Hymn Of The Flowers.

A Memorial of the First Mass of ——, One of Eleven Young Jesuits Who Said

Their First Masses at Woodstock on the Feast of S. Aloysius, June 21,

1874.

I.

Chosen from many,

Tenderly nurtured,

We budded to sunlight,

Our fragrance we scattered;

Queens of the garden,

Languishing beauties,

Reserved for high favor—

Fair flowers! fair flowers!

II.

Emblems of purity,

Fitting for virgins,

Our sisters are gathered

To grace the blithe maidens

Who go to their bridals—

Oh! fair be their fortune.

Glad flowers! glad flowers!

III.

Emblems of innocence,

Fondly we’re sought for:

Young mothers will scatter

The blossoms just budding,

Will scatter our sisters,

Kept still fresh and dewy,

With sad pearls of affection,

O’er the vanishing image

Of the lost darling—

Ah! kindred with blossoms.

Sad flowers! sad flowers!

IV.

Emblems of triumph,

Emblems of glory,

The nations will cull them,

Will cull from our sisters

To honor their true ones.

Mingling with life,

Mingling with death,

The flowers will crown the hero’s brow,

Or wreathe the stone that marks his grave.

Frail flowers! frail flowers!

V.

But we—O glad fortune!

O blest among flowers!—

We have been chosen

High o’er our sisters:

Culled for the altar,

We gave all our beauty,

We spent all our perfumes,

When God’s priest in oblation

Pronounced his first _fiat_.

How we trembled with rapture

When the Christ was descending!

Oh! our bloom caught new glory

From the priest’s face all radiant,

As he held for adoring

His God in his hands,

And our odors were mingled

With prayer from his lips.

And, oh! the pale mother

Who guided his lisping,

Who gave up her peerless,

The one jewel left her,

Robbed her breast for God’s warfare,

The gift ne’er recalling—

How her heart is now pealing,

Ringing out unto heaven

Glad chimes that are drowning

The dull whispers of sorrow!

And the prayer of th’ Anointed,

The heart‐voice of the mother,

The breath of the flowers,

Triple incense, are wafted

Up, up to God’s footstool.

Ah! such incense is treasured;

Our odors shall die not.

They give fragrance in heaven

To that glad first oblation

Of God’s priest at the altar.

Blest flowers! blest flowers!

Kathleen Waring.

The loveliest of autumn days shed its warmth and brightness over

magnificent Rome, while the bells from many towers announced the hour of

twelve, and a still more emphatic reminder of mid‐day boomed from Castle

Sant’ Angelo, the firing of whose cannon frequently startles strangers,

though even they soon become unconscious of its loud report. Citizens

meeting complained of the horrible sirocco day; visitors congratulated one

another upon such beautiful weather for the fulfilment of their plans; and

a very perceptible thing was that not even in the Eternal City can every

individual be satisfied. In no way could an unbeliever be better convinced

of this solemn truth than by a peep into the principal parlor of the Hôtel

d’Angleterre, where a travelling party had just arrived. An elderly

gentleman stamped up and down the apartment, furiously gesticulating, and

undoubtedly making use of rather forcible language, consigning hotels in

general, and the Hôtel d’Angleterre in particular, to pretty uncomfortable

quarters. At every approach to a small tête‐à‐tête placed near the window

he fiercely glared upon a lady, evidently his wife, whose sweet, smiling

face served to exasperate her husband beyond endurance. A large fan, plied

industriously, stirred not only the black feathers of her own bonnet, but

the scarlet ones jauntily stuck in a dark gray hat that persistently

drooped, for no reason in the world but to conceal a very amused

countenance which might have added fuel to the fire of the gentleman’s

anger. Though for a time he is denied the gratification of a peep at so

winning a face, we will take it ourselves, and see what is under that gray

hat with the scarlet plumes: A pair of dark eyes sparkling with fun, which

all those curling black lashes cannot hide, while a few saucy rings of

hair, lying here and there on the forehead, cause a surmise as to whether

they are the result of nature and warm weather or curl‐papers nightly

twisted up. It would be difficult to form an estimate of a mouth whose

under‐lip is being held in bondage by two rows of exceedingly white teeth,

but we will imagine it a rose‐bud, and hasten to make the acquaintance of

yonder thunder‐cloud, who pouts so abominably, and is still so like her of

the mischievous aspect. Agathe Waring leaned on the back of her chair,

and, when her father stamped his feet, she did likewise; when his frown

deepened and voice waxed louder, her pout became more decided, and very

beautiful hands doubled into fists that shook defiantly at invisible

landlords. Mrs. Waring, observing this, remarked: “I think, Agathe, you

have chosen a dangerous employment for hands so valued as yours. Do you

not fear your vehemence will be the cause of a sprained wrist or finger?

Then where will be our delightful evening music. A young lady who, at the

faintest suspicion of danger ahead, generally clasps her hands behind her,

is to be wondered at when seen bravely challenging our most dreaded

enemies.”

“It may be very amusing to you and Kathleen, mamma; but I confess to not

perceiving the joke,” replied Agathe, glancing complacently at her

formidable weapons. “How you can see papa so worried, and be perfectly

unconcerned, is more than I understand.”

“But, my dear, would it mend matters in the least were your sister to weep

tears of vexation, and I to vociferate against the unfortunate people of

this hotel, who were never less in fault than now? If your father had

taken my advice, and telegraphed for rooms, this occasion for trouble

would have been avoided; but, as he considered such a precaution

unnecessary, we need not regard ourselves as dreadfully‐injured

travellers.”

“Am I not sufficiently annoyed, madam, by this turn of affairs,” shouted

the elderly gentleman, “that _you_ should consider it essential to remind

me what your advice was in Florence? I have never yet met the woman who

did not delight in being able to say, ‘I told you so.’ ”

“Now, papa,” said Kathleen with a merry glance from her bright eyes, “I

look upon that speech as a calumny and an injustice to Agathe. When all

our luggage was left in Paris, simply because you would not heed her

injunction to be very careful in looking after it, she did not gratify

herself by any such malicious words as ‘I told you so.’ Indeed, her

sympathy was far greater than ours, as we only felt indignant at having

nothing to wear.”

This boldly‐uttered sentence proved quite soothing to Mr. Waring, who

ceased his restless walk to twine an arm about his daughter’s waist, whose

head leaned fondly against the dusty sleeve, and desired no sweeter

resting‐place.

“Yes, whatever my faults, whatever my grievances, this little daughter is

ready and willing to share them,” said he, gently patting Agathe’s cheek.

“It has always been a wonder to me that a brute like myself should possess

three treasures such as my wife and daughters. But the more valuable the

treasure, the more difficult its keeping. If that atrocious landlord will

only give us an apartment for this afternoon, I’ll go in quest of

permanent quarters, and leave you to rest until my return.”

An immediate ringing of the bell brought the attendant, who was requested

to inquire into the possibility of procuring at least a single room for

the remainder of the day, during which time other accommodations might be

sought. An answer, to the effect that there was a small chamber, engaged

by a party who would arrive that night, which until then was at the

service of the American gentleman, caused a gathering together of bags,

boxes, and baskets, an ascent of several stairs, and a happy entrance into

the nicely‐furnished and exceedingly pleasant apartment. The waiter,

before his departing bow, made many apologies for the crowded condition of

the house having rendered it impossible to receive monsieur, and hoped

their inability to please would be forgiven. Mr. Waring’s wrath, until

then on the wane, appeared gradually gaining ascendency, and a convenient

lunch‐basket would certainly have made the acquaintance of the waiter’s

head had not the latter prudently withdrawn. “The impudence of that dog in

presuming to beg my pardon! What do I care how crowded the house may be or

how impossible it is to accommodate us? I don’t suppose this hotel is the

only habitable place in Rome; if so, I’ll just take up my abode in the

Colosseum, and be done with it.”

Neither Mrs. Waring nor Agathe could resist smiling at this outburst,

while Kathleen laughed outright.

“I shall consider it my first duty, on entering the Colosseum, to set you

up as a statue of Perversity, surrounded by imps of contradiction. During

the last half‐hour you have been in a towering passion because the Hôtel

d’Angleterre could not contain you. Now the poor waiter humbly laments the

numerous visitors and non‐elastic material of the house, and you are ready

to annihilate him for supposing us anxious to remain in it.”

“Are you not ashamed of yourself, Kathleen Waring?” cried Agathe. “Were I

papa, you should not speak to me in that rude manner. You surely do not

approve of it, mamma?”

“My dear Agathe,” said her mother, “I cannot disapprove when I so fully

appreciate the spirit in which your sister thus addresses her father. Do

not imagine you are alone in your affection for him, and that the sole

mode of expressing that affection is by unvarying respectfulness in

language and constant caressing. We all know you to be more dignified than

Kathleen, and to possess much greater stability of character; then how can

you expect her to be otherwise than more thoughtless and much saucier than

yourself?”

This last sentence, accompanied by a meaning smile, brought a crimson

flush to Agathe’s cheek and an angry retort to her lips, the utterance of

which was stayed by a kiss from her sister, who whispered:

“Never mind, Aggie; just be as firm and stable and dignified as you

choose. I’ll be your admiration‐point for ever, and I am sure mamma is as

proud of her model of strength and her impersonation of sauciness as she

can be; then why need we quarrel?”

“Well, it _would_ be a waste of ammunition, mavourneen,” replied Agathe;

“so, instead of letting loose my tongue, I’ll exercise my arms. Be good

enough to get me the clothes‐brush from your bag, that I may dust papa’s

coat.”

By plentiful application of soap and vigorous use of towels Mr. Waring now

appeared resplendent, and announced his intention of at once going in

search of rooms. “In my absence,” said he, pausing at the door, “I desire

the three treasures to repose, and hope to find them bright and sparkling

this evening.”

