Chapter III (1)

I went abroad, through the principal cities of the old world, and by quiet ways to unpretending places, where travellers seldom go. My heart sought rest and quiet; my soul was beginning to shake off the torpor that had enchained it; taking in, almost unconsciously, silent influences that pervaded my whole being. Truths forced themselves upon me unawares, and my ears did not refuse to hear them. Across the wide Atlantic some one was praying for me, although I did not know it while she prayed--one whose face I vainly strove to banish from my memory, whose voice ran through the current of my troubled dreams. And yet it was with no hope of winning her love in the future that I opened my heart and mind to the study of sacred things. That idea never came to me. The whole purpose of my life seemed changed. How often I thought of her denunciation of my aimless existence, my "_dilettante_ tastes and careless ways." How often I thanked her that, all unconsciously though it were, she had opened to me new avenues of thought and action. "Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," and so the work went on. Silently but surely my heart unclosed to the heavenly dews that fell upon it and renewed it. I remained some time in France and Italy, spent a few months in Germany, and then returned to England. At the feet of one of the fathers of the Oratory in London I made my first confession, and tasted the ineffable sweetness of divine compassion.

Nearly two years had passed, and the _dolce non far niente_ life, so natural once, grew wearisome now. At home there was work for me to do; there lay my field and my mission. I did not attempt to disguise from myself the pain and renewal of old wounds that must inevitably follow my return. However, I resolved to nerve myself for the ordeal, and promised my timidity the struggle would be short, and then the world lay before me. A world in which there were great things to be learned and conquered.

I had written to Armitage once after my departure, and received an immediate answer, asking me to continue the correspondence. To his letter I had not replied, and I was almost entirely ignorant of affairs at home.

I landed in New York one bright September day, and the first feeling of strangeness vanished as I walked through the crowded streets, and recognized the familiar faces of former acquaintances. My whilom landlady received me with open arms; my old quarters had just been vacated, and I was speedily reinstalled. I had not been in town two days, when Armitage rushed in one evening, glad to see me, and brimful of news.

"Strange freak of yours that, Ed," he said. "I came around here one night by appointment; old lady met me with the information that you had sailed that day. I couldn't believe it. Went to Helen's, to see if she knew any thing about it; but she didn't. Then I felt sure the whole thing was a joke. You and she were such friends that I could not think you'd have gone off in that way, without saying good-by. That solitary letter of yours was worse than none at all; provoking in you to relapse into silence again, when a fellow thought he had got on your track. How soon do you intend to be off again?"

"Not for a while yet," I answered. "I think I shall remain at home now. By the way, how is Miss Foster?--or is she Miss Foster yet?--and her grandmother?"

"The old lady died the winter after you left New York; but Helen is living in the homestead yet. A married sister of mine is domiciled there too, at present--Laura; you've heard me speak of her. She was living in Baltimore when you were one of us. Helen is not married; not for the want of suitors though; she has refused between ten and fifty splendid offers, to my certain knowledge."

"Of course she makes you her confidant?" I said quizzingly.

"_Pas du tout_--a fine one I'd be; but I guess all these things. She _is_ an odd girl. Not too pious, although a devout Catholic, but hard to please. By the way, I am due at Helen's to-night; won't you come? You can't expect her to call on you."

I made some excuse; and Fred went off without me, promising, however, to report me "safe and sound." Although I knew that, sooner or later, I should meet her, I could not face the ordeal as yet; and preferred that, when it did take place, the meeting should be accidental.

The next week I attended a concert at the Academy of Music. Directly in front of me two seats remained unoccupied until the _prima donna_ had made her first bow to the audience, and was preluding her song with a few prefatory trills.

I turned my eyes from the stage to meet those of a lady who passed to one of the vacant chairs; and the next moment Fred Armitage was saying, "You here, Moray? I am glad we are near you. He has changed, Nellie, don't you think?" as his companion extended her hand in silence. Then, as I greeted her, a single "welcome home" fell from her lips, and that was all.

No change in her. The same pure, truthful eyes; the old-time sweetness in her voice and smile; the old-time charm about her still. As I looked at her, and heard her speak, I realized how vain had been the delusion that prompted me to seek peace and disenchantment within the sphere of her influence. Once, during a pause in the music, she asked my opinion of the singer. I must have appeared constrained and awkward; for I have a half recollection of muttering some indistinct answer. I left before the performance was over. I did not care to court misery--my present situation was deplorable enough--and I was anxious to get away from Fred's pertinacity, which I knew would assert itself if we went in company from the music-hall.

Afterward I steadily resisted all solicitations from Armitage to call at his sister's; although he often expressed a desire to introduce me. However, having met him one day in company with his brother-in-law, I promised the latter gentleman to call at his residence. Not to have done so would have made my conduct appear eccentric and ridiculous. About dusk the next evening Fred came in.

"Come to Auvergne's with me to-night," he said. "Walter has gone to Baltimore on business, and Helen with him. She intends spending the winter with some relatives there. Laura is alone, and may be we could cheer her up. I am sorry Walter and Nellie are absent; but you'll get acquainted with the best little woman in the world."

