Volume 5 — Original. Father Ignatius of St. Paul, [Footnote 42] Hon. and Rev. George Spencer.

Fresh from the perusal of this book, we would gladly convey to others the agreeable impression it has left on our imagination. It is an interesting and impartial biography, full of pleasant incidents, simply narrated; with the view of throwing light upon the character of F. Ignatius, and not upon the personal views of his biographer. But we would rather dwell upon its value as the life of a saintly man, whose circumstances were so nearly akin to those of common Christians that no one can assert the impossibility of imitating his example. We have observed, in reading the lives of the saints, that one must himself be a saint to appreciate them aright. Generally severed from us (to our shame be it spoken) by time, race, and national habits, we are startled by strange details, and while wondering over individual idiosyncrasies we lose sight of the heroic purity of intention that hallowed almost every action of their mature lives.

In F. Ignatius we have a warm-hearted, frank, humorous Englishman, whose memory is fresh in the hearts of thousands now living. Though belonging to one of the noblest families in England, his training was simple, and his position as rector in a country parish was not so dazzling as to set him above the sympathies of those who read his life. His natural virtues were weighed down by a love of approbation that has ruined many a soul before now. He was accomplished, but not learned. Keen, sympathetic, and perceptive, but neither a philosopher nor a logician. In short, he was not set apart from the rest of humanity by any natural endowment; and yet one lays down his biography with a sense of having made acquaintance with one of the remarkable men of this century. Why? We cannot but suppose that it was because he placed every faculty under the guidance of God, who worked wonders with capacities by no means rare; and from an unready utterance brought forth fruits of conversion that probably surprised no one so much as the preacher himself.

Hon. George Spencer was the youngest child of John George, Earl Spencer, and Lavinin, daughter of Sir Charles Bingham, afterward Earl of Lucan.

Earl Spencer was successively member of parliament, one of the lords of the treasury, and first lord of the admiralty, succeeding Lord Chatham in the last-named office in the year 1794. It was while Earl Spencer was lord of the admiralty, in London, December 21, 1799, that the subject of our narrative first saw the light, or what goes by the name of light, during a December in London.

His first recollections, oddly enough, are of his six-year-old birthday, when his sister's governess, a Swiss lady, took him aside as for serious conversation, and told him of the existence of God, and some other truths of religion. Possibly he had heard these things before, but the room at Althorp where the scene took place, and the tender solicitude of the lady's manner, were ever after imprinted on his memory as if connected with a momentous occasion.

At nine years old, with his favorite brother, Frederick, be was carried in a grand equipage to Eton, and placed under the charge of a private tutor, the Rev. Richard Godley, who lived at the "Wharf," about half a mile from the college buildings. Mr. Godley's rule was a severe but blessed one, and young Spencer owed four years of marvellous innocence to its restrictions. "Egyptian bondage" he thought it, poor little fellow, that several times a day, summer and winter, be must run across the playgrounds to report himself to the tutor. He lived between two fires: the wrath of elder boys who called upon him to fag for them as he rushed through the cricket-ground, and the terror of Mr. Godley's awful countenance if he and Frederick arrived a few minutes late. "As might be expected," he says, in his autobiography, "the more we were required to observe rules and customs different from others, the more did a certain class of big bullies in the school seem to count it their especial business to watch over us, as though they might be our evil geniuses. A certain set of faces, consequently, I looked upon with a kind of mysterious dread, and I was under a constant sense of being as though in an enemy's country, obliged to guard against dangers on all sides. Shrinking and skulking became my occupation beyond the ordinary lot of little schoolboys, and my natural disposition to be cowardly and spiritless was perhaps increased. I say perhaps, for other circumstances might have made me worse; for what I was in the eyes of the masters of public opinion in the school I really was—a chicken-hearted creature, what in Eton language is called a sawney. It may be that had I been from the first in free intercourse among the boys, instead of being a good innocent one I might have been, what I suppose must be reckoned one of the worst varieties of public school characters, a mean, dishonorable one."

The experiment of close contact with other boys was too soon to be tried. Mr. Godley's influence appeared to be dangerously evangelical. "The Pilgrim's Progress" and "Alleine's Alarm" were recommended to George by his tutor's sisters, and did not find favor at Althorp in the holidays. We next hear of him at the Rev. ——'s, performing most of the duties of a footman to one or two big boys, and enduring initiation in the iniquities of public school-life. Everyone knows how valuable a prize to youthful tyrants is a child in whom innocence and moral cowardice are combined; and such a prize was George Spencer, blushing at immodest words, and ignorant of the nice distinction between thieving and orchard robbing that exists in the minds of school-boys only. Evening after evening the little boys' rooms were invaded, their occupations broken up, and persecution carried on against one or other of their set. For a little while Spencer used to find a little time of peace when, after such a turmoil, be got into bed, said his prayers, and cried himself to sleep. But the atmosphere was anti-religious, and in the course of ten days be had given up all attempt to pray. A moment of bitter self reproach awaited him. One day he was present when one of the rudest of his tormentors was dressing himself. "To my surprise," he says, "he turned to me, and with his usual civility said some such words as 'Now hold your jaw,' and then, down on his knees near the bed, and his face between his hands, said his prayers. I then saw for a moment to what I had fallen, when even this fellow had more religion than unhappy I had retained, but I had no grain of strength now left to rise. ..."

"When I had ceased attempting to maintain my pious feelings, the best consolation I had was in the company of a few boys of a spirit congenial to what mine was now become. All the time that I remained at Eton I never learnt to take pleasure in the manly, active games for which it is so famous. It is not that I was without some natural talent for such things. I have since had my time of most ardent attachment to cricket, to tennis, shooting, hunting, and all active exercises: but my spirit was bent down at Eton; and among the boys who led the way in all manly pursuits, I was always shy and miserable, which was partly a cause and partly an effect of my being looked down upon by them. My pleasure there was in being with a few boys like myself, without spirit for these things, retired apart from the sight of others, amusing ourselves with making arbors and catching little fishes in the streams; and many were the hours I wasted in such childish things when I was grown far too old for them.

