Volume 21 — CHAPTER VIII. A STARTLING DISCLOSURE. (continued 4)

While the confessor is occupied with his priestly functions the catechists instruct the children and the negroes, sing canticles, and recite the rosary, etc. To in a manner fill the vacancy caused by their absence, the priests recommended public prayer in families, catechism, and nightly examination of conscience; Mass prayers, devotions of S. Bridget, the litanies, spiritual reading on Sundays and feast-days. Pious persons add to this the rosary, and their devotion to the Blessed Virgin causes them every day to recite some special prayer in her honor.

The fear of God, respect for the priesthood, or filial piety often causes good Christians to bend the knee before their fathers and mothers, their sponsors, and their priests, to ask their blessing after prayer, in the streets of the city or on the highways. English books on controversy are being rapidly multiplied, and the majority of the country-people know how to read them, and there are some persons in every congregation who really study them in order to render themselves capable of sustaining a discussion with Protestants.

By this means, as also by their piety and honesty, they assist from time to time in gaining conversions to the faith. The number of these good works greatly increased when Providence sent to us, in 1804, a new missionary, M. Nérinckx, a Flemish priest, who pursued his apostolic labors unceasingly. He instituted three monasteries, which were of great benefit in educating poor girls, either Catholics or non-Catholics. These religious women, who are called Friends of Mary at the Foot of the Cross, remind us of the days of the primitive church. Their manner of life is exceedingly laborious; they observe perpetual silence, and are almost enveloped in their veil.[188]

A short time after M. Nérinckx arrived at the mission he was followed there by a colony of Trappists, and by two pious and learned English priests of the Order of S. Dominic. The one, Father Wilson, afterwards became provincial; and Rev. Father Tuite is at present master of novices. The Trappists organized a school for gratuitous education, but failed to find among the poor Catholics of the neighborhood sufficient means to maintain this charitable institution. Father Urbain Guillet, their superior, had conceived the idea of rendering himself useful to the savages by educating their children for them, hoping in this way to facilitate their conversion.

In pursuance of this idea he formed a new establishment near Cahokia. These good religious greatly edified the country by their austerity, their silence, and their good works; but as missions were not the objects of their order, they returned to France at the Restoration. We must now speak of the natives, and by so doing gratify the very natural curiosity of our readers. The majority of the savages believe in the existence, in the spirituality, and in the unity of God, whom they style the Great Spirit, the Master of Life, or Kissernanetou. They even appear to believe somewhat in his providence; they offer him prayers, and sometimes even sacrifices according to their fashion. Here is an example, which is authentic, as it was told the author of this work by Gen. Todd, one of the leading men of Kentucky. A native, annoyed by the extreme drought, offered his pipe, or wampum, his most valuable article, to the Great Spirit; then, seated pensively on the banks of a river, he supplicated him thus: “Kissernanetou! thou knowest how highly the Indian prizes his wampum; well, then, give us rain, and I will give thee my wampum.” And as the Indian said this, he threw his pipe in the river, fully persuaded that the Great Spirit would hear his prayer. They also believe in a future state, as with their dead they bury their guns or cross-bows to enable them to hunt in the next world; also their pipe and tobacco, meat, etc. Those who were instructed by the Jesuits, although deprived of missionaries for about fifty years, still retain some idea of the true religion, as will be seen from letters of M. Olivier, from which letters we will give a few examples; the first, being dated the 16th of May, 1806, is addressed to Father Urbain Guillet; the second, dated the 6th of August, 1806; and the third, the 15th of March, 1807, were written to M. Badin:

1. “Among the savage tribes who from the time of the Jesuits (whom they called Black Gowns) had embraced Christianity and had erected churches in which the greatest regularity existed, to-day, notwithstanding I am their pastor, I do nothing but baptize their children, although among those of Post Vincennes there are some who come to confession; which leads me to think that you might procure some of their children.

2. “Since the banishment of the Jesuit fathers religion has decreased by degrees, until now there remain but a few traces which would remind one of extinct piety. I am not forgetting the desire expressed by Father Guillet, superior of the Trappists—namely, to have in his community some of the children of these savages. The chief of the nation, who is at Kaskaskia, promised to ask his brethren to send some here.

3. “The chief of those at Kaskaskia, in selling his lands to the government of the United States, required that it should build him a church; and there is a provision of 300 piastres and 100 piastres to be paid yearly to the missionary priest for seven years. Can these missions be revived? The mercy of God is great, etc.…”

Yes, the mercy of God is great, and it may be hoped that Mgr. Dubourg and his missionaries, who for some years have been living in the vicinity of the Missouri and the Mississippi, will have all desired success, which they must undoubtedly obtain if they succeed, as did the Jesuits, in procuring the assistance of the French government.

The religious of S. Dominic succeeded tolerably well in their establishments in Kentucky and Ohio.

Father Edward Fenwick, born in Maryland, had become a member of this order, and professor at the College of Bornheim, in Flanders, where he had been educated. Upon his return to his native country he spent his inheritance in founding the Convent of S. Rose and a school which is situated in Washington County. Two zealous missionaries, Father Fenwick and his nephew, Father Young, were the first to devote themselves, two years ago, to preach the faith in the State of Ohio, north of Kentucky, and three churches have already been built there.[189]

The congregations in the interior are composed of Germans, Irish, and Americans; but on the lakes that separate the United States from Canada they are formed of French colonies. In the State and on the right bank of the Ohio is situated Gallipolis, principal seat of the county of Gallia, where in 1791 some French colonists tried to establish themselves; but they were victims of a miserable speculation, and the majority of them left the country.

MM. Barrières and Badin baptized in this place about forty children in the year 1793, and then went to Kentucky. The entire village revived at the sight of these two priests, their fellow-countrymen, at the singing of the sacred canticles, and the celebration of the Holy Mysteries. In this part of America entire liberty of conscience and religion are enjoyed. One does not fear being molested if Christian burial be refused to those who have lived a scandalous life. On the contrary, it is expected that such will be the case, as it is the rule of the church; hence the increased dread of dying without the Last Sacraments. Marriages according to the Catholic rite are legal, and divorce and polygamy are unknown among Catholics.

We march in procession around our cemeteries; we erect crosses on them; we preach in the hotels and other public places, and even in Protestant churches, for want of chapels, and all the sects come in crowds. During the Mass they behave in a respectful and attentive manner—some of them even bring us their children to baptize, and entrust the education of their daughters to our religious—and sometimes we are greatly astonished to see non-Catholics undertake to defend our belief. We also meet with great respect in social life; for the Americans are very fond of the French, whose politeness and gayety they try to emulate.

They remember with pleasure and gratitude the services they received from the Martyr-King. Finally, the government of Kentucky has incorporated or commemorated French names in its institutions; hence we have Bourbon County, of which Paris is the principal town. We also find a Versailles, a Louisville, etc. In this last place we built, with the aid of the Protestants, the beautiful church of S. Louis, King of France.

Having the greatest esteem for learned men, they received the French priests with generous hospitality, and our bishops are revered by all sects. M. Carroll, formerly professor of theology among the Jesuits, bishop and finally archbishop of Baltimore, was one of the most distinguished men in America, and he was universally beloved and respected. He was consecrated in England the 15th of August, 1790. Two years afterwards he convoked a synod in Baltimore, where he was successful in assembling twenty-five priests. His modesty and his piety were as much admired as his learning. Finally, by his urbanity and his inexhaustible charity, he won all hearts, even those of the Protestant clergy.

His edifying death, mild and patient in the greatest sufferings, took place the 3d of December, 1815—the day on which the church celebrates the Feast of S. Francis Xavier, the glory of the Jesuits.

His death caused universal grief in a country where his memory has never ceased to be venerated. It is incredible how he could have been equal to all the tasks he had to accomplish, besides all the mental labor that fell to his share. He afterwards obtained from the Holy See a coadjutor, M. Neale, like himself an American and an ex-Jesuit. His Diocese embraced all the United States; and he was, moreover, administrator of the diocese of New Orleans. Our Holy Father, the Pope, has since then been entreated to create four new bishoprics—namely, Philadelphia, New York, Boston and Bardstown.[190]

M. Flaget, a Sulpitian, arrived in America with MM. David and Badin in the year 1792, and was appointed to this last-named bishopric. His humility was alarmed. He thought he neither possessed the talent nor the other qualifications necessary to fill so high a position; and for two years he persisted in his refusal, but he was finally obliged to submit to the express mandate of the Pope, and undertook the task, for which he was evidently destined by divine Providence. He is doubtless the poorest prelate of the Christian world, but he is none the less zealous and disinterested.

