Chapter III (3)

It appears to me your duties to them will be well accomplished if you enter into the spirit of this text: "She riseth while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens." Look at the sun; it rises on the horizon, and, in shedding its beams, seems to distribute work to every creature, and, by way of recompense, prepares their nourishment in advance. Is it not he who, while lighting the world, invites the artisan to his shop, the laborer to his field, and the pilot to leave his port? {702} Is it not he who prepares the germs in the bosom of the earth--who warms them, and conducts them to that point of maturity that the statesman waits for as impatiently as the laborer? "Woman," says the Scripture, "should be the sun of her household." She should lighten and warm like the planet of the day. Her rays are emitted in indicating to each one his duties, in distributing the work in wise and suitable proportions, and, when all is justly ordered, superintending its execution. Then everything goes on admirably, because brightened by the spirit of regularity that guides the mistress of the house. Her glance, given to all around her, projects the light; and this light is the strongest and most insinuating of counsellors, as well as a gracious but severe monitor. A woman who presides well over her household need talk but little; her presence speaks for her, and the simple conviction that she has her eyes everywhere, and that the least detail is not unknown to her, prevents any irregularity. But see, on the contrary, a house where the mistress rises late, and sleeps morally the rest of the day. Everything is left to chance; disorder introduces itself everywhere, in heads as in business; a general pell-mell of ideas and objects--a confusion which recalls the primitive chaos. Madam sleeps late, the servants rise only a little earlier; during the day, madam dreams, occupies herself with her toilet, in matinees, and visits, and the house, given up to itself, becomes what it may. The children are almost abandoned, and work accumulates in the most delightful disorder.

Woman, the sun of her house, should not be satisfied to illuminate it; she should warm it also, and with her heart.

You ought, ladies, to watch your servants, demand an account of their proceedings in-doors and out, watch over them particularly in their connection with your children; for too often the heart and mind are lost by servants, and, were it permitted to reveal all the human heart can tell us in this respect, you would be seriously alarmed.

About twenty years ago, I had charge of a seminary. One day I received a visit from a very indignant father, who told me with bitterness that his child had been corrupted in our establishment. I knew to the contrary; but I had no defence to offer, so in silence I bore an unmerited reproach. Some time afterward I had permission to speak, when I was able to prove to him that it was in his own house that his child was lost, by keeping company with a servant.

Watch, then, your children, ladies, by watching your servants. Watch their going out and coming in, their bearing and their company; watch their words and actions. But, I beg of you, watch with kindness, for the light of your supervision should be warm with Christian affection. Love your servants, and always remember that they are human--the image of God, and that they have been bought by the blood of Jesus Christ. As much as possible, speak to them with kindness, and, if an occasional impatience escapes you, endeavor to repair it by sincere benevolence. That your watchfulness may not engender suspicion and restlessness, do not appear a spy on their actions. We often make people good by believing them so, and bad by accusing them of qualities they do not possess; or, at least, we freeze their hearts, and permanently harden them. Avoid everything which appears like ill-humor, meanness, or caprice. {703} To-day madam is in a good humor, and all goes well; the servants may be as merry, and make as many mistakes as they please; nobody notices them. To-morrow the moon reddens in its first quarter: woe to the inhabitants of the house! woe to the servants! Madam's coffee is cold, yet it bears its ordinary temperature; the soup is too salty, yet the usual quantity was put into it. The room is full of smoke, it was the servant's fault, and yet the poor creature made neither the wind nor the chimney. A racket in the kitchen; madam's voice is heard from the cellar to the garret-- from the court-yard to the neighboring houses. Nothing renders authority more ridiculous than such conduct. The servants are tired out; they lose every sentiment of affection and confidence, because they see no regard is shown them; that they are considered inferior beings, entitled to no respect; and that, even on days when caprice is not predominant, they only encounter airs of silent pride and haughtiness.

Without doubt, ladies, there is a just medium to be preserved. Many servants are unreasonable, and take advantage of favors accorded them; are exacting and indiscreet; they require masters without faults, and are completely blinded to their own. "Treat them as friends," said an ancient philosopher, "and they lack submission; keep them at a distance, and they resent your conduct and hate you." [Footnote 213]

[Footnote 213: Confucius, _Entr. Philos_. c. 17.]

The middle course of wisdom is therefore hard to find; but it is so in all worldly affairs, yet it is necessary to resolve it. The heart of a Christian woman appears to me best adapted for this work of conciliation; she can preserve her authority by demonstrating a wise firmness, recalling the words of Fenelon: "The less reason you find in men, the more fear requisite to restrain them." [Footnote 214] The strong woman must be able to cope with such difficult minds, often so pretentious and ridiculous in their exactions, and put them in their place when wisdom and occasion demand it. But, in her ordinary conduct, let her remember that she commands her brethren, for whom our Lord died; that love and gentleness are the best, the most Christian roads to persuasion, and that severity should always be reserved for circumstances where reason and charity fail.

