The Catholic World, Vol. 09, April, 1869-September, 1869

by Various

The Supernatural.

By Cesar Cantu.

Petulant tyranny of science! It will not allow us to say that two and two are three; that there can be more than the sum of two right angles in a triangle; or that the radii of a circle are not equal. What arrogance thus to confine my liberty; to deny me leave to assert that there is an exact relation between the diameter and circumference of a circle; that the duplication of the cube is possible, the trisection of an angle, and perpetual motion! Why should not error have the same rights as truth? Reason is mistress of the world; unlimited mistress of herself. She can prove that yes is identical with no; that being and nothing are all one. Why tire ourselves with the science of ultimate reasons? We must regard the effects without ascending to the causes; we accept only what can be felt and seen. What is substance? What is cause? What are ideas? Let them pass; we hold only to phenomenon and effect.

All would not dare to express these assertions with such boldness, and yet they are necessary inferences from the current sophisms and phrases of a science which stains its tyranny by petulance and bald negations. Experience! Experience! it cries daily, and proceeds to invent theories on the formation of the universe which will never meet the approval of experience; it repudiates every truth a priori, and yet establishes, a priori, that faith is contradictory to reason. In the name of free-will it demands the destruction of free-will; as if man were more free while seeking than after having found the truth; as if true liberty did not consist in willing what is right.

And nowadays a multiform war is waged against ancient belief by a contracted and intolerant science, and a system of retrogressive and egotistical politics. Arguments and buffoonery, decrees and violences, alternate, not only against the priests, but against Christ. Some disfigure dogmas, and then throw them to the fishes, or abandon them to the anger of a mob dressed in black waistcoats or in red caps. Some resuscitate ancient errors under modern phraseology, or excite the demon of curiosity. Some, faithful to the system of defamation and intimidation, libel as clericals or obscurantists those Christians who loved liberty when it was not a mere speculation, if they are unwilling to believe that the Italy of the future must deny the Italy of the past, to become strong. One party in the name of authority attacks its chief source. Some drag into the lists a conventional nationality and an exclusive patriotism, against the universality of faith and charity, and hurt the partial reasons of a state against ecumenical reason. Some fight in the garb of doctors, striving to apply the methods of observation to what is super-sensible, confounding the proximate with the first cause, and thus arriving at scientific scepticism, positivism, which repudiates ideas, or at a criticism which considers generations as succeeding each other without a connecting law—by mere evolution—without seeking what absolute truth corresponds to the successive rise of nations, or clearing up the future by the past—that which is going to happen with what is permanent. And thus they whirl in a pantheism which either accepts no God but the human mind, or makes everything God except God himself; leaving him the splendor of his idea, the sovereignty of his name, but depriving him of the reality of his being and the consciousness of his life.

There are others who, with frivolous argumentation, produce excellent pillows for doubt, and refuse to examine, contenting themselves with repeating the affirmations of the most accredited organs of the press. Let us pass over those who flatter the animal instincts of nature by writings and images which Sodom would condemn, and proclaim the divine reign of the flesh, saying, with Heine, "The desire of all our institutions is the rehabilitation of matter. Let us seek good in matter; let us found a democracy of terrestrial gods, equal in happiness and holiness; let us have nectar and ambrosia; let us desire garments of purple, delights of perfumes and dances, comedies and children."

Hence comes the deplorable degradation of minds plunged not only in ignorance but in base adulations to slaves and to the slaves of slaves, to the rabble hailed by the people, to a debasement called progress, to a freedom which consists in robbing others of liberty.

II.

In such a state of affairs, what ought a priest or Christian to do who reserves to himself the right of not calling evil things good? Grow low-spirited, reproach the century, grow timorous of science, groan like Jeremias over the woe of Jerusalem, and await the rock which is to crush the clay-footed colossus? It looks like compelling Providence, when we refuse to co-operate with it in the conflict between good and evil, unless on conditions which suit our little egotism, or please our frivolous vanity. The timid compromise their character with strange conventions between truth and error, by shameful oscillation between liberty and despotism, resigning themselves to tyranny as a hypocrite may act toward an atheist.

Christ came to carry the sword, and the time has come when he who has one should draw and brandish it. Certainly, God will save his church. He alone will have the glory, but will man have the merit of it? Where silence is, there is death; and, outside of what directly touches revealed truth, discussion is useful, even when held with those who err; it teaches us, at least, how we are not to act or think, if nothing else.

Some say, "It is enough to preach morality. What have rigorous truths to do with good sentiments? the aspirations of the heart with the deductions of cold reason?"

Superficial questions! As if one should say, "What has the soul to do with the soul?" Do not ethics depend on dogma? do not our actions follow from metaphysical conditions? Every doctrine becomes an element of life or a principle of death for the soul. A sophist may, indeed, boast of a new code of ethics, or a new law; as if truth could be contingent and relative as well as universal, eternal, necessary, and, as such, not produced by man, who is mortal and limited. International associations, conspiring to assassinate Christian civilization, will soon respond with consequent acts to such inconsequences of literature.

When the system of attack is changed, we must change the system of defence. Preaching can no longer be confined to mere prones, or exhortations to the good and inculcating the fides carbonaria; [Footnote 66] but we must gird on the sword of science and eloquence, and attack resolutely those who assail us resolutely. Truth can be saved only by victory; and in this case, as in war, the best defence is an attack.

[Footnote 66: The faith of the coal-heaver who believes without science.]

If errors fortify themselves in the newspapers, and come on in serried ranks, protected by gazettes, decrees, arts, and sciences, we must meet them with the same means, humble them with the truths rejected or distorted by the sophists, turn their own weapons against them; for error, which is a stumbling-block for the incautious, may become a ladder for the wise to ascend higher. Nowadays, when all the arguments of unbelief are allied in an invisible church which has fraternities, missionaries, sacrifices, and even martyrs, to assault the visible church in the name of progress, enlightenment, morality, reason, and the future, we must draw out all the reasons of belief in opposition. The manifestation of truth, even though it may not destroy error, weakens its power. It is not enough to show that our adversaries are wrong; we must be right ourselves. Let us not allow men to think that there are truths incompatible with faith, or outside of its dogmas; but that, notwithstanding exaggerations, absurdities, erroneous and culpable notions, those truths obtain from faith all their reality, vitality, and durability; and that he who looks well will see that every incontestable and positive progress comes from the organization of Christian society.

In this labor, can reason ask the aid of revelation? And why not? The rationalists might complain if we attempted to overwhelm the question with the weight of revealed authority; but when revelation is united to reason, the power of the latter is doubled. Mysteries are above reason, not contrary to it. Faith is only the most sublime effort of reason, which is persuaded to believe by arguments, convinced of its impotence without faith, as well as of its greatness with faith. Faith is a grace, because it is not sensible certainty. It springs from the desire of a pure heart and of a right mind that the harmonious structure of revelation should be true. Reason by itself cannot obtain the knowledge of a mystery, any more than it can comprehend a mystery when revelation makes it known. Reason, however, understands that a mystery is above it, but not opposed to it; and recognizes the necessity of the supernatural to explain even the mysteries of nature. In like manner, though we cannot look at the sun, yet by its light we see all things.

Some, seeing our adversaries use the sciences and politics against religion, work with the arts, speak with ability, begin to vituperate civilization, attack its acts and writings, deplore the times, deny the stupendous progress of the age—the fruit of so much study, fatigue, and genius.

This is not only an evil; it is a danger. Instead of repudiating natural truths, we must seek to reconcile them with the super-sensible, show ourselves just toward what is new, use it to rejuvenate the decrepit, and apply it to the branches which have lost vitality. The time will never come when all objections will be conquered. They will always arise with new forms and new phases. Great thinkers give the word of command for new revolts against truth; it is therefore necessary for great theologians to combat them. Every Catholic is not fit to enter the list as a champion, but every Catholic ought to know why faith is necessary in general, and what he ought to believe in particular. The least that can be expected of him is not to be less ignorant than the curious, the learned, and the railers who, on every side, pick up arguments for not believing. And how few know their religion, not only among the common people, but even among the educated classes! The fault lies in the fact that, while we Catholics are so superior to our adversaries, we do not know how to use our advantage, because we know not in what this superiority consists. Otherwise, every educated person would find by himself as many new, ingenious, and brilliant proofs to defend the religion of his ancestors as others invent to destroy it—original, personal proofs, as light, perhaps, as the objections, but sufficient for the discussion of circles, to answer presumptuous contempt, false ideas, and false principles, which are published in seductive garb, with specious propositions, audacious negations, and intrepid affirmations, [Footnote 67] and which penetrate into politics, science, art, repugnant not only to logic, but even to the instincts of common sense.

[Footnote 67: See a golden work of the Princess Wittgenstein Iwanowska, Simplicité des Colombes, Prudence des Serpents, where she refutes the most common objections, and exhorts especially ladies to prudence and simplicity in controversy and conduct.]

But, moreover, who does not feel the deficiency in scientific and really practical education in that science which satisfies the reason, the heart, and faith.

The religious element should form a great part in education, and it would suffice to change the tone of controversy, from being sour, contemptuous, diffident, discourteous, provoking, and partial, the result of the usual impoliteness of journalists, to a courageous yet prudent, conscientious as well as learned, indulgent yet immovable, method; abandoning a phraseology which did not formerly shock men's feelings, those sarcasms which neither heal nor console, and remembering that our adversaries are probably men of high intelligence, in error precisely on this account; perhaps persons of right mind, unimpeachable morals, and even of delicate sensibility.

This is the arena of conférences. Fraysinnous began the work of uniting religion with science in the pulpit. Those of Wiseman did better at Rome. Then arose the famous names of Lacordaire, Ravignan, and now of Fathers Felix and Hyacinthe, [Footnote 68] and in Italy, Fathers Maggio, Fabri, Rossi, Giordano, and others. Among these must be named Alimonda, provost of the cathedral of Genoa, who gave a course of lectures, all depending on one proposition, and has just published them in four volumes, with the title Man under the Law of the Supernatural. Genoa, 1868.

[Footnote 68: At this time Father Hyacinthe is treating of "The Church under her most general aspect," in Notre Dame, at Paris. He treats of the providence of God.]

But four volumes cost more than a box of cigars! How much time it takes to read them! some will exclaim who have, perhaps, read Les Miserables of Hugo, or La Stella d'Italia; have a copy of Thiers; subscribe for four or five magazines, and who require a hundred or a hundred and fifty pages to be printed on a question of finance or railroads, but find that number too great where the discussion is about man's being, or his power of working, on the essence of God, the immortality of the soul, the necessity of virtue, and the necessity of religion to create it, the divinity of Christianity, or belief in its dogmas.