“Blessed is the rich man that is found without blemish; and that hath not gone after gold, nor put his trust in money, nor in treasures. Who is he, and we will praise him? for he hath done wonderful things in his life” (Ecclesiasticus xxxi. 8, 9).[191]

In a limited number of years he founded so many institutions, undertook so many voyages, underwent so much fatigue, both of mind and body, and succeeded so well in all his projects for extending the kingdom of Jesus Christ, that we must attribute his success and the diffusion of religion to the special blessing of God which accompanied him unceasingly. M. David, superior of the seminary, consecrated bishop-coadjutor the 15th of August, 1819, co-operated with him in his good works: in the founding of the seminary, which has already produced eight or ten priests; in the founding of several convents for the Sisters of S. Vincent de Paul; in the building of the cathedral of Bardstown, etc.[192]

It is in this little village, situated in the centre of the country, that the episcopal seat has been fixed. The smallest seed becomes a large tree, said our Saviour in the Gospel. This diocese embraces six large States—Tennessee, Kentucky, Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, and Illinois.[193]

In all this country, where the population, the sciences and the arts, agriculture and commerce, have in the last twenty years progressed wonderfully, fifty years ago could be seen dense forests and limitless prairies, inhabited only by wild beasts or scattered Indian tribes. But there are to-day in this diocese twenty-five priests, seven convents, two seminaries or colleges, thirty-five churches or chapels,[194] and about forty thousand Catholics out of a population of two million inhabitants of all denominations.

In all these States priests and churches are found except in Tennessee, which, owing to its great distance and other drawbacks, has been visited but four times by the oldest missionary in Kentucky. He gathered together a little flock at Knoxville, the capital. With regard to this place may these words of the prophet be fulfilled: “I will whistle for them and gather them together; I have redeemed them; and I will multiply them as they were multiplied before. And I will sow them among peoples, and from afar they shall remember me.” The bishop has been trying to establish a free school for the poor Catholics who have not made their First Communion. Half of their time is employed in cultivating the ground to defray their expenses, and the other half is devoted to reading, writing, and instructions in Christian doctrine. With fifty such schools we could renovate the entire diocese, and gather into the fold a great many souls which otherwise would be deprived of the means of salvation. Thus it is evident that what has been done is nothing in comparison with what remains to be done. Our institutions, besides the incidental and the daily expenses of the sanctuary, the voyage, etc., cost more than 300,000 francs; and the bishop, who receives but 600 francs of ecclesiastical revenue, owes more than 25,000 for his cathedral, which is not yet finished, much less decorated. Unforeseen events precluded the possibility of the subscribers making their payments; and if to-day they were forced to do so according to the rigor of the law, it would be of material injury to religion, and would produce the most baneful effect on the minds and the hearts of both Catholics and Protestants, who are also subscribers. The church in Kentucky owns some land, to be sure; but to clear this land, and then to cultivate it, laborers are lacking, and consequently this uncultivated property produces no revenue. The majority of the students, both at the seminary and the monastery, pay no board. The missionaries receive no assistance from the state; they are entirely dependent on their parishioners, who often do not even defray their travelling expenses, and perquisites are unheard of.

The spirit of religion obliges us to make a great many sacrifices and to endure innumerable privations to avoid being considered avaricious, and frequently it is necessary to make presents. Sometimes they ask us for prayer-books or books of controversy, sometimes for catechisms, rosaries, etc., etc. Moreover, when the necessary expenses for the support of two or three hundred persons[195] are calculated and contrasted with our limited resources, that they suffice seems incredible; and the mystery thereof can only be solved by referring it to that infinite Providence which feeds the birds of the air and gives to the lilies of the valley a glory more dazzling than that of Solomon.

This paternal Providence, after having accomplished such wonders, will not abandon us in our present distress. After making use of his ministers as means of operation, he will also inspire religious souls with the desire to co-operate in these good works, and crown his gifts in crowning the merits of their charity.

The writer of this notice was a witness to the greater number of events he relates—“Quod vidimus et audivimus, hoc annuntiamus vobis” (1 Joan. i.) After working twenty-five years in this mission, he returned to France to take a little rest and to solicit aid from his countrymen, according to the instructions of his bishop. Although weakened by a serious illness which he had undergone the preceding fall, and which nearly exhausted his means, he proposed, together with M. Chabrat, a missionary from the same country, to recross the ocean and undertake a journey of nearly four hundred miles to reach Kentucky, where his services are still required.

If some ecclesiastics felt themselves called to accompany him to America, they will doubtless be persuaded from the perusal of this truthful narrative that they will also have to travel the way of the cross, which we know to be the way to heaven. It will also be expedient that they procure all the books according to the ritual of Rome; theological and Biblical works in French, English, and Latin; chalices, ciboriums, crucifixes, vestments and church ornaments, altar pictures—in fact, everything relating to divine service. Surely they will be assisted through the piety of their friends and acquaintances. How many persons in France possess ecclesiastical or theological works which are not printed in America, as also sacred ornaments which are of no use to them; whereas these articles could be employed in so useful and so holy a manner in these new missions, which are in need of everything and possess nothing! We hope through the charity of pious and wealthy souls that they will generously offer to the service of God this small portion of the gifts they have received from him in abundance. Faith teaches us that he will not allow himself to be outdone in generosity, and what they sacrifice to his glory will be returned a hundred-fold. As for us, our gratitude will cause us to recommend our benefactors to the prayers of the missionaries, of the religious orders, and of the laity who are thus benefited; and we promise to celebrate a solemn Mass of thanksgiving, to which we will invite all good Christians, to whom we will suggest a general Communion to be offered to God for the same intention.

S. T. Badin, American Missionary.

Paris, February 7, 1821, Seminary of S. Nicholas, Rue S. Victor.

Extract of a letter from Bishop Flaget to Father Badin.

St. Etienne, February 19, 1820.

Beloved Colaborer: Probably this letter, written from a place with which you are familiar, and to which you are doubtless attached, will be handed you by Father Chabrat. I earnestly desired to be in Kentucky at the time of your departure; that which I have often said to you I repeat to-day—I have always felt strongly inclined to love you; let us love one another as brothers.

I will give you none of the diocesan details; Father Chabrat knows them as well as I do, and he will be greatly pleased to answer your numerous questions. The departure of this young man, that of Father Nérinckx, and yours cause a great void in my diocese, and leave a burden which would certainly overpower me if God, who has sustained me so far, did not continue to shower his favors upon me. I still feel all the vigor of youth to buckle on my armor. I am to take charge of Father Nérinckx’s religieuses, who to-day form quite a little congregation. My coadjutor will give his attention to the senior seminary and to the college, which I am to open to-morrow.

MM. Dérigaud and Coomes direct the junior seminary and the parish of St. Thomas, and their success astonishes every one. M. Abell is causing the “Barrens” to prosper. Thus, my dear friend, will the diocese be managed during your absence, while you, I hope, will make collections for our poor parishes, which are in great want. I am going to re-employ your brother, who is as pious and studious as ever, at the senior seminary in Bardstown. I earnestly desire to see him a priest, and I am sure that he is sufficiently informed either to direct the children in the boys’ school or to take charge of Father Nérinckx’ religieuses. Bishop Dubourg is endeavoring to have a bishop assigned to New Orleans, another to Detroit, and a third to Cincinnati. If he succeeds, I will have less extent of country to traverse, and as many opportunities as I now have of making priests.

Thus the prospects of my diocese are daily becoming more promising. Hasten to return; for God has not bestowed upon you so perfect a knowledge of the language and habits of this country to no purpose.

Accept, I beg of you, sentiments of the most sincere friendship.

Benoît-Joseph, Bishop of Bardstown.

BLESSED NICHOLAS VON DER FLÜE.

Of the many beautiful views from the Rigi, none seemed so determined to imprint itself on our memories during our stay at Kaltbad as that looking up the Valley of Sarnen. At whatever hour we wandered to the Känzli, early or late, in bright weather or in dull, it was all the same. Somehow the sun was always lighting up the valley; either resting placidly on its velvety pastures, shining broadly over its small lake, and making it glitter like a brilliant dewdrop amidst the encircling verdure, or, at the very least, darting shy gleams across its waters from behind the clouds which lowered on all else around. The lake of Zug was much nearer to us, lying right beneath one angle of the Rigi; but it had not the like powers of fascination. Moreover, we noticed that exactly in the same degree that Sarnen attracted the sun Zug seemed to repel it. At all events, the lasting remembrance of Zug is dark, bleak, and unfriendly; that of Sarnen, on the contrary, peaceful and sunny. It seemed, too, as though it were tenderly watched over by all its neighbors. Mt. Pilatus guards the entrance to it from Lucerne, hills enclose the valley on three sides, while above and beyond, as seen from Kaltbad, rise those giants of the Oberland which give such sublimity to these scenes, and enhance their beauty by the constant variety of their aspect.

Undoubtedly the associations connected with Sarnen had something to do with our love for it. In the village of Sachslen, on the borders of its lake, Blessed Nicholas von der Flüe was born and lived, and there his remains are now preserved.

And here, behind this promontory of the Bürgenstock, just opposite the Känzli, lies Stanz, the capital of Nidwalden—as this division of Unterwalden is now called—whither Blessed Nicholas hurried, and, by his influence with the Assembly, succeeded in saving his country from civil war.