[Footnote 214: _De l'Education des Filles_, c. 12.]

Fenelon says again that, in certain houses, "servants are considered no better than horses--of natures like theirs--human beasts of burden for their masters." [Footnote 215] Nothing can be more opposed to sentiments of faith and reason; servants are brothers, to be loved and treated as such; they owe you their service and fidelity, and if they fail, recall them to duty prudently, with a charitable compassion and firmness that does not exclude affection. A single word will often dispel a cloud and dissipate increasing shadows, and give you, in return, the deep and solid friendship of your servants. Is this not far better than forced relations, coldness and constraint that freeze the heart and poison innumerable lives? The fable itself teaches us a lesson in telling us that the friendship of the ant is not to be despised.

[Footnote 215: _Ibid_.]

"The strong woman giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens." The spirit of God neglects no detail, because in life everything is important. Let your servants work; nothing is better for them; but do not traffic with either their food or duties. {704} Treat them a little like the children of the house; you will not only interest your charity, but your service will gain by it. Do not calculate with an avaricious hand what may do them good and alleviate their lot. You will gain on one side what you lose on the other; and besides, is not the true affection of a devoted heart worth more than a piece of gold? It is not only food and material comforts you must assure your servants. How I love to see the Christian woman enlarge her maternal heart and reserve in it not only a place for her children, but for all the people of her household! Yes, she must have a mother's affection for all, and let the least one understand that he has part in the warmth of her soul and the fireside of her heart. Thus she realizes the comparison that I always love to repeat, because she is truly great in her splendor and simplicity, and, in proportion as she is examined, new aspects are discovered; then the strong woman is the sun of her household: _sicut sol oriens_.

The planet of day sheds its light on the clouds, the high mountains, and the gilded palaces, but he never omits the little valley flower or the blade of grass that claims his warmth. He does not give it so abundantly as to the oaks of the mountain, but it is always the same light, and suffices for their life and happiness. Thus the strong woman pours her intimate affections on her family and her true friends, but her soul has still a reserve for her servants. She gives them less than her husband and children, but it is all from the same source, and bears with it for them the same unction.

After such a distribution of work, of care and affection, do not expect to find no faults in your servants. To these servants, I would say: Bear with the faults of your masters and mistresses; the best of them are imperfect, and for you the true way to modify their defects is to reply only by patience and an immovable docility; sweetness and patience do much more than anger and violent recrimination, as various elastic substances are, we know, among the best agents to arrest the impetuous movement of the cannon-ball. To you, ladies, I say: Bear with the faults of your servants, as they are never wanting. With two such sureties, with the certainty of patience on the part of the servants, and in return on that of the masters, you will be sure to pacifically organize the interior of your households. If the tether of patience is short at one end, you can stretch it at the other; and such is the admirable teaching of Christianity, wherever the relations of mankind exist, it establishes reciprocal duties on so firm and solid a foundation that, if one is lacking, the other becomes more strong to resist it. Thus it preaches to the husband love and respect; to the wife, love, respect, and submission; to masters, benevolence; to servants, deference and patience; but in such a way that, if the first are faithless to their duties, the fidelity of the second will more than repair the defect. Nature evidently holds another language; if our neighbor fails in his obligations, we believe ourselves freed from ours, and this spirit of free exchange in point of bad proceedings is not, perhaps, one of the least causes of our perturbations in the family and society.

"There are some faults," says Fenelon, "that enter into the marrow of the bones." "Then," said the Archbishop of Cambrai, "if you wish to correct such in your servant, he is not wrong to resist correction, but you are foolish to undertake it." [Footnote 216]

[Footnote 216: _Lettres Spirituelles_,
193, t. 1. p. 554, éd. Didiot.]

{705}

You have a horse that is one-eyed, you would wish him to see clearly with both eyes; it is you who are entirely blind. Alas ladies! in this world we are all slightly one-eyed, therefore we must bear with each other.

You have a servant who does not always display the judgment you require of him; tell me, why do you employ him in any delicate business? He has made a blunder, but were you not the first cause of it? You have another who never sees more than a few steps before him; you cannot expect better of him, he is short-sighted. You are angry because he cannot see leagues off; you are the unreasonable one. Another one is lame, and him you would have walk straight; do you not see that you exact the impossible? I tell you, ladies, that poor human nature is full of weaknesses, and having once perceived certain infirmities in your neighbor, keep them in remembrance, and don't demand a reform in what cannot be corrected. "Bear ye one another's burdens," said Saint Paul; it is the rule of true wisdom, of peace and domestic happiness: "_Alter alterius onera portate_." [Footnote 217]

[Footnote 217: Galat. vi. 2.]

But, you say, he is thick-headed, I cannot put up with him. Alas! thick heads we meet with everywhere. Have you not yourselves sometimes the same complaint? Besides, don't be so hard to please in servants; you may end by finding none at all. You have one who pouts, another who is violent; you may have one impertinent, another pettish; choose between them. The best course, believe me, is to put up with the evil, provided it is bearable. This world and all it contains is only one grand misery; accept your share of it; murmuring and changing those who surround you will do no good.