But those who do not merely aspire to cloud the human intellect, and repress sublime desires under the weight of self-interest, passion, and the tyranny of prejudice, and who exclaim, with Linnaeus, "Oh! quam contemta res est homo nisi super humana se erexerit," [Footnote 69] know that to follow great ideas becomes a nobler habit, as trivialities become common; and that essential truths, which are never out of place or time, are based on the same systematic method which seemed to deny them entirely.

[Footnote 69: "Oh! how contemptible a thing is man if he cannot arise above what is human!">[

III.

Scientific atheism asserts that "common sense is the test of belief in the supernatural," and that the greatness of every religious conception referable to this standard is counterbalanced by the greatness of scientific conceptions on nature and the universe. Whoever, then, does not belong to the party of those who presume to differ with the atheist, can easily perceive how unacceptable a treatise on the supernatural must be; since Alimonda began by demonstrating that it is true, and credible; and that it imports us not only in the next life but even in this to believe it. To desire to invent a mechanical theory of the universe, a material origin of human intelligence and liberty, originates the anarchical conception of giving the explanation of the cosmological whole by means of every special science. Büchner and Vogt modified the Cartesian ideas by teaching "that there is no force without matter, no matter without force; that matter thinks as well as moves; and that all things are but dynamic transformations of matter." Hence comes intelligent electricity, cogitating phosphorus; and Moleschott was invited to teach in our universities that "thought is a motion of cerebral matter, and conscience a material property." Rognero taught that "conscience dwells in the circulatory system." These doctrines have been preached in every revolutionary tavern with all that personal exaggeration which we always find in those who retail second-hand dogmas.

Well! granted these hypotheses, we still ask, What is this force? What is this primary motion? Where is the mover? Would an activity anterior to existence have ever created itself imperfect and subject to evil? Can the relation of necessary succession be confounded with the relation of causality? Does the metaphysical conception of cause remain indistinct from the conditions of existence? If the order of ideas be distinguished from the order of facts, everything leads us to a first cause, to the most real of realities, to the will of a supreme artificer which determined inert matter to motion rather than to rest.

If, then, this motion endures with fixed laws; if, in so great a diversity of infinite bodies, I recognize a system according to which no one interferes with the other, but all agree in a supreme harmony of mode; if, for instance, the destruction of one of the celestial bodies would discompose the marvellous structure of the universe; if from the alteration of the orbit of a planet the man of science can conclude the existence of another, thousands of miles distant, it is not the holy fathers but Voltaire who will exclaim, "If the clock exists, there must necessarily be a clock-maker." It is impossible to kill a moral being, a universal sentiment, by arms, or books, or declamations.

The Deity does not offer himself to sensation, observation, or experience; hence the sensists and perceptionists see in him but a hypothesis, and reject all theology and all metaphysics. They abuse the method of observation by applying it to what is not observable. No object of experiment can be God; nor can any perception reach him in this world, since he can only manifest himself to us ideally; that is to say, by the reflection of thought on itself, under the pure form of an idea; and an idea necessarily supposes an existence. Reason must come to God through the medium of the idea of God: whence an illustrious writer defending religious philosophy adopted the appropriate title of "IDEA OF GOD."

Nowadays, when the series of generations are brought to laugh and dance at the funeral of God and the evaporation of Christ, it is not superfluous to accumulate psychological and social proofs on the existence of a first necessary Cause, on its reality, and on its divine life reverberating in the great labor of creation; on those laws of phenomena which others call the ideas of nature, and we call the Creator. The word must be personified, and substantiated to express something real.

Among these laws I have always found that those regarding the origin of language had great influence on me and are of great help against the atheists. The more we study, the more we are convinced that the languages have a common source. How did man ever discover that ideas could be represented with sounds, or real thought by the medium of words, and then invent symbolical, phonetic, or alphabetic signs to represent both ideas and sounds? Or is the word only the means of expressing our thoughts, or the essential form of them, the indispensable condition necessary to our having them? Can sensation draw anything out of a word but a material sound? How is it that all the human races—Iranic, Semitic, Gallic, or Black—speak, and only men speak? How is it that although there is a common element in all languages, yet such diversity exists among certain groups? The more we study this indispensable complement of creation, this condition of our intellectual development, the more we are led to confess that there are mysteries in the human word as well as in the divine word; and all this reveals the name of God.

When we have proved the reality, we must investigate the essence of God. And here we meet the mystery of unity and trinity, which, considered in itself, explains being; considered outside of itself, explains beings. Because, if we repudiate a supernatural God, we must substitute another in his place—a being of reason and abstraction, or a material god, or a god of pleasure. But these insane hypotheses must be made to explain the existence of the universe. They are either the eternity of matter or emanatism. Life put into matter we know not how; born, we know not how, we have spontaneous productions, or transformations of species, as Lamarck and Darwin maintain; but the learned show that these theories are impossible both as to soul and body. And then no one of these naturalists explains the end of man, nor his most precious gift—liberty.

The God of the Bible alone contains the true explanation of man and the universe. He who, spontaneously putting his omnipotence into activity without material elements, drew the world out of nothing; and this because he is good, and wills the good and the beautiful.

IV.

The most prodigious part of creation is man, destined for eternity; nor could there be in him a tendency without a scope, an end without a means, nor a merit without a recompense. The world is for his use, but he must not forget that eternity is his destiny. For the purpose of proving the material origin of the human intellect philosophers reject all who would give to life a distinct principle, isolated from organism, supposing that life, at least in its rudimental form, could spring from the bosom of organic liquids. Virchow praised the little cell, the only one of the anatomic elements which Milne-Edwards called organical, and which is a nucleus of various forms, surrounded by a protoplasm of organic matter without figure. From the cell are formed the embryos, which gradually become perfect and form animals, until the ape changes into man.

Finally, on interrogating life in its unity, in its harmonies, in its cause and end, in its full and substantial reality, we find that it does not contain in itself a causal unity which is sufficient for it; and the great modern physiologist Bernard says: "The problem of physiology does not consist in pointing out the physico-chemical laws which living beings have in common with inorganic bodies, but in discovering the vital laws which characterize them." By studying mental diseases, and perceiving that atrophy of a certain part of the brain will cause the loss of certain faculties, and that the injection of oxygenated blood will reawaken them, and with similar experiments, it has been attempted to prove the materiality of cogitation, and to show that the soul is a chimera. These are irrational materialistic interpretations of physiological facts, for the cause of the fact is confounded with the conditions of the phenomenon.

This same Virchow, who seemed to have discovered such a powerful argument against spiritualism in his theory of the cell, cannot explain with physics and optics alone the phenomena of vision; becomes confounded before the mystery of life, and declares: "Nothing is like life, but life itself. Nature is twofold. Organic nature is entirely distinct from inorganic. Although formed by the same substance, from atoms of the same nature, organic matter offers us a continued series of phenomena which differ in their nature from the inorganic world. Not because the latter represents dead nature—for nothing dies but what has lived; even inorganic nature possesses its activity, its eternally active labor—but this activity is not life except in a figurative sense." [Footnote 70]

[Footnote 70: "The Atom and the Individual," a discourse pronounced at Berlin in 1866.]

We do not think it superfluous to oppose these reflections, added to those of Alimonda, to the negations of the materialists, which have weight only because they have been often repeated; and we conclude with Alimonda that man is an inexplicable mystery if we do not accept the other mystery of original sin. Hence the conflict between reason and the passions; the inclination to evil and bloodthirstiness; the necessity of wars and prisons. If we admit the intrinsic goodness of man, there is no guilt and there can be no chastisement; society can institute no tribunals, but only hospitals to cure diseases. This has been said in our age; and common sense rejected it. The primitive fall and successive activity show how man progresses indefinitely, according to nature, not according to socialistic utopias. This explains the inequality of the faculties and of labor, and hence of goods, of property, which otherwise would be a theft.

The whole of ancient society attests this degradation; but a Redeemer was promised; he was confusedly expected by all nations; he was clearly predicted by the prophets of Judea, in order to console mankind, that they might believe in him to come, hope in him, and love him by anticipation.

These promises, and the figures which personified them, are deposited in the Bible; that divine history which clears up the origin of humanity and the changes of civilization, and whose witnesses, though apparently contradictory, only make the thesis and the antithesis of a great synthesis, interpreted by an infallible authority. The unity of the human species asserted in that book has been proved by the sciences, even by paleontology, which some pretended to arm against the biblical affirmations; and while the frivolity of the last century thought it had mockingly dissipated truth, we have scientific progress proving the Bible to be wonderfully in accord with the least expected discoveries.

The continual intervention of Providence in the Bible is repugnant to human pride, which would be the centre and creator of all events; yet this providence it is which satisfies, at the same time, the wants of the human heart, gives a legal constitution to society, a sanction to human acts, without which we should only have cutthroats and the gallows.

V.

Thus far we nave presented man in relation to God; let us consider man in relation to Jesus Christ, a theme by far more important, as we can say with the psalmist: "Convenerunt in unum adversus Dominum et adversus Christum ejus." [Footnote 71] In this most corrupt world reparation was expected from humanity, but who could fulfil it but the incarnate Word? Greater than all the great ones of the earth, he established his providential kingdom, making it the social centre of men and centuries.

[Footnote 71: "They assembled together against the Lord and his Christ.">[

Our first parents aspired to become gods, and their pride was transmitted to their posterity; but behold how God really unites himself to man!

Men felt a secret want of expiation, expressed by their sacrifices and mortifications; and Christ satisfied their desire by uniting in himself the two natures, and by fecundating with holy merits the sufferings of individuals and of nations.

Yet men wish to make a myth of him! And after the encyclopaedists have derided him, now they hypocritically try to crown him with human greatness and beauty, to rob him of his divinity! But how can you explain his influence on the most cultivated nations, lasting so many centuries, and through an incessant war from Simon Magus to Renan? Is not his immeasurable influence over the human race divine? With the light of his doctrine he created the life of intelligence and of conscience. His is no hidden and recondite word, but common and popular; not methodized into a philosophical system, equipped with proofs; not even robed in eloquence. His scope is not to invent, but to reveal—that is, lift the veil which covered primitive truths, and excite to good. He is virtue personified, the model of men, with grace through which charity triumphs over egotism—grace, the most profound and most beautiful word in the dictionary of religion. But here human pride rebels, because Christ taught mysteries.

What, then, are mysteries but our ignorance, and the insufficiency of our reason? Thus the vulgar believe that the sun goes around the earth because the senses show it; thus a silly man would deny the existence of the imponderable fluids because he does not see or touch them, although he feels their effects. Three temples rise in the world: of nature, of reason, and of religion; and in all there are mysteries. There are mysteries in space, atoms, divisibility, forces, life, thought, the cell, sensation, idea, limits: in everything under the form which passes away there is a mystery which remains. If a miracle is humanly conceivable, it ought to be divinely possible.

If you exclude the idea of the supernatural, nothing is left but nature, with the character of necessity which reason denies it; with a series of monstrous and gratuitous affirmations which constitute pantheism.