A visit to Sachslen held a special place in the programme sketched out for us by Herr H——. There were some days, too, still to spare before the feast at Einsiedeln on the 14th; so we determined to lose no further time in making our pilgrimage to “Bruder Klaus,” as my Weggis guide and all the people hereabouts affectionately call him.

It was easy to trace the route when standing at the Känzli, and to perceive that, by crossing over to Buochs, we might drive thence to Sachslen. Dismissing, therefore, all fears of the railway descent from our minds, we started by the eleven o’clock train from Kaltbad, which it cost us many a pang to leave, with its dear little church, its lovely views, and its bright, invigorating air. Crossing then in the steamer from Vitznau to Buochs, we speedily engaged carriages to take us to Sachslen, and to bring us back from thence on the following day.

Our road led through Stanz, the home of Arnold von Winkelried, where we lingered long, although determined not to visit the Rathhaus until our return from the sanctuary of its hero. But we had two statues of Arnold to admire—one, in fact, a handsome white marble group commemorating his noble feat at Sempach, and erected by national subscription—to catch a view of Winkelried’s house in a distant meadow; to see in the church statues of “Bruder Klaus” and Konrad Scheuber—who also led a solitary life of holiness in the Engelberg valley close by, and whose highest honor it was to call himself the “Daughter’s Son” of the great hermit—to read the tablet in the mortuary chapel in memory of the four hundred and fourteen priests, women, and children who had fallen victims to the French soldiery in 1798; and to hear tales of the desolation their unbridled vengeance caused all this country. Pretty Stanz! now looking so happy, smiling, and prosperous that it is difficult to realize it ever could have been laid in ashes some seventy years ago. No district in Switzerland is more fruitful at present; cultivated like a garden, dotted over with fine timber, and making a beautiful picture backed by the Engelberg line of mountains stretching away behind.

An avenue of stately walnut-trees leads to the little port of Stanzstadt, and on the way we passed the chapel of Winkelried, where an annual fête is held, and close to which the bodies of eighteen women were found, after the fight in 1798, lying beside those of their fathers, husbands, and brothers—so completely had it then become a war à outrance, in defence of hearths and homes.

From Stanzstadt the road turned abruptly westward, at first along the edge of the small lake of Alpnach, the ruins of Rossberg Castle perceptible on the opposite shore—the first Austrian stronghold taken by the Rütli confederates on the memorable New Year’s morning of 1308.

Thence the hills grew lower and the landscape more pastoral than Alpine, until we reached Sarnen, above which formerly rose the castle of Landenberg, the famous imperial vogt who put out the eyes of old Anderbalben, of the Melchthal, in punishment for his son’s misdemeanors when the latter evaded his pursuit. This barbarous act was the immediate cause of the Rütli uprising; but, like all the others, the castle was taken by surprise, and Landenberg’s life was spared. The terrace where it stood is still called the Landenberg, and there the cantonal assembly has annually met since 1646. Of this spot it is that Wordsworth speaks in his desultory stanzas:

The panorama thence is said to be magnificent, and it was easy to conceive it all-inspiring to a patriotic orator; but the evening had closed in before we crossed the Sarnen bridge, and it was hopeless to attempt the ascent thither.

Whilst Mrs. C—— was inquiring about rooms we hastened to a church near where a bell had been tolling as we entered the town. “Only a chapel,” answered an old woman; “for the Blessed Sacrament is not kept there.” But the “chapel” contained the cheering sight of troops of children saying their night prayers aloud, headed by some of their elders. The inn is a modest, clean establishment, but in any case it would have been dear to us, all the rooms being full of pictures of “Bruder Klaus” and of every incident in his life. Herr H—— had said that “no house in Obwalden is without his picture,” and this quick fulfilment of our expectations enchanted us. Instantly we stormed the Kellnerinns with questions; but, alas! they were Bernese maidens, and, whether from prejudice or stolid ignorance, they only gave us the old stereotyped answer that “they were ‘Reformed,’ from the other side of the Bruning pass, and knew nothing, nor ever inquired about such matters.”

Accustomed as we had been of late to the large tourist hotels, everything seemed preternaturally quiet, when suddenly, late that evening, a deep voice sounded in the distance, advancing steadily onwards. We had scarcely time to reflect on this singular intrusion on the peaceful village when it became evident that it was that mediæval institution, “the watchman going his rounds,” which none of us ever before had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with; and as he came along the streets he distinctly sang:

And constantly during the night the same appealing voice returned, merely changing the hour as time ran on.

Next morning the sun again befriended us, and Mass was “at the convent hard by,” said our hostess—“the convent of Benedictines, who teach all our girls.” And she said truly; for not only did we find their chapel crowded by the villagers, men, women, and children, while the nuns’ choir was hidden behind the altar, but High Mass was being sung at that early hour of half-past seven, with exposition of the Blessed Sacrament, ending by Benediction. Mr. C—— and George visited the Rathhaus and its portraits; but we were in feverish haste to get on to Sachslen, “two miles off,” said a peasant woman we accosted on the road, and who also said she was on her way thither to pray at the shrine of “Bruder Klaus.” Immediately after breakfast, therefore, taking leave of our comely hostess and of this capital of Obwalden, still so primitively good, although in the close vicinity of the “great world,” and feeling an increased aversion to the Bernese maidens, whose spirit is unmoved by things supernatural, we drove along the flat borders of the Sarnen lake, caught sight of the Rigi and its Känzli, and in less than half an hour found ourselves at Sachslen.

This village is very small, but at once tells its own tale; for the church stands, according to the fashion of “holy places,” in a large open space surrounded by good-sized houses, that serve as inns and resting-places for the crowds of pilgrims who flock here at stated periods. Now all was quiet and the church nearly empty; the Masses of the day—unfortunately for us—were long since over. After paying our visit to the Blessed Sacrament we wandered through the edifice, admiring its size and beauty, but unable to discover any sign of the shrine whose fame had brought us hither. At length George succeeded in finding the sacristan, a wrinkled, toothless octogenarian, who, as far as looks went, seemed quite ancient enough to have been himself a contemporary of “Bruder Klaus.” His German, too, was so intensely local, and consequently, to us, obscure, that we had the utmost difficulty in understanding him. But he pointed to the altar in the centre with an inscription in golden letters on its black marble frontal. And certainly it was worth looking at; for a more remarkable specimen of phonetic spelling is seldom to be found, exactly following the local dialect, even in its total disregard of grammar. On the other hand, this earnest simplicity in such strange contrast to the refined material that perpetuates it is deeply touching and in perfect keeping with everything connected with Blessed Nicholas and this pious people. It ran thus:

As soon as the aged sacristan felt satisfied that we had read the lines, without another word he drew back the picture over the altar as he might a curtain, and disclosed “Bruder Klaus” himself confronting us! Never shall I forget the thrilling sensation of beholding the hermit’s skeleton in kneeling posture right above the tabernacle and facing the congregation, clothed in his coarse habit, his hands clasped in prayer, the cavity of his eyes filled by two large emeralds, his nose by one enormous long, yellow topaz, while in the centre of the ribs, near his heart, hung a large jewelled cross, and round his neck a number of military orders. It was startling! We had expected from the word “gesetzt” to find him reposing in a shrine, and should have preferred, it must be confessed, to have seen more refinement and delicacy shown in the use of those precious stones as ornamentation. But were they not the precious stones of simple, firm faith and true love of God? This peasant population never had any pretension to “high art or learning.” Blessed Nicholas himself had naught but the refinement of that exalted piety which in itself transcends even the highest flights of human culture, and is, after all, the “one thing needful.” With such thoughts to guide us we could only admire and respect the desire, albeit crudely expressed, to show reverence to one whose own simple nature despised those “earthly treasures.” His countrymen, however, had that deep “art and learning” which taught them to appreciate Blessed Nicholas’ devotion to the Blessed Sacrament; for they could think of no resting-place more dear to him than that close to the dwelling of his Lord. Tender piety, too, prompted the offerings; but no votive tablets recorded their stories, as in the little church at Kaltbad, and we longed in vain to know their histories. The orders alone, we discovered, had been won in different countries by his descendants, and have been offered up by them, as well as various swords and trophies by other Unterwaldeners, in thanksgiving for the prayers and protection of the saintly hermit. A striking example of the enduring value of a noble, self-denying, God-fearing character it is thus to see the aid of this simple peasant still sought and the influence of his memory so powerful on the minds and better natures even of this material age. It was impossible not to pray that he may now more than ever watch over his beloved fellow-countrymen, and obtain for them that steadfastness in their faith and principles which they so sorely need during the terrible struggle they are now passing through. There is little else belonging to Blessed Nicholas to be seen—for was he not a hermit, and the poorest of saints?—but in a case near the wall the old clerk displayed his rosary and another habit, which we liked to fancy might have been made from the piece of stuff presented to him by the town of Freyburg after his successful intervention at the diet of Stanz.

Our thoughts now turned to his hermitage at Ranft, but only to meet with severe disappointment. It was too far for “ladies to walk,” said every one, and no horses could be had without previous orders, of which no one had once thought. Had we only slept here, instead of stopping at Sarnen, all would have been easy, and we should, moreover, have been able to have heard Mass at the shrine. The “Engel” of Sachslen was larger than, though scarcely so inviting as, the “Golden Eagle” of Sarnen, yet he would at least have watched over our spiritual interests; and “when one undertakes a pilgrimage,” exclaimed George, “ladies should despise comforts.”

“It was Herr H——’s plan,” retorted Caroline, determined that we should not be blamed, “and we should not be ungrateful; for remember that he had also to think of us Protestants! All we can now do is to warn other pilgrims, and advise them to come on here straight.”

It was provoking beyond measure to be thus deprived by mismanagement of this point in our visit. But Mr. C—— and George were determined not to give it up; they would go on foot, and report all to us, if only we would wait patiently for a few hours. Where was the use of further grumbling? Like good children, we cried out, “What can’t be cured must be endured,” and, summoning all the piety we could command to our aid, we offered up the disappointment in the spirit of true pilgrims in honor of “Bruder Klaus,” and bade our friends “God speed” and depart.

Anna and the two young ladies, soon discovering pretty points of view, settled themselves to sketch, while Mrs. C—— and I took a ramble through the village. Though without any pretension to an Alpine character, none is more genuinely Swiss than Sachslen. Leaving the square, we wandered among the detached houses, scattered here and there in the most capricious manner on the slope of a hill that rises gently behind, and which, dotted with timber throughout its fresh pastures, forms a most beautiful background to the picture. The wood-work, delicately, nay elaborately, carved, the windows glazed in many instances with bull’s-eye glass, the low rooms with heavy cross-beams, are all many centuries old, perhaps from the very days of Blessed Nicholas; but beyond all doubt the “Holy Cross,” “Engel,” and other hostelries, of which the place is chiefly composed, owe their origin to his memory. Photographs of the church and the hermitage hung in the window of the “library” of the village, which was opened for us, after some delay, by an active, tidy matron. “These are quiet days and few purchasers,” she said in an apologetic tone. “But the ladies would find it very different on feast days; on the 21st of March above all. Then ten and twelve thousand people often come from all quarters; every house far and near is full, stalls are erected in the square, and the church is crowded from morning till night. This is the Litany chanted during the processions,” she added, handing us a small book, which also contained “Prayers by Brother Klaus,” collected from old writings by a priest. Nothing could be more beautiful or simple than the latter; but the Litany in particular was a pre-eminently striking composition, every sentence showing that remarkable union of patriotism and piety which runs through the whole being of every Swiss Catholic. It begins by invoking the hermit, simply as “Blessed Brother Klaus,” to “Pray for us,” and, going on through every phase of his life, implores his intercession in a more emphatic manner wherever his love of country or of justice had been most conspicuous. And here it must be remembered that Blessed Nicholas has as yet only been beatified. Hence those who style him “saint” transgress the proper limits, which are never forgotten by the Swiss themselves. For this reason it is that in no prayer is he ever addressed except as “Blessed Nicholas,” and in popular parlance ranks no higher than their “dear Bruder Klaus.” But that he may some day be canonized is the fond hope of every Swiss Catholic, and one, it is said, which can be justified by many miracles.

Mrs. C—— and I carried off the Litany, etc., and, sitting down on a bench near the church, drew out other books we had with us, determined to refresh our memories regarding this great servant of our Lord.

Of these, two small documents, written during his lifetime, are the most interesting. One is a Memoir by John von Waldheim, a gentleman from Halle in Germany, giving an account of his visit to Brother Nicholas in February, 1474, and found in the Wolfenbüttel Library; the other a similar report of his pilgrimage to the Hermit of Ranft, addressed to the clergy and magistrates of the town of Nuremberg, by Albert von Bonstetten, canon of Einsiedeln, whom the historian, J. von Müller, calls “the most learned Swiss of his age,” and found in the archives of the town of Nuremberg in 1861, and wherein he states that, “as so many fables had been circulated about the hermit, he felt convinced they would be glad to know what he had himself seen.” Other contemporaries also allude to their visits; but these two, though short, bear such internal evidence of truth in the quaint freshness of their style and language, place us so completely face to face with all concerned, give such a picture of Blessed Nicholas’ humility and unsophisticated nature, and such an insight into the habits of thought of that period, that no others equal them, and we can only regret that space does not permit of more than merely a passing quotation.

All authorities agree that Blessed Nicholas was born in this then obscure hamlet on March 21, 1417. Zschokke, however, alone mentions that his family name was Löwenbrugger—a fact ignored by others, so completely had “Von der Flüe,” or “of the Rocks,” become his own, even during his lifetime. Yet all his biographers begin by explaining that this cognomen “came from his living at the rocks of Ranft.” Bonstetten also naïvely asks “how any inhabitant of this region can avoid coming into the world except under some one rock or another.” His parents were very poor, and Nicholas labored hard, in the fields especially, from his tenderest years. Grown to manhood, he married young, had ten children, and became distinguished above his fellows, in his public and private capacity, as “a model son, husband, father, and citizen.” He even served as soldier, like others, in the Thurgau war, where he was equally noted for deeds of valor and for compassion towards the sick and wounded. So high was his reputation amongst his neighbors that they several times elected him Landamman and resorted to him as arbitrator in their disputes. “The virtues he displayed to all around him,” writes Bonstetten, “were quite marvellous. For a long time he continued to lead this honorable existence, considerate, affectionate, true to every one, importunate to none.” At length a yearning for greater perfection became stronger than all else, and at fifty years of age he determined to seek for closer union with his Lord. Several of his children were already married and settled in the neighborhood. To those that remained and to his wife he handed over the house that he had built and the fields he had cultivated from early youth upwards, and, taking leave of his family and of all that he held most dear, he left his home for ever. Von Waldheim states that he at first intended merely to wander as a pilgrim from one holy place to another, but that, “on reaching Basel, he had a revelation, which made him choose a hermit’s life in preference, and in consequence of which he turned back to Unterwalden and to his own house. He did not, however, allow himself to be seen by wife, children, or any one, but, passing the night in his stables, he started again at dawn, penetrated for about a quarter of a mile into the forest behind Sachslen, gathered some branches of trees, roofed them with leaves, and there took up his abode.” At all events, it was in this spot, known as “the solitude of Ranft,” at the opening of the Melchthal, that he passed the remaining twenty years of his saintly life.

But although he had withdrawn from the world, that world soon followed him. Before long the fame of his sanctity spread abroad; above all, rumors were circulated that he never tasted earthly food, and that his life was sustained solely by the Blessed Eucharist, which some authorities say he received once a month, others on every Friday. This celestial favor, however, was at first the cause of great suffering to Blessed Nicholas. Calumnies were heaped upon him, insults offered. Still, he remained impassive, taking no heed of men. Some would not doubt him. “Why should they suppose that a man who had so long lived amongst them, whose honor had been so well tried and recognized, and who had abandoned the world merely to lead a hard life in the desert, would now try to deceive them?” But others declared that he only wanted to impose on the vulgar, and that he had food brought to him secretly. “What did the landamman and elders do,” says Bonstetten, “in order to prevent their being accused of playing the part of dupes? They selected trusty men, made them take an oath to speak the truth, and placed them as guards round the hermitage, to watch whether food was brought to Nicholas from any quarter, or whether he procured any for himself.” For a whole month this severe surveillance was maintained; but in the end it only proved in a most convincing manner that the hermit neither ate nor drank anything except that nourishment with which our Lord himself provided him. Two Protestant writers, J. von Müller and Bullinger, give details of this inquiry, of which they raise no doubt; and some years after it took place, during the lifetime of Blessed Nicholas, the following entry was made in the public archives of Sachslen:

“Be it known to all Christians, that in the year 1417 was born at Sachslen, Nicholas von der Flüe; that, brought up in the same parish, he quitted father, mother, brother, wife, and children to come to live in the solitude called Ranft; that there he has been sustained by the aid of God, without taking any food, for the last eighteen years, enjoying all his faculties at this moment of our writing, and leading a most holy life. This we have ourselves seen, and this we here affirm in all truth. Let us, then, pray the Lord to give him eternal life whenever he shall deign to call him from this world.”

As a natural consequence of this investigation, a strong reaction at once occurred. The villagers built him a chapel with a cell adjoining, and soon the Bishop of Constance came to consecrate it.

