Chapter X (7)

What "solid reason," indeed, could be given? But Galileo in his presumption did not consider himself reduced to "mere probabilities," and, relying on his tidal fallacies and unexplained phenomena, sought to pass hypothesis for dogma, and his _ipse dixit_ for demonstration.

Of the great discoveries enumerated by Délambre, Galileo was necessarily ignorant, and we must insist upon the fact that the cardinals and the Inquisition were equally ignorant of them.

There was, in reality, no astronomical science in Galileo's time worth speaking of, except as we compare it with the astronomy that preceded it, which is the only fair test of its value. Compared with what Ptolemy knew, it was twilight.

Compared with what we know, it was darkness.

It is moderate to say that in 1633 astronomy was in its infancy. To all that was then known, add Kepler's magnificent labors, Torricelli's discovery, Newton's principle of gravitation, and all the English astronomer did for science--come down to the year 1727, in which he died, and what was the condition of astronomical science even then?

Herschel has told us: "The legacy of research which was left us by Newton was indeed immense. To pursue through all its intricacies the consequences of the law of gravitation; to account for all the inequalities of the planetary movements, and the infinitely more complicated and to us more important ones of the moon; and to give, what _Newton himself certainly never entertained a conception of,_ a demonstration of the stability and permanence of the system under all the accumulated influence of its internal perturbations; this labor and this triumph were reserved for the succeeding age, and have been shared in succession by Clairault, D'Alembert, Euler, Lagrange, and Laplace. Yet so extensive is this subject, and so difficult and intricate the purely mathematical inquiries to which it leads, that _another century may yet be required to go through the task_."

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The Legacy Of Research

left by Newton may truly be called "immense." And Herschel does well to modify his statement as to the "triumph," and postpone it yet another century.

For it must be borne in mind that no astronomical system is a strictly verifiable fact. The circulation of the blood is a verifiable fact, and it has been verified. No announcement of the discovery of a new demonstration of its truth could now attract any attention on account of its merits as proof.

Not so as to the earth's motion. The proofs of that have always been merely referential and cumulative. The final, the crowning point of demonstration has never been made, and probably never can be reached. Who can say that he ever saw the earth move? Hence it is that every successive item of cumulative evidence is hailed with pleasure and excitement. Thus was it with Torricelli's, Newton's, Richer's, Roemer's, and Bradley's discoveries; thus with all the brilliant inventions in mechanics by means of which the illustration and explanations of these discoveries became possible--explanations which, after all, not one man in a thousand can understand.

Post-Galilean Astronomy.

A few words in addition to what we have already said concerning the great discoveries made since Galileo's time, and we close.

Three of these discoveries, without which the Copernican theory as to demonstration would be but little better off than the Ptolemaic, merit special mention. They are:

_First_. The Newtonian theory of gravitation.

_Second_. The discovery of the shortened pendulum, showing
the diurnal motion of the earth.

_Third_. The velocity and aberration of light, showing the
annual motion.

It is scarcely necessary to enter into any detail concerning the so generally known, great, and universal principle of gravitation.

The Shortened Pendulum.

Up to the year 1672, no doubt had been entertained of the spherical figure of the earth, and, as a consequence, of the equality of all the degrees of the meridian; so that one being known, the whole circumference was determined.

In that year, the French Academy of Sciences, then occupied in the measurement of an arc in the meridian, sent the astronomer Richer to Cayenne, on the coast of South America, to make observations of the sun's altitude.

In the course of these observations he was surprised to find that a superior clock, furnished with a pendulum which vibrated seconds, was found to lose nearly two minutes and a half a day.

The astonishment created by the report of this fact in France was very great, particularly after the accuracy of the clock had been fully tested.

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Other scientific men then visited different points on the coasts of Africa and South America, and were convinced of the absolute necessity of shortening the pendulum to make it vibrate seconds in those latitudes.

The phenomenon was explained by Newton in the Third Book of his _Principia_ (1687)--see p. 409 _et seq._, American edition--where he shows it to be a necessary consequence of the earth's rotation on its axis, and of the centrifugal force created by it. That force, in modifying the gravity, gives to the earth an oblate spheroidal figure, more elevated at the equator than on the poles, and makes bodies fall and pendulums vibrate more slowly in low than in high latitudes.

There is, unfortunately, such a thing as national jealousy even in science, and to such a motive only can we ascribe the fact that Newton's explanation was not accepted in France until presented by Huyghens, several years afterward, in a different and less accurate form.

The Velocity And Aberration Of Light.

In the entire range of scientific literature, there are few chapters of greater interest than those which recount the rise and gradual development of all the principles involved in the triumphant demonstration of these two beautiful discoveries.

They admirably illustrate the total ignorance of Galileo concerning a problem upon which he experimented with utter failure, as also the slow pace of scientific progress, and the necessity of the co-operative efforts of many men and many sciences to perfect it.

It required the genius and research of Roemer, Bradley, Molyneux, Arago, Fizeau, Foucault, and Struve, joined to the patient experiment and mechanical skill of Bréguet, Bessel, and Graham--the labor of all these men extending through a period of one hundred and ninety years (1672 to 1862)--to complete its demonstration.