But some will say, "Yes, there is a God distinct from nature; he is self-conscious and free, but he is immutable: while the supernatural represents him as changeable and arbitrary."

Thus reason those who, led by anthropomorphic illusions, subject the action of God to succession. The acts of man, who is ephemeral and localized, are necessarily successive; and because the results of divine activity are manifested to our eyes in time and space, they seem new and wonderful. But God is not limited by time or space; his act is one, eternal, immanent like his will; everything which proceeds from that act is the act itself, one, eternal, and immanent, and thus the differences between the natural and supernatural disappear.

To defend the idea of the supernatural is not, therefore, to attack science or smother intelligence; but to defend the idea of God, who is the hinge of all science. This, indeed, banishes the supernatural from its domain; but if every reality is not reducible to nature, it is impossible not to admit a higher principle of the laws which nature reveals, and of which nature is not the necessary principle. Christianity pronounces nothing on the science of nature, except that the supernatural is above natural laws; that there is a God, as St. Augustine says, "pater luminum et evigilationis nostrae." [Footnote 72] Is this a mystery? But is not everything which exists an incomprehensible manifestation of the supernatural? Is not the free-will of man an incomprehensible mystery?

[Footnote 72: "The Father of lights and of our awaking.">[

But revealed mysteries, much more than dry theorems which restrain reason, are fruitful in meditation, humility, gratitude, and aspiration after a life of bliss: they are light to the intellect, motives for virtue; all have a comprehensible side; they have their wherefore; and this is sufficient for the happiness of individuals, and works efficaciously on the whole of society.

Miracles, which are extraordinary to man, are natural to God, and he uses them to manifest Christ the Redeemer. But the diminishers of great things wish to make Christ a mountebank, or a magician working by natural means like the mesmerizers, in whom they believe rather than in Christ. They deny Christ and offer incense to Hegel, who said that "the universe is a simple negation." Every religious, moral, or political doctrine must stand the test of actualization: the idea must be realized; the thought must become life; and the result is the criterion. But the greatest miracle of Jesus Christ was the establishment of the new kingdom of grace on the ruins of the kingdom of the world; to substitute the eternal edifice of the church for corrupt institutions; instead of proud science, to put the holy word of the apostolate; charity, generous even to martyrdom, in the place of brute force. Martyrdom! this is another word which shocks the free-thinkers who retail cheap heroes, and deafen us with hymns to the martyrs of fatherland, ennobling with this title assassins on the scaffold. Christ is a martyr for humanity; he is a God of order, wisdom, and charity.

But here they stop us again, and pretend that he aimed at an impossible perfection, and was a utopist; and as such, they reject him, although they are admirers of such dreamers as More or Giordano Bruno, Fourier or Saint-Simon.

But is it true that Christ's doctrine cannot be realized? There are precepts and counsels in it; and you, by confounding them, condemn Christianity, as if it commanded all to observe what is counselled only to a few exceptional existences called by God. To observe the counsels special virtue is required, and those monks who deserved so well even of society practised them. Rather than deride and destroy them, they diffused the evangelical counsels which they practised in their own lives—obedience, abstinence, purity; those virtues which would give that facilitas imperii—that self-control—which is so hard to keep; that virtue which is the order of love. Those monks peopled the Thebaid, lived in the poverty of St. Francis, in the austerities of St. Bruno, awaited death in caverns, and ate only herbs; others fled the world to pray for it, but the church never gave them pharisaical faces; life, soul, talents, imagination characterized them; the happiness of their existence was increased by the blessing of the church; feasts, music, and sacred rites abounded; social, domestic, and scientific life were nourished by Christian virtue and education; patriotism had its hymns if fortunate; audits, litanies, if unsuccessful; art and poetry became incorporated with worship; admiration for natural beauties was aroused; activity and prudence stimulated and eulogized, progress approved, and civilization encouraged.

Yet the rationalists would give the glory of this civil society of which we boast to man alone, while it is in fact the work of the supernatural gospel. In this we find light, virtue, harmony; that is, power, subjection, and agreement. The gospel establishes a respected and vigilant authority in face of a policy which traffics in opinions. Kings are bound by the same morality as the least subjects. Rulers swear to observe the law of God; that is, never to become tyrants. Power is exercised after the example set by God; and the head of the state is the first-born among brothers. Subjects are children who obey not propter timorem sed propter conscientiam—not from fear but for conscience' sake; an obedience to God rather than to men. Christianity asserted the true doctrine of equal rights with inequality of rank when it proclaimed that we are all brothers; it broke the chains of the slave; abolished hereditary enmity between nations, and all superiority save that of merit.

To deny that these advantages are derived from Christianity would now be stupidity; but they say that while it formerly worked wonders, there is no longer any necessity for religion, the priest, or Christ: morality has become acclimated; necessary truths are acquired; and so man can progress with laws, tradition, and social organization.

Those who speak in this way do not comprehend the connection between metaphysical and practical truth; do not realize that the most common maxims which we drink in with our mother's milk would become gradually obscured by separation from their source; as the necessary sanction would be wanting to them.

Between the merely honest man and the Christian, there will always be the difference which exists between the bird that can only hop and the full-fledged bird which flies. Let us suppose, even, that the learned of the future will govern themselves better than the philosophers of antiquity; still it is only religion that can say to the multitude, "Hope always and never obtain." If there is no heaven, if gold and pleasure are the only aspirations, why not enjoy them? Let a revolutionist arise and promise them, he will obtain a hearing much more readily than the philosopher who can promise only a doubtful eternity. But then what will become of society? If you preach resignation to the poor without giving them hope, will not hope arise without resignation?

It was the gospel which humanly unfettered the child, woman, and the poor. By it alone were exposed children and orphans gathered together; it founded hospitals and pious retreats for every disease of the body and mind. Vincent of Paul, Girolamo Miani, Calasanctius, and a host of others never ceased in the church; and even the world blesses their name, blesses their work, that of the holy infancy, and that for the education of Chinese children, and for the redemption of captives among the Moors. Entire religious congregations have been founded to save children from death, from penury, and from ignorance; so that at the destruction of these religious orders, we ought to say, as Christ to the mothers of Jerusalem, "Weep not over me, but over your children." We should weep the more when we see their intellects and souls entrusted to state officials who fashion them to suit their masters.

And woman? From what base degradation and turpitude has she been raised by Christianity. But the state law wills that she should be thus addressed: "Thou hast been brought up to purity; to avoid every impure act and look; but henceforth I, the mayor, command thee to give thyself up to the man whom I, the mayor, designate as thy husband." On the other hand, the socialists wish to take her out of the domestic sanctuary to take part in business, in government, in war; she must become a woman of letters, a politician and a heroine. Ah! the heroism of woman consists in fulfilling her domestic duties, in the apostleship of doing good; let her have the heroism of faith and virtue, and she will save the world, as she helped so much to do in the person of Mary over eighteen centuries ago.

"Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of God," said Christ; and his chief followers took care of the poor, instructed them, supplied their wants with alms; made them noble with blessings; and, since it is necessary to suffer, the poor were taught to bear their ills with the hope of immortal recompense. But the strong-minded of this age fiercely scream about the rights of the poor; and yet rob spontaneous and virtuous charity of the means of supplying the wants of the poor. The necessity of official aid is created, and thus pride and rancor against the rich are excited, while suffering remains without consolation.

VI.

All these points have their objections and suitable answer well developed in our orator's work. Alimonda examines man in relation to the church and shows how human reason, while it strives to rebel against her, is obliged to bless her, even by the mouth of her most determined enemies, as happened to the prophet Balaam. This church was not established by the power of man or by progressive development; she was born beautiful and perfect, the same in the upper room at Jerusalem as in the Council of Trent; she underwent every species of hostility, violent and puerile, of kings and people, of rogues and editors, and yet always remained whole and alive.

While human institutions regulate man, the church aspires to the government of souls. Although she aimed at so much, she was listened to; she defined what good meant; restricted authority; gave the law of work; and was believed. Even the ancient churches by their very nature were spiritual societies; but they exercised no influence on consciences, little on men's conduct, less even than the schools of philosophy. Later heresies and schisms could not spread or establish themselves, except by force and war, or by allowing every one to be the judge of his own conscience and reason; that is, heresy did not pretend to direct souls. Our church has a perfect and unchangeable order for the government of conscience, an order which does not vary according to opinion. The latter will say with Thierry that the conquered are always right; with Cousin and Thiers, that it is the conqueror who is is always right. Which is one to believe? It will be said that the voice of the people is the voice of God, and that common sense ought to be the rule of our actions. Well, suppose it is; how can we interrogate it? Where is its decision? Where its organ? They will tell us to-day it is "universal suffrage." We shall not dwell on such nonsense: we merely inquire, must I ask its advice in reference to my private actions? I need for these safe, well expressed, and efficacious principles.

The church answers every question; and her answers are always the most generous, the most human, and the most kind to the weak. She has a mixed government—monarchical, aristocratic, and democratic; her aristocrats are poor fishermen. By this she is the type of modern governments which have the representative system. Rationalism wants to substitute revolution for this; takes away from the people the good conditions peculiar to them, acquired by them, legitimate and independent of governments; and makes atheism the lever with which to subvert politics. The apostles of rationalism adore liberty, provided they are her priests and sacrificators; create a new author of civilization—the rabble; oblige kings to divide their authority with the mob; the mob upsets its creatures; kings run away; good men hide; the owners of property, menaced by the dogma of plebeian avidity, oppose the bayonet to the knife of the rabble until these are overcome.

Precisely because the temporal mission of the church is great as the mistress and legislator of nations, precisely because she is authority, the impotent violently, and the powerful foolishly, attack her at a time when men want rights without duties, the husband as well as the citizen, the laborer as well as the legislator.

The church alone has saints; she is universal, perpetual, irreformable: characters which manifest her divine origin and divine actuation.

This divinity of the church is found in Catholicism, not in Protestantism. Catholicity alone has positive unity of faith, love, civilization; that is, light, sacrifice, virtue, which Protestantism lacks. All history and statistics, not systematically false or officially disfigured, which looks further than merely a few years, show that civilization does not progress so well with Protestantism. The Catholic Church had conquered the world and formed modern civilization before the unity of faith and charity was broken; and she would have done more had there been no rupture; and had not the religious wars impeded her power, menaced Europe with a new barbarism, subjected it again to the scourge of armies and conquests, which prevent us even yet from considering our age superior to the most deplorable of past centuries.

VII.