But the bishop was also determined to test the fact of his total abstinence, and ordered him to eat in his presence. Various are the versions concerning this event, the majority asserting that Blessed Nicholas was seized with convulsions the instant he swallowed the first mouthful. But J. von Waldheim, who seems to have experienced no difficulty in asking direct questions, gives us the hermit’s own words on the subject, brimful of truthfulness and humility. After stating that he had been entertaining Nicholas by an account of his own pilgrimages to holy places, and amongst others to the sanctuary of Blessed Mary Magdalen, in whose honor the Ranft chapel was dedicated, and having brought tears into the eyes of the venerable hermit by the beautiful legends regarding her which he told him, Waldheim proceeds:

“I said: ‘Dear Brother Nicholas! in my own country, as well as here, I have heard it maintained that you have neither eaten nor drunk anything for many years past. What may I believe?’ ‘God knows it!’ he answered, and then continued: ‘Certain folk asserted that the life I lead proceeds not from God, but from the evil spirit. In consequence my Lord the Bishop of Constance blessed three pieces of bread and a drop of wine, and then presented them to me. If I could eat or drink, he thought I should be justified; if not, there could no longer be any doubt that I was under the influence of the devil. Then my Lord the Bishop of Constance asked me what thing I considered the most estimable and meritorious in Christianity. ‘Holy obedience,’ I answered. Then he replied: ‘If obedience be the most estimable and meritorious thing, then I command you, in the name of that holy virtue, to eat these three pieces of bread and to drink this wine.’ I besought my lord to dispense me from this, because this act would grieve me to excess. I implored him several times, but he continued inflexible, and I was obliged to obey, to eat and to drink.’ I then asked Brother Nicholas,” continued Waldheim: ‘And since that time you have neither eaten nor drunk any thing?’ But I could extract no other answer from him save the three words, ‘God knows it.’”

Numberless were the reports concerning his mysterious ways. He often went to Einsiedeln, yet it was said that no one ever met him on the road!

“How does he get there?” asks Waldheim. “God alone knows.” His appearance, too, was said to be unearthly.

Waldheim had heard, too, that his body was emaciated and devoid of natural warmth, his hands icy, and his aspect like that of a corpse. He lays particular stress, therefore, on the fact that Nicholas possessed a natural bodily heat, like any other man, “in his hands especially, which I and my valet Kunz touched several times. His complexion was neither yellow nor pale, but that of one in excellent health; his humor pleasant, his conversation, acts, and gestures those of an affable, communicative, sociable, gay being looking at every thing from the bright side. His hair is brown, his features regular, his skin good, his face thin, his figure straight and slight, his German agreeable to listen to.”

A few years later Père Bonstetten heightens this picture by a minuteness that rivals the signalements of old-fashioned passports. He describes Brother Nicholas as being “of fine stature, extremely thin, and of a brown complexion, covered with freckles; his dark hair tinged with gray, and, though not abundant, falling in disorder on his shoulders; his beard in like manner, and about an inch long; his eyes not remarkable, except that the white is in due proportion; his teeth white and regular; and his nose in harmony with the rest of his face.”

And as we read this clear description, Mrs. C—— and I could not help regretting that posterity had not been satisfied with such a recollection, without having endeavored by emeralds and precious stones to fill up the voids which nature had since created; but when the motives had been so pure and loving, it was not for us to find fault with the manner of their reverence, nor do more than admire its earnestness and simplicity.

There seems to have been a certain difficulty in obtaining admittance to the hermit; for even Père Bonstetten had to be introduced by the landamman, and Von Waldheim took with him the Curé of Kerns. Brother Nicholas, it must be remembered, though an anchorite, was still not ordained; hence a priest was to him always a welcome visitor. His family, too, seem at all times to have had free access to him. Both writers commenced their visits by hearing Mass in his little chapel, where Brother Nicholas knelt behind a grating; but after their introduction he let them into his adjoining cell. Here he impressed them deeply by his humility, politeness, and gentleness, and both remark his sweet-toned voice and his kindliness in shaking hands with every one, “not forgetting a single person.” Père Bonstetten, more than Waldheim, seems to have retained his self-possession; for he says: “I kept my eyes wide open, looking right and left around the room, attentively considering everything. The cell was not half warm. It had two small windows, but no sleeping place, unless a raised portion at one end may be used for that purpose.” Nor could he see a table, nor furniture of any kind, nor sign even of a mattress on which this servant of God could ever repose. But he dwells with emphasis on his simplicity and truthfulness, saying that he answered his many questions, “not in the fashion of a hypocrite, but simply as became an unlettered man.”

And like these visitors came others from every quarter to see and consult him—magistrates to ask the advice of one who, in the words of the Litany, had been like that “just judge whose decisions were altogether dictated by conscience and justice,” and that “wise statesman who administered his offices solely for the honor of God and the good of his fellow-men”; soldiers to see the “brave warrior who took up arms for God and fatherland, and was a model of virtue to the army”; those in affliction to beg the prayers of that “most perfect follower of Jesus, who, by meditation on the life and sufferings of our Lord, had been so like unto him”; sinners to implore that “pious hermit, who left the world from desire of greater perfection,” to teach them how to subdue their passions. For all and each he had some word of comfort and exhortation. One of these pilgrims was so captivated by his heavenly admonitions that he resolved to remain near Blessed Nicholas and lead the same life. He built himself a chapel and cell close by, and soon became remarkable for his sanctity; but his antecedents are veiled in mystery, and he has descended to posterity simply as “Brother Ulrich, once a Bavarian gentleman.” Blessed Nicholas, however, evidently held him in high regard; for, after praising him warmly, he urged both Waldheim and Père Bonstetten to visit him before leaving Ranft. The naïve Waldheim takes no pains to conceal that he was prejudiced against poor Ulrich by reason of the mystery surrounding him; although “he is educated,” he says,“whereas Brother Nicholas is a simple layman who does not know how to read.” The learned monk of Einsiedeln, on the contrary, is at once prepossessed in his favor by the tincture of culture which he quickly detects. He notes that Ulrich “talks more and shows less dislike for the society of men than Brother Nicholas. No doubt,” he adds, “because he is more instructed. He is somewhat of a Latin scholar. At the same time, his books are in German. He showed them to me. I think that I perceived the Gospels and the Lives of the Fathers translated into German”—a fact which we may further note as a remarkable proof that such translations of the Gospels into the vernacular, mentioned thus incidentally by Père Bonstetten, were common before the days of printing, in the very midst of the so-called “dark ages.”

Amongst the many traits for which Blessed Nicholas was distinguished, Père Bonstetten records that conformity to the will of God and love of peace were pre-eminent. “He preaches submission and peace—that peace which he never ceases to recommend to the confederates.” And a time was coming when all his power and influence would be needed to preserve it. Some years after these two accounts were written, and while Blessed Nicholas and Brother Ulrich were praying and fasting in their “solitude at Ranft,” great deeds were being done in other parts of Switzerland. The battles of Grandson and Morat were fought and won, Charles the Bold driven back into Burgundy, and the rich spoils of his army became the property of the Swiss. But what union and heroism had gained victory and prosperity well-nigh destroyed. Soleure and Freyburg, in virtue of their hard fighting, claimed admission into the confederacy, which claim the older states disdainfully rejected; while the enormous Burgundian booty likewise became a fruitful source of discord. Numerous diets were held, without avail, for the settlement of these questions, each only increasing the trouble. At length a diet assembled at Stanz purposely in order to come to a final decision; but the disputes reached such a pitch that the deputies were about to separate, although the return to their homes would have been the signal for civil war. Blessed Nicholas, though so near, knew nothing of these proceedings until one morning, when one of his oldest and most esteemed friends unexpectedly arrived at the hermitage. It was the curé of Stanz; a worthy priest and a true patriot, who, in despair at the state of affairs, and mindful of Nicholas’ patriotism and love of peace, came to implore his help. Without an instant’s delay the hermit took up his staff, walked across the paths he knew so well, and marched straight into the hall at Stanz where the deputies were assembled. Zschokke, the Protestant writer, thus describes the scene:

“All with one accord rose from their seats as they beheld in their midst this old man of emaciated aspect, yet full of youthful vigor, and deeply venerated by every one. He spoke to them with the dignity of a messenger from heaven, and in the name of that God who had given so many victories to them and to their fathers, he preached peace and concord. ‘You have become strong,’ he said, ‘through the might of united arms. Will you now separate them for the sake of miserable booty? Never let surrounding countries hear of this! Ye towns! do not grieve the older confederates by insisting on the rights of citizens. Rural cantons! remember that Soleure and Freyburg have fought hard beside you, and receive them into fellowship. Confederates! take care, on the other hand, not to enlarge your boundaries unduly! Avoid all transactions with foreigners! Beware of divisions! Far be it from you ever to prefer money to the fatherland.’ This and much more did Nicholas von der Flüe say, and all hearts were so deeply touched, so stirred, by the words of the mighty hermit, that in one single hour every disputed point was settled. Soleure and Freyburg were that day admitted into the confederacy; old treaties and compacts were renewed; and at the suggestion of the pious Nicholas it was decided that in future all conquered territory should be distributed amongst the cantons, but booty divided amongst individuals! This done,” continues Zschokke, “the hermit returned to his wilderness, each deputy to his canton. Joy abounded everywhere. From all the church-towers of the land festive peals announced the glad tidings, from the furthest Alps even unto the Jura.”

The cantons vied with each other in the effort to express their gratitude to Blessed Nicholas. But in vain; he would take nothing from them except a few ornaments for his small chapel. Freyburg alone was favored by his acceptance of a piece of stuff to repair his worn-out habit, which was then in shreds; and this it was which we liked to think identical with the relic shown to us by the old sacristan in the church at Sachslen. Bern, in a spirit widely different from that of its degenerate posterity, presented him with a chalice, which elicited from him a letter full of patriotism and tender Christian feeling: “Be careful,” he writes in answer, “to maintain peace and concord amongst you; for you know how acceptable this is to Him from whom all good proceeds. He who leads a godly life always preserves peace; nay, more, God is that sovereign peace in whom all can repose. Protect the widows and orphans, as you have hitherto done. If you prosper in this world, return thanks to God, and pray that he may grant you a continuance of the same happiness in the next. Repress public vice and be just to all. Deeply imprint in your hearts the remembrance of the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ. It will console and strengthen you in the hour of adversity.” Then, as if in prophetic strain to the proud town, he adds: “Many people in our day, tempted by the devil, are troubled with doubts on faith. But why have any doubts? The faith is the same to-day that it ever has been.”

What wonder, after all this, that, in spite of himself, Blessed Nicholas became the arbiter of Switzerland during the few remaining years of his life? Every dispute was referred to him, and, as one writer adds, “In that solitude, where he thought only of serving God, by the simple fact of his sanctity he became of all his compatriots the most pleasing to God and the most useful to his neighbor.” At length the holy hermit lay down on the bare ground, which had so long been his couch, and, full of years and honor, he “fell asleep in the Lord” on the 21st of March, 1487—on the very day that he had fulfilled seventy years of his most spotless and saintly life.

We had just reached this point, when, looking up, we beheld Mr. C—— and George advancing and exclaiming: “Such a pity you did not come—such a pity!” Breathlessly they told us that the distance had proved trifling; they found horses, too, on the way, and everything had been deeply interesting. The road had passed near “Bruder Klaus’” fields, crossed the rushing stream mentioned by Von Waldheim; and not only had they visited the chapel and cell of Blessed Nicholas, but also that of Brother Ulrich, exactly as described by the two mediæval pilgrims. The stone used by Blessed Nicholas as his pillow is there preserved; both places, kept in excellent repair and attended by a priest who resides on the spot, are much frequented and full of votive offerings of various kinds. At once it became a question of our starting thither, even at that advanced hour. Had Anna and I been alone, we should have upset all previous arrangements for this purpose; but charity and forbearance are the virtues most needed and most frequently brought into play when travelling with a large party. Smothering our annoyance, therefore, a second time, as best we could, and making a mental resolve to return some future day and see with our own eyes what our friends so vividly described, we adjourned to the Engel, and did full justice to the meal which its pleasant-faced hostess had prepared for us. In another hour we were on the road back to Stanz, but this time across the hills. Kerns, now speaking to our minds of Von Waldheim and Père Bonstetten, was first passed, succeeded before long by St. Jacob and its plain, the scene of the terrible battle with the French in 1798; and in two and a half hours the comfortable cottages of Nidwalden had gradually developed into, and terminated in, the pretty houses of its capital, Stanz. Here we now halted, in order to repair our omission of yesterday by a visit to the Rathhaus. It was opened for us after some delay by a bluff Nidwaldener, whose German was as unintelligible as that of the Sachslen clerk. But, in like manner, he supplied the defect by pointing to two curious and very ancient paintings which hung in the entrance lobby, one representing Blessed Nicholas taking leave of his wife and family before he went to Ranft, the other his appearance at the diet here. The deputies in the painting have all risen, whilst the emaciated hermit is addressing them boldly and earnestly. As we proceeded into the hall close by, it required no stretch of imagination to fancy that the scene had but just occurred in that spot, so exactly is the room of the same shape, the chairs and table of the same pattern, and all placed in the same position as in the old picture. Though not the same building, one may well believe that the present is only a reproduction of the former town-hall, simple and unpretending as it is, and yet invested with such deep interest. Three sides of the hall are hung with portraits of the landammans since 1521, and the fourth is decorated by various banners won on different patriotic occasions. Of these, we notice one that was taken at the battle of Kappel, where Zwingle met his death; another sent to the Unterwaldeners by Pope Julius II.; and a third recently presented by Zschokke, a native of these parts, representing William Tell shooting the apple off his son’s head—thus giving the sanction of this grave and graphic historian to the story we all so much love. Long did we linger in the hall, full of the day’s impressions; but the light was waning, and it was necessary to depart. Ere we reached Buochs the sun had set; it was dark when the steamer came up to the quay; and night had closed when we arrived at Brunnen and entered the brilliantly-lighted hall of the Walstätter Hof.

THE ASSUMPTION.

THE SCIENTIFIC GOBLIN.

By one of those freaks of fortune rare even in fairyland, the small people known as the Odomites had, in order to escape being devoured by a strolling giant named Googloom, made him their king. This ogre was of so wonderful an ugliness that babes died at the sight of him, and men and maids had gone into convulsions of merriment; but the majority of the Odomites, blessed with a wholesome fear, dared no more than laugh in their sleeves at bare memory of his face, avoiding as much as they could to see him. However, to make sure that all his people were as sober as himself, King Googloom issued an edict defining laughter as treason, under any pretext to be punished with death by slow torture. In cases of young and pretty maids this sentence was varied by the fact that the giant himself ate them up. Yet, spite of the terrors of his decree, hundreds of his subjects perished for want of self-control; and one man, whose fate became renowned as that of a voluntary martyr to free expression, died laughing involuntarily, notwithstanding his tortures, the giant Googloom being a witness of his execution.

When the realm of Odom was thus rid of all rebellion in the shape of quips, jokes, pranks, tricks, antics, capers, smiles, laughs, caricatures, chuckles, grimaces, Googloom yawned and rolled his eyes in a manner fearful to see, and, leaving his throne, made a tour through his dominions. Not a soul dared so much as smile in obeisance to him. Though he made his ugliest faces, to such a degree that the passing ravens were scared, not a single Odomite lifted up his head to grin for a moment. Over all the land reigned the shadow of funlessness. Googloom had become a dreadful chimera, a nightmare. Hardly knowing it, his people grew lean and pined away.

Googloom himself began to be weary of the prevailing dulness, even while he boasted that the land was never so sober and its population so orderly. “When will the old times return,” asked his sages of themselves, “when the land laughed and grew fat?” Googloom eyed with contempt the bones of the children that were served up at his banquets; and one day, seeing that the leanness of his people had extended to their crops, and yet unwilling to alter his decrees, mockingly proclaimed that anybody who could make him laugh at his own expense, or make anybody else laugh on the same terms, should have the privilege of laughing whenever he pleased.

There was at this time living in one of the mountains of Odom a famous goblin named Gigag. His exceeding knowledge and invention, assisted by good-nature, had made him famous in the country round about; and notwithstanding the prejudices of some of the Od people, he was permitted to benefit them in various ways. For instance, he made them a stove which gave them both heat and light; an instrument that produced exquisite melodies whether you could play it or not; an accordeon that invented tunes of its own accord, for the help of composers; a portable bridge to be flung over chasms at pleasure; a drink that gave men’s eyes the power of microscopes, and another that inspired them with the capacity of telescopes; a fertilizer that brought up crops in seven days with care; a flying-machine to save all who laughed; and a pill to cure headache, heartache, rheumatism, dropsy, palsy, dyspepsia, epilepsy, consumption—everything short of death itself—and to cause lost hair, eyes, teeth, legs, and arms to grow again. There was also rumor that the goblin Gigag had tunnelled the whole kingdom through, and that goblin steeds and people could now travel at will an underground thoroughfare. But, for all these things, the Odomites were no better than before. Their taste in music was bad; they were blind as bats to their interests; they tumbled over precipices; they neglected their crops, and were too stupid to fly, if not too dull to laugh; and headaches, heartaches, and palsies were much the same as ever, because they disliked to take a pill that was not sugar-coated. In the end the scientific Gigag was thought to be a goblin of genius—one of those fine spirits who are always doing magnificent things to no purpose. Had he relied upon the effect of his mechanical or chemical exploits to make his way in the world, the well-meaning goblin would certainly have made a mistake. What, then, was the secret of that extraordinary power which the goblin Gigag exercised over the minds of those who came in contact with him? It was his expression.