And first, as to the velocity of light. In 1672, Roemer, a Danish astronomer residing in France, began observations on the satellites of Jupiter and their eclipses, which resulted in the discovery of progressive transmission of light and the determination of the value of its velocity. Up to his day, it had almost become a fixed principle that the passage of light through space was absolutely instantaneous.

From the time of Galileo, an immense mass of exact calculations of the eclipses of the first satellite of Jupiter had been accumulating, and Roemer found that at certain times the satellite came out of the shadow later, and at other times sooner, than it should have done, and this variation could not be accounted for on any known principles. Remarking that it always came too late from the shadow when the earth in its annual movement was at more than its mean distance from Jupiter, and too soon when it was at less, he formed the conjecture that light requires an appreciable time to traverse space.

Becoming satisfied of the truth of his theory, he, in September, 1676, announced to the French Academy of Sciences that an emersion of the first satellite, to take place, on the 16th of November following, would occur ten minutes later than it should according to ordinary calculation.

The event verified his prediction. Nevertheless, doubters and cavillers abounded, and Roemer's theory was not accepted without dispute. It was claimed that the delays and accelerations in the immersions and emersions, instead of being attributed to change of position of the observer, and to the progressive transmission of light, might be regarded as indicating a real perturbation in the movement of the satellite, due to a cause not yet discovered.

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These doubts were removed fifty years later by the English astronomer Bradley, who discovered the phenomenon of _aberration_, which consists in an apparent displacement which all the stars and planets experience on account of the combination of the velocity of the earth with the velocity of light.

Bradley's discovery was accidental. A superior instrument, constructed by Graham, and destined to observe with the greatest precision the passage of the stars near the zenith, had been placed at the observatory of Kew for the purpose by Molyneux.

Bradley used this instrument to arrive at some precise data of the annual parallax of the stars. His first observations led him to the discovery of _aberration_, the details of which, of the highest possible interest, may be found in the _Philosophical Transactions_, Royal Society, No. 406, December, 1728.

Thus confirmed by Bradley, Roemer's progressive transmission of light became an incontestable fact.

Then followed the experiments projected by Arago to determine the velocity of light, (1838,) which for eleven years remained a merely ingenious suggestion, until realized by MM. Foucault and Fizeau.

From 1840 to 1842, Struve, in Russia, made numerous observations to obtain the exact value of aberration.

In 1856, the Institute of France awarded to M. Fizeau, for his successful demonstration of Arago's suggestion, the triennial prize of thirty thousand francs founded by the emperor, "for the work, or the discovery, which, in the opinion of the five academies of the institute, has done most honor and service to the country."

Finally, in 1862, M. Foucault, perfecting his apparatus, measured the velocity of light by an admirable experiment in physics, which renders not only sensible, but even measurable, the time employed by light to run over a path of twenty metres, (65 feet 7.4 inches,) although this time barely equals 1/15000000 of a second!

And yet, after all this, there still remains a doubt as to positive certainty of accuracy in the calculations.

The sun's parallax, calculated from observations of the last transit of Venus over the disk of the sun in 1769, is fixed at 8.58 seconds, and on this basis is ascertained the distance from the earth to the sun.

For reasons too long to detail here, many distinguished astronomers are not entirely satisfied with the determination of 8.58 seconds, and prefer to wait for the next transit of Venus, in 1874, for a full and satisfactory solution of all doubts on the subject!

Conclusion And A Proposition.

Thus, after a lapse of two hundred and thirty-five years, filled with unremitting labor and triumphant results in the field of astronomical discovery, it appears from the showing of those most competent to judge that something yet remains to be produced in the way of demonstration of the astronomical system as now accepted.

We will not ask those who differ with us concerning the Galileo question to wait another century--the period assigned by Sir John Herschel as "requisite"! Herschel gave that opinion in 1828, which would send us to A.D. 1928 "to go through the task."

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As it might not probably be convenient either for us or for those who differ with us to resume the controversy in that year, namely, 1928, we will--in the spirit of compromise, and taking all the rest for granted--content ourselves with and abide by the "satisfactory solution" promised for 1874, to which period it would seem proper, on scientific grounds, to adjourn any attempt to show that a system not yet proved in 1868 was, nevertheless, fully demonstrated in 1633.

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"Out Of The Depths Have I Cried Unto Thee O Lord!"

A Christmas Sketch.

"Our blood splashes upward, O our tyrants!
And your purple shows your path,
But the child's sob curseth deeper in the silence
Than the strong man in his wrath."

"If wishes were horses, beggars might ride," says the proverb.

What a pity it is that wishes are not horses!--that at seasons when almost every tongue drops the words, "A merry Christmas!" "A happy New-Year!" the will should not rise and breathe the breath of life into those words; make them move, make them work; put bit and bridle on them, and direct them to go where they are most needed. Wishes might then be made into very excellent horses, and beggars might ride at least once a year; might be lifted for a day out of the mire of care and suffering that dulls the light of heaven to their eyes, and stops out the voices of heaven from their ears; lifted into a belief in the humanity of man and the mercy of God; might be given a little restful journey into that easy land where the rich dwell every day.

There is more truth than poetry in the line,

"Leave us leisure to be good."

One who has no time for thought will almost certainly go astray; and men and women whose lives are spent in fighting the wolf from their doors, will fight him with whatever comes to hand, and will sometimes catch up strange weapons.