The Catholic Church established her primacy in Rome by three miracles, by conquering Rome when she was mistress of the whole world; by using Rome, her language, civilization, and legislation, to defend Christianity; and by perpetuating the primacy in Rome. Everything that exists has a reason for existence; resurrection is a proof of divinity. Christian Rome, though often driven to agony, has always revived. Exiled kings die in banishment, abandoned and despised; this is a daily spectacle to our age; the popes become more glorious with persecution; a pope in exile at Avignon or in a prison at Savona is as powerful as in the Quirinal palace. If the most powerful emperor, the most iron will of our century, like the acrobat who kicks away the ladder after using it to ascend, robbed the pope who assisted him to rise, insulted and imprisoned him, all Europe—Catholic, Protestant, and schismatic—took arms to restore the pontiff. Thrones crumble, dynasties disappear; but the old man always returns to his seat, from Avignon or Salerno, from Fontainebleau or from Gaeta.

Modern servility may grow indignant to see Henry V. at the feet of Gregory VII.; but it could not see Pius VI. kiss the hand of emperors, as Voltaire did with Catharine or with Frederic of Prussia; in vain will it hope to see Pius IX. at the feet of diplomatists or demagogues; but he will say with St. Augustine, Leo victus est saeviendo; Agnus vicit patiendo. [Footnote 73]

[Footnote 73: The lion was conquered by fury; the lamb triumphed by suffering.]

The church lives immortal, neither in nor above but with the state. Her relation with the state may be either of protection, limitation, or separation. Protected as in the beginning and as she was often under the ancient kings, the church would not be degraded. She had her autonomy in her laws, ordinances, and hierarchy; she was, not the slave or the flatterer of the power under which she lived.

She does not seek limitation or restrictions, but supports them without changing her nature. By degrees, as kings prevailed in modern society, and abridged the power of the people, of the lords and corporations, they became jealous of the authority of the church, restricted her action and obstructed her freedom. Powerful in armies, money, and slaves, kings imposed on the church; she became resigned, sacrificed some minor points in order to guard the chief ones in tact; but notwithstanding all the chains of concordats, she remained sovereign in her freedom.

Separation from the state is like the separation between soul and body; hence the church is opposed to a state that is unchristian.

The church, destined to illuminate the world with her divine light, and not to govern it politically, is by nature conservative. She was so even when the Roman emperors oppressed her; when they went away from Rome, she respected them at Constantinople, until she found it necessary for her defence and for the cause of national freedom to withdraw herself and Italy from imperial control. When she absolved nations from their oaths of allegiance, it was in the name of morality, and not of a political or social idea; to preserve for God what belongs to him, and not to deny to Cesar what belongs to him. [Footnote 74]

[Footnote 74: By the recent work, Religious and Civil History of the Popes, of Wm. Audisio, published at Rome in 1868, many precious facts have been recalled to my mind. One is that Gregory XVI., while Portugal was divided between Don Pedro and Don Miguel, tried to settle the dispute by recalling the ecclesiastical tradition, to render civil obedience to him who governs in fact: Qui actu ibidem summa rerum potiatur. In this he wished to settle the dispute between the contending parties; for the church seeks qua Christi sunt, qua, ad spiritualem aeternamque populorum felicitatem facilius conducant, ("those things which are of Christ, which conduce to the spiritual and eternal happiness of peoples.") The other in which Pius VII., in the consistory of July 28th, 1817, authorized the oath of allegiance to be taken to the constitution and laws, because this oath did not oblige in reference to laws which kings might make in spiritual matters; laws which are null of themselves, for kings have no right to make them. This decision regarding France was repeated October 2d, 1818, in regard to Bavaria.]

Thus although we may find no constitution which abolishes slavery, no one will deny that it ceased through the influence of Christianity, which modified customs and habits, and these influenced the laws. Thus the time will come when all that is good in modern society will be assured to it; and then the influence of Christianity will be made manifest in purifying and consecrating all that came from its teachings, or from needs which it caused to be felt; so that the so-called liberals will see that it is not necessary to attack Christianity in order to defend the acquisitions of their age, nor will the faithful attack the age as an irreconcilable enemy. Does not everything happen by the will or permission of God? Are not all political changes and social transformations providential facts? If the Christian cannot praise them, he becomes resigned to them; he does not increase the evil by anger; he trusts in God, who can change the stones into children of Abraham; and we, separating ourselves from those whose patriotism consists in denouncing others as enemies of their country, say to the men of good-will of our day:

"O socii (neque enim ignari sumus ante malorum)
O passi graviora, dabit Deus hic quoque finem." [Footnote 75]
AEneid, lib. I.

[Footnote 75: "Companions! we have borne evils before this; ye who have suffered worse, remember that God will put an end even to these woes.">[

How can you who have learned the watchwords of "Progress," and "Go-ahead," expect hasty "progress" at Rome, so slow in her motions?

Napoleon boasted that he had done in three hours what men formerly took three months to execute. Yes, he ran from Alexandria to Vienna, to Madrid, to Moscow, and—to St. Helena; while Rome remained at her post. Those who do not look superficially admit that she showed splendidly her wisdom in certain circumstances by not closing the way to future wisdom. In the modern exuberance of fungous intelligence, new systems easily sprout up, die in a few years; and the heroes of to-day become the objects of hatred to-morrow. Rome, eternal guardian of truth, cannot make and unmake in haste, take up and lay down, like human societies; but she proceeds slowly and patiently, yet she advances.

Certainly the church will find a new field in which she can co-operate with the state to preserve for humanity, no longer the antique forms or the mere letter given by Catholics alone, but the Christian spirit; a new method of protecting Catholic truth in countries open to every people, and every worship; deprived of the help of force and decrees, she will have no other support but truth; and since this is greater and more secure in Catholicism, it will always succeed in propagating itself. Will not this be the object of the approaching Council? The General Council will not have to destroy what is irremovable, or what derives necessarily from eternal truth; but it will help us worldlings to separate, in principle, the substance from the form, the essence from the application.

Certainly the hate which inspires men in these times against true liberty, makes governments justify and praise every attack against the church, and deprive her of every right, even when they pretend to protect her.

Do these governments want to form national churches? This would be to go back in civilization, which progresses toward union; to deny catholicitv or the universality of the race; to give up souls as well as bodies to the power of kings, as before Christianity; to give the direction of consciences and the judgment of morals to the civil power, which should rule only bodies.

Some would tolerate Catholicity provided there be liberty of conscience and of worship; let there be no temporal power in the church; no religious corporations; and let the secular clergy be raised to the height, as they say, of the age.

What is meant by liberty of conscience has been sufficiently explained by the pamphleteers, and the popes have given solemn decisions on the subject. Conceive a society in which it would be unlawful to expel those who violate its laws or disturb its order! The church simply expels from the communion of prayers and sacrifice those who are obstinate in violating her dogmas. How! You insult our community; refuse to communicate in our rites; you will not accept the pardon which the church always offers you; and yet you pretend to force her to comfort your last moments with sacraments which you repel and deride even then; to force her to bless your corpse, and bury it in the holy ground where repose those with whom you refused to associate during life!

As to temporal goods or the right to possess them, and as for religious corporations—that is, the liberty of community life, of prayer, benevolence, of wearing a peculiar dress, and of worshipping according to your conscience—what could Alimonda say which had not been said by all the independent men of our century?

As to those who assert that the clergy are not educated up to the standard of modern civilization, we need only appeal to those who have any knowledge to see if the ecclesiastics do not rank high in every part of the encyclopedia; nor do we hesitate to say that the most educated man in every village is ordinarily the priest; the priest who is compelled to make a regular course of study, to pass repeated examinations, and assist at conferences.

VII.

It is very strange that at a time when the love of show has become a mania; when kings, ministers, journalists, and myriads of ephemeral heroes are honored with canticles, poems, and ovations; when some button-holes have more decorations than our altars; when there is hardly a name to which pompous titles are not appended, it should be deemed necessary for the benefit of religion to abolish external worship in our churches. Is not our century especially vain of its investigations in matter? Is not the aspiration of the age after physical comfort? Why, then, try to restrict religion to the spiritual, to prevent the erection of temples which would please the senses of that double being—man?

When Constantinople, austerely interpreting the evangelical ordinances, attempted to destroy reverence for holy images, the church fought for the right to cultivate the fine arts; and sustained martyrdom and exile to maintain the privilege of guarding the fine arts in her sanctuaries. When the reform of the sixteenth century called the Catholic Church Babylon, because she asked Michael Angelo and Raphael to immortalize the grandeurs of Christianity, she resisted again—knowing how to distinguish the exceptional life of the voluntary anchorite from the social life of the merely honest man; exacting virtues from all her children, but virtues suitable to their state, to the mystic life of Mary and to the external life of Martha, to the viceroy Joseph and to the shoemaker Crispin.

The same church defends, to-day, love and art from the modern iconoclasts and spurious Puritans.

Discoursing about worship, our author begins by that of Mary, showing it to be a religious principle in accord with reason; a public fact, approved by history; a most tender affection, sanctioned by the heart. It is not long since the chief of the English ritualists, Doctor Pusey, made the most honorable admissions in reference to the Catholic dogmas and ceremonies, excepting, however, the reverence which Catholics have for the Mother of God. Archbishop Manning's [Footnote 76] reply is one of the most beautiful and rational apologies for this worship for which Italy is so remarkable. For all republics were consecrated to her; she was the chosen patroness of our chief cities; her likeness was impressed on our coins and seals; our first poets sang her praises, and their echoes have not yet died; our painters could find no higher or sweeter model; our architects competed in erecting grand temples to her honor; our musicians to compose canticles to her praise; great expeditions were undertaken in her name; colonies were consecrated to her, where now Italian power, but not Italian influence, has ceased. And it is Mary who will save our Italy from humiliations, and from that degradation which seems to be the only aspiration of her intolerant sons. [Footnote 77]

[Footnote 76: Probably a mistake for Dr. Newman.]

[Footnote 77: I may be permitted to refer the reader to the fifty-fourth chapter of my Heretics of Italy, in which the respect due to saints and to Mary is discussed.]

The intolerant repeat that laws, decrees, and social organization are sufficient to regulate civil society.

They are sufficient; but they require science to prepare them and virtue to apply them; both to be invoked from on high. The safety of one's country, the fulfilment of its aspirations, the triumph of justice, must come from heaven. Formerly the Italians marched to battle under the standard of the saints or of the cross; the heroes of Legnano, of Fornovo, and of Curzolari prostrated themselves in prayer before fighting; and the Italians of those times conquered and gave thanks to God for having given to them a beautiful, great, and prosperous country. But now we have popular tumults and the ravings of newspapers.

