Chapter XXXI: America (1)

Two years have passed since the events happened which we last presented to our readers: it is on the other side of the Atlantic that our view now opens, but the friends we greet are of those we left behind.

The scene is in a beautiful extensive garden, well planted with trees; behind, on an eminence, rises a large white house with numerous piazzas which contrast pleasingly with the green sward and shrubs before it. The slope before the house is covered with groups of children weaving garlands, for it is a holiday, the feast of St. Aloysius; and all the schools have freed their pupils great and small. Feeling the privilege of the day, the children have bounded into the grounds of their patrons, M. and Madame de Villeneuve. They knew that a strawberry festival was preparing for them, and on their parts were anxious to be busy. Festoons were hung from pillar to pillar. The large refectory was opened, and the walls garlanded; merry voices were singing childish hymns and songs, and good humor was visible everywhere.

The grounds were very spacious; far away might be seen grown persons in holiday-trim; lads and lasses preparing the tables, and a band of music sending up, every now and then, cheery notes to gladden all around.

In yonder silent glade too, half hid by the thickness of the foliage, Eugene Godfrey is walking with his young bride; they are not yet past the honeymoon, and are bound for England. To-morrow is the day fixed for their departure, and the lady-bride; formerly Elise de Villeneuve, the youngest and fairest daughter of the house of De Villeneuve, is sentimentalizing very prettily her regrets at leaving, perhaps for ever, the paternal mansion.

Clotilde de Villeneuve, who has already entered as a postulant at the convent which is visible on that eminence to the right--rising majestically above the world and backed in the distance by the interminable forest; from which it is separated by that lovely series of lakes which lie at the foot of the hill on which the building stands--Clotilde de Villeneuve has for this one day consented to break inclosure that she may bid good-by to the young sister she brought up so carefully since her mother died.

There is another lady there, looking fairer and younger than when we saw her last, giving directions in a very pleasing tone; and ever and anon looking back, a little anxiously perhaps, to see what two young girls were doing with a something in a bundle of white muslin, which seemed very animated, and which the nurses are trying to kill with kindness.

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The pastor approaches, a fine old man with mild eyes, white hair, and a very benevolent aspect. All the little ones rise and courtesy, and Hester, yes, our old friend Hester, comes forward to greet him affectionately.

"Where is your husband, my dear lady?" asked the good priest, after returning the preliminary greeting.

"Well, I hardly know, he has been on the _qui vive_ all day, here and there and everywhere. I hardly know where he is now. Do you want him particularly, father? You seem uneasy."

"Let us go in out of this hot sun," said the pastor, wiping his forehead.

They adjourned to the parlor, which opened on both sides to a piazza shaded by climbing plants, and thus promised a cool retreat. Hester handed the old gentleman a refreshing drink, for he seemed weary and excited. On setting down the glass, be whispered: "Are we alone here? Is anyone listening?"

"Not that I am aware of." said Hester, glancing in all directions. "I see no one, father, what is the matter?"

"There is mischief brewing in the city yonder; I want to see your husband. For the last six weeks there has been a strange man there, of singular eloquence, fomenting discord about Catholics, getting up a no-popery cry, uttering fearful scandals concerning the convent; to-night the people threaten to burn it down."

"Can this be true? Who is your informant?"

"My man Walter. It seems he knew the stranger in England."

"I know Edward has been annoyed with reports of some plots, but he thought as little about it as he could; he never harmed any body, and cannot imagine any body would harm him."

"This is a religions or rather a fanatical plot. What the purpose is, it is difficult to discover. The designer means something dark, you may be sure, the multitude are but his tools. He has used all the plea he could find; have not your committees refused many applications to receive pupils?"

"Yes, Edward acts on his father's plan, and he says the old marquis always insisted that a child was more formed by his companions than by his teachers; that one dissipated worldly companion would contaminate a school. It seems he loved real children, and hated the little bits of affectation, aping men and women, which we now so often see; so Edward will positively not have a child in the schools unless he knows the home influence they are under. In fact, our schools are not only exclusively Catholic, those we call normal schools are open only to picked Catholics. Edward wants them to turn out good and efficient teachers of practical Catholicity, and before he receives a pupil he not only exacts certain promises from the children, but from the parents also, as to the influence they will exercise from a distance. As long as they attend his schools they are under certain restrictions, at home as well as abroad."

"All this is good for the children, but it has made enemies. Those out of the pale pretend something must be wrong in so exclusive a system; they are jealous of advantages from which their children are excluded."

"But a great deal of the influence exerted is purely religious; how can we bring that influence to bear on such as are not Catholics, or who are worldly Catholics, who come merely for secular advantages?"

"I am not saying you are not right; I only say you have made enemies."

"I believe my husband would rather give up the schools than compromise his principles. He has been intimately acquainted with the management of some Catholic schools in which all parties were admitted: the rule was to all alike, it was difficult to make a distinction. Children, non-Catholics, were admitted to religious societies, services, and processions. {47} He has a very firm conviction that the result was that they were led to believe that assisting with due outward decorum, without the internal feeling of reverence, was all that Catholicity required; while the Catholics themselves, seeing others without faith were thus admitted, naturally ceased to regard faith as so essential a matter as the sermons heard in church proclaim it to be, and became liberal Catholics when they retained their faith at all. My husband knows he is called bigoted, but I do not think it has changed his feeling. He thinks the Catholic school a sacred place; and the soul of a little baptized child a thing to be guarded with reverential awe."

