But where is the land of Tell—Uri and the Rüti?—for again our course seems

barred at Brunnen: valleys, meadows, and a background of mountains alone

lie before us. Once more turn round on the quay of Brunnen, at a sharp

angle to the right, and say, can a more exquisite picture anywhere be

found! Here, in this bay of Uri—for so this part is named—instead of the

great expanse near Lucerne, the lake has narrowed into a space not wider

than a valley, whilst huge mountains jut forward, and, dipping

perpendicularly into the green waters beneath, barely leave room in some

spots for the road, which is an engineering achievement of recent years,

whilst in others it must needs be carried on through tunnels and open

galleries. Right in front, the Uri Rothstock rears its lofty head, with

its glacier—a transparent wall of ice three hundred feet in

height—sparkling in the sun. Tell’s home lies within its folds. But close

by, just opposite, is the Rüti, almost undistinguishable until the steamer

passes near it. At the head of the bay, on its broad, green meadows, lies

Aldorf, below the Bristenstock, which alone, when we reach that spot,

hides from us the mighty Gothard. A paradise it truly seems on a brilliant

sunny day, with a people worthy of such a land and nurtured into

excellence amidst this noble nature. But we have not reached them yet, and

have to see and hear of others before we come to this quarter.

Like every other part of Switzerland, the shores of Lucerne Lake are

thickly inhabited. No signs of poverty are anywhere visible, and an air of

comfort is diffused over the whole district. The most fruitful portion,

however, is pre‐eminently the strip of land lying at the base of the Rigi,

where the straight wall of the mountain rises precipitately facing the

north. So proverbial is its fertility that it is called the “Garden of

Lucerne,” and through winter and summer that town is supplied with fruit

and vegetables by the peasants of this neighborhood. The steamers which

now navigate the lake carry them thither in numbers with their produce on

every market‐day. Of its numerous villages, Weggis held the first place

until the last three years, when the engineers of the wonderful Rigi

Railway fixed on Vitznau, three miles further on, for their station. Up to

that period, no one ever thought of this out‐of‐the‐way little village,

lying in a sheltered nook close under the Rigi‐Nase. Weggis, on the other

hand, was the starting‐point for all aspirants to sunsets on the Kulm: the

chief place for horses and guides, and full, in consequence, of animation

and importance. But the world marches on rapidly nowadays, and matters,

therefore, are much changed; for few, except the timid, or the most

determined seekers of the picturesque, think of choosing this route to the

summit, when both time and trouble can be saved by the railway ascent to

those hundreds of summer tourists whose excursions are made at high‐

pressure speed. Vitznau, consequently, is daily advancing in importance,

and the price of land has risen in an incredibly short space of time from

fifty centimes to five francs per metre. No buildings, however, have yet

been attempted, except two pretty hotels; and it was to one of these,

opened this season on the water’s edge, that we had telegraphed for rooms.

But it was not large enough to accommodate all our party, so my friend

Anna L—— and myself adjourned at night to the second one, situated further

back near the church.

The evening continued fine, and as the moon shone on the calm waters

whilst we supped under the veranda of the inn, every one was happy and

contented. The young C——s declared they felt “most romantic,” we elders

“sehr æsthetisch” (very æsthetic), as Heine calls it, and all looked

forward with confidence to the morrow. The plan was, by sleeping here, to

start in the first train, which is generally the least crowded, and,

halting at Kaltbad, thence to explore the other parts of the Rigi. It had

been devised by Herr H——“cunningly devised,” he secretly told Mr. C——, “in

order to humor the nerves of the ladies, always stronger in the early

morning, and which he knew, though he chose to conceal this fact from us,

would be sorely tried by the alarming railway.” As to a change of weather,

no one ever dreamt of it. There had been such a spell of fine days and

lovely moonlights that nothing else was taken into account. But, alas for

presumptuous confidence! What was our dismay on awaking to hear the

unwelcome sounds of rain! Patter! patter! drop after drop, it fell against

the window; and, rising in trepidation, the painful fact became evident

that a steady downpour had commenced. There was no wind, but such thick

clouds rolled down from the mountain and spread over the lake that the

opposite shore was soon invisible. It might pass off, and we determined to

have patience; so, when the bell tolled for Mass at half‐past seven

o’clock, seizing our umbrellas we rushed across the cemetery, which

separated our hotel from the church. This latter, as suited to so small a

village, is not large nor rich‐looking—on the contrary; but all was very

clean, the building solidly constructed, and the congregation, despite the

rain, fairly large, and most attentive. Everything was arranged, too, on

the same system as elsewhere. The cemetery full of holy‐water stoups, with

a separate corner for the children, the church doors open all day long,

the lighted lamp betokening the Blessed Sacrament, and men and women

often, as we noticed, passing in and out, to say a prayer in its divine

presence.

At half‐past nine the train was to start, but the rain grew heavier each

minute, and no one, we supposed, could think of ascending the mountain in

such weather. At the appointed time, however, the steamers arrived from

both ends of the lake, with their ship‐loads of enterprising tourists. How

we pitied them! To have come so far in this weather, only to be

disappointed—for no one surely could land on such a day! But experience

has since taught us differently, and shown that in no part of Switzerland,

or perhaps of any other country, does this class so pertinaciously defy

the elements as on the Lucerne Lake and the Rigi Railway. To‐day, from

behind our hotel windows, we watched hundreds rushing on shore, in their

water‐proofs, and with dripping umbrellas, to the railway

station—adventurous spirits, who trusted to their good stars to drive away

the clouds from the mountain‐top on their arrival; or, if the views should

fail them, at least to go through the “sensation” of this singular

railway. And, in this one respect, no one could be disappointed. A

“sensation” it certainly would be: whether pleasant or terrifying must

depend on each individual temperament.

And now the sloping engines emerged from their night’s hiding‐place, and

we too began to share the general excitement. One by one our party ran to

the pretty station, and there stood examining the proceedings. So

fascinating did the attraction become, that every time there was an

arrival or departure whilst we remained at Vitznau, books, writing, and

all other occupations were hastily thrown aside to scamper off to the

still novel sight. But a very unwise course this proved; for, instead of

reassuring our feeble nerves, the disinclination to make a personal

experience of the ascent visibly increased as the day wore on. And what

wonder! The engines were unlike any we had ever seen; shaped in a slanting

fashion to fit the mountain side. There were five, but of these each one

was attached to only one carriage, which contains cross benches for fifty

passengers (with an ominous printed request “not to move!”), and with open

sides, so that nothing should obstruct the view to those whose nerves

might retain their customary tranquillity. Five such trains compose each

departure, hence, should the arrivals exceed 250, the unlucky “last” are

left behind at Vitznau to wait patiently for the next trains—two or three

hours later. And now we understood the cause of the rush on shore, and the

violent squeezing between the rails of the ticket office, which had so

much puzzled and amused us.

In mid‐season this constantly happens, it being a case of “first come,

first served.” Even to‐day, all the carriages were full. As a rule,

therefore, it is calculated that on an average between 1,100 and 1,200

tourists daily ascend the Rigi during the summer months from this point

alone. Up they went at a short interval between each train; the engine not

preceding, but pushing the carriage before it—mounting slowly to all

appearances, but withal rapidly, for in less than five minutes they were

lost to sight; climbing first high above the church‐tower, and then above

the cottages, which one by one here overtop the village. It took away

one’s breath to look at them: a seeming tempting of Providence thus

scaling mountain walls and precipices at the measure of from 18° to

25°—perhaps all the more awe‐inspiring to day by reason of the weather and

the mysterious cloud‐land they boldly pierced through.

As yet, no serious accident has happened. Let us hope none ever may! The

principle of construction, with a central notched rail, tightly grasped by

a cog‐wheel, besides the powerful brakes belonging to each carriage, seem

to promise fairly. The trains, too, proceed in reality so slowly, and with

such caution, that a man is always able to walk in front of the first

carriage. Most striking was it to watch the down trains two hours later;

the guard blowing a horn as they passed the height above the village, then

marching into the station with a solemn countenance that seemed to tell of

perils met and conquered, leisurely followed by the sloping engine,

looking helpless and distorted once it reached the level ground. Steady

and serious‐looking men these guards and engine‐drivers are, quite unlike

the daring beings to whose care we so thoughtlessly entrust our precious

lives in every‐day railway travelling. In walk and dress, too, they have a

mountain air and bearing, at once telling us of the life to which they

were “born and bred,” and reminding us of the intrusion of our material

world into their hitherto simple sphere. So far, however, it does not

appear to have interfered with Vitznau habits. Being what the French call

a “cul de sac,” without even a road over the promontory to Gersau, there

is no temptation to linger here, and the trains and steamers are made to

fit in so exactly that, except in the case of undue numbers, or for a

hasty luncheon, few travellers ever do remain. Nothing struck us so much

during our enforced stay as the sudden relapse into its ordinary quiet

which took place at Vitznau the moment train or steamer passed on.

The nature of its position will also prevent this pretty village from ever

losing much of its original character. It consists of but forty or fifty

houses situated on a narrow ledge, a small strip of land, between the

precipitous Rigi cliffs on one side and the lake on the other, so that

room does not exist for very large extension. Only this summer it narrowly

escaped destruction from the effects of a thunder‐storm higher up, such as

had not been known for years. The stream overflowed into a torrent,

carrying all before it, and the villagers and railway officials had to

turn out in the middle of the night to open channels and raise

embankments, and only succeeded by great exertions in arresting

destruction. Personally, I should fear the rocks rolling from above more,

as they have often done at Weggis—but of this the natives seem to take no

account. We were told that there is one point on the road between this and

Weggis—to which larger village the Vitznau children go to school, three

miles distant—where stones fall so constantly that the little ones are

always on the look‐out, and make a run when they see them approaching. Yet

this pretty spot has many attractions, especially for invalids. We met a

gentleman lately who had passed a winter here, and was loud in its

praises. Nothing can exceed the morality and sobriety of the people; the

winter climate, too, is perfect—he and the parish priest had made

observations together during one season, which proved that the temperature

is as mild as that of Montreux and of other sheltered spots on this side

of the Alps. Fruit grows here abundantly, even figs and melons, as in

Italy, and flowers thrive equally well. One of the prettiest features in

the place was the numberless girls in front of the station with small

baskets of each—the grapes having just arrived from Italy over the St.

Gotthard, and come hither by the steamers; but the “fresh figs” and

“beautiful peaches” which they offer in excellent English are genuine

Vitznau productions.

The day advanced, yet there seemed no cessation of the downpour, and all

were in despair at being thus caught at such a spot, without the resources

even of a large hotel. At last “a happy thought” suggested the idea of our

abandoning the Rigi altogether! “Let us move on to Gersau,” said one—“just

round the corner!” broke in another weather‐bound traveller, who gave a

glowing report of its charms and comforts. Even the young people, who in

the morning were so anxious for the railroad excitement, were worn out by

waiting and the little likelihood of a change. “No sooner said than done”

was therefore the result of our conversation, and the telegraph had

ordered our rooms, and our luggage was on board the steamer, before we

almost reflected on the consequences. But what matter if we never saw the

Rigi! It was more than likely those travellers would never reach the top

in that dreadful railway, and our vexed spirits refused to recognize the

attractions of anything on such an afternoon but the prospective charms of

comfortable _salons_ and piles of the latest newspapers, which we

prophetically beheld awaiting us at Gersau. In twenty minutes we had

crossed to Buochs, tried in vain to discover the landscape thence—so

lovely from this point in fair weather—through the heavy mist of rain and

cloud hanging over the lake, and found ourselves lodged in “the palatial

hotel” (as the prospectus calls it) at Gersau, close alongside the water’s

edge.