Well and good, I hear you say. You have just spoken of those who keep many servants; I am more modest; a nurse, or at most a cook, constitutes my household. In this case, if you will permit me, I will find you an establishment where the retainers are numerous and very difficult to govern. The fathers of the church teach us that the human soul, in its organization, is a house complete in itself. We find in it intelligence, the soul properly called, the imagination, and the senses. Intelligence is the husband, the soul the wife; and imagination, with its numerous caprices, represents an establishment of troublesome servants; while the five senses may portray five grooms at the carriage-ways opening into the street. To listen to such a world as this, and make it agree, is no easy matter. Intelligence wishes one thing, the soul another; the husband and wife are just ready to quarrel. Then imagination comes in with its thousand phantoms, its fantastical noises, its clatter by night and by day: can you not believe your household in good condition to exercise your patience? Then the porters of this castle, the eyes, the ears, without considering the nerves--a sort of busy battalion which makes more noise than all the rest. What an interior! what confusion! what a tower of Babel! Ladies, I will repeat here the words of Scripture: "Rise early to give work and a portion" to this establishment of servants; put them in order from the first dawn of day. Clear up your imagination; it needs more time and care than a disordered head of hair. See how your ideas fly hither and thither; how the mad one of this dwelling sings and grows impertinent; how she reasons, how she scolds, and how absurd she is. Intelligence would restore her reason; useless to try! time lost! {706} She cries louder, and becomes longer and more violently nonsensical. She makes so much noise that it could be called, according to Saint Gregory, the multiplied voices of several servants, whose tongues are perfectly sharpened: "_Cogitationum se clamor, velut garrula ancillarum turba, multiplicat_." [Footnote 218]

[Footnote 218: _Moral_, i. I, c. 30, t 1. p. 546, éd,
Migné.]

Here is a beautiful household to organize every morning. You complain of having no work for it. I have just found you some. Bring peace into the midst of this distraction; substitute harmony for confusion, and so adjust this harmony that it shall last undisturbed until evening, and I will give you a brevet, a certificate, as an excellent mistress of a house. Formerly, the poor human head was not subject to such distraction; and why? Because it was subject to God; and from thence all the powers of man, mind, heart, will, imagination, senses, all were submitted to the head of the house, because this head himself was obedient to God. Since the primitive revolt, all has been upset in man; and our poor nature has become like a house where all dispute, husband, wife, and servants, that is, mind, heart, imagination. There is a simple way to re-establish peace, not quite complete, but at least tolerable, for this would bring back God into the house: let God be head, the commander of all; let the thought of him preside everywhere, and soon order will be entirely restored. In the morning especially, I know nothing that can pacify us interiorly and calm all around us better than a look toward heaven, a thought of love directed on high, and bringing, in return, the peace of God. In the morning, if the head aches, rest it at the foot of the cross; if the heart suffers, place it on the heart of our Lord; if the imagination is feverish, calm it with a drop of the blood of Jesus Christ; and if the whole being is in ebullition, ask God to send it refreshment in the dew of heaven! Be faithful to these recommendations, ladies, and you may repose the length of the day under your vine and your fig-tree; that is, you will enjoy the intimate happiness that God has promised his friends, and which is one of the sweetest recompenses of virtue: "_Et sedit unusquisque sub vite suâ, et ficulneâ, suâ, et non erat qui eos terreret_." [Footnote 219]

[Footnote 219: I Mach. xiv. 12.]

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

{707}

A Sister's Story. [Footnote 220]

[Footnote 220: _A Sister's Story_. By Mrs. Augustus
Craven. Translated from the French by Emily Bowles. 8vo, pp.
539. New York: The Catholic Publication Society.]

We do not usually go to France for pictures of domestic life; yet, when we do find a cultivated French family penetrated with the home instincts which are so much more common on the opposite side of the channel, and lavishing upon the members of their own household an affection elevated and sanctified by true piety, there is a charm about the scene which is apt to be wanting in our own more commonplace experience. The charm, to be sure, often asserts itself too boldly; for the Frenchman has a keen relish for sentiment, and in nine cases out of ten the rapture with which love fills his heart is only half of it inspired by the object of his passion, while the other half is an unconscious admiration of the delicacy of his own feelings. He makes a romance out of love for his father and mother, and his affection for his sweetheart is an extravagant poem. Still, unless you analyze it too closely, which there is no need of your doing at all, the poem is almost always beautiful and delicate, and sometimes possesses the true poetical aroma. _A Sister's Story_ is a romance of love, trial, happiness, and death. Nobody but a French woman could have written it; yet the sentiment is not what is commonly called "Frenchy," because it is etherealized by a genuine Christian refinement, and because, moreover, it is a true history.