"Oh! the happiness of a Catholic child, whose inmost soul is known to one whom God has charged with his salvation. Supposing I had been a Catholic child in such a situation—if such a supposition be possible—the pious feelings with which God inspired me would have been under the guidance of a tender spiritual father, who would have supplied exactly what I needed, when about to fall under the sense of unassisted weakness which I have described. He would have taught me to be innocent and firm in the midst of my trials, which would then have tended to exalt instead of oppressing my character. I would have kept my character not only clear in the sight of God, but honorable among my fellows, who soon would have given up their persecution when they found me steadfast; and I might have brought with me in the path of peace and justice many whom I followed in the dark ways of sin. But it is in vain to calculate on what I might have been had I been then a Catholic. God be praised, my losses I may yet recover, and perhaps even reap advantages from them."

So much for the sad and puny childhood of one who in after-life freed himself absolutely from the bondage of public opinion. He who can truly say, "Tu solus Domine!" has reached the sublimest height of dignity and freedom.

If George Spencer's early years gave small promise of moral heroism, still less would his youth lead one to look for great virtues in him. His autobiography tells us that he yielded to the degrading temptations of student life at Cambridge, not from inclination so much as because other men set him the example. Two years of misery he endured, too, from the fear that a courteous and merited apology made by him to a gentleman whom he had unwittingly offended might have laid him open to the charge of cowardice.

As a scholar he ranked high, and held, at the same time, a good place among athletes; thus showing advance in mind and body, while his soul was still cramped by the fear of ridicule.

Then comes the continental tour, made after a grand and uninteresting fashion; courier, servants, maids, and family physician. George's journal is full of the sneers with which a well-bred English tourist is wont to exorcise the demon of popery. He is much amused at the street-preaching of a passionist father in Terracina; little dreaming that one day he himself would perform the duties of a svegliarino, and with only partial success too.

One admires constantly the good sense and high tone of Lord and Lady Spencer. Invaluable was the example they gave their children; wonderful to an American reader, the sway they exercised over their grown-up sons.

Soon after returning to England, Mr. Spencer took orders and entered upon the life of a country clergyman. By fulfilling in person the arduous duties which are too often left to a curate, he gave evidence of true nobility of character; but so deficient in judgment and in deference to superiors was his general conduct, that the world wondered more at his lack of common sense than at his courage. Viewed from the present time, the germs of sanctity are plainly visible in these vague struggles after perfection. He practised great mortifications, concealing them as far as was possible. He inveighed against tepidity wherever shown with an independence as valiant as it was unpleasant to the objects of his condemnation. No very comfortable member of a diocese was the Hon. Mr. Spencer in those days. Bishop Bloomfield, his former tutor, bore his vagaries with fatherly patience, and, looking through the mist of Methodism that hung about his views, acutely detected the true difficulty, and recommended as a cure The Poor Man's Preservative against Popery, by Blanco White. On one occasion when Dr. Bloomfield read prayers in his own church, St. Botolph's, Bishopsgate, Mr. Spencer, who was invited to preach, took the occasion to explain these evangelical views of religion, intimating that the congregation were not in the habit of hearing the gospel fully and faithfully expounded. The bishop was wounded, but he only said: "George, how could you preach such a sermon as that? In future I must look over your sermon before you go into the pulpit."

Here is a scrap from his journal about the same time, 1824, or thereabout: "The Bishop of Bristol preached in the morning for the schools a sermon worthy of Plato rather than St. Paul." And another day: "Went with all speed to Craven chapel, where I heard Irving, the Scotch minister, preach nearly two hours. I was greatly delighted with his eloquence and stout Christian doctrine, though his manner is most blamably extravagant." And again: "I went with Mr. A—— and Miss B—— to hear Mrs. Fry perform, and was delighted to hear her expounding to the prisoners in Newgate."

Among evangelical believers, Mr. Spencer found an energy and a missionary spirit which harmonized with his own zealous nature. In theological matters he was dissatisfied whithersoever he turned. In 1822, soon after being made deacon, his early tendencies to high church principles had received a blow from which they never recovered. He shall tell the circumstances in his own simple words.

"I was at the time living at Althorp, my Father's principal residence in the country, serving as a curate to the parish to which it was attached, though the park itself is extraparochial. Among the visitors who resorted there was one of the most distinguished scholars of the day, to whom, as to many more of the Anglican Church, I owe a debt of gratitude for the interest which he took in me, and for the help I actually received from him in the course of inquiry, which has happily terminated in the haven of the true church. I should like to make a grateful and honorable mention of his name, but as this has been found fault with I forbear, [Footnote 43] I was one day explaining to him with earnestness the line of argument which I was pursuing with dissenters, and my hopes from it; I suppose I expected encouragement, such as I had received from many others. But he simply and candidly said: 'These would be very convenient doctrines if we could make use of them, but they are available only for Roman Catholics; they will not serve us.' I saw in a moment the truth of his remark, and his character and position gave it additional weight. I did not answer him; but as a soldier who has received what he feels to be a mortal wound will suddenly stand still, and then quietly retire out of the mélée, and seek a quiet spot to die in, so I went away with my high churchism mortally wounded in the very prime of its vigor and youth, to die forever to the character of an Anglican high churchman. Why did not this open my eyes, you will say, to the truth of Catholicity? I answer, simply because my early prejudices were too strong. The unanswerable remark of my friend was like a reductio ad absurdum of all high church ideas. If they were true, the Catholic would be so; which is absurd, as I remember Euclid would say, 'Therefore,' etc. The grand support of the high church system, church authority, having been thus overthrown, it was an easy though gradual work to get out of my mind all its minor details and accomplishments, one after another; such as regard for holy places, for holy days, for consecrated persons, for ecclesiastical writers; finally, almost all definite dogmatic notions. It would seem that all was slipping away, when, coming to the conviction of the truth of Catholicity, some years after, it was with extraordinary delight I found myself picking up again the shattered dispersed pieces of the beautiful fabric, and placing them now in better order on the right foundation, solid and firm, no longer exposed to such a catastrophe as had upset my card-castle of Anglican churchhmanship."