"Yes, I know De Villeneuve's reverence: he should have lived in the times when the catechumens were driven out of the church before the sacred mysteries could be performed."

"Indeed, father, I have seen his whole frame quiver with terror when any one, Catholic or non-Catholic, behaved irreverently in the presence of the blessed sacrament. He maintains that the worldliness of the age springs from the want of this reverence."

"He may be right, but meantime we must provide for the present safety. Your brother is not gone?"

"No, he starts to-morrow. I will send for him to come and see you."

M. de Villeneuve was not to be found, for the very cause that brought the priest to his dwelling. He was in earnest conference with the priest's man Walter on the subject of the projected attack. "Are you sure it was your brother that you saw?"

"Quite sure, sir."

"You did not let him see you?"

"I did not; I was very careful on that point."

"And you are sure they fixed tonight?"

"Quite sure, but if disappointed tonight they will try some other night."

"Did you hear of any one person marked out for any special object."

"There will be an attempt made to carry off Lady Conway and her children."

"I suspected as much. Well, we must be prepared; I will row Lady Conway across the lake, and you can drive her up the country to neighbor Friendly's house, without anyone suspecting the matter. Be silent and cautious, I will prepare watches secretly. You get home as quickly as you can from the drive."

"I will, sir."

The _fête_ passed off without any alarm: no one would have dreamed that an attack was expected. The nuns one by one left the convent, which was supposed to be the object aimed at by the attack, and let the watchers guard the dwelling, while they took refuge at M. de Villeneuve's mansion. They dared not alarm the inmates of the school-house, which they thought was left out of the plot, lest their plan of safety should be frustrated. But an armed band watched over its safety in the hovels, and wherever they could be stationed unseen.

It was a dreary watch, though a lovely night; the round, full moon threw its splendid light over hill and and valley, lake and forest glades. Not a sound was heard. The watchers did not trust themselves to speak, lest they should give the alarm outside. Eleven, twelve, one, two; shall we wait longer? Yes, there is a sound outside; the out-houses are already on fire, and the school-house and the convent--all at once. A whole multitude of rioters are in the grounds; they force the convent doors, and, to their surprise, are met by armed men.

"Save, save the children," is the cry; "let everything go, even the prisoners, till they are saved." There is no engine, the city is so far away, and rioters are all around; but ladders had been prepared during the day, and everyone was soon in requisition. But the fire seemed then the least evil, for as each young lady was borne from the flames a mob surrounded her, and a fight ensued for possession. It was a terrible scene, the more terrible as it was impossible to get the children and teachers together to see if all were there. {48} There was no resource but to fire on the assailants, and accordingly a volley was discharged. This sobered the people somewhat; they loosed their hold and fled. One man, with a few followers, lingered awhile, apparently very anxious still to examine the parties saved; he was observed and seized by a strong hand and bound. Alfred Brookbank was the prisoner of his brother Walter.

And now are the pupils all saved? for the house is burning fast. How anxiously they were counted! What a relief to find them all there! There were no lives lost, and but that the building had been fired in many places at once, that could have been saved by the valiant arms who were there to defend it. But the evil work had been done effectually, the convent and school-house were level with the ground. Many of the valuables had been removed the day before; but the furniture was destroyed. The newspapers said it was the work of the mob; yes, but that mob was excited by one man's revengeful soul, which had animated the spirit of that mob to frenzy. Americans are too generous to make war upon defenceless women, unless incited thereto by some false tale of wickedness.

To bring the poor frightened children into the house, and to send to the city for police, occupied nearly all the night, and part of the next day; and then they took time to examine the prisoner who had been cast bound into the cellar. He was crest-fallen and terror-smitten at last! He knew the tale of terror his brother would have to tell; the quarrel about the estate; the offer to compromise; the attempt to drown him by throwing him over-board near the falls; and, finally, the belief on Alfred's part that the crime had been consummated when a body, disfigured and shapeless, had been picked up below the falls. He did not wait long in jail to have this and a long catalogue brought out against him--he died by his own hand.

Walter Brookbank wandering, restless, and dissipated, had been seized with fever in a wretched hovel, where he was found by some poor Catholics, who brought the priest (then on a mission in that district) to see him. The priest had him tended and cared for till he was well, then invited him to his house, and converted him to a Christian life; redeemed him doubly, first from the death of this life, then from that of the next. Walter had been grateful, and preferred to live henceforth as servant of the church, than to re-encounter the perils of the world by claiming his inheritance; it passed by default to his mother and sisters.

Our tale draws to its conclusion.