There was no help for it. The present, too, afforded the best opportunity. I went, and received a cordial welcome from Mrs. Auvergne, who was all that her brother had described her, and more.

"So this is Mr. Moray," she said, as Fred introduced me. "I have heard of you so frequently that I know you already. And Helen has sometimes mentioned you."

The evening passed pleasantly. As we were about leaving, our hostess warmly invited me to renew the visit. "Come soon, and as often as you like," she said; "we shall be always pleased to see you."

Inconsistently enough, I departed from my proposed line of conduct in so far as to accept her invitation. It was lonely sitting in my bachelor abode those long winter evenings; and, after five or six weeks' acquaintance, I had called so frequently at Mrs. Auvergne's as to feel more at home there than anywhere else in New York. I did not think much of the future, of the difficulties that must arise when another member of the family should resume her place in the circle; or, if I did, I was wise or foolish enough not to anticipate them.

Meeting Mr. Auvergne near home one evening, he brought me _nolens volens_ in to tea. We found his wife in the parlor, with her three charming little girls, who had become great friends of mine, and who knew me under the title of "Uncle Fred's brother."

"Something for you, Laura," said Paterfamilias, as he threw a letter into her lap.

"From Helen, is it not?"

"Yes; excuse me, Mr. Moray, while I glance over it. I always give Helen's letters two or three readings. She is growing quite dissipated. 'I have been to three parties this week,' she writes; 'much against my inclination, you will imagine. But Maud and Alice lead such gay lives that one is kept in a perpetual round of sight-seeing and enjoyment--as the world goes. I could never be content to live this way; and feel dubious as to whether I can find it compatible with real duties at home to remain the promised time. You reproached me before I went away with being low-spirited, Laura. Your panacea has not proved beneficial. I am, if not melancholy, not half so cheerful in my mind, as Fred would say, as when I left you. So don't be surprised to see me any morning about breakfast time. Tell the children, Cousin Helen is glad they have found a new friend; but"--here the reader paused; and, after a hurried perusal of the remainder, replaced the missive in its envelope.

"Foolish Helen!" she said, as though talking to herself; then, supper being announced, there was nothing more said on the subject.

On Christmas eve I called with some presents for the children. I had promised them to enlist Santa Claus in their favor, and waited until I thought they would be asleep to bring what toys and trinkets they had told me confidentially would be acceptable. Ushered into the parlor, I did not at first perceive in the dim light that some one was standing near the window. The noise of the door closing caused the occupant of the room to look round, and, as she did so, I recognized Miss Foster.

"Excuse me," I managed to articulate in my surprise; "I did not know you had returned, or that you were expected."

"I was not expected," she answered smilingly. "But I grew homesick as Christmas approached, and astonished them all this morning at daylight. Will you sit down, Mr. Moray?" And she drew a chair forward.

"Thank you," I replied, "not this evening. I have merely brought some trifles for the little ones. We are great friends. I have become quite at home with them during your absence."

"So Laura tells me," she answered; "and they have not been silent either. They are very lovable children."

"I have found them so," I rejoined. "I suppose they are all three dreaming of Santa Claus at this moment. But I must be going. Be kind enough to present my compliments to Mrs. Auvergne, who is probably busy this evening. And allow me to wish you a very merry Christmas."

As I ceased speaking, the parlor door opened and the mistress of the house entered, bonneted and shawled for a walk, and accompanied by Fred, who announced himself a complete wreck from a frolic in the nursery.

"Good evening, Mr. Moray," said the little lady cordially. "These for the children? Thank you; you are very kind; they will be so delighted. You see our wanderer has returned. Is she not looking well? Sit down, you must not go yet. Rather late for a lady to go shopping, is it not? But I want something down-town, and Fred has volunteered to accompany me. We shall not be absent long; you must stay till we return. You and Helen are old friends, I know, and can manage to pass an hour pleasantly together."

I fancied Helen looked at me imploringly, as though to say, "Do go away," and I ventured to remonstrate.

"I am inexorable," was the reply. "You are to remain till we come back. Fred, take his gloves; and Helen, ring for lights."

There was no withstanding such importunity. Reluctantly, but with as good grace as I could summon, I allowed myself to succumb to the force of circumstances. Seeing there was no help for it, my companion in distress took some fancy knitting from a table near her, and soon appeared lost in its intricacies. For fully five minutes after the door closed on Mrs. Auvergne and her brother we sat in embarrassing silence--silence that at length grew unendurable.

"You are sitting too far from the fire," I said, by way of endeavor to mend matters; "there must be some draught from that window too."

"I prefer being near the light," she answered, without looking up; "and I am not at all cold."

Another five minutes of silence. What should I say next? Could I sit there much longer? I did not think so. I felt as though I must make a desperate move and take my leave.

Suddenly, pealing out upon the silent night, I heard the sound of bells. She heard them too, I knew, for I saw her lift her head to listen.