The Count de la Ferronnays, who was French ambassador at St. Petersburg in 1819, and afterward at Rome, had a large family of children, one of whom, Pauline, married an English gentleman, and is the author of this book. Another, Albert, is the hero. They all loved one another with a rare and touching tenderness, and loved God, too, with a simple and unaffected devotion. The revolution of 1830 deprived the Count of his diplomatic appointment, despoiled him of most of his fortune, and, as he was a stanch adherent of the Bourbons, left him without hope of a future career in the service of the state. The family seem, however, to have accepted their reverses cheerfully, and to have made little change in their way of life, except by practising a stricter economy than they had been used to. They passed most of their time in Italy, mingling with people of rank and distinction, or travelling in search of health, as one or another of them showed symptoms of approaching disease. Albert was a young man of handsome appearance, and, we should judge, of no mean accomplishments. He was warm-hearted, remarkably sensitive, somewhat of a dreamer, romantic, poetical, and pure in heart. The life of a man of society he sanctified with the piety of a recluse. The revolution which cut short his father's public career destroyed also the young man's prospects in life, and left him, just entering manhood, without fixed occupation, and without much hope of obtaining employment suitable to his rank and tastes. This enforced idleness, coupled with the delicacy of his constitution, already perhaps undermined by the pulmonary disease which was so soon to carry him off, predisposed him to a melancholy reflectiveness which, though corrected by his devout aspirations, was nevertheless morbid. {708} The feminine delicacy of his nature was developed by close intimacy with his sisters, and his religious elevation was doubtless heightened by his frequent intercourse with Montalembert, whose sentiments he fully shared, though he was unable to join in his labors, with M. Rio, whom he accompanied to various parts of Italy, with the Abbé Gerbet, and with other distinguished Catholics of that brilliant day.

Among the acquaintances of the Count's family in Rome was the Countess d'Alopeus, widow of the celebrated Russian plenipotentiary at Berlin, and afterward wife of Prince Lapoukhyn. She had a daughter, Alexandrine, a beautiful and amiable girl, apparently, like Albert, of a pensive turn of mind, and, though a Lutheran, (her mother being a German,) of a strongly religious disposition. Albert fell in love with her the first time they met, and from that time love and religion filled up all the rest of his short life. It was but a little while before Alexandrine learned to return the tender sentiment. The intimacy ripened fast; but there were many difficulties in the way of marriage, and it was only after two years, marked by severe trials, that they were at last united in 1834. Ten days afterward Albert burst a blood-vessel, and from that time until his death, in 1836, their happiness was clouded by the gradual approach of the untimely fate which they could hardly help foreseeing. The picture which Mrs. Craven, with the help of the journals and letters of this dear young couple, has drawn of their courtship, their love, their few hours of happiness, and their admirable married life, with all its consolations and all its sufferings, is full of the most delicious beauty. It could not have been so natural, had it not been drawn from the life; it would not have been so exquisite, had not the artist been herself a poet.

By the side of her husband's dying bed, Alexandrine was received into the Catholic Church. She appears to have possessed a stronger though not a more lovely character than Albert, and in her widowhood its magnificence was fully developed. During the twelve years she survived her husband, she learned to the full the great lessons of self-abnegation, humility, and detachment from all worldly things. Even in the first days of her sorrow, God rewarded her with a strength which surprised all who knew her; and this was succeeded after a while by a completeness of resignation and a spiritual joy which were no less than saint-like. "We shall see," writes Mrs. Craven, in beginning the narrative of these final years, "by what efforts of resignation, by what self-surrender, she obtained peace, and entered upon that other period of her life which she speaks of in her story, and of which she once said, 'Even before old age and death, faith gave me rest!' This rest, which went beyond resignation, even beyond peace, which Alexandrine had soon recovered; a rest which marked the latter part of her life by a joyousness unknown to her young days, she did not attain till she had gone through many fresh sorrows. It was God's will that she should outlive most of those who had proved her firmest friends and most tender comforters in her widowhood. Almost at one time she lost her own brother, my father, Eugénie, and Olga," (Albert's sisters, to whom she was deeply attached.) "It may be that this was allowed that, when after such repeated blows she was still able to say she was happy, no one might mistake the source whence that happiness sprang." {709} She gave herself up to the service of the poor and suffering, and in order to make herself more like the objects of her charity, whom she loved so tenderly, she used to deprive herself of all the little every-day luxuries and conveniences which belonged to her station, and in which naturally she took a particular delight. She made trial of a conventual life, but that was clearly not the path in which God wished her to walk, and her director bade her leave it. During the latter part of her life she resided principally with Albert's mother, in Paris. Here is a picture of her occupations at that time:

"To meet the deficiency in her resources, she gradually
restricted her own expenditure to the narrowest compass, and
deprived herself of everything short of absolute necessaries.
One day I happened to look into her wardrobe, and was dismayed
at its scantiness. When we, any of us, made this kind of
discovery, she blushed and smiled, made the best excuses she
could find in return for our scoldings, and then went on just
the same, giving away all she possessed, and finding every day
new occasions for these acts of self-spoliation. She had, of
course, long ago sold or given away all her jewels and
trinkets, but, if she ever happened to find among her things an
article of the smallest value, it was immediately disposed of
for the benefit of the poor. For instance, one day she took out
of its frame a beautiful miniature of Princess Lapoukhyn at the
age of twenty, and sold the gold and enamel frame, defending
herself by saying that it was the only thing of value she still
possessed, and did not in the least enhance the value of her
mother's charming likeness. Two black gowns, and a barely
sufficient amount of linen, constituted her whole wardrobe, so
that she had reduced herself, as far as was possible in her
position of life, to a state of actual poverty. Her long
errands were almost always performed on foot, and at
dinner-time she came home often covered with dirt and wet to
the skin. One day, when she was visiting some Sisters of
Charity in a distant part of Paris, one of them looked at her
from head to foot, and then begged an alms for a poor woman
much in need of a pair of shoes. Alexandrine instantly produced
her purse and gave the required amount, with which the sister
went away, and in a quarter of an hour returned, laughing, and
bringing with her a pair of shoes, which she insisted on Madame
Albert's putting on instead of those she was wearing, which
were certainly in the worst possible condition. On her return
from these distant excursions, she usually put on her evening
dress and came down to Madame de Mun's drawing-room, where she
found my mother, who also had often been engaged in similar
charitable duties. During that winter I often joined this
little circle, now so thinned by death, and so soon to break up
altogether. For one brief moment I would fain pause and look
back in thought to that well-remembered room and its long
table, at which my mother and Madame de Mun were wont to sit,
with Eugénie's children playing at their feet; and at the place
near the lamp, where Alexandrine was to be seen every evening,
with her head bending over her work; her brown hair divided
into two long plaits, a way of wearing it which particularly
became her, though it was certainly not chosen on that account.
She did not, however, profess to be free from all thought about
her appearance; on the contrary, she was always accusing
herself of still caring for admiration; and when once she heard
that somebody who had accidentally spoken to her had said she
was pretty, she exclaimed with half-jesting indignation: 'I
really believe that, if I were in my last agony, that would
please me still!' Very pretty certainly she looked on those
evenings, in her simple black dress; always calm and serene,
and brightening up whenever the great interests and objects of
life were the subjects of conversation. Otherwise she remained
silent, occupying herself with her embroidery, or else, taking
her little book of extracts, so full of beautiful thoughts,
from her pocket, she read them over and added new ones from her
favorite books.

......

"Time never hung heavy on Alexandrine's hands. After such
trials and sufferings, she could say as Madame Swetchine did:
'that life was lovely and happy; and ever, as it went on,
fairer, happier, and more interesting.' The melancholy which
was natural to her character in youth, and which the radiant
happiness that for a moment filled up her life had not been
able to overcome--that melancholy which was the sign perhaps of
some kind of softness of soul, and which so many deaths and
such floods of tears could naturally have increased--had been
completely put down and overcome by the love of God and the
poor.
{710}
One day as I saw her moving about her room which she had made
so bare, with an air of the greatest gayety, we both of us
suddenly recalled the terrible days of the past, when her grief
had been full of gloom, and then she said, what was very
striking to any one who knew how deep was her unutterable love
to the very last, 'Yes, that is all true; those were cruel and
dreadful days; but now, by God's grace, _I mourn for my
Albert gayly_.'"

Subsequently she was admitted, as a lodger, to the convent of St. Thomas of Villanova, in Paris, and there she died with the peacefulness and holy joy which she had merited by her life. By what austerities she had prepared for and probably hastened her end, we may judge from this incident:

"One morning at Mass in the convent chapel, a lady happened to
hear her cough, and noticing her pale looks and poor apparel,
she went to one of the sisters, and told her that there was a
lady in the church who was probably too poor to provide herself
with necessaries, and that she should be very happy to supply
her with milk daily, if she had not the means to purchase it.
This kind soul was quite ashamed when the sister told her the
poor lady was Madame Albert de la Ferronnays; but Alexandrine,
much amused, laughed exceedingly at the mistake, and did not
treat herself better than before."

One loving hand which has traced this beautiful story whose outlines we have thus roughly reproduced, has illustrated it with many touching reminiscences of the other members of the charming family circle, of which Albert and Alexandrine are the central figures. There is an exquisite pathos in every page, and

"The tender grace of a day that is dead"

is delineated with an unaffected delicacy which must move every heart. Miss Bowles, we should add, has proved herself an admirable translator, so good a one that her version reads like an original.

----------

Translated From The French.

Breton Legend Of St. Christopher.

As every one knows, St. Christopher had very broad shoulders; so in former times he was ferryman for the river of Scorff. One bright day, our Lord arrived at the bank of the river with his twelve apostles. Christopher made haste to take them in his arms, and was delighted to pay them every possible respect.

"Well," said our Lord, "what are your wages?"

"Ask for Paradise," whispered St. Peter.