Our strong-minded heroes consider it degrading to bow before the Author of all things. Yet, passing over all the wise men of antiquity, the most free nation in Europe opens its parliaments with prayer, and obeys the orders of the queen to fast in time of disaster, or feast in time of great success. The President of the United States, no matter what may be his creed, orders a day of thanksgiving to God, and he is obeyed. When the telegraph from America was able to carry a message to Europe on August 17th, 1858, the first words which leaped along the wire were, "Europe and America are united. Glory to God in the highest; peace on earth; to men, good-will." "What grander spectacle can there be than to see a whole people united in the duties imposed by its religion in celebrating great anniversaries? What heroic outbursts, how many noble sacrifices, were expressed in the monologues of holy days! What high thoughts and magnificent conceptions arose in the souls of philosophers and poets! How many generous resolutions were taken! When the observance of the Sunday was neglected, the last spark of poetic fire was extinguished in the souls of our poets. It has been truly said, without religion there is no poetry. We must add, without external worship and feast days there is no religion. In the country, where the people are more susceptible of the religious sentiment, the Sunday still keeps a part of its social influence. The sight of a rustic population united as one family by the voice of its pastor, and prostrated in silence and recollection before the invisible majesty of God, is touching and sublime; is a charm which goes to the heart."

Who speaks in this way? Proud hon. [sic] And Napoleon says, "Do you want something sublime? Recite your Pater noster."

The most sublime prayer is the mass—the culminating point of worship; the perennial expiation of perennial faults. From the mass Alimonda passes to confession; then to communion; and thence to the responsibility of present life. He exhorts all to understand and believe. This is the creed of the Christian: Credere et intelligere.

VIII.

We have thus far followed the illustrious Alimonda, repeating or developing his arguments. Let us now examine his manner of treating the questions which he discusses.

The classic Greek orators had wonderful simplicity of style, in which the familiarity of their expressions ennobled their sentiments and gave force to their reasoning. The Eastern fathers followed in their footsteps. The Latins ornamented eloquence so as to make it a special art, assigning it a measured cadence, a peculiar intonation of voice, a system of position and gesture. Hence, the Latin fathers studied speech even to affectation, sought after rhetorical figures, yet always more attentive to the practical than to the abstract. The French formed themselves rather according to the Greek models; and the noble simplicity of Bossuet, Massilon, and Fénélon renders them still models for one who would discourse before a polished people.

The Italians, if you except some of the very earliest preachers, preferred to ornament their speeches and indulge in artificial figures. In the ages of bad taste, the worst display of metaphors disgraced the pulpit; whence the custom passed to the bar and parliament, where there have been and still are so many examples of unnatural oratory. Hence, in so great an abundance of literature, we have no good preachers except Legneri. In modern times, the style of the pretentious Turchi has been changed to that of the academic Barbieri; but that style of preaching "whose father is the Gospel, and whose mother is the Bible," is rarely heard in our pulpits. Our very best eloquence, that of the pastorals and homilies of our bishops, is spoiled by too frequent citations, and is often devoid of that sentiment which comes from the heart and goes to it. We do not want to borrow the French style. It is a mistake to steal the language of another nation, either in writing or preaching. Peoples have different dispositions. It would not do to address the Carib in the same way as the Parisian, or the contemporaries of Godfrey as the subjects of Napoleon.

Our author, beside being familiar with the first propagators and defenders of Christianity, is highly educated in the classics, and has always ready phrases, hemistichs, and allusions which display his erudition. His method is prudent, his divisions logical, and the train of ideas well followed up; his language correct, and the clearness and marvellous beauty of his style show him to be a finished orator.

He draws an abundance of materials from the most diverse and recondite sources. He adduces the most recent discoveries of science regarding the essence of the sun, nebula, aerolites, and on the nature of matter. Without mentioning the biblical and legendary portions of his work, there are in it traces of every part of both ancient and modern history: Camoens and Napoleon, Abelard and Renan, Isnard and Jouffroy, Donoso Cortes and Cagliostro, Marie Antoinette and Madame de Swetchine, Ireland and Poland, the discourses of Napoleon III. and of Cavour. The author brings us through the byways of London to the prison of Thomas More, to the solitude of St. Helena, and to the lands where the missionaries are laboring. He quotes even the heroes of romance: "Renzo" and the "Unknown," Renato, Werter, St. Preux, the Elvira of George Sand, Wiseman's Fabiola, and Victor Hugo's Valjean. With the spoils of the Egyptians Alimonda builds a tabernacle to the living God. Who will censure him, since our Holy Father, in a brief of September 20th, 1867, approves his labor?

The nineteenth century can be saved only by means suitable to the nineteenth century; and Simon Stylites or Torquemada, the Crusaders or the Flagellants, would be as much out of place to-day as catapults or the theory of uncreated light. We must fight with modern weapons.

"Clypeos, Danaumque insignia nobis aptemus." [Footnote 78]

[Footnote 78: "We must use the weapons and dress of the Greeks." AEneid, lib. ii.]

We must study Catholicity in all its bearings, and reconcile divine and human traditions with modern exigencies; authority established on an immovable pedestal, with liberty which is always developing.

Courage! Let us arouse ourselves from lethargy, and not suffer a condition of affairs for which we are responsible. Let us remember, with Bacon, that prosperity was the boon of the Old Testament; adversity, of the New; persuaded, with Donoso Cortes, that "it is our duty, as Catholics, to struggle, and that we should thank God who has chosen us to fight for his church," let us display that energetic will which is so rare among good people. With charity and faith, by association and perseverance, we can conquer hatred and unbelief, the divisions of sects, and the onslaughts of error on the strongholds of Catholic truth.

---

Two Months In Spain During
The Late Revolution.

Seville, Fonda De Paris.
September 23, 1869.

The train leaves Cordova at six A.M., and we are delighted to be again on our journey. The route proves of little interest between Cordova and Seville; the Guadalquivir is first on one side of us and then on the other; the hills and mountains bound each side of the plain, where are olive groves, and peaceful flocks, and ploughmen, as if no revolution were occurring around them. At Almovar, (situated on a high hill,) we see the ruins of a Moorish castle where that half-Moor, Peter the Cruel, confined his sister-in-law, Doña Juana de Lara. Carmona is another town which has the same celebrity. Here he imprisoned many of his female favorites when tired of them. We grow very hungry in spite of these tragic histories, and our young gentleman buys a great melon de Castile, which, proving very delicious, we make a good breakfast à l'espagnol; but are not sorry to see the towers of the Giralda, and soon after we enter Seville—the most charming of all Spanish towns; the city of Don Juan and Figaro; the gayest, the most celebrated for its beautiful women, its graceful men, its bull-fights, its gypsies, its tertulias, its fandangos, its cachuchas, its Murillos, its cathedral, (said to rival St. Peter's,) and its Alcazar, which is almost as wonderful as the Alhambra.

After dinner, we hasten to the cathedral through busy, crowded streets, by handsome shops; passing occasionally a pretty Sevillian whose black dress, bare arms and neck seen through the black lace mantilla, with the dainty pink rose peeping from beneath it, harmonize exactly with one's idea of the Spanish woman. And presently, upon a terrace ascended by several steps, we see before us this wonderful pile of buildings: the Giralda (Moorish tower) on one side; the Sagrario (the parish church) on the other; the chapter house, and offices facing the cathedral; and in the centre of all these the court of oranges! The cathedral is entered from this court by nine doors. We scarcely know how to describe this magnificent gothic building, which has affected us more than any we have ever seen. Coming upon us so immediately after the mosque of Cordova, (each of these a perfect specimen of its kind,) one sees in each the reflection of the different faiths they represent. The graceful, elegant mosque seems to appeal more to the senses, to speak of a faith which promises material joys, while the grand and majestic gothic cathedral carries one's heart to the heaven in which these lofty arches seem to be lost. In despair of being able to do justice to so high a theme, I must borrow from O'Shea's guide-book the following description of this building:

"The general style of the edifice is gothic of the best period of Spain, and though many of its parts belong to different styles, these form but accessory parts, and the main body remains strictly gothic. Indeed all the fine arts, and each in turn, at their acme of strength, have combined to produce their finest inspiration here. The Moorish Giralda, the Gothic cathedral, the Greco-Roman exterior, produce variety, and repose the eye. Inside, its numerous paintings are by some of the greatest painters that ever breathed; the stained glass, amongst the finest known; the sculpture, beautiful; the jewellers' and silversmiths' work unrivalled in composition, execution, and value. The cathedral of Leon charms us by the chaste elegance of its airy structure, the purity of its harmonious lines; the fairy-worked cimborio of that at Burgos, its filagree spires, and pomp of ornamentation are certainly more striking; and at Toledo, we feel already humbled and crushed beneath the majesty and wealth displayed everywhere. But when we enter the cathedral of Seville, there is a sublimity in these sombre masses and clusters of spires whose proportions and details are somewhat lost and concealed in the mysterious shadows which pervade the whole, a grandeur which quickens the sense, and makes the heart throb within us, and we stand as lost among these lofty naves and countless gilt altars, shining dimly in the dark around us, the lights playing across them as the rays of the glorious Spanish sun stream through the painted windows. Vast proportions, unity of design, severity and sobriety of ornament, and that simplicity unalloyed by monotony which stamps all the works of real genius, render this one of the noblest piles ever raised to God by man, and preferred by many even to St. Peter's at Rome."

It is said that the canons and chapter resolved to make this church the wonder of the world; and with this view, sent for the most celebrated architects and artists of the world to adorn it, denying themselves almost the necessaries of life to accomplish the great work.

The pillars are one hundred and fifty feet high; the church, four hundred feet long, two hundred and ninety-one wide, with ninety-five windows and thirty-seven chapels; and nearly each one of these contains some pictures of Murillo, Cespedes, Campana, Roelas, or some Spanish painter of celebrity. We go from chapel to chapel, gazing upon these, lingering before the altar "Del Angel de la Guarda," where is Murillo's exquisite picture of the guardian angel with the young child by the hand (so often reproduced,) and lost in awe before his grand picture of St. Anthony of Padua, to whom the infant Jesus descends, amidst angels and flowers and sunbeams, into the arms ecstatically extended toward him. In a little chapel we come upon a lovely Virgin and Child, by Alonso Caño, called N. S. de Belem, (Bethlehem.)

But the sun declined, and we ascended the Giralda to see his last beams shine upon so much beauty. What a strange and charming scene! The forest of white houses painted with delicate blue and green; the flat roofs decorated with gardens; the four hundred and seventy-seven narrow streets, some hardly admitting two people abreast, through which toiled the patient mules bearing burdens of stones, mortar for building, wood, and vegetables; the one hundred ornamented squares and promenades; the orange gardens; the plaza de Toros; the cathedral just beneath us, with its hundreds of turrets; the Torre del Oro, (Tower of Gold,) so named from its yellow hue; the Lonja, (Exchange,) with its pink color; the grey Alcazar; the palace San Telmo by the Guadalquivir, which winds through the city and over the plain; and convents, and churches, and palaces; and, beyond all, the verdant plains and the blue mountains! As the sun sank, the convent bells rang the "Ave Maria."

"Blessed be the hour!
The time, the chime, the spot."

Certainly we all "felt that moment in its fullest power"!

Thursday, 24.

