Chapter III (6)

The commander, wisely judging that troops were at the moment marching from Limerick to interrupt his plans, had the cannons charged to the mouth and set in the earth, muzzle downward. {713} These he surrounded with the wagons and their contents, and skifully laid trains of powder were not neglected. The successful party then withdrawing to a safe distance--they needed a wide berth, taking the quantity of powder into account--set fire at once to the lines of powder, and at one and the same moment all the contents of the great guns and the ammunition-carts were ignited. There was an intolerable blaze, a roar and its reverberations; accompanied by a blowing up in the air of pieces of metal and blazing wood, and the combined effect was sublime and terrible beyond conception. The darkest recesses of the mountain glens were lighted up as in the summer noon, and the shock was felt for many miles in every direction. Sir John Lanier, who was hastening when too late to protect the convoy, saw the blaze and heard the terrible explosion at several miles distance, and comprehended the terrible disaster in a moment. The concussion was perceptible even in William's camp at a distance of about thirteen miles, and it is probable that the general who had "_askt_" Manus O'Brien about the prey of cartel, felt (to use a provincialism) very lewd of himself. Sir John Lanier directed his squadron of five hundred horse to the left to intercept the Irish party, but it was not his fortune to meet with them, and Sarsfield recrossed the Shannon without the loss of a man.

The Rev. Mr. Story relates that no one was made prisoner at Ballyneedy "only a lieutenant of Colonel Earle's, who being sick in a house hard by, was stripped and brought to Sarsfield, who used him very civilly."

While the Irish chief is snatching a short relaxation after his successful sortie, and all within the walls are filled with a momentary joy for the signal benefit, let us introduce a slight sketch of the career of the brave Earl of Lucan, whose memory is still held in love and veneration by the great mass of the Irish people, and of whom no disrespectful word is ever pronounced by the descendants of the brave men against whom he often waged battle.

SARSFIELD'S CAREER.

The first of the name known in Ireland was Thomas Sarsfield, standard-bearer to King Henry II. In the reign of Charles I., Patrick, the then representative of the family, married Anne, daughter of Ruaighré (Roger) O'Moore, and their children were William and the subject of our sketch Patrick, who succeeded to the estate on the death of his brother. "He had received his education in one of the French military colleges, and saw some early campaigns in the armies of Louis XIV. His first commission was that of ensign in the regiment of Monmouth in France, after which he obtained a lieutenancy in the Royal Guards of England." He commanded for James in one of those skirmishes which took place with William's Dutch troops on their march from Torquay. At the commencement of the Irish campaigns his estates produced £2,000 annual revenue, so that it did not inconvenience him much to raise a. company of horse. We shall not here touch on his achievements during the war in Ireland, as these have found, or will naturally find their places in the course of our narrative. On arriving in Paris after the treaty of Limerick, "he was received with kindness and distinction by the ex-king of England and Louis XIV."

"The former appointed him colonel of his body guards, and his most
Christian majesty bestowed on him the rank of lieutenant-general in
the French armies. He might have obtained a marshal's staff had his
life been spared. He fought under Luxembourg at Steenkirk in 1692, .
. . . and on the 29th of July, 1693, a little more than one year and
a half after his voluntary banishment from his own country, he was
killed in the command of a division at the great battle of Landen.
It was a soldier's death on a glorious and memorable field.

{714}

"There are few names more worthy to be inscribed in the roll of
honour than that of Patrick Sarsfield, who may be quoted as a type
of loyalty and patriotic devotion. In the annals of Irish history he
stands as a parallel to Pierre du Terrail, Chevalier de Bayard in
those of France, and may be equally accounted 'Sans peur et sans
reproche,' the fearless and irreproachable knight; in his public
actions firm and consistent; in his private character amiable and
unblemished. . . . (At the end of the war) William III. would gladly
have won his services, and offered to confirm him in his rank and
property; but he listened to no overtures, and left his native
country attended by thousands of that gallant body, who, under the
title of the Irish Brigade, filled the continent of Europe with
their renown." [Footnote 204]

[Footnote 204: "Patrick Sarsfield, Earl of Lucan, a Biography;"
Dublin University Magazine for November, 1853; the writer, John
William Cole, Esq., formerly captain in the Royal Fusiliers. Mary,
sister of the earl, was married to Colonel Rossiter, County
Wexford, and to a lineal descendant of theirs, the gentleman just
mentioned, we are indebted for the only life of Sarsfield yet
given to the world. He could find but scant materials, though it
is supposed they might be made available if the living
representative of an old family of the Pale would take the trouble
of a search among the archives of his house. Mary Sarsfield's
great granddaughter was the wife of Lieutenant (afterward colonel)
James Cockburn, who was on the personal staff of General Wolfe on
the memorable day at Quebec. His portrait (to the right of General
Moncton's) was introduced by West into his picture of the "Death
of Wolfe." He afterward commanded the Thirty-fifth in the American
war of Independence. Colonel Cockburn's daughter, Margaret,
married Thomas Cole, Esq., of Callan, in the county of Kilkenny,
major in the King's Fencibles. Our authority the issue of this
marriage could not resist the martial impulses of his race; so he
smelled powder along with Rev. R. Gleig at Washington and New
Orleans and elsewhere. Since he laid aside the "spurtle blade and
dog-skin wallet," he has usefully employed his leisure hours in
literary composition of a healthful character. We suspect the
papers in the University Magazine on ancient military tactics
illustrated by plans of battles to be his. Among his other
productions are biographies of General Vallancey, Tyrone Power,
and other Irish theatrical celebrities.]

In his Military Memoirs of the Irish Nation, Mathew O'Connor speaks thus of his military qualifications:

"As a partisan and for a desultory warfare, he possessed admirable
qualifications; brave, patient, vigilant, rapid, indefatigable,
ardent, adventurous, and enterprising; the foremost in encounter,
the last in retreat. He harassed his enemy by sudden, unexpected,
and generally irresistible attacks, inspiring his troops with the
same ardour and contempt of danger with which his own soul was
animated. . . . No general was ever more beloved by his troops."

A SIEGE INCIDENT OR TWO.

Whatever William might have felt on being made acquainted with the loss of his cannon and ammunition, he said very little on the subject. He was one of those whose fixed purpose is not to be set aside for defeat or check. With his battering-train augmented by two great guns and a mortar from Waterford, he continued to pound the walls day after day. The trenches were relieved at midnight till the following unlucky mistake occurred, all the particulars of which are not very intelligible to civilians:

"Monday 18th August at night the trenches were relieved by
Lieut.-General Douglas, My Lord _Sydney_, and Count _Nassau_, as
major-generals, and Brigadeer _Stuart_. We made our approaches
towards the fort outside the wall, and Lieut.-General _Douglas's_
and Brigadeer _Stuart's_ regiments were posted towards the right. It
was dark when they went on, and they did not perceive the enemy to
be so near them as they really were. [What brought the enemy outside
their walls?] for there was at that time scarce twenty yards
distance between them. They were ordered to lye down upon their arms
which they did, and a great part, both of the officers and soldiers,
fell asleep. The enemy perceived this, and attacked them, which
presently put them into a confusion, and several of them gave
ground, but presently recovered themselves and fired, but did not
know at what. The _Danes_ to the left took our own men for the enemy
sallying, and so fired upon them; they believed the Danes to be the
Irish; and so returned the compliment. The Irish fired upon both,
and they at one another. This confusion lasted nigh two hours, in
which several men were killed; nor did the king or any body else
know what to make of it. At last our men found their mistake, and
the Irish were beat in, crying 'quarter' and 'murder' as they used
to do. After this his majesty ordered the trenches to be relieved in
the day, and our men marched always in and out in the very face of
their cannon."

If truth lies in a well, it is a pity she should make choice of a muddy one, where her contours and lineaments are so admirably confused. Hear another version by John Banim, the novelist, from what, if any, authority we know not:

"While day after day the battering, at this one point continued, the
garrison made a midnight sortie upon the besiegers. Taken by
surprise, and thrown into such confusion as to be unable to discern
friend from foe, they attacked each other, and the Irish {715}
having retreated unperceived, so continued until the morning light
showed them their mistake and the shocking havoc that resulted from
it."

Our chaplain did not much relish that classic and severe style of composition which critics assigned to a great historical work. Moreover he was ever as ready as Homer to introduce a gossiping or traditional episode, and repose his pen from the dry or terrible details of the main course of events.

On the 19th of the month King William had another providential escape. He was riding slowly up toward Cromwell's fort, when, as he was entering a gap, an officer stayed him about some business. Within a second or two after the pause of the horse's feet, a cannon-ball swept through the spot where he and his horse would have been but for the interruption.

All this time the people within the walls were in ill-condition, their diet consisting of beans, or very coarse bread, and the enemy's mortars throwing bombs and carcasses among them with little interruption. These things disturbed them much, as Mr. Story says, for they had not seen the like before. The round or oval iron carcasses which flashed forth through it's holes a fierce and inextinguishable fire for some eight or ten minutes was nearly as terrible as the bomb. Still they doggedly held on, and made no complaint; Sarsfield's energy and hopeful spirits kept up their courage. The chaplain relates with a sort of remorseful feeling how his party and himself enjoyed the burning of a part of the town one night by the bombs and red-hot balls, "which made me reflect upon our profession of soldiery not to be overcharged with good nature."

HOW LIMERICK AS ASSAILED AND DEFENDED.

By the 27th of the month, a twelve yards breach being made in the wall of Irishtown, and William looking on from Cromwell's fort, the grenadiers, supported on either side by Dutch, Danes, and Brandenburghers, on hearing a signal of three cannon-shots, sprang out of their trenches, and cheering loudly, dashed forward to the glacis. [Footnote 205] They were hotly received from the covered way, whose occupants mounting the banquette, and resting their muskets on the edge of the glacis, poured a shower of balls among them; and the guns on the ramparts, great and small, volleying fast and fiercely, made wide lanes among the brave fellows. However, the guns from Cromwell's fort, enfilading the ramparts, soon silenced the engines of death stationed there, and the grenadiers, undaunted by the thinning of their ranks, gained the glacis, sprang into the covered way, and after a terrible struggle forced the defenders from that post, from their trenches in the ditch, and over the breach into the city.

[Footnote 205: For the behoof of young renders not conversant with
the outworks of besieged towns, a few explanatory words are given.
Outside the strong walls is a wide and deep, dry ditch. The sloping
side from which the wall rises is the scarp, the opposite slope is
the counterscarp, its upper line meeting with the platform called
the covered way. This covered way is about thirty feet wide, its
outward boundary being the face of the glacis or sloping plane, this
last so situated that men marching along it to attack the fortress
are in the direct range of the guns. The level of the glacis is
higher than that of the covered way by seven or eight feet. The
defenders standing on a small terrace called the banquette at the
base of the glacis, and resting their muskets on its edge, can fire
on the advancing foe.]

The guns on the ramparts to the right of the breach being silenced, the firing from the Danes and Dutch on the flanks of the storming party did considerable damage to those on the ramparts and in the ditch, but the guns of a fort constructed in King's Island opened on the foreigners, killed many, and afforded some relief to the defenders. While these were mowing each other down at a distance, the grenadiers, driving their opponents across the breach, cheered lustily, and flung in their hand-grenades, whose bursting and destructive iron shower were ill calculated to recall the self-possession of the fugitives. But the pikes and bayonets of their follows in shelter, now levelled full at their breasts, were {716} as much to be dreaded as what they expected from behind. Over the breach and inward dashed Lord Drogheda's grenadiers, but a battery snugly placed in front of the yawning breach on stones, timber, earth, and other stuff, all at once belched out a storm of grape upon them, and after struggling for some time, a second discharge sent them back over the ruins and into the ditch.

But no dastard feeling was to be found among the survivors. Re-enforced by new comrades who had yet done nothing, they returned once more to the assault, flung their grenades, and cleared the tumbled masses of lime and stone. Undaunted by the havoc made among them by a fresh discharge, they rushed on the battery, effectually silenced it, and now looked on the capture of the town as certain. But here they were met by fresh and untired foes, who being kept to that moment in inaction by Sarsfield, now rushed on from either side, and a dreadful struggle commenced, the badly armed defenders showering volleys of stones where more effective weapons were not at command, the mere townsmen and their wives and daughters mingling fiercely in the desperate fray. Those who had pushed on the furthest were slain to a man, neither asking nor receiving quarter, and the others, after effecting everything in the power of energy and dauntless courage, were for the second time driven forth from the rescued city.

"From the walls and every place (we quote our chaplain) they so
pestered us on the counterscarp (properly the covered way), that
after nigh three hours resisting bullets, stones (broken bottles
from the very women who boldly stood in the breach, and were nearer
our men than their own), and whatever ways could be thought on to
destroy us, our ammunition being spent, it was judged safest to
return to our trenches. When the work was at the hottest, the
_Brandenburgh_ regiment, who behaved themselves very well, were got
upon the black battery, where the enemie's powder hapned to take
fire, and blew up a great many of them, the men, faggots, stones,
and whatnot, flying into the air with a most terrible noise."

In some Jacobite memoirs mention is made of a sortie made by Sarsfield and his driving the wearied assaulters to their camp, and their rescuing many of the enemy from an hospital which had taken fire. The exploit is overlooked by the chaplain, who thus concludes his short account of the day:

"The king stood nigh _Cromwell's_ fort all the time, and the
business being over, he went to his camp very much concerned, as
indeed was the whole army, for you might have seen a mixture of
anger and sorrow in every bodie's countenance."

William thus disappointed of bringing the Irish issue to a conclusion, and his presence being much needed in England, drew off his forces, and he himself made little delay till he set sail from Waterford to make matters in London comfortable, and keep a sharp lookout on the unfriendly proceedings of his bitter foeman, Louis XIV.

In September Count Solmes, who was left in command after William's departure, went to England, and Ginckell succeeded to his office. A better choice could not have been made; he established his head-quarters at Kilkenny.

TYRCONNELL'S POLICY.

Tyrconnell, who all along was no better than a drag on his party, who desired peace in order to secure his own estates, and who was accused of holding secret correspondence with William, sailed to France soon after the siege of Limerick. Previous to his departure he appointed the young Duke of Berwick commander-in-chief; giving him twelve councillors to aid him with their advice. Some of these were men after Tyrconnell's own heart, such as in our own days are called _Cawtholics_ by their own party. Sarsfield happened to be among them, because, if he were not, Tyrconnell's arrangements would have been little regarded by the men of heart and head among the loyalists. Count O'Kelly declares that Tyrconnell's reasons for repairing to the presence of Kings Louis and James were to nullify tile {717} effect that the gallant defence of Limerick might have made upon their minds. He would so twist and remould circumstances as to show that there was not a shadow of hope for ultimate success. James appears to have long entertained the notion of recovering England by losing Ireland, hence his enduring patronage of Tyrconnell. Berwick was influenced, of course, by what he knew were the cherished wishes of his father and his father's favorite, and by his inaction, and want of cordial co-operation with Sarsfield and the others, who, like him, were in earnest, did all that in him lay to make General Ginckell's task easy. On more than one occasion the Irish party were about deposing the young duke, but he managed by a show of compliance to still retain his power.

In September of this year the brave soldier but faithless adherent, Lord Churchill, afterward Duke of Marborough, took Cork, which the Duke of Berwick had previously advised the brave M. Elligot to burn, and then retire to Kerry, as its defence seemed hopeless. He rather chose to hold it out for five days. The Duke of Grafton, a natural son of Charles II., and who bequeathed his name to the Bond street of Dublin, commanding the navy, perished at the siege, fighting against his uncle's supporters. Marlborough next marched against Kinsale, which he entered without opposition, but the new fort commanded by Sir Edmund Scott held out for twenty days.

THE RAPPAREES: UNCOMFORTABLE WINTER QUARTERS, 1690.

Those patriotic and troublesome light-armed irregulars, the rapparees, continued during the decline and fall of the year 1690 to do the English in Leinster and Munster much mischief by unexpectedly visiting places supplied with provisions, either cattle or corn, and carrying off all they could seize. So General Ginckell finding himself straitened, conceived the idea of effecting a settlement in Kerry, from which Limerick obtained much provender. With this object he directed Lieutenant-General Douglas to march on Sligo, and take it if possible, at all events to move down the west bank of the Shannon, and co-operate with Colonel Richard Brewer, then at Mullingar, in attempts to pass the river at Jamestown and Lanesboro' above, and Banagher below Athlone. While the attention of King James's generals would be drawn to these proceedings in the north and east, Major-General Tettau would quietly proceed from Cork into Kerry, and take possession of that ancient "kingdom," seconded in his expedition if necessary by forces from Clonmel under the brave Ginckell himself. The advance was really made, and skirmishes and attacks of forts ensued, and after all, the English forces were withdrawn, leaving matters pretty much as before, except the damage mutually inflicted. Some desultory encounters took place on the east bank of the Shannon between portions of the hostile forces, and the rapparees improved every opportunity of despoiling the English foe, and collecting munitions into their boggy or hilly retreats. There are sufficient materials for a dozen romances in the adventures of Maccabe, Grace, O'Higgins, O'Callaghan, O'Kavanagh, the White Sergeant, Galloping Hogan. The last-named worthy indeed figures in the two standard romances of the Jacobite wars which we are happy to possess. It may be supposed that the deeds of these heroes smelt unsavorily in the nostrils of our chaplain, who thus descanted both in sorrow and anger on their proceedings. He prefaced his remarks with an expression of Lord Baltimore to King James I., namely, that "the Irish were a wicked people, and had been as wickedly dealt withal," and conscientiously adds, "I make no application of the expression to ourselves, the most people that have been in that country know how to do it."

{718}

One expedition of some moment was made by Colonel Foulkes into an island in the Bog of Allen. This was connected by two toghers or causeways to two points on the dry land, one of them being furnished with twelve trenches. These the brave colonel, who brought three field-pieces along with him, was obliged to fill up one after the other. When he arrived he found Colonel Piper, who had approached by the other causeway. The rapparee garrison had all carefully retreated into the woods when they became aware of their danger, leaving, as Mr. Story says, "only some little things for the invaders."

Of course no quarter was ever extended to the poor rapparees. However, the usual forbearance was exhibited by the regular forces on both sides toward each other. Opposite Lanesboro, on the other side of the Shannon, were posted three regiments of Irish, with the duty of watching the English on the east bank, during some days in December; and (in Mr. Story's words) "then little hapned of moment only some small firings, and sometimes they made truces, Colonel _Clifford_ and the other Irish officers drinking healths over to our men, and those on the other side returning the compliment."

It never entered the mind of the warlike chaplain to throw a halo of interest round one of his rapparee chiefs, though some were perhaps more worthy of the name of hero than Redmond O'Hanlon or Rob Roy. They were contemporaries of his, and were directing their chief energies to bring his master's rule in Ireland to an end. So it was against nature that he could see in them anything but "thieves, robbers, tories, and bogg-trotters."

The most distinguished of the heads of these free companies was Anthony O'Carroll, named _Fadh_ from his great height. After the first siege of Limerick he fixed his head-quarters at Nenagh, and _discomforted_ the English and their allies from that period to the beginning of the second siege. Though he or any of his followers if taken prisoners would be hung according to the laws of war, without mercy, he observed a different demeanor to his captives. Those who had money ransomed themselves; others were kept as prisoners. When he found himself crowded by his foes after the day at Aughrim, he set fire to the town, and brought his garrison of 500 men safe to Limerick Mr. Story says that he was able to collect 2,000 men to his banner at any moment while he ruled at Nenagh.

--------

ORIGINAL.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

SERMONS PREACHED AT THE CHURCH OF ST. PAUL, THE APOSTLE, NEW YORK, during the years 1865 and 1866. 12mo, pp. 440. New York: Lawrence Kehoe.

The new volume of Sermons by the Paulist Fathers, which Mr. Kehoe has just issued in a very neat and tasteful shape, derives a special interest from the fact that it contains several of the hitherto unpublished discourses of the Rev. Francis A. Baker. In the earnest, vigorous, affectionate sermons on Penance, on the miracle of Pardon, on the power of the Holy Ghost as exemplified in good Christians, and on the duty of Thankfulness, it is easy to recognize the impulses of that beautiful soul which has now gone to its reward. We have spoken before of the characteristics of Father Baker's preaching. Here is an extract, taken at random from the first of the four discourses which we have mentioned:

"Do you know, my brethren, what it is that consoles the priest in
his labors in the confessional? Why does he shut himself in that
dark closet for hours? Ah! I will tell you, Like Elias in the cave
of Horeb, he is watching for the manifestation of God; and as the
prophet found the power of God, not in {719} the tempest or the
earthquake, but in the still small voice, so the priest finds the
greatest work of God, the most beautiful, that which consoles him
for every sacrifice; not in the works of nature, not in sensible
things, however great; but in the still small voice of the
trembling, self-accusing soul, that has really come to shake off the
slavery of sin, and to claim once more, through the blood of Christ,
the glorious liberty of the children of God. Beautiful is the earth
and sky, and glorious is the jewelled city of God; but if I may say
what I think, I do not believe in all God's universe there is a work
so stupendous, so grand, so beautiful, as the conversion of a
sinner.

"Well, then, does St. Augustine say, that to convert a sinner is a
greater work than to create heaven and earth. Well do the saints cry
out, Glory and empire for ever to Jesus Christ, who has loved us and
washed us from our sins in his own blood! Well do the angels in
heaven rejoice over one sinner that does penance. It is a thing for
heaven and earth to wonder at. But, my brethren, it does not speak
well for us that we think so little of it. It shows that we have
very imperfect ideas of the evil of sin, a very inadequate
remembrance of what Christ has done and suffered for us, a very
insufficient conception of the conversion that is required of us. It
seems to me that some men imagine that God pardons sin in much the
same way that a good-natured parent overlooks the slight offences of
a child who owns his fault. Whereas, in fact, God is a holy God, who
tries the reins and hearts, who demands of us, as the condition of
preserving his favor, that we love him with all our mind and
strength and heart. When I see a man who has recently been to
confession, and who has had grievous sins to confess; when I see him
no more thoughtful than before, no more watchful over himself, no
more grateful to God; when I see him forget all about it, and take
it as a matter of course, I fear that he has come away as he went;
that no angel has smiled on his penance, no saint rejoiced over it;
that no droop of the precious Blood has fallen on his heart. Surely
if he had been pardoned he would think more of it. Let it not be so
with us, my brethren. Have we been forgiven a deadly sin, then from
reprobates and castaways we have become children of God. How sweet
it is to receive any grace from God! To look on the sky and earth,
and think that he has made it, to look on ourselves and think that
we have come from his hands, fills us with delight.

"But to have sinned and to be pardoned, to have sinned and to be
washed in the precious Blood, and then to belong to the family of
God. To have tasted of the heavenly gift, and the powers of the
world to come. To have the love of God, and the peace of God, once
more to renew these dark and stubborn hearts. Where is our gratitude
for favors such as those? Magdalene hath loved much because she was
much forgiven. When is our love and our zeal proportionate to the
pardon which we have received from God? Go, pardoned sinner--sin no
more. Go, and ponder deeply the graces yon have received. Go, and by
your life show what great things he has done for you. Once in
darkness, but now light in the Lord, walk as children of light,
living with St. Paul in the faith of the Son of God, who hath loved
you and given himself for you."

The same fervent spirit and the same vein of practical exhortation which we see so admirably combined in the passages which we have cited, are conspicuous in many other pages from the anonymous hands which have contributed to the authorship of this volume. The Paulist Fathers have little to do in their book with controversy; and not a great deal with dogma, except in so far as it has a direct practical relation to the duties of every-day life. They seem, in this collection of sermons, to care more for exhorting than expounding; more for arousing sinners to the comprehension and performance of what the church requires of them, than for setting forth the church's sacred attributes. As discourses addressed to ordinary congregations, made up of people of the common run who are burdened with the common imperfections of average humanity, we know of few specimens of pulpit literature which we rate higher. And they have also the great and unfortunately rather rare merit of being very impressive and effective when read in the retirement of the closet.

J. R. G. H.

LYDIA, A TALE OF THE SECOND CENTURY.

Translated from the German of Hermann Geiger, of Munich. 12mo, pp. 275. Philadelphia: Eugene Cummiskey. 1867.

We are inclined to believe that the now world-renowned tales of Fabiola and Callista have prompted the composition of this beautiful story. The heroine is a young Christian of Smyrna, named Seraphica, who is cast into prison and condemned to death for her faith. A terrible earthquake, most powerfully depicted by the author, sunders the walls of her prison, and she is liberated; but learning that her {720} mother was carried off to Athens as a slave, she follows her thither. The captain of the vessel in which she embarks seizes her and makes a present of her as a slave to a wealthy Athenian lady named Metella, who names her Lydia from the place of her birth. In the service of this lady, who is a pious heathen, the Christian slave passes several years, exhibiting in her life many traits of that heroic patience, humility, love of suffering, and divine charity which were inspired by her holy faith; and which is beautifully contrasted with the pure, natural virtue of her heathen mistress.

Her Christian patience is rewarded at last by the conversion of Metella and her son. Freed from slavery, she goes to Rome to seek her mother, who she finds has in the mean time suffered martyrdom, and returns to Metella to become her bosom friend and companion.

We could scarcely wish anything added to the plot of this charming tale, but the impression made upon us during its perusal was that the different descriptions, scenes, and tableaux were wanting in a proper connecting link, being presented to us rather, as it would appear, for their own sake, than as necessarily united with, or dependent upon, the life and fortunes of the characters of the story. The translator has fallen into a common fault from a desire to be too literal; the intermingling of the historical present with the past. We have not observed it in any instance without feeling that it detracted very much from the force and beauty of the description. The volume does the enterprising publisher the highest credit, its typography and binding lacking in nothing that we could desire for elegance and taste. We predict and wish for it a wide circulation.

HISTORY OF A MOUTHFUL OF BREAD. By Jean Macé. Translated from the French by Mr. Alfred Gatty. New-York: American News Company, 121 Nassau-street.

This is a very popular work on the branch of physiology which relates to the organs and processes of nutrition. It is written in a pleasing, lively style, and with the express purpose of being readable by intelligent children. Excepting the absurd notion that the globules of the blood are animalculae, and the grovelling definition of the body as a digestive tube served by organs, we see nothing worthy of censure in the book, which, otherwise, imparts valuable information respecting the merely physical facts of animal life.

Goodrich's PICTORIAL HISTORIES OF GREECE AND THE UNITED STATES, and CHILD'S PICTORIAL HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. New editions. Philadelphia: Butler & Co. 1867.

These new and improved editions of very popular and well-written histories are very suitable for elementary instruction. We have examined the history of Greece with some attention, and find it an excellent epitome. The illustrations are remarkably good.

LAWRENCE KEHOE, New-York, has in press, and will soon publish, Lady Herbert's new work, which has just appeared in London, entitled Three Phases of Christian Love--namely, Life of St. Monica, Life of Victorine de Galard, Life of Venerable Mere Devos.

BOOKS RECEIVED.

From AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, New York. The New Gospel of Peace, according to St. Benjamin. 1 vol, 12mo, pp. 343; price $2. Alderman Rooney at the Cable Banquet. Pamphlet illustrated; price 50 cts. Olive Logan's Christmas Story. Pamphlet; price 50 cts.

From LEE & Shepard, Boston, Mass. Oliver Optic's Magazine for Boys and Girls. No. 1, pp. 12; price 5 cts.

From the OFFICE OF THE AVE MARIA, Notre Dame, Indiana. The Ave Maria Almanac for 1867. Illustrated, pp. 32; price 20 cts.

From HURD & HOUGHTON New York. The Riverside Magazine for Young People. No. 1, pp. 48; price 25 cts. Lalla Rookh, by Thomas Moore. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 332. Illustrated; price $1.50.

From P. O'SHEA, New York. The Rosa Mystica; or, Mary of Nazareth, the Lily of the House of David. By Marie Josephine. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 290; price $2. Spirit of St. Francis de Sales. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 372; price $2. The Manual of the Immaculate Conception, a collection of prayers for general use. Compiled from authentic sources. Published with approbation of the Most Rev. J. McCloskey, D.D., pp. 1122.

From John Murphy & Co., Baltimore. The Southern Poems of the War. Collected and arranged by Miss Emily V. Mason. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 456; price $1.50. Good Thoughts for Priest and People; or, Short Meditations for every Day in the Year, etc., etc. By Rev. Theodore Noethen, pastor of Holy Cross, Albany, N. Y. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 383; price $2.

From KELLY & PIET, Baltimore, Md. Sermons Delivered during the Second Plenary Council of Baltimore, October, 1866. And Pastoral Letter of the Hierarchy of the United States, together with the Papal Rescript and Letters of Convocation. A complete list of dignitaries and officers of the Council; and an introductory notice, with plates. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 244; price $3.

From BENZIGER BROTHERS, New York and Cincinnati. School Recreations; or, The Catholic Teacher's Companion. Compiled for the use of Catholic Schools, with approbation of Archbishop Purcell. l vol 12mo, pp. 94.

----------

{721}

THE CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. IV., NO. 24.--MARCH, 1867.

ORIGINAL.

THE CATHOLIC CEREMONIAL.

BY REV. M. O'CONNOR, S. J.

Outside the Catholic Church there is a general opinion that we Catholics make all devotion to consist in the performance of a certain routine of ceremonies, and are entire strangers to what is called vital religion. These ceremonies to which we are supposed to attach such excessive, or rather such superstitious value, are looked on by those outside the church as an unnecessary and worse than useless display, or as an empty pageant. Our love of them is set down as one of the damning ingredients in that bug-bear which they have conjured up, and designated by the name of "Popery." We, on the contrary, look upon our ceremonial as one of the most beautiful things in the church, one of those that most clearly mark the finger of God, and operate most efficaciously in the work of true vital religion.

The point, therefore, is a most important one, and well deserving our most serious consideration. To understand it rightly, let us consider the principles on which ceremonial is based, and its practical-working.

It has been admitted by all nations, that worship is due to the deity; that worship needs an external and a public expression. Not only the people of God under the old and new dispensations have admitted this, but the Turk and the Pagan of every shade have admitted and acted on it. Many have erred egregiously, and have had recourse to disgusting and execrable· means to put it in practice; but the feeling itself is universal, and, therefore, may be enumerated among the first promptings of reason.

Its necessity is based on our relation to God; and on our own nature. God, as in himself infinitely perfect, as our creator, our ruler, and provider is entitled to our acknowledgment of his perfections and of his dominion over us, to thanks for benefits conferred, to supplication for their continuance. We owe him this duty not merely as beings having souls, but as that which we are--beings, having a body and soul--as men. The feelings of the soul, especially if earnest, cannot be pent up in it. They need expression. When strong and earnest they flow over into the body, they express themselves in bodily action. Man, as such, acts with the body and the soul. Moreover, we owe God worship not merely as individuals, {722} but as society. God made society and all that gives it charms. He is the author of the bonds that hold it together; he gave us those faculties that force us into it; the wants that in it alone are satisfied; and the powers that contribute to their satisfaction. Society, as well as the individual man, is one of those beautiful and bountiful works that call forth our admiration and demand our gratitude. Society can recognize and thank its author only by external and common public worship. The internal feeling needs something to lean on, as it were, to give itself strength and almost to give itself an existence. The internal act, is, of course, the soul of true worship, but, like the soul itself of man, it needs a body in which it may become incarnate to fill the end of its being. Without this it has neither life nor power. It needs this to give itself intensity.

The external act becomes as it were a depository in which the soul lays what is produced at one moment, while it is adding more and more. As the iron receives in deposit the powers of each of the circles of the magnetic wire that turn and turn again around it, and is ready to discharge their combined force at any moment, so the external act catches as it were the fire of the internal emotion, holds it until that of another is added, and enables the soul to seize again the power of those that have vanished and resume its work with redoubled vigor. Thus going on from faith to faith, from worship to worship, from virtue to virtue, all these rise higher and higher, strike their roots deeper and deeper, until the internal feeling becomes intensified and strong and as worthy of the great object to which it is directed as it can be in a mere creature.

The ceremonial is nothing else but this external expression of inward worship. It is an expression that gives it consistency and strength. It intensifies and preserves it. It transmits it from one to another, and to succeeding generations. In it society expresses itself. The individual man has his own organs of expression. The organ of the Christian body is the minister of the church. Through him she acts as a body; she expresses herself as a unit. On this account she very properly regulates minutely, how he shall discharge this duty. This gives his actions a meaning and a value over and above, and to some degree independent of, the value they possess, as expressions of his own individual devotion.

Worship does not consist, properly speaking, in receiving instruction. This is, of course, a good thing, but it is only a means to an end. It is like the ladder to ascend, or the scaffolding used in the erection of a building. To receive it with respect and other dispositions due to the word of God, may imply faith in him, and submission to him; but, properly speaking, in as far as it is mere instruction or information, it is not worship. Worship is our submission to God, a performance of the duty we owe him. As far as instruction shows us how, and leads us to do this in a proper manner, it is good, but in itself--as a mere expansion of the mind, or the storing of it with knowledge, it is not worship. In paying worship, we must act, not merely be acted upon; we must do, not merely hear. For this, the ceremonial affords most useful aid; not, of course, as far as it is a mechanical movement, which if it stop there would be useless, but inasmuch as it is the instrument of the inmost soul. Light and instruction must precede to give it significance, but when life has thus been breathed into it, it becomes itself an action, a practice of virtue, a discharge of the highest virtues, which are those that have God himself for their immediate object.

This ceremonial consists of the words that are used, and the acts that are performed. Words, said or sung, are a part of it, but only a part. Many acts often express the feelings more effectually. These are sometimes {723} more or less natural; at other times they may be said to be conventional. But though arbitrary as words themselves, when they receive a determined meaning, they become capable of effectually and powerfully expressing the internal feelings of the individual and of society. Kneeling or standing erect, raising up or clasping the hands or striking the breast, an uplifted glance to heaven or a reverent bowing of the head, will express adoration, reverence, sorrow, or supplication as well and often better than words. When you walk in a procession with torch in hand, accompanying the blessed sacrament, or to honor some other mystery of religion, you are professing your faith in it as effectually, and impressing that faith in your soul, perhaps, more deeply than when you recite the creed, just as the citizen expresses forcibly his political principles by analogous acts. These, of course in particular cases, may be acts of hypocrisy or hollow pageant, just as words may be a lie or an empty sound, but this takes nothing from their intrinsic appropriateness. Nay, acts of this kind would seem to draw the soul into what is intended to accompany them and be expressed by them more powerfully than words.

Some of the acts of this worship have, in themselves, a power and efficacy apart from any impression they may produce on the beholder. Such is the case in all the sacraments. The sacred rite, duly performed may be compared to the spark, which, however powerless of itself, when falling on the proper material, awakens a great power of nature, that will rend mountains, and hurl into shapeless masses, the proudest works of man. The sacred rite has been chosen by omnipotence, as his agent and instrument, and its power has only the limits which omnipotence has been pleased to assign. It is the same thing in the celebration of mass. The words of Christ, pronounced by his minister, effect a great change. For he who first took bread and said, "This is my body," and by his infinite power made true what he said, addressing his apostles, added. "Do this"--yes, even this, great as it is--"in commemoration of me." And they "do" it, and by doing it, "show forth his death until he come." The effect follows by the power of God, no matter who is present, no matter who is instructed or edified, even though no heart beat more in unison than did the hearts of the Jews, who stood by while the great offering was made on Calvary. But other parts of the ceremonial, which, though not of equal importance, occupy more time, realize their end only when they express our feelings of reverence, or give them strength and light. Many are directed to aid the priest alone, in the proper performance of his high duties. Many, while they have this object also, are likewise directed to instruct, and become expressions of the devotion of the people. The ceremonial, therefore, first of all makes provision for the priest. It is important for himself and for the people that he be a worthy minister of Christ; that he discharge the duty of offering up the holy sacrifice with all the reverence, the humility, the fervor which so great an act demands. The ceremonies become a means of his doing this. In performing them properly he exercises all these virtues. The church makes him descend to the foot of the altar, and there acknowledging himself a sinner before God and the heavenly court, express by words and acts his sorrow, demand pardon before venturing to ascend the altar on which is to be laid the holy of holies. He then ascends with trembling step, and having again silently prayed for forgiveness, he intones the noble hymn,"_Gloria in Excelsis Deo_." Whether the voices of the choir take up its thrilling notes and make the vault resound with a call to give glory to God on high or he continue it in a subdued tone, every word he utters, every motion he is called on to make, enables him to express more and more {724} earnestly his desire for God's honor, his homage to Christ, "alone holy, alone Lord, alone most high."

Prepared by this introduction and having admonished the people to turn to God, he pours out in simple but touching words his supplications for our various wants. He then reads choice extracts from the sacred volume conveying the most important teachings of our holy religion. I will not stop to describe to you the ceremonies at the offertory, nor speak of the sublime "Preface" preparatory to the most sacred part of the sacrifice. Having prayed for all conditions of the church, having appealed to the blessed in heaven with whom the church on earth is in communion, he approaches the solemn act of consecration. Every word he utters, every glance, every motion, is directed to fill him with awe, with reverence, to express a demand, an act of homage, of gratitude or of invocation; and when the sacred words are pronounced, and he stands before the incarnate God truly present, though not visible to corporal eyes, with profound inclination he expresses his adoration, while the victim is raised up, that all present may, like him, kneel down and adore. And so all through the holy sacrifice.

While these lessons are taught and put in practice by the priest, the people, before whom they are performed, learn from them to cherish similar dispositions, and to unite their spirit in the expression of his devotion. It is the same thing with all the ceremonies, which, like those alluded to, are expressive of the feelings we should entertain for God. They frequently express them more forcibly than words could. Even ordinary feelings often become too strong for language and seek expression in some action. The fond mother would find words too tame to express the love she bears her child. She hugs it to her bosom, and impresses warm kisses on its face. We meet a long-lost friend. Words would not express all we feel. We clasp him in our arms, and press him to our heart. The model of repentance, the prodigal, when he meets his father, forgets a part of the discourse he had resolved to pronounce, and folded in his father's arms, expresses his sorrow more forcibly in silent tears and heart breaking sobs, and is forgiven. Even anger, which cannot find an adequate expression in the most impassioned language, seeks to manifest itself in the uplifted clenched fist, if it cannot gain its object by striking a blow. Do not tell me, then, that all this action in the church ceremonial is mummery. It is often a higher expression of devotion than words would afford.

If yon wish to test this, look at a devout congregation of Catholics kneeling before the altar. The organ that had lifted up their hearts when singing the "Glory to God in the highest" is silent, or a few low notes are heard that make the silence of the congregation more sensible. No voice, scarcely a breath, is heard, when the priest, having raised his eyes to heaven, is now inclined over the sacred elements. Thousands are kneeling around in awe. A slight stroke of the bell announces that the act is done. The priest prostrates himself in silent adoration, and then elevates the consecrated host. Every head is bowed in the presence of a God. Will anyone who has witnessed that scene, who has tried to enter into the feelings of that congregation, please tell me the words, or write out the speech, that would have expressed so powerfully their reverence, their adoration, their gratitude, and their love? Yes, ceremonies are a noble expression of our highest feelings. They are even more; for they intensify them, embalm them, and preserve them from evaporating. They communicate them and spread them abroad, and transmit them from generation to generation.

All this is a consequence of human nature, and this is so true that it is made an objection to our system. It is said that we build too much on human nature. But if worship be made for man it must accord with his nature {725}--not, indeed, with that which is corrupt in it, but with his nature as it came from God. Now, this need, this power, this efficacy of the expression of feeling by outward ceremony, is no effect of the fall: it is in the very nature of man. Hence we have recourse to it in everything else. What is the shake of the hand when we meet a friend, or the salute, or the banquet to which we invite him, but a ceremony to express friendship or esteem? Look at our processions and various political demonstrations. What are they but ceremonies in which political or other feelings seek expression--an expression which we know will strengthen them, deepen them, communicate them to others by creating and giving force to what may be called a contagions influence? What are our national and party airs; our national and party festivals, but expressions of a similar character looking forward to similar results?

In these things, as I said in the beginning, the feelings of the soul seek an embodiment, that will give them consistency and duration.

No matter what the external manifestation be, even though it be merely conventional, when it expresses a feeling, it becomes an instrument for all these purposes. It becomes, as it were, a permanent part of a structure, to which another stone is added as often as the act is repeated, until the building grows up in solid beauty that defies the ravages of time. This is the case with our political or social sentiments, because it grows out of our very nature. Why then should it not be the case, or rather is it not evidently the case, with those also which are connected with religion? These external rites not only express and intensify the interior feelings, but let philosophers explain it as they may, they become as it were a depository in which they may be laid by to be recalled almost at pleasure, nay, even to be drawn out by others who wish to acquire them.