All the variety of which the goblin countenance is susceptible seemed to be concentrated in that of Gigag. But its peculiarity was this: that his eyes grew piercing and dazzling at will, while his teeth enlarged, his mouth curved, and his nose elongated and turned at pleasure. It may well be supposed that no Odomite could resist a smile or survive the scorn of a countenance so effective; and we can only ascribe it to Gigag’s known forbearance that the so-called anticachination laws of Googloom were not a thousand times violated. But patience has its bounds. The national dulness which made Googloom yawn and sneer made Gigag almost swear. The reigning condition must be put an end to, or science itself would be powerless at length to amuse or to cure. Accordingly, he sped through his underground road, and came up at court by a secret path. Wearing a long, conical hat and a fanciful jacket, with doublet and hose, and elongating his features while he stretched himself to his full height, he stepped into the presence of the king, knocking down by the way a few insolent attendants who had excited his gaze. Bristling the few hairs of his upper lip, which resembled the mustache of Grimalkin, and bowing with the most obsequious of smiles, the goblin Gigag stood before the giant Googloom.

Never had that ogre seen a figure at once so lean and long, and a face so bright and cunning. He would have ordered it at once to his darkest dungeons, were it not for an unaccountable fascination which forced him to listen to Gigag while he proposed not only to make Googloom laugh at his own expense, but to make everybody else laugh at him on the same terms, and to solve the problem of perpetual motion by making the land of Odom merry ever afterwards. “I presume,” said he, “you have heard the story of the pig’s fiddle”; and he proceeded to tell a tale which for wit and fun would have made a thousand unicorns die laughing. But on the giant it had either no effect at all or had only raised his spirits to the point of being serious. Gigag clearly saw that he had failed by trusting to the merits of his story instead of using his great weapon of expression. “This is no ordinary case,” said the goblin to himself. “The problem is to make an immense creature laugh who has nothing of the sort in him. Perhaps the best thing to do is to torture him till he laughs in despair.” Spite of the giant’s disposition to put his visitor at once to the torture, he agreed that the accomplished goblin should call next day, and make him laugh, or else die by slow boiling. This the goblin heard with a mixture of scorn and amusement, curling his nose and showing his teeth in an aristocratic manner.

As the cunning Gigag left the king’s chamber to go to his quarters in a corner of the great palace, he took good care to scatter about two scientifically-prepared powders, one of which dissolved in the air, producing sleep, and the other by a similar change entered the nostrils, producing throughout the body tickling sensations and a disposition to low chuckling. When Gigag again came before Googloom, it was seen that none of the royal guards were fit for duty, and that throughout the palace and its grounds the disposition among courtiers, retainers, servants, pages, to laugh in their sleeves at the smallest incitement, was unmistakable. Even the kitchen cats had caught the infection, and mewed dispersedly.

“Now, O great Googloom!” said Gigag when all the court had assembled, “let me in three acts essay to complete that transformation by which thy people’s despair shall be turned to joy, and thy laughing face shall behold its own merriment.” At this moment the giant shook like one who is tickled all over, but cannot laugh, experiencing the greatest tortures without knowing what to make of them. To divert him the goblin related his favorite story of the merry owl, with such catcalls, crowing, mincing, and mewing, and withal such unearthly jest, that a thousand dogs would have died if they did not laugh. What wonder, then, that long before the witty Gigag had concluded a favorite page was so wrought upon by chuckling that, bursting his buttons, at length he laughed right out, which had such an effect upon all assembled that they chuckled, and then roared. “Ho, guards!” cried Googloom; but Gigag easily drew his attention to the second part of the programme—for the goblin had actually brought the giant to the point of complacency. “I propose now,” he said, “to show you the most ridiculous countenance that was ever seen, except one.” Hereupon he diminished and heightened his figure at intervals, while he curved his nose by degrees, lengthened his teeth as he pleased, and put upon his mouth such an expression of maddening humor that his spectators gasped with laughing, to the vast confusion of the helpless giant, who vowed with a feeble smile that the gifted Gigag was certainly the most ingenious man he ever knew.

“Nothing will serve you, I perceive, O beautiful Googloom! except the light of science; and now I will show you the face of the most ridiculous man that ever was born.” Accordingly, by means of an instrument which he had invented, Gigag reflected upon a large canvas the features of Googloom! Unwittingly the giant smiled, for he had never seen so preposterous a face before; and the more he smiled, the more ridiculous it grew, till at last, after the giant himself had given way to laughter, it was so horribly funny that the whole court shrieked and shrieked again, and Googloom, losing all control, roared with such a volume and power of merriment that he toppled off his throne, and was crushed under its ruins. The people, seeing the faces of the courtiers and of each other, caught an infectious laughter, which prevailed throughout all Odom, and did not by any means cease when the goblin Gigag was called to the throne, and the reign of science began.

THE HAPPY ISLANDS.

Note.—This poem is founded on an ancient Irish legend, to the effect that the Happy Islands, as they are called—that is, the temporal resting-place of the blessed, where yet stands the Tree of Life guarded by the cherubim—are situated in the ocean somewhere to the far westward of Ireland.

It is said they are sometimes to be seen at sunset from the coast o’ Galway.

Many have sought to find them, and some even have come near them, but just as they were approaching, either the night fell or a storm arose and drove them from the enchanted shores.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

Les Droits de Dieu et les Idees Modernes. Par l’Abbé François Chesnel, Vicaire-Général de Quimper. Poitiers et Paris: Henri Oudin. 1875.

Every age has its special errors and its special manifestations of the truth precisely opposite to those errors. The special errors of the present age may be well summed up under one formula, which we find on p. 335 of the Abbé Chesnel’s work bearing the title placed at the head of this notice: “The pretended incompetence of God and his representatives in the order of human things, whether scientific or social.” The system which springs from this fundamental notion has received the name of Liberalism. In contradiction to it, the authority of God and the church over those matters which are included in the order of human things, is the truth which in our day has been the special object of inculcation, definition, explanation, and defence on the part of the Catholic Church and her most enlightened advocates. A great number of the very finest productions of our contemporary Catholic writers in books, pamphlets, and periodicals, treat of themes and topics connected with this branch of the great controversy between Catholic truth and universal error. The volume just published by the Abbé Chesnel is particularly remarkable among these for simplicity, lucidity, and moderation in its statements, and for its adaptation to the understanding of the great mass of intelligent and educated readers, who are unable to profit by any treatises presupposing a great amount of knowledge and thought on abstruse matters. The form of dialogue helps the author and the reader very much in respect to the facility and simplicity of the work of giving and receiving elementary instruction on the subjects contained within the volume. The other topics besides the particular one we are about to mention are handled very much in the same manner by M. Chesnel as by other sound and able writers, and require no special remark. Thank God! our instructed American Catholics are not inclined to bury themselves in what the author happily styles “the fog of liberalism,” in so far as this confuses the view of the rights of the church and the Holy See in respect to the usurpations of the civil power and the rebellions of private judgment. We have turned with a more particular interest to that part of the volume which treats of the nature, origin, acquisition, and loss of sovereign rights by the possessors of political power in the state. This is one of the most difficult topics in the department of ethics, and one seldom handled, in our opinion, so well as by our author. To a certain extent sound Catholic writers agree, and the principles maintained are proved with ease to the satisfaction of right-minded students. That political power is from God, that human rights are from God, that an authority certainly legitimate cannot be resisted within its lawful domain without sin, are so many first principles universally accepted and easily proved. But when the sources and criteria of legitimacy are in question, there is far less agreement even among those who reject liberalism, and much less facility of laying down and proving propositions in a satisfactory manner. The ingenious and learned Dr. Laing, in his little book entitled Whence do Kings Derive the Right to Rule? in our opinion sustains most extravagant theories regarding the divine right of monarchs. On the other hand, we are not entirely satisfied with the reasonings of the very able and brilliant Dublin Reviewer on the principles of legitimacy. In fact, we have not seen the subject handled in a perfectly thorough and satisfactory manner by any author writing in the English language. M. Chesnel is not exhaustive, but, so far as his scope in writing permits him to develop his subject, he seems to us remarkably clear and judicious. The beginning of sovereignty he traces to the parental expanding into the patriarchal authority. Acquisition of lawful sovereignty he refers to inheritance, election, and just conquest. The rehabilitation of a sovereignty unjustly acquired he refers to the accession of the right of a nation to the possession of the goods which have become dependent on the peaceable maintenance of a de facto sovereignty, sanctioned by a common consent. The possessor who has been unjustly despoiled of his sovereignty de jure by one who has become sovereign de facto evidently loses his right as soon as it is transferred lawfully to this spoliator or his heirs in the manner indicated. The author, as we think unnecessarily, resorts to the supposition that he is supposed to cede it, because he cannot reasonably maintain it. He adds, however, that if he does not cede it he nevertheless loses it, which seems to us to make his cession or non-cession wholly irrelevant and without effect. It is lost by the prevalence of a higher right on the part of the nation. Nevertheless, we think that until a permanent and stable union of the welfare of the nation with the right of the new dynasty is effected, the former sovereign right may in certain cases remain in abeyance, and therefore revive again in the future. This appears to us to be exemplified in the case of the rights of Don Carlos to the throne of Spain, and of the Comte de Chambord to the throne of France. Strictly, in themselves, their rights have been in abeyance, and remain imperfect, until the national welfare, sustained by a sound and powerful part of the body politic, demands their restitution and actually effects the same. In such cases there is always more or less doubt about the real sense of the better and sounder part of the nation, and about the best settlement of conflicting claims for the common good. And hence it is that the best men may differ, and conscientiously espouse opposite sides, when a nation is in an unsettled and divided state respecting its sovereignty.