The divided state of his own parish occupied Mr. Spencer's thoughts, and he devoted himself to winning dissenters into the fold by other means than high church arguments. He tried to stretch open the gates of the establishment so as to admit all classes of religionists to her communion. Another system seemed more likely to prove efficacious, namely, the beautiful example he set of devotion in his parish; making great sacrifices for the poor, and qualifying himself to perform the offices of a physician to the body as well as to the soul.

But new difficulties were in store for him in matters of faith. The Athanasian creed begins to disturb him, not because of its doctrines, but because of the condemnatory clauses at the beginning and end. He is now rector of Brington, with excellent prospects of advancement. Is he not bound to resign his position, since he cannot agree in full with the Establishment? "No," says the Bishop of Peterborough; "there is a difference between an open attack upon the liturgy and thirty-nine articles, and the entertaining of private doubts to be confided to a friend with the hope of having them removed. It would have been a sufficient cause for choosing another profession than that of the ministry; but, being already in holy orders, it is not a sufficient reason for resignation." "No," said Dr. Blomfield; "it is one thing to doubt the truth of a doctrine, and another to believe it false. Besides, the Protestant Church does not pretend to pronounce a sentence of condemnation like the Church of Rome. These clauses are merely intended to assert the truth of certain dogmas very emphatically."

That this line of argument was not convincing it is easy to see. The result was that Mr. Spencer informed his superiors that he should give up reading the Athanasian creed in his church. Then feeling certain that he was no longer in danger of promotion, he threw himself with renewed ardor into the work of reconciling all sects to each other.

His family as a last resource bethought them of marrying him to a lady who had charmed him in his college days. No; his conviction was that he ought not to marry. One pities the disappointment of Lord and Lady Spencer. This son, whom they had placed in an admirable position in life, who had every attraction of manner and person that could insure worldly success, seemed determined to thwart their efforts for his happiness, and to disappoint parental ambition. But they little imagined how far his reckless unworldliness would finally carry him.

On the 23d of November, 1827, when he returned from his parochial visitation, he found a letter purporting to come from a gentlemen in Lille, who was "grievously troubled about the arguments for popery." Ever desirous to strengthen the wavering, Rev. Mr. Spencer entered into a long correspondence, which resulted in a promise on his own part to follow his correspondent into the Catholic Church if he would acknowledge his true name and pause awhile before joining the Catholics. He tells us:

"I heard no more of him till after my conversion and arrival at Rome, when I discovered that my correspondent was a lady, who had herself been converted a short time before she wrote to me. I never heard her name before (Miss Dolling), nor am I aware that she had ever seen me; but God moved her to desire and pray for my salvation, which she also undertook to bring about in the way I have related. I cannot say that I entirely approve of the stratagem to which she had recourse, but her motive was good, and God gave success to her attempt, for it was this that first directed my attention particularly to inquire about the Catholic religion, though she lived not to know the accomplishment of her wishes and prayers. She died at Paris, a year before my conversion, when about to take the veil as a nun of the Sacred Heart; and I trust I have in her an intercessor in heaven, as she prayed for me so fervently on earth."

Not being restrained, as was Mr. Spencer, by a sense of personal gratitude, we may be allowed to express entire disapproval of the stratagem of the "Maid of Lille." Like most other plots, it was quite unnecessary. Rev. Mr. Spencer would have listened with profound attention to any person who claimed to possess the truth, and it was offering him an indignity to trick him into attention, as foolish mothers decoy their children to the dentist's.

None the less, however, were Miss Dolling's arguments strong and convincing: "That Scripture without tradition is quite insufficient for salvation. We cannot know anything about the Scriptures themselves, their composition, inspiration, interpretation, without tradition. Besides, the New Testament was not the text-book of the apostles. It is a collection of some things they were inspired to write for the edification of the first Christians and others who had not seen our Lord; and the epistles are a number of letters from inspired men bound up together in one volume. The body of doctrine, with its bearings, symmetry, extent, and obligation, was delivered orally by the apostles, and the epistles must be consonant to that system as well as explanatory of portions of it. Only by the unbroken succession of pastors from the apostles to the present time can we have any safeguard as to what we shall believe, and how we are to believe. The apostles and their successors were 'to teach all nations,' and Christ promised them, and them alone, the unerring guide of the Holy Spirit." She then assigns to tradition the office of bearing testimony to what the doctrines of the church have been and are at present. The definitions of councils are simple declarations that such and such is the belief then, and from the beginning of the Catholic Church. They state what is, not invent what is to be. Now, history or written tradition, as contradistinguished from Scripture, testifies to every simple tenet of the Catholic Church—her creeds, liturgy, sacraments, jurisdiction. It testifies unerringly, too, even from the objections of heretics, to the fact that this church has been always believed divine in her origin, divine in her teaching, infallible and unerring in her solemn pronouncements. This is fact, and who can gainsay it?

Toward the end of the year 1829, Rev. Mr. Spencer made the acquaintance of Mr. Ambrose Lisle Phillips, who was then seventeen years old. A few weeks later he visited this new friend at Garendon Park, Loughbro', a visit the result of which is best given in his own words:

"On Sunday, Jan. 24, 1830, I preached in my church, and in the evening took leave of my family for the week, intending to return on the Saturday following to my ordinary duties at home. But our Lord ordered better for me. During the week I spent on this visit, I passed many hours daily in conversation with Phillips, and was satisfied beyond all my expectations with the answers he gave to the different questions I proposed about the principal tenets and practices of the Catholics. During the week we were in company with several other Protestants, and among them some distinguished clergymen of the Church of England, who occasionally joined in our discussions. I was struck with observing how the advantage always appeared on his side in the arguments which took place between them, notwithstanding their superior age and experience; and I saw how weak was the cause in behalf of which I had hitherto been engaged; I felt ashamed of arguing any longer against what I began to see clearly could not be fairly disproved. I now openly declared myself completely shaken, and, though I determined to take no decided step until I was entirely convinced, I determined to give myself no rest till I was satisfied, and had little doubt now of what the result would be. But yet I thought not how soon God would make the truth clear to me. I was to return home, as I have said, on Saturday. Phillips agreed to accompany me on the day previous to Leicester, where we might have further conversation with Father Caestryck, the Catholic missionary established in that place. I imagined that I might take some weeks longer for consideration, but Mr. Caestryck's conversation that afternoon overcame all my opposition. He explained to me, and made me see, that the way to come at the knowledge of the true religion is not to contend, as men are disposed to do, about each individual point, but to submit implicitly to the authority of Christ, and of those to whom he has committed the charge of his flock. He set before me the undeniable but wonderful fact of the agreement of the Catholic Church all over the world, in one faith, under one head; he showed me the assertions of Protestants that the Catholic Church had altered her doctrines were not supported by evidence; he pointed out the wonderful, unbroken chain of the Roman pontiffs; he observed to me how in all ages the church, under their guidance, had exercised an authority, indisputed by her children, of cutting off from her communion all who opposed her faith and disobeyed her discipline. I saw that her assumption of this power was consistent with Christ's commission to his apostles to teach all men to the end of the world; and his declaration that those who would not hear the pastors of his church rejected him. What right, then, thought I, had Luther and his companions to set themselves against the united voice of the church? I saw that he rebelled against the authority of God when he set himself up as an independent guide. He was bound to obey the Catholic Church—how then should I not be equally bound to return to it? And need I fear that I should be led into error by trusting to those guides to whom Christ himself thus directed me? No! I thought this impossible. Full of these impressions, I left Mr. Caestryck's house to go to my inn, whence I was to to return home next morning. Phillips accompanied me, and took this last occasion to impress on me the awful importance of the decision which I was called upon to make. At length I answered:

"'I am overcome. There is no doubt of the truth. One more Sunday I will preach to my congregation, and then put myself into Mr. Foley's hands, and conclude this business.'

"It may be thought with what joyful ardor he embraced this declaration, and warned me to declare my sentiments faithfully in these my last discourses. The next minute led me to this reflection: Have I any right to stand in that pulpit, being once convinced that the church is heretical to which it belongs? Am I safe in exposing myself to the danger which may attend one day's travelling while I turn my back on the church of God, which now calls upon me to unite myself to her forever? I said to Phillips, 'If this step is right for me to take next week, it is my duty to take it now. My resolution is made; to-morrow I will be received into the church.' We lost no time in despatching a messenger to my father, to inform him of this unexpected event. As I was forming my last resolution, the thought of him came across me; will it not be said that I endanger his very life by so sudden and severe a shock? The words of our Lord rose before me and answered all my doubts: 'He that hateth not father and mother, and brothers and sisters, and houses and lands, and his own life too, cannot be my disciple.' To the Lord, then, I trusted for the support and comfort of my dear father under the trial which, in obedience to his call, I was about to inflict upon him. I had no further anxiety to disturb me. God alone knows the peace and joy with which I laid me down that night to rest. The next day, at nine o'clock, the church received me for her child."

Far from finding himself harshly received by his family after his conversion, Mr. Spencer's domestic relations remained quite undisturbed. It was in the early days of conversions in England; Tractarianism was in its very infancy, and Earl Spencer had always shown kindness to Catholics, as to a vanquished enemy.

When his son returned from Rome as a priest in 1832 and took possession of his parish at West Bromwich, one of the poorest in the diocese, Lord Spencer made ample provision for his support. In 1834 this excellent nobleman died, and with the legacy left by him to Father Spencer, several churches and missions were established. It was a theory of Father Spencer's that the evangelical counsels could be practiced as well in the world as in a religious life. In order to carry out this experiment he placed all his possessions at the command of Right Rev. Dr. Walsh, his bishop, who appointed an économe to supply his necessities and those of his church.

That his conversion was not allowed to pass without sharp criticism from Protestants can be easily imagined. He was pensive partly by nature, partly, perhaps, from the feeling that his actions were misunderstood by his old companions and friends. All the more attractive was the quaint humor that lighted up his conversation. "One day when speaking with a brother priest with sad earnestness about the spiritual destitution of the poor people around him, who neither knew God nor would listen to those who were willing to teach them, a poor woman knocked at the sacristy door, and was ordered to come in; she fell on her knees very reverently to get Father Spencer's blessing as soon as she approached him. His companion observed that this poor woman reminded him of the mother of the sons of Zebedee, who came to our Savior adorans. 'Yes,' replied Father Spencer, with a very arch smile, 'and not only adorans, but petens aliquid ab eo.'"

Though so harshly handled sometimes by Protestants, Mr. Spencer exercised a forbearance toward them that all converts would do well to imitate. Remembering his own honest delusions, he attributed sincerity to the adherents of every sect. "Some were supposing once in his presence that it was impossible for followers of Joanna Southcote, and the like, not to be fully aware that they were being deluded. Father Ignatius said it was not so, and related a peculiar case that he witnessed himself. He happened to be passing through Birmingham, and had occasion to enter a shop there to order something. The shopkeeper asked him if he had heard of the great light that had arisen in these modern times. He said no. 'Well, then,' repeated the shopman, 'here, sir, is something to enlighten you,' handing him a neatly got up pamphlet. He had not time to glance at the title when his friend behind the counter ran on at a great rate in a speech something to the following effect: That the four gospels were all figures and myths, that the epistles were only faint foreshadowings of the real sun of justice that was now at length arisen. The Messias was come in the person of a Mr. Ward, and he would see the truth demonstrated beyond the possibility of a doubt by looking at the gospel he held in his hand. While the shopman was expressing hopes of converting him, he took the opportunity of looking at the pamphlet, and found that all this new theory of religion was built upon a particular way of printing the text: 'Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace to—Ward's men.' On turning away in disgust from his fruitless remonstrances with this specimen of Ward's men, he found some of Ward's women, also, in the same place, and overheard them exclaiming: 'Oh, little England knows what a treasure they have in —— jail!' The pretended Messias happened to be in prison for felony at the time." He declared that these poor creatures were entirely sincere and earnest in the faith they had in this malefactor.

This belief in the genuineness of all kinds of religious convictions, joined to his passionate love of country, led Father Spencer to engage in the great work of his life—the forming of an Association of Prayers for the Conversion of England. Mr. Phillips joined with him heartily in the project, and it was a new element of joy in their beautiful friendship. From the year 1838 to the day of his death, Father Spencer labored unceasingly for this end. Many persons grew sick of the very sound of the words, and did not hesitate to tell him so either; but through praise, blame, success, or ridicule he labored unceasingly,—and works now, we may be sure, in heaven this very day for the same end. Who can doubt that such petitions will be granted?

