Chapter 10 MISCELLANEOUS

Poetry, with Reference to Aristotle's Poetics

Poetry, according to Aristotle, is a

representation of the ideal. Biography and history

represent individual characters and actual facts;

poetry, on the contrary, generalizing from the

phenomenon of nature and life, supplies us with{5}

pictures drawn, not after an existing pattern,

but after a creation of the mind. Fidelity is the

primary merit of biography and history; the

essence of poetry is fiction. "Poesis nihil aliud

est," says Bacon, "quam histori? imitatio ad{10}

placitum." It delineates that perfection which

the imagination suggests, and to which as a

limit the present system of Divine Providence

actually tends. Moreover, by confining the attention

to one series of events and scene of action, it{15}

bounds and finishes off the confused luxuriance

of real nature; while, by a skillful adjustment of

circumstances, it brings into sight the connection

of cause and effect, completes the dependence of

the parts one on another, and harmonizes the{20}

proportions of the whole. It is then but the type

and model of history or biography, if we may be

allowed the comparison, bearing some resemblance

to the abstract mathematical formul? of physics,

before they are modified by the contingencies of

atmosphere and friction. Hence, while it recreates

the imagination by the superhuman loveliness of

its views, it provides a solace for the mind broken{5}

by the disappointments and sufferings of actual

life; and becomes, moreover, the utterance of

the inward emotions of a right moral feeling,

seeking a purity and a truth which this world

will not give.{10}

It follows that the poetical mind is one full of

the eternal forms of beauty and perfection; these

are its material of thought, its instrument and

medium of observation; these color each

object to which it directs its view. It is called{15}

imaginative, or creative, from the originality and

independence of its modes of thinking, compared

with the commonplace and matter-of-fact

conceptions of ordinary minds which are fettered

down to the particular and individual. At the{20}

same time it feels a natural sympathy with

everything great and splendid in the physical and

moral world; and selecting such from the mass

of common phenomena, incorporates them, as it

were, into the substance of its own creations.{25}

From living thus in a world of its own, it speaks

the language of dignity, emotion, and refinement.

Figure is its necessary medium of communication

with man; for in the feebleness of ordinary words

to express its ideas, and in the absence of terms of{30}

abstract perfection, the adoption of metaphorical

language is the only poor means allowed it for

imparting to others its intense feelings. A metrical

garb has, in all languages, been appropriated to

poetry-it is but the outward development of

the music and harmony within. The verse, far{5}

from being a restraint on the true poet, is the

suitable index of his sense, and is adopted by his

free and deliberate choice. We shall presently

show the applicability of our doctrine to the

various departments of poetical composition;{10}

first, however, it will be right to volunteer an

explanation which may save it from much

misconception and objection. Let not our notion

be thought arbitrarily to limit the number of

poets, generally considered such. It will be{15}

found to lower particular works, or parts of

works, rather than the authors themselves;

sometimes to disparage only the vehicle in which

the poetry is conveyed. There is an ambiguity

in the word "poetry," which is taken to signify{20}

both the gift itself, and the written composition

which is the result of it. Thus there is an

apparent, but no real, contradiction in saying a poem

may be but partially poetical; in some passages

more so than in others; and sometimes not{25}

poetical at all. We only maintain, not that the

writers forfeit the name of poet who fail at times

to answer to our requisitions, but that they are

poets only so far forth, and inasmuch as they do

answer to them. We may grant, for instance,{30}

that the vulgarities of old Ph?nix in the ninth

Iliad, or of the nurse of Orestes in the Cho?phor?,

are in themselves unworthy of their respective

authors, and refer them to the wantonness of

exuberant genius; and yet maintain that the

scenes in question contain much incidental poetry.{5}

Now and then the luster of the true metal catches

the eye, redeeming whatever is unseemly and

worthless in the rude ore; still the ore is not the

metal. Nay, sometimes, and not unfrequently in

Shakspeare, the introduction of unpoetical{10}

matter may be necessary for the sake of relief, or as

a vivid expression of recondite conceptions, and,

as it were, to make friends with the reader's

imagination. This necessity, however, cannot

make the additions in themselves beautiful and{15}

pleasing. Sometimes, on the other hand, while

we do not deny the incidental beauty of a poem,

we are ashamed and indignant on witnessing the

unworthy substance in which that beauty is

embedded. This remark applies strongly to the{20}

immoral compositions to which Lord Byron

devoted his last years.

Now to proceed with our proposed investigation.