So it might chance that these living wishes may have wings also, and the beggar's soul may rise as well as his body.

I should like to set a regiment of such wishes galloping down Grind street this coming Christmas, and stopping at every door.

That was a sorrowful street a few years ago, and I don't know that it has grown merry since. A tall block of tenement-houses walled the northern side from end to end, leaving off so abruptly that, had they been written words instead of brick houses, there would have been a ---- after them. Indeed, if the reader has a fancy for a miserable pun, he might say that there _was_ a dash after them, houses being scarce.

A very sensitive person, on looking at that block, would be likely to straighten himself up, draw his elbows close to his sides, and feel as though his nose was unnecessarily large. It is not impossible that he might "toe in" a little in walking, unless he reached the next street. {454} Not a curve was visible in the whole block, horizontal and perpendicular reigning supreme. The mean brick front came to the very edge of the sidewalk, and the windows and doors were as flat as though they had been slapped in the face when in a soft state. Every house was precisely like every other house, and the only way of finding any particular one was by counting doors.

"These houses toe the mark," the builder had said when he looked on his completed work, standing complacently with his hands in his pockets, and his head a little on one side.

"Toe the mark" was the right phrase. The two meagre steps that led to each front door suggested the thought, and the whole had an air of soul obedience.

The tenants in this block were of that pitiable class called "decent," which generally means poor; too independent to beg, straining every nerve to live respectably, and making an extra strain to hide the first one; people whose eyes get a little wild at the prospect of sickness, who shudder at the thought of a doctor's bill and workless days, who sometimes stop their toil for a moment, and wonder what may be the meaning of such words as "ease," "contentment," "pleasure." There were clerks and book-keepers whose families burst out through their incomes in every direction; starving artists of all sorts; and the rest, people who toiled down in the dark, at the foundations over which soared the marble palaces of the rich, darkening heaven.

These people had got in a way of dressing alike; they had the same kind of curtains, and the same plants stretching beseeching shoots toward the tantalizing line of sunshine that let itself down, slow and golden, to the middle of the second floor windows, then drew back over the roofs of the houses opposite, while little flowers of all colors looked lovingly and reproachfully after it, cheated so day after day, but never quite losing faith that some day the bright-winged comforter would come quite down to their hearts.

Eyes of angels, to whom these roofs and walls were transparent, saw, doubtless, variety enough under the surface: aspirations that reached to the house-top and looked over; aspirations that soared even to the clouds and the stars, catching a heavenly likeness; aspirations that stopped not at the stars, but climbed so high that their flowers and fruitage hung in the unfailing sunlight of heaven beyond reach of earthly hands, but seen and touched by ineffable hopes ascending and descending. What dark desires crawling upon the earth and covering their own deeds those poor eyes looked upon, I say not; what hate, deep and bitter; what cankering envy and disappointment; what despair, that with two tears blotted the universe; what determination; what strongly rooted purpose; what careless philosophy eating its crust with a laugh. Let the angels see as they may, with human eyes we will look into one room, and find our story there.

This room is on the second floor, and consequently gets its windows half full of sunshine every pleasant afternoon. The furnishing of it shows that the occupants had seen better days; but those days are long past, as you can see by the shabbiness of everything. There are evidences of taste, too, in a hanging vase of ivy, a voluble canary, a few books and pictures; and everything is clean.

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It was a bright gloaming in December of 186-, when a woman sat alone in this room. She was evidently an invalid, looking more like a porcelain image than a flesh-and-blood woman, so white and transparent was she, so frail the whole make of her. Soft light-brown hair faintly sprinkled with gray was dropped beside each thin cheek, dovelike eyes of an uncertain blue looked sadly out from beneath anxious brows, and the mouth, which once must have expressed resolution, now, in its comparison, showed only endurance. This was a woman who had taken up life full of hope and spirit, but whom life had turned upon with blow after blow, till finally both hope and spirit were broken. Her days of enterprise were over.

She sat there with her hands listlessly folded, her work fallen unnoticed to the floor, and her eyes flushed with weeping. She had been sitting so an hour, ever since a visitor had left her; but, hearing a step on the stair and a child's voice singing, she started up, wiped her eyes, and mended the fire, her back turned toward the door as it opened.

A little girl of eight years old came in and gave her school-books a toss upon the table, crying out, in a boisterous, healthy voice, "O mother! I am starved! Give me something to eat."

"Supper will soon be ready, Nell," the mother said gently, drawing out the table.

"I can't wait!" cried the child. "My stomach is so empty that it feels as if there was a mouse there gnawing. You know we had nothing but bread and butter for dinner, and I do think that's a mean dinner. Why don't you have roast beef? I know lots of girls who have it every day."

"We can't afford it," the mother said falteringly. "Beef is very high."

"Well, what have you got for supper?" demanded the child. "You promised us something good."

"I have nothing but bread and butter, dear. I couldn't get anything else."

"Well, Mother Lane, I declare if that isn't too bad!" And the child flung herself angrily into a chair. "We don't have anything fit to eat, and I wish I could go and live with somebody that wouldn't starve me. I won't eat bread and butter, there now! I'm so sick of it that it chokes me."

The mother's face took a deeper shade, and her lip trembled, but she made no reply; and Nell sat angrily kicking her heels against the chair, and pouting her red lips.

Mrs. Lane knew well how vain is the attempt to teach a child gratitude for the necessaries of life. Children are grateful only for that which is superfluous, taking the rest as a matter of course, and they are not to be blamed either. For gratitude is a fruit, and not a flower, and those budding natures know not yet what it means. After a little while, another and a louder step sounded on the stairs, this time accompanied by a whistle; and the door opened noisily to give admittance to a boy of ten years old, who also flung his books down, and opened his cry:

"Mother, give me some money, quick! The oysterman is just at the end of the street, and I can get oysters enough for our supper for thirty cents. Hurry up, mother, or he'll go away!" And the boy performed a double-shuffle to relieve his impatience.

"I can't spare the money," his mother said faintly.

"Well, what have you got for supper, then?" he asked fretfully.

The mother made no answer, and the boy turned to his sister for an explanation.

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"Bread and butter!" said Nell, with an air of ferocious sarcasm.

"Well, if I ever!" pronounced her brother, standing still with his hands driven emphatically into the uttermost depths of his pockets, and looking at his mother with an air at once astonished and accusing. "If we live like this, I'll run away; see if I don't!"

She turned upon them with a look that was either desperate or angry.

"Children, wait till your sister comes home. Don't ask me for anything."

Frank gave the door a bang, pulled his cap still closer on to his head, since he ought to have pulled it off, and taking a seat by the window, sat kicking his chair in concert with his sister. The mother continued her preparations with the air of a culprit watched by her judges.

Unheard in this duet of heels, a softer step ascended the stairs, and a young lady opened the door and entered, a smile on her pretty face, her breath quickened and her color heightened by the run up-stairs, and waves of yellow hair drawn back from her white forehead. She tossed her hat aside, and sank into a chair.

"There, mother, I do feel tired and hungry," she said; then, catching a glimpse of her mother's face, started up, exclaiming, "What is the matter?"

"Mr. Sanborn has been here," Mrs. Lane answered unsteadily, without looking up.

The daughter's countenance showed her anticipation of evil news.

"And what of that?" she asked.

"He has raised the rent," was the faint answer.

"How much?"

"Eight dollars a month?"

"Impossible!" cried the daughter, flushing with excitement. "We pay now all that the three rooms are worth. He knows what my salary is, and that I cannot give any more."

"He says he can get that for the rooms," her mother said.

"Then we will go elsewhere!"

"We cannot!" whispered the mother despairingly, for the first time raising her woeful eyes. "Every place is full. They are going to tear down houses to widen two or three streets, and Mr. Sanborn says that people will have to go out of town to live."

"What are we to do!" exclaimed the girl, pacing excitedly to and fro. "We only just managed to get along before. Did you tell him, mother?"

"I told him everything, Anne; and he said that he was very sorry, but that his family _was_ an expensive one, and it cost him a good deal to live; and, in short, that he must have the eight dollars more."

"He is a villain!" cried Anne Lane. "And I will tell him so. I should think his family was an expensive one. Look at their velvets, and laces, and silks! Look at their pictures and their curtains! One of my scholars told me to-day that Minnie Sanborn said they were going to have a Christmas-tree that will cost five hundred dollars. Think of that! And this is the way they pay for it!"

"Don't say anything to him, Anne," pleaded her mother, in a frightened tone. "Remember, he is one of the committee, and can take your school away from you."

The young teacher's countenance fell. It was true; her employment did, in some measure, depend on the good-will of this man.

She choked with the thought, then broke out again.

"The hypocrite! I have seen him at prayer-meetings, and heard him make long prayers and pious speeches."

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The mother sighed, and remained silent. She had been wont to check her daughter's somewhat free animadversions, and to make an effort, at least, to defend them of whom Anne said, "Their life laughs through and spits at their creed;" but now the bitter truth came too near.

There was a moment of silence, the children sitting still and awed, the mother waiting despondently, while the fatherless girl, who was the sole dependence of the household, did some rapid brain-work.

"You think he really means it, mother?" she asked, without pausing in her walk.

"Yes, there is no hope. I almost went on my knees to him."

There the widow's self-control broke down suddenly, and, putting her hands over her face, she burst into a passion of tears.

It is a terrible thing to see one's mother cry in that way; to see her, who soothed our childish sorrows, who seemed to us the fountain of all comfort, herself sorrowing, while we have no comfort to give.

Anne Lane's face grew pale with pain, and it seemed for a moment that she, too, would lose courage. But she was a brave girl, and love strengthened her.

"There, there, mother!" she said. "Don't cry! I guess we can make out some way. Couldn't we do with two rooms? I could sleep with you and Nell, and Frank could have a pillow out here on the sofa."

"I thought of that," the mother sobbed drearily. "But he said that the rooms go together."

The girl's breath came like that of some wild creature at bay.

"Then we must draw in our expenses somewhere. We must give up our seats in church, and I will do the washing."

"I meant to do the washing, dear," her mother said eagerly. "And perhaps I might get some work out of the shops. You know I have a good deal of time to spare."

Even as she spoke, a sharp cough broke through her words, and her face flushed painfully.