No sooner were we fairly landed than the curtain of cloud began to rise,

and we clearly beheld the opposite shore. Half an hour afterwards, we were

discussing the possible return of fine weather, when a sudden commotion

took place around us. Waiters rushed right and left closing windows,

housemaids even shutting shutters, without any apparent reason, like

demented beings, not giving themselves time to answer our questions. At

last, they declared that a storm of wind was approaching, although we

could perceive no symptoms of it, and truly, as they foretold, there soon

came rushing by one of those sudden squalls against which kindly guide‐

books have so many words of warning. Small waves rose rapidly, and in less

than half an hour, without one drop of rain, the whole surface of the lake

was in commotion. Then came a great excitement!—half the village and all

the travellers crowded to the shore, and every eye fixed on the centre of

the lake told of a tiny boat in extreme danger. Had the clouds still

continued, it could scarcely have been seen, but now a large, well‐manned

craft pulled out to the rescue. It took a long time to reach the sinking

boat, for the lake is wider here than it seems, but at last there was a

cry of joy on shore when three men were seen to jump from one to the

other, and so certain did we then feel of their safety that only a few

remained to greet their arrival. The wind, too, subsided, and later that

evening the moon struggled—though feebly—to reassert her empire.

The Gersau Hotel is certainly excellent, owing to the skilful direction of

Herr Müller, one of the potentates of the place, as are the majority of

hotel‐keepers in all these Forest Cantons. He also built the one at the

Rigi‐Scheideck, on the peak above Gersau, equally celebrated for its

comfort; but lately a company, which calls itself the Regina Montium (one

of the supposed meanings of the word Rigi), has purchased it together with

others on the mountain. We found the Gersau establishment full, many

having come down from the higher “pensions,” and amongst the number two or

three acquaintances who laughed at our fear of the railway and general

lack of spirit. But nothing is so discouraging to tourists as rain,

especially when nearer to the end than to the beginning of their rambles.

We were all in bad humor at the trick the clouds had played us, and

planless and annoyed we all retired early to bed that night.

But “la nuit porte conseil,” and there is no resisting a sunshiny morning!

The Angelus‐bell once more awoke us, but this time to sun and brightness.

Again the church was close by, its bell ringing for half‐past seven

o’clock Mass. Anna and I quickly answered its bidding. It is a good‐sized

parish church, of the solid, unarchitectural style of building usual in

these parts, but making a pretty effect with its lofty tower seen rising

against the high green hill behind it. To‐day, the Mass was for the dead,

and the benches were all full, as at Lucerne; respectably dressed men on

one side, while the women knelt on the other. What most struck us,

however, were the children; the boys in front of the men, and about twenty

girls in the two front benches opposite. These were in charge of a devout‐

looking young school‐mistress, whose sweet, placid countenance seemed to

tell of pleasant hours for her youthful scholars. Later, we learned that

the children, though obliged to attend school by law, are not compelled to

attend Mass, but that, as a rule, they do so both by their own and their

parents’ desire. Nothing could be tidier than the little maidens’

appearance; their frocks clean, and their hair neatly plaited round their

heads, all according to the same pattern, probably as their mothers had

done before them; and so attentive and reverential were they, that

although we strangers knelt right behind them, not one ever turned to look

at us. Each had her prayer‐book, which she read attentively, and, besides,

her rosary wound round her hand when not in use, all in the same fashion

and of the same pattern. This small incident carried our thoughts back

swiftly to another land, recalling a sermon we had heard in London by the

Archbishop of Westminster, when, after speaking of the olden days of the

true faith in England, and the culpability of its first disturbers, he

made allowance for the “invincible ignorance” of the mass of its people

nowadays; “for,” exclaimed his grace, “who has there been since then to

teach the little maidens their rosary, and to bring them to our Lord and

his blessed Mother?” and we thanked God, as we beheld the Gersau children

making their genuflections with serious little countenances, that there is

still one nook at least left in this world where the demon of heresy and

unbelief has not penetrated, and where piety and reverence are, from

earliest childhood, taught to go hand‐in‐hand with modern life. At the

offertory of the Mass another peculiarity occurred. Suddenly, an elderly

woman rose, and, going forward, was followed by all the other women in the

church, who, in single file, advanced towards the altar, walked round it

by a passage at the back, laid an offering on the altar itself, and then

quietly returned to their places. The oldest man, on the other side, now

rose, and followed by all the men, in like manner proceeded through the

same ceremony, only varied by their passing round the altar from the

contrary side, and depositing, as did some of the women too, an offering

besides on a small table in front of the choir. It was weeks before I

could learn the origin of this custom, but then, opening by chance an old

history of Switzerland, I found this rule quoted from an ancient document,

which purported to regulate the relations between pastor and people some

centuries ago. There it was stated that the offering for the priest should

be laid on the altar itself, and that for the sacristan on a small table

outside—so steadily and closely do these conservative‐republicans still

keep, even in form, to the pattern of their ancestors.

The Mass being only one of commemoration and not of burial, the

congregation soon dispersed to their different avocations. In this way

tourists are so often deceived, when, coming in at a late hour, they find

foreign churches empty.

I remember a Protestant lady who had passed three winters in Rome once

asking me seriously if Catholics ever went to holy communion. I thought

her mind must be wandering, but discovered on enquiry that she had never

been inside a church, even in Rome, before eleven o’clock or later;

therefore, though many were hearing Mass, she had noticed none at holy

communion. It had never occurred to her that, contrary to her Protestant

custom, Masses were begun, and devout Catholics received holy communion in

those same churches, long before she probably was awake each morning. So

in the present instance, the congregation, consisting of working‐men and

women, might have been through half their daily occupations before any

traveller at Gersau thought of looking in at the church, “wondering at its

desolation!”

The sun was streaming in brightly through an open side‐door, inviting us

to depart by that exit. What a beautiful sight met us on the threshold!

The lake, placid and sunny, framed in by surrounding green slopes and

peaks, lay close in front, separated only by the public road to Brunnen

from a beautiful little cemetery belonging to the church. Here were a

crowd of pretty monuments, the majority I in stone, but some in white

marble, in excellent taste, bordered with flowers, or delicately twined

round with creeping roses and ivy. The children’s corner lay to the right,

and there an old woman was sprinkling holy water and arranging flowers on

some of the poorer graves, which lay between them and the handsome tombs

in the pathway from the church‐door to the road—a path that quite formed a

“via sacra” of Gersau notabilities. Judging from these, the population

would seem to consist of Camenzinds and Küttels. An occasional Müller

figured on a tombstone, but otherwise it might safely be assumed that what

was not Camenzind was Küttel—if not Küttel, Camenzind. The names, even if

only seen once, would have attracted notice—Camenzind, especially, had a

_non‐local_ sound, and we willingly jumped at the conclusion that it may

be one of those which, according to Herr H——’s theory, still exist in

these cantons, and are equally to be found in Swedish and Northern valleys

to this day. That they are the living autocrats of Gersau admits of little

doubt, for every house above the common run is certain on enquiry to prove

the property of this family. The manufactory, too, at the end of the

village belongs to them. A beautiful resting‐place they certainly have

between their church and the lake, which every Camenzind and Küttel must

have been looking upon from their tenderest years, for many centuries

past.

When our party met at breakfast, it was amusing to see what a complete

change the sun and general brightness had effected. All were equally bent

on retracing our steps at once, the railroad being the only drawback in

the foreground. The juniors would not consent to give that up on any

account, but the elders still hesitated, daunted by yesterday’s

recollections. Opportunely, a casual acquaintance proposed a solution that

conquered all difficulties. He suggested that the younger folk should take

the railway, and the timid, going on to the next steamboat

station—Weggis—get horses there, and thence ascend by road in the old‐

fashioned style. What we (for I was among the latter class) should lose in

“sensation” he asserted that we should gain in interest and

picturesqueness, and his plan, suiting all parties, was at once adopted.

Having an hour to spare before the steamer was due, we strolled through

the village. No wonder that Gersau has an individuality of its own, for it

is a rare specimen descended almost to our own day of those village

_communes_ Herr H—— had spoken to us of, which, taking advantage of the

debts and embarrassments of their feudal lords, had purchased exemption

from them early in the middle ages. Indeed, none of these small

communities retained their independence down to late times with the

exception of Gersau. “It was forgotten, hidden away in its beautiful

retreat,” say some; “steady, self‐respecting, and not quarrelsome,” say

others, with more likelihood of truth. At all events, the fact is

undeniable that it owned obedience to none but its own local authorities.

Tradition says, and the date is proudly recorded on the wall of the town‐

hall—a true peasant town‐hall, only one degree superior to the surrounding

houses—that the peasants of Gersau, having put aside their savings for

this purpose during ten years, bought their freedom from the Counts von

Moos, for the sum of 690 “Pfund pfenninge,” in 1390. Years before, in

1359, they had made a treaty with the four Forest Cantons, and were

acknowledged by them as confederates, which singular position this small

community retained until the French invasion of 1798, since which time

they have been incorporated with the Canton of Schwyz. The place is,

literally, nothing more than a large village, said to contain only 2,276

inhabitants, but, seen from the lake with the animation given to it by the

tourist life, and the manufactories of the Camenzinds along the shore, it

makes the effect of a much larger population and of a very thriving town.

Penetrating, however, as we did to the original background of houses, we

found them of quite another character. Swiss peasant dwellings, in

general, are more comfortable than those of almost any country, and so

capacious as to be thoroughly patriarchal, often sheltering numberless

children and grandchildren together under the one roof. These of Gersau

look like true family strongholds; as if they contained in themselves the

histories of many generations, and everything seemed so stationary, so

unmoved and immovable, that we could not help thinking of Hawthorne’s

description of an English country village, where he fancied he saw the

grandfathers and grandmothers marrying over and over again in their

descendants, so completely had the place and people a centenarian air

about them. Pretty it was, too, to see these picturesque homes extending

one above the other up the defile behind, amidst their orchards and fresh

green pasture‐grounds, headed by the Rigi‐Scheideck Hotel, which crowns

the summit and looks quite near, though it is not so in reality. The

intercourse between the two now gives Gersau much stirring importance,

but, as in the case of Weggis, the advance of “civilization” is likely to

prove of permanent injury to it. Next year a railroad, branching off from

Kaltbad, is to be finished along the brow to the Scheideck, when the

stream of tourists will of course flow in that direction. And perhaps

nowhere could there be more excuse for abandoning “picturesque old ways.”

Although it seemed a short ascent, and we saw a merry party starting from

the Pension Müller on horseback, intending to dine and sleep at the top,

we found on enquiry that it would take them at least two and a half hours

to reach the Scheideck, and between three and four hours for the

unfortunate carriers who followed soon after laden with the ladies’ huge

trunks. Nothing could be more painful than to see these men, some quite

old, staggering under the weight, and to know what a stiff climb awaited

them higher up. At present there is no road up the hill nor any other

means of transport, and the whole supplies for that large establishment at

the top have to be taken up by these carriers. It was fortunate for the

ladies’ happiness that they had started before their luggage, for the

sight would have completely spoiled the welcome one’s trunks always

receive on their arrival when you are tempted to part with them even for a

short time—tender‐hearted, as they certainly looked, the finery would

doubtless have been left to repose quietly beside the lake below.