1. We will notice descriptive poetry first.{25}

Empedocles wrote his physics in verse, and

Oppian his history of animals. Neither were

poets-the one was an historian of nature, the

other a sort of biographer of brutes. Yet a poet

may make natural history or philosophy the{30}

material of his composition. But under his hands

they are no longer a bare collection of facts or

principles, but are painted with a meaning,

beauty, and harmonious order not their own.

Thomson has sometimes been commended for

the novelty and minuteness of his remarks upon{5}

nature. This is not the praise of a poet, whose

office rather is to represent known phenomena in

a new connection or medium. In L'Allegro and

Il Penseroso the poetical magician invests the

commonest scenes of a country life with the hues,{10}

first of a cheerful, then of a pensive imagination.

It is the charm of the descriptive poetry of a

religious mind, that nature is viewed in a moral

connection. Ordinary writers, for instance,

compare aged men to trees in autumn-a gifted{15}

poet will in the fading trees discern the fading

men.[43] Pastoral poetry is a description of

rustics, agriculture, and cattle, softened off and

corrected from the rude health of nature. Virgil,

and much more Pope and others, have run into{20}

the fault of coloring too highly; instead of

drawing generalized and ideal forms of shepherds, they

have given us pictures of gentlemen and beaux.

Their composition may be poetry, but it is not

pastoral poetry.{25}

[43] Thus:-

"How quiet shows the woodland scene!

Each flower and tree, its duty done,

Reposing in decay serene,

Like weary men when age is won," etc.

2. The difference between poetical and

historical narrative may be illustrated by the Tales

Founded on Facts, generally of a religious

character, so common in the present day, which we

must not be thought to approve, because we use

them for our purpose. The author finds in the

circumstances of the case many particulars too{5}

trivial for public notice, or irrelevant to the main

story, or partaking perhaps too much of the

peculiarity of individual minds: these he omits.

He finds connected events separated from each

other by time or place, or a course of action{10}

distributed among a multitude of agents; he limits

the scene or duration of the tale, and dispenses

with his host of characters by condensing the

mass of incident and action in the history of a

few. He compresses long controversies into a{15}

concise argument, and exhibits characters by

dialogue, and (if such be his object) brings

prominently forward the course of Divine

Providence by a fit disposition of his materials. Thus

he selects, combines, refines, colors-in fact,{20}

poetizes. His facts are no longer actual, but

ideal; a tale founded on facts is a tale generalized

from facts. The authors of Peveril of the Peak,

and of Brambletye House, have given us their

respective descriptions of the profligate times of{25}

Charles II. Both accounts are interesting, but

for different reasons. That of the latter writer

has the fidelity of history; Walter Scott's

picture is the hideous reality, unintentionally softened

and decorated by the poetry of his own mind.{30}

Miss Edgeworth sometimes apologizes for certain

incident in her tales by stating they took place

"by one of those strange chances which occur in

life, but seem incredible when found in writing."

Such an excuse evinces a misconception of the

principle of fiction, which, being the perfection of{5}

the actual, prohibits the introduction of any such

anomalies of experience. It is by a similar

impropriety that painters sometimes introduce

unusual sunsets, or other singular phenomena of

lights and forms. Yet some of Miss Edgeworth's{10}

works contain much poetry of narrative.

Maneuvering is perfect in its way,-the plot and

characters are natural, without being too real to be

pleasing.

3. Character is made poetical by a like process.{15}

The writer draws indeed from experience; but

unnatural peculiarities are laid aside, and harsh

contrasts reconciled. If it be said the fidelity

of the imitation is often its greatest merit, we

have only to reply, that in such cases the pleasure{20}

is not poetical, but consists in the mere

recognition. All novels and tales which introduce real

characters are in the same degree unpoetical.

Portrait painting, to be poetical, should furnish

an abstract representation of an individual; the{25}

abstraction being more rigid, inasmuch as the

painting is confined to one point of time. The

artist should draw independently of the accidents

of attitude, dress, occasional feeling, and transient

action. He should depict the general spirit of{30}

his subject-as if he were copying from memory,

not from a few particular sittings. An ordinary

painter will delineate with rigid fidelity, and will

make a caricature; but the learned artist

contrives so to temper his composition, as to sink all

offensive peculiarities and hardnesses of{5}

individuality, without diminishing the striking effect of

the likeness, or acquainting the casual spectator

with the secret of his art. Miss Edgeworth's

representations of the Irish character are actual, and

not poetical-nor were they intended to be so.{10}

They are interesting, because they are faithful.