"No, mother, no!" the daughter said, resolutely holding back her tears. "You are not able to work. Just leave that to me. Washing makes round arms, and I find my elbows getting a little sharp. I can save money and bring the dimples back at the same time."

There was a knock at the door, and their laundress came in, a sober, sensible-looking Irishwoman.

"Good-evening, ma'am! Good-evening, miss! No, I won't sit down. I must go home and take my young ones off the street, and give 'em a bit of supper. I just stepped in to see if you want your washing done to-morrow."

Mrs. Lane looked appealingly to her daughter to answer.

"We are sorry, Mrs. Conners," Anne said, "but we shall have to do our own washing, this winter."

"O Lord!" cried the woman, leaning against the wall.

"There is no help for it," the girl continued, almost sharply, feeling that their own distresses were enough for them to bear. "Our rent has been raised, and we must save all we can."

"Oh! what'll I do, at all?" exclaimed the woman, lifting both hands.

"Why, the best you can; just as we do," was the impatient reply.

Mrs. Conners looked at them attentively, and for the first time perceived signs of trouble in their faces.

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"The Lord pity us!" she said. "I don't blame you. But my rent is raised, too. I've got to pay five dollars a month for the rooms I have, and I don't know where I'll get it. It's little I thought to come to this when Patrick was alive--the Lord have mercy on him! The last thing he said to me when he went away to California was, 'Margaret, keep up courage, and don't let the children on the street; and I'll send you money enough to live on; and I'll soon come back and buy us a little farm.' And all I ever heard of him, since the day he left me, is the news of his death. Now I'll have to take the children and go to the poor-house. All I could do last winter only kept their mouths full, let alone rent. I couldn't put a stitch on them nor me; and you wouldn't believe how cold I am with no stockings to my feet, and little enough under my rag of a dress. I couldn't buy coal nor wood. The children picked up sticks in the street, and after my work was over I had to go down to the dump, and pick coal till my back was broke."

"Who is your landlord?" Mrs. Lane asked.

"Mr. Mahan--Andrew Mahan, that lives in a big house in the square. And he asks five dollars for two rooms in that shanty, that's squeezed into a bit of a place where nothing else would go. Besides, the house is so old that the rats have ate it half up, and what's left I could carry off on my back in a day. When Mr. Mahan came to-day, his dog crawled through the door before it was opened. I said to him, says I, 'Sir, when the wind and the rain take possession of a house, it belongs to God, and no man has a right to ask rent for it.' You see, I was mad. And so was he, by that same token."

"But he is an Irishman, and a member of your own church," said Anne.

"And why not?" demanded the woman. "Do you think that Yankees are the only ones that grind the poor? Yes, Mr. Mahan is rich, and he lives in style, and sends his daughters to a convent school in Montreal. And often I've seen him in church, dressed in his broad-cloths, and beating his breast, with his face the length of my arm, and calling himself a sinner; and troth, I thought to myself, 'that's true for ye!'"

Anne Lane went into her school-room the next morning with a burning heart, and it did not soothe her feelings to see Mr. Sanborn, her landlord, appear at the door, a few minutes after, smilingly escorting a clerical-looking stranger, who had come to visit the school.

Mr. Sanborn, though not an educated man, chose to consider himself a patron of education; made himself exceedingly consequential in school affairs, and had now brought a distinguished visitor to see his pet school, the "Excelsior." Anne Lane had one of the show-classes, and he began the exhibition with her.

"Commence, and go on with your exercises just as if there were no one here," he said, with a patronizing smile, after they had taken their seats. "This gentleman wishes to see the ordinary daily working of our system."

The first exercise was a reading from the Bible, and a prayer by the teacher, and Anne's fingers were unsteady as she turned over the leaves for a chapter. Her eyes sparkled as she caught sight of one, and her pulses tingled as she read, her fine, deliberate enunciation and strong emphasis arresting fully the attention of her hearers:

"Times are not hid from the Almighty:
but they that know him, know not his days.

"Some have removed landmarks,
have taken away flocks by force, and fed them.

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"They have violently robbed the fatherless, and stripped the
poor common people.

"They have taken their rest at noon among the stores of them,
who after having trodden the wine-presses suffer thirst.

"Out of the cities they have made men to groan; and God will
not suffer it to pass unrevenged.

"Cursed be his portion upon the earth: let him not walk by the
way of the vineyards.

"Let him pass from snow-water to excessive heat, and his sin
even to hell.

"Let mercy forget him: may worms be his sweetness; let him be
remembered no more, but be broken in pieces like an unfruitful
tree."

Closing the book then, Anne Lane dropped her face into her shaking hands, and repeated, almost inaudibly, the Lord's prayer.

Mr. Sanborn was not dull, but he was incredulous. It was almost impossible that this little school-mistress would dare to mean _him_. Yet that new sternness in the young face, ordinarily so smiling, the passion in her voice, with the remembrance of his last interview with Mrs. Lane, altogether made up a pretty strong case against her.

"She makes a strange selection from the Scriptures to read to children," whispered the stranger to him, as Anne hurriedly went through with the first recitations.

"Very strange, sir! very strange!" answered the other, stammering with anger. "And what is worse, it is intended as an insult to me. I have found it necessary to raise the rent of my houses. She is a tenant of mine, and this is her revenge. I hope, sir, that if you have anything to say on the subject, you will not hesitate to speak freely."

The Rev. Mr. Markham sat and considered the case, laying down certain points in his mind. Firstly, women should be sweet, humble, and modest. Secondly, sweetness, modesty, and humility, with firmness and patience, should especially characterize a teacher of youth. Thirdly, persons in authority, clergymen, school-committee men, etc., should be treated with scrupulous respect by all their subordinates.

The reverend gentleman put on his spectacles, the better to see this young woman who had so boldly vetoed his fundamental doctrines. She held herself very erect, no modest droop whatever; there was a little flicker of heat-lightning in her eyes, and a steady, dark-red spot on each cheek; moreover, she had red hair. Verdict for the plaintiff. She must have a reprimand, a warning, and, on repetition of the offence, must be informed that she is no longer considered a suitable person to mould the minds of youth.

Poor little Anne Lane! This great, stupid, conceited man did not dream that her aching heart was laden with sweetness as a hive with honey, and that what he called a sweet woman was a sugar-coated woman. He did not allow that there might be some exceptions to his third rule. The reprimand was delivered pitilessly, the warning made sufficiently plain then, the two gentlemen withdrew, leaving the teacher pale and stunned. The visitor had taken the coldest possible leave, and Mr. Sanborn had not noticed her at all.

"Oh! why did I yield to anger?" she thought, in terror and distress. "What right have the poor to feelings, to thoughts? How dare they denounce wrong, even when they die by it? What was I thinking of?"

A thrill of pain ran through her every nerve at this last question.

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She had been thinking all the time of her mother's sobbing words, "I almost went on my knees to him!"

The month crept on toward Christmas. Unknown to her daughter, Mrs. Lane had spent day after day going about the shops and vainly soliciting work. She had not sufficient clothing to protect her from the weather; she was weakened by sorrow and anxiety, and the disease, which had long been threatening and reaching out for her, made a final grasp. With a terror, all the more terrible in that she could not speak of it, she felt her lungs give way and her breath grow shorter. What would her young children do without her? If she should be long ill, how were the doctor's bills to be paid? How were the funeral expenses to be met? What crushing burden, beside the sorrow, was she going to lay upon the already burdened shoulders of her poor little girl? She only prayed that the blow might fall swiftly. Poor people can't afford to die leisurely.

One day, about a week before Christmas, Anne came home and found her mother lying senseless upon the floor. Mrs. Lane had held up as long as she could, and now her powers of endurance were gone. But she had her prayer, for the blow fell swiftly. On Christmas morning all her troubles passed away.

Christmas evening came, and all was still in the house. The neighbors had kindly done what they could, and two of them sat with the lifeless form of what had once been the mother of these children. Frank and Nell had cried themselves to sleep, and Anne was left with the night upon her hands. She could not sleep, and she could not pray. The faith that comforts in sorrow she knew not. She had wept till her head reeled, and the air of the house stifled her.

"I must get out and take the air, or I shall go crazy," she thought. And, dressing hastily, she went out into the bright and frosty night. She wandered aimlessly about the streets, scarcely knowing where she went; not caring, indeed, so long as she walked and felt the wind in her face.

"Christ on earth?" she thought. "I don't believe it! It's all a fable."

On her way she met Mrs. Conners, weeping bitterly. She was going to the watch-house after her little girl. Biddy had stolen a turkey from a shop-window, and a policeman had caught her.

"It is the first thing the child ever stole," the poor woman said; "and what made her do it was hunger. We haven't had a taste of meat in the house this month, and poor Biddy heard the other girls tell what they had for dinner, and it made her mad."

Anne listened as one in a dream, and went on without a word. Presently she came into a sharp glare of light that fell across the sidewalk from a brilliantly illuminated window. She paused to look in, not because she cared what it was, but because she longed for distraction. There was a long suite of parlors, showily if not tastefully furnished, and filled with a gay company, many of them children. In the farthest end of the rooms stood a magnificent Christmas-tree, decked with colored candles, flowers, and fruits, and hanging full of presents. The company were all assembled about the tree, and, as she looked, a smiling gentleman stepped up, with the air of a host, and began to distribute the Christmas gifts.

Anne Lane's heart stood still when she recognized Mr. Sanborn.

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"O you murderer!" she moaned, as she sank exhausted on the icy steps. "Your candles and your flowers are red with my mother's blood!"

When the Christmas angels looked down upon the earth that night to see how fared the millions, to whom in the morning they had sung their song of joy, their eyes beheld alike the rich man in his parlor and the stricken girl who lay outside his door.

Did they record of him that he had "kept the feast," and worthily remembered one who came that day "to fill the hungry with good things"?

Or did they write against him the fearful judgment which had once already sounded in his ears,

"Let mercy forget him:
Let him be remembered no more"?

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The General Convention Of The Protestant Episcopal Church.

The General Convention of the Protestant Episcopal Church, which has just closed its labors, was looked forward to with much interest by all Episcopalians. Each of the two important sections of which their communion is composed was anxious for a better explanation of some disputed points, or, at least, for a vindication of its own interpretation of doctrine. It was supposed that something would be settled in regard to the many vexed questions of dogma and ritual which perplex the public no less than the members of the church itself. For even the public are interested to know what a church believes and professes, and especially if that church makes any pretensions to authority. On a careful review, however, of the journal, we believe that, while a few are gratified, many are disappointed. Some are gratified that no direct attack was allowed against their own favorite opinions; while both High-Churchmen and Low-Churchmen stand precisely where they stood before, no nearer each other, and no better satisfied with the condition of things. Moderation, we are told, is the characteristic of the Episcopal Church, by which we are led to understand the sweet blending of contrarieties and contradictions, and the permission to every one to believe what approves itself to his private judgment. Catholics can hardly comprehend such a harmony in discord, or discord in harmony. Even candid minds, with no religious bias, are unable to appreciate how contrary doctrines can be held in one and the same church, and by equal authority. Our own opinion of this convention is, that it has accomplished nothing for doctrine, nothing to heal the disputes of its members, very little for discipline, and not very much for the extension of the Episcopal communion, although some of the plans proposed are good in themselves. We strongly incline to think that very many Episcopalians will coincide with our judgment. Under these three heads--of doctrine, discipline, and church extension--let us briefly review the labors of the convention.

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I. It seems that the Nicene Creed was under consideration, and that there was a strong intention to restore it to its "original form;" but the _Church Record_ says that it was left untouched _for the present_. If this important and ancient symbol had been altered, there would have been quite an advance in doctrine. A committee has been appointed to prepare an accurate translation from the original Greek for the use of the next convention. It therefore bides its time, when the same body which expunged the Athanasian Creed may leave out the proper doctrine of the Trinity, or the procession of the Holy Ghost from the Son, or the communion of saints, or any other point of Christian dogma. Nevertheless, by this convention nothing was done on this subject.

The project of bracketing those portions of the Prayer-Book which embody the doctrine of baptismal regeneration was not favored by the committee on canons; and a motion to refer a proposition for striking out the words, "Whosesoever sins thou dost remit, they are remitted," was very summarily disposed of. It was decided not to alter anything, to leave regeneration in the baptismal service for the gratification of High-Churchmen, and also the denial of it in the Articles for the consolation of Low-Churchmen.

This was the wisest course, and on this point we record with satisfaction, "Nothing done."

As to the ordinal, the bishops are not obliged to say, "Whose sins thou dost remit," etc., when they do not believe it, as it is only to be used at option, and can therefore put the whole offensive doctrine in their pockets. Why, then, should the wisdom of an ecclesiastical body be disturbed on a mere matter of opinion? Here, again, nothing was done.

So by the convention in both orders, nothing has been done in the way of doctrine, save to leave all matters precisely as they were, in full freedom for both sides. And here an anecdote comes forcibly to our memory which illustrates the moderation and liberty of the Episcopal communion. A young candidate was under examination for deacon's orders before one of the oldest and wisest of the High-Church bishops. "How," said that prelate, "do you receive the Thirty-nine Articles?" "I receive them," said the candidate, "in such a way as not to contradict the rest of the Prayer-Book." "Perfectly right," replied the bishop; "and moreover, it is the General Convention which imposes the articles upon you, and this body is composed of all degrees of churchmen, from those who hang on the walls of Rome to those who breathe the atmosphere of Geneva. Between these two extremes, my son, you have perfect liberty." And the young man was made a deacon, and went away rejoicing that he had freedom of conscience and a wide range of opinion, which he certainly had. But if the Lower House, consisting of ministers and laymen, has been so prudent, the Upper House has terribly committed itself. In the Catholic Church the bishops alone are allowed to give judicial opinions in doctrine; while among the Episcopalians, we believe that both houses of the convention are equally authoritative, and, that one has a negative upon the other. What the bishops have done, therefore, does not propose to bind the conscience of any one, we presume; yet certainly their solemn pastoral ought to be received with great respect, and be considered at least as an indication of the doctrinal position of their church. In this pastoral, we find some remarkably interesting points, in regard to which, though we may say nothing was _done_, we cannot say nothing was spoken.

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This address to the whole Episcopalian body asserts first that "the incarnate God hath committed the great commission wherewith he came into the world to _fallible_ men." What, then, is to prevent the utter failure of this great commission, and the complete ruin of all Christ's work? "To his ministers," saith the pastoral, "thus weak and subject to error, he hath given his infallible word, that, without peril of misleading their flock, they may instruct them with all authority by speaking always according to the Scriptures." Who is to know, then, that these ministers speak according to the Scriptures, especially when they differ one from another? Bishop Lee spoke very plainly at the opening of the convention, and his interpretation of the Scriptures gave some offence. Common sense pauses for a reply. Each one must decide for himself whether his minister speaks according to the Bible; and this being granted (which is the fundamental position of all Protestant bodies) we do not see the use of ministers, much less of bishops, much less of a council of bishops. Christ's great commission, according to the Episcopalian prelates, hinges on the chance that the Bible will be circulated and rightly interpreted. The history of religion since the Reformation does not cause us to think much of this chance.