In respect to the relation of the state to the church, the author has some very just and sagacious remarks on the peculiar condition of things in our own republic, quite in accordance with the views which have been expressed by our soundest American Catholic writers. We conclude our criticism by quoting a few passages:

“The religious system existing in the United States does not resemble, either in its origin or in its applications, that which the liberal sect imposes on the Catholic peoples of Europe. The American population, the progeny of colonists driven from England by persecution, never possessed religious unity. When Presbyterians, Episcopalians, and Catholics, who had all fought in common for independence, assembled in Congress and formed their constitution, they recognized the variety of worships as an antecedent fact, and endeavored to accommodate themselves to it in the best way they could. No false political theory disturbed the good sense of these legislators. Governed by a necessity manifestly invincible, and which still continues, they secured to each worship a complete liberty; proclaimed that which is a just consequence from this principle: that the state should have only a very restricted agency—that is, no more than what is necessary for reconciling the liberty of each one with that of all others. In fact, when separated from the true church, the state is reduced to pure naturalism, and in this condition the action of the state, separated from the church, ought to be reduced to the minimum” (p. 179).

Memoirs of General William T. Sherman. By Himself. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1875.

This book marks an epoch in the literary history of the war. Ten years of reconstruction and of political spoil-gathering, of slow and still incomplete recuperation at the South, and of reluctant, painful subsidence to the moderate profits and the quiet of peace at the North, had dulled the excitement attending the events of the war, had corrected many prejudices, had taken off many of the prominent actors of both sides of the contest, and had added to the literary public many men and women who were children when Sherman “marched to the sea.” And now comes one of the great conquerors of the Rebellion, and tells almost every word that an honorable man would dare to tell of all that he knows about the soldiers and the generals, the fighting and the plotting, of the war, and with infinite frankness—not stopping with facts, and dates, and figures, but detailing his remembrance of conversations, frankly offering his opinion of motives and his judgment of character, as well adverse as favorable—as readily giving names of those deserving blame as of those worthy of praise. No wonder, therefore, that these Memoirs have set the whole country to thinking about the war, and all the newspapers to discussing it. We have already had scores of explanations and defences of those attacked, or of friends in their behalf, and we are promised the Memoirs, Recollections, and Narratives of many of the more prominent generals; so that we shall shortly be supplied with testimony as to all the events of the late war, given by the actors themselves or by eye-witnesses.

The first six chapters are occupied with General Sherman’s life from the beginning of the Mexican war till the outbreak of the civil war. They are intensely interesting. Many of those who afterwards became leaders of great armies are introduced to the reader as simple captains or lieutenants in the old army. Little incidents illustrative of their characters are continually related, and the writer’s own impressions, with his unflinching candor, continually offered, every page glowing with good-humor and sparkling with entertaining anecdotes. The domestic archives of more than one household of Lancaster, Ohio, must have been well ransacked to get the letters written home by the young artillery lieutenant, in order to secure such exactness in date, and place, and conversation. One learns from these chapters about all that was done in California during the Mexican war, and who did it; graphic descriptions of many of the natural wonders of that country, and a very interesting account of the early gold excitement. Gen. Sherman was on the staff of Col. Mason, commanding United States forces in California, when gold was found in Sutter’s mill-race; was present when Sutter’s messenger showed it to Col. Mason and asked for a patent to the land; went to Sutter’s place, and saw the first miners at work there; wrote (August 17, 1848) the official despatch of Col. Mason to the Adjutant-General which gave the world the first authentic information that gold could be had in California for the digging.

After peace was concluded with Mexico, the author of the Memoirs returned to the States; but soon resigned his commission, went back to California, and opened a banking office in San Francisco—a branch of a well-known house in St. Louis. His statement of the events of the year 1856 in San Francisco is most interesting, throwing much light on the history of the famous Vigilance Committee. He was Militia General at the time, and, in conjunction with the Governor, treated with the leaders of the Committee, whom he undertakes to convict of falsehood, positively asserting that, had Gen. Wool given him the arms, he was prepared to fight the Vigilantes with militia, and would have suppressed them. Hard times induced him shortly after to wind up his banking business and return to the States, and in the autumn of 1860, after trying and giving up various undertakings, he had organized and was president of a flourishing military school, under the patronage of the State of Louisiana. When that State seceded, Sherman at once resigned and went North, and when war broke out was commissioned colonel in the regular army, rising gradually in rank till finally half the army and country was subject to his command.

Now begins his story of the war. To the most timid civilian there is an intense fascination in that war—a deep interest in every true narrative of it. Gen. Sherman takes us through some of its most exciting scenes, and so frankly and so familiarly that you feel as if you were some invited stranger, sharing his mess, discussing his plans, participating in his hopes and fears, and rejoicing with him in his nearly uniform success. His first battle was Bull Run, in which he commanded a brigade. Shortly after this he was transferred to the West, where he remained until in the winter of 1864-5, when, having fought and conquered his way from Chattanooga to Atlanta, then through Georgia and South Carolina, he found himself in North Carolina, in command of a large army, and upon the communications of Richmond. The General’s narrative of these four years is intensely interesting. Every description of battle or march is intelligible and vivid, every statement of plans is clear. The battle of Shiloh is wonderfully well described; so are the battles which were fought around Atlanta. The same may be said of the storming of Fort McAllister—one of the most gallant deeds of the war. Thousands of ex-soldiers will fight their battles over again with this book—will lose themselves in the great mass of the army—will struggle once more against that sickening sensation which their sense of honor overcame as the first bullet whistled by, the first pale, senseless form was borne to the rear on the bloody stretcher—will tingle again in every nerve at the first sight of the Southerners—will feel the sudden thrill of the fearful excitement of the rush, or of the stubborn defence, or the ecstasy of victory. Many a one will once more feel the terrible fatigue of the march, the pangs of hunger and thirst, the weariness of sleepless nights on picket, the tedious, painful weeks spent in hospital. And every soldier will once more feel sad as he reads of the places and scenes of the death of his comrades, and will repeat for the thousandth time that it was always the best men who were killed.

The charges of cruelty and barbarity made during and after the war against Gen. Sherman are indignantly denied. The depopulation of the town of Atlanta is justified in so far as the General clearly shows the purity of his motives and can cite the approval of both the civil and military authorities; yet the ugly fact remains that it was done not for the instant safety of his army or the immediate injury of the enemy’s, but thousands of women and children were driven among strangers and their homes abandoned to the chances of a civil war to secure a temporary convenience. As to the unauthorized foraging of the troops generally, the General condemned and often reproved and condemned it; though his correspondence shows a secret satisfaction at the devastation committed in South Carolina, except where it might result in permanent injury to private property. His defence against Secretary Stanton’s charges of usurping civil powers in treating with Gen. Jos. Johnston is simply complete. Gen. Sherman here had the honor to be the first after the war to suffer abuse and persecution because a kind heart and chivalrous sympathy with a gallant and beaten foe roused the hatred and fear of a class of politicians as malicious and vindictive as they were ambitious.

The last chapter, “Military Lessons of the War,” is extremely interesting, especially to military men. It contains some very important conclusions; for example, that infantry must hereafter fight in skirmishing order; that cavalry can no longer be used against organized infantry; that every night’s camp in an enemy’s vicinity should be covered by light works; and that good troops with the rifle can beat off from trenches double their numbers. All this and nearly all the other opinions advanced in this chapter had become truisms to even the common soldier in our war, and the late Franco-German war has made them such for the whole world. But Gen. Sherman’s modesty has hindered him from showing that his own persistent adherence to this new science not only gained him Atlanta, but left him an intact and veteran army with which to crush through the heart of the South; and that Gen. Grant’s neglect of it, and his adopting the “hammering-away” method instead, not only did not conquer Lee and take Richmond, but positively buried the old gallant Army of the Potomac between the Rapidan and the Appomattox.

It is a great injustice to the Army of the Cumberland and its General to say so glibly that at Chickamauga “Bragg had completely driven Rosecrans’ army into Chattanooga”; it is notorious that at the battle itself the key of the position was never given up, and that the whole army offered battle defiantly at Rossville before retiring to Chattanooga. Such a mistake as this throws discredit upon Gen. Sherman’s statements of other events of which he was not an eye-witness. It is also much to be regretted that in matters wholly private he should not have reserved the names of persons whose conduct was reprehensible. Thus it adds nothing to the interest of his narrative to give the name of the officer of the ship whose incorrect reckoning so inconvenienced the passengers on the author’s first voyage to California; or to give the name of the lawyer who swindled him out of the proceeds of a note given him to collect; wife and children and friends should not be made to share public disgrace for private acts of which they themselves are entirely guiltless.