"Let me alone, I have my own ideas. If, my Lord, you desire to bestow a favor on me, promise that every object I wish for shall be obliged to enter my sack."

"I will do it," said our Lord, "but on condition that you never ask for money, and only for those things of which you have need."

So, for a long time, things went well; the sack filled only with bread, fruits, beans, and other vegetables; and often it was emptied for the benefit of the poor. But alas! who can say they may not enter into temptation? One morning Christopher was passing through the street of a neighboring town, when he stopped before the shop of a money-changer. {711} He did wrong, for all those heaps of money excited his curiosity and gave him very bad thoughts.

"See," said the wicked broker to him, "what you can do with all this money! You can rebuild the huts of the poor, and make life for them so happy and desirable. Don't you wish it was all yours?"

Christopher had a moment of weakness, and the money jumped into his bag. But don't be severe: Christopher was not yet the saint he afterward became, only a mere mortal man. So this first failing led to others, and while it must be confessed he was very generous to the poor, he loved his own good cheer and did not hesitate to enjoy it. So one day, as he was reposing on the grass after an unusually good dinner, the devil passed that way, and began to bully him and crack some of his disagreeable jokes. Christopher was not remarkably patient, his fists were itching for a fight, so in a moment he was on his feet and pitched into the devil right royally. As the forces were pretty equal, the battle lasted two days, and the end could not be foreseen. The thick grass disappeared from under their feet, and from afar the noise of the blows resounded like two hammers falling and refalling one upon the other. They would have been at it yet if Christopher had not happily thought of his sack. "Ah cursed devil! by the virtue of our Lord thou shalt enter my sack." So in he popped, and Christopher was not slow to draw the cords tight and swing him over his shoulders, while he wondered at the same time how in the world he would ever get rid of him. A forge appeared as he walked, and two brawny men were beating the red fire with tremendous blows. This gave him an idea; so he addressed himself to the smiths, and said: "I have got a wicked animal in my bag; I could not pretend to tell you all the villanous tricks he has played in his life; so, if you will forge him until he is about as thick as a sixpenny piece, I will give you a crown." They consented; and, notwithstanding the cries and somersaults of the devil, they hammered and beat him the whole night long. When the day dawned, a weak voice cried out, "Christopher, Christopher, I give up; what shall I do to get out of this?"

"Swear obedience to me for ever, and never trouble me again."

"I swear it."

"Very well; get out with you, and I will not say _Au revoir_."

From this moment, Christopher entirely changed his life, only occupied himself in good works, and, when he grew too feeble to be ferryman for the river Scorff, he retired into the little hermitage, upon the ruins of which is built the chapel still to be seen. There he lived in prayer and penitence, and was visited by many pilgrims, who were attracted by his great reputation of sanctity. However, when after his death he presented himself to St. Peter, who, we know, holds the keys of Paradise, he was refused admittance, because the latter said he had formerly rejected his advice, and he feared to let him in.

The poor Christopher, very sad, and looking rather snubbed, wandered about, and in his distraction took the stairs that led to hell. He descended an unheard-of number of steps, and finally arrived at a door, where was a very good-looking young man, who courteously invited him to enter; but Satan happened to pass by, and, seeing him, cried out nervously: "No, no! not in here; I know him well. Send him away, he is entirely too cunning for me!"

{712}

So Christopher could do nothing but remount to the entrance of Paradise, where he could at least listen outside to the delicious strains of heavenly harmony issuing from within, and he felt more and more desirous to be admitted. He paused and thought; then, putting his ear as close as possible, "My Lord St. Peter," said he, "what admirable harmony you have in there! If you would only set the door ajar, I might at least hear and enjoy it."

St. Peter was kind-hearted, so he did as he was asked; and instantly St. Christopher threw in his sack, and sprang in after it. "At home, at last," said he, "and you can't turn me out." St. Peter conceded he was right, so he has since remained in heaven, and we must acknowledge he well deserved so comfortable an abode.

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[Supplement to the article on "The Sanitary and
Moral Condition of New York City" in our July number.]

The Sanitary And Moral Condition Of New York City.