After nine years of hardship, persecution, and loving labor as a parish priest, Father Spencer was called to Oscott College to take charge of the spiritual affairs of the students.

By education he was well suited to hold so distinguished a position. He was admirably versed in the French, Italian, and German languages; a good classical and mathematical scholar of course (having been a first-class Cambridge man), and well read both in Protestant and Catholic theology. His intercourse with the young men was very charming. He would make up a game at cricket, go heartily into all their youthful sports, and even give lessons to beginners. In spiritual matters he had a very fascinating way of throwing a certain poetry into what is usually considered the prosaic part of priestly duties. Between these two moods there was a third, in which, with a kindly assumption of equality, as it were, he would take them into his interests as genially as he entered into theirs.

In 1844 Father Spencer went abroad for his health, and accomplished much for the Association of Prayers. In the following year he returned to England, and entered at once into retreat under the direction of Father Thomas Clarke, S.J., in Hodder place. From this retreat he came forth with a fixed determination to join the order of the Passionists, lately established in England by his friend Padre Domenico. How happy the results of this decision were the following pages will show.

The Congregation of the Passion was founded by Blessed Paul of the Cross about the middle of the last century, and approved by Benedict XIV., Clement XIV., and Pius VI. Its object is to work for the sanctification of the souls of the faithful; to which end it uses, not only preaching and the sacraments, but the diffusion of devotion to the passion of Christ. This work is accomplished by means of missions, retreats, and parish work in passionist houses. If necessary, the fathers take charge of a parish; otherwise they work in their own churches as missioners. They teach only their own younger members, and they go on foreign missions when sent by the Holy Father or the Propaganda.

"To keep the members of an order always ready for their out-door work," says F. Pius, "there are certain rules for their interior life which may be likened to the drill or parade of soldiers in their quarters. This discipline varies according to the spirit of each order.

"The idea of a passionist's work will lead us to expect what his discipline must be. The spirit of a passionist is a spirit of atonement. He says with St. Paul: 'I rejoice in my sufferings, and fill up those things that are wanting of the sufferings of Christ in my flesh for his body, which is the church.' Coloss. i.24. For this cause the interior life of a passionist is rather austere. He has to rise shortly after midnight from a bed of straw to chaunt matins and lauds, and spend some time in meditation. He has two hours more meditation during the day, and altogether about five hours of choir work in the twenty-four. He fasts and abstains from flesh meat three times in the week, all the year round, besides Lent and Advent. He is clad in a coarse black garment; wears sandals instead of shoes; and practises other acts of penance of minor importance.

"This seems rather a hard life; but an ordinary constitution does not find the least difficulty in complying with the letter of the rule. It is withal a happy, cheerful life; for it seems the nature of penance to make the heart of the penitent light and gladsome, 'rejoicing in suffering.'"

The fathers are bound by these rules only when living in the houses of their order. Outside they accommodate themselves to circumstances and take life as they find it; not very easy, as we shall see by the experiences of F. Ignatius. The superior has, moreover, the right to relax the rule for those who are ill or overworked.

At forty-seven Hon. and Rev. George Spencer entered upon this austere life. There was little to attract human nature to the order. Four foreigners, living in a wretched house, friendless and nearly penniless, were the principal occupants of Aston Hall, and even this unenviable position they had reached only after four years of labor and trial.

The noble novice submitted to more than ordinary tests of vocation. Rank, age, and education made him especially the object of distrust to F. Constantine, master of novices, who knew that true kindness must turn the rough side of discipline to a candidate for admission.

"A day or two after his arrival he was ordered to wash down an old dirty flight of stairs. He tucked up his sleeves and fell to using his brush, tub, and soapsuds with as much zest and good-will as if he had been a maid-of-all-work. Of course he was no great adept at this sort of employment, and probably his want of skill drew down some sharp rebukes from his overseer. Some tender-hearted religious never could forget the sight of this venerable ecclesiastic, trying to scour the crevices and crannies to the satisfaction of his new master. He got through it well and took the corrections so beautifully that in a few days he was voted to the habit."

A little suffering there was for F. Ignatius (as we must now call him) from homesickness and the difficulty of adapting himself to the small items of novice discipline. Chilled feet, a hard bed, and meagre diet were not quite easy to bear. But his hardest trial was the consideration of his companions, who tried to spare him humiliations, and take upon themselves works that seemed degrading for one of his standing. Austerities were soon forgotten, but dispensations were true afflictions to one whose wish with regard to life was ceaseless labor, and with regard to death "to die unseen and unknown in a ditch."

The story of his fifteen years of religious life is beautifully told by his biographer. Only under the restrain& of a religious role did his gifts and virtues receive their right development. It was like a second youth, a second training for life; undue impetuosity was restrained, zeal, generosity, charity, tenderness, all found an object and a wise direction. Surely never was sanctity made more attractive than in the person of the noble and gentle F. Ignatius. Great was the rejoicing among postulants and novices when his arrival was announced at any one of the passionist houses. Anecdote, mirth, kind and sympathizing intercourse were in store for the recreation wherever he appeared, clad in his coarse attire, with a brace of rough drogget bags slung over his broad shoulders. The journey had been made, they might be sure, in the third-class cars, "because there was no fourth class." The spirit of holy poverty had grown to be a sort of passion with him, only to be surpassed by his zeal for the salvation of souls. He treated himself, and wished others to treat him, like a beggar; thankful for any favor, but cheerfully submissive to refusal. When he had a long journey before him, if anyone offered him a "lift" in a cart or wagon, he gladly accepted it; if not, he was quite contented. He seldom refused a meal when travelling, and would ask for something to eat at any house upon the road, if necessary. At home he generally washed and mended his own clothes, and when he was superior would allow no one to perform menial offices for him. In dress he dreaded overnicety, and would as gladly wear a cast-off tartan as anything else, if it did not tend to throw discredit upon his order. For several years he wore an old mantle belonging to a religious who had died, and only left it off at the desire of the provincial. This was by no means his natural bent. Those who knew him as a young man say that he would hunt through the hosiers' shops in a dozen streets in London to find articles that could satisfy his fastidious taste. But, to return to the pleasure which his presence in a community always gave:

"His visits at home were like meteor flashes, bright and beautiful, and always made us regret that we could not enjoy his edifying company for a longer time. Those who are much away on the external duties of the order find the rule a little severe when they return; to Father Ignatius it seemed a small heaven of refreshing satisfaction. His coming home was usually announced to the community a day or two before, and all were promising themselves rare treats from his presence among them. It was cheering to see the porter run in beaming with joy as he announced the glad tidings, 'Father Ignatius is come!' The exuberance of his own delight, as he greeted first one and then another of his companions, added to our own joy. In fact the day Father Ignatius came home almost became a holiday by custom. Those days were; and we feel inclined to tire our readers by expatiating on them, as if writing brought them back.

"Whenever he arrived at one of our houses, and had a day or two to stay, it was usual for the younger religious, such as novices and students, to go to him, one by one, for conference. He liked this very much, and would write to higher superiors for permission to turn off at Broadway, for instance, on his way to London, in order to make acquaintance with the young religious. His counsels had often a lasting effect; many who were inclined to leave the life they had chosen remained steadfast after a conference with him. He did not give commonplace solutions to difficulties, but he had some peculiar phrase, some quaint axiom, some droll piece of spirituality to apply to every little trouble that came before him. He was specially happy in his fund of anecdote, and could tell one, it was believed, on any subject that came before him. This extraordinary gift of conversational power made the conferences delightful. The novices, when they assembled for recreation, and gave their opinions on F. Ignatius, whom many had spoken to for the first time in their life, nearly all would conclude, 'If ever there was a saint, he's one.'

"It was amusing to observe how they prepared themselves for forming their opinion. They all heard of his being a great saint, and some fancied he would eat nothing at all for one day, and might attempt a little vegetables on the next. One novice, in particular, had made up his mind to this, and to his great surprise he saw Father Ignatius eat an extra good breakfast; and when about to settle into a rash judgment, he saw the old man preparing to walk seven miles to a railway station on the strength of his meal. Another novice thought such a saint would never laugh or make anyone else laugh; to his agreeable disappointment, he found that Father Ignatius brought more cheerfulness into the recreation than had been there for some time. We gathered around him, by a kind of instinct, and so entertaining was he that one felt it a mortification to be called away from the recreation room while Father Ignatius was in it. He used to recount with peculiar grace and fascinating wit scenes he went through in his life. There is scarcely an anecdote in this book we have not heard him relate. He was most ingenuous. Ask him what question you pleased, he would answer it if he knew it. In relating an anecdote he often spoke in five or six different tones of voices; he imitated the manner and action of those he knew to such perfection that laughter had to pass into admiration. He seldom laughed outright, and even if he did he would very soon stop. If he came across a number of Punch, he ran over some of the sketches at once and then he would be observed to stop, laugh, and lay it down at once as if to deny himself further enjoyment. It is needless to say there was nothing rollicking or off-handed in his wit—never; it was subdued, sweet, delicate, and lively. ... In fact, a recreation presided over by Father Ignatius was the most innocent and gladsome one could imagine.

"In one thing Father Ignatius did not go against anticipation, he was most exact in the observance of our rules. He would always be the first in for midnight office. Many a time the younger portion of the community used to make arrangements over night to be in before him, but it was no use. Once, indeed, a student arrived in choir before him, and Father Ignatius appeared so crestfallen at being beaten that the student would never be in before him again, and would delay on the way if he thought Father Ignatius had not yet passed. He seemed particularly happy when he could light the lamps or gas for matins. He was child-like in his obedience. He would not transgress the most trifling regulation. It was usual with him to say, 'I cannot understand those persons who say, Oh! I am all right if I get to purgatory. We should be more generous with Almighty God. I don't intend to go to purgatory, and if I do I must know what for.' 'But, Father Ignatius,' a father would say, 'we fall into so many imperfections that it seems presumptuous to attempt to escape scot free.' 'Well,' he would reply, 'nothing can send us to purgatory but a wilful, venial sin, and may the Lord preserve us from such a thing as that; a religious ought to die before being guilty of the least wilful fault.'"

In the year 1850, Father Ignatius made the resolution of never being idle a moment, and carried it out to the end of his life. Bergamo's Pensieri ed Affetti he translated in railway stations while waiting for trains, before and after dinner, and in intervals between confessions. Of letter-writing he made a kind of duty, and on one occasion he wrote seventy-eight in the course of two free days. Not mere notes, either, were his letters, but epistles full of thought and sympathy for his correspondent.

"His days were indeed full days, and he scarcely ever went to bed until he had shaken himself out of nodding asleep over his table three or four times. No one ever heard him say that he was tired and required rest; rest he never had, except on his hard bed or in his quiet grave. If any man ever ate his bread in the sweat of his brow, it was Father Ignatius of St. Paul, the ever-toiling passionist."

Illness, unless it kept him in his bed, never interfered with the performance of his duties. When superior, he used his power to secure the hardest work for himself. During the time of his rectorship in Sutton, he would preach and sing mass after hearing confessions all the morning; attend sick calls, preach in the evening at some distant parish, come home perhaps at eleven o'clock, say his office, and be the first to come to matins at two o'clock. The Father Provincial found him so ingenious in eluding privileges that he placed him under obedience in matters of health to one of the priests of his community, whom he strictly obeyed ever after.

Once a cramp or some accident had made him fall into a ditch where he got drenched and covered with mud. On returning from the sick call which he was attending, he found a friend at the house, who sympathized with his especial interests. Down he sat for a good talk upon the conversion of England, and at the end of two hours was frightened off by one of the religious to change his clothes.