Our first visit to-day is to San Telmo—the royal palace given by Queen Isabella to her sister, the Duchess de Montpensier—on the banks of the Guadalquivir, with enchanting gardens, palms and citrons, and orange-trees; and within, all oriental in its style and decorations. Here are some lovely pictures—one of Murillo's most beautiful Virgins, several splendid Zurbarans, a Sebastian del Piombo, Holy Family, etc.

Next we visit the great tobacco manufactory, where 4000 women are employed making cigars. As all these were talking at once, we were glad soon to escape. And then the Alcazar, the wonderful Moorish palace, than which not even the Alhambra can be more beautiful—as it seems to us. We wander in delicious gardens —like those described in the Arabian Nights—and then enter the enchanted palace! Passing several courts, we find the great door of entrance sculptured and painted in arabesque. Here is a long hall, with exquisitely carved and painted roof, from which we pass into a square marble court, or patio, with double rows of marble columns and a fountain in the centre. From the four sides of this patio you enter by immense doors, carved and inlaid, into the apartments beyond. First, the Hall of the Ambassadors, which communicates with others through elegant arches profusely ornamented, supported by marble pillars of every color with gilded capitals. The walls and dome are ornamented with sentences from the Koran, in gilt letters upon grounds of blue and crimson. Every chamber has different decorations, all equally elegant.

Below, opening from the garden, we are shown some subterranean cells said to have been the prisons of Christian captives, and above these the luxurious baths of Maria de Padilla—the famous mistress of Peter the Cruel. It was the custom for the king and courtiers to sit by and see her bathe, and for the latter to pretend to sip the water of the bath. Seeing one of these fail in this gallant duty one day, the king asked why he omitted it. "Because, sire," (said the witty courtier,) "I am afraid to like the sauce so well that I shall covet the bird." Peter the Cruel lived much in this palace, and did much to embellish it through the Moorish artists whom he employed. Many of the Spanish kings lived there, and Charles V. was married in one of the upper rooms. These we did not see, and learned afterward that they were inhabited by "Fernan Caballero," one of the most popular writers of Spain—whose delightful books we learned later to admire. Fernan Caballero is the nom de plume of this lady, who has had many misfortunes, and who by permission of the queen lives in the Alcazar, devoting her life to deeds of benevolence amongst the poor, whose traits and trials she records in many delightful works. It is a pity that out of France these books should be unknown. One of our party determines to take some of them to America, that they may be translated and bring to the knowledge of our people these charming scenes of Spanish home life so inimitably described.[Footnote 79]

[Footnote 79: One of "Fernan Caballero's" (Mrs. Fabre) books, The Alvareda Family, has already been translated here and published in The Catholic World three years ago; and two others, The Sea Gull, and The Castle and Cottage in Spain, have appeared in an English dress in London, and Lucia Garcia is already translated and will soon appear in this magazine.—ED. CATH. W.]

In the evening we go to a ball, to see the Andalusian dances in their proper costume. Boleros, and cachuchas, and seguidillas, and manchegas! Such graceful movements, such little feet in such dainty satin shoes!

Generally to the accompaniment of the guitar, with most peculiar and monotonous music, singing at the same time, clapping the hands, stamping the feet, and the dancer always with castanets. All the dances were peculiar, solos, often in couples, or three at a time, some of these coquettish—one, especially, danced by a man and a woman, he in hat and cloak, she with fan and mantilla. How she wielded this little "weapon"!—now hiding her face, now peeping from behind it, which he also did with his manta. By and by he takes off his hat and humbly lays it at her feet. She dances over it scornfully; without ever losing the step, he recovers it. She flies; he pursues, opening his manta entreatingly; she relents; again he throws down the hat; she stoops and gives it to him, and eventually they dance away with the manta covering both.

Friday, 25.

We go again to the wonderful cathedral; examined many pictures which yesterday escaped us. In the chapter house is one of Murillo's "Conceptions," and eight charming heads (ovals) painted by him, in the same room. In the chapel of the kings lies the body of St. Ferdinand, and of Murillo; who asked to be buried at the foot of a picture (The Descent from the Cross) of which he was particularly fond, which is above the main altar.

Near the great entrance of the cathedral a stone in the pavement marks the spot where lies Fernando, the son of Christopher Columbus, with the motto upon it, "A Castilla y á Leon, mundo nuevo dió Colon." From his tomb we go to the great Columbine Library given by him to his country, containing some interesting MSS. of his father—one, a book of quotations containing extracts from the psalms and prophets, proving the existence of the new world. There are a series of portraits round the room, of Columbus, his son, St. Ferdinand, Cardinal Mendoza, and Cardinal Wiseman, (who was a native of Seville.) There is also preserved here the great two-edged sword of Ferdinand Gonsalves.

Some of our party go to visit the archbishop, in the hope to get permission to see the treasures of the church, which are very valuable; but the presence of the revolution obliges him to deny us this as well as the entrée to the convent of St. Theresa, which is said to be exactly the same as when she founded it. It was here she underwent such great trouble and persecution, and where (finding she had but two or three coppers with which to begin a great foundation) she said to her nuns, "Never mind, two cents and Theresa are nothing; but two cents and God are everything."

And this interesting convent we could not see.[Footnote 80] Indeed, the time of our visit to Spain was inopportune for seeing the inside of religious houses. A former revolution having deprived them of their property, they have now the fear of being turned out of their convents.

[Footnote 80: For a full description of this convent see Lady Herbert's Impressions of Spain, just from the press of the Catholic Publication Society. This work also contains illustrations of cathedrals, churches, gardens, palaces, and other places described in these letters.—ED. CATH. W.]

While we wait in the church for the return of our friends, we enter into conversation with two of the little boys of the choir, whose beauty attracts us, begging them to describe the style in which they dance before the Blessed Sacrament on Corpus Christi, which is said to be a ceremony most solemn, grave, and impressive. These children evinced great curiosity about us, and when told that one of the party was "a convert," (had been a Protestant,) could not be made to comprehend what it meant; for they confound all Protestants with unbelievers. "And did not know about our dear Lord!" said one little fellow with a look of sorrowful compassion, reminding one of the scene in one of Fernan Caballero's tales (The Alvareda Family) where the hero comes home from his travels and describes a country covered with snow so that people are sometimes buried under it.

We go to see the house in which Murillo lived and the spot where he was first buried—passing the house in which Cardinal Wiseman was born, upon which is a large tablet with a beautiful and appropriate inscription. In Murillo's house is an extensive gallery with many of his loveliest pictures, and some of the pictures of monks for which Zurbaran is so famous.

Here we see the Infant St. John with the Lamb, and the Infant Saviour, so often repeated by Murillo, apart and together an exquisite Ecce Homo; several Madonnas, and Saints.

On our way we are shown the shop where dwelt the original Figaro, and also the house of Don Juan!

The Casa de Pilatos, one of the residences of the Duke of Medina Coeli, next claims us—a curious old palace, built in the sixteenth century in imitation of Pilate's House in Jerusalem, which was visited at that time by the founder. The patio is fine, with a beautiful fountain, and double row of columns, (one above another,) with statues at the four corners. The marble staircase and halls—lined with azulejos, (colored porcelain tiles,) universally used in this country—are particularly handsome.

Next we go to the "Caridad," one of the most celebrated hospitals in the world, founded by a young nobleman of Seville in the seventeenth century, upon ground which belonged to a brotherhood whose duty it was to give consolation to those about to die on the scaffold. This young man (Don Miguel de Mañara) was distinguished for his profligacy, but also for his bravery, generosity, and his patronage of art. One of our friends told us some most interesting anecdotes connected with his conversion.

Returning from some orgies, one night, he saw a female figure upon a low balcony beckon him. Thinking to have an adventure, he sprang into the open window and found a dead body with a with lights about it alone in the room. Another time, returning at midnight through the streets, he saw a church lighted, and, wondering what could be going on at such an hour, entered. Before the altar was a bier upon which was extended a body covered with the mantle of the knights of the order to which he belonged, the priests about it singing the office for the dead. Asking whose funeral it was, he was answered, "That of Don Miguel Mañara," and going to the corpse and uncovering it, saw his own face. The morning found him stretched upon the pavement, the vision gone. But the impression remained, in which he recognized a call from God to a better life, which he soon after entered, giving his whole fortune to found this institution for the sick, the aged, and "incurables;" and here he lived and died an example of humility, piety, and penitence. Murillo and other eminent artists were also members of this confraternity, and a letter of the former is here shown in which he asks permission to join the brotherhood. To the friendship of Don Miguel for Murillo the hospital is indebted for some of the finest pictures in the world. In the church are two of his grandest and largest pictures, "Moses striking the Rock," called here the "Sed," (thirst,) and the "Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes," a Visitation, an Infant Saviour, and a St. John. There are also several most remarkable pictures by Valdes Leal; one, "The Triumph of Time," in which the skeleton Death stands triumphantly above crowns and sceptres and "all there is of glory." Opposite to this is "The Dead Prelate," a picture made at the suggestion of Mañara. From the top of the picture a pierced hand holds the scales, in one side of which a kingly crown, and jewels, and sceptre, weigh against the mystic "I. H. S." and a book, the Word of God. Below lies a dead prelate, in mitre and crosier, half eaten by the worms; on the other side, Don Miguel Mañara, wrapped in his knightly mantle, upon which also the worms run riot. On one of the scales is written "nor more;" upon the other, "nor less."

Murillo told the painter that he could never pass this picture without involuntarily "holding his nose." Under the pavement, near the door, lies the body of the founder; "the ashes of the worst man that ever lived," so he styles himself in his epitaph; and he requested that he might lie where the feet of every passer should walk over him. The sisters conduct us over the clean and airy wards. On the wall of the patio are these words, from the pen of Mañara himself, "This house will last as long as God shall be feared in it, and Jesus Christ be served in the persons of his poor. Whoever enters here must leave at the door both avarice and pride." And over his own cell is inscribed, "What is it we mean when we speak of death? It is being free from the body of sin, and from the yoke of our passions. Therefore, to live is a bitter death, and to die is a sweet life."

Another of the charming histories told us by the same lady was of St. Maria Coronel, whose body is preserved in the convent of St. Inez, which we could not be permitted to see. Peter the Cruel, because enamored of her great beauty, condemned her husband to death, but offered to save him if she would yield to his wishes. The husband was actually executed, and Maria fled to this convent, where the king pursued her. One night he entered her cell; and, seeing no other way to escape him, she seized the burning lamp, and emptied its boiling contents over her face. The poor lady lived the life of a saint, and died in this convent. Her body is as fresh as if she had died yesterday, and the marks of the oil upon her face as clearly visible as upon the day when the heroic deed was committed.

In the evening we walk in the crowded streets, and find splendid shops filled with lovely women, who go at this hour to walk or shop, never stirring out in the day. As late as eleven, when we came in, the streets and shops were yet filled with ladies.

Saturday, 26.