The next point asserted in the pastoral is the necessity of communion with the visible church. It is indeed asserted somewhat equivocally, and with a _caveat_, that "the proper individuality of every soul must not be merged in its corporate relations to the body of Christ," an expression which we do not at all understand. How the merging is to be accomplished we do not see, unless by some physical process, and we are very glad the bishops do not recommend it. Yet they say that "the necessity of membership in the communion of which Christ is the head, is a truth of vital importance." We presume they mean here a union with the _visible_ body of Christ, for otherwise they would really assert nothing, since what Christian denies the necessity of union with Christ? And again, where would be the danger of merging an individual in an invisible body?

But then comes the great question, Where is the body of Christ, with which membership is necessary? Do the bishops mean to say it is the Episcopal Church, and that it is necessary to belong to their communion in order to be saved? We do not really know what they mean, but are quite persuaded that they do not intend to unchurch all the rest of mankind, and hence come to the conclusion that these words are to be taken in a figurative sense, that having spoken _much_ they have said nothing.

Now comes the great trouble which oppresses the prelates. "The unscriptural and _uncatholic_ pretensions of the Bishop of Rome, as in times past, so now, are a fruitful source of error and evil." The pope has done all the mischief, he did it in the early times, he did it in the middle ages, and he will keep doing it now. What is it that he does "which is the bar to the restoration of the unity of Christendom?" Why, he fulfils the promise of our Lord: "Thou art Peter, and on this rock I will build my church." {464} There is no visible body without a head, and he is that head by the appointment of Christ. We think the blame ought to be laid upon him who founded the church and made the Papacy. He made his church to be _one_, with one head, when it seems that he ought to have made it capable of division.

The bishops then urge upon their brethren to teach that "Jesus Christ is the living centre of unity;" that "his true vicar is the Holy Ghost;" that "the visible expression of catholic unity is the apostles' doctrine and fellowship, the breaking of bread and prayers."

Is it the English language which here we read, and is it our mother-tongue which thus is made to confuse our minds? If any one understands these phrases, we compliment him upon his sagacity. We do not honestly believe that the venerable prelate who wrote them knows what he means, or intends others to know.

"Jesus Christ is the living centre of unity." Certainly; but we have been speaking of a _visible_ unity, and Jesus Christ is not visible to us. The vicar of Christ is the Holy Ghost, a singular office for the third person-of the undivided Trinity, and he is not visible either. The invisible Christ has an invisible vicar on earth, and this is the coequal and coeternal Spirit! The visible expression of Catholic unity is the "apostles' doctrine and fellowship, the breaking of bread and prayers."

Oh! for the good and honest heart among the Episcopalians to see that these words are empty sounds which mean nothing at all. "Where is the apostles' doctrine and fellowship?" Is it in the Episcopal Church alone, and if not, where is it? The bishops ought to have said that _their_ doctrine was the apostles', that _their_ fellow ship was the apostles', or if they had doubts on the point, they should have told us unequivocally where to find these important and absolutely necessary "expressions of catholic unity." We are here reminded of an old negro who in our young days used to speak Latin fluently; but as his phrases were made up of plural genitives, we could only hear the sonorous "_Bonorum, filiorum, malorum, optimorum_," without comprehending one single word. In like manner, with at least the common intelligence which God has given us, we do not comprehend this pastoral, unless it really means, in circumlocution, to say nothing.

The bishops then go on to defend the Anglican reformation, and hold up to condemnation the attempts made by some High-Churchmen to disparage it. And in this connection they "especially condemn any doctrine of the Holy Eucharist which implies that after consecration the proper nature of bread and wine does not remain, which _localizes_ in them the bodily presence of our Lord, which allows any adoration other than that of Christ himself." Here we do think the prelates have said something, and we can understand what they mean. We would have preferred that they should have used language more direct, and without any insinuations. But we understand them to say that the bread and wine are unchanged by their consecration, and that there is no presence of Christ at all in the Eucharist. For as he is very man, his presence must necessarily be a _bodily_ one, and must be localized. We Catholics adore the blessed sacrament only because it is Christ himself; because the bread and wine are changed into his body. {465} The bishops here deny any such presence of Christ, and go on to assert that the humanity of our Lord is only to be found at the right hand of God in heaven.

For this reason, very appropriately, the ceremonies of the ritualists are denounced, because they are built upon a doctrine which supposes Christ to be present on the altar. Will it now be believed that the organ of the ritualists, in New York, expresses itself pleased with this part of the pastoral? We blush for the insincerity and dishonesty of men who love to call themselves "_Catholic priests_." They are satisfied with this open denial of any real presence of Christ in the Eucharist, and "they will work on with new vigor, cheered and _sustained_ by the admonitions of their fathers in God." If such admonitions cheer them, what kind of admonition would dishearten them?

No, my friends, you are not cheered, nor sustained; but being determined to make the best of your cause, you strive to look pleasant. God is the judge. You may deceive yourselves and mislead others, but you are responsible to him for calling white black, and black white.

On questions of doctrine we find, then, that the convention has done nothing, save that the bishops have asserted, on their own authority, that Christ's commission has been committed to a _fallible_ instrumentality; that communion with the body of Christ is necessary, while no instructions are given as to what and where that body is to be found; that the pope is the great obstacle to catholic unity; that the vicar of our Lord on earth is the Holy Ghost; that the Anglican reformation is good and to be imitated; that there is no presence whatever of Christ in the Holy Eucharist; and that the extravagances of the ritualists are entirely to be condemned.