The multitude who, deceived by Alfred Brookbank's inflammatory tongue, had fired the convent, slunk away to their homes, ashamed, at length, of having expended all their energy in a cowardly attack on defenceless women and children. Would I could say they repented and endeavored to repair the mischief; but it was not so, the convent was rebuilt, but it was by Catholic money, by Catholic hands, and by Catholic hearts; and save the ring-leader, who, as we have seen, judged himself, the perpetrators of the dastardly deed remained unsought for by the authorities, undiscovered and unpunished.

This event checked for a while the work of the good society which M. de Villeneuve had founded, and of which he was the president and the "animus." This society was composed of enlightened Catholic fathers and mothers, who were fervent in their desires of establishing high Catholic education on a firm and practical basis. It was a committee formed to aid the practice of those precepts delivered by the zealous pastors of the church; to examine the books put into the hands of children, and to have them written, if none suitable were found, on the subjects required; to discuss all points of discipline recommended to them by the teachers, and provide that the financial department should not harass those who had charge of the intellectual department. {49} They were outside co-operators in the good work of education; valuable coadjutors in a matter in which it concerns every good Catholic to interest himself, for society is made up of individuals, and on the good training of those individuals depends the public welfare.

Their schools comprised both sexes; I will now speak of the girls only, as it was the matter in which our friend Hester most interested herself, for the reason that she thought that the formation of good women, wives and mothers, is lost sight of in the fashionable circles of our large cities. She had discovered that the fathers and husbands (men of large wealth and of thriving business) were, through the extravagance and non-domesticity of their families (more particularly of their wives and daughters), leading a life of torture under the appearance of prosperity; and that young men, with incomes of from $1,500 to $2,000 a year, shrank from marrying, because of the extravagance and selfishness they daily witnessed among the ladies. "Now," said Hester, with something of her old positiveness, "if this is so, the responsibility of the shame and degradation of so many unfortunate women lies at the door of the rich and honored ladies who turn aside from them in disgust, and the education of true women must be the basis of the renovation of society: for to woman's influence is confided the happiness of the family, as to family influence is committed the guardianship of the state. Where the family is out of joint, the state will be out of joint too. O my dear Edward! I now comprehend the prophecy you think so much of: 'That the worship of the blessed mother of God will be in after times one such as is not dreamed of in the present age of disruption. The blessed Virgin is the example of all womanhood; the family of Nazareth the true type of the Christian family; labor, purity, intelligence, submission, such must be the watchwords of all womanly training; such will form happy households and forward true progress.'"

The objects of the educational institutions at Villeneuve were in strict accordance with these views; they comprised several classes, and in each class were several departments.

The highest was that of a boarding-school, regulated by the nuns themselves; it was within the enclosure, though apart from the convent, and having its own allotted grounds. It was a normal school, the object of which was to prepare efficient school teachers for the parochial schools throughout the country. No pupil could enter this establishment under fifteen years of age, or for a shorter period than three years; and if at the end of that time she had won her diploma, she was expected for the two years following to place herself at the disposal of the church, to teach any parochial school that might require such assistance. Besides the thorough course of instruction given during these three years, to enable the pupils to fulfil their duties efficiently as school-teachers, and to keep pace with the secular knowledge required by the age, the pupils were required to do all their own work: they took it by turns to provide for the household; the cooking, washing, every part of the household work, and making their own clothes, were all done by themselves; so that at the end of the five years, when their term of teaching had expired, they were ready to become either efficient members of society, fit to perform the duty of wife, mother, or teacher, or to enter religion, should such prove to be their vocation.

The second class of schools were named the probation schools; these, in their various departments, received children of all ages under fifteen, but Catholics only. The parents of the children attending these schools were required to give a guarantee that, during the children's attendance at these schools, they should not be allowed to read either novels or any other books not approved by the committee, nor attend any place of amusement disapproved by the church. {50} In fact, during their attendance at school, it was a part of the labor of the directors to provide suitable relaxation within the school grounds, that they might the more easily discourage all dissipation outside. There were also regulations concerning deportment and dress, which formed very efficient aids in inculcating Christian manners, but the details of which it is not necessary to give here.

These schools are supposed to be the Christian schools _par pre-eminence_. The young ladies of the first-named schools were much sought as wives, when their excellence became known; most of them could have married rich men, had they chosen to marry out of the church, but this, I need hardly say, they refused to do. Many entered teaching sisterhoods, and proved very efficient members of the society which they joined.

The children of the second series were, on the other hand, simple, joyous, affectionate, pious, and obedient. The age for childhood was renewed, and the results were very pleasing.

Besides these, the committee prevailed on M. de Villeneuve to establish (after the incendiary fire) general schools open to the community at large. In these schools the routine was Catholic; none but Catholic books were admitted, and as much Catholic training was introduced as the public mind would bear. These institutions were thronged, for the teachers were efficient, and the discipline much approved of. These were the best remunerating schools of the series. But M. de Villeneuve could never be brought to be satisfied with the results, and only in deference to the wishes of his friends did he tolerate them at all. His chief care was to prevent children from these schools being admitted to serve in the church or to take part in religious processions, until they had been well proved, and then he wished them removed to the Christian schools before he presented them to the pastor. Many thought the man a monomaniac, he had so great a horror of sacrilege, or indeed of witnessing any irreverence in the church at all. Strangely enough, his wife Hester saw in this only an additional virtue, which she endeavored to assist her husband in enforcing, as indeed she did in all his regulations.