The letter which is published below is an evidence that our July correspondent's observations on the neglected condition of a great number of children in New York struck a telling blow in the right direction, and has called forth one response of the right kind, which, we trust, will not be the only one. A number of our good friends have shown themselves to be somewhat hurt by the remarks made in the article alluded to, on the efforts of certain Protestant institutions among the vagrant children of this city. The article was not written for the purpose of showing what the small number of zealous Catholics--who are alive to the duty and necessity of rescuing this unfortunate class of our own children--are doing, but of working up the whole Catholic community to an active co-operation with these pioneers of charity, in undertaking that which they are not doing, and cannot do, while they are so feebly sustained. One principal motive for doing this is, the fact that sectarian philanthropists are forestalling us in the work we ought to have attended to long ago, and drawing away from the fold of the church the lambs we have neglected to take care of. Every one knows, none better than the leaders of every Protestant sect themselves, that they have no more determined adversaries than we are in their aggressions on the Catholic religion. At the same time, we do not feel called upon to deny them all humane and philanthropic motives, or to denounce them as actuated by mere hatred against the Catholic religion. They do an irreparable mischief to the unfortunate children whom they draw away from the fold of the church; yet, we are willing to believe they do it ignorantly, and with an intention of doing them good. {713} So far as their efforts among the young unbaptized heathen of New York are concerned, they can undoubtedly effect something in reclaiming them from the wretched condition in which they are. We desire to confine them to that sphere, and wish them a fair field to compete with us in, and to show what they are able to accomplish. We hope, as the result of all philanthropic efforts for the relief of the degraded classes made by all kinds of institutions, and by individuals of all kinds of theoretical opinions, that the superiority of the Catholic Church, and its necessity to our moral and social well-being, will be demonstrated. We must demonstrate it, however, by action, and not by mere argument. We must show practically that we are able to master and subdue the elements of vice and misery that rage over the turbulent sea of this vast population. In a former volume of our magazine, we did full justice to the work which the Catholic Church has accomplished, and is still carrying on among our own people in this city, in an article entitled "Religion in New York." The article in our last number may appear to have too much overlooked the statistics there given respecting the care of Catholic children. The statement of the whole number of children in the city was inadvertently cited from Dr. Harris as being the number of vagrants, although the correct number (40,000) was given in several other places. Another quotation from a Protestant source, which was cited for the purpose of showing the small proportion of children in Protestant Sunday-schools, contains a statement that 125,000 children are without instruction, which also inadvertently passed uncorrected. The 60,000 children in Catholic Sunday-schools, and, we suppose, also the Jewish children, as well as those who are privately taught at home, ought to have been deducted. There are said to be 95,000 children in Protestant Sunday-schools. The whole number of children is estimated at 200,000. There is, then, a vague neutral ground between vagrancy and the Sunday-school domain, occupied by some thousands, more or less--how many, we cannot correctly estimate. We are immediately concerned only with Catholic children. It is not possible to figure up precisely the numbers, every day increasing, of these children, in every stage of neglected moral and religious education down to the most complete vagrancy. We know, however, that they are to be counted by thousands, and would be sufficient by themselves to people a respectable Southern or Western diocese. We know that comparatively nothing is doing to reclaim them; and as for any further practical remarks as to what ought to be done, we give place for the present to the writer of the letter which follows, who is sorry for these poor children one thousand dollars. We trust that her good example will be followed by others, and shall be happy to receive in trust whatever may be contributed toward the establishment of an institution such as she recommends, and of which the Sisters of Charity are ready to assume the charge whenever the requisite funds are provided.--Ed. C. W.

"Rev. and Dear Father Hecker: "The article in The Catholic
World, for July, on 'The Sanitary and Moral Condition of New
York City,' has excited in my mind the greatest interest, and,
I may add, self-condemnation.

"It is true I knew the facts mentioned there before, but never
were they so fully brought home to me as in reading that
article. I could say nothing but '_Mea culpa, mea culpa_.'

{714}

Yes, through my fault, and the fault of every Catholic, these
many thousands of little children are left uncared for; except,
indeed, by those who have been more zealous to spread error,
uncertainty, and darkness than we to give them the true bread
of life. Are we indeed the children of the church? Have we ever
listened to these words of our Saviour, 'Inasmuch as ye have
not done it unto these my little ones, ye have not done it unto
me'? God forgive us, and grant that every Catholic, in reading
that article, may be moved to a true contrition.

"Why cannot the several hundred thousand Catholics in our great
city establish a Central Mission House for these little
neglected ones of the flock? For, of these forty thousand
vagrant and uncared-for children, we cannot doubt that far more
than one half have inherited the Catholic faith. The burden of
supporting this great work of charity should not be borne by
one parish or section of the city, and that the least able to
bear it; but every parish should feel as if this house demanded
its own especial care. And not only every parish in New York
City, but throughout the arch-diocese and the whole country;
for, as the poverty of the Old World finds its first refuge in
our city, so the charity of the New World should be
concentrated here to meet it.

"Father Farrelly is doing a noble work. God bless him for it!
And as to the Reformatory established by Dr. Ives, only God can
know the good it has already done and is yet to do. Catholics
are not accustomed to speak much of what they do, but we who
have done little or nothing cannot shelter ourselves behind
those who, alone and single-handed as it were, have tried to
meet this torrent of poverty and crime. As an act of reparation
on my part for past neglect, I place in your hands a check for
one thousand dollars, ($1000,) as a beginning of this noble
work. The Sisters of Charity or Mercy will surely be ready to
take charge of such a house, for where will they find so true a
work of charity or mercy?

"I beg of you, reverend father, to publish this in your
magazine; for I do not doubt that God has touched other hearts,
and that this little beginning, when known, will grow like a
grain of mustard-seed, and become a great and noble work.

"Yours, etc.,
......"