We spend the morning in the gallery, which is considered the finest in Spain, after that of Madrid. This is especially rich in Murillos, and has several Zurbarans, the Spanish Caravaggio so famous for his pictures of monks. Here is "The Apotheosis of St. Thomas Aquinas," considered his masterpiece; and of Murillo there are about twenty-four of his greatest pictures: the "St. Thomas of Villanuova giving Alms," which was the painter's own favorite; the "St. Anthony of Padua kneeling before the Infant Saviour," who stands upon his book—the most perfect type of a child God; and the ecstasy, the fervor, the humility, in the pale, attenuated face of the monk brings the tears to one's eyes, you so feel with him. Next this is a picture preferred to the other by most persons, "St. Felix of Cantalicia," with the infant Saviour in his arms, the blessed Mother leaning forward to receive him. The beauty of the Virgin Mother and the grace of her attitude is said by critics to be beyond all praise. Then comes a beautiful "Annunciation," a "St. Joseph with the child Jesus," "Saints Rufina and Justina," (the patrons of Seville,) "Saints Leandro and Buonaventura," several "Conceptions," and the exquisite "Virgin de la Sevilleta," (Virgin of the Napkin,) said to have been painted on a dinner napkin, and given as a present to the cook of the convent where Murillo worked. The "St. John Baptist in the Desert" should also be mentioned, as well as many others.

This evening we bid farewell to beautiful Seville, with all its delights, and set out for Cadiz.

Certainly it is the Spaniards, not the French, who are "the politest people in the world." The conductor opens the railway carriage with "Good evening, ladies. May I trouble you for your tickets?" concluding with "A happy night to you." In passing a street, the other day, a gentleman with whom we had crossed the mountains, and whose name we do not even know, rushes from his house to say, "Ladies, is anything wanting? Here is your house." Such is the pretty exaggerated Spanish phrase. Leaving Seville, we pass orange-groves and fields divided by aloe and cactus hedges, but the country is flat and uninteresting; and, except Lebrija, which has a tower, the rival of the Giralda, and Jerez, we see no towns of any size or interest till we near Cadiz. "Jerez de la Frontera" (the frontier town) has always been of importance; one of the earliest Phoenician colonies. Close to this took place the battle of the Guadelete, which opened Spain to the Moors. St. Ferdinand recovered it in 1251; but it was retaken, and again recovered by his son, Alonzo the Learned, in 1264, who granted to it many important privileges, peopling it with forty of his hidalgos—the source of the present Jerez nobility. It has an Alcazar of great interest—its Alameda—some fine old churches, and near it are the ruins of a fine old Carthusian convent upon the Guadelete, which the Moors called the River of Delight. Jerez is now celebrated for its wines; the sherry so prized in England and America, which occupies palaces rather than wine-cellars. These are called "bodegas," and sometimes hold ten thousand casks. As we near Cadiz we see Puerta San Maria, at the mouth of the Guadelete—a pretty town, looking upon the sea, with a suspension bridge looking most picturesque in the moonlight; then Puerto Real, San Fernando, Cadiz.

Cadiz, Fonda De Paris.
Sunday, 27.

The guide takes us first to hear high mass in the new cathedral—a handsome building, entirely of white marble, within and without. Some good pictures, (copies of Murillo,) fine music, and the most devout of congregations. The loveliest of women, in modest black dresses, mantillas, and fans, sat or knelt upon the matting, which is spread upon the space between the high altar and the choir. No seats are provided. A few bring little black camp-stools. The bishop (who gave the benediction) is a most dignified and elegant-looking person; and the guide tells us he is much beloved and respected. Already the new order of things pulls down churches and banishes the Jesuits, as the first proof of that "liberty of worship" which is one of the most popular of the war cries. Such bandit-looking fellows as we saw yesterday! Catalan soldiers, in red cap, short pantaloons with red stripe, half-gaiters, and a red blanket on the left shoulder, a leathern belt, with pistols and a great rifle.

The revolution spreads everywhere, "peacefully," as they say. We see a handbill posted, in which the queen is spoken of as "Doña Isabella of Bourbon," to whom they wish "no harm."

Some Spanish ladies who had once lived in America, and are friends of ours, came to visit us. They are intensely loyal, as are all the women of Spain whom we encounter. From these we learn that, as in all revolutions, the dregs of the people come to the top, and are most conspicuous. It is only they make it who have nothing to lose, and all to gain. These "juntas," who now rule in each city under the provisional government, are composed of people of low birth and bad morals. Here they are taken from the low trades-people, who are noted drunkards and unbelievers. Into such hands are committed the destinies of this lovely city. Their first work has been to try and kill the Jesuits, who, with a hundred little boys under their care, had to defend themselves from these men and the rabble they encourage. And but for the officers of the fleet, who, with pistols in hand, thrust themselves between them, they must have been murdered. These officers took them on board the ships for safety, and some are yet secreted in the town, waiting an opportunity to escape. To-day our guide takes us to several curious old churches which were formerly convents, with pretty cloisters and marble courts. These, he says, are doomed by the junta to be torn down to build houses and theatres, thus destroying these beautiful old monuments of a past time in their blind fury against religion.

In the evening we change our hotel to the "Fonda de Cadiz," on the gay "plaza San Antonio." After dinner walk by the seashore on the walls. As we pass the streets, we enter several churches, where the people are hearing sermons, or saying prayers with the priests. Such picturesque groups!

To-night we see from our windows a procession carrying the Blessed Sacrament to the sick, from the parish church opposite. A carriage is always sent, and a long procession, bearing lights, precedes and follows. One of the ladies present tells us that last carnival, in the midst of the gayeties on this square, men and women, in every variety of ridiculous costume, were dancing to merry music, when suddenly the bell was heard preceding the Blessed Sacrament, which was being carried to a sick officer, living upon the square. In an instant every knee was bent of the motley throng, and the band struck up the Royal March in the most effective manner, and accompanied the procession to the house; returning, the fun recommenced. This lady says there was never anything witnessed more affecting. "And," added she, "this is the faith these revolutionists would take from us. Already they talk of introducing every religion, and they will build a mosque and a synagogue!"

Monday, 28.

The morning is given to shopping, to see the lovely mantillas of every shape and style; fans of wonderful workmanship and exquisite painting on kid or silk; the beautiful figures in every variety of Spanish costumes, made in Malaga, of a particular kind of clay for which Spain is famous; the pretty mattings of Cadiz, etc. In the evening we walk with our friends upon the "Alameda," a charming promenade by the seaside, where stately palm-trees wave above marble seats and columns. Entering the church of Mount Carmel we find it filled with people saying prayers and the rosary. To-night we are kept awake by the mob, who are marching with drums and ringing the church bells in honor of a victory over the queen's troops near Cordova.

Tuesday, 29.

At eight o'clock we set out upon an excursion to Jerez, to visit the bodegas and taste the fine wines. Passing the salt-meadows we see the white pyramids of salt glistening in the sunlight, which had so puzzled us when we last saw them by moonlight. The bay of Cadiz is on one side, the broad ocean on the other, in the distance the mountains of the Sierra del Pinal. A friend joins us at Puerta Real, and takes us to one of the largest bodegas in Jerez, where are 10,000 casks of wine—each cask valued at $500! The proprietor (a gentleman of English or Irish descent) is most kind, shows us this extraordinary place, and gives us to taste of the finest wines—brown sherry and pale sherry, fifty years of age. But the most delicious of all are the sweet wines—which are also sherries—and are called "Pedro Ximenes" from the name of the person who first introduced this grape. These wines are rich and oily, (perfect "nectar,") and are made from the grape when almost as dry as raisins—twelve days from off the vine. In the midst of these oceans of fine wines, Mr. Graves (the proprietor) tells us he rarely tastes them, only occasionally taking a glass of the sweet wine.

Jerez is said to be the richest town in Spain, the richest of its size in the world. Beautiful plazas planted with palms, and fine old palaces. We visited an ornamental garden belonging to one of these wine princes, where were lakes, and streams, and grottoes, and bridges, and groves, and flowers of every variety, birds and fowls, and model cattle, etc. And then we saw San Miguel, one of the finest churches we have seen, (gothic interior,) of the fifteenth century, (1432,) elegantly ornamented. There is also a cathedral and another most interesting church, (St. Dionisius,) built by Alonzo the Learned in the thirteenth century, said to be a particularly fine specimen of the gothic moresque of that period. After a fine breakfast of the delicious Spanish ham, chocolate, cakes, and sherry, we return to Cadiz. Passing "Puerta San Maria," we see the Jesuit college, from which they have just been ejected, the broken trees, the trampled gardens telling their own story of violence. One of the gentlemen in the train tells us there were two hundred and fifty boys cared for here, and that the Jesuits fed five hundred poor each day with soup from the leavings of the table. The great building looked a picture of desolation.

To-night we have another ringing of bells and marching to the sound of the odious revolutionary hymn. One of the gentlemen of our party goes out to hear the speeches in the square. Some of the speakers propose to offer the crown to the father of the King of Portugal, (of the Catholic branch of that lucky Coburg family who, possessing nothing, gain everything by marriage,) others are for the Duke of Montpensier. Some cry "Vive Napoleon." In fact, they are in great embarrassment—have caught the elephant and do not know what to do with him, like another nation we know of.

Wednesday, 30.

To-day we hear that all Catalonia has "pronounced," and even Madrid, and that the rejoicings of last night were for the victory of "Alcolea," just won, over the queen's troops, in which, however, the liberals have lost three thousand men. These troops were commanded by Serrano, (Duke de Torres,) who owes everything to the queen's favor; and on the queen's side by the Marquis de Novaliches, "faithful found amongst the faithless." We hear of one of her officers (the young Count de Cheste) who has shut himself with his men in the fortress of Montjuich, at Barcelona, resolving to die rather than submit. One must admire such devotion, in whatever cause it is shown. "Loyalty! the most pure and beautiful feeling of the human breast. It is a love which exists without requiring the usual nourishment of return; a feeling void of every shade of egotism; that desires and requires nothing but the happiness of loving, that causes one joyfully to sacrifice life and property for the exalted object whose voice, perhaps, never reached his ear. This feeling, in its highest purity, is the very triumph of human capacity." Such is the true definition of "Loyalty," which, like "Liberty," is often profaned and constantly misunderstood. With our pretty Spanish friends we go to see a church called the "Cave," a church only for gentlemen, where they may go privately to their confession and devotions. The confessionals are unlike those used for women, for the men go in front and kneel face to face with the priest. It is a beautiful chapel, wonderfully rich in marbles and fine vestments and bassi-relievi, and below it is a gloomy chapel from whence the church derives its name. Over the altar is represented the crucifixion. It is dimly lighted through a dome, and the figures (large as life) seem to live. Here the men go for meditation, and for the Good Friday and other solemn festivals. At one end of the chapel is a carved chair, raised on a platform, upon which the priest sits to give his instructions, while a lamp is so arranged that the light falls only upon the speaker's face, leaving the rest of the chapel in darkness. The young priest who showed us the church had the face of an angel, so fair and young and holy; or, rather, such a face as is represented in a picture of St. Aloysius Gonzaga, the patron of youth.