The thunder‐storm of which we had heard so much at Vitznau committed even

greater mischief at Gersau this summer. Two small streams here unite, and

an unusual mass of water rolling down from the hillside that night,

increased them to a violent torrent, which broke down the strong

embankment, carrying all before it—sweeping two houses into the lake and

flooding the manufactory to the first floor. A poor woman and two children

were also drowned; in fine, the damage done was very great. There had not

been time for repairs when we visited it, and the broken walls and

scattered stones told their own tale. “Appeals,” too, were hung up on all

sides, but also many notices of “thanks” from the commune to every one who

had helped on the occasion, worded in the same touching style we had

noticed in the Lucerne papers—giving a most agreeable impression of the

natural simplicity and dignity of this small community. As we steamed away

back again round the Rigi‐Nase, the sun was resting on the pretty spot,

inhabited by the descendants of the original hard‐working peasants, and it

seemed as if the spirits of former Camenzinds, Küttels, and Müllers must

look down approvingly on their posterity, who are not yet ashamed to

profess their faith, nor unwilling to have their children still taught how

to unite liberty with religion, and thus preserve the two treasures

intact.

Certainly there is no magician like Apollo—and none who so well knows how

to make himself valued by occasional fits of absence. Under his influence,

Vitznau was to‐day another place, an ideal picture of the stir and

movement of modern life, combined with a tranquil beauty which we could

not have imagined, veiled in cloud and mist as it had been on the day

before. It already looked like an old friend, though only the acquaintance

of one day. There were the curious engines, showing themselves ready to

brave the dangers of the ascent; the pretty station with its fruit and

flower girls and photograph stall; the old church, and the two hotels,

looking bright and clean—all standing out in relief against the

precipitous cliff behind, and surrounded by luxuriant chestnut and walnut

trees, and patches of green, freshened up by the recent rain. Even the

Nase‐promontory was clothed with timber down to the shore, and the water

reflecting the trees was only of another lighter shade, that beautiful

transparent green which is now known as “Eau de Nil.” One felt too that

the picture could never be much spoiled, there being no space for ugly

buildings, or the factory life which, although it tells of employment with

its own peculiar charms, rather mars the picturesque beauty of the

landscape at Gersau. Moreover, the brightness was enhanced by the national

flag of Switzerland floating over the hotel, looking more red and striking

then ever against the green background. Yes! striking is the true word for

it, not showy—nor flaunting its importance like the tricolor and many

another particolored standard of our own days, but solemn and yet

attractive, one quite impossible not to notice wherever or however seen.

It had always suggested some history to my mind, with its white cross on

the red ground, which could not have been adopted without a purpose, but

since yesterday it had acquired a new and deep interest, for one of the

pamphlets Herr H—— had bestowed on me in Lucerne treated of nothing but

this same flag. It was a sermon preached before the “Pius‐Verein” or “Pius

Union” of Switzerland, at the general meeting, which took place at

Einsiedlen in the summer of 1872, entitled the “Wappenschild” or “coat‐of‐

arms” of the Swiss “Pius Union.” During the rain of yesterday I had read

it through, and most interesting it was to note the very characteristics

he had foretold that we should observe pervading all sermons in these

parts: the constant allusions to their beautiful nature and uninterrupted

reference to their past history.

It commenced by recording how the “Pius‐Verein” had been founded in 1854

by some devout Catholics who could not stand by quietly noticing the evil

tendencies of the age without protesting, and who had, in consequence,

“assembled on the shore of the tranquil lake of the Forest Cantons, where

500 years previously their forefathers had met together in order to shake

off the hated yoke of the Austrian governors and imperial Vogts.” It then

proceeded in most eloquent language to give the reasons why, amongst a

variety of flags, none could be found which corresponded so completely to

the sentiments of the associates as the national standard of

Switzerland—the white cross on the red ground.

“The white cross had originally been chosen,” said the preacher, “as being

the emblem of purity and innocence,” and the honesty, uprightness, and

union of their ancestors in that distant age were forcibly dwelt upon for

the imitation of their descendants, whilst he drew a lamentable picture of

the divisions and ineffective schemes of the present day. The second part

explained that these ancestors had placed this white cross on a red

field—first, because red, being the color of blood, was the symbol of

bravery, and was justly claimed by those same ancestors, who had made

Swiss courage a proverb, and who had so often shed their hearts’ blood in

defence of liberty and of their faith; for through Christian liberty alone

could civil liberty be attained. New “Vogts” or “governors,” continued the

preacher, “threaten our land nowadays, but let us manfully resist, and

conquer them. The Lardenberg(127) of avarice which formerly seized the

oxen of a poor man, and put his eyes out, to‐day tries to blind the poor

by a godless press and scandalous literature, robbing them of their most

precious possessions—of their churches, convents, priests, and schools.

Let us fight against this vice in ourselves, in our families and our

communes. Sundays and holidays displease them, and instead of church‐

services and hymns they wish to hear of nothing but labor on these days.

Let us then be more strict than ever in the sanctification of the Sunday,

and give our enemies the example of disinterested love and charity! The

‘Wolfenschiess’ of sensuality and self‐indulgence is more likely to bring

our beloved land under the slavery of Satan now than 500 years ago—a

worthy undertaking, therefore, for the ‘Pius‐Verein’ would be the

establishment of temperance societies.... And let us courageously fight

the third ‘Landvogt’—the Gessler of luxury, wealth, and despotism....

Commerce and industry are the sources of public prosperity, but let not

the golden calf of gain become the god of our XIXth century. Let not our

factories become modern _Zwinglius_, nor their proprietors force others to

bend the knee to the _hat_ of self‐interest, nor to offer up the sacrifice

of their freedom and liberty of speech. The red field with its white cross

will remind us in all this of our forefathers’ example.

“_Red_, too, is the color of fire, and symbolizes love of country. It

reminds us of the fifty men of Schwyz, who decided the fate of that first

fight for freedom, the great battle of Morgarten—of the love of fatherland

shown by an Arnold von Winkelried, an Adrian von Bubenberg, a Nicholas von

der Flue, and the many thousand others who left wife, children, trades,

and home, to seek the death of heroes for love of country. Compare their

conduct with the boastful toasts of the present day, and see the

difference between deeds and words. They reproach us only because we do

not boast with these boasters, and that we seek to give our ‘Union’ a

religious character.... But history will judge us differently! Let us on

our side show love and charity to all; to those also who differ from us in

belief; love our confederates as fellow‐Christians; maintain every bond of

union—and in this the red ground of the white cross may be the sign of

fraternal love and harmony.”

Lastly, the preacher showed how “red typifies the aurora or the dawn of

day,” alluding to the “battle near Murten, where, after a short prayer

recited by the combatants, the sun broke through the heavy bank of clouds,

lighting up the horizon in brilliant colors, and their leader, Hans von

Hallwyl, exclaimed, Up, confederates, and forward, for God lights us to

victory!—a prophecy which proved perfectly true. A firm trust and reliance

on the Lord gave soul, courage, and strength to our ancestors, and never

were they deceived. God has preserved our fatherland in a marvellous

manner, and why should we despair? Great should be our hopes of a better

future.... For every reason, then, ought we to choose the white cross on

the red field as the flag of our Pius‐Verein. Let us show to our Lord and

to the world that we seek nothing for ourselves, but, treading in the

footsteps of our forefathers, only strive for the welfare of our

fatherland.... God will be with us! and we shall have the intercession of

the Blessed Virgin Mary, and of the patrons of our Union, S. Charles

Borromeo and Nicholas von der Flue.... Let us hold firm to our glorious

faith, and then, when the sign of the Son of God—our Holy cross, our

‘coat‐of‐arms’—shall appear amidst the clouds, may it lead us in triumph

on that dreadful day into the eternal fatherland of heaven!”

Fresh from the impression of these eloquent words, it was impossible not

to look on this beautiful flag to‐day with increasing admiration, nay

affection. But my reveries were cut short by the young C——s, whose

approaching railway ascent caused them intense excitement. George C——, the

son, especially, became full of animation when he undertook to procure the

tickets for his sisters at the office. Stationing himself close to the

gangway, he bade them follow at their leisure, as he would jump on shore

and put his experience of yesterday’s many long hours to profit.

Accordingly, the instant the steamer came alongside the quay, he got ahead

of all the other passengers, and giving one bound to the office, proudly

flourished his tickets for the first carriage to us who remained on board,

long before the untaught crowd thought of moving. A few who knew better,

like himself, made a rush too, and one old man tripped and fell, whilst

another leaped over him, without allowing himself time to help his

companion—so selfish does excitement and locomotion make all ages and

ranks! We likewise moved on, and so rapidly, that there was barely time to

see the start of the first train containing our young friends, who were

waving handkerchiefs to us, as their carriage seemed to creep above the

church‐tower up the mountain, or to note the fruitful garden‐land

stretching along the shore with the precipitous wall of rock above,

extending the whole length of this side of the Rigi, when in a few minutes

we reached our landing‐place at Weggis, and found ourselves sitting in the

garden of the “Golden Lion.”

Odd Stories. VII. The Philosophers Of The Dragon’s Bower.

In the reign of King, and in the Dragon’s Bower of the beautiful tea‐

garden of the statesman Kung, had assembled the philosophers Tung, Bang,

Sing, Lung, Wing, Hang, with the rich mandarins Bo and Sho. Sipping that

exquisite beverage which, as yielded by a choice herb grown only in the

flower‐sprinkled garden of Kung, has imparted to the Hi‐Tea philosophy the

peculiar intellectual flavor which distinguishes it from the Lo‐Tea

doctrine, they discussed the problems of existence. Only a vague, brief

record has been preserved of that eventful meeting, so well called by Yung

Sing, the poet, “the shock of minds,” and which, it was long maintained by

the Hi‐Tea school, had solved the mysteries of preordained genesis and

circumstantial fixture. The dialogue turned upon that profound saying of

the old man of Chow, the wise Lautze—“The Tau which can be tau‐ed is not

the eternal Tau.” Vainly having sought in his own poor wit the meaning of

this sublime sentence, the mandarin Sho begged the six sages, in the grace

of their princely hearts, and with the light of their shining minds, to

make it clear to his benighted intelligence.

_Tung_: Tau is the unbounded entity.

_Bang_: Thunder without sound.

_Sing_: Unsung music of all things.

_Lung_: Breath of life without life.

_Hang_: Justice of accidents.

_Wing_: Eternal entity of non‐entity.

“In short,” added Tung, “the supreme principle Tau is the uncircumscribed

limit of universes; the order of disorder; the contradiction which

reconciles; the peace into which all storms subside; the mother and father

of action; the source of the unworshipped unworshipping worship, and of

power beyond dominion.”

The mandarin Sho acknowledged this to be a grand definition of Tau; but,

being a collector of the imperial revenues, prayed to be informed of the

use and value of Tau in the practical administration of the affairs of

men; for to save his worthless life he could not see (begging the favor of

the assembled wisdom) how Tau was of any use whatever. “It’s of no use,”

said Wing; “and there’s the beauty of it.”