"The Christmas chimes," I said; "how beautifully they sound. I have heard them in Rome and Naples; last year I was in England at this season; but home music has charms peculiar to itself, and dearer than all other--at least so it seems to me."

"You believe in Christmas, then, as an institution?" she answered smilingly, and with a touch of the old sarcasm in her voice.

"Surely," I replied gravely, "since I believe in Christ. Inasmuch as a Catholic believes and reverences all that his church teaches and believes."

I looked at her face to see what effect my words would have, but it evinced no emotion of surprise. She answered quietly and assuredly, as though our ways had never been separate,

"Yes, we who are Catholics enjoy the capacity of feeling and appreciating these things as none do beside. Especially converts such as you and I, who have known the experience of doubt and fear."

"I was not aware," I rejoined, "that you knew of my conversion."

"No?" she replied. "I have known it some time, having seen you several times at Mass and Benediction. I do not believe you would make the sign of the cross unless you held it to be the sign of salvation. And you do make it, I think."

"No doubt the discovery surprised you, Miss Foster," I continued.

"No, it did not," she answered. "I did not think the change would be accomplished so soon, but I hoped great things for you."

"Even when you accused me most bitterly?" Why tread on dangerous ground; but the words were spoken, and I could not recall them.

"Even when I accused you most bitterly," she said, in a low tone.

"You are far-sighted, I perceive. Perhaps you may also have some idea of the manner in which this change was brought about. Perhaps I may have felt, may still feel, an indebtedness to some one, to whom it has been a matter of doubt with me as to whether I should acknowledge the obligation, or suffer it to go unpaid."

"I may have an idea," she replied, "yet not just such a one as that to which you make allusion. Some one may have been instrumental in awakening thought on the subject. But I have not been able to advance the idea further."

For a moment I sat silent. "Shall I tell her what she has done for me?" I asked myself; "shall I open the old wound and let it bleed afresh? Will it be any sacrifice of my manliness if I tell her what a few moments ago I held it my duty and purpose to conceal?"

I drew my gaze from the fire and directed it toward her. The ivory needle flew in and out between her slender fingers; it seemed she had a task to do. My resolve was taken. But there was not the shadow of a hope in my soul when I spoke. Something impelled me--something, I knew not what; a desperate spirit, I thought it then; my good angel, I know now.

"There is a debt and an obligation," I began, "and an acknowledgment which I am proud to make, although the fact of its existence be almost death to me. A little more than two years ago, circumstances led to the revelation of that which but for those circumstances might have been unrevealed to-day. I offered you a love that had grown in my heart until it interpenetrated every fibre of my being. You rejected it; and that you did so, or why, I find no fault or blame. The folly was mine; I alone have borne the consequences. But while you disabused my mind of any wild hope it might have cherished in moments quite as wild, you told me some unpalatable truths. Until I met you I had lived a selfish, useless life. After I met you, the germs of something better in me stirred now and then, and impulses that I more than once fought down knocked at secret doors where the dust and cobwebs of the world had gathered. Then the _dénouement_ came, and after it the change in me."

Still knitting, the soft wool flew through her fingers faster and faster, as though she bade defiance to my moan. She did not look up as I paused, but her lips were compressed and her cheek brightly flushed.

"I went away loving you. Far away from your visible influence, the thought of you followed me through all my journeyings. I passed through new scenes and experiences loving you; I come back loving you still. I am here to-night with no intent of pleading a lost cause, with no hope of drifting from desolate seas into pleasant waters, with no dream of Lethean draughts to be taken from your hands. As in the former instance, circumstances have forced it all upon me. To-morrow I shall wonder at the folly which prompts me to say what I am saying. But to-night, before I close the book for ever, let me thank you for what you have done for me; let me leave you with the knowledge that, while I have been rash and presumptuous, I have not offended you or caused you pain."

She had risen from her chair while I was speaking. Standing for a moment irresolute, with lips half parted and eyes downcast, she made a passionate gesture with her clasped hands, as though impatient with herself.

"I do not forget," she said, "any part of what I told you that night, two years ago. I was harsh--unnecessarily so. But it all came on me so suddenly that I hardly knew what I did say. I remember there was something about misused talents and a wasted life, of what you might be and were not, of great possibilities slighted and contemned. But," here her voice faltered and the words came slowly, "I do not remember telling you then or at any other time that I did not, could not love you. Do you remember it?" Looking up, her gaze met mine half smilingly, half tearfully.

"No, I do not remember it," I said; "but you sent me away from you, and I have not forgotten that there was nothing of encouragement for the future in your dismissal of me. Can it be--dare I hope that--that--?"

Somehow two warm, soft hands were clasped in mine, and the Christmas bells pealed out a tuneful chime, now softly low, now musically clear. And then she told me what I had never even fancied in my dreams: of the love that had dwelt in her heart of hearts so long; of fears that had assailed her when she grew conscious of it; of a hope in the future and its unborn possibilities that had filled her soul when she seemed most indifferent and cold; of prayers that from their fervency had been heard and answered.