When giving a retreat somewhere in midwinter, the shameful carelessness of his entertainers allowed him to sleep in a room where there was neither bed nor fire, and where the snow drifted in under the door. In the morning it occurred to some one that perhaps Father Ignatius had occupied this apartment. "A person ran down to see, and there was the old saint amusing himself by gathering up the snow that came into his room, and making little balls of it for kitten to run after. The kitten and himself seem to have become friends by having slept together in his rug the night before, and both were disappointed by the intrusion of the wandering visitor."

But though the good passionist was utterly forgetful of his "own rights," as the saying goes, he well knew how to administer a rebuke if justice demanded it:

"Once he was fiercely abused when begging, and as the reviler came to a full stop in his froward speech, Father Ignatius quietly retorted: 'Well, as you have been so generous to me personally, perhaps you would be so kind as to give me something now for my community.' This had a remarkable effect. It procured him a handsome offering then, as well as many others ever since."

On another occasion his knock was answered by a very superb footman. Father Ignatius gave his errand and religious name, with a request to see the lady or gentleman of the house. The servant returned in a moment with the information that the gentleman was out and the lady engaged and also unable to help him. "Perhaps she is not aware that I am the Honorable Mr. Spencer," said the mendicant. Mercury bowed courteously and retired. In a minute or two came a rustling of silks and the sound of quick steps tripping down stairs. The lady entered with blush and courtesy and apology. She had not known that it was he, and there were so many impostors. "But what will you take, my dear sir?" she exclaimed, ringing the bell, before he could accept or decline the proposal. Father Ignatius said that he did not stand in need of anything to eat, and that he never took wine; but that he was in need of money for a good purpose, and would be glad to accept anything that she could give him of that kind. The lady instantly handed him a five-pound note, with many regrets that she could not make it more. He took the note, and, folding it carefully away in his pocket, made his acknowledgments after this fashion: "Now, I am very sorry to have to tell you that the alms you have given me will do you very little good. If I had not been born of a noble family, you would have turned me away with coldness and contempt. I take the money because it will be as useful to me as if it were given from a good motive; but I would advise you for the future, if you have any regard for your soul, to let the love of God, and not human respect, prompt your almsgiving." Then taking his hat, he bade his amazed benefactress good morning, and left her to meditate upon purity of intention.

Notwithstanding his fortitude and independence of spirit, we may gather from the following extract from his letters that begging cost him some effo

rt: "My present life is pleasant when money comes kindly; but when I get refused or walk a long way and find everyone out, it is a bit mortifying. That is best gain for me I suppose, though not what I am travelling for. ... I should not have had the time this morning to write to you had it not been for a disappointment in meeting a young man, who was to have been my begging guide for part of the day; and so I had to come home and stay until it is time to go and try my fortune in the enormous market-house, where there are innumerable stalls with poultry, eggs, fruit, meat, etc., kept in great part by Irishmen and women, on whom I have to-day presently to go and dance attendance, as this is the great market-day. I feel when going out on a job like this, as a poor child going in a bathing machine to be dipped in the sea, frissonnant; but the Irish are so good-natured and generous that they generally make the work among them full of pleasure when once I am in it."

These expeditions extended not only through Great Britain, but even to the Continent sometimes. As he was passing through Cologne one day, he met his brother Frederick, then Earl Spencer. At first his lordship looked wonderingly at him, and then, recognizing his features, exclaimed: "Hilloa, George, what are you doing here?" "Begging," was the prompt reply, and then the two fell into a friendly chat about old times.

Strangely enough, the only member of the Spencer family who ever treated Father Ignatius with the least harshness was this favorite brother, who, on succeeding to the title, laid such conditions upon his visiting the family estate that priestly dignity forbade his going home. "Twelve years have I been an exile from Althorp," he said in 1857. But in that same year the earl relented and invited his brother to make him a visit. The letter joyfully accepting this tardy invitation was read by Lord Spencer upon his death-bed. This bereavement was a grievous blow to Father Ignatius.

In 1862 he visited Althorp. The present earl carried out his father's good resolutions to the utmost, and even restored a part of the annuity which had been diverted from Father Ignatius to other objects. Before leaving the community for this visit the religious saw him looking for a lock for one of his bags, and asked why he was so very particular all at once. "Why, don't you know," said he, "that the servant at the big house will open it, in order to put my shaving tackle, brush, and so forth, in their proper places? and I should not like to have a general stare at my beads, sandals, and habit." But fashions had changed at Althorp. When the company who had been invited, especially in his honor, went to dress for dinner, Father Ignatius remarked to the countess that his full dress would perhaps, not be quite in place at the table. "On the contrary," she answered, good-humoredly, "all his old friends would be delighted to see a specimen of the fashions he had adopted since his old days of whist and repartee in the same hall." The volunteers were entertained by the earl during his uncle's visit. The passionist appeared in full costume, and sat next Lord Spencer, whom nothing would satisfy but a speech from the old man's lips. A very patriotic speech it was too, and greeted by a cheer that gave pleasure to both uncle and nephew.

And so one of the crosses of his life was gently removed, leaving many others, however, to be endured. For a heart so tender, a conscience so sensitive, a temperament so vivid and excitable as his, the world had many trials. His simplicity was mistaken for egotism; his zeal looked to many persons like unbridled impetuosity; his broad sympathies again seemed like indifferentism, and even calumny dared to attack his spotless character.

All this he bore very patiently, but the suffering was often acute. A deep abstraction of manner would come over him at such times, making him quite unconscious of his own actions and of the impression they made upon those around him. One day when he was going through the streets of Rome with a brother religious, they passed a fountain. "He went over and put his hand so far into one of the jets that he squirted the water over a number of poor persons who were basking in in the sun a few steps beneath him. They made a stir, and uttered a few oaths as the water kept dashing down on them. The companion awoke Father Ignatius out of his reverie, and so unconscious did he seem of the disturbance he had unwittingly created, that he passed on without alluding to it."

