emotion, and quail even at an imaginary danger;
but a courageous man smiles at all such things, and calmly prepares,
and is always ready to meet those that are real. A man may be brave, and
fear the whistling of the wind; but a courageous man fears nothing, not
even the whistling of the cannon's ball.
Luther was not a brave man, in the modern acceptation of that term. He
rushed not among his foes; they hunted him like a wild beast, but they
turned him not from his path. He met them face to face. He unfurled the
standard of Christianity; he took his stand, and met them, and fought
them under that glorious banner. He was not brave, but he was a man of
courage.
These are the men I should like to imitate, and their courage,--"_Sic
magna com parvis componere solebam_"--is that which Popish priests and
Jesuits, traitors to their God and this country of my adoption, will
find I possess, as far as my limited powers of mind or body will permit.
Cicero looked Catiline in the face, and told him he was a conspirator
and a traitor. Luther looked the miracle and indulgence mongers of
Germany in the face, and told them they were base idolaters; and I tell
the minions of the Pope in the United States, that they are worthless
idolaters, traitors and conspirators against the peace of this country,
and that their sovereign lord, the Pope of Rome, should be made to feel
that his bulls and insolent interference in the affairs of the United
States, shall soon meet that chastisement which is due to treason and
its abettors.
But to return. I could never find the eye of this man fixed upon me
without an involuntary feeling of dread. I met him often in the
streets; he always seemed neat and tidy in his person; he was civil and
respectful in his deportment; never seemed to forget that society had
its grades, and that circumstances had clearly designated his own. With
that he seemed well contented; never, as far as I could see, seeming
to feel the least desire of intruding upon that of others. This being
rather a rare case in the United States, twenty years ago, at any rate,
when it was difficult to get servants who knew their places, struck me
as another singular feature in his manner and character, and did not at
all tend to remove the unpleasant impressions which his appearance made
upon my mind. Not long after this, a messenger called at my rooms to say
that "Theodore------" was taken ill, and wished to see me. I was then
officiating as a Romish priest, and calling to see him, was shown up
stairs to the door of a garret room, into which, after a loud rap
and announcing my name, I was admitted to the sick young man. He
had returned to his bed before I entered, and was wrapped in a large
overcloak. I asked him whether he wanted to see me, and for what
purpose. He deliberately turned out of his bed, locked the door again,
very respectfully handed me a chair, and asked me to sit down, as he
had something very important to tell me. He wrapped himself again in his
cloak, lay on the outside of the bed, and spoke to me in a firm, decided
tone to the following effect:
"Sir, you have taken me for a young man, but you are mistaken. I am a
girl, but not so young as 1 appeared to you in my boy's dress. I sent
for you, because I want to get a _character_, and confess to you before
I leave the city." I answered, "You must explain yourself more fully
before you do either." I moved my chair further from the bed, and
tightened my grasp upon a sword-cane which I carried in my hand.
"Feel no alarm," said this now young woman; "I am as well armed as you
are,"--taking from under her jacket an elegant poignard,--"I will not
hurt you. I am a _lay sister_ belonging to the order of Jesuits in
Stonyhurst, England, and I wear this dagger to protect myself." There
was no longer any mystery in the matter. I knew now where I was, and the
character of the being that stood before me. I discovered from her that
she arrived in New. Orleans, some time previous, with all necessary
recommendations to the priests and nuns of that city. She had the
necessary "Shibboleth" from the Jesuits of Stonyhurst, to their brothers
and sisters, who were then, and are now, numerous in that city. They
received her with all due caution, as far as could be seen by the
public; but privately in the warmest manner. Jesuits are active and
diligent in the discharge of their duties to their superiors, and of
course, this _sister_, who was chosen from among many for her zeal and
craft, lost no time in entering on her mission. The _Sisters of
Charity_ in New Orleans took immediate charge of her, recommended her
as chambermaid to one of the most respectable Protestant families in the
city; and having clothed her in an appropriate dress, she entered upon
her employment. She was active, diligent and very competent. The young
ladies of the family were delighted with her; she appeared extremely
pious, but not ostentatiously so. She seemed desirous to please in
all things; talked but seldom of religion, but took good care that her
devotional exercises should be noticed, though she seemed to avoid
such a thing. Her conduct was in every way unexceptionable. So great a
favorite did she become in the family, that in a short time she became
acquainted with all the circumstances and secrets, from those of the
father down to those of the youngest child.
According to a custom universally in vogue among the Jesuit spies, she
kept notes of every occurrence which may tend to elucidate the character
of the family, never carrying them about her, but depositing them for
safe keeping with the mother abbess, especially deputed to take charge
of them. She soon left this family under some pretext or other, obtained
from them an unqualified recommendation for honesty and competency,
which, with the previous and secret arrangements of the _Sisters of
Charity_, obtained for her without delay a place in another Protestant
family. Here, too, she was without fault, active, honest and
industrious, to all appearance. Little did these families, know that
while they and their children were quietly reposing in the arms of
sleep, this apparently innocent waitingmaid or chambermaid was, perhaps,
in the dead hour of night, reducing to paper their conversation of the
day previous, and preparing it, at least as much of it as could answer
any Jesuitical purpose, to be recorded among the secret archives of the
Jesuit college of Stonyhurst, from which they were to be transcopied to
those of the parent college in Rome.
Thus did this lay sister continue to go from place to place, from family
to family, until she became better acquainted with the politics, the
pecuniary means, religious opinions, and whether favorable or not to the
propagation of Popery in this country, than even the very individuals
with whom she resided. No one suspected her; all believed her innocent
and industrious; the only fault they could find with her, was that she
seemed too fond of going from one place to another. For this, however,
the _Sisters of Charity_ had some salvo or other.
This was not the best of the joke, if joke it may be called. This
excellent chambermaid, or another lay Jesuit sister, wished to leave New
Organs and come north to a better climate; and how-do you think, reader,
the means were raised to defray the expenses of travelling? There was
no difficulty in the matter. Americans can be gulled at all times. The
_Sisters of Charity_ have always some friend in readiness to supply them
with the means of performing _corporal works of mercy_. This friend went
round to these American families where this chambermaid lived from time
to time; told them that she wanted to come on as far as Baltimore; that
it was a pity to have her travel as a steerage passenger; a person of
her virtue and correct deportment should not be placed in a situation
where she might be liable to insult or rude treatment. A cabin passage
should be procured for her: she should be introduced to some respectable
family who were going north, and would take charge of her. The necessary
funds were immediately collected for her; the generous Protestants
with whom she lived, pitying the poor girl, told her she might want the
little she had earned to support herself in the north, until she could
get a place. A handsome purse was soon made up, a cabin passage was
engaged, and the young ladies on whom she waited made her presents of
every article of dress necessary for her comfort or convenience. She was
the depository of all their love-stories,--she knew the names of their
lovers, she heard their love-sighs, and probably witnessed many of their
tears; at all events, if there were secrets among them, they were known
to her; and having made herself acquainted with the state of things in
New Orleans, she started for Baltimore, laughing in her sleeves at the
success of her mission so far, and at the credulity of American _dolts_,
as Jesuits very properly term them.
On arriving in Baltimore, she, of course, called upon the nuns of that
city, who were prepared for her reception, and had already a situation
engaged for a "chambermaid whom they expected from New Orleans, and
who was coming highly recommended by some of the first families in
that city." She took possession of a place as soon as convenient, spent
several months in that city, discharging all her duties faithfully, no
one finding any fault with her, except her restlessness in not staying
long with any family. Having now become acquainted with the secrets and
circumstances of almost every Protestant family of note in Baltimore,
and made her report to the mother abbess of the nunnery of her order in
that city, she retired to the District of Columbia, and after advising
with the mother abbess of the convent, she determined to change her
apparent character and appearance.