"I knew you would come back to me," she said; "I knew that God would do great things for you. And even if you had not come; if some one else had taken my place, or some ambition occupied your heart, it would have been the same in the end, or nearly so. I think I could be contented to love you silently all my life long, if I knew you to be in thought and purpose what I had so longed to have you; if I felt that my prayers for you were heard and answered."

O wonderful unselfishness of woman's love! O marvellous constancy of woman's faith! How often do ye burn and die away unheeded and unprized on hollow altars!

* * * * *

Three short bright years have passed, and it is Christmas eve. Outside I hear a group of merry boys, battling with the bitter wind and laughing at its fierceness. Frost glitters on the window-panes and chills the air to-night; and blazing fires roar up the chimneys, pouring forth a welcome as they go. Here, in this quiet room, there is an atmosphere of peace and calm content that almost fills me with a reverential fear lest the sweet spell should float away and leave me desolate.

I can watch her all unnoticed as she sits in the deep shadow of the firelight, the angel of my hearth and home. The face is perhaps a shade more thoughtful than of old; but the bright head, golden brown, has still the same graceful poise and movement; the truthful eyes are still as kind and tender as of yore.

And as she sits there musing, I lay down my busy pen, and my full heart throbs with gratitude and thankfulness, as I think how lonely life would be without her this happy Christmas Eve.

MISCELLANY.

THE COUNCIL.--It is said that the Cardinals de Reisach and Cullen, and the Archbishops Manning and Spalding, have been appointed on the commission for treating with those Protestants who may come to the council for that purpose. Bishops and priests speaking twenty-eight different languages had applied to the cardinal vicar for permission to say mass, and confessionals for confessors speaking eighteen languages are provided in St. Peter's. The great variety of complexions and costumes now to be seen in Rome excites much remark in the letters of correspondents. The Archbishop of Lima, who is ninety-four years of age, being unable to attend the council, has sent to the Pope a pastoral staff of gold valued at two thousand pounds. The students of Quito University have sent him all their gold and silver medals of honor, and the President of the Republic of Ecuador has sent a jewelled medal given him by the state as an official decoration. An Italian priest, D. Mariano Matteini, has himself designed and made a small bell for the Pope's use during the council, which is a perfect gem of artistic ornamentation. It bears the appropriate inscription,

Invocatâ Immaculatâ, Pius Nonus pastor bonus, per concilium fert
auxilium. Mundus crebris tot tenebris, implicatus, obcoecatus, per
hoc Numen et hoc lumen, extricatur, illustratur.

The early date of going to press forbids our giving any notice of the solemn opening of the council in the great Basilica of St. Peter, which will have taken place before this number is published. We hope to have constant and authentic communications respecting the council, directly from Rome, in our ensuing numbers.

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ABJURATION OF THE PROTESTANT MINISTER OF CORDOVA.--Don Antonio Soler, an apostate priest, who has for the past nine years officiated as Protestant pastor at Cordova, in Spain, has publicly abjured his heresy in presence of the clergy, magistrates, and a large concourse of the people of the city.

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EASTERN AFFAIRS.--The _Civilta Cattolica_ gives a very interesting account of a council of bishops of the Latin rite, in the East, held at Smyrna last Pentecost. Mgr. Spaccapietra, Latin Archbishop of Smyrna, presided as apostolic delegate; three other archbishops, five bishops, and a deputy from the Latin church at Constantinople were present. The sessions were conducted with great splendor, and attended by vast crowds, both of Catholics and schismatics. A council of the Catholic hierarchy of the Armenian rite was celebrated at the Armenian cathedral of St. Mary, in Constantinople, on the seventeenth of July. The patriarch presided, and eighteen bishops were in attendance. On this occasion a large relic of St. Gregory the Illuminator, presented by Pius IX., was brought to the church in procession, and there deposited. The splendid procession of the bishops, accompanied by a large body of the clergy, was escorted by a detachment of Turkish soldiers, and witnessed by a vast concourse of people. Solemn mass was then celebrated by the patriarch, and the council inaugurated. This was the most open and splendid display of the Christian religion which has ever been made in Constantinople since it came under Mohammedan rule. Since that time, the same church has witnessed a ceremony of equal if not greater splendor and significance, on the occasion of the visit of the Empress Eugénie. At the close of the high mass, at which the empress assisted in state, she gave an illustrious example of that piety and Christian humility so frequent among royal personages in former times, but now so rare among the great. Rising from her throne to exchange the customary marks of respect and honor with the bishops who passed before her, when the patriarch bowed to her, and was about to move on, she requested him to pause a moment; bending over, she kissed his ring, and, descending from the dais of the throne, prostrated herself before him to receive his blessing. This was done in presence of her brilliant suite of French and Turkish officers, and of the _élite_ of the Christians of Constantinople. We trust the example of the most illustrious lady of Christendom will not be lost on Christian women in a high social position throughout the world.

It appears from the Greek papers that Nilus, the so-called Patriarch of Alexandria, whose impertinent reply to the Pope's missive of summons to the council gave so much joy to our Episcopalian neighbors, was an intruder. This monk was for a time supported in his position as designated successor to the actual patriarch, and administrator, by the viceroy. Giving out that the patriarch was ill, and had intrusted him with delegated powers, he kept him as a prisoner in his palace. He was denounced by the Patriarch of Constantinople, and at length abandoned by the viceroy, and, as says the _Byzantine Telegraph_, "this vainglorious monk, not being able any longer to resist the popular outcry and contempt, abandoned by the government and by his few friends, succeeded in escaping the anger of the people by leaving Egypt."

A letter from the Patriarch of Constantinople to the Archbishop of Canterbury has been published, which is a masterpiece of Greek irony. With a profusion of compliments, he acknowledges the receipt of a copy of the acts of the Pan-Anglican Synod, and of the Anglican Prayer-Book, and then proceeds to condemn the latter as heretical and insulting to the Eastern Church in a manner which cannot be very palatable to those who have sought to win from him a nod of recognition.

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HINDOSTAN.--Every one who has read the accounts published in the papers of the new Hindoo sect, under the direction of Baboo Chunder Sen, called the _Brahmo Somaj_, must have seen the great interest and importance of this movement. _The Dublin Review_ furnishes us with a great deal of valuable information about this matter, and the relation generally of Hindooism to Christianity in India, accompanied by most curious extracts from publications of the party of Chunder Sen, written in very nervous but peculiar English. It is surprising to see with what force and keenness these educated Hindoos pierce and destroy the inconsistent fabric of Protestantism, which they call a system of "paper revelation and second-hand religion," whose untenable position is shown by the fact that it gives twenty different interpretations of the same t book. We are most happy to learn that Bishop Meurer, S.J., the Vicar Apostolic of Bombay, is about to recommence the missionary enterprise of De Nobili, so shamefully and stupidly thwarted by the enemies of the Jesuits. He intends to found a missionary college, whose pupils will be thoroughly instructed in Brahminical and Buddhist literature, and when they are sent out on missions, will enrol themselves in one of the high castes, adopting their dress and customs. In this way the Catholic religion will be brought in contact with the educated Hindoos, who at present know it only through the misrepresentations of Protestant missionaries.

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M. LECOINTRE ON THE PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA.--M. Lecointre, a graduate of the Polytechnic School and chief engineer of the iron works connected with the Suez Canal, has investigated, with the assistance of M. de Lesseps, the question of the place where the Israelites crossed the Red Sea, and publishes his conclusions in the _Etudes Religieuses_ of Paris, accompanied by a map. He gives, in the first place, a _résumé_ of the events of the march out of Egypt. Pharaoh feared an immense conspiracy under the leadership of Moses, and, as Josephus relates, formed an army of 250,000 men, which was assembled at Memphis. The events related in Exodus forced him to give the denied permission to the Israelites to go into the wilderness to sacrifice. He well knew the real intention of Moses, which was no secret, either, to the people themselves, to quit Egypt for ever. The orders for preparing to celebrate the passover on the 14th of Nisan had been given by Moses through the chiefs of tribes some days before. These orders had the effect of arranging the people in little groups under a head, as the best organization for a sudden march; for which they were well prepared by a substantial meal and the enlivening effect of a festivity. The signal of departure was probably given by signal-fires previously arranged. The march to Palestine was not expected to occupy more than twenty or twenty-five days, by a route well known and provided with water, and the flocks and herds which they took with them assured them a plentiful subsistence. The main body left from Rameses, a city where a great proportion of them dwelt, the others starting from the other places of their residence and moving toward a common rendezvous. Their first halting-place was Succoth, where they waited for those who were behind to come up; the second at Etham, on the border of the desert, from whence they expected to go directly into the desert above the Red Sea, and to take a direct route for Palestine. But Moses changed his route, brought them back along the coast of the Red Sea, and encamped in the plain of Pi-hahiroth, between Magdal and the sea, where they were surprised by Pharaoh's army in a situation which rendered flight in any direction impossible. The miraculous events which followed are well known. The point of passage is placed on the twentieth parallel of latitude, which nearly bisects the larger one of the Bitter Lakes, now separated from, but formerly forming a part of the Red Sea. The events related by Moses would then probably have occurred as follows. On the night of the 15th, the nucleus of the host made a short stage from Rameses to Succoth, waiting from the morning of the 15th to the morning of the 16th for the entire host to arrive. Distance travelled, five kilometres. Distance from Succoth to the most remote points of Gessen, where the Israelites lived, forty to fifty kilometres, easily travelled in twenty-four hours. Moses and Aaron could have made the journey from Memphis on the 15th on horseback, a distance of one hundred and twelve kilometres, in ten or twelve hours. On the 16th, from Succoth to Etham, twenty-two kilometres. On the 17th, from. Etham to Pi-hahiroth, twenty to twenty-two kilometres. From the evening of the 17th to the evening of the 20th, encampment at Pi-hahiroth. The change of route at Etham is supposed to have alarmed the Egyptian commander at that post, who sends a courier on the morning of the 17th to Memphis, one hundred and twenty-four kilometres, a distance which could be passed in twelve or fifteen hours by a swift horse or dromedary. On the 18th, the army marches from Memphis in a straight line for Beelsephon, a distance of one hundred and twelve kilometres. On the morning of the 20th, the advance-guard of cavalry, after a march of forty-eight hours, arrives on the heights of Beelsephon, cutting off the retreat of the Israelites. A heavy fog separates the two armies. The Egyptian infantry comes up on the 21st. During the night of the 20th, the Israelites pass the Red Sea, whose width was from ten to twelve kilometres; they are followed by the cavalry and chariots on the morning of the 21st, who traverse five or six kilometres, when they are overwhelmed by the returning waters, the main body witnessing the catastrophe from the heights behind. The march from Memphis requires for the cavalry two stages of fifty-six kilometres and for the infantry three of thirty-eight, which the author says is within the power of fresh, well-equipped troops.

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REFORM MOVEMENT AMONG THE JEWS.--The recent convention of Jews at Philadelphia appears to have been the work of a party bent on radical and destructive reforms. The orthodox and conservative Jews condemn it wholly. We should be very sorry to see the synagogue converted into a poor imitation of the most radical Protestant sects, and this ancient, wonderfully preserved nation blended with the mass of other peoples. The ancient and venerable observances of Judaism, and the continued distinct existence of the people descended from the patriarchs, are a palpable, living witness to the divine origin of revelation, and the inspired truth of the writings of Moses and the prophets, the basis of Christianity. The reforming Jews are the successors of those who imitated the heathen in the reign of Antiochus and of the infidel Sadducees. Their approximation to Protestantism is not an approximation to Christianity but to infidelity, and, if carried out successfully, would destroy their nation. This cannot be done, however. We believe firmly that the nation is indestructible, is destined to be restored to the possession of Palestine, and to fulfil literally the predictions of the ancient prophets in such a manner as to furnish the most splendid proof of the truth of the divine religion handed down through Sem, Abraham, Moses, the Prophets, to the Messiah to whom shall be the expectation of nations. _Alieni non transibunt per Jerusalem amplius; nam in illa die stillabunt montes dulcedinem, et colles fluent lac et mel, dicit Dominus._ It is the infidel party among the Jews of Europe that is leagued with infidels of Christian origin in the war on the Catholic Church. Those who adhere strictly to their law have many principles in common with Catholics. Their law of marriage with those of their own nation exclusively harmonizes with that of the Catholic Church, which forbids intermarriage with them. Their genuine and ancient ritual bears witness to the antiquity of the liturgical and ceremonial idea embodied in Catholic worship. Their principle that the education of the youth should be religious is identical with ours, and we hope they will insist on the right of having separate schools and their just quota of the funds raised by taxation for purposes of education. So long as they remain in exile from their proper home, and separated from us in religion, we cannot desire any thing else than to see them adhere to their ancient customs. They do not seek to proselyte; their prosperity is therefore in no way dangerous to the Catholic Church. The more splendid their synagogues and the observance of their traditional rites, the more brilliant is the testimony they give to those facts and events in sacred history denied by infidel Jews and infidel Christians alike.

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THE EDUCATION QUESTION.--_The New-Englander_, as the organ of the venerable Yale University, has recently contained some admirable articles on the methods of promoting the higher education. It makes war upon bogus universities, colleges, and systems with calm but resolute force. Among the sound and sensible suggestions it makes, these are some of the chief ones: (1) The preparatory schools should be improved by a more thorough and extensive course of study in the classics, and in some of the modern languages. (2) The collegiate course should be correspondingly improved, and modified, by imitating in part the tutor system of the English universities; but, by no means, changed into the loose system of misnamed universities. (3) The university should be gradually formed as a sequence of the improved collegiate system, and should consist of the college proper, together with post-graduate courses of higher studies in all the branches of science. The necessity of religious instruction is unanswerably proved, and the especial fitness of clergymen for the work of education well defended and advocated. The necessity of having every college under the religious care of some one denomination is also satisfactorily shown. We wonder that the remarkably frank and candid writer in _The New-Englander_ does not see, however, that he has proved this necessity as a _pis aller_, and indirectly furnished a terrible argument against his own sect and all Protestantism. He directly acknowledges that it is necessary to have _sectarian_ teachers; that, nevertheless, sectarianism is too narrow a thing for a liberal university, and that the teachers must suppress their sectarianism and teach in a sort of catholic spirit. This is as clear a proof as we could wish to have that Protestantism is incompetent to the function of a religious teacher, and, therefore, that a perfect university cannot exist except in the Catholic Church. We hope, at all events, that the influence of New Haven will be thrown fully and consistently against godless schools of all sorts, and in favor of the right of parents to have schools where their children can be taught the religion which they themselves profess.

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THE CHRISTIAN WORLD ON THE REV. H. SEYMOUR.--This organ of the anti-Catholic crusade deserts Mr. Seymour and Mr. Bacon, in their attack on Catholic morality. The November number furnishes us with the following editorial remark, the last clause of which we would especially recommend to the attention of all our opponents, the editors of _The Christian World_ included: "The interest awakened by the present discussion of this subject leads us to print the foregoing. There is much of force in Mr. Seymour's statements and reasonings respecting the matter of homicide, even though a double or treble percentage is allowed for Protestant England. But we are constrained to say, in the interest of fair dealing, that the remaining statistics of Mr. S. respecting illegitimacy seem to us to lack the precision and discrimination essential to a conclusive argument in that direction. Moreover, the force of these statistics is, to say the least, greatly counteracted by the admitted facts respecting foeticide charged against certain Protestant communities. In conducting the issue with Romanism it is wiser to avoid every _questionable_ position."

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DR. BELLOWS THREATENING CIVIL WAR.--_The Liberal Christian_ is proving itself the most illiberal of all our religious journals of late. It recently violated literary courtesy by charging upon the editor of this magazine a deliberate falsehood, without any other reason than an unauthorized and incorrect conjecture that he was the author of an article published in our columns entitled, "Free Religion." In its issue for November 20th, it publishes a most arrogant and inflammatory article, by Dr. Bellows, on "Romanism and Common Schools," which is quite in the spirit of several other utterances of that gentleman, who appears to have contracted a taste for civil war that was not satiated by our late one. Whoever seeks to disturb the civic peace existing between Catholics and Protestants in this country, to rouse their angry passions, to array them against each other as hostile political factions, is the greatest enemy of his country, and deserves to be classed with the men who endeavored to fire our hotels, and those who stirred up the mobs of Charleston, Philadelphia, and New-York. Happily, Dr. Bellows's fits of ill-humor are so well understood that they make but slight impression on any one.

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CARICATURING AS A FINE ART.--One of our popular magazines (_Harper's_) has recently sought to distinguish itself in this line, and has succeeded both in its articles on Catholic questions, and in its burlesque illustrations, in producing something strictly _sui generis_ and far exceeding, in the strict exclusion of every other element except caricature, the feebler efforts of artists less skilled in the work of distortion. We may say without exaggeration that it has attained the _ne plus ultra_ of caricaturing as a fine art.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

THE OECUMENICAL COUNCIL AND THE INFALLIBILITY OF THE ROMAN
PONTIFF: A Pastoral Letter to the Clergy, etc. By Henry Edward,
Archbishop of Westminster. London: Longmans, Green & Co. Pp. 151.

We have received within the past two months five or six dissertations on the question of the infallibility of the _ex cathedrâ_ judgments of the sovereign pontiffs and other closely connected topics, written by some of the best theologians in Europe. They handle the subject with great learning and ability, and in a manner much more satisfactory and to the point than is usually found in treatises on the same topic in our theological text-books or popular expositions of doctrine. The reason is, that the controversy has been revived and assumed a new importance since the indiction of the council, and that the advocates of what is commonly called ultramontane doctrine have applied themselves intently to seize hold of and minutely analyze and refute the objections of the opposite party, who have themselves endeavored to bring up anew all these objections with as much force as possible. Archbishop Manning has given us one of these learned dissertations in the form of a pastoral letter, which makes a considerable pamphlet, divided into four chapters. The first chapter is on the effect of the council already felt in England and France. The second is on the opportuneness of defining the infallibility of the Roman pontiff, in which he discusses (1) The reasons against the definition; (2) answers to these reasons; (3) reasons for the definition. In the third chapter he makes a concise but very copious exposition of the tradition on the subject, tracing it backward from the Council of Constance to that of Chalcedon, and afterward giving a history of the Gallican controversy since the time of the Council of Constance. The fourth chapter is on the effect which the council is certain to produce on the evidence and proposition of the faith, and on the relations of civil governments to the church. A postscript is added on the recent defence of Gallican doctrine by Mgr. Maret. The most noteworthy and distinctive feature of this very learned and lucidly written document is, the manner in which the reasons why the council should issue a clear and precise definition of the true doctrine held by the church are presented. The illustrious archbishop argues with great force that an omission to make such a definition will be interpreted as a tacit permission to hold and teach the Gallican opinions as sound and safe probable opinions. There can be no doubt that his views and those of prelates in equally eminent positions who have publicly expressed themselves in equivalent terms will receive that grave consideration from the bishops of the Catholic Church in council which they merit. Undoubtedly, also, those who may hold different opinions will have the most ample liberty of arguing their side of the question. The decision of the council must be accepted by all as final and infallible; and if such a decision is rendered, the controversy will be set at rest for ever; a consummation, in our opinion, devoutly to be wished.

We will venture to add a few words of our own to the point of the argument presented by the Archbishop of Westminster. The ultramontane doctrine has been almost universally held and taught in the Catholic Church in the United States. Nevertheless, the manner of handling the Protestant controversy in many English books, some of which are translations from French authors, has been such as to create an impression that the doctrine of the infallibility of the pope in definitions of faith is merely a pious opinion. This is supported by the fact that the opposite opinion has not been formally condemned, and that those who held it have been recognized as in full communion with the Roman Church, and even raised to eminent positions in the hierarchy. This same impression has been created in other countries as well as in our own, and exists to a very great extent in the mind of the Catholic laity as well as to some extent in that of the clergy. The real facts in the case are not fully known. It is not generally known that those who have carried the Gallican opinions so far, and reduced them to practice in so consistent a manner, as to refuse implicit obedience and unreserved interior submission to the pontifical decretals, or who have appealed from papal decisions to an oecumenical council, have been condemned under censure of excommunication, that the whole church has given their assent to this judgment, and that it is a point of the canon law. The truth is, that the holy see has always regarded the Gallican opinions as erroneous, although it has judged it wisest to tolerate them thus far, and to proceed by the way of instruction and inculcation in teaching the opposite doctrine, waiting until the complete discussion of the subject by theologians and the pastoral teaching of the bishops should have brought such a flood of light on the subject that the truth should gain over the intelligence of enlightened Catholics, before pronouncing a formal and definitive judgment. There is a great danger, however, that this cautious and indulgent treatment of those who have held Gallican opinions in good faith and with a practical submission to the supreme authority of the holy see, may give an advantage to bold and indocile spirits to make the toleration of these opinions a _point d'appui_ for a resistance to the teaching of the sovereign pontiffs _ex cathedrâ_, having in it a schismatical and heretical tendency. The defenders and advocates of sound doctrines are placed at a disadvantage by the lack of a definitive judgment declaring the sense of the church in such a manner as to preclude all dispute or ambiguity of interpretation. There can be no question that the holy see, and the great body of bishops, including those of France with few exceptions, hold the doctrine of the papal infallibility to be a certainly revealed truth contained in Scripture and tradition, and consequently regard the contrary opinion as an error which has only been for a time tolerated. The whole action of the church is regulated by this view, and will always be so regulated. There appears, therefore, to be a very strong reason why the present council should put the whole question at rest for ever by a final decision and a definition _de fide_. We can answer for the clergy and laity of the United States that they will welcome such a decision with the greatest joy. As for the objection that it will place an obstacle in the way of conversions, it is groundless. Those who are solidly converted from Protestantism in this country are converted to Catholicity pure and simple, and not to Catholicity with a Gallican reservation.

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THE WOMAN WHO DARED. By Epes Sargent. Boston: Roberts Brothers.
1870. 18mo, pp. 210.

We have every disposition in the world to treat Mr. Epes Sargent with respect, and to speak well of this his latest poem; for he has a name in the literary world, and his poem is not without some artistic merit; but, unhappily, we can do neither with a good conscience. We cannot tolerate false doctrines, mischievous sophistry, and bad morals, because expressed in chaste language and attractive verse. Mr. Sargent has poetic feeling and talent; but we do not accept the doctrine that art is necessarily moral or religious. It may be used to embellish error as well as truth, vice as well as virtue, to corrupt as well as to purify and ennoble. In the poem before us the poet has used all his art, genius, and talent to seduce his readers to swallow as a wholesome Christian beverage a most poisonous compound of spiritism, free-lovism, woman's-rightsism, rationalism, and all sorts of radicalism.

No doubt we shall be told that the poet is sincere, and that he really believes that he is chanting a great truth, and laboring in downright earnest to develop and confirm a purer and higher civilization than the world has ever yet known. It is not unlikely that Eve thought as much when, seduced by the subtle reasonings and false promises of the serpent, she reached forth her hand, plucked and ate the forbidden fruit, and gave of the same to her husband; but this did not excuse her for violating the command of God, or save her from expulsion from paradise. Men who have no infallible criterion of truth and falsehood, no infallible standard of right and wrong, have no authority from God to teach, and no right to open their mouths on any subject that seriously affects the interests or the conduct of life. No one, on the strength of his own personal conviction alone, has the right to arraign and condemn what the common sense and experience of mankind in all ages and nations have sanctioned. It is no justification, no valid excuse even, for a man who promulgates and does his best to get accepted false and mischievous doctrines--doctrines which weaken the hold of religion on the conscience, pervert the moral sense, render the family impossible, and sap the very foundation of society--to say, "I am sincere; I really believe I am laboring for a true and much needed reform." Do you _know_ it? Do you not know that you do _not_ know it? Do you not know that all the presumptions are against you? Uncertain as you are and must be if you ever think, why attempt to teach at all? Who compels you? Men are accountable for the thoughts and intents of the heart no less than for outward acts, and God will bring every man into judgment for every thought and word as well as for every deed. Every man is bound to conform his thoughts, words, and deeds to the law of God, and to use with all diligence his faculties to ascertain that law and what it enjoins. Invincible ignorance excuses from sin, it is true, one in that whereof one is invincibly ignorant; but an ignorance that may be overcome by due diligence and the proper use of the means within one's reach, is not invincible, but vincible, and therefore no excuse. The man or the woman that can seriously entertain the doctrine and morals of Mr. Sargent's poem cannot plead invincible ignorance; but must be under a delusion never possible in the case of the pure in heart, or to any but those who take pleasure in iniquity.