As we wander from shop to shop one of our pretty friends meets one of the beaux of Cadiz, whose "loyalty" she suspects and whom she berates most violently for deserting his queen in her need, and helping to embarrass his country. The pretty way with which she shakes her fan at him, and gesticulates with her hands, the expressive eyes and play of feature, is altogether charming and Andalusian.

Late this evening, we hear particulars of the late battle. Novaliches fought against fearful odds—three thousand men to sixteen thousand. He was severely if not mortally wounded, and was carried off by his men to Portugal, the only way of retreat open to them. This defeat, we suppose, will put an end to the war.

Thursday, Oct. 1.

This is the feast of the Guardian Angel of Spain, so we hear mass where the devotion of the forty hours begins. As in Italy, two by two, kneeling and holding lights, the men of the congregation keep watch before the Blessed Sacrament during these forty hours, while hundreds of adorers continually coming and going attest the devotion of this pious people. The Church of the Guardian Angel is near that belonging to the military hospital; and on the opposite side of the square is an asylum for widows, founded many years ago by a converted Moor—a most interesting institution. Widows of all ranks and conditions find shelter here when their necessities require it. Each one has her own chamber and sitting-room, and each one her little cooking apparatus separate. The court with its open corridors on every story, its pretty flowers, its fine promenade on the roof, makes it a very inviting abode; and, with the usual Spanish courtesy, the old widow who showed us about (the widow of an officer, who had been there these forty years) placed it at our "disposition." These poor women go out to walk, and to church when they wish, though there is also a chapel in the house.

We go next to see the "Albergo dei Poveri," a magnificent charity, founded and endowed by one man in memory of his mother, and dedicated to St. Helena. Here five hundred children of both sexes are taught weaving, sewing, washing, shoemaking, etc., and there is also an asylum for five hundred old men and old women. The school-rooms and dormitories are large and airy; the marble courts, where the children play, and the sewing-room, where a hundred girls sat at work, looked out upon the sea, and were deliciously cool and comfortable. The school-rooms were decorated with pictures of Bible history, and seemed to have all the modern inventions which make easy the way to learning. The sister told us how much they had been disturbed by this revolutionary movement. Her little orphan boys (who had been taught music with the view to enter the army as musicians) had been carried off at night to play the revolutionary hymn, kept out marching over the town till two o'clock in the morning, and then sent home foot-sore and with aching heads.

The most interesting thing of all was to see the old men at dinner—that helpless thing, an old man. Placed by the nice table, a man with snow-white apron served the soup, a sister gave round the meat, and then came a pudding. The bread was as white as is all the bread of Spain, (even the poorest people have bread of this very white flour,) and there seemed about a hundred of these men over sixty years of age. The rain drives us home, but by and by we go out again to buy some of the boots and shoes of Cadiz, which are the prettiest in the world and cover the prettiest of feet.

Feast Of The Guardian Angels.
Friday, Oct. 2.

We go to the lovely church of the Rosary for high mass. The decorations are very tasteful and beautiful, and hundreds of men and women, in their grave black garments, assist most devoutly; the men have benches on each side, the women sit or kneel upon a bit of matting before the altar.

From this we go to the "Capuchinos," where we see three of Murillo's finest pictures, the "Marriage of St. Catherine," over the altar, which he left unfinished and which is surrounded, in five compartments, by five pictures of Zurbaran, almost equal to the centre piece. There is here another "Conception," and that picture of pictures, "St. Francis receiving the Stigmata," which is certainly the most extraordinary of all the works of this great master. The face of the saint seems to come entirely out of its dark surroundings, and so do the wonderful hands. These all look like the living flesh, and move us as if they were so.

This Capuchin convent, which Murillo loved to adorn, and in painting for which he lost his life, is now a hospital for lunatics—the monks all gone; the present Bishop of Cadiz was one [of] them. And to show the devotion of the common people to Murillo, they will not allow the bishop to move this picture of St. Francis to an opposite altar, where it would be in a better light and preserved from the smoke of the altar candles. "No; the place for which Murillo painted it must be the best place, and there it shall stay." In a chapel near by is a lovely picture of "Our Lady of the Rosary," which must be a copy of the one in the gallery of Madrid so celebrated. In this chapel and everywhere here we see statues or pictures of the "Martyrs of Cadiz," (Servando and Germano,) two young Roman soldiers who, becoming converts, died for the faith on a spot near the present city gates. It is said that on the occasion of the terrible earthquake which occurred here November 1st, 1755, when the sea rose and threatened to devour the city, two young men in strange garments appeared on the spot of their martyrdom and were seen by hundreds of the inhabitants to stay the waves, speaking to the people and bidding them pray to God. On another side of the city the Dominican priests bore the favorite statue of "Our Lady of the Rosary," with many prayers, to the waters' brink, and "the waves receded and there was a great calm."

On the third side, where Cadiz is most exposed to the sea, is a little church in which the priest was saying mass on the eventful morning. 'The people ran to him saying, "Behold! the sea is at the very door." He made haste to consume the consecrated Host, then seizing the crucifix and the banner of "Our Lady of Mercy," went out upon the door-step where the waves already licked his feet: "My Mother, let them not come further"—and they did not!

What is so remarkable in the accounts of this earthquake is, that there had been no storm to precede it, but on a soft sunshiny day came this terrible convulsion of the elements. We went to see this church, where is yet shown the crucifix and the banner which played so important a part on this occasion; and see the point to which the water rose, and an inscription on the wall of a house recording the event exactly as here related. Next we visit the church of San Lorenzo, and afterward that of the Scalzi, (barefoot friars,) where to-day was said the "last mass;" the "junta" having decreed that it be torn down to build a theatre. The work of destruction had already commenced. How the strong old walls resisted! A dozen carpenters were taking down the gilded altars and curiously carved "retablos," which, belonging to the days when Spain had her argosies from the new world laden with gold, were made to resist "all time." Four men with iron crowbars were striving to dislodge an angel suspended over an altar, which positively refused to come down; while below him, on the floor, stood saints and martyrs covered with dust and débris, hastily dislodged from the pedestals on which they had rested for centuries—a rueful group! No wonder the women wept, and eyed resentfully the malicious-looking revolutionists employed to order the work; while armed soldiers, with the hateful red ribbon on the arm, (the revolutionary mark,) kept off the populace, who strove to get in at the doors, by the market, to bid farewell to these ancient altars. It had been the church of the market people, the cradle of some of popular saints, the scene of the "first communion," the "nuptial mass," the baptism of their children, the funeral mass for their dead. Great is the clamor outside! Old people kiss the walls, and the young gather bits of the broken altars, while sorrowful-looking priests are permitted to carry away the mutilated statues and gildings.

The convent of the Good Shepherd, opening into the church, is also to be torn down, and its unhappy inmates driven elsewhere to seek shelter. They are putting into the same convent these, with Carmelites, Ursulines, and others; crowding together those who teach with those who save the Magdalens in strange and painful confusion. Such are some of the fruits of revolution! And this is the "liberty" which England and America seek for the Spaniard!

To-night we hear that the Marquis de Novaliches has died of lockjaw, his face having been dreadfully wounded by a ball. The Conte de la Cheste, who held Monjuich at Barcelona, has gone to join the queen, abandoning his "forlorn hope" at her request.

Saturday, October 3.

To-day we hear the high mass in the cathedral, and go to see the jewels in the sacristia. They have a remarkable "custodia," (the gift of an ancestor of the Calderon de la Barca,) set in pearls and emeralds of immense value; a superbly chased crucifix, the gift of Alonzo the Learned; a small but exquisitely worked tabernacle of gold with beautiful amethysts forming a cross, given by the same king. After the mass we go to buy some of the famous Cadiz gloves, and then drive on the ramparts to see the fine sea view. In the evening, to the church of the Carmel. As it is the eve of the feast of "Our Lady of the Rosary," the church of the Rosary is illuminated, and most of the houses throughout the city.

Sunday, Oct. 4.

In the church of the Rosary is a beautiful ceremony. The music is lovely; the wind instruments, in certain parts of the mass, most effective, and the whole one of the most solemn services at which we have assisted.

The sermon is delivered with such grace and unction that we could but realize the truth of that saying of Charles V., that Spanish is the language in which to speak to God! So grand, so sonorous! And there is something in the grave dignity of the Spanish priest which makes him seem the perfection of ecclesiastical character. We are all struck with the decorum of the people in the churches, the quiet and devotion; none of the running in and out and the familiarity with holy things which in Italy makes one see that the people regard the church as their father's house, in which they take liberties. Here, it is alone the house of God, as is seen in the reverential manner and careful costume. All wear black, and not even is a lace mantilla usual, but the Spanish mantilla of modest silk. The men are alike reverential, and nowhere have we seen so many men in church, particularly at night.

To-day we hear the good news that the government of the city is taken from the hands of the junta and given into the care of the former military governor of Cadiz, in conjunction with the admiral of the fleet. This is received with great favor by the people of moderate opinion of both sides, as putting a stop to extreme measures. They have countermanded the destruction of the two old churches, the Franciscan and the Scalzi; of the last-named they tell a most extraordinary story to-day. Yesterday the destroyers had knocked down a portion of the thick old wall. This morning it was found rebuilt as if by invisible hands, with the same heavy masonry, as strong as before, and even the white plaster upon the outside dry and barely to be distinguished from the rest of the building. Everybody runs to look at it. The people cry "a miracle," and say that the Blessed Virgin, whose feast it is to-day, had a hand in it.

Monday, Oct. 5.

We go for the last time to the shops, and to hear our last mass in San Antonio; for to-morrow we leave beautiful Cadiz and the dear friends who have made our stay so delightful. The political horizon to-day is a little clearer. In consequence of some outrages upon priests and churches one man has been banished to Ceuta, and large placards are upon the streets threatening with like punishment every one who insults a priest or injures a church. The banished man had harangued the mob, assuring them that a Dominican father in the convent of that order had some instruments of torture, formerly used in the Inquisition, and that he applied them to his penitents. The unthinking mob, guided by him, rushed to search the convent, broke the church windows, and not finding what was promised them, turned their fury upon the man who had deceived them.

In the war of 1835, when Saragossa began the work of burning the monasteries and murdering the monks, Cadiz gave her monks five hours to get away, and armed guards saved the monasteries. To be sure, the populace burned the libraries and furniture; but as Cadiz was then more moderate than her sister cities, she will not now be less kind than then. How impossible to believe, in looking out upon a city so smiling and so lovely, that evil passions should lurk in it anywhere!

To Be Continued.

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