If there is poetry about them, it exists in the

personages themselves, not in her representation

of them. She is only the accurate reporter in

word of what was poetical in fact. Hence,{15}

moreover, when a deed or incident is striking in itself,

a judicious writer is led to describe it in the most

simple and colorless terms, his own being

unnecessary; for instance, if the greatness of the action

itself excites the imagination, or the depth of the{20}

suffering interests the feelings. In the usual

phrase, the circumstances are left "to speak for

themselves."

Let it not be said that our doctrine is adverse

to that individuality in the delineation of{25}

character, which is a principal charm of fiction. It is

not necessary for the ideality of a composition to

avoid those minuter shades of difference between

man and man, which give to poetry its

plausibility and life; but merely such violation of{30}

general nature, such improbabilities, wanderings, or

coarseness, as interfere with the refined and

delicate enjoyment of the imagination; which would

have the elements of beauty extracted out of

the confused multitude of ordinary actions and

habits, and combined with consistency and ease.{5}

Nor does it exclude the introduction of imperfect

or odious characters. The original conception of

a weak or guilty mind may have its intrinsic

beauty; and much more so, when it is connected

with a tale which finally adjusts whatever is{10}

reprehensible in the personages themselves.

Richard and Iago are subservient to the plot.

Moral excellence in some characters may become

even a fault. The Clytemnestra of Euripides is

so interesting, that the Divine vengeance, which{15}

is the main subject of the drama, seems almost

unjust. Lady Macbeth, on the contrary, is the

conception of one deeply learned in the poetical

art. She is polluted with the most heinous crimes,

and meets the fate she deserves. Yet there is{20}

nothing in the picture to offend the taste, and

much to feed the imagination. Romeo and

Juliet are too good for the termination to which

the plot leads; so are Ophelia and the Bride of

Lammermoor. In these cases there is something{25}

inconsistent with correct beauty, and therefore

unpoetical. We do not say the fault could be

avoided without sacrificing more than would be

gained; still it is a fault. It is scarcely possible

for a poet satisfactorily to connect innocence with{30}

ultimate unhappiness, when the notion of a future

life is excluded. Honors paid to the memory of

the dead are some alleviation of the harshness.

In his use of the doctrine of a future life, Southey

is admirable. Other writers are content to

conduct their heroes to temporal happiness;{5}

Southey refuses present comfort to his Ladurlad,

Thalaba, and Roderick, but carries them on

through suffering to another world. The death

of his hero is the termination of the action; yet

so little in two of them, at least, does this{10}

catastrophe excite sorrowful feelings, that some

readers may be startled to be reminded of the

fact. If a melancholy is thrown over the

conclusion of the Roderick, it is from the peculiarities

of the hero's previous history.{15}

4. Opinions, feelings, manners, and customs

are made poetical by the delicacy or splendor

with which they are expressed. This is seen in

the ode, elegy, sonnet, and ballad, in which a

single idea, perhaps, or familiar occurrence, is{20}

invested by the poet with pathos or dignity. The

ballad of Old Robin Gray will serve for an instance

out of a multitude; again, Lord Byron's Hebrew

Melody, beginning, "Were my bosom as false,"

etc.; or Cowper's Lines on his Mother's Picture;{25}

or Milman's Funeral Hymn in the Martyr of

Antioch; or Milton's Sonnet on his Blindness; or

Bernard Barton's Dream. As picturesque

specimens, we may name Campbell's Battle of the

Baltic; or Joanna Baillie's Chough and Crow;{30}

and for the more exalted and splendid style,

Gray's Bard; or Milton's Hymn on the Nativity;

in which facts, with which every one is familiar,

are made new by the coloring of a poetical

imagination. It must all along be observed, that

we are not adducing instances for their own sake;{5}

but in order to illustrate our general doctrine, and

to show its applicability to those compositions

which are, by universal consent, acknowledged to

be poetical.

The department of poetry we are now speaking{10}

of is of much wider extent than might at first

sight appear. It will include such moralizing and

philosophical poems as Young's Night Thoughts,

and Byron's Childe Harold. There is much bad

taste, at present, in the judgment passed on{15}

compositions of this kind. It is the fault of the day

to mistake mere eloquence for poetry; whereas,

in direct opposition to the conciseness and

simplicity of the poet, the talent of the orator consists

in making much of a single idea. "Sic dicet ille ut{20}

verset s?pe multis modis eandem et unam rem,

ut h?reat in eadem commoreturque sententia."