“Then what is the use of mentioning it?” tartly added Hang, a devoted

admirer of the Tau theory. At this arose an admirable wrangle over the

question of use and beauty, in that happy style of wit which only the

great Hi‐Tea school of wisdom could boast. Its upshot was that matter

resolved itself into the final irresponsibility of all things.

“But woe to that mortal,” said Tung, “who carries not about him the

talisman of wisdom which imparts to everything its infinite magic, and

who, groaning in the prison‐house of the senses, sees not the eternal day‐

beam in all things. With eyes he sees not; with life he lives not. He hath

the six becloudings of Kungfootse.”

“The wise man,” said Bang, “fears no fate. Torrents, tempests,

earthquakes, are but blustering fictions; nothing is true but his courage.

Fixed in his will, his condition is victory; and if he falls, he finds in

the elements his kindred, and in nature his home.”

Here the countenance of the philosopher Tung was observed to change from

yellow to pale green, with signs of great agony caused by unknown interior

workings; for, it was afterward told, his morning repast had been poisoned

by an ignorant cook and a bad doctor. Lost in their thoughts, the sages

heeded not his groans.

“Always should the sage rejoice,” said Sing. “His spirit should take part

in the feast of events, the sublime comedy of life. Does fortune desert

him? Let him be glad that it seeks another. Is his friend dead? Let him be

glad that he is gone to joy. In every event we can as easily discover

reason for cheer as for despair.”

Ere Sing had finished speaking, an ornamented tile from the roof of the

Dragon’s Bower, loosened by one of those disturbances of the earth not

unknown to the learned men of the East, fell upon the bare head of the

philosopher Bang, who, after experience of a severe fright, was borne away

helpless from the scene. Wing smiled, Sing laughed, and a perceptible

scorn was on the lips of Hang.

Thus said Lung, he who had been called the gaunt thinker: “What think you?

Is there anything better than life, friends? Here we live, responsible

neither to be nor to do nor to die; life and fate stand pledged for us. Do

we fall out of the charmed circle? We are caught up into another. Do we

die? Then we live again; or, if we do not,” continued Lung, gasping, “so

much the better. What so excellent as life; what so merciful as death?”

Here a painful fit of coughing compelled the philosopher to pause.

But what now most drew the attention of the company was the entrance of

the statesman Kung, who, in a voice of dignified emotion, informed the

wise Sing that his brother had been suddenly seized and decapitated on a

charge of conspiracy, and all his immense fortune confiscated to the

state, save a portion awarded to his betrayer. Pangs and groans shook the

bosom of the sage, as he left the tea‐table; for his brother’s bounty had

been the mainstay of his life.

“O friends!” cried Kung, “the law is inexorable; it kills its child and

devours its mother, and swallows the substance of its benefactors; but the

state reigns and the king lives, and the land is happy. Praised be the

king!”

“Praised be justice!” echoed Hang, who had counselled the astute Kung in

the preparation of his criminal code. “Justice reigns in King, and acts

through Kung. What is nature but justice, and what are her thousand‐fold

accidents but executioners? Every man gravitates to his fate, and every

fate is a judgment. The king makes death: he can do no wrong; let no man

mourn.” Long after the piercing mind of Hang had perished under the

terrors of that great instrument which his genius invented for the reform

of mankind; long after the astute Kung had yielded up his life to the

demands of state (for he had put to death by mistake the favorite dog of

his imperial master), these sentences, which seem to tear to pieces the

leading tenet of the Lo‐Tea doctrines as the dragon tears the bull, were

remembered in the realm of King.

Spake at last that strange sage whose eyes are as starlight to the

darkness of common minds, and whose vision seeks the abode of Tau. “Since

we but dream we live,” said Wing, “let us live to dream well. In reason

are the pillars of our temple; in imagination is its worship. Happy are ye

who, out of the toils of vain science and hard action, take rest in the

bower of fancy, the pavilion of dreams, the garden of poetry, or roam the

royal hunting‐grounds of imagination to capture logic in the chase of

pleasure, and find wisdom by seeking delight. Thrice fortunate ye,”

continued the star‐eyed Wing, taking another whiff from his pipe of opium,

“who, when the caprices of power have driven you from doctrine, can

retreat upon your dreams. Life is a fiction; let us dream that it is the

truth.” Such was the curious doctrine of that wonderful man, whose visions

of demons and the powers of the air have so often filled the imperial

stage, and who died in the frenzy of his powerful mind.

The refined mandarin Bo—he who, for his reticence, had been entrusted with

so many affairs of state—heard all these words of the learned, and spoke

not. “All men and things,” he said to himself, “serve him who listens, and

resist him who talks. Shrewd is he who gains without giving.” Immersed in

these thoughts, the silent mandarin could only nod his head to a remark of

the mandarin Sho, that life was a business of profit and loss, and the

best speculations were always practical. What man can foretell his fate?

The frank and candid Sho, whose manners concealed his purpose, lost his

head for speculating with the king’s money. The secret Bo, through his

love of silence, forgot to send his kinsman Bang a physician who would

have saved his life, and so was disinherited, and died a beggar.

The thinkers of Lo‐Tea, having taken the measure of these and other events

subsequent to the great dialogue of the Dragon’s Bower, could not avoid

the boast that their humble philosophy was better than a proud one;

whereupon the infuriated statesman Kung sent a number of them into exile.

When the old philosopher of Chow heard of these sayings and doings, he

murmured: “Half‐truths are contradicted, whole truths are verified. There

is no courage without right fear; no good silence without true speech; no

aspiration without reverence; no dignity without humility; no good without

affection; and philosophy has no room for a cold heart and a vain mind.

But life is not contradicted, though lives are slain. Tau reigns.”

O sages! how by thinking shall ye add a foot to your stature? And how

shall it avail ye when a brick, as it were, dropped down by a tornado

centre‐wise, so to speak, on a shaven head, shall fracture your systems of

philosophy? What withstands the accidents of fate save the divine Truth,

which is no accident?

New Publications.

LIFE AND DOCTRINE OF S. CATHERINE OF GENOA. Translated from the

Italian. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1874. 1 vol.

12mo, pp. 418.

The Catherines are a wonderful group among the female saints. The one of

Genoa was a married lady, and this circumstance will undoubtedly make her

_Life_ doubly interesting to those who are in the same condition, and

sometimes are tempted to envy those who live in the cloister. The

remarkable _Life_ of this saint, accompanied by her _Spiritual Dialogues_,

now first published in English, will have an additional interest, in the

eyes of all its readers, on account of the introduction by F. Hecker,

which is dated Annecy, Oct. 7, 1873. The translation was made several

years ago, and left, in the state of a rough draught, by a lady well known

for her high culture and virtues—the late Mrs. Ripley. It has been lately

revised with care, and made as accurate as possible.

The work itself has long been very famous, and ranks next to the writings

of S. Teresa among the spiritual treatises of female authors. Its

spirituality is of a very high order, suited for those who, either from

necessity or by their own free choice, are trying to climb the rugged

heights of Mount Carmel.

THE CHRISTIAN CEMETERY IN THE XIXTH CENTURY; or, The Last War‐cry

of the Communists. By Mgr. Gaume. Translated by the Rev. R.

Brennan, A.M., with a preface by the Very Rev. T. S. Preston, V.G.

New York: Benziger Bros. 1874.

Mgr. Gaume attacks, with his usual trenchant vigor and sarcasm, in this

volume, the horrible travesty of funeral obsequies which atheists are wont

to perpetrate at the burial of what they regard as mere clods of earth,

the carcases of dead animals. These enemies of the human race are not

content with the enjoyment of the civil right to live and die like beasts

themselves, but they must needs attempt to desecrate the cemeteries of

Christians, and to interfere with their right to live and die, and be

buried like rational and immortal beings who expect a resurrection from

the dead. It is highly important that the eyes of all men who have any

glimmering of reason and religious belief left should be opened to the

loathsome wickedness and brutality of the sect of atheists and communists

who are everywhere conspiring for the destruction of society and the human

race. This book will serve as an eye‐opener to all who read it

attentively. We trust it will also act as an antidote to the heathenish

and revolting notions respecting the burning of the bodies of the dead

which have of late been so offensively presented in many newspapers.

The book has been well translated and neatly printed. We cannot, however,

admire the grave‐yard view on the cover, which reminds us of the car‐doors

on the Camden and Amboy Railway, with a grave‐stone and a weeping‐willow.

LIFE OF S. THOMAS OF VILLANOVA; with an Introduction by F.

Middleton, O.S.A. Philadelphia: P. F. Cunningham & Son. 1874.

This is a reprint of one of the Oratorian Series, and gives a sufficiently

good biography of the great Archbishop of Valentia, which is better

translated than most of its companion volumes. The introduction is quite a

learned and eloquently‐written paper, chiefly valuable on account of its

information respecting learned and able members of the Augustinian Order

who were champions of the faith against the modern heresies.

ON SOME POPULAR ERRORS CONCERNING POLITICS AND RELIGION. By the

Right Hon. Lord Robert Montagu, M.P. London: Burns & Oates. 1874.

(For sale by The Catholic Publication Society.)

The popular errors attacked and refuted in this collection of essays are

such as relate to political ethics, the mutual bearings of religion and

law, church and state, civil marriage, education—in a word, they are the

errors of the party of revolution, the so‐called principles of 1789. Lord

Robert Montagu has made a work by F. Franco, S.J., the basis of his own,

which is neither, strictly speaking, original, nor yet a translation or

compendium of F. Franco’s work. The Protestant and secular papers are just

now peculiarly inquisitive about the doctrines of sound and instructed

Catholics on these mixed questions. It is not very easy to satisfy them by

mere newspaper and magazine articles written in haste and under the

pressure of editorial labors. Here is a book where they may find the

information they are in quest of, and where Catholics also may gain much

instruction. We have no reason to wish to withhold the full, clear, and

unreserved statement of our Catholic doctrines on any subject from our

non‐Catholic fellow‐citizens. The great difficulty lies in the universal

confusion of ideas on these subjects, and the general want of willingness

to inquire and discuss thoroughly and fairly. The European Catholic press

is fairly teeming with books and articles of the most consummate ability

on these burning questions of the day, and we welcome every effort made by

those who write in English to place these products of sound learning and

thought before our own reading public. This book is an effort of that

kind, and we hope it will be read by a great number of both Catholics and

non‐Catholics who wish to inform themselves about the true issues between

the church on one side, Cæsarism and revolution on the other.

This is the first volume of “S. Joseph’s Theological Library” Series,

edited by the Fathers of the Society of Jesus, and is to be followed by

several others.

THE SACRED ANTHOLOGY. A Book of Ethnical Scriptures Collected and

Edited by Moncure Daniel Conway. New York: Henry Holt & Co. 1874.

As a specimen of the typographical art, this book is superb. The literary

taste and skill exhibited in its preparation are also of a high order. Its

contents are, moreover, specimens of the productions of genius and wisdom

gathered from all time and all cultivated nations, including many passages

from the inspired writings. So far, the book is one which may be valuable

to one who knows how to use it, and is competent to discriminate between

the truth and the error which it contains. Nevertheless, the intention of

the author and the real scope of the volume are radically anti‐Christian

and anti‐theistic. The very idea of presenting a conglomeration of the

Divine Scriptures and of the sacred writings, legends, and philosophical

works of heathens, is to place all religions on a common level. In the

index the author, with the pert assumption of a neological sciolist, takes

care to assert as a fact the want of genuineness and authenticity of a

great part of the books of the Bible. As a mere opinion, this is in

defiance of sound criticism, and has been often exploded. To put forward

such an opinion, in defiance of the learning of the whole Christian world,

as something certain and unquestionable, is simple impudence, and is as

unscientific as it is irreligious. In the extracts on theism the author

has adroitly given the whole a pantheistic issue.

The ignorant, the unwary, and those who wish to escape from the sense of

responsibility to God may be deceived by this kind of art. But really, and

in the view of a true and comprehensive science, all that can be gathered

from false religions and imperfect philosophies, both in those things

which resemble, and those which are partly or wholly dissimilar to, the

divine philosophy of revelation and Christian theology, confirms and

proves the divine truth of the Old and New Testaments and the concurrent

religious tradition of the church of God from the creation of man.

Proudhon was right when he said that a man who is logical must be an

atheist or an ultramontane. Whoever stands by what is positive, and is

ready to follow it to its consequences, belongs logically to the Catholic

side. Whoever takes the negative belongs with atheists and materialists.

One sad and startling proof that the great mass of those who reject the

Catholic Church, and yet are not ready to renounce the name of Christian,

are sliding downward, is the multiplication of books like this one, and

much worse than this, published by our principal firms, and everywhere

advertised along with works professedly Christian and pious. We suppose

that most of these gentlemen profess to be Christians. Where is their

conscience, then, when, for the sake of money, they disseminate the works

of Renan, Strauss, Büchner, and other infidels and atheists, which are

sapping the foundations of religion and morality, and poisoning the public

mind? Where is the public conscience which tolerates this? And why do not

the Protestant periodicals, newspapers, synods and conventions, pulpits

and lecturing rostrums, resound with a cry of alarm, warning and

denunciation? Have they lost all interest and all courage in the matter,

or are they going over to the enemy?

DIALOGUES OF ST. GREGORY. London: Burns & Oates. 1874. (For sale

by The Catholic Publication Society.)

Gregory the Great is illustrious among the popes, and even among the

doctors of the church, for his genius. There is an exquisite flavor in his

writings which is peculiar to them. Edited and published with the utmost

care and the most perfect literary taste, like all the books of this

series, this volume adds one more gem to the treasury of English Catholic

literature which is now so rapidly filling up. The publication of entire

works of the fathers presents the evidences of the Catholic religion in

the most convincing form, and is therefore a way of propagating the faith

in some respects superior to the ordinary method of controversy. It is

also most valuable for Catholics as a means of increasing and deepening

their knowledge of our holy faith. It is to be hoped that a taste for

books of this description will become more general among reading

Catholics, and that all who have the means of doing so will in every way

promote their general circulation.

TIGRANES: A TALE OF THE DAYS OF JULIAN THE APOSTATE. Translated

from the Italian of F. John Joseph Franco, S.J. Philadelphia: P.

F. Cunningham & Son. 1874.

This historical romance, which is not literally translated, but condensed

and abridged—judiciously, we think, for it is plenty long enough as it

is—is much superior to the most of similar works of fiction founded on

early Christian history. It is full of information which only a learned

man could give with accuracy, and the events it describes are of thrilling

interest. The _Messenger of the Sacred Heart_, from whose pages the

translation is reprinted, we have already had occasion to say, is as

distinguished for its literary excellence as it is for its edifying piety.

We hope to see much more frequent and more important contributions to

sacred literature in future from the learned and accomplished group of

professors at the Woodstock College.

THE CATHOLIC CHURCH IN ITS RELATIONS TO HUMAN PROGRESS. A Lecture

by the Rev. J. J. Moriarty, A.M., Chatham Village, N. Y. Albany:

Van Benthuysen.

This pamphlet, which has as neat an appearance as if it had been printed

in London or Boston, is a good specimen of a well‐written popular lecture,

of just the sort to please and instruct an ordinary audience. Our familiar

friend, the New Zealander, who is an indefatigable traveller, and whom we

last saw in a French costume in the columns of a Paris newspaper, turns up

again in the lecture. Lord Macaulay would have been astonished, when he

drew the picture of this venerable personage sitting on a broken arch of

London bridge, if he could have foreseen how many would make use of it to

adorn their discourse. We can say nothing, however, to F. Moriarty, which

does not recoil upon ourselves; for have we not done the same thing?

CATHOLICS AND ROMAN CATHOLICS. By an Old Catholic (Bishop Coxe).

Buffalo: Martin Taylor.

This reply to Dr. Ryan’s pamphlet seems to have elated the spirits of our

Episcopalian friends no little. It is receiving due attention at present

in the columns of the Catholic paper at Buffalo, and no doubt the articles

published in that paper will appear in a pamphlet form when they are

completed. Etiquette will not allow us to interfere in this controversy

until the principals have done with it. If anything is left for us to say

after that, we may pay our respects to Dr. Coxe in this magazine.

THE BALTIMORE GUN CLUB. From the French of Jules Verne. Freely

translated by Edward Roth. Philadelphia: King & Baird, Publishers,

607 Sansom St.

It is a daring attempt to improve on Jules Verne, but Mr. Roth has, on the

whole, been successful in making his celebrated story of the great

Columbiad and the shot fired from Florida to the moon even more American

and more interesting to Americans than before. _De la Terre à la Lune_ has

been translated previously, but Mr. Roth has introduced some little points

of his own, and local traits which it would have been almost impossible

for a foreigner to seize.

THEOLOGIA MORALIS NOVISSIMI ECCLESIÆ DOCTORIS S. ALPHONSI, IN

COMPENDIUM REDACTA, ET USUI VENERABILIS CLERI AMERICANI

ACCOMMODATA. Auctore A. Konings, C.SS.R. Pars Prima. Bostoniæ:

Typis Patricii Donahoe. 1874.

This is the first instalment of what promises to be a valuable work, and

one which has been much needed. The treatises on moral theology hitherto

in use in this country are, with the exception of Archbishop Kenrick’s,

which is not in a very convenient form for a text‐book, of European

origin, and are unsatisfactory in America both by excess and defect. In

this first part of F. Koning’s work, containing the treatises, “De Actibus

Humanis, de Conscientia, de Legibus, de Peccatis, de Virtutibus,” there is

not, of course, so much opportunity for the introduction of matter

peculiar to this country as in those which will follow. The objection may

be made to the book that the various opinions of theologians are not

always given on controverted points; but this is unavoidable in a treatise

merely intended as an exponent of S. Alphonsus. The system advocated is

that of equiprobabilism.

CHILDREN OF MARY. Baltimore: Kelly, Piet & Co.

Seven simple and interesting biographies of young pupils of the Maison des

Oiseaux, Paris. The book is nicely bound and suited for a premium.

TWELVE TALES FOR THE YOUNG. London: Burns & Oates. (For sale by

The Catholic Publication Society.)

This is the second volume of Mrs. Parsons’s “Twelve Tales for the Young,”

the first volume having appeared several years ago. They are what the

title indicates, and we may add are very good and instructive.

SILVIA, AND OTHER DRAMAS. By a Sister of Charity. New York: P. M.

Haverty.

The plays performed by the young ladies in our convent schools are often

very pretty and entertaining spectacles to those who can appreciate the

charm of innocence and simplicity. Of course there is a great demand for

dramas which are suitable for such occasions, and the supply is not always

easy. It is a great flavor to those concerned in preparing these plays

when the managers of the convent theatres publish some good dramas. Those

before us are from Mt. St. Vincent. The author has shown a great deal of

judgment and good taste, and no little dramatic and poetic talent. The

publisher has brought them out in a pretty dress. They will do well for

private family theatricals, as well as for schools, and make also a nice

little volume for a present.

THE LETTER‐BOOKS OF SIR AMIAS POULET, KEEPER OF MARY, QUEEN OF

SCOTS. Edited by John Morris, Priest of the Society of Jesus.

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

Society).

The heart of our late friend, Mr. Meline, would have leapt up at sight of

this book, and his pen would have given our pages another racy article,

had it appeared while he was still in this mortal coil. The letters in

this collection are many of them newly discovered and now first published.

They throw new light on the villainy of Walsingham, and thus really add

something to the already numerous documents in the Marian controversy.

SCHOOL HYGIENE. By Dr. R. J. O’Sullivan. New York: D. Appleton &

Co.

Dr. O’Sullivan’s pamphlet is a paper which all persons having the

oversight of schools will find worthy to be carefully read and preserved.

BRIC‐A‐BRAC SERIES—PERSONAL REMINISCENCES. By Chorley, Planché,

and Young. Edited by Richard Henry Stoddard. New York: Scribner,

Armstrong & Co. 1874.

An agreeable volume of chat, gossip, and anecdote about many well‐known

persons, with other miscellaneous bric‐a‐brac, very well printed, and

having an uncommonly pretty binding. In this last department of art the

recent efforts of publishers are enough to fill one with astonishment; but

success is rare, unless they may be regarded as attempts to illustrate the

metaphysical definition of _ens rationis_. Something really pretty is

therefore always doubly welcome.

THE CATHOLIC WORLD. VOL. XIX., NO. 113.—AUGUST, 1874.

Matter.

Much as has been written on matter by ancient and modern philosophers, the

last word about its constitution has not yet been said. The old school of

metaphysicians, in spite of its high intellectual attainments, could not

unravel this perplexing subject, because it had not a sufficient knowledge

of natural facts. The modern scientist, on the other hand, in spite of his

vast knowledge of facts, can never reach the ultimate consequences implied

in them, because he is too little acquainted with the old principles of

philosophical speculation. For, as all the questions connected with the

constitution of matter are of a metaphysical character, purely

experimental science cannot answer them; it can only supply materials to

the philosopher for their solution. In the study of natural philosophy

observation picks up the spontaneous revelations of nature, experiment

verifies and controls the results of observation by compelling nature to

act under definite conditions, and speculation discovers the relations

intervening between effects and effects, as also between effects and

causes, thus paving the way to the determination of the nature of causes

from the nature of their effects.

We are of opinion that the scientific materials gathered from observation

and experiment since the discovery of universal attraction are quite

sufficient for the purpose of determining the constitution of matter; and

we presume that, under the guidance of positive science, we may safely

engage in a full philosophical investigation of this interesting subject.

We are not ignorant that the treatment of this great question has always

presented, and still presents, many difficulties and dangers, against

which proper precautions are to be taken. Sometimes the phenomena on which

our reasonings must be based are so complex that it might be doubted

whether they reveal more than they mask the truths which we aspire to

discover. Again, we are very easily misled by the outward appearance of

things, and blinded in a measure by deep‐rooted prejudices of our infancy,

which, besides being shared by all classes of persons, have in their favor

the almost irrefragable sanction of the popular language. Moreover, many

conflicting hypotheses have been advanced by philosophers of different

schools in their attempt at solving the questions concerning the nature of

material things; and thus the subject of our discussion comes before us

with an accompaniment of many elaborate theories, old and new, which it

becomes our duty to subject to a careful criticism, lest they overcloud

the intellect and obstruct our vision of truth. Fortunately, however, as

we shall see in the sequel, only three of those theories can be considered

to have a real claim to the attention of the modern philosopher, and each

of them, by proper management, can be made to yield a fair portion of

truth.

We propose to commence with the consideration of those natural facts from

which the true nature and the essential constitution of material substance

can be most easily ascertained. We shall then determine accurately the

essence of matter, examine its constituents in particular, and point out

their necessary relations, according to the scholastic method. And,

lastly, we shall inquire what, in the light of modern science, must be the

philosophical theory of the generation and corruption of material

compounds.

I.

Existence of matter.

The first foundation of what we shall say hereafter is that matter, or

material substance, really exists. By “matter” we mean a being which is

the proper subject of local motion, or _Ens mobile_, as the ancient

philosophers define it. Hence, if there is local motion, there is matter.

And since local motion is undeniable, the existence of matter is equally

undeniable.

It is all very well for the idealist to say that we perceive nothing but

phenomena. Local movement, of course, is only a phenomenon; but evidently

such a phenomenon would be impossible, if nothing existed which could

receive local motion. But that which can receive local motion we call

matter. And therefore what we call matter is something real in the world.

Origin of matter.

Democritus, Epicurus, and other pagan philosophers taught that matter is

eternal and uncreated. This old error has been utterly dispelled by the

light of Christian philosophy; yet it has been lately revived, and is

studiously propagated in our own days by a set of infidel scribblers, who

pretend, in the name of science, to do away with what they call the

obsolete notion of a Creator. It may therefore be useful to say here a few

words about the contingency and the creation of matter. We have already

shown, in an article on the extrinsic principles of being,(128) that the

changeableness of a thing is a sufficient proof of its coming out of

nothing, inasmuch as nothingness is the true extrinsic principle of

passivity and potentiality. As matter is evidently passive and potential,

it directly follows that matter has come out of nothing.

But since unbelievers are not philosophers, though they call themselves

so, and may not be able to realize the value of an argument based on

metaphysical grounds, and since we hear them repeat without end that

science—their degraded science—has done away with the old dream of

creation, we deem it expedient to appeal to science itself, and bring

forward from it a clear proof of the fact of creation. This proof is to be

found in the very constitution of the primitive molecules of bodies, as

Prof. Clerk‐Maxwell has recently shown in a very remarkable lecture on

molecules.(129) His scientific argument is contained in the following

passage:

“The molecule, though indestructible, is not a hard, rigid body, but is

capable of internal movements, and, when these are excited, it emits rays,

the wave‐length of which is a measure for the time of vibration of a

molecule. By means of the spectroscope the wave‐length of different kinds

of light may be compared to within one ten‐thousandth part. In this way it

has been ascertained not only that molecules taken from every specimen of

hydrogen in our laboratories have the same set of periods of vibration,

but that light having the same set of periods of vibration is emitted from

the sun and from the fixed stars. We are thus assured that molecules of

the same nature as those of our hydrogen exist in those distant regions,

or at least did exist when the light by which we see them was emitted....

Light, which is to us the sole evidence of the existence of these distant

worlds, tells us also that each of them is built of molecules of the same

kind as those which we find on earth. A molecule of hydrogen, for example,

whether in Sirius or Arcturus, executes its vibrations in precisely the

same time. Each molecule, therefore, throughout the universe, bears

impressed on it the stamp of a metric system as distinctly as does the

metre of the Archives of Paris or the double royal cubit of the temple of

Karnac. No theory of evolution can be formed to account for the similarity

of molecules; for evolution necessarily implies continuous change, and the

molecule is incapable of growth or decay, of generation or destruction.

None of the processes of nature, since the time when nature began, have

produced the slightest difference in the properties of any molecule. We

are therefore unable to ascribe either the existence of the molecules or

the identity of their properties to the operation of any of the causes

which we call natural. On the other hand, the exact equality of each

molecule to all others of the same kind gives it, as Sir John Herschel has

well said, the essential character of a manufactured article, and

precludes the idea of its being eternal and self‐existent. Thus we have

been led, along a strictly scientific path, very near to the point at

which science must stop. Not that science is debarred from studying the

internal mechanism of a molecule which she cannot take to pieces, any more

than from investigating an organism which she cannot put together. But in

tracing back the history of matter science is arrested when she assures

herself, on the one hand, that the molecule has been made, and, on the

other, that it has not been made by any of the processes we call natural.

Science is incompetent to reason upon the creation of matter itself out of

nothing.(130) We have reached the utmost limit of our thinking faculties

when we have admitted that, because matter cannot be eternal and self‐

existent, it must have been created. That matter, as such, should have

certain fundamental properties, that it should exist in space and be

capable of motion, that its motion should be persistent, and so on, are

truths which may, for anything we know, be of the kind which

metaphysicians call necessary. We may use our knowledge of such truths for

purposes of deduction, but we have no data for speculating as to their

origin. But that there should be exactly so much matter and no more in

every molecule of hydrogen is a fact of a very different order.... Natural

causes, as we know, are at work, which tend to modify, if they do not at

length destroy, all the arrangements and dimensions of the earth, and of

the whole solar system. But though, in the course of ages, catastrophes

have occurred, and may yet occur, in the heavens; though ancient systems

may be dissolved, and new systems evolved out of their ruins, the

molecules out of which those systems are built, the foundation‐stones of

the material universe, remain unbroken and unworn. They continue to this

day as they were created, perfect in number and measure and weight, and

from the ineffaceable characters impressed on them we may learn that those

aspirations after accuracy in measurement, truth in statement, and justice

in action, which we reckon among our noblest attributes as men, are ours

because they are essential constituents of the image of Him who, in the

beginning, created not only the heaven and the earth, but the materials of

which heaven and earth consist.”

Such is the verdict of true science as interpreted by the eminent English

mathematician and natural philosopher. The whole is so instructive and

interesting that we think we have no need of apologizing for the length of

the quotation.

Essential properties of matter.

The constituents of things are revealed to us by their properties. For, as

every being acts according as it is in act, and suffers according as it is

in potency, from the activity and the passivity with which a being is

endowed we can easily find out the special nature of the act and of the

potency which constitute its metaphysical essence. Hence, if we wish to

ascertain the essential constitution of material substance, we must first

ascertain and thoroughly understand the properties which are common to all

material substances, and without which no material substance can be

conceived. In doing this we must guard against confounding, as many

scientists do, the essential properties of matter with the general

properties of bodies. Extension, impenetrability, divisibility, porosity,

etc., are general properties of bodies; but it does not follow that they

are essential properties of material substance as such, as they may arise

from accidental composition. Those properties alone are essential which

are altogether primitive, unchangeable, and involved in the principles of

the substance; and such properties, as we shall see, are, so far as

material substance is concerned, the three following: _active power_ to

produce local motion, _passivity_ for receiving local motion, and

_inertia_. These three properties correspond to the three constituents of

material substance.

There are philosophers who deny that material things have any active

power. They know that matter is inert, and they cannot see how activity

can be reconciled with inertia. There are others, on the contrary, who,

for a similar reason, being unable to deny the activity of bodies, deny

their inertia. From what we are going to say it will be manifest that

these philosophers have never known exactly what is meant in natural

science by the inertia of matter.

Other writers, especially those of the old school, while admitting the

three essential properties of matter which we have just mentioned, contend

that material substance has a fourth important and connatural, if not

essential, property—viz., _continuous extension_—without which, they say,

nothing material can be conceived. They further teach, and would fain have

us believe, that all material substance is endowed with extension and

resistance; and many of them think that extension and resistance

constitute the essence of matter. This last opinion is very common among

philosophical writers, and deserves the most careful examination, as it

bears very heavily on an essential point of the controversy in which we

have to engage.

Let us see, then, first, what we have to think regarding the activity, the

passivity, and the inertia of matter; and, when we have done with these,

we shall take up the question of material continuity, of which we hope to

give a full analysis and a satisfactory solution.

Activity, passivity, and inertia.

The special character by which the phenomena of the material world are

recognized consists in their being brought about by local motion. For it

is a well‐known fact that in things purely material no change takes place

but through local movements; so that we cannot even conceive a change in

the material world without a displacement of matter. Hence all the actions

of matter upon matter tend to produce local movement, or to modify it; and

all passion of the matter acted on is a reception of movement.

That all material substances possess activity, passivity, and inertia is

quite certain on experimental grounds. No conclusion is better established

in science than that all the particles of matter act on one another

according to a fixed law, and receive from one another their determination

to move from place to place, while they are incapable of setting

themselves in movement or modifying the movement received from without.

Now, it is clear that they cannot act without being _active_, nor receive

the action without being _passive_, nor be incapable of modifying their

own state without being _inert_.

This shows that activity and inertia do not exclude one another. A

particle of matter is said to be active inasmuch as it has the power of

causing the movement of any other particle; and is said to be inert

inasmuch as it has no power of giving movement to itself. It is plain that

these two things are very far from being contradictory. Those

philosophers, therefore, who have apprehended an irreconcilable opposition

between the two, must have attached to the term “inertia” a meaning quite

different from that recognized by physical science.

Balmes remarks, in his _Fundamental Philosophy_,(131) that there is

nothing perfectly still either on earth or in the heavens; and for this

reason he expresses the opinion that all bodies have a constant tendency

to move. And as he cannot see how such a tendency can be reconciled with

the inertia of matter, he comes to the conclusion that bodies are not

inert. But it is scarcely necessary to remark that the constant tendency

to move which we observe in bodies is the result of universal attraction,

and not of a self‐acting power inhering in the matter of which the bodies

consist; and therefore such a tendency does not in the least interfere

with the inertia of matter. A simple reference to the laws of motion

suffices to convince the most superficial student that such is the case.

Malebranche goes to the other extreme. He supposes that bodies have no

activity of any kind, and that accordingly all the phenomena we witness in

the physical world are produced by God alone. This theory, as every one

will acknowledge, is supremely extravagant and unphilosophical. It leads

to idealism and to pantheism. To idealism, because, if bodies do not act,

there is no reason why they should exist; as nothing can be admitted to

exist throughout creation which has no aptitude to manifest in its own

reality a reflex of the Creator’s perfections. And since manifestation is

action, no created being can be destitute of active power. This argument

drawn from the end of creation may be supplemented by another drawn from

the impossibility of our knowing the existence of bodies if they do not

act. For, if bodies do not act on our senses, we cannot refer to bodies

for the causality of our sensations; and thus the only link by which we

have the means of connecting our subjective impressions with exterior

objects will be destroyed.

Hence, if bodies are not active, there is no reason why they should be

admitted to exist, and we are accordingly condemned to an absurd idealism.

Nor can we escape pantheism. For, if the impressions we receive from

outside are caused by God alone, we cannot but conclude that whatever we

see outside of us has no other objectivity than that of the divine

substance itself appearing under different forms. Now, this is a

pantheistic doctrine. Therefore the theory which denies the activity of

bodies leads to pantheism. We will say nothing more about this

preposterous doctrine and its absurd consequences. Plain common sense,

without need of further argument, condemns whatever calls in question the

reality and objectivity of our knowledge concerning the exterior world.

But, while we admit with all the physicists, and indeed with all mankind,

that material substance is competent, through its natural activity, to

cause local motion, we must guard against the opinion of the materialists,

who pretend that the active power of matter is also competent, under

certain conditions and through certain combinations, to produce thought.

Nothing, perhaps, can be more inconsistent with reason than this

assumption. Were matter not inert, the hypothesis might deserve

examination; but an _inert_ thinking substance is such an enormity that it

cannot, even hypothetically, be entertained. The thinking faculty

evidently implies self‐acting power, whereas inertia evidently excludes

it; and therefore, so long as we keep in mind that matter is inert, we

cannot, without evident inconsistency, extend the range of its activity to

immanent operations, but must confine it to the extrinsic production of

local motion. Let us here remark that, of all the arguments usually

employed in psychology against the materialistic hypothesis, this one

drawn from the inertia of matter is the most valuable as it is the most

simple and incontrovertible.

The inertia of matter is so universally admitted that it is hardly

necessary to say a word about it. No fact, indeed, is more certain in

science than that matter, when at rest, cannot but remain so until it

receive from without a determination to move; and likewise that, when

determined to move with any velocity and in any direction, it cannot but

move with that velocity and in that direction until it receive some other

determination from without. This incapability of changing its own state

constitutes, as we have already stated, the inertia of matter, and is the

very foundation of mechanical science.

As to the natural passivity of material substance, we need only say that

it consists in its capability of receiving, when it is acted on, any

accidental determination to move in any direction and with any velocity.

That matter has this passivity is an obvious experimental truth; and that

matter has no other passivity except this one we shall prove in another

place.

Meanwhile, it is evident from the preceding considerations that all matter

is active, passive, and inert. The principle of activity, in every being,

is its essential act, and the principle of passivity its essential term,

which is a real passive potency;(132) hence the activity and the passivity

of matter are a necessary result of the essential constitution of material

substance, and are therefore _essential_ properties of the same. The

inertia of matter is also a necessary result of the essential constitution

of material substance; for the only reason why an element of matter cannot

give motion to itself is to be found in the mutual relation of its

essential principles, which is of such a nature that the principle of

passivity cannot be influenced by any exertion of the active principle, of

which it is the intrinsic term. Now, this relation, for which we shall

fully account hereafter, belongs to the essence of the substance as truly

and as necessarily as the essential principles themselves. Hence the

inertia of matter is an _essential_ property of matter no less than its

activity and passivity.

Action at a distance.

The activity of material substance is a very interesting subject of

investigation; its nature, its mode of working, the law of its exertion,

and the conditions on which the production of its effects depends, give

rise to many important questions, which, owing to philosophical discords,

have not yet received a satisfactory solution. The first of these

questions is: _Does material substance act at a distance, or does it

require, as a condition sine qua non for acting, a mathematical contact of

its matter with the matter acted upon?_

Philosophers and scientists have often examined this grave subject, but

their opinions are still divided. Those philosophers who form their

physical views from the scholastic system, commonly hold that a true

material contact is an indispensable condition for the action of matter

upon matter, and think it to be an evident truth. But physicists, “with

few exceptions,” as Prof. Faraday remarks, admit that all action of matter

upon matter is an _actio in distans_, and he himself supports the same

doctrine, although suggesting that it should be expressed in somewhat

different terms. We propose to show that this latter solution is the only

one consistent with the principles both of science and of philosophy. And

as the opposite view owes its origin, and in a great measure its

plausibility, to the known theory of kinetic forces as deduced from the

impact of bodies, we shall argue from the same theory in support of our

conclusion.

Here is our argument. When a body impinges upon another body, if any

communication of movement is made by a true and immediate contact of

matter with matter, its duration must be limited to that indivisible

instant of time in which the distance between the struggling particles of

matter becomes = 0. But in an indivisible instant of time no finite

velocity can be communicated. And therefore no real movement can be caused

in the impact of bodies by a true and immediate contact of matter with

matter.

We think that this argument admits of no reply. Its major proposition is

the statement of an obvious geometric truth. Nor can it be gainsaid by

assuming that the duration of the action can be prolonged; for the action,

in the opinion of those against whom we now are arguing, is supposed to

require true material contact; and it is plain that two particles of

matter coming into contact cannot remain in contact for any length of

time, however inappreciable, unless in the very first instant of their

meeting their velocities have become equal; it being evident that two

particles of matter animated by different velocities cannot preserve for

any length of time the same relation in space. To assume, therefore, that

the contact can be prolonged, is to assume that from the very first

instant of the collision the unequal velocities of the struggling

particles have been equalized, or, in other terms, that the velocity

imparted has been communicated in the very first instant of the impact.

But if so, then the assumption of a prolonged contact, as a means of

communicating the velocity, is altogether useless, and involves an evident

contradiction. It is therefore necessary to concede that, if the velocity

is communicated by a true and immediate contact of matter with matter, the

communication must be made in an indivisible instant of time.

The minor proposition of our syllogism is equally evident. For it is one

of the fundamental axioms of mechanics that actions, all other things

being equal, are proportional to their respective duration; whence it is

plain that an action of which the duration is infinitesimal cannot produce

more than an infinitesimal effect. And therefore no finite velocity can be

produced by true material contact.

Against this argument four objections may be advanced: First, that

although in the contact of one point with another point no finite velocity

can be communicated, yet in the case of a multitude of material points

coming into collision the effect might be appreciable. Secondly, that a

particle of matter may be carried straight away by another particle which

impinges upon it with sufficient velocity. Thirdly, that a distinction is

to be made between continuous and instantaneous actions, and that,

although a continuous action produces an effect proportional to its

duration, as in the case of universal attraction, yet instantaneous

actions, as in the case of impact, may not necessarily follow the same

law. Lastly, that even admitting the impossibility of producing finite

velocity in an infinitesimal unit of time, yet finite velocity might still

be _communicated_ in an infinitesimal unit of time without any new

production, as modern scientists assume.

To the first objection we answer that, if each material point cannot, in

the instant of the contact, acquire more than an infinitesimal velocity,

the whole multitude will have only an infinitesimal velocity; and thus no

movement will ensue.

To the second we answer that a particle cannot be carried straight away

unless it receives a communication of finite velocity; and such a

communication, as we have already shown, cannot be made in the instant of

the contact.

The third objection we answer by denying that there is any rigorously

instantaneous action. When physicists speak of “instantaneous” actions,

they mean actions having a finite duration, which, however, is so short

that it cannot be appreciated or measured by our means of observation. And

therefore what is called an “instantaneous” action is nothing but a

continuous action of a short duration. Now, a difference of duration is

not a difference in kind; and accordingly, if actions are proportional to

their duration when their duration is longer, they are no less so when

their duration is shorter.

The last objection takes for granted that there can be a communication of

velocity without production of velocity; which amounts to saying that the

velocity of the impinging body is transmitted _identically_ to the body

impinged upon. This is, however, a mere delusion. The velocity acquired by

the body impinged upon has no previous existence in the impinging body;

and accordingly its communication implies its real production, as we have

proved in one of our past articles.(133)

The _actio in distans_ can also be proved from the very nature of material

activity. It is generally admitted that the active power of matter is

either attractive or repulsive; for all men of science agree that the

movements of the material world are brought about by attractions and

repulsions. Now, attraction and repulsion do not imply a material contact

between the agent and the patient, but, on the contrary, exclude it; and

therefore all the movements of the material world are due to actions at a

distance. That attraction excludes material contact is quite evident, for

attraction produces movement by causing the approach of one body to

another; and it is evident that no approach will be possible if the bodies

are already in immediate contact. It is therefore an essential condition

for the possibility of attraction that the agent be not in immediate

contact with the patient. And as for repulsion, it is known that it serves

to keep the molecules of a body distant from one another, and consequently

it is exercised at molecular distances. This is especially evident in the

case of elastic fluids. For repulsion obtains among the molecules of such

fluids, whether the said molecules be pressed nearer or let further apart.

And therefore repulsion, too, is exercised without material contact.

Some modern physicists try to do away with repulsion, and explain the

pressure exercised by a gas against the vessel in which it is confined by

saying that the gaseous molecules are continually flying about in all

directions, and continually impinging on the interior surface of the

recipient, where their excursions are intercepted, and that this

continuous series of impacts constitutes what we call the pressure of the

gas on the vessel.

But this new theory cannot bear one moment’s examination. It is wholly

gratuitous; it disregards mechanical principles by admitting that the

movement of the molecules can go on unabated in spite of repeated impacts,

and it assumes that the momentum of a moving molecule is its active power;

which is utterly false, as we will show later.

Other physicists have tried to get rid of attraction, also, by assuming

that those effects which we ascribe to attraction are to be attributed to

ethereal pressure. This hypothesis has no better foundation than the

preceding one, and is equally untenable for many reasons which we shall

explain hereafter.

The _actio in distans_ can also be directly proved by the consideration of

statical forces. We know that the action which tends to communicate

movement in a given direction cannot be frustrated or neutralized, except

by an action of the same intensity applied in an opposite direction. It is

evident, on the other hand, that, if the first requires an immediate

contact of matter with matter, the second also must be subject to the same

condition. Now, this latter is altogether independent of such a condition.

Accordingly, the former also—that is, the action which tends to

communicate the movement—is independent of a true material contact.

The minor proposition of this syllogism may be proved as follows: Let a

small cube of hard steel be placed on a smooth, horizontal plate of cast‐

iron lying on a table. The cube will remain at rest on the plate,

notwithstanding the action of gravity upon it, because, while the cube

tends to fall and presses the plate, the action of the plate frustrates

that tendency, and keeps the equilibrium. Now, the cube and the plate do

not immediately touch one another with their matter; for we know that they

can be brought nearer than they are. We may place, for instance, a second

cube on the top of the first, and thus increase the pressure on the plate,

and cause the plate itself to react with an increased intensity. But it is

obvious that neither of the two actions can become intenser, unless the

cube is brought nearer to the plate; for the resistance of the plate

cannot be modified, unless some of the previous conditions be altered; and

since the two surfaces have remained the same, no other condition can be

conceived to be changed except their relative distance. It is therefore a

change, and in fact a diminution, of the distance between the cube and the

plate that entails the change of the action. Whence we see that, even in

the case of the so‐called _physical_ contact, bodies do not touch one

another with their matter. This shows that physical contact does not

exclude distance; and therefore, when we say that two bodies touch one

another, the fact we express is that the two bodies are so near to one

another that _they cannot approach nearer __ without their molecular

arrangement being disturbed by their mutual actions_. Therefore the

hypothesis that a true material contact of matter with matter is needed

for causing or for hindering movement is irreconcilable with fact.

As a further development of this proof, we may add that one of the

necessary conditions for the equilibrium of the cube on the plate is, that

the action of the plate have a direction opposite to the action of the

cube. Now, no direction whatever can be conceived but between two

distinct, and therefore distant, points. Accordingly, there cannot be the

least doubt that all the points belonging to the surface of the plate are

really distant from those of the neighboring surface of the cube. Whence

we conclude again that their mutual action is exercised at a distance.

Other proofs of the same truth might be drawn, if necessary, from other

considerations. Faraday, from the phenomena of electric conduction, was

led to the conclusion that each atom of matter, though occupying a mere

point in space, has a sphere of action extending throughout the whole

solar system.(134) Boscovich,(135) from the law of continuity,

demonstrates that movement is not communicated through material contact.