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{715}

New Publications

Problems of the Age: With Studies
in St. Augustine on Kindred Topics.
By the Rev. Augustine F. Hewit,
of the Congregation of St. Paul.
New York: Catholic Publication House. 1868.

This volume, being chiefly a republication of some of our own articles, cannot, of course, receive from us an independent and impartial criticism. We can only state its scope and design, leaving it to other critics to judge of its merits. The topics which it discusses relate to the dialectic unity of the natural and supernatural in the universal order of truth and being. It is intended to meet the intellectual difficulties of those who cannot see this dialectic unity, and who, therefore, apprehend a contradiction between the natural and the supernatural, or, at least, a chasm between the two, which makes it impossible to explain their relation to each other on rational principles. It is more especially adapted to that class of persons who are rather perplexed by an apparent contradiction between reason and faith, than to those who are either positive infidels or positive sceptics. There are many such persons, predisposed to admit a spiritual philosophy and the truth of Christianity, but still in a state of doubt respecting both philosophical and revealed truths. The reason of this is, because the current philosophy of Protestantism is shallow and sophistical, and the current theology of Protestantism irrational. It is necessary, therefore, to present a sound philosophy as a cure for intellectual scepticism, and a sound rational theology as a cure for religious doubt. _The Problems of the Age_ is a contribution to this work. It is neither a system of philosophy nor of theology, but rather a clue to find both the one and the other. It proposes to the man bewildered in the labyrinth of scepticism a path which will lead him out into the open day of certitude, and leaves it to him to try the path or himself, and ascertain by his own examination whether it be the right one. Protestantism first destroyed theology, and then philosophy. Rationalism has tried to reconstruct both; but, having only the _débris_ to use as a material, and no formula to work by, has failed signally. The author of the volume before us has endeavored to derive a formula from the works of the best Catholic philosophers and theologians which gives the principles of construction, to present an outline of the plan according to which all true builders always have been working, and always must work, in the rearing of that temple whose porch is science and whose sanctuary is faith. The first principles of reason and the first principles of faith are presupposed as given. The existence and the attributes of God are briefly demonstrated from the first principles of reason, as the basis of faith in revealed truths. The connection between rational knowledge and supernatural faith is exhibited, and the point of transition from one to the other designated. The principal mysteries of revelation are then taken up, and their dialectic relation to the great truths of natural theology, respecting God as the first and final cause of the creation, is pointed out. As the perversions of Calvinism represent some of these mysterious doctrines in such a way that they are irreconcilable with natural theology, a considerable space is devoted to the clearing away of these misconceptions. The principal philosophical difficulties in the way of apprehending certain doctrines are also noticed, and a solution given. The topics most thoroughly treated are those which relate to the supernatural destiny of man, his primitive condition, the fall, original sin, and the final consummation of all things, including the redemption of the human race through the Incarnation.

{716}

_The Studies in St. Augustine_ is a subsidiary essay intended to refute the allegation that the Calvinistic doctrines have been justly deduced from his writings and the authoritative teaching of the church in his time. In doing this, the evidence is clearly presented of the fact that several of the chief distinctive doctrines of the Catholic Church were held by the whole church at the time when the great doctor flourished. It is also shown that modern Catholic theology, although far more precise and definite in many points than the ancient theology could be, is the only true and legitimate offspring and development of its principles. The drift of the whole book in both its parts is to present a clear conception of what the Catholic doctrine is, and to show that this conception is in harmony with the rational principles on which a spiritual and theistic philosophy must base itself. It is adapted, therefore, to stimulate thought and awaken an appetite for truth, much more than to satisfy the mind. Those who are influenced by its arguments must desire a more thorough exposition both of the principles of reason and of those of faith, in order to perceive more clearly the objective truth, both of philosophy and of revelation, unless they are already well-informed on both points. The first branch of science has been handled in the most satisfactory and thorough manner in the philosophical articles of Dr. Brownson's _Review_. There are also some able articles on the same topics to be found in _The Catholic World_. It is much to be regretted that these articles are not to be had in a separate volume, so as to be easily accessible, and that there is no complete treatise on philosophy, which is sufficient to meet the wants of our day, written in the English language. The second branch of science, which embraces the evidence of the positive truth of revelation, has been more extensively cultivated. The shortest and most satisfactory way to a conclusion on that point is, to take up at once the proof of the divine institution and authority of the Catholic Church. Two things only are necessary to be proved: First, there is a God; second, God reveals his truth and law through the Catholic Church. It ought not to require a very long time, or a very difficult process, to establish these two truths in any mind not prepossessed by error and prejudice. Those who are unfortunately so prepossessed have no other choice but to work their way out the best way they can, and every one who lends them a helping hand does a great service to his fellow-men.

----

Parochial and Plain Sermons.
By John Henry Newman, B.D.,
formerly Vicar of St. Mary's, Oxford.
In eight volumes. Vol. I. New edition.
Rivingtons, London, Oxford, and Cambridge.
For sale at The Catholic Publication House, New York. 1868.