But whoever might blame Father Ignatius for his projects and his peculiar pertinacity in carrying them into execution, one consoler never failed him. The Holy Father was ever ready to speak with him of the conversion of England, merely requesting him to endeavor to interest persons to pray also for all those separated from the faith in all countries. His Holiness has granted an indulgence of three hundred days to any one who shall say a devout prayer for the conversion of England. The preaching of Father Ignatius was peculiar to himself; he could not be said to possess the gifts of human eloquence in the highest degree, but there was something like inspiration in his most commonplace discourse. He put the point of his sermon clearly before his audience, and he proved it most admirably. His acquaintance with the Scriptures was something marvellous; not only could he quote texts in support of doctrines, but be applied the facts of the sacred volume in such a happy why, with such a flood of new ideas, that one would imagine he lived in the midst of them, or had been told by the sacred writers what they were intended for. Besides this, he brought a fund of illustrations to carry conviction through the mind. His illustrations were taken from every phase of life and every kind of employment; persons listening to him always found the peculiar gist of his discourse carried into their very homestead; nay, the objections they themselves were prepared to advance against it were answered before they could have been thought out. To add to this, there was an earnestness in his manner that made you see his whole soul, as it were, bent upon your spiritual good. His holiness of life, which report published before him—and one look was enough to convince you of its being true—compelled you to set a value on what he said far above the dicta of ordinary priests.

His style was formed on the gospel. He loved the parables and the similes of our Lord, and rightly judged that the style of his divine Master was the most worthy of imitation. So far as the matter of his discourses was concerned, he was inimitable; his manner was peculiar to himself, deeply earnest and touching. He abstained from the rousing, thundering style, and his attempts that way to suit the taste and thus work upon the convictions of certain congregations, showed him that his forte did not lie there. The consequence was, that when the words of what he jocosely termed a "crack" preacher would die with the sound of his own voice or the exclamations of the multitude, Father Ignatius's words lived with their lives, and helped them to bear trials that came thirty years after they had heard him. Toward the end of his life he became rather tiresome to those who knew not his spirit; but it was the tiresomeness of St. John the Evangelist. We are told that "the disciple whom Jesus loved" used to be carried in his old age before the people, and that his only sermon was "My little children, love one another." He preached no more and no less, but kept perpetually repeating these few words. Father Ignatius, in like manner, was continually repeating "the conversion of England." No matter what the subject of his sermon was he brought this in. He told us often that it became a second nature with him; that he could not quit thinking or speaking of it even if he tried, and believed he could speak for ten days consecutively on the conversion of England without having to repeat an idea.

"He got on very well in the missions: he took all the different parts as they were assigned him; but he was more successful in the lectures than in the great sermons of the evening. His confessional was always besieged with penitents, and he never spared himself."

His last mission was given in the beautiful little church of St. Patrick, Coatbridge (eight miles from Glasgow). Crowds came to hear the saintly old father plead for the conversion of England and the sanctification of Ireland. The first two days he heard confessions from six A.M. to eleven P.M., excepting the time needed for devotions and meals. On the third day he remained in the confessional until after midnight. When he came into the house, his host said: "I am afraid, Father Ignatius, you are overexerting yourself, and that you must feel tired and fatigued:' "No, no," he answered with a smile, "I am not fatigued. There is no use in saying I am tired, for, you know, I must be at the same work to-night in Leith." He was in the confessional again at six o'clock in the morning, said mass at seven; breakfasted at half-past eight, and left Coatbridge about nine o'clock. Father O'Keefe remarked to him that he looked much better and younger in secular dress than in his habit. This made him laugh heartily. "When Father Thomas Doyle," he replied, "saw me in secular dress, he said, 'Father Ignatius, you look like a broken-down old gentleman.'" And the frankness of the observation seemed to amuse him immensely.

The rest is easily told. He reached Carstairs Junction at half-past ten, and, leaving his luggage with the station-master, walked toward Carstairs House, the residence of his friend and godson, Mr. Monteith. Half a mile from the entrance to the estate, the long avenue is crossed at right angles by a second, which leads to the grand entrance of the house. Father Ignatius had just passed the "rectangle," when he turned off into a by-path. Then seeing he had lost his way, he asked a child which was the right road. He never spoke to mortal again. On a little corner in the avenue, just within sight of the house, and about a hundred paces from the door, he fell suddenly and yielded up his spirit into the hands of his Creator. May we all die doing God's work, and as well prepared as Father Ignatius of St. Paul! "It was God's will that angels instead of men should surround his lonely bed of death." It was simply by an after-thought that he had gone to Carstairs House to pass the time between the arrival and departure of two trains, and thus died at the threshold of an old friend's door, instead of in the station.

Very tenderly did Mr. Monteith receive the weary burden that the grand old missionary laid down at his gates. The remains lay in religious state at Carstairs House for the greater part of three days. Fathers came from various retreats to look once more upon his beloved face, never so noble as in its last repose; and looked with silent wonder on all that now remained of one whom the world was not worthy of possessing longer. Everyone, on hearing of his death, appeared to have lost a special friend; no one could lament, for they felt that he was happy; few could pray for him, because they were more inclined to ask his intercession. The greatest respect and attention were shown by the railway officials all along the route, and special ordinances were made in deference to the respected burden that was carried.

Lord Spencer's letter with regard to his uncle's death is so pleasing that we transcribe it entire. He was in Denmark, and could not reach England for the obsequies:

Denmark, Oct. 16th, 1864 Rev. Sir: I was much shocked to hear of the death of my excellent Uncle George. I received the sad intelligence last Sunday, and subsequently received the letter which you had the goodness to write to me. My absence from England prevented my doing what I should have wished to have done, to have attended to the grave the remains of my uncle, if it had been so permitted by your order.

I assure you that, much as I may have differed from my uncle on points of doctrine, no one could have admired more than I did the beautiful simplicity, earnest religion, and faith of my uncle. For his God he renounced all the pleasures of the world; his death, sad as it is to us, was, as his life, apart from the world, but with God.

His family will respect his memory as much as I am sure you and the brethren of his order do.

I should be much obliged to you if you let me know the particulars of the last days of his life, and also where he is buried, as I should like to place them among family records at Althorp.

I venture to trouble you with these questions, as I suppose you will be able to furnish them better than anyone else.

Yours faithfully, Spencer.

Thus in the end did Father Ignatius, in the simple pursuance of his duties, pierce through the prejudices of caste and tradition, harder to penetrate in England than elsewhere.

Mr. Monteith has erected a cross on the corner of the avenue where his saintly friend fell. It bears this inscription: