Chapter II (1)

Swiftly the emigrant ship cut the blue waves, boldly her sails wooed the winds, and hearts that had been despondent at parting grew hopeful and buoyant as they neared the promised land.

Port at last; and, with a party of his countrymen, William Leyden sought the far West, and before many months had elapsed, the letters he dispatched to the loved ones at home contained not only assurance of his good fortune, but substantial tokens of the fact; and Mary wrote cheerfully and hopefully, ever looking forward to the time when they would be reunited.

For two years our brave Irishman struggled and toiled. Sometimes his heart would almost fail him when he thought of the ocean that intervened between him and his dearest treasures; but these sad thoughts were not familiar visitants, for unusual good fortune had attended his efforts. By the end of the second year he had cleared and planted several acres of rich, fruitful land, and the first flush of autumn saw the completion of as neat and compact a little dwelling as ever western pioneer could claim. Then went "home" the last letter, glowing with hope and promise, and sending wherewith to defray the expenses of wife and children, who were at length to rejoin him in the land where he had toiled for them so hard and so patiently.

"My heart is so light," Mary wrote to him; "my heart is so light that I can hardly feel myself walkin'; it seems to be flyin' I am all the time. And when I think of how soon I'll be near you, of how short the time till ye'll be foldin' yer arms about me, many and many's the time I'm cryin' for joy. Was there ever a happier woman? And Katie and Mamie haven't forgotten a line o' your face or a tone of your voice; ye'll not know them, Willy, they've grown so tall. My tears are all happy ones now, alanna; my prayers are all thankful ones, asthore machree."

How often Leyden read and reread this letter, its torn and ragged appearance might indicate, and as the intervening days sped by, each seemed longer than the last. Mary and the children were to come direct from New York with a party who also expected to meet friends in the West, and he felt quite easy as to their safety and companionship. But ever and anon, as the time drew near, he half reproached himself that he had not gone to meet them, a pleasure he had only foregone on account of his scanty resources.

At last they were in St. Louis--they would be with him in three days. How wearily those days dragged on. But the beautiful October morning dawned at last; a soft mist hung over the tree-tops, and the balmy breath of the Indian summer threw a subtle perfume over the thick forest and its wide stretch of meadow-land beyond.

It was fifteen miles to the nearest town, and fifteen more to the railway station. The earliest dawn saw William Leyden up and impatient to be away. In company with one of his old neighbors, he took his place in the rough wagon that was to figure so prominently in the "hauling home." About eight o'clock they reached their first stopping-place, where Leyden's friend had some little business to transact that would detain him a short time in the town.

Not caring to accompany him, too restless to sit still in the public room of the tavern, the impatient husband and father wandered into the spacious yard behind the house. A young girl stood washing and wringing out clothes near the kitchen door. Mechanically he took in every feature of the place; the long, low bench over which she leaned; her happy, careless face; her bare, red arms and wrinkled hands; the white flutter of garments from the loosened line; the green grass, where here and there others lay bleaching; the broken pump and disused trough; two or three calves munching the scattered herbage; in the distance a wide, illimitable stretch of prairie.

How well he remembered it all afterward!

As he stood watching her, the girl nodded smilingly and went on with her work. After a while she began to hum softly to herself. Leyden caught the sound, and listened. "What tune is that?" he asked eagerly. "Sing it loud."

"Shure I dunno," the girl answered. "I heard my grandmother sing it many's the time in the ould counthry, and I do be croonin' it over to mysel' sometimes here at my washin'."

"Have you the words of it a', colleen?" he inquired. "I'd give a dale to hear them again. 'Tis the song my own Mary likes best; and, thanks be to God! I'll hear her own sweet voice singin' it shortly. It's to meet her this mornin' I'm goin'--her and the childer, all the way from Ireland; but if ye have the words of it and will sing it for me, I'd like to hear it."

"Ayeh but you're the happy man, this day!" she replied. "I'm not much of a hand at singin', but I believe I have all the words, and I'm shure ye're welcome to hear them as well as I can give them."

With a preparatory cough and a modest little blush, the girl began in a timid voice the familiar melody. It was a sad, dirge-like air, as are so many of that sad, suffering land, "whose children weep in chains."

And yet it was not in itself a mournful song. Ever and anon the glad refrain broke forth exultingly and joyously from the monotone of the preceding notes.

Simple as were the words, they found a welcome in the heart of the listener; and unpretending as they seem written, they may find a like responsive echo in the heart of the Irish reader.

"My love he has a soft blue eye
With silken lashes drooping;
My love he has a soft blue eye
With silken lashes drooping.
Its glances are like gentle rays
From heaven's gates down stooping,
As bright as smiles of paradise, as truthful and serene.
And when they shine upon me, I
Am jewelled like a queen.

"My love he has the fondest heart
That maiden e'er took pride in;
My love he has the fondest heart
That maiden e'er took pride in;
'Twas nurtured in that fair green land
His fathers lived and died in;
He holds us dear, his native land and me his dark Aileen;
And just because he loves me, I am happy as a queen.

"My love he wraps me all around
With his true heart's devotion;
My love he wraps me all around
With his true heart's devotion;
With wealth more rare than India's gold, or all the gems of ocean.
He clothes me with his tenderness, the deepest ever seen,
And while I wear that costly robe, I'm richer than a queen.

"Oh! kindly does he soothe me when
My trust is faint and low;
Oh! kindly does he soothe me when
My trust is faint and low;
My joy is his delight and all
My griefs are his, I know.
In the spring-time he is coming, and I count the days between;
For with such a royal king to rule, who would not be a queen?"

William Leyden wiped the tears from his eyes as the girl concluded the song.

"Thank you, dear. God bless you," he said, "for singin' me Mary's song!"

The next moment he saw his friend advancing toward him, and in another they had resumed their journey.

Not much was said on either side as they rode along. At intervals our hero's heart gave a great throb, almost painful in its joy, and once in a while he made some casual remark; but that was all.

As they neared their destination, they noticed an unusual stir and excitement in the vicinity; and as they approached the depot, they saw knots of men scattered at intervals, apparently engaged in discussing some event that had recently transpired.

"There must have been a fight hereabouts, Will," said his friend; "but as every minute will seem an hour to you now, we'll not stop to ask questions. The train has been in half an hour by this time. I wonder if Mary'll know ye with that great beard?"

Leyden had no time to answer him, for at that moment a man advanced from a crowd that blocked up the road in front of them, and, checking the horses, said quickly, "Can't drive any further. Way up yonder blocked with the wreck."

"What wreck?" exclaimed both men with a single voice. "Haven't heard about it?" he replied. "Down-train, this morning, met the up-train, behind time--collision--cars smashed--fifty or sixty killed--as many wounded--terrible accident--no fault anywhere, of course."

But he checked his volubility at sight of the white face that confronted him, and the strong, convulsive grasp that seized his hand. Then in a softened tone he said,

"Hope you an't expecting no one;" and moved back a pace.

There was no answer; for William Leyden had sprung from the wagon, dashing like a lunatic through the group of men on the road-side, and in an instant had cleared the hundred yards between him and the station.

The crowd that stood upon the platform made way for him as he advanced; for they felt instinctively that he had come upon a melancholy quest, and the man whom he had clutched violently as he asked, "Where are the dead?" pointed to the inner room, where lay the mangled corpses of the victims.

Alas! in a few minutes after he had stepped across the threshold his eye fell upon the corpse of a fair-haired little girl, beside whom, one arm half thrown across the child, a woman lay, with a calm, holy expression on her dead face. Just at her crushed feet, which some merciful hand had covered, the body of another child was lying; but the black, wavy hair had been singed, and the white forehead burned and scarred, and the little hands were quite disfigured.

And they had left the dear old land for this! They had borne poverty and separation, and the weariness of waiting; through lingering days of anticipation they had traversed miles upon miles of dangerous ocean to be dashed, on the threshold of a new life, at the portal of realization, into the pitiless, fathomless abyss of eternity! Ah! no; rather to be gathered into the arms of a merciful God--to be folded close to his heart, for ever and ever. Truly his ways are not our ways, and who can understand them?

In a moment more the husband and father had sunk upon his knees beside the lifeless group; but no words came from his lips save "Mauria, Mauria avourneen, acushla machree." Then he would pass his hands caressingly over the ghastly faces, pressing tenderly and often the little childish fingers in his own, and kissing the scarred and disfigured forehead.

He never knew who it was that bore him away from the dreadful spot; what hands prepared his loved ones for the grave, he never knew, and never asked to know. He only remembered waking momentarily from a stupor on that sad night, and seeing the benevolent face of the priest bending over him, and hearing something he was saying about Calvary and the cross, to which he replied half unconsciously, but with a feeling as though there were angels near him, "God's will be done."

TRANSLATED FROM THE HISTORISCH-POLITISCHE BLATTER.

NICOLAUS COPERNICUS.

The material for the biography of this remarkable man is not very abundant. More than a century after his death, Gassendi published a life of Copernicus in Latin; this life, however, was compiled from printed sources only. A German biography, by Westphal, appeared at Constance in 1822. In 1856, an anonymous author in Berlin wrote concerning Copernicus. Besides these we have essays by L. Prowe. Last of all, a life of Copernicus has appeared by Dr. Hipler; of which we purpose in this article to give a compendium.

There are nineteen folio volumes among the episcopal archives of Frauenburg, which contain the remnants of an uncommonly rich correspondence by Dantiscus, Bishop of Ermland, who was for a time the ambassador of Sigismond of Poland at the court of Charles V. Rich as this collection still remains, it is to be regretted that the greater part of it was carried off to Sweden by Gustavus Adolphus and his successors, to be there divided and scattered.

A portion of the fragments was collected and returned in 1833, upon a demand made by the Prussian government; another portion was subsequently discovered by Prowe in the library of the university of Upsal. Through the mediation of the Prussian minister of worship, this collection was put at the disposal of Dr. Hipler. In both collections, that of Frauenburg and that of Upsal, very interesting essays on Copernicus are contained. Of these Dr. Hipler has made good use, and thereby elucidated the history of the celebrated canon. According to Hipler's researches, the life of Copernicus may be summed up as follows:

Nicolaus Copernicus was born on the 19th of February, 1473, at Thorn. His father, "Niklas Copernigk," was a respectable merchant of extensive business relations. His mother Barbara was the daughter of Lucas Watzelrode, who left besides Barbara a son, also named Lucas, afterward Bishop of Ermland and the chief patron of his nephew Copernicus. It is probable, as Hipler shows, that after receiving primary instruction in the excellent schools of his native town, Copernicus completed his third and fourth years' course in the high-school of Kulm. In the autumn of 1491, we find him matriculated at the university of Cracow, which was then famous for the remarkable ability of its professor of mathematics, Adalbert Blar, commonly known as Brudjewski.

It was in this university that the foundations were laid of the subsequent success of Copernicus in astronomy. He commented already on the writings of the great astronomers, Peurbach and Regiomonban; and he afterward declared that he was indebted for the principal part of his learning to the university of Cracow; a fact to be attributed, without doubt, to the superior instructions of Brudjewski.

At the expiration of four years, being then twenty-two, he returned to Prussia, where he obtained from his uncle, the bishop a canonry at Frauenburg in 1495. A statute of the chapter required that every canon who had not received a degree in theology, jurisprudence, or medicine, should before taking rank enter one of the chartered universities, and there during three years apply himself without interruption to one of the three afore-mentioned branches. Copernicus not being a graduate, went to Bologna in 1497, and there gave his attention to law. His choice of this branch of learning was determined by the circumstance of his being a member of the cathedral chapter, which naturally constituted the senate or council of the bishop, who in those days was also a temporal sovereign. We can easily conceive that the youthful canon would make special endeavors to excel in his department, that he might by the eminence of his knowledge be able to cast a veil, as it were, over his great youth. We know nothing further concerning his legal studies, but the skill with which as ambassador of the chapter and administrator of the diocese he defended, both orally and by writing, the privileges of the seignory of Ermland against the aggressions of the German order clearly proves that he had passed his three years in the study of law with great success.

At Bologna, his legal studies did not hinder him from perfecting his mathematical and astronomical acquirements. An efficient aid to him for this purpose was his intercourse with the learned Dominican, Maria of Ferrara. It seems that he first led Copernicus to doubt the truth of the system of Ptolemy. It is possible, also, that through him he became acquainted with Pythagorean and Platonic philosophy, and its theory regarding the motion of the earth. In 1499, Copernicus was still sojourning at Bologna, where he experienced the common misfortune of students, financial embarrassment. The maintenance of his brother Andrew, who had followed him to that city, occasioned him considerable expense; but he was finally rescued from his troubles by his uncle, the bishop. In 1500, we find him at Rome lecturing on mathematics before a large assembly of hearers. He returned to Frauenburg with the resolution, however, to revisit Italy at any cost. It was a cause of annoyance to him, as he himself discloses, that the motion of the great mechanism of the world, devised for our sake by the greatest and most orderly of artificers, had not been more clearly and satisfactorily explained. That he might enter upon this investigation with a greater prospect of success, he determined to learn Greek also; for the acquisition of which, Italy alone at that period afforded good opportunities. He therefore, in 1501, applied to the chapter for another leave of absence for two years. At the same time his brother Andrew, who had become a canon, requested permission to enter upon the three years' course prescribed by a statute of the chapter.

Copernicus pledged himself, in case his brother's request was granted, to apply during his stay in Italy to the study of medicine also, that he might afterward act as physician to the chapter. The chapter had previously numbered among its members a practical physician, whose death had left in their midst a painful void. From this circumstance it is plain that Copernicus had not as yet received any of the higher orders; nor did he subsequently receive any; for the practice of medicine, including, as it necessarily did, dissecting and searing, constituted an irregularity which debarred from holy orders.

Moreover, Mauritius, Bishop of Ermland, wrote in 1531 that his chapter had but one priest among its members. Copernicus had probably received minor orders only; nor does he mention himself that he ever received any others.

In 1501, with the consent of the chapter, he went to Padua, began the study of medicine, made himself master of Greek, had frequent intercourse with Nicolaus Passara, and Nicolaus Vernia, of the Aristotelian school of philosophy, and, after graduating in medicine, returned to Frauenburg in 1505.

At the episcopal residence of Heilberg he served as private physician to his uncle, and took a lively interest in the extensive projects and undertakings of that prelate. One of these projects was the establishment of a high-school at Elbing. It failed, however, in consequence of the narrow prejudices of the people of that town, who were opposed to having many strangers in their midst The failure of this enterprise is much to be regretted; for without a doubt this institution would have afforded a fine field for the intellectual activity of the great astronomer. His life under these circumstances continued to be simply that of a physician and canonist. His monumental work on the revolutions of the heavenly bodies progressed in secret, according as the ailments of members of the chapter and the lawsuits of Ermland left him leisure for such occupation.

In his case, as in the case of so many others, modesty exhibits itself as the characteristic of genius and true greatness. After the death of his uncle, in 1512, Copernicus returned to Frauenburg, where the residence of the canons on the banks of the Haff, affording an unobstructed view, presented great facilities for astronomical observations. Here he continued to enjoy much popularity as a physician. It must, however, be admitted that a prescription and a _regimen sanitatis_ which we have from him show that he possessed but the limited science of those times. Still he enjoyed the confidence of the people. His brother Andrew, who was afflicted with a species of leprosy, engaged much of his attention.

From 1512 to 1523, Fabian Tettinger was Bishop of Ermland. At his decease, Copernicus was chosen by the chapter as administrator. When he had filled this office for nearly one year, Mauritius Ferber became bishop, and administered the diocese from 1523 to 1537. This prelate, who also was an invalid, placed great reliance on the medical skill of the learned canon.

After his death, Copernicus was associated with three others on the list of candidates for the bishopric. But Dantiscus, Bishop of Kulm, the same who has left the valuable manuscripts for the biography of Copernicus, was nominated. The canon lived on terms of the closest intimacy with this prelate.

At the very beginning of his administration, the new bishop was attacked by a dangerous illness; which, however, the skill of Copernicus succeeded so effectually in relieving, that the bishop was enabled to undertake a long journey as a special envoy. Copernicus rendered effective medical assistance to his friend also, and former classmate, Tiedemann Giese, who in 1538 had been appointed Bishop of Kulm. Tiedemann prevailed on him to dedicate his work on the revolutions of the heavenly bodies to Pope Paul III.; and in return, at the instance of Copernicus, composed a work, entitled _Antilogicon_, against the errors of Luther; a circumstance which is of decisive significance as regards the religious views of the great astronomer. They lived together thirty years on terms of the most intimate friendship. Duke Albrecht also summoned him to Königsberg to the sick-bed of one of his jurists, notwithstanding that Königsberg boasted several physicians of eminence.

In 1539, Joachim Rheticus, then twenty-six years of age, who had been for two years associated with Luther and Melancthon, came from Wittenberg to Frauenburg to place himself under the tuition of Copernicus. In a work which has not been preserved, he described the impression made on him by the astronomer. There is, however, another production from the same pen, _Rhetici Narratio Prima_, in which much is said about Copernicus, and which is, consequently, a valuable source of information for his biographer. Rheticus is full of admiration for his instructor. It was he who superintended the publication of the latter's famous work, which appeared at Nuremberg, in 1542. Rheticus repaired to that town expressly for this purpose.

But the last moments of the great scholar were drawing near. After an illness of six months, fortified with the rites of the church, he died on the 24th of May, 1543, yielding up his spirit to Him "in whom is all happiness and every good," as he expresses himself in the preface of his work, the first printed copy of which was placed in his hands on the day of his death.

Such is the miniature biography given by Dr. Hipler of the great reformer of astronomy. We would gladly have learned more about his political career, which Hipler only notices in passing. It is to be hoped that he will some day present us with a full-sized portrait of his great countryman.

Dr. Hipler has, however, succeeded in establishing, on documentary evidence, drawn from archives, the chronology of the life of Copernicus, which rested before on the unsustained authority of Gassendi. He has, likewise, exhibited in a clear light, and with that certainty which results only from the study of reliable sources, the education, teachers, friends, and offices of Copernicus, the origination of his system, and the attitude he assumed in regard to the Reformation.

We have seen that his attitude was decidedly unfriendly. Hence, it naturally occurred to his biographer to show how the reformers were affected toward Copernicus. Protestant writers generally indulge in the strange fancy that all the great minds of the period of the Reformation belong to their ranks; and it is almost a subject of surprise that Copernicus escaped an inscription on the monument raised to Luther, at Worms. No doubt, however, at Luther's feet would have been an uncomfortable place for the man of whom we read in Luther's _Table-Talk_: "People gave ear to an upstart astrologer, who strove to show that the earth revolves, not the heavens, or the firmament, the sun and moon.... But such is now the state of things. Whoever wishes to appear clever, must devise some new system which of all systems is, of course, the very best. This fool wishes to reverse the entire science of astronomy. But sacred Scripture tells us that Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, and not the earth."

Later on, Melancthon wrote in a work entitled, _De Initiis Doctrinæ Physicæ_: "The eyes are witnesses that the heavens revolve in the space of twenty-four hours. But certain men, either from the love of novelty or to make a display of their ingenuity, have concluded that the earth moves, and they maintain that neither the eighth sphere nor the sun revolves. Now, although these clever dreamers find many ingenious things wherewith to recreate their minds, it is, nevertheless, a want of honesty and decency to assert such absurd notions publicly, and the example is pernicious. It is the part of a good mind to accept the truth as revealed by God, and to acquiesce in it."

Both reformers condemned the system of Copernicus, as opposed to the teaching of the sacred Scriptures.

How differently did Rome deal with the doctrine of Copernicus! From an entry made in the _Codex Græcus_, CLI., in the State Library of Munich, it appears that as early as 1533, Clement VII. had the learned Widmanstadt to explain the system to him in the gardens of the Vatican, and that he recompensed Widmanstadt for his services with the gift of the Greek work above mentioned. The entry in the book, setting forth these facts, was made by the hand of the recipient of the gift.

Paul III. accepted the dedication of the work of Copernicus. The sentence pronounced on Galileo by the Congregation of the Index was never ratified by the pope, and was actually afterward revoked. The Catholic Church has always ignored that extravagant notion of inspiration, so justly censured by Lessing, according to which the Bible is to be received as a text-book even of astronomy, geography, and other natural sciences.

The importance of the system of Copernicus cannot be over-rated. It was a bold and successful attempt to explain the mechanism of the world. According to his theory, the world was no longer to be considered the centre of the universe, but merely a wandering planet of an inferior order. Its _rôle_ in the economy of the spheres seemed to be that of the lost sheep which the Good Shepherd came to find. The system of Copernicus contained also a caution against trusting over-much to those appearances which are made known to us by the senses, and against attending to the dead-letter of the Bible merely. Hence it was calculated to exert an influence in other departments of science, as well as in that of astronomy. At first it met with no sympathy. The inhabitants of Elbing, who had refused the university with which Lucas Watzelrode felt disposed to present them, were the first to exhibit a burlesque play directed against Copernicus. The people of Nuremberg had a medal struck, whereon were ironical inscriptions directed against him. Nevertheless, his discovery gradually won the recognition of the intelligent scientific world.

In searching the archives of Ermland, Dr. Hipler has met with two pictures, the one of Luther, the other of Copernicus--both from the pen of Dantiscus, the last spiritual superior of the latter--between which there exists so great a contrast that he has thought it worth while to give them to the public. As has been already observed, Dantiscus was at one time the ambassador of Sigismond of Poland at the court of Charles V. He had travelled over nearly one half of the globe, had been at all the European courts, and also in Asia and Africa. He was a great admirer and patron of literary and scientific accomplishments, and he corresponded with many statesmen and men of learning, among whom were Wicel, Thomas Cranmer of Canterbury, Melancthon, Cochlæus, and others. In 1523, happening to be in the neighborhood of Wittenberg, a desire to see Luther, rather inordinate, as he himself acknowledges, took possession of him. Luther consented to see him. The following is Dantiscus's account of the interview: "We sat down and entered upon a conversation which lasted four hours. I found the man witty, learned, and fluent; but I also noticed that he uttered scarce any thing but sarcasm and invectives against the pope, the emperor, and several other princes. Were I to attempt to write it all down, the day would pass before I would have done. Luther's countenance resembles his books. His eyes are sharp, and sparkle with the weird fire to be noticed in lunatics. His manner of speaking is violent, and full of irony and ridicule. He dresses so as not to be distinguished from a courtier. He seems like a first-rate boon companion. So far as holiness of life is concerned, which some have attributed to him, he differs not at all from the rest of us. Haughtiness and vanity are very apparent in him; in abusing, slandering, and ridiculing he observes no moderation whatever." The comparison between Luther and Copernicus which then follows is indeed very instructive:

"It would be difficult to imagine a more decided contrast than exists between these two men, the dates of whose birth and death differ but by a few short years. For indeed, to say nothing of the striking dissimilarity in talents, disposition, and other particulars, what could be more unlike than the character and destiny of the great revolutions in the sphere of intellect which were originated by the gigantic powers of these men? On the one hand, we behold reason, through an excessively mystic tendency, enslaved to a blind faith--in fact, stifled; and faith itself, as a consequence, deprived of its foundation, lifeless and powerless. On the other hand, we behold reason in a wisely adjusted harmony with faith and science, triumphing over the dead-letter of the Bible, the deceiving testimony of sense, and every other illegitimate influence, and thereby imparting firmness to faith in the suprasensible, and in all real authority.

"On the one hand, we perceive the joyous acclaim with which the Reformation was at first hailed, and the general desertion, at the present day, of the principle of salvation by faith alone, a principle destructive of all church organization. On the other hand, we behold the universal recognition, at the present time, of the system of Copernicus, which, at its first appearance, was assailed with mockery, and branded with the title of revolutionary."

Dr. Hipler has plainly shown that Copernicus belongs to the Catholic ranks. The question now arises, Does he belong also to Germany? Politically, the bishopric of Ermland was in his time under Polish dominion. Nevertheless, to say nothing of the quiet, modest, and genial industry which Copernicus seems to have possessed as a German inheritance, it is certain that not only he, but also his mother, wrote letters in German; and a Greek inscription in a book belonging to his library shows that his name was pronounced Kópernik, with the German accent. Justly, therefore, does his statue occupy a place in the Walhalla of Ludwig I.

THE CHURCH BEYOND THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

The States and territories of the Pacific coast are, in many respects, "a land apart" from the rest of the Union. Separated from the other States by an immense tract of unsettled territory, no inconsiderable part of which must ever continue a desert, as well as by the great barrier of the Rocky Mountains, the western slope of that chain presents to the new-comer an aspect not less different from the shores of the Atlantic than the latter differ from the countries of Europe. The climate, with its semi-tropical division of wet and dry seasons, the evidently volcanic formation of its surface, the huge mountain chains, with all their accessories of valleys, precipices, torrents, and cataracts, which occupy most of its area, and the peculiar vegetation that covers its soil, all wear a foreign appearance to an Eastern visitor; and the people themselves, though forming an integral part of his own nation, are scarcely less strange to his eyes. Men of races hardly known on the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains meet him at every step; and not only do the different European and Asiatic races retain their national customs and characters much more tenaciously than the immigrant population of the Eastern States, but they have very considerably modified the character of their American fellow-settlers. The way in which California, and, to a considerable degree, Oregon, were settled was altogether different from the usual system of colonization which has added so many States to the Union, from Ohio to Nebraska, and from Mississippi and Texas to Minnesota. The journey to the Pacific coast before the completion of the Pacific Railroad involved as complete a separation from home associations, and as great a change from early habits, to an American, as does the voyage across the Atlantic to the European immigrant; and at its end he found himself in a country entirely different, both physically and socially, from all that he had been previously accustomed to. The influence of the old Spanish settlements, in which for years was to be found the only established society of the country, the mixture of men of all the European races on a footing of perfect equality in the pursuit of wealth, and the peculiarly adventurous and uncertain nature of mining life, which long formed the chief employment of the whole population, all tended to rub off the new-comers' national peculiarities and prejudices; and the result has been the growth of a well-marked national character among the few hundred thousand inhabitants of the Pacific coast.

Amid this cosmopolitan population the Catholic Church has taken firm root, and in no other part of the country does she reckon as large a proportion of the people within her fold, or exercise more influence over the public mind. She had preceded the march of American enterprise and the rush of gold-seekers on the shores of the Pacific; and when the pioneers of the new population pushed their way across the continent and descended the slope of the Sierra Nevada, they found her missions already established in California. While the American Republic was yet a thing of the future, and the west of the Alleghanies was still an almost untrodden wilderness, Catholic priests had already begun to gather into the fold of Peter the tribes beyond the Rocky Mountains. In the early half of the eighteenth century, the Jesuit Reductions of Lower California were only less famous than those of Paraguay; and to the zeal of the Franciscans who succeeded the Jesuits in 1767, Upper California owes the introduction of Christianity and civilization. In 1769, or a few months more than one hundred years ago, Father Junipero Lerra, with a company of his Franciscan brethren and a few Mexican settlers, founded the mission of San Diego, the first settlement made by civilized men within what is now the State of California. Before that year, indeed, although the ports of Monterey and San Diego were well known to the Spanish navigators, no European had ever penetrated into the interior of California, and even the existence of the noble bay of San Francisco was unknown to the civilized world until it was discovered and named by the humble friars. The salvation of souls, the hope of making known to the Indians the doctrines of Catholicity, were the motives which inspired the Franciscans to undertake a task which had long been deemed impracticable by the Spanish court in spite of its anxiety to extend its dominions to the north of Mexico. To raise up the despised aborigines to the dignity of Christian men, to show them the road to eternal happiness in another life, and, as a means to that end, to promote their well-being in this world, such were the objects for whose attainment the devoted missionaries separated themselves from their native land and the society of civilized men, to spend their lives among savages, who often rewarded their devotion only by shedding their blood. The Indians of California are in every respect a much inferior race to the tribes on the east of the Rocky Mountains. Many of them went wholly naked, they had no towns or villages, and although the country abounded in game, they were indifferent hunters, and depended mainly for subsistence on wild berries, roots, and grasshoppers. In tribal organization they were little if at all superior to the Australian savages, and of religious worship or morality they had scarcely an idea. Many of the southern tribes, especially, were fierce and warlike, and belonged to a kindred race to the Apaches, who still set at defiance all the attempts of the United States government to dislodge them from Arizona. Such were the men from whom the Franciscans undertook to form a Christian community; and of their success in so doing, the history of California for over sixty years is an irrefragable witness.

In spite of occasional outbreaks of hostility on the part of the Indians, and the destruction by them of a mission, the whole of the region between the coast range and the ocean, as far north as the Bay of San Francisco, was studded with such establishments before the close of the century. Fifteen thousand converted Indians enjoyed under the mild sway of the Franciscans a degree of prosperity almost unparalleled in the history of their race. The missions, which were eighteen in number, differed in size and importance, but were all conducted on the same general plan. The church and the community buildings, including the residence of the fathers, the store-houses and workshops, formed the centre of a village of Indian huts, the inhabitants of which were daily summoned by the church bells to mass, as a prelude to their labors, and again in the evening called back to rest by the notes of the Angelus. Religious instruction was given to all on Sundays and holidays, and to the newly converted and the children also. At other times during the day, the men worked at agricultural labor, or looked after the cattle belonging to the mission, and the unmarried women were employed at spinning, or some other labor suited to their strength, in a building specially provided for the purpose. The fathers, two or more of whom resided in each Reduction, were the rulers, the judges, the instructors, and the directors of work of their neophytes, who held all property in common. The white population was few in number, consisting mainly of small garrisons at different posts, intended to hold the wild Indians in awe, and some families of settlers who were chiefly engaged in stock-raising. The military commandant, who resided at Monterey, might be regarded as the governor of the country; but the fathers and their converts were entirely exempt from his jurisdiction, and were independent of all authority subordinate to the Spanish crown. The mission farms usually sufficed for the support of their inhabitants, but the external expenses of the communities were defrayed by a subsidy from the Spanish government and the "pious fund" of Spain, an association very similar to the Society for the Propagation of the Faith.

Such was the condition of California down to the end of the Spanish rule; and during the whole of that period, and for several years afterward, the missions continued to grow in numbers and prosperity. The payments of the government subsidy and the remittances from the pious fund became indeed very uncertain and irregular during the struggle of Mexico for independence; but the industrial condition of the missions was then such that they stood no longer in need of external aid, and indeed they were able to contribute largely to the support of the administration of the territory. The establishment of the Mexican Republic made for some years little change in the condition of the missions of California, and the services rendered by the fathers to civilization were more than once acknowledged by the Mexican Congress. But the mission property was too tempting a bait to the needy revolutionists who disputed for supreme power in that ill-starred country. In 1833, a decree of Congress deprived the Franciscans of all authority over the missions, and placed their property in the hands of lay administrators. The Indians were to receive certain portions of land, and some stock individually, and the rest was to be applied to the use of the state. The results were such as might be expected from the history of similar confiscation in foreign lands. The fruits of sixty years' patient toil were wasted during a few years of riotous plundering, in the name of state administration; the cattle belonging to the missions were stolen or killed; the churches and public works allowed to fall into ruin; the cultivation of the soil neglected; and the unfortunate Indians, deprived of their protectors, and handed over to the tender mercies of "liberal" officials, wandered away in thousands from their abodes, and either perished or relapsed into barbarism. The population of the missions in nine years dwindled from upward of thirty to little over four thousand Indians; and when their property was sold at auction in 1845, its value had fallen from several millions to a mere nothing. The native Spanish Californians, who clearly saw the fatal results of the overthrow of the missions to the prosperity of the country, made several attempts to restore them to their former condition, but in vain. The constant revolutions of which Mexico was the theatre effectually prevented such a restoration, and the fate of the Indians was sealed by the political changes which shortly afterward threw the country into the hands of another race and another government. Under the American _régime_ they have dwindled to less than one tenth of their former numbers, and, with the exception of a certain number of the converts of the Franciscans, who have adopted partially the usages of civilized life, and become amalgamated with the Spanish population, the whole race seems doomed to disappear from the land.

Serious, however, as was the blow which the church received from the overthrow of the Franciscan missions, she did not abandon her hold upon California. From the date of Father Lerra's arrival in the country, a small stream of Spanish or Mexican immigration had been flowing into it, and building up its "pueblos" near, but altogether distinct from, the mission establishments. The separation of the races was one of the points jealously attended to by the Franciscans, as essential to the success of their civilizing efforts among the Indians; and the Indian churches and Indian cemeteries, which still remain in several of the missions, at a short distance from the Spanish churches and Spanish burying-grounds, show how far this policy was carried out. The experience of centuries of mission work had taught the Franciscans that free intercourse between a civilized and an uncivilized race invariably leads to the demoralization of both, and much of their success must be ascribed to the care with which they kept their neophytes apart from the white settlements. The latter, at the time of the secularization, contained a population of some five or six thousand, and, including the half-civilized Indians who still remained around the missions, the whole Catholic population probably amounted to fifteen thousand at the epoch of the American conquest. For the benefit of this population, after the overthrow of the missions, the holy see established in 1840 the diocese of California, including the peninsula of Lower California within its boundaries.

Had Upper California continued a portion of the Mexican republic, there would have probably been little difference between its ecclesiastical history and that of Sonora or Chihuahua; but the American conquest, and still more the subsequent discovery of gold in the Sacramento River, entirely changed the face of affairs. The crowd of immigrants that flocked into the country was so great as to reduce the original population to comparative insignificance in a few months. A single year sufficed to quadruple the number of inhabitants, and two to increase it tenfold. The new population was indeed a strange one. American it was in its dominant political elements, but fully one half of it was made up of natives of other countries than the United States. Frenchmen, Spaniards, Italians, Germans, Scandinavians, Irish, English, Mexicans, South Americans, Indians, Kanakas, and Chinese all poured by thousands into the New Eldorado, which might with equal justice be styled the modern Babel. Seldom has so radical a change taken place in the population of a country in so short a time, and the church, if she did not wish to lose the territory she had conquered with so much toil, had to commence her mission work over again, and under entirely different circumstances from those under which the Franciscans had begun the work. A very large number of the new-comers were Catholics; but in the excitement of gold-seeking, the hold of religion on their minds had been seriously loosened, and a reckless disregard of all social and moral restraint pervaded the whole population. To restore the sway of religion over minds that had forgotten it, to provide priests, churches, schools, and all the various institutions of Catholic charity, for thousands of her own children, and to make known her doctrines to a still larger number of those who did not belong to her fold, such was the task before the church in California, and to its accomplishment she addressed herself almost as soon as the first immigrants landed in San Francisco.

A frame church, the first in California, was erected in that city for the use of the Catholic miners in 1849, and, as the different "camps" sprang up through the State, other churches were rapidly built up in the more important centres of population. The following year, a new diocese was formed of the territory lately acquired by the United States, and its government intrusted to the Right Reverend Bishop (now Archbishop) Allemany, who was called to that office from his Dominican convent in Kentucky. The new bishop lost no time in hastening to his post, and began his arduous task with rare wisdom and energy. The ranks of the secular clergy were largely recruited from various countries; the Jesuits, who had long been engaged in evangelizing the Indians of Oregon, were installed in the old mission of Santa Clara; a branch of the Sisters of Notre Dame was established in the neighboring town of San José; and the Sisters of Charity took charge of an orphan asylum and hospital in San Francisco.