A week or two after the fire, when the excitement had somewhat subsided, Eugene took his young wife to England. He found that Adelaide had been so busy during the past two years in providing orphan asylums, refuges, and hospitals, and so forth, that Mr. Godfrey had been very frequently alone, and this rendered him very glad to welcome his pretty, gentle daughter-in-law, and he persuaded Eugene to establish himself at Estcourt Hall, that he himself might have a home for his old age. In due time he learnt to amuse himself with his, little grand-children, utterly forgetful that they were members of a hated church. I never heard that be became a Catholic himself.

Eugene soon found interest and employment in aiding the Catholic movement which first agitated for emancipation, and then employed earnest minds in co-operating with the declared will of the church, to give efficiency to the measures which soon after provided a Catholic hierarchy for England.

As soon as Mr. Godfrey's comfort was provided for in Eugene's household, Adelaide united her efforts to those of Ellen, and together they established a society, which in after years developed itself as one of the many orders of Mercy which bless the great city of London. Without a uniform, though living under a rule, these ladies and their associates perform countless deeds of charity and kindness, the origin of which is often unknown to the recipients. Few among that saintly community are more anxious to obey, or to humble themselves, than the once proud duchess. Generous to all, to herself alone she became sparing and non-indulgent, and if the voice of praise, often publicly lauding her, met her ear in private, she would say, with a sigh, "Ah! how easy is all this, to give when we have more than we want, and to love those who spend their life in toil for the comfort and luxury of the wealthy. {51} But to love God as Bridget Norton loved him; to trust him when nothing but clouds and darkness were around; to face starvation, disgrace, and all, in trust that God would bring up those dear little ones for himself--this is heroism. Oh! talk not of the goodness of the rich; they are great people in this world of false show, but Bridget Norton called down the angels to witness her death and bear her noble martyr soul to heaven."

. . . .

Annie's children rewarded her care; the boy became a worthy priest, and the girl, after witnessing the consecration of her brother, requested permission to enter the convent in which she was brought up. Mother and daughter received the veil on the same day. All efforts to recover the property for the children proved fruitless. But they had long since learned that happiness does not consist in wealth.

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Original

Kettle Song.

Sing, kettle, sing!
Busily boil away!
My goodman to the field has gone,
The children are out at play.

Sing, kettle, sing!
Sing me a merry song!
You and I have company kept
This many a year along.

Sing, kettle, sing!
I'll join with a low refrain--
Needle and thread drawn through my work,
Like steadily falling rain.

Sing, kettle, sing!
The far-off fancies come,
But never a sad or a weary thought
Along with your cheery hum.

Sing, kettle, sing!
The hearth is swept and clean,
And the tidy broom in the corner stands
Like a little household queen.

Sing, kettle, sing!
Evening is drawing nigh,
The shadows are coming down the hill
And coming up in the sky.

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Sing, kettle, sing!
Shadows are on the wall--
The last stitch done! a merry shout!
And here are the rovers all!

Sing, kettle, sing!
By the merry candle-light,
And you and I'll keep company
Again to-morrow night!

Fanny Fielding.

-------------

Original.

Ritualism.

by John R. G. Hassard.

In one of the up-town streets of New-York there is a Protestant Episcopal Church dedicated to St. Alban. It is externally a plain, unattractive little building of brick and stone, in the early English style, with a modest little porch, and a sharp high roof, surmounted by a belfry and a cross. Within there is little to be seen in the way of ornament about the body of the church. The seats are plain benches rather than pews, and are free to all comers. But any one who should enter St. Alban's, not knowing to what denomination it belonged, and should look toward the sanctuary, would be very apt to fancy for a moment that he had got into a Catholic Church. Let us imagine ourselves among the crowd of curious spectators who fill the edifice of a Sunday morning. In place of the reading-desk conspicuous in most Protestant meeting-houses, there is a very proper-looking altar set back against the chancel wall, and ornamented with a colored and embroidered antependium. Behind it, instead of a painting, there is an illuminated screen-work, with inscriptions in old English ecclesiastical text, not much easier to be read than if they were in Latin. Where the tabernacle ought to be, stands a large gilt cross; on each side of it are vases and ornaments. On a shelf which runs along the wall back of the altar there are candlesticks, three tall ones at each side, and two others just over the altar itself. We see altar-cards, such as are used at mass; a burse for holding the corporal; and a chalice covered with a veil, the color of which varies with the season of the ecclesiastical year. Today not being a festival, the hue is green. At one end of the altar is a big book on a movable stand. At the epistle side is a credence table with a silver paten, on which is the wafer-bread for communion, and with vessels of wine and water that might be called cruets if they were only a little smaller. The pulpit stands just outside the railings on the left. There is a little raised desk on it for the preachers's book or manuscript, and this desk is covered with a green veil. Opposite the pulpit on the right hand side is a lectern with a bible on it. The lectern likewise has green hangings. On one side of the sanctuary is a row of stalls, precisely like those we see in some of our cathedrals and seminary-chapels. On the other are benches for the choristers. The organ is in a recess just behind them, and the organist sits in the chancel, in full view of the people, with his back to the instrument. He wears a white surplice, and presents altogether a very respectable and ecclesiastical appearance.