The ladies did retire, and slept soundly several hours, while Mr. Waring

made every effort to obtain a suite of rooms, first at the different

hotels, which were all full, next at two or three _casas_ recommended by

his banker. At last in a small house, opening on the Piazza di Spagna, he

succeeded in engaging five bright, cheerful apartments, though at quite a

high price, since the number of visitors at Rome increased rents far

beyond their usual rate. Leaving orders with his _padrone_ to secure a

man‐servant as soon as possible, he next made arrangements with the

proprietor of the nearest restaurant to supply him with the necessary

breakfast and dinner, which must be daily occurrences to sustain the

vitality of even the most enthusiastic tourist. With a sigh of relief that

his preparations were complete, Mr. Waring returned to the hotel, and

found his wife and daughters radiant in their fresh toilets and expectant

eagerness. There is nothing so destructive of beauty as fatigue added to

the dust and soot of railway travelling; and an individual emerging from

this double ordeal deserves the congratulation of friends. Mr. Waring

bestowed a gaze of admiration upon each lady in turn, kissed his wife,

pulled one of Agathe’s curls, and whirled Kathleen round and round to the

tune of a cracked hand‐organ stationed beneath the window, which just then

ground out a very fine waltz. Breathless and panting, Kathleen soon sank

on the sofa, while her mother came to the rescue with a fan, and Agathe

opened the window to throw the musician some coppers.

“There is little need to inform us of your success,” said Mrs. Waring, “as

this emphatic greeting tells its own tale. I am really glad you were able

to return before dark, as we feared you might be detained later.”

“Well, you cannot fail to like the rooms,” said Mr. Waring; “for they are

five in number, quite handsomely furnished, and two overlook the Piazza di

Spagna. I think, as it is a mere step from here, we had better walk, and

have our luggage sent by these people. If you are half as tired riding as

I am, you will infinitely prefer proceeding to our destination on foot.”

“We should like nothing better!” cried the three ladies, and immediately

began to collect their scattered property. This being duly disposed of,

the black bonnet and gray hats donned, our party set out. The Ave Maria

was ringing, and the sweet sound of many bells penetrated the hearts of

even these Protestants, who understood so imperfectly its beautiful

significance. Dusk was fast changing into darkness, while black clouds

chased each other over the sky, and the rising wind betokened the sure

approach of a storm. Our travellers hastened their footsteps, and only

reached their parlor when a terrific flash of lightning poured through the

windows, and the rain fell in torrents. Mr. and Mrs. Waring at once went

on a tour of investigation, in which neither of the girls could be induced

to join. Agathe approached the window and gazed upon the outdoor fury,

with only clasped hands and awe‐stricken countenance to betoken her

feeling. Kathleen buried a miserably pale face in the cushions of her

armchair, and sobbed most piteously; for the poor child dreaded nothing so

much as thunder and lightning. After a short lapse of time, Agathe turned

impatiently from her post of observation, and exclaimed:

“Without exception, Katy, you are the greatest goose I ever met, to be

sitting there crying when you might have the benefit of yonder magnificent

panorama. It is _too_ absurd that the least sign of a storm must send you

into hysterics. Do you not suppose there is quite as much danger for me as

for you? Yet let me sob as you are doing, and how foolish you would think

me! Do control yourself this once, or your eyes will be red and ugly to‐

morrow, and you not presentable.”

Agathe had intended simple expostulation; but anger got the better of her,

and her last words were very commanding—so much so as to rouse Kathleen,

who cried:

“I am sure I don’t care for eyes, or appearance, or anything else, and I

wish you would let me alone. Because you have a reputation for courage and

firmness, you imagine you are justified in persecuting me; but I tell you

you are not. I cannot see any great courage and firmness in facing that

lightning. If there should ever be a call upon me for such qualities, I

will beg the good Lord to give them to me, but not for the purpose of

staring at a storm.” With this the dark head again took refuge in the

cushions, and Agathe returned to her former position. The scene was indeed

magnificent, and fully compensated for any uneasy feeling she might have

experienced in thus exposing herself. The entire sky within range of

vision seemed one dense, black cloud, hanging but a few feet above the

house‐tops, every moment sending forth flashes of light, at times sharp,

forked, fearful, again soft, widespread, and of sufficient duration to

illumine the entire piazza beneath. The pouring rain could not conceal

surrounding objects, but rather served to enhance their beauty, since they

appeared through a mist that served to screen the hard, substantial

reality. High up, beyond the fine steps which are a prominent feature in

this piazza, rose the church and convent of the Trinità di Monte, looking,

in its elevation and noble strength, a fit emblem of a religion so true

and sublime. Inclining from its height to the level beneath, the aforesaid

steps were lonely and deserted, deprived of their lounging idlers, but

nevertheless beautifully reflecting from their wet surface the brightness

above. One might have imagined the piazza, with its brilliant shops,

_caffes_, hotels, and booths, to be the noisy, bustling world, having in

its midst those steps so numerous, so difficult of ascent, but in the end

leading to rest, peace, heaven! How pitiful, then, to see no foot

ascending! And if this little picture be one of sorrow, how much worse the

great, real world, where so few mount the stairs within reach of all! Some

walk round, others glance up and promise a beginning to‐morrow; but how

many heed the warning? Now, _now_ is the time; to‐morrow may never come!

It is not probable, however, that such thoughts found favor with Agathe,

whose Protestant mind was in no way addicted to pious musing, since her

church furnishes such meagre food for heart and brain. Her eyes, roving

restlessly about, suddenly became fixed upon the tall, muffled figure of a

man hurrying through the rain with bent head and quickening speed. Devoid

of fear, of suspicion, she watched until he neared the piazza’s centre,

when, after one long, blinding streak of lightning, a fearful crash

followed, and she distinguished the object of her curiosity lying

prostrate on the ground. A sharp cry from her lips brought Mrs. Waring, to

whom, with trembling limbs and horror‐stricken face, she pointed out the

prostrate form. Kathleen, who had crept up behind her mother, no sooner

beheld it than she ran from the room, and, meeting her father in the hall,

breathlessly exclaimed: “O papa! do go quickly.... There is a poor man

lying in the street who has been struck, ... and nobody seems to know it.

Please go to him.... Bring him here. Get some one to help you; for he may

not be quite dead.”

Before she had ceased speaking her father was down‐stairs ordering a

servant to follow him; and from their position Mrs. Waring and Agathe saw

the two rush into the driving rain, gently raise the body, and carefully

bear it towards the entrance. Kathleen had hastily arranged pillows and

blankets on the sofa; so there was no delay in fixing something on which

to lay the poor fellow, and very soon the entire family were making a

desperate effort to restore animation, as Mr. Waring declared there was

life in the body. His assertion was verified when, after a while, the

young man drew a long breath, and opened such bewildered, astonished eyes

as made every one smile.

“Ah! my fine fellow,” cried Mr. Waring, “I’ll wager you you are on the

road to life again, and we are spared the trouble of attending your

funeral—a thing, I candidly assure you, I had expected to do not very long

ago.”

“O papa!” whispered Kathleen, glancing timidly at the pale face, blue

eyes, and curling brown hair, “don’t talk to the poor fellow about

funerals when he has been so near the grave; it cannot be pleasant.”

“Never mind, Miss Puss, I will set him straight,” replied her father.

“Now, my friend, I have always heard, and there is an indistinct idea of

my having read it, that people struck by lightning never feel it. As you

are a living witness to the truth or falsehood of this statement, I would

like to have your views on the subject.”

This, delivered with the air of a man thirsting for knowledge, brought a

smile to the patient’s mouth, and caused a general laugh.

“I am truly grieved,” replied the lightning‐struck, “that my knowledge is

of questionable authority, because I cannot tell whether I felt a blow on

the head or not, though there is a half‐defined recollection of some one

pounding me there, and producing about five hundred simultaneous

sensations; whether really so or the fruit of my active imagination I am

unable to avow.”

“Well, for our own satisfaction, we will believe you _did_ have five

hundred feelings jumbled together, and take it as a warning to avoid like

strokes.”

“Such profanity shall not be allowed!” said Mrs. Waring; “and I really

think, Mr. Waring, you should conduct our patient to a comfortable room

where he may sleep away his weakness. Kathleen will share Agathe’s

apartment, that he may occupy hers.”

All protestations to the effect that he could walk to his hotel being

indignantly denied, the young man was immediately consigned to bed, and

commanded to sleep as long as he could. For about half an hour the family

sat up discussing the accident, and did not separate until its victim was

unanimously pronounced handsome, elegant, charming!

The sun was many hours high next morning before our friends thought of

stirring, and the two girls were yet sound asleep when their mother came

tapping at the door. Her knock was so slight as to be scarcely

perceptible, and, receiving no response, she entered. The change from

bright sunshine to this darkened room at first made it impossible to

distinguish clearly; but opening the blind a very little way, Mrs. Waring

smiled to herself, as, glancing about the apartment, she murmured: “Those

careless, careless girls! What is to be done with them?” Evidently, the

careless girls had taken small trouble to arrange their things before

retiring, and now a somewhat confused picture greeted the despairing

mother’s eye. The bureau appeared the favorite receptacle for almost all

articles. A colossal brush, instead of properly supporting the rightful

partner of its joys and sorrows, made desperate love to an ink‐stand, a

red bow, and a bottle of cologne, whose stopple had stepped over the way

to consult an oracle of a watch about the probable comfort of the poor,

deserted comb that patiently reposed on a prickly pin‐cushion. The oracle,

unwound and unmoved, refused utterance, and sullenly stared at a crowd of

rings, bracelets, belts, reticules, hair‐pins, false curls, and

handkerchiefs indiscriminately gathered together. They were not interested

in the watch, but bemoaned the sad fate of a coquettish gray hat with a

scarlet plume, one string of which had caught in a tightly‐shut drawer,

and cruelly hung its fair possessor. A grand civil war had transpired in

other parts of the room; the washstand implements were horribly mutilated

and dashed about; the four shoes and stockings had taken leave of each

other, and angrily stationed themselves in different corners; and, last, a

huge trunk had brutally emptied itself of its contents, that now lay limp

and helpless, here, there, everywhere.

Had not Mrs. Waring been well accustomed to such a display, it is possible

she might have been dismayed; but as nothing is equal to habit, she

preserved her equanimity, and, approaching the nearest bed, her attention

was at once arrested by a tiny pair of beads which she perceived dangling

from Kathleen’s wrist. With a dark frown she retreated to the door, and

cried:

“Girls! girls! it is time to get up. You have slept long enough even for

weary travellers, and your patient has been waiting an hour to see the

young ladies before taking leave. Do hurry and come at once to the

parlor.”

“Yes, mamma, we will,” answered two very lazy voices.

“Yes, my dears, I do not doubt it,” said Mrs. Waring; “but let me see you

well out of those two comfortable beds, as you cannot be trusted in my

absence.”

In the midst of the commotion which followed Mrs. Waring escaped, and,

slowly walking along the hall, murmured:

“Is it possible Kathleen still retains those absurd convent notions, and

am I ever to regret having sent her to Mt. de C——? Surely, in three years

she must have forgotten those ridiculous impressions; yet what does that

rosary mean, and why should she sleep with it encircling her arm? Well, it

will only make matters worse to discuss them, and, until I am certain what

the poor child intends, I shall say nothing.”

By this time the drawing‐room was reached, and, entering, Mrs. Waring

found her husband and their guest in hot dispute as to the best manner of

sight‐seeing in Rome. Mr. Waring expressed abhorrence of guide‐books and

his resolution never to use them. The stranger intimated such a resolve

rash. Mr. Waring inquired why. The young man said guide‐books being

absolutely essential in a place so filled with objects of interest as

Rome, he was willing to wager Mr. Waring would have three or four in his

possession by the end of the week. Mr. Waring indignantly repudiated this

idea, and the argument might have continued indefinitely had not the girls

made an opportune appearance. In their wake came a delicious breakfast,

after partaking of which the young man rose to depart.

“I cannot,” said he, “pretend to thank you for such kindness to a

stranger, for words are inadequate to express my gratitude. My obligations

will be increased tenfold if you only permit me to continue an

acquaintance so happily begun.”

“My dear fellow,” cried Mr. Waring, “don’t mention gratitude; and as for

an acquaintance happily begun, if you choose to consider as such one

brought on by lightning, we are at your disposal, and nothing will delight

us more than receiving you as our friend. But friends should know what to

call one another, and, though my name is Alexander Waring, yours is still

a dead secret.”

“A thousand pardons!” exclaimed the stranger. “My negligence is truly

shocking; but it is Mr. and Mrs. Waring, with their lovely daughters, who

have charmed me into a forgetfulness of Howard Lee, and it is they who

must forgive him.”

Of the two lovely daughters, Kathleen pouted bewitchingly at the foregoing

speech, while Agathe gracefully inclined her head. The gentlemen shook

hands most heartily, and Mrs. Waring cordially invited Mr. Lee to return

often, assuring him of a sincere welcome. Thus, amidst compliments and

acknowledgments on both sides, Howard Lee took leave of his friends,

promising to see them very soon again.

It is scarcely necessary to add that the promise was observed, and during

the next month or two he was almost constantly one of the gay little party

which roved among the grand old ruins of Rome, wandered about its art‐

galleries and into its temples and churches, always consulting guide‐books

with a faith in, and a dependence on them that undoubtedly made Mr. Lee

winner of his wager. It is very remarkable what wonderful things can

transpire in a little while, though we are not certain whether you

consider it remarkable that Mr. Lee soon manifested extraordinary interest

in the movements of Miss Kathleen. If that young person chose to stare an

old statue out of countenance, she would not be long without the

assistance of another pair of eyes that had suddenly remembered some

never‐before‐known merit about the image, and were instantly intent on it.

If Kathleen thought proper to sit among the ruins, he, completely overcome

by fatigue, would rest by her side. We are much afraid this was not all

that happened; for there were certainly some very ardent glances sent from

his eyes to her sparkling black ones, that softened and glowed as they

drank in the language of the blue ones. And at every new approach of the

tall, manly figure didn’t the gray hat with the scarlet plume droop lower

and lower; didn’t the round, dimpled cheeks beneath rival the feather in

color; didn’t the little hands clasp each other tightly, that their

trembling might not make too bold a confession of her happy agitation? You

cannot be surprised that, standing together by the beautiful Trevi

fountain one moonlight night, to her was told in eloquent tones the old,

old story which every woman hears once in her life, be she ever so poor,

so ugly, so disagreeable. But this woman was lovely, bewitching; and the

tale seemed exquisite harmony when softly, beseechingly it fell upon such

ears. Long after the low voice had ceased telling what was music to her

soul Kathleen stood silent. The water dashed from and over rocks in

playful sport, defying the peaceful glance of the moon, which bade it be

quiet. The church‐bells rang out the hour of ten, and from the distance

sounded Agathe’s laugh, with the accompanying expostulation from several

ladies and gentlemen who were begging her to sing. At last clear and full

to these lovers came the sweet old song, “Kathleen Mavourneen.” Howard

waited till the music died away, then whispered,

“Why art thou silent,

Thou voice of my heart?

Oh! why art thou silent,

Kathleen Mavourneen?”

“Oh! spare me, spare me,” cried Kathleen. “I cannot, cannot answer! If you

but knew!”

“And do I not know you are what I love with all my heart, what I long to

call my own? Have you not encouraged me? allowed me to believe you cared

for me?”

“Oh! I never meant it. I would not have had you know that I cared for you.

Have pity on me, Mr. Lee, and do not ask why! I can give no answer to your

kind words. Believe me that it is best as it is.”

“Miss Waring, your friends are coming—will interrupt us in one minute; can

you give me _no_ hope? Is there nothing you will say to comfort my

yearning heart?”

“All I can say is, Wait; in a little while you will cease to wish for my

affection when you have learned what it is essential you should know

before I can give an answer to your question.”

“Nothing can change my desire,” pleaded Howard, gazing upon the tear‐laden

eyelashes and trembling lips. “Only tell me now what you think I must

know, and then see if it makes the slightest difference.”

“No, Mr. Howard,” said Kathleen, regaining composure, “wait a few days;

then I will either send for you or write what I have to communicate. With

you will rest the decision. Remember always that I have cared for you, and

that now it is a sad good‐night I wish you, knowing it may be my last.”

Here they were joined by their party, and Kathleen flying to the

protection of her mother’s arm, Mr. Lee took his place by Agathe’s side,

and thus they returned home. Poor Kathleen passed a miserable night, and

awoke next morning with head aching so badly as to prevent her appearance

at breakfast. Towards noon she improved, and by three o’clock presented

herself in the drawing‐room, where were her mother and sister. Telling

them she was going out for a little fresh air, and to feel no uneasiness

if she did not immediately return, she left the house, ran across the

piazza, up the steps, and stood in front of the Trinità di Monte. Pausing

a minute, “This is the 8th of December, the Feast of the Immaculate

Conception, so certainly there must be Benediction here this afternoon, as

they tell me the church belongs to the Ladies of the Sacred Heart. I’ll

try, anyhow.”

The little portress, in her very ugly cap, informed _la signorina_, “Yes,

benediction would be given in one hour from that time. Would she walk into

the chapel now and wait, or would she prefer going away to return?” _La

signorina_ would wait; so she was shown into the church, and there left to

her own reflections, which were one long struggle with feelings so

contrary that to make them agree was impossible. The poor child had, ever

since leaving the convent of Mt. de C——, been praying for courage to avow

a faith which she knew would anger her father, distress that darling

mother, and call forth words of bitter ridicule from Agathe. Now to these

considerations was added the fear of losing Howard Lee’s affection.

“Ah! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she cried, “help me in this my agony. Send

down upon me your blessing, that I may be strengthened in the path which

has become so difficult to my faltering feet! Endow my heart with that

courage I once boasted I would ask for when its need should be discovered.

O my Father in heaven! look upon thy child with pity, and heed her earnest

supplication.”

For an entire hour she wavered between the earthly devotion that awaited

but a word to be hers, and the higher Love, that requires many crosses and

sacrifices before it recompenses the heart. It will never desert, never

wound. The sun sank lower in the heavens, and the light in the chapel took

a soft, mysterious tone that lent supernatural quiet and stillness to the

place, greatly soothing Kathleen’s restless mind. Her head leaning on the

railing in front of her, her lips moving in unconscious prayer, she fell

into a deep, dreamless sleep that was only disturbed when over her senses

stole the faint sound of music, gradually, gradually unclosing those

delighted eyes shining with blissful wonder, as she supposed it all must

have been a dream, from which she waked to find herself safe in the dear

old convent. Surely, there was the beautiful altar, the Blessed Sacrament

exposed, many candles burning amid vases of exquisite flowers, the

venerable priest kneeling at the altar’s foot; above all, the convent

girls, in blue uniforms and white veils, entering two by two, making their

genuflections, and standing in their places till all were ready, when tap!

from the Sisters’ bench, and down they sat. From the organ‐loft the sweet

litany she knew so well came pouring into her ears just as of yore; as of

yore the priest, the Sisters, and convent girls sang in familiar tones:

“Mater Christi,

Mater divinæ gratiæ,

Mater purissima.”

With happy heart and tearful eyes she sang out the _Ora pro nobis_, while

many looked to see from whence came the joyful notes, so splendidly

swelling their chorus. Through the litany, the _O Salutaris!_ and the

_Tantum Ergo_ her strong, young voice was clear and sweet, and none

guessed that in the girl’s heart a fearful struggle had taken place, and

that there the good Lord had come and left a gift which would never decay,

never be worthless, but ever bright and glorious. A last prayer for

strength was uttered during Benediction, and Kathleen felt half her

difficulties were overcome when she stood up at the _Laudate Dominum_.

That night she confessed to her parents her intention of becoming a

Catholic, and besought their permission to take the step. Mr. Waring was

furious at first, and vowed she shouldn’t—not if he knew himself; but

three days’ fussing and fuming brought him to the conclusion she might do

as she chose, “but, for heaven’s sake, never expect him to love her as

much again,” and enforced his resolution by hugging and kissing her on the

spot. Mrs. Waring was very sad at the aspect of affairs, but had so long

anticipated it as to be little surprised. Deeming a refusal of her

sanction worse than useless, she also said her daughter might do as she

pleased. Only Agathe was inexorable; for, having begun by condemning her

sister’s course, she considered it incompatible with firmness ever to

change.

“How you can have allowed yourself to be so wound about the little fingers

of those priests and nuns I can’t divine,” she cried. “It indicates such

contemptible weakness to turn from the religion in which you were born to

that of a Papist—above all things, a Papist! Were I to live a hundred

years, I could not do it.”

“No, my poor sister,” thought Kathleen; “with all your character, I fear

you have not the daring courage required to combat the distress of

parents, the anger of friends, the loss of a beloved object. No; it is a

precious gift of God, and must be prayed for.”

Next Kathleen wrote to Mr. Lee, informing him of all that had taken place,

of her intention to become a member of the Catholic Church in a few weeks,

and renewed her request that he would forgive the pain she had caused him

in remembering the grief she herself endured; with many wishes for his

future prosperity, she remained his true friend. No answer came to this at

all, and the Warings saw nothing more of Howard Lee. Delicacy prevented

their asking an explanation from Kathleen, and, as she proffered none, his

name was never mentioned among them.

The days passed on, and Kathleen, being at last considered sufficiently

instructed, had prevailed on the Sisters of Trinità di Monte to allow her

retreat to be made with them, and her baptism and first communion to take

place in their church. Christmas was the time appointed for the

consummation of Kathleen’s desire. The chapel had been beautifully

decorated by the nuns and girls; and a little Bethlehem, removed some

slight distance from the altar, was the emblem of the glorious feast. A

new Mass had been learned, and, while the organ pealed forth its first

tones, the white‐robed girls filed in, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Waring and

Agathe, who, by dint of persuasion, had been induced to appear on the

occasion. Last entered Kathleen, and knelt in front of the altar. She was

faint and trembling, but did not lose a syllable of the words that made

her a Christian, a Catholic, and soldier of heaven. She was baptized, of

course, before the celebration of Mass, and during it received for the

first time the Holy Communion. Mr. Waring seemed much moved, his wife

cried outright, and Agathe’s flushed face and shining eyes belied the

unconcern she tried so hard to assume.

No one noticed the tall, dark figure standing in the furthest corner of

the church, nor saw the gaze riveted upon the fair, sweet girl at the

altar. As everything here must have an end, so did the music, the lights,

all that had brightened the chapel. The dark figure had hurried away, the

girls in white had disappeared, the Warings were gone; only the little

Babe of Bethlehem still lay in the manger, and one lamp shed its faint

lustre in honor of that Blessed Sacrament which is for you, for me, for

all who but seek it.

On the evening of the same day Kathleen was playing soft chords on the

piano, and indulging in waking dreams, when she was greatly disturbed by

the entrance of a man bearing in his arms a huge package of something very

delicate, to judge from the care with which said package was deposited on

the table. Before Kathleen could frame a question concerning the matter

the man was gone. Approaching the very remarkable bundle, she perceived a

card suspended bearing these words:

“A Christmas gift for Miss K. Waring.”

Still wondering, she gently detached the paper cover, and there,

delighting her eyes, was a tiny Christmas‐tree literally filled with bon‐

bons, colored candles, and children’s toys, while two or three small

papers concealed some more valuable presents no doubt. In perfect

amazement she ran to the door and called father, mother, and sister, who,

hastening to the room, uttered exclamations of pleasure at the sight. The

candles were instantly lighted, and the tree admired from every point,

though a thorough mystification ensued as to the donor. Each surmise only

seemed to make the matter worse; so they instituted a search among the

separate parcels. The first opened displayed a gold locket with the

initials A. W. in pinheads of pearls; the next contained a handsome silver

tobacco‐box for Mr. Waring; the next, a musical work‐box with Mrs.

Waring’s name; yet still there was nothing for Kathleen. More astonished

than ever, they examined once again; and right on the very top of the

tree, buried deep in its branches, was a round pasteboard box about the

size of a lady’s watch. Being opened, it disclosed a knot of hard‐twisted

note‐paper, which Kathleen unwrapped and unfolded until she came upon an

old, worn medal of the Immaculate Conception, from which hung a blue

ribbon. As the paper in her hand had something written on it, she made

haste to read, and here is the secret:

“Will my dear one take for a Christmas gift the little medal herein

enclosed, which was put around my neck by my mother when I made my first

communion eighteen years ago? I have kept away from you, that you might

have a pleasant surprise for this Christmas day, though I went to

communion for you this morning, and also saw the triumph of your brave

spirit in the Church of the Trinità di Monte. If, when I come to you this

evening, my little medal is about your neck, I shall know you accept me as

your devoted HOWARD LEE.”

Kathleen stood looking at the words through gathering tears, and was not

conscious of the quiet withdrawal of her parents and sister until the door

opened gently to admit Howard, who, glancing quickly at the blue ribbon on

her bosom, advanced eagerly, and, bending low, exultantly murmured:

“Why art thou silent,

Thou voice of my heart?

Oh! why art thou silent,

Kathleen Mavourneen?”

New Publications.

THOMAS GRANT, FIRST BISHOP OF SOUTHWARK. By Grace Ramsay. With two

portraits. London: Smith, Elder & Co. 1874. (New York: Sold by The

Catholic Publication Society.)

The late Bishop Grant was remarkable for learning, ability, and sanctity.

The events of his life, both before and after the period of his

ordination, are interesting. As rector of the English College in Rome, and

as bishop, his administration was successful and filled with great

services to the Catholic Church in England, particularly in respect to the

re‐establishment of the regular hierarchy. The story of his life is told

in a lively and pleasing manner, and the publisher has issued the volume

in a style which makes it attractive, though somewhat costly. The author,

whose _nom de plume_ is Grace Ramsay, is one of the best of our English

Catholic writers. We have been indebted to her graceful pen for some of

the most agreeable articles in our magazine, and we are pleased to learn

that some remarks in THE CATHOLIC WORLD on the character of the late

illustrious Bishop of Southwark first suggested to her the idea of writing

his biography.

BLESSED MARGARET MARY ALACOQUE. A brief account of her life. To

which are added a selection from her sayings and the Decree of her

Beatification. By the Rev. Charles B. Garside, M.A. London: Burns

& Oates. 1874. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication

Society.)

This tiny and pretty little book costs only fifty cents. We make its small

size and price thus prominent, in order to encourage those who have not

money or time to bestow on large books to buy this one and to help its

circulation. It contains the substance of the larger biographies of a

saint who has done one of the most wonderful works of modern times, and

has become justly the object of an extraordinary devotion among the

faithful.

The devotion to the Sacred Heart of our Lord has become the great devotion

of our day, to the incalculable benefit of the church and the promotion of

the most solid piety among the faithful. Pius IX. has constituted himself

the Superior‐General of the Congregation of Missionaries of the Sacred

Heart, and has expressed to several of its members his desire to

consecrate the universal church to the Adorable Heart of our Lord, if he

is asked to do it. We trust that the petition to the Holy See will not

long be delayed, and that it will be made in such a way as to show most

conclusively how ardent is the sympathy of the members of the church with

their august head in his pious sentiments. It is most natural that all who

love this devotion should desire to know something of the favored recluse

of Paray‐le‐Monial who was chosen by our Lord as the medium of his

revelation, making known his will that it should be universally

promulgated and cherished. There can be no doubt of the real,

supernatural, and divine character of the extraordinary graces conferred

upon her for this intention. The Sovereign Pontiff, in his Decree of

Beatification, declares that “whilst she devoted herself day and night to

continuous prayer, being often rapt in ecstasy, the gifts of divine grace

were most plenteously showered upon her” (p. 89). Again, that “it was now,

as she was praying before the august Sacrament of the Eucharist, that

Christ our Lord intimated to her that it would be most pleasing to him if

the worship of his most Sacred Heart, burning with love for mankind, were

established, and that he wished the charge of this to be consigned to her”

(p. 90). When the Pope speaks in this manner, and the most learned and

holy bishops, theologians, and other sound and judicious Catholic writers

everywhere re‐echo, amplify, and confirm by solid reasoning and evidence

the calm and cautious statements of the supreme authority, hesitation,

criticism, and doubt are out of place. Infidels and heretics may scoff; we

expect them to do it. But devout Catholics do not need to wait for a

positive command under pain of sin in order to believe readily and

joyously; and to let their hearts take fire with the devotion that burns

everywhere among the faithful, kindled by a spark from heaven which fell

into a virgin bosom, and has been communicated from her, under the fanning

of the wings of the divine Dove, until it has enkindled the whole world.

We trust the time may soon come when the canonization of the Blessed

Margaret Mary will give to the whole church the privilege of celebrating

Mass in her honor, and make her day a universal feast.

In the meantime, we welcome and most earnestly recommend the little book

of F. Garside, and wish for it the widest possible circulation.

THE SPIRITUAL CONFLICT AND CONQUEST. By Dom J. Castaniza, O. S. B.

Edited with Preface and Notes by Canon Vaughan, Monk of the

English Benedictine Congregation. Reprinted from the Old‐English

translation of 1652. London: Burns & Oates. 1874. (New York: Sold

by The Catholic Publication Society.)

Vast numbers of Catholics have read the treatise which in English has been

known by the title of _The Spiritual Combat_, and has been widely

circulated in many other languages besides the Italian, from which the

English translation was made. It has been always attributed to F. Scupoli,

a Theatine, who in reality only translated and adapted it, with

alterations and additions, from the Spanish of Dom Castaniza, a

Benedictine who lived at the same time with S. Teresa. In this altered

form it has been generally esteemed as second only to the _Imitation of

Christ_, which, by the bye, has lately been conclusively proved not to be

the work of Thomas à Kempis, Gerson, or any other writer to whom its

authorship has been ascribed. The complete work of Dom Castaniza, which

was translated into English in 1652, is now once more brought to light,

and republished in the most perfect manner, with a preface and notes,

increasing its value very considerably, by a member of the remarkable

Vaughan family, a brother, we presume, of our illustrious and highly‐

honored friend, the Bishop of Salford. We are disposed to regard this

treatise in its present complete form as decidedly the best spiritual

guide in the English language for the great majority of devout Catholics.

This is very high praise, but it is, in our opinion, not exaggerated. Let

our readers examine for themselves, and we are inclined to think they will

find our judgment correct.

We ought to say that even now, as it stands, a considerable portion of the

first part of the book is made up of Scupoli’s additions. In the main, we

have no fault to find with the translation. We like that old‐fashioned,

terse, strong English which is found in Old English writers. But it is

sometimes rude and even coarse, and in the present work there are a few

passages which are revolting to the more correct modern taste, and which

therefore become really irreverent.

The _Month_ has a very severe, though, as is always the case in that

periodical, a courteous and polite, _critique_ on the preface and notes of

Canon Vaughan. It accuses him of boasting too much of his order, and of

“girding” at other people. We have looked through the book with this

criticism in our hand, and we must say that we find it overstrained. We

cannot see any evidence that Canon Vaughan is disposed to undervalue other

orders different from his own, or that his remarks upon methods of

direction used in other societies are intended to censure anything except

indiscretion and exclusiveness in their application.

GRAPES AND THORNS. By M. A. T., Author of _The House of Yorke_.

New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1874.

Another story from the pen of the author of _The House of Yorke_. Turning

as the interest of the tale does on the discovery of a criminal in whose

stead an innocent man is imprisoned and actually condemned, it is yet so

skilfully conducted that none of the disgusting realistic details of what

is known as the sensational school are brought in to mar the work. It

really is a case of touching pitch, and yet not being, in a literary

sense, defiled. The circumstantial evidence on which the supposed murderer

is condemned is very well managed, and, until the facts are thrust upon

the reader, there is no chance of his discovering the real criminal. This

is a very great attainment in novel‐writing, and, in this day of hackneyed

“situations,” one very seldom reached. It is difficult nowadays to take up

any book, especially one referring to such events as are treated in

_Grapes and Thorns_, without at once seeing through the conventional

skeleton of the story, and picking out the main points in it beforehand.

As to style, we can only say of this book what all the literary world said

of _The House of Yorke_—that it alone would recommend even the flimsiest

web of story. The author has, in addition to this rare charm of style, a

faculty, so far as we know peculiar to herself among current novelists, of

investing with poetical grace the most commonplace things of every‐day

life, even such hopelessly prosaic subjects as the engine and engine‐

driver of a night‐train, and, worse still, a grocer’s shop and a palette

full of syrups! The descriptions of Rome are a feature of the book, but so

are the delineations of New England scenery, in snow‐storm and autumn

glories as well as in its summer dress of fresh greenery and moistness,

which is so delicately sketched in the picture of the Pond farm, the

water‐lilies, and the strong, beautiful young boat‐woman.

But to come to the chief point, the characters; for of the story itself we

say nothing, hoping that every reader of this notice has either read the

book or will immediately do so. Annette is unquestionably the only heroine

of the tale, although in the beginning one may be induced to consider the

beautiful, conscientious, high‐principled Honora Pembroke as entitled to

that place of honor.

Mrs. Gerald is another well‐drawn female character in the story. The most

touching thought in the whole story is contained in her gentle words after

she has found her son’s footsteps on the fresh mould of the violet‐bed

under her window: “I mean to sow little pink quill daisies in those two

foot‐prints.... When they come back, the tracks will be green.” Anita, the

little convent‐flower, is a very beautiful conception; she is like one of

the ethereal angels of Fra Angelico, not a common mortal. Mrs. Ferrier is

the very reverse, but her generous championship of Max Schöninger goes far

to redeem the vulgarity that shocks one in the early part of the book,

where she constitutes herself spy over Lawrence’s actions, and lectures

him to the verge of insanity.

We have now mentioned the name of the hero of the story, Schöninger, the

Jewish musician, on whom falls the false accusation of murder. His

character is all but faultless, the only exceptions, perhaps, being his

rather uncontrolled and fierce burst of joy when released from his seven

months’ imprisonment, and his general attitude towards F. Chevreuse. The

latter is more excusable than the former; but if the hero of a book were

faultless, he would be unnatural as a man. Schöninger is a wonderful

conception; so self‐reliant, self‐contained, and yet not harsh, not

repulsive even, in his defiance. The opinion of the world is nothing to

him; he has his own standard of right and wrong, and he lives up to it; he

would think martyrdom a trifle, if endured for the truth; he sees straight

to the core of things, and will be as uncompromising a Christian after his

conversion as he was an earnest Jew before it. We think, however, that the

author has made a mistake in making him a Reformed Jew. Doubtless it was

meant to enable him to parade the superior spirituality which was the only

form of religion possible for such a man; but the _Reformed_ Jews are no

nearer to a high spiritual standard, as contrasted with the orthodox Jews,

than the Lutheran or Calvinist sects are as contrasted with the true

Church. They are mere secessionists from the old faith, and, like all

branches divided from the parent trunk, are more or less withering into

atheism and infidelity. An orthodox Jew is much more likely to be

converted to Catholicity than a Reformed Jew.

F. Chevreuse is a very beautiful character, especially after the scene in

Lawrence’s room, where the priest and his penitent are alone with their

solemn secret, and face to face with God. Some one once said of _The House

of Yorke_ that there was an undefinable “something” wanting in the

character of the priest of that story, and that doubtless it was not given

to any one to be able to delineate truly a perfect priest. Perhaps it is

so, for it is most difficult to portray a life in which the supernatural

mingles with and effaces the natural to such an extent as it does in the

life of a true priest; but in F. Chevreuse the author has gone as near to

the ideal as any one could well go. Lawrence Gerald is a very difficult

character to analyze—a peculiar product of American civilization (this

assertion would be very hard to prove categorically, but every one who has

read the book will understand what we mean); a man for whom our feelings

change, during the progress of the tale, to a degree that almost gives him

at the last the moral pre‐eminence which at the beginning would have been

difficult to award even to saintly F. Chevreuse. Truly, in his case, as he

himself says, “Nothing but utter ruin could have brought him to his

senses.” There are souls whose salvation God works in this way, and

Lawrence’s penance certainly reads like some biography of a mediæval

sinner gradually turning into the life of a grand saint. The human element

is not absent, either, in this picture, of a most unusual expiation, and

no scene in the book will be read with more emotion than that of the

artist sketching the sleeping Lawrence, and adding, at the eager

suggestion of the “woman under the arch,” the “cluster of yellow flowers

which touched his head in the form of a crown.” We venture to say that

nothing short of the influence of a sojourn at Rome and the personal

contact with a life of exuberant, all‐pervading Catholicity, such as that

of the Italians, could have suggested such a remarkable ending to

Lawrence’s career. Of the subordinate characters of _Grapes and

Thorns_—John, the shrewd, hard, honest footman; Jane, the faithful but

exasperating housekeeper of F. Chevreuse; Dr. Porson, the Crichton cynic

and man of the world; F. O’Donovan, the fast friend at need of his

brother‐priest; Mother Chevreuse, the bright, tender, brave woman, of whom

we get but a glimpse; Sister Cecilia, a counterpart of Honora—we can only

say that they show the varied acquaintance of the author with many and

widely different types of mankind. The pettiness and prejudice of

“liberal” Crichton are well defined in the hue‐and‐cry which soon follows

Schöninger’s arrest, and the equally intemperate revulsion in his favor

when he is proved innocent. It is remarkable that no one but F. Chevreuse

and Mrs. Ferrier believed firmly in his innocence while circumstances all

pointed so suspiciously to him as the murderer, except, of course, those

who already knew the miserable secret.

In spite of the great merits of this story, it has, nevertheless, like

_The House of Yorke_, one great defect which mars its excellence, not

perhaps as a work of art, but as a specimen of the Catholic ideal in art.

Annette, the heroine, acts foolishly, unreasonably, and against the sense

of personal dignity and worth which the perfect Christian maiden must

cherish, as next to her faith and honor, in marrying the unhappy Lawrence

Gerald. This shows that the author’s ideal woman is not the highest type

of her sex, and that she fails to appreciate the lofty, Christian idea of

conjugal love and of marriage. Honora Pembroke ought to have been the

heroine, and although she has not been fortunate enough to win the

sympathy of critics and readers generally, especially of the fair sex, we

are glad to see that the author has given us at least one specimen of a

woman who is governed by conscience and reason, and not by sentiment.

Another fault, against which we beg leave here to caution all our writers

of light articles and stories for the magazine, is the introduction of the

writer’s private and personal opinions on matters connected with religion

and the church. We request, once for all, that such matters may be left to

the editor of the magazine and those whom he judges competent to treat of

them expressly.

AN ESSAY CONTRIBUTING TO A PHILOSOPHY OF LITERATURE. By B. A.

Philadelphia: Claxton, Remsen & Haffelfinger. 1874.

The aim of this essay is to give such principles as are calculated to

counteract the false and baneful ideas proposed in our text‐books on

English literature. The author, one of the Brothers of the Christian

Schools, who modestly conceals his name, is a worthy _confrère_ of Gerald

Griffin. Evidently, his reading is extensive, his taste fine and accurate,

and his mind truly philosophical. The unassuming book he has put forth is

one which teachers in the department of English literature and intelligent

students of the same will find to be of great service.

AMELIA; OR, THE TRIUMPH OF PIETY. Translated from the French.

Philadelphia: P. F. Cunningham & Son. 1874.

This is a story quite romantic and sensational in its character, but

withal very pious, and showing very dramatically high virtue in contrast

with great wickedness, and triumphing over it. In one part of it Amelia

makes a promise which a Catholic could not make without grievous sin. She

promises, namely, her supposed parents, who were Protestants, that if they

will listen to a discussion between a priest and a minister, she will

embrace their religion, provided they declare their conviction that the

minister has the best of it. The use of the word “Catholicism” to express

the Catholic religion, though sometimes allowable, is awkward and

unsuitable as it occurs in the story. Critically speaking, this story is

not much, but it may amuse children, who are generally not very critical

if there are plenty of remarkable incidents to excite their emotions.

There are hosts of stories like this in the French language, many of which

are much better. It is a pity that more care and taste are not sometimes

shown in selecting among them for translation.

THE CHURCH AND THE EMPIRES, HISTORICAL PERIODS. By Henry William

Wilberforce. Preceded by a Memoir of the Author by J. H. Newman,

D.D. With a portrait. London: Henry S. King & Co. 1874. (New York:

Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)

The essays contained in this volume are reprints of articles from the

_Dublin Review_. The memoir, by the dear friend of the author, Dr. Newman,

though brief, is a complete little biography of a justly distinguished and

most estimable man, who honored the illustrious name of Wilberforce by his

sacrifices, his virtues, and his valuable literary labors.

ALEXANDER THE GREAT. A DRAMATIC POEM. By Aubrey de Vere, Author of

“Legends of S. Patrick.” London: Henry S. King & Co. 1874. (New

York: For sale by The Catholic Publication Society.).

A dramatic poem by Aubrey de Vere could not be other than noble in theme

and thoughtful and delicate in execution. Almost alone among the poets of

the day, not many of whom equal, and not one of whom surpasses, him in the

higher qualities of insight and subtle imagination, he seems never to have

felt the debasing touch of that materialism which in one department of

letters seeks to elevate science at the expense of faith, and in another

to degrade poetry to be the beautiful but shameless minister to all that

is lowest in man’s nature. Religion, which he has served so faithfully,

has rewarded his devotion by lifting him into a clearer atmosphere than

can be breathed by men devoid of faith, and has made him worthy to be

ranked with those true poets who sing not alone for the busy, itching ears

of their contemporaries, but for a wider, because a more enduring,

audience.

Nevertheless, Mr. de Vere’s lyric poetry, subtle and delicate as it is,

could hardly, we should say, have prepared his readers for the power shown

in his conception and delineation of the hero of his drama, Alexander, the

greatest of the great conquerors whom the world has seen. His poem is

absolutely simple in aim and in detail, and gains interest, if not solely,

yet almost solely, from the manner in which he has strongly though briefly

expressed his idea of what a great conqueror, a man with aims truly

imperial, swayed by no mean passion, and filled with the idea of welding

into one all peoples, and informing them by the highest purely human

intelligence, should be. What literal truth there is in the picture—how

nearly the Alexander of the play resembles him who died at thirty‐three,

the master of half the world—is not a question of any special interest. It

is enough that Mr. de Vere’s hero is a noble and intrinsically true

conception, and a fit measure by which to estimate the true proportions of

those lesser men whom the world once in an age sees filled with the lust

of empire, but void of the skill and quick insight which should make them

avoid its perils. In his play, indeed, Mr. de Vere, who follows the

tradition of Josephus, and makes Alexander visit once the temple at

Jerusalem, and pay to its high‐priest such reverence as he had never shown

to mortal man, makes him listen there to the warning that his power must

have its “term and limit,” and that he who would indeed wear the world’s

crown “should be the Prince of Peace.” And yet the errors and mistakes by

which great men seem blindly to throw away at last the fruits of their

long toil seem to the on‐looker as if they might have been so easily

avoided that it is always necessary to remind one’s self how little is

truly in the power of man, and how surely God controls even the crimes and

follies of those who seem to rule the world.

Aside, however, from the fine scenes in which Mr. de Vere brings out his

idea of his hero, the play has many subsidiary beauties of a different

kind.

What poet but himself could have written the two lovely scenes between

Hephestion and Arsinoë, and made his readers see so well the love which

either felt, but of whose return neither was aware? The minor characters,

indeed, are drawn throughout with the hand of a master who never wastes a

stroke, and who has the art of showing his readers what he wills by

lifting them and not by lowering himself. Who has painted in our day a

lovelier picture than that in which Hephestion shows us Arsinoë’s mother?

“Who knew your mother

Till death shall reverence woman’s race! In her,

Though doubly‐dower’d, a mother and a queen,

There lived a soft, perpetual maidenhood,

An inexperienced trust, timid, yet frank,

Shy, yet through guilelessness forgetting shyness.

She seem’d a flower‐like creature come to fruit;

She moved among her babes an elder sister;

Then, wakened by an infant cry or laugh,

Full motherhood returned.”

Some qualities of Mr. de Vere’s work, which are more generally known than

the virile force displayed in his grasp of the characters of his play, are

shown at their best in the two or three lyrics which occur in it. Let us

end an inadequate notice, which may send our readers to the poem itself,

by quoting his exquisite paraphrase of one of the most beautiful of the

Psalms:

“We sate beside the Babylonian river:

Within the conqueror’s bound, weeping we sate;

We hung our harps upon the trees that quiver

Above the rushing waters desolate.

“A song they claimed—the men our tasks who meted—

‘A song of Sion sing us, exile band!’

For song they sued, in pride around us seated;

How can we sing it in the stranger’s land?

“If I forget thee, Salem, in thy sadness,

May this right hand forget the harper’s art!

If I forget thee, Salem, in my gladness,

My tongue dry up, and wither, like my heart!

“Daughter of Babylon, with misery wasted,

Blest shall he be, the man who hears thy moans;

Who gives thee back the cup that we have tasted;

Who lifts thy babes, and hurls them on the stones!”

ADELINE DE CHAZAL; OR, FIRST EXPERIENCE OF THE WORLD AFTER LEAVING

SCHOOL. Translated from the French by a Sister of S. Joseph.

Philadelphia: P. F. Cunningham. 1874.

A great number of young graduates are just now beginning this “first

experience,” after receiving their medals, crowns, and premiums, and

listening to the valedictories with which good‐by is said to academic

halls and groves. Miss Adeline de Chazal’s experience, and her remarks

upon the same, will probably come home to this class of young ladies with

more interest than to any other set of readers. They will find it edifying

and instructive, and, if they act upon the advice it contains, they will

certainly take a safe course. The list of books for reading is good, so

far as it goes, but might receive a considerable increase.

THE HELPERS OF THE HOLY SOULS. By the Rev. C. B. Garside. London:

Burns & Oates. 1874. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication

Society.)

The Helpers of the Holy Souls are a religious congregation of women in

France, whose special devotion is to aid the souls of the faithful

departed in purgatory by their prayers, good works, and other suffrages.

F. Garside gives an account of their foundress and a history of their

institution, with suitable reflections on the great utility of the special

object which they have undertaken to promote.

ROSEMARY. By Lady Georgiana Fullerton.

SHORT STORIES. By the same.

THE NEPTUNE OUTWARD BOUND. By Winnie. New York: P. O’Shea. 1874.

The first two of these pretty books for children are reprints from the

English editions already noticed in this magazine; the third is a lively,

wholesome story imitating Oliver Optic.

[Transcriber’s Note: Obvious printer’s errors have been corrected.]

FOOTNOTES

1 “Essentialis ratio substantiæ ut sic non consistit in _esse per se_,

quatenus per hæc verba describitur ipsum subsistere in actu, sed in

hoc quod habeat talem essentiam, cui debeatur subsistentia, seu quæ

ex se sit sufficiens principium illius.”—Suarez, _Metaph. Disp._ 34,

sect. 8, n. 11.

2 Τὸ ἐν ἑατῷ ὃν, καὶ μὴ ἐν ἑτέρῳ ἔχον τὴν ὔωαρξιν.—_Dialect._, c. 4.

3 Ἐπὶ πάντων τῶν ὄντων, τὸ ἐν ἑαυτῷ, καὶ μὴ ἐν ἑτέρῳ ἔχον τὸ εἶναι,

οὐσία ἐστί.—_Dialect._, c. 4.

4 Ὀυσία ἐστι πᾶν ὄτιπερ αὐθυπόστατόν ἐστὶ, καὶ μὴ ἐν ἑτέρῳ ἔχει τὸ

εἶναι.—_Dialect._, c. 39.

5 “Quod in suo maneat, nec ope subsistat aliena (Deus), appellatur

substantia.”—_De Incarn._, c. 10.

6 This absence is a real negation—a negation of imperfection, so long

as we speak of God, who cannot admit of an inferior nature being

inserted in the plenitude of his reality; but a negation of further

perfection when we speak of created things, which are potential, and

can be raised supernaturally above their natural condition.

7 _Contra Gent._, lib. 1, c. 25.

8 “Substantia non addit supra ens aliquam differentiam, quæ significet

aliquam naturam superadditam enti: sed nomine substantiæ exprimitur

specialis modus essendi” (_De Verit._, q. 1, a. 1). Hence this

special mode does not constitute the nature or essence of the thing

itself, and for this reason it is not mentioned in its definition,

as S. Thomas says, _Quodlib._ 9, q. 3.

9 “Prima substantia est quædam natura sensibilis, quæ nec de subjecto

dicitur, nec in subjecto aliquo est.”—_In Logic. Arist._, c. 5, _De

Substantia_.

10 “Non est de essentia eius subsistentia, sed modus substantiæ.”—In 3

part, q. 77, a. 1.

11 Lib. xi. c. 14.

12 Vol. 2, q. 1, _de accident_.

13 “In substantiæ rationem redeuntes, tria quoad ipsam considerare

possumus: primum, quod existat, et quidem in se; alterum, quod tali

potius quam alia realitate constat, seu essentia, ex qua determinatæ

vires operandi dimanant; tertium, quod se possideat, sitque sui

juris in existendo. Primum proprie et præcise constituit notionem

substantiæ; alterum conceptum offert naturæ; postremum denique, ...

ideam suppositi præbet.”—_Metaph. Gen._, n. 64.

14 “Ex duobus, nempe ex re prædicamenti, et ratione essendi ejus, quæ

est ratio prædicamenti, constituitur ipsum prædicamentum, et

diversificatur unum prædicamentum ab alio.”

15 _De Verit._, q. 1, a. 1.

16 “Non propter defectum alicujus quod ad perfectionem humanæ naturæ

pertineat, sed propter additionem alicujus quod est supra humanam

naturam, quod est unio ad divinam Personam.”—_Summa Theol._, p. 3,

q. 4, a. 2.

17 “Persona divina sua unione impedivit, ne humana natura propriam

personalitatem haberet.”—_Ibid._

18 “Existere ex se solum dicit habere entitatem extra causas, seu in

rerum natura; unde de se indifferens est ad modum existendi

innitendo alteri ut sustentanti, et ad modum existendi per se sine

aliquo sustentante.”—_Metaph. Disp._ 33, sect. 4, n. 24.

19 It is known that this analogy has been erroneously interpreted by

some old and modern heretics, who taught that Christ’s body is in

the Holy Eucharist by _impanation_ or by _consubstantiation_, and

not by transubstantiation. The heresy of impanation asserts that the

Eternal Word in the Holy Eucharist _becomes bread by assuming

hypostatically the substance of bread_. The heresy of

consubstantiation assumes that in the Holy Eucharist the substance

of Christ’s body is _united with the substance of the bread_, and

that therefore the Eucharist contains both substances. These

heresies are, of course, mere corruptions of the traditional

doctrine. The first corrupts it by confounding the substantive

sustentation with the personal assumption, and by substituting the

latter in the place of the former. The second corrupts it by

supposing that a thing substantively supported by an underlying

substance continues to exist as a substance; which is against the

traditional definition of substance, and against the very analogy of

which it pretends to be the interpretation; for, in virtue of such

an analogy, it is as impossible for a thing _thus supported_ to be a

substance as it is impossible for the human nature _assumed_ to be a

human person. Hence what logically follows from the analogy of the

two mysteries is neither impanation nor consubstantiation, but real

and proper transubstantiation—that is, a real substitution of one

substance for another under the remaining sensible species.

20 “Subsistere dicit determinatum modum existendi per se et sine

dependentia a sustentante; unde illi opponitur inesse vel

inexistere; dicitque determinatum modum existendi in alio.”—_Disp.

Metaph._ 33, sect. 4, n. 24.

21 At the consecration of a church to the Sacred Heart.

22 What, sir! you bring us all those pretty ladies! You will

revolutionize our poor curate.

23 According to Gov. Dix’s report for 1874, our “evangelical” state

church will have to draw the sum of $8,600,000 (eight million, six

hundred thousand dollars!) out of the public treasury to erect two

“evangelical” asylums, one “evangelical” hospital, and one

“evangelical” non‐sectarian state reformatory! From the same report

we learn that our “evangelical” system of public education cost the

state for the year ending September 30, 1873, the sum of $20,355,341

(twenty million, three hundred and fifty‐five thousand, three

hundred and forty‐one dollars!); and that our “evangelical” state

church owns twenty‐seven millions, seventy thousand, three hundred

and ten dollars’ worth of school property! Remember that Catholics

pay their proportion of the taxes, and that most of the public

schools are not only “evangelical” in their religion, but some even

formally Methodist by the “hymns” and prayers taught in them!

24 How little publicity the “Evangelical” press have given to this

letter, because it favored the Catholics!

25 One of our judges—an ex‐Methodist minister—lately in open court

violated the parental right over offspring by sending a Catholic

child to a Protestant establishment in spite of the respectable

father’s opposition.

26 The following are the words of our State constitution in regard to

religion:

“The free exercise and enjoyment of religious profession and

worship, without discrimination or preference, shall for ever be

allowed in this State to all mankind.”—Art. 1, sec. 3.

Now, it is known that the “free exercise” of the Catholic religion

is not “free” in most of our state institutions; and in most of them

there is “preference and discrimination” in favor of “Evangelical”

clergymen and against the Catholic Church. The writer could prove by

affidavits that in the very city of New York there is religious

persecution in some of the state institutions, if the general scope

of his remarks permitted him to go into many details. Where is the

Catholic priest living near a state institution but knows that there

is “discrimination” made against him?

27 Will Gov. Dix, therefore, tell us by what right of “eminent domain”

Victor Emanuel robbed the Pope and confiscated the church property?

Does Gov. Dix forget that he was one of those who approved this

confiscation at the great “Italian unity” meeting?

28 S. Leonides was also a bishop. See Euseb., _Hist._ 6, c. 12; also S.

Jerome, _Catal._, c. 54.

29 _Catal. et Ep. ad Magn._

30 _Hæret. Fab._, l. 1, c. 8.

31 _Stromata_, 1, 1.

32 S. Jerome, _Catal._, c. 54.

33 _Ibidem._

34 _Hist. Univ. Douzième Epoque._

35 _Tertullian._

36 _General History of the Catholic Church_, Darras. American

translation, vol. i. p. 218.

37 _Monks of the West_, vol. ii. p. 33.

38 _Hæres._, 64.

39 _Orig. Defens._, l. 4, note p. 35.

40 Preface, Bellamy’s Translation of Origen’s _Apology_.

41 Ps. cxviii.

42 Preface to Vulgate.

43 Pref. _ad Ephes._

44 Pref. _in Pentateuch_.

45 Pref. _in Job_.

46 Introd. _in Cantica_, etc., translated by Jerome from Origen.

47 Lib. 2 _adv. Rufinus et passim_.

48 In c. 6 _Ep. ad Rom._

49 Tract. _in Matt._

50 _Apud Euseb._, l. 6, hist. c. 19.

51 _Life of S. Cecilia_, pp. 9 and 10.

52 _Cel._, l. 3.

53 Butler’s _Saints_, vol. ii. p. 141.

54 _Leviticus_, hom. 9.

55 See _Acts of the Council of Nice_ for proof of this line of

reasoning—“Apostolic Canons.”

56 _Can. de Hierarchia Ecclesiæ Con. Nicenem._

57 _Apud Hieron., adv. Theophilus._

58 _Apud Hieron._, 2 lib. “adv. Rufinus,” et opera S. Gregory Nyssen.

59 _De Principiis_, lib. i. 4.

60 See Life in Butler, note vol. iii.

61 Lib. 2. _adv. Rufinus_.

62 _Apud Hier._, lib. 2. _adv. Ruf._ p. 217.

63 The question of Origen’s orthodoxy turns principally on the

_Periarchon_. The violently heretical character of that book, as it

now stands, contradicting the most fundamental doctrines of

Christianity, is the best defence of Origen. It is altogether

contrary to the teaching of his undoubted works, and, if it had been

acknowledged and defended by him, there would never have been any

controversy at all about his orthodoxy. He would have been at once

and universally condemned as the grossest of heretics.—ED. C. W.

64 _Christine._ Par Louis Enault.

65 _Following of Christ_, b. i. c. xix. v. 7.

66 Wisdom xi. 21.

67 Little girl.

68 _Attribute_ and _property_ mean the same in reality; but we usually

call them _attributes_ with respect to the thing absolutely

considered as a being, and _properties_ with respect to the thing

considered as a principle of operation.

69 A paper read before the Xavier Union, of this city.

70 S. Thomas says (_Summa Contra Gentiles_, l. 4, c. xi.): “Nam

viventia sunt quæ seipsa movent ad agendum; illa vero quæ non nisi

exteriora movere possunt omnino sunt vita carentia.” This, however,

is rather a description of a vital phenomenon than a definition of

life itself. Fichte says: “Life is the tendency to individuation;”

which, like most of the phrases of the German pantheists, means

nothing or anything you please.

According to Richerand, “Life is a collection of phenomena which

succeed each other during a limited time in an organized body”; but

this applies equally to the succession of phenomena which takes

place in the body after death. Herbert Spencer defines life to be

“the co‐ordination of actions”; but what is anything but a co‐

ordination of acting forces, consequently of actions? This

definition is as applicable to sulphuric acid as to life.

71 Kant defined truth to be the harmony of thought with thought, not of

thought with things.

72 It may be well to quote the testimony of two Englishmen on this

subject.

Buckle, in his _History of Civilization_, vol. i. page 158, says:

“Thus, for instance, the miserable and impudent falsehoods which a

large class of English writers formerly directed against the morals

and private character of the French and—to their shame be it

said—even against the chastity of Frenchwomen, tended not a little

to embitter the angry feelings then existing between the two first

countries of Europe: irritating the English against French vices,

irritating the French against English calumnies. In the same way,

there was a time when every honest Englishman firmly believed that

he could beat ten Frenchmen—a class of beings whom he held in

sovereign contempt, as a lean and stunted race, who drank claret

instead of brandy, who lived entirely off frogs; miserable infidels,

who heard Mass every Sunday, who bowed down before idols, and who

even worshipped the Pope.”

“I did not know,” says John Stuart Mill, in his _Autobiography_,

“the way in which, among the ordinary English, the absence of

interest in things of an unselfish kind, except occasionally in a

special thing here and there, and the habit of not speaking to

others, nor much even to themselves, about the things in which they

do feel interest, cause both their feelings and their intellectual

faculties to remain undeveloped, or to develop themselves only in

some single and very limited direction, reducing them, considered as

spiritual beings, to a kind of negative existence.”

73 _The Old Faith and the New_, p. 120.

74 “My name is Monaco,

A rock my seat:

I neither reap nor sow,

And yet I eat.”

75 “O thou, whom chance or will brings to the soil,

Where fair Armida doth the sceptre guide,

Thou canst not fly; of arms thyself despoil,

And let thy hands with iron chains be tied.”

—_Fairfax’s Translation._

76 A street‐lane.

77 The above passage is really in the Prayers for the Dead. The

Dominican ritual differs in some respects from the ordinary ritual;

whether it includes any difference in the Prayers for the Dying I

have been unable to ascertain. The above account is taken from some

passages in Lacordaire’s life of the saint. Lacordaire was himself a

Dominican.

78 The _Baldacchino_ at S. Peter’s is by Bernini.

79 “I have found that Rome is the place where one can enjoy the most

happiness.”

80 Ah! poor fellow. Why, he is weeping!

81 Throughout this poem the lover’s songs are in the longer metre; the

lady’s in the shorter. In the 1st and 3d parts, the songs are all

his; in the 2d and 4th, all hers; in the 5th and 6th, the two

classes are mixed.

82 _A Course of Philosophy; embracing Logic, Metaphysics, and Ethics._

Designed as a text‐book for the use of schools. By Rev. A. Louage,

C.S.C., Professor in the University of Notre Dame. Baltimore: Kelly,

Piet & Co. 1873.

83 The principal work of this author is in Latin. We believe that some

of his treatises are in Italian. There are similar works noticed in

the _Civilta Cattolica_.

84 _Poems._ By Dante Gabriel Rosetti. London. 1871.

85 These expressions are frequently employed in philosophy, but are not

applied in a uniform manner by several writers. It is known that

“first matter,” or _materia prima_, usually means matter without

form, or potency without act; and nevertheless it is not rare to

find the denomination of _materia prima_ applied to the matter which

is in the bodies, and which is certainly not without a form. We

cannot enter here into a discussion about this subject; but it is

obvious that, if we wish to be consistent and avoid equivocation, we

must carefully guard against applying to anything actual the very

epithet we employ to characterize its contrary.

86 See CATHOLIC WORLD, July, 1873, page 471.

87 The general definition of relation is, _Id. cuius totum esse est ad

aliud se habere_.

88 There are philosophers who do not admit any real distinction between

a thing and its mode. Thus Tongiorgi (_Ontol._, n. 148) says that

“the mode of any being is really nothing else than the being itself

considered in a different manner.” This view deserves no discussion,

as it is evidently false. If the mode of a thing were the thing

itself, then the sphericity of the wax would be the wax, the joy of

the soul would be the soul, and every affection would be the subject

of the affection. The author seems to have confounded _being_, the

participle, with _being_, the substantive.

89 It is well known that the people of Southern Italy think they can,

by this gesture, avert the effects of the _jettatura_, or evil eye,

which they attribute to some persons.

90 See Naples, and then die.

91 Vine‐dressers.

92 It was a fit of rage.

93 This chapter is taken from a work published soon after the date of

the occurrences narrated, as was the previous one (CATHOLIC WORLD,

Dec., 1873), on account of the interest which recent events impart

to it.—ED. C. W.

94 Afterwards Comte de Chambord.

95 In fact, _Stultorum infinitus est numerus_.

96 _Force and Matter: Empirico‐philosophical studies intelligibly

rendered by Dr. Louis Büchner, President of the Medical Association

of Hessen‐Darmstadt, etc., etc._ Edited by J. Frederick Collingwood.

Second English edition. London: Trübner & Co. 1870.

97 Of these two unseen spirits, the first voice is that of Cain; the

second, that of Aglauros, changed to stone for envy of her sister

Herse, as told by Ovid.

98 The meaning of this _bit_ or _bridle_ is explained in the

preliminary note.

99 Holy Madonna, assist me.

100 _The Question of Anglican Orders Discussed._ By E. E. Estcourt,

Canon of S. Chad’s Cathedral, Birmingham. 1873.

_On the Decision of the Holy Office on Abyssinian Orders._ By the

Rev. J. Jones. Letter to the _Month_, November‐December, 1873.

101 See the pamphlet, _A Few Remarks on the Recent Work of Canon

Estcourt_, and the letter, signed “English Catholic,” to the

_Tablet_ of May 3, 1873.

102 This is true of F. Kellison’s _Survey of the New Religion_, 1603, to

whom Canon Estcourt attributes the first publication of the Nag’s

Head story.

103 _De Illust. Angliæ Script._, p. 770. Paris, 1619.

104 See Kenrick’s _Anglican Ordinations_, p. 81, and Tiernay’s _Dodd_,

append. No. xlii.

105 _De Antiq. Eccles. Rit._, lib. 1, pt. iii. c. viii. art. 10, § 16.

106 _Estcourt_, p. 62.

107 Note to Haddan’s Preface to Bramhall.

108 Haddan, Pref. to Bramhall.

109 See Pref. to Bramhall; but in _Apost. Succession_, p. 209, Mr.

Haddan says nine out of forty‐nine.

110 _Estcourt_, p. 76.

111 _Actes de la Captivité et de la Morte des R.R. P. P. P. Olivaint, L.

Ducoudray, J. Caubert, A. Clerc, A. de Bengy, de la Compagnie de

Jésus._ Par le P. Armand de Ponlevoy de la même Compagnie. Paris: G.

Tegui. 1871.

112 “They went forth rejoicing.”

113 P. 46.

114 “But in all things let us exhibit ourselves as the ministers of God,

in much patience, in tribulation, ... in prisons, in seditions, ...

through honor and dishonor, through infamy and good name.”—2 Cor.

vi. 4‐8.

115 “It is a great, a very great virtue to know how to lack all

consolation, human as well as divine, and to endure willingly for

the glory of God the exile of the heart.”—_Imit._, i. 2, c. ix.

116 “In many more labors, in prisons more frequently.”—2 Cor. xi. 23.

117 “And you shall be hated by all men for my name’s sake.”—Matt. x. 22.

118 From hatred of the faith, hatred of the name of Jesus Christ.

119 French proverb: From thread to needle.

120 The pleasure of doing nothing.

121 Peasants.

122 Mistress.

123 The keepers of the vineyards.

124 Peasantry.

125 Literal translation of an Italian term meaning without narrow

prejudice.

126 The past is absent, but not dead.

127 See Zschokke’s _History of Switzerland_, page 45, for all these

characters in the uprising against Austria in 1307.

128 CATHOLIC WORLD for February, 1874, p. 584.

129 A lecture _On Molecules_, delivered before the British Association

at Bradford, by Prof. Clerk‐Maxwell, F.R.S. _Nature_, September 25,

1873.

130 It is competent, however, to furnish the philosopher with all the

materials of such a reasoning, as this very passage clearly shows.

131 Book 10, ch. 15.

132 See CATHOLIC WORLD, March, 1874, p. 827.

133 CATHOLIC WORLD, March, 1874, page 759.

134 See _A Speculation touching Electric Conduction and the Nature of

Matter_.

135 _Theoria Philosophiæ Naturalis_ p. 1, n. 18.

136 CATHOLIC WORLD, March, 1874, page 766.

137 “Long live the spouses! Long live the duke! Long live the duchess!”

138 “Beatrice upward gazed, and I on her.”

139 The appetite comes with eating.

140 _Ex Chron. Mauriniac. ap. Harduin Concil._, tom. 6, p. 1214.

141 Wilberforce, _Holy Euchar._, p. 438.

142 See M. Le Grand, _Dissert. de Ord. Abyss._, p. 361, translated by S.

Johnson.

143 _Godigno_, 1 c. p. 327.

144 Assemani, _Controv. Copt._, p. 185.

145 _Estcourt_, Append. xxxiv.

146 See Le Brun, _Explic. Miss._ (Venice, 1770 tom. ii. p. 273).

147 _Act. Sanct. Junii_., tom. v. p. 128.

148 _Montesquiou._

149 As unhappy as the stones.

150 My daughter.

151 Dear daughter.

152 Such forms are usually said to be produced “out of the potency of

matter”; but this makes no difference. For what is only in potency

to exist is still nothing: hence what is to be drawn out of the

potency of matter is still nothing. Its production, however, is not

a creation, because it implies a real subject.

153 This has been shown in THE CATHOLIC WORLD for March, 1874, pp. 764,

765.

154 We are not unfrequently imposed upon by the infidel phraseology and

the bold assertions of modern scientists. We should remember that

bold assertions in science may be as false as they are bold. The

theory of the indestructibility of force is one of such assertions;

and yet it is trumpeted about as a demonstrated truth. It is time

for us to awake. The seed of atheism is sown everywhere under cover

of positive science; but the fraud may be easily detected. Infidel

theories are usually mere trash; and if we were to look into them a

little more sharply, we would find that they bear no examination. It

is the duty of our Catholic professors of physics and mechanics to

raise their voices in earnest, and expose the fraud instead of

gobbling it down. We have only pointed out some of the reasons why

the new mechanical theory must be rejected; but its pretensions may

be more effectually crushed by thorough scientific and mathematical

analysis, as pure philosophical arguments are unfortunately above

the comprehension of most modern students.

155 A paper read before the CATHOLIC UNION of Boston, Mass., June 4,

1874.

156 _A Few Words on Church Choirs and Church Music._

157 Apud Bellasis, _Memorial of Cherubini_.

158 Cf. _Bellasis_, loco cit.

159 The only _efficient_ actions of our soul are those by which the will

carries its desires into execution. This is done by the will, not as

the faculty of willing, but as a moving power, and consequently by

means of a truly efficient action. The immanent operations of the

soul are, on the contrary, formal acts, not efficient actions. The

intellect and the will are moved by their objects in a manner

analogous to that in which a material element is moved by physical

agents. If an element could treasure up all the momenta it receives

from different agents, and were not under the necessity of following

their resultant, but had the faculty of yielding at pleasure now to

this and now to that determination, then such an element would give

us a true image of what our soul is competent to do by immanent

operation. The soul treasures up the _species_ impressed by

intelligible objects, that is, its intellectual momenta, and fields

or not to the attraction of any of them as it chooses. And the like

occurs with regard to the object of the will. To think and to will

is therefore nothing more than to let one’s self be carried by an

object or in the direction of an object. Accordingly, the soul, when

understanding or willing, is indeed actuated by the object, and

therefore is in act; but this act is _resultant_, not _efficient_.

In other terms, immanent acts are not efficient actions, but formal

attitudes formally resulting from either spontaneous or free

movements of the appetitive potency.

160 On this subject see THE CATHOLIC WORLD for March, 1874, p. 768.

161 Boscovich’s _Theoria Philosophiæ Naturalis_, part i. n. 108.

162 Cavendish in 1798 made his celebrated experiments concerning

terrestrial attraction, in order to determine the density of the

earth; but his calculations were grounded on the assumption that all

the material particles of the earth were equally attractive; and

therefore the result of such calculation cannot be implicitly relied

on. M. Reich in 1837, and M. Bayly in 1842, repeated the same

experiments, and calculated the density of the earth according to

the same assumption. It did not occur to either of them that the

assumption itself might have been subjected to a crucial test by

successively substituting spheres of zinc, iron, copper, silver,

etc., instead of the leaden ones which they uniformly employed. Had

they tried these substances in a proper manner—that is, with a

suitable modification of the apparatus—we have little doubt that

they would have discovered a difference of action for equal masses

of different substances. The experiment may yet be made, and we hope

it will, as it is of great scientific importance; but it should be

encouraged by the help of some powerful scientific body, as the cost

of the new apparatus would probably exceed the ordinary means at the

command of unaided individuals.

163 A Lecture on Mental Education, London, 1855.

164 In the _O Salutaris Hostia!_

165 Marie Antonette.

166 Words of Monsignor Nardi to Mrs. Peter.

167 A paper read before the Catholic Union of Boston, Mass. June 4,

1874.

168 _Third Prov. Council N. Y._

169 _Second Plenary Council of Baltimore_, No. 361.

170 _Third Provincial Council of New York_, decree the third. Since this

latter decree has been issued many organists have acted in the most

senseless manner. Instead of composing or arranging music to which

the words of the _Sanctus_ might easily be sung within the

prescribed time, they have retained what they had, and thus are

frequently obliged to interrupt the _Sanctus_ in the middle of a

movement, and before half the words have been pronounced. Sometimes

they continue the movement, and resume the same words after the

Elevation, and then they find it impossible to sing the

_Benedictus_, which should, as is evident, immediately follow the

consecration. It is true that at the High Mass the celebrant is

expected to make a longer _memento_ than usual, both for the living

before the consecration and for the dead after it, to give the

singers time to sing all the words, but not that they may indulge in

useless and tiresome repetitions.

171 _Histoire Générale de la Musique Religieuse._

172 _Musica Sacra._ Boston: Carl Prüfer.

173 _Ave Verum, and other Pieces._ Boston: Oliver Ditson.

174 _History of Music._ Boston: Oliver Ditson & Co.

175 From the introduction to the foundation‐charter of the Abbey of S.

Mary at Furness.

176 A country‐house.

177 “Sea‐fruit.” The name given at Naples to star‐fish, etc., which they

eat fried.

178 Tomatoes, called apples of gold.

179 We will have him safe.

180 Dearest.

181 Little cares.

182 There are some exceptions, such as the beautiful candelabra of the

Villa Diomed.

183 Bed‐chamber.

184 Court.

185 Reception‐room.

186 Room for guests.

187 Signor Palmier.

188 The above doctrine concerning the reality of absolute space is taken

from Lessius’ magnificent work, _De Perfectionibus Moribusque

Divinis_ (lib. ii. c. 2), where he shows that absolute space is the

virtuality of God’s immensity. We cannot here develop this doctrine,

nor discuss the objections of those who hold a different opinion.

This would lead us too far from our present object, and give to our

dialogue with Dr. Büchner a higher metaphysical character than his

arguments deserve.

189 J. D. Dana’s _Manual of Geology_. See also Pianciani’s _Cosmogonia

Naturale Comparata col Genesi_, Rev. Gerald Molloy’s _Geology and

Revelation_, and Card. Wiseman’s _Twelve Lectures on the Connection

between Science and Revealed Religion_.