All this had been done before the close of 1853, or in the height of the excitement of the early colonization, an excitement such as it is hard for the sober dwellers of more settled communities to form any idea of. The population of California resembled an ill-disciplined army rather than a well-ordered community; the immense majority of its members had neither families, fixed abodes, nor permanent occupations, and were ready to rush anywhere at the slightest rumor of rich "diggings." The mines were the great centre of attraction to all, and, as the old ones were worked out or new ones discovered, the entire population moved from one part of the country to another. Towns were built up only to be abandoned in a few months, and even San Francisco itself, in spite of its unrivalled commercial position, more than once was nearly deserted by its inhabitants. Fortunes were made or lost in a few hours, not merely by a few bold speculators, but by every class of the people; and the wild excitements which now and then cause such commotion in Wall street, were constantly paralleled in every mining camp of California. The sudden acquisition of fortune was the hope of every man; and while men were thus uncertain about what position they might occupy on the morrow, few cared to settle down to the routine of domestic life. Except among the Spanish Californians, scarcely any families were to be found in the country, and the standard of morality was such as might be expected under the circumstances. Laws there were, indeed, but the authorities were utterly unable to enforce them, and bullies and duellists settled their quarrels with arms, even on the streets of San Francisco, unchecked by police interference. Murderers and robbers promenaded the towns unmolested, and the idea of official honesty, or of seeking redress for wrongs at the hands of the law, was deemed too absurd to be entertained by a sensible man. Vigilance committees, the last refuge of society seeking to save itself from destruction, offered almost the only protection to persons and property that could be had in many districts. Bands of desperadoes, such as the "hounds" in San Francisco, and Joaquin's gang in the southern counties, openly set the law at defiance, and, in the fever of gold-seeking that pervaded the whole community, no force could be obtained to make it respected.

Such was the population of California when Bishop Allemany commenced his episcopal career; and the prospect of making religion flourish on such a soil was indeed such as might well dismay a fainter heart. Nevertheless he addressed himself to the task, and his toils were not unrewarded. Gradually but decidedly, the moral character of California began to improve, and the more glaring offences against public decency to grow rare. The rush of immigrants slackened in 1852, and something like settled society began to form among the older residents. Of the agents which helped to bring order out of the social chaos of "'49," none was more powerful than the influence of the Catholic Church. Most of the Protestant population had thrown off all allegiance to any sect, and this fact, while it contributed to make them to a great extent regardless of the rules of morality, had at least the good effect of banishing anti-Catholic prejudices from their minds. The church and her institutions were regarded with much respect by all classes in California, even at the time when the Know-Nothing movement was exciting such a storm of fanaticism in the Eastern States. Many Americans had married Catholic wives, or been long settled among the Spanish Californians; the history of the Franciscan missionaries was well known to all, and their devotedness appreciated by Catholics and Protestants alike. All these causes combined to give Catholicity considerable importance in the public opinion, and lent immense strength to her efforts in behalf of morality and religion. Catholic charities stood high in the public favor; the public hospital of San Francisco, after an experience of official management which swept away no small portion of the city property, was intrusted to the charge of the Sisters of Charity; Catholic schools for a long time shared in the public school funds; and Catholic asylums and orphanages were liberally aided by the public. Bishop Allemany was not slow in taking advantage of this favorable state of public feeling to provide his diocese with Catholic institutions. New churches were erected all over the State; schools established wherever it was practicable; and so great progress made generally that, in less than three years after his arrival in San Francisco, it became necessary to divide his diocese. The southern counties of the State, comprising most of the Spanish Californians among its inhabitants, were formed into the diocese of Monterey and Los Angeles in 1853. At the same time San Francisco was raised to the archiepiscopal rank. The membership of the Protestant churches of all denominations in the State was then almost nominal, scarcely amounting to two per cent of the population, while the Catholics formed at least thirty per cent. The public, as a general rule, regarded the Catholic Church as _the_ church, and this feeling to a great extent still prevails.

For some years after the erection of the diocese of Monterey, there was little increase in the population of California; indeed, owing to the falling off in the yield of the precious metals, and the discovery of new mines in the neighboring territories, there was at times a considerable decrease in its numbers; nevertheless, the number of Catholics continued to increase, owing partly to the large proportion of Irish among the later immigrants, and partly to the natural growth of the Catholic population, which was more settled than the rest of the community. A further division of the archdiocese of San Francisco was found necessary in 1861. The northern portion of the State, with the adjoining territories of Nevada and Utah, was formed into the Vicariate of Marysville, which was subsequently raised to the rank of a bishopric, with its see at Grass Valley.

Since that period no changes have been made in the episcopal divisions of California; but the second order of the clergy, the Catholic population, Catholic institutions, and Catholic churches have continued to grow in numbers. At present, the proportion of priests to the whole population is nearly three times greater in California than the average for the whole of the Union, being about one priest to every three thousand five hundred inhabitants; while throughout the United States the average does not exceed one to ten thousand. Nevertheless, owing to the extent of the country over which the population is scattered, and the very large proportion of Catholics in it, there is still a great want of more priests and churches, and it will doubtless be some years before it can be adequately supplied.