And mechanical writers generally consider all dynamical forces—that is,

all accelerating or retarding actions—as functions of distances; which

shows that all motive actions depend on distance, not only for their

direction, but also for their intensity. We have no need of developing

these proofs, as we think that the preceding arguments are abundantly

sufficient to convince all intelligent readers of the truth of our

conclusion, viz.:

1. That distance is a necessary condition of the action of matter upon

matter;

2. That the contact between the agent and the object acted on is not

material, but virtual, inasmuch as it is by its active power (_virtus_),

and not by its matter, that the agent reaches the matter of the object

acted upon;

3. Hence that any material substance, which is anywhere by reason of its

matter, has within itself a power prepared to act where the substance

itself is not present by its matter.

As the _actio in distans_ shocks vulgar prejudices, and has therefore many

decided adversaries, it is plain that we must be ready to meet a great

number of objections. For the present we respectfully invite those who

consider the action at a distance as an obvious impossibility to examine

carefully the arguments by which we have established the impossibility of

the action by material contact. As to their own reasons for a contrary

opinion, we hope to answer them satisfactorily as soon as we have done

with the explanation of a few other preliminaries.

Power and velocity.

The question which now presents itself is the following: _Is velocity the

active power of material substance?_ This question has some importance in

the present state of science, on account of the confusion generally made

by physical writers between powers, forces, actions, and movements. We

answer that, although active power and velocity are now generally

considered as synonymous, they are quite different things. Here are our

reasons:

In the first place, it is philosophically evident that the result of an

action and the principle of the action cannot be of the same nature. But

velocity is certainly the result of an action, whilst the active power is

the principle of the action. And therefore velocity and active power

cannot be of the same nature. But surely, if velocity has not the nature

of an active power, it is not an active power, as every one must admit.

In the second place, the active power of creatures, be they material or

immaterial, is the power by the exertion of which they manifest themselves

and their natural perfection, thus leading us to the knowledge of the

existence and the perfections of our Creator, such a knowledge being the

end of creation. Active power is therefore not an accidental and

changeable affection, but an essential, primitive, and permanent

appurtenance of all created substances; nor does it come from interaction

of creatures, but only from creation itself; so that we might well apply

to it what S. Paul says of the power of kings and rulers: “There is no

power except from God.” And accordingly velocity, which is an accidental

and changeable affection of matter, cannot be the active power of the

material substance.

In the third place, if velocity were the active principle of matter,

matter would have no definite nature of its own. For “nature” is defined

as the principle of motion; and material substance would be destitute of

such a principle; for velocity, by which it is assumed that it would cause

movement, has no part in the constitution of the substance itself. Hence

we must conclude that either material substance has no definite nature of

its own, or, if this cannot be admitted, the active power of matter is not

its velocity.

In the fourth place, a mass of matter at rest acts on the body by which it

is supported, and exercises a pressure against it; and therefore matter is

active independently of actual movement; which conclusively shows that the

active power of matter has nothing common with its velocity.

Lastly, velocity is an accidental mode; and nothing accidental possesses

active power, as has been shown in one of our philosophical articles.(136)

Thus it appears that the active power of material substance is not its

velocity. Those physicists who acknowledge no other powers but “masses

multiplied by velocities” are therefore wholly mistaken. The product of a

mass into its velocity does not represent an active power, and not even a

dynamical force, but simply the quantity of an effect produced by a

previous action. It is true that a mass animated by velocity can _do

work_, which a mass at rest cannot do. But we have shown in the article

just mentioned that such a work is done, not by velocity, but by the

natural powers inherent in the body, the velocity being only a condition

_sine qua non_. Nor does it matter that the work done by a body is a

function of its velocity. This only proves that the greater the velocity

of the body, the greater is the resistance required to exhaust it.

Sphere of action.—The next question is: _Has matter a sphere of action?

That is, Does a primitive element of matter act around itself with equal

intensity on all other elements equally distant from it?_

The answer must be affirmative.

And first, since the active principle of material substance is destined,

as above stated, to produce _local_ movement, it is evident that its

action must proceed from a term marking a point in space, and reach other

terms marking other similar points. Local movement, in fact, cannot be

produced, unless the term acted on be determined by the agent to follow a

certain direction; for the direction of the movement must be imparted by

the agent which imparts the movement. Now, the direction of the movement,

and of the action which causes it, cannot evidently be conceived without

two distinct points, the one marked in space by the agent, the other by

the patient. Hence the exertion of the active power of matter necessarily

proceeds from a point in space to other points in space. Whether such

points be rigorously unextended and mathematically indivisible we shall

inquire in another article; our object at present is only to show the

necessity of a local term from which the direction of the action has to

proceed towards other local terms.

This being understood, we can now show that the point from which the

action of a material element is directed is the centre of a sphere of

activity, or, in other terms, that the primitive elements of matter act in

a sphere of which they occupy the centre. This proposition implies that

material elements not only act all around, or in every direction, but also

that they act with equal intensity at equal distances. This we show in the

following manner.

The earth, the planets, and the sun act in all directions, and the

intensity of their respective actions, all other things being equal,

depends on their distance from the bodies acted on; so that, all other

things being equal, to equal distances equal actions correspond. That such

actions really proceed from the earth, the planets, and the sun

respectively there can be no doubt. For to no other sources can the

actions be referred than to those bodies from which both their direction

and their intensity proceed. Now, the action by which a planet is

attracted is directed to the centre of the sun, and the action by which a

satellite is retained in its orbit is directed to the centre of the planet

to which it belongs. On the other hand, the intensity of all such actions

varies only with the distance of the planet from the sun, and of the

satellite from the planet. Whence we conclude that the actions which we

attribute to these bodies are really their own.

Now, if such great bodies as the sun, the earth, and all the planets act

thus in a sphere, it is manifest that every particle of matter in their

mass acts in a sphere. For the action of the whole mass, being only a

resultant of the particular actions of all the component elements, cannot

but follow the nature of its components; and therefore, from the fact that

the action of the whole mass is directed in a sphere, and has equal

intensity at equal distances, we must conclude that all the component

actions are similarly directed, and have equal intensities at equal

distances. Hence every element of matter has a sphere of action, and acts

all around itself with equal actions on all other elements equally distant

from it.

This conclusion applies to all matter. For we have proved, on the one

hand, that matter cannot act except at a distance, and, on the other, we

can show by a general argument that the actions themselves must be equal

at equal distances around each centre of activity. It is evident, in fact,

that the actions of any material element on any other must be equal when

the local relation between the elements is the same. But whatever be the

position in space of the element acted on, its local relation to the other

element remains the same whenever the distance between them is not

altered; for so long as we consider two elements only, no other local

relation can be conceived to exist between them than that of distance; and

therefore a change of position in space which does not alter the distance

of the two elements leaves them in the same relation with one another,

however much it may alter their relation to other surrounding matter.

Since, then, the elements which are arranged spherically around a given

element are all equally distant from it, they are all equally related to

it, and are all acted on in the same manner. And therefore all material

element acts with equal intensity on all other elements equally distant

from it.

The truth of this proposition being very generally acknowledged by

astronomers and physicists, we need not dwell on it any longer. We must,

however, mention and solve two objections which have been advanced against

it. The first is, that the cohesion of the molecules in a certain number

of bodies is more energetic in some directions than in others; as in

crystals, which are cleavable only in definite planes. This would tend to

show that material elements do not always act in a sphere. The second

objection is, that the action of the sun and of the planets, on which the

demonstration of our proposition is grounded, can be denied. Some modern

physicists, in fact, hold that what we persist in calling “universal

attraction” is not attraction, but only an ethereal pressure exercised on

the celestial bodies; and if this be the real case, the action of matter

in a sphere will be out of the question.

In answer to the first objection, we say that elements of matter and

molecules of bodies are not to be confounded. The molecule is capable of

internal movements, as we have already remarked; and therefore every

molecule consists of a number of primitive elements having a distinct and

independent existence in space. Hence the action of a molecule is not a

simple action, but is the resultant of the actions proceeding from those

distinct elements; and it is plain that, if such elements are made to

approach the centre of the molecule in one direction more than in another,

the resultant of their actions will be greater in one direction than in

another, and the neighboring molecules will adhere to each other more

firmly in one direction than in another. This inequality of molecular

actions does not, however, extend beyond the limits of molecular

distances; for, when the distance is great (and we can call _great_ those

distances in comparison with which the diameter of a molecule is of no

account), all the distinct centres of elementary action may be admitted to

coincide with the centre of the molecule, and all their spheres to

coalesce into one sphere. And thus at such greater distances all

molecules, no less than all primitive elements, act in a sphere.

The second objection rests on the singular assumption that the universal

ether, owing to the centrifugal force called into existence by the

rotation of the celestial bodies, is reduced, around each of them, to a

density directly proportional to the distance from the centre of the

rotation. Hence they suppose that the ether which surrounds and presses

the earth must be denser on the hemisphere where there is night than on

that where there is day, because the former is more distant from the sun

than the latter; and they infer that on the former hemisphere the pressure

of the ether must be greater than on the latter; which brings them to the

conclusion that the earth must move towards the sun with a velocity

proportional to the difference between the two pressures. Such is the

theory by which some modern thinkers tried to supplant universal

attraction. We need not go far to show the utter absurdity of this rash

conception, as the most common phenomena and the most elementary

principles of mechanics supply us with abundant proofs of its falsity.

Centrifugal force is necessarily perpendicular to the axis of the

rotation, and is proportional to the radius of the circle described. Hence

its intensity, which is a _maximum_ on the equator of the revolving body,

diminishes from the equator to the poles, where it becomes = 0. If, then,

the ether surrounding the earth (or any other celestial body) acquires by

centrifugal force a greater density at a greater distance from the earth,

the effect must be greater at the equator than in any latitude from the

equator to the poles, and bodies must accordingly have a greater weight,

and fall with greater impetus, at the equator than in any latitude.

Moreover, all bodies should fall in the direction of the pressure—that is,

perpendicularly to the axis of rotation, and not perpendicularly to the

horizon. Then, also, the pressure of the ether being proportional to the

surface of the falling body, of two equal masses having different

surfaces, the one whose surface is greater should fall with a greater

impetus. Now, all this is contrary to fact.

The preceding remarks suffice to annihilate the theory. We might add that

centrifugal forces are not active powers, as the theory assumes, but only

components of the rotatory movement, and affections of the rotating

matter. Hence, if the ether surrounding the earth does not rotate with it,

its condensation through centrifugal force is a patent impossibility;

while, if the ether rotates with the earth, its condensation through

centrifugal force will again be impossible, inasmuch as its centrifugal

force will be greater and greater in proportion as its distance from the

earth is greater. It is rarefaction, not condensation, that would take

place in this latter hypothesis. One word more. If the mere _difference_

of the pressures exercised by the ether on the two hemispheres of a planet

is sufficient to communicate to it a considerable centripetal velocity, as

the theory asserts, how can we escape the conclusion that all progress of

a planet in its orbit should have been checked long ago by the _total_

pressure of the same ether on its advancing hemisphere?

It is strange indeed that a theory so preposterous in its assumptions and

so absurd in its consequences can have found favor with scientific writers

in the full light of this nineteenth century!

Antar And Zara; Or, “The Only True Lovers.” IV.

An Eastern Romance Narrated In Songs.

By Aubrey De Vere.