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The appointments of St. Alban's being so very much like those of a real church, we shall not be surprised to find the service almost equally like a real mass. At the appointed hour an acolyte in cassock and surplice lights the two candles on the altar. Then we hear a chorus of male voices-- principally boys--intoning a chant, and presently a procession issues from the vestry door and files into the chancel. First comes a lad wearing a black cassock and short surplice, and carrying a cross on a tall staff. Then follow the chanters, men and boys, similarly attired; then one or two clergymen, or perhaps theological students, also in cassock and surplice; next two little boys in red cassocks; and finally two officiating ministers, wearing long albs. The "priest" has a green stole, crossed on his breast, and confined at the sides by a cincture; the "deacon's" stole is worn over the left shoulder. The clerks take their places in the stalls; the singers proceed to their benches. The cross-bearer kneels at one side of the altar; the "priest" kneels at the foot of the steps, with the deacon behind him and the acolytes at his side. The service about to be performed is not the "Order of Morning Prayer" prescribed by the prayer-book, but simply the communion service. The officiating minister (for the sake of convenience let us call him what he calls himself--the priest; though without, of course, admitting his sacerdotal character) chants a short prayer, very much in the style of the chanting we hear at mass, and the choir respond "Amen." Then the litany is chanted antiphonally, by one of the clergy and the choristers alternately; it is in the main a translation of that part of our litany of the saints in which we address Almighty God directly, without asking the intercession of his blessed. This over, the ministers and acolytes retire in the same order in which they entered, and the organist plays a voluntary, during which the other six altar-candles are lighted. When the clergy return the priest is seen in a green maniple and chasuble. The latter differs from the vestment worn by the Catholic priest at mass only in being less stiff in texture, pointed behind, and covering the arm nearly to the elbow; and instead of being embroidered with a cross on the back it is marked with a figure nearly resembling the letter Y. With hands clasped before his breast the priest now ascends the steps, and standing before the altar, with his back to the people, goes on with the second part of the service. We need not describe it, for it is principally translated from the missal. The words are all repeated in a tone which is half reading and half chanting, and whenever the minister says "Let us Pray," or "The Lord be with you," he turns round to the people like a priest chanting "Oremus" or "Dominus Vobiscum." The epistle and gospel are read by the deacon. The sermon follows; a rather vague and wordy discourse, chiefly remarkable for the frequent and affectionate use of the term "Catholic." The preacher begins by saying "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost," and the more devoutly disposed of the congregation thereupon cross themselves. After the sermon comes the most solemn part of the service, taken nearly verbatim from the canon of the mass; and at the commencement a great many of the congregation who apparently are not communicants, leave the church with reverential faces, as if they supposed the old law forbidding catechumens to witness the more sacred mysteries were still in force. But the curious spectators, who compose a large proportion of the audience, are under no such scruple about remaining.

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We need not describe the order of the service in detail, because the words are almost exactly those to which we are ourselves accustomed, and the ceremonies come as close to those of the mass as it is possible to make them come. Whenever the ministers or attendants pass before the altar they make a low bow to the cross. As the time of consecration approaches, the deacon goes to the corner of the altar, and the acolytes bring him there the bread and water and wine, which he hands to the priest, the wine and water being mixed in the chalice. The prayer of consecration (a translation of our own) is chanted like the rest of the service, until the priest reaches the words, "This is my body," etc., "This is my blood," etc.; those, suddenly dropping his voice, he repeats in a low voice, bending over, and immediately afterward lifting up the elements on high. The attendants, during this ceremony, hold up the corners of his vestment. After the consecration all make genuflections, instead of bows, when they have occasion to pass before the altar.

After receiving communion himself, the priest administers it to the deacon and clergy and the altar boys. The people then approach the railing and the priest gives them the consecrated wafer, using the formula prescribed in the Catholic and the Protestant Episcopal liturgies alike--"The body of our Lord Jesus Christ," etc.; but with each morsel of bread before he gives it he makes the sign of the cross, which is a striking innovation in the Protestant service. The deacon follows with the chalice. Before the communion, however, a general confession is recited, and then the priest, turning toward the people with great solemnity, repeats the form of absolution, making the sign of the cross as he does so with outstretched arm. After communion the celebrant scrapes the crumbs from the paten into the chalice, and takes the ablutions at the corner of the altar exactly as the priest does at mass. And when the congregation is dismissed at the close, it is with a blessing and the sign of the cross, just as we are dismissed after the _Ite, Missa est_ at the end of the mass.

On specially solemn occasions incense is used at St. Alban's, and various other ceremonies are performed which have been borrowed from the Catholic ritual. For example, candles are placed about the corpse when the burial service is read.

We have described a service at St. Alban's, because that is the church in which the ritualistic ideas, as they are called, are carried out to the fullest development they have thus far attained in the United States. But the rector and congregation of St. Alban's are by no means the only persons of the Protestant Episcopal denomination who entertain those ideas. They are only a little more advanced in their views than the majority of the High Church Episcopal party. There are many places in New York where Sunday services are conducted more or less in conformity with the practices of the ritualists; and antiphonal chanting and other popish abominations have been introduced, even into sober old Trinity Church itself. The number of those who believe that divine service ought to be conducted with a more elaborate ceremonial than any Protestant sect has thus far admitted is rapidly increasing, and among them are many of the most distinguished and influential of the Episcopal clergy.

But if so many strange things are done in our own country, they are nothing to the innovations which are rapidly gaining ground in the Church of England. The ritualistic movement in Great Britain is not so much the struggle of an enthusiastic party for change or reform as it is the spontaneous working of a logical doctrinal development which is gradually spreading throughout the community. There is a struggle attending it; but it is the struggle of the let-alone party for its repression, not of the apostles of ritualism for its extension. And in spite, perhaps partly in consequence, of the bitterness of the opposition, the number of churches in which the good old Catholic ceremonies are revived in their ancient splendor is, daily augmenting, and the zeal of the congregations is increasing. {55} Ritualism in England is not what Punch is so fond of representing it--a mere system of ecclesiastical millinery, born of the sick brains of foolish and fanciful young curates; but it is a genuine expression of the sentiment of a respectable minority of the Protestant laity. The numerous prayer-books and similar works, prepared for the use of laymen under ritualistic inspiration, are sold by _millions_ of copies. One entitled "The Churchman's Guide to Faith and Piety," contains formulas for morning and evening prayer, with an examination of conscience; devotions for saints' days; instructions for systematic sacramental confession, and for devoutly receiving the holy Eucharist and assisting at the sacred mysteries; and _prayers for the faithful departed_. The real presence and the sacrificial character of the holy Eucharist are expressed in the clearest possible manner. There are several hand-books of devotion toward the blessed sacrament, and manuals of religious exercises in honor of certain particular manifestations of the divine goodness, such, for instance, as the passion of our Saviour. A collection of "Hymns, Ancient and Modern," of which it was stated some time ago that over one and a half millions of copies had been sold, contains simply the principal hymns of the Breviary, and in a work entitled "An Appendix to the Hymnal Noted," the advanced Puseyite will find complete directions for using those hymns in public worship, according to the rubrics of the Breviary. An English publisher has just announced a new manual containing "the offices of prime and compline and the vigils for the dead; the forms of blessing and sprinkling holy water; the _Missa in nocte Nativitatis Domini_; the Lenten litanies; the blessing of the ashes and the palm branches; the washing of the altars and the _Maundy_; the benediction of the fonts on Holy Saturday, and the like: translated from the Latin, with an introduction and explanatory notes, and illustrated with extracts from the consuetudinary of the church of Sarnm and the plain-song of the Mechlin office-books."

"Matins" and "vespers" are chanted in many of the English churches by choristers robed in surplices and ranged on each side of the chancel. The Gregorian tones are used to a great extent. The officiating clergyman wears a cope on festival days, and it has been the custom until lately to incense the altar during the chanting of the _Magnificat_. The most complete return, however, to the practice of the ancient church is seen in the celebration of the Eucharist. All the Catholic vestments--the amice, alb, cincture, maniple, stole, and chasuble--have been restored. The regulations of the rubrics respecting different colors for different days and seasons are followed. Sometimes the celebrant is attended by a deacon and a subdeacon, acolytes, and censer bearers; and the use of candles on the altar is very common. Even in churches where candles, incense, and colored vestments are unknown, the Introit, taken from the Roman missal or the missal of Salisbury, is frequently chanted at the beginning of the service, and it is a very common practice to add to the regular liturgy contained in the Book of Common Prayer various prayers taken from the ordinary and the canon of the mass. For example, the minister often prefixes to the service the psalm _Judica me, Deus_ with the antiphon, the _Confiteor_, etc., which we hear every day at mass. So, too, when the celebrant is placing the bread and wine on the altar, he borrows our offertory and the prayers which follow it, his own liturgy not having furnished him with anything appropriate to the occasion. The Anglican office sets down no prayers for the priest's own communion; he, therefore, supplies the omission by reciting in a low voice the _unde et memores_ of the missal.

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The use of crucifixes and images, and especially the image of the blessed virgin, holding her divine Son in her arms, is by no means uncommon among the more advanced ritualists; and some clergymen are in the habit of blessing objects of devotion, such as medals and crosses, and even of blessing holy water. A correspondent of a London newspaper writes a letter of indignant complaint about the Christmas celebrations this season, at some of the "advanced" churches, in one of which he declares that "numberless tapers shed their halo of glory upon a veritable _Bambino_," or figure of the infant Saviour lying in the manger. An Anglican Missal has been published at Oxford, containing the order of the Communion service, without any other part of the Liturgy. This service is commonly spoken of as the "mass," and we even hear of "high mass," and "low mass," to say nothing of matins and vespers. A few weeks ago we read an account in an English paper of a nuptial mass in one of the ritualistic churches. The faithful address their ministers as Father John, Father Peter, or whatever the Christian name may be, and talk of their "confessors" and "spiritual directors" with all the composure of genuine Catholics.

The following description of a service at St. Alban's in London in holy week, is taken from an English newspaper:

The altar on Maundy Thursday was vested in white and the holy Eucharist
was solemnly celebrated at 7 A.M. when many of the members of a
confraternity attached to the church communicated. After the morning
service the altar was entirely stripped of all its vestings and ornaments
except the candlesticks, and so remained until Easter eve. On Good
Friday, there was a meditation at 8 A.M., which was well attended. The
church was full at 10.30, when matins and the ante-communion office were
said. The sermon was followed by the chanting of the Reproaches, and the
hymn _Pange Lingua_. At 2 P.M., after the singing of the litany, the
Rev. A. H. Mackonochie preached the three hours' agony, the order of
which was as follows: (1.) One of the words of our Lord on the cross, was
chanted by the choir; (2.) A short sermon on the word was next
pronounced; (3.) All knelt in silent meditation, the organ playing
softly; (4.) A hymn was sung. This order was observed for each of the
words on the cross, the whole service lasting three hours and a half. At
3 o'clock, the hour of our Lord's death, the bell was tolled for five
minutes, while all knelt in silence. Even-song, or vespers, took place at
7 P.M. The sermon was followed by the chanting of the _Stabat Mater_
and _Miserere_. A meditation on the taking down from the cross
closed the evening. All through the day the bell was tolled solemnly, and
most of the congregation appeared in mourning. On Easter eve there was
service at 9 P.M. The church was elaborately decorated for the coming
festival with white and scarlet hangings, hot-house flowers, and candles.
The service opened with a procession, the chanters singing the old Easter
hymn _O filii et filiae_, and three of the attendants carrying
banners. Then vespers were chanted, and after the reading of the second
lesson the sacrament of baptism was administered to twenty-eight persons.
On Easter Sunday the Eucharist was celebrated at 7, 8, and 9 A.M.; at
10.30, matins were sung; and at 11.15 there was a grand Easter service
which we suppose the high and dry "Anglo-Catholics" would call high mass.
The ministers and attendants, with lights and banners, entered in
procession, while the choristers chanted the hymn _Ad Caenam Agni_.
As soon as they reached the altar, the Introit was sung, and the "mass"
or communion service, was then celebrated in the usual manner, another
breviary hymn, the _victimae Paschali_, being chanted at the
offertory.

In an account of the holy week services at St. Philip's, Clerkenwell, we read that on Palm Sunday the altar was vested in black, the cross veiled with crape, and the retable strewn with palm branches. {57} The choir, bearing palms, entered the church, singing the hymn "Ride on, etc.," preceded by the processional cross which was also veiled with crape. At a church in the diocese of Manchester recently, the services for Good Friday began at midnight, with a litany and sermon. At 6 A. M. there was a litany again, with a second sermon. At 9 A. M. followed matins and a sermon; at noon a special service and sermon; at 3 P. M. litany and sermon; at 6, evensong, and sermon, at 9, litany, sermon and benediction. The Church Times, a ritualist periodical, remarked that it was "cheering to find the Catholic view of the observance of the great fast so admirably developed in a diocese so terribly over-ridden by Puritanism."

Some of our readers may remember the circumstances attending the funeral of the Rev. John Mason Neale at East Grinstead, England, in August 1866. Dr. Neale was well known as the author of some admirable translations of Breviary hymns, as one of the most earnest apostles of ritualism, and as the founder of a convent of women. The burial ceremonies, in the chapel of Sackville College, included what might be called a high mass of requiem, with priest, deacon, and sub-deacon, habited in magnificent vestments of black silk trimmed with silver; an assistant priest; and a master of ceremonies, or _ceremoniarius_. The service commenced with the introit "Grant them eternal rest, O Lord." After the epistle the _Dies Irae_ was chanted in Grergorian melody, as the gradual. When choir and congregation assembled after communion in the college quadrangle, there to form themselves into a procession, one of the clergy repeated the prayer, _Deus, qui nobis sub sacramento mirabili_, which is always chanted in the Catholic church at the benediction of the blessed Sacrament. In the procession, besides clerks, chanters, acolytes, and cross-bearer, appeared the "sisters of the third order;" novices; "sisters of the second order" in white veils edged with blue; "professed sisters;" the mother superior, assistant mother, and mistress of novices of Dr. Neale's convent; superiors of other orders; "brothers associate;" etc. The corpse "was vested in cassock, surplice, and black stole; a crucifix was in his crossed hands, the same one which he was in the habit of having before him when hearing confessions." In an appendix to a virulent little treatise against ritualism by the Rev. Robert Vaughan, D.D., [Footnote 8] there are descriptions of services in several of the advanced churches; and the author says: "This is the course of things in a large number of our city and suburban churches over the kingdom; and not a few churches in our smaller towns, and even in our villages, do their best, as before intimated, toward imitating the example set them by their more fashionable and wealthy neighbors. The editor of The Church Times filled some thirty columns of that journal with such reports as we have cited, relating to the celebrations of last Easter, and stated that the accounts he had published were 'only a small selection from the overwhelming mass' which had reached him," Proof enough that the movement, as we said before, is very widely extended and essentially popular.

[Footnote 8: Ritualism in the English Church in its Relation to
Scripture, Piety, and Law. By Robert Vaughan, D.D. 12mo. London: 1866.]

Everybody remembers the commotion raised a year or two ago by an enthusiastic gentleman named Lyne who called himself "Brother Ignatius," and made a very foolish and unfortunate attempt to establish a Protestant order of Benedictines in England. But other efforts to introduce religious communities into the Church of England have been more prosperous, and there are now at least 400 or 500 members of various sisterhoods, who take vows, some for life, some for three years. [Footnote 9]

[Footnote 9: Sisterhood have obtained a precarious footing in the
United States. There is one in New York, whose members wear a costume
suggested somewhat of the cloister and somewhat of the mantua-maker's
shop. They have neat little things, between caps and veils, on their
heads; make-believe rosaries hanging from their girdles; and black
bombazine gown's distended to fashionable dimensions by means of
hoop-skirts.]

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In all cases there is a novitiate of one or two years, and it is said that women who take the vows almost always adhere to them. Brotherhoods are not at all flourishing, but there is a loud call for them among the ritualists, and we see no reason to doubt that they will soon follow in the general progress of the Catholic revival. Of the number of congregations in which ritualistic practices are followed, we have no exact account; but a disinterested authority in which we have confidence estimates the number of the clergy who entertain the advanced views at about 2000. Among them are a few of the bishops, the most prominent being Dr. Wilberforce, bishop of Oxford, and Dr. Hamilton, bishop of Salisbury. Indeed, the rapid progress of the new ideas seems to have thrown the thorough-going Protestants into a fever of alarm. Courses of lectures are got up to counteract the growing spirit, and monster petitions and memorials are presented to the bishops by the clergy and people of their dioceses. A remonstrance with five hundred signatures has been laid before the Bishop of Salisbury; a memorial with two thousand and three hundred names has been presented to the Bishop of Gloucester; and four hundred and twenty-three of the clergy of London have united in a protest. Colored vestments are worn in twelve of the London churches, incense is used in six, and colored stoles have been introduced in three, which have not yet adopted the full "Eucharistic vestments."

Not very long ago a grand exhibition of ecclesiastical ornaments and vestments from churches of the establishment in various parts of the kingdom was held at Norwich. Eucharistic (that is, colored) vestments were contributed by a hundred churches, and it was estimated that there were two hundred and fifty or three hundred other churches in which they were habitually used. The number is probably now larger. Many of these vestments were of extraordinary richness. There were silks and velvets covered with delicate and elaborate embroideries, and bedecked with a literal profusion of diamonds, pearls, and various precious stones. One chasuble, not jeweled, was valued at £220, Or $1,100. There were crosiers, mitres, stoles, and superb crimson copes--all in use at the present day--not to speak of numerous relics of antiquity, even relics of the saints and the twelve apostles, and a fragment of the true cross.

The confessional in the Anglican Church is not an innovation by any means; but under the protecting wings of ritualism it is assuming much greater prominence than it has ever enjoyed before. In St. Alban's, New-York, you will not find a confessional box; but you may make a confession there, if you feel so disposed, and the reverend pastor is ready to absolve penitents with the usual formularies. At St. Alban's in London, however, they do things in a much more complete style, with a box and a grating, and all the other Catholic accessories--with the trifling exceptions of sacerdotal character and jurisdiction on the part of the confessor. An Anglican minister of Protestant proclivities, named Ormiston, recently made an experimental visit of investigation to the Rev. Mr. Mackonochie's confessional at St. Alban's, and at a meeting of the National Protestants Institute on the 28th of January last, was cruel enough to tell all that happened there. He went on one of the days set apart for receiving the confessions of men, took his turn with a number of others who were waiting, and in course of time found himself in the confessional box, peering through a hole at the Rev. Mr. Mackonochie, who was vested in a surplice and purple stole. Mr. Ormiston stated that he wished to make a "special" confession, and was thereupon requested to kneel. He could not bring himself to do this, but he made believe do it--probably he squatted--and then proceeded to his unbosoming. The Rev. Mr. Mackonochie must have been rather unpleasantly amazed by what followed. {59} Pulling out a written paper Mr. Ormiston read, in a loud tone so as to be heard by the people outside, this humble confession of sins: "I have but too imperfectly discharged my solemn ordination vow of being ready with all faithful diligence to banish and drive away all erroneous and strange doctrines contrary to God's word,' and _especially the damnable doctrine now maintained by those priests in the Church of England, commonly called 'Puseyites,' together with their popish practices_, whereby they are seeking to dethrone the blessed gospel of God's free grace, and to set up in its stead the 'burning lies' of anti-christ." He asked for absolution, but Mr. Mackonochie could not be persuaded of his penitence (though the sinner vowed that he never was more sorry in his life), and refused to give it. So Mr. Ormiston handed his card to the confessor, and came away, "bowed down and crushed," as he said, "with a sense of the evil which this awful system is working."