This is the great art of Cicero himself, who,

whether he is engaged in statement, argument, or

raillery, never ceases till he has exhausted the{25}

subject; going round about it, and placing it in every

different light, yet without repetition to offend or

weary the reader. This faculty seems to consist

in the power of throwing off harmonious verses,

which, while they have a respectable portion of{30}

meaning, yet are especially intended to charm the

ear. In popular poems, common ideas are

unfolded with copiousness, and set off in polished

verse-and this is called poetry. Such is the

character of Campbell's Pleasures of Hope; it is

in his minor poems that the author's poetical{5}

genius rises to its natural elevation. In Childe

Harold, too, the writer is carried through his

Spenserian stanza with the unweariness and

equable fullness of accomplished eloquence;

opening, illustrating, and heightening one idea, before{10}

he passes on to another. His composition is an

extended funeral sermon over buried joys and

pleasures. His laments over Greece, Rome, and

the fallen in various engagements, have quite the

character of panegyrical orations; while by the{15}

very attempt to describe the celebrated buildings

and sculptures of antiquity, he seems to confess

that they are the poetical text, his the rhetorical

comment. Still it is a work of splendid talent,

though, as a whole, not of the highest poetical{20}

excellence. Juvenal is perhaps the only ancient

author who habitually substitutes declamation for

poetry.

5. The philosophy of mind may equally be made

subservient to poetry, as the philosophy of nature.{25}

It is a common fault to mistake a mere knowledge

of the heart for poetical talent. Our greatest

masters have known better-they have

subjected metaphysics to their art. In Hamlet,

Macbeth, Richard, and Othello, the philosophy of{30}

mind is but the material of the poet. These personages

are ideal; they are effects of the contact

of a given internal character with given outward

circumstances, the results of combined conditions

determining (so to say) a moral curve of original

and inimitable properties. Philosophy is{5}

exhibited in the same subserviency to poetry in

many parts of Crabbe's Tales of the Hall. In the

writings of this author there is much to offend a

refined taste; but, at least in the work in question,

there is much of a highly poetical cast. It is a{10}

representation of the action and reaction of two

minds upon each other and upon the world around

them. Two brothers of different characters and

fortunes, and strangers to each other, meet. Their

habits of mind, the formation of those habits by{15}

external circumstances, their respective media of

judgment, their points of mutual attraction and

repulsion, the mental position of each in relation

to a variety of trifling phenomena of everyday

nature and life, are beautifully developed in a{20}

series of tales molded into a connected narrative.

We are tempted to single out the fourth book,

which gives an account of the childhood and

education of the younger brother, and which for

variety of thought as well as fidelity of{25}

description is in our judgment beyond praise. The

Waverley Novels would afford us specimens of a

similar excellence. One striking peculiarity of

these tales is the author's practice of describing

a group of characters bearing the same general{30}

features of mind, and placed in the same general

circumstances; yet so contrasted with each other

in minute differences of mental constitution, that

each diverges from the common starting point into

a path peculiar to himself. The brotherhood of

villains in Kenilworth, of knights in Ivanhoe,{5}

and of enthusiasts in Old Mortality are instances

of this. This bearing of character and plot on

each other is not often found in Byron's poems.

The Corsair is intended for a remarkable

personage. We pass by the inconsistencies of his{10}

character, considered by itself. The grand fault is,

that whether it be natural or not, we are obliged

to accept the author's word for the fidelity of his

portrait. We are told, not shown, what the hero

was. There is nothing in the plot which results{15}

from his peculiar formation of mind. An

everyday bravo might equally well have satisfied the

requirements of the action. Childe Harold, again,

if he is anything, is a being professedly isolated

from the world, and uninfluenced by it. One{20}

might as well draw Tityrus's stags grazing in the

air, as a character of this kind; which yet, with

more or less alteration, passes through successive

editions in his other poems. Byron had very

little versatility or elasticity of genius; he did not{25}

know how to make poetry out of existing materials.

He declaims in his own way, and has the

upper-hand as long as he is allowed to go on; but, if

interrogated on principles of nature and good

sense, he is at once put out and brought to a{30}

stand.

Yet his conception of Sardanapalus and Myrrha

is fine and ideal, and in the style of excellence

which we have just been admiring in Shakspeare

and Scott.

These illustrations of Aristotle's doctrine may{5}

suffice.

Now let us proceed to a fresh position; which,

as before, shall first be broadly stated, then

modified and explained. How does originality

differ from the poetical talent? Without{10}

affecting the accuracy of a definition, we may call the

latter the originality of right moral feeling.

Originality may perhaps be defined the power

of abstracting for one's self, and is in thought

what strength of mind is in action. Our opinions{15}

are commonly derived from education and society.

Common minds transmit as they receive, good and

bad, true and false; minds of original talent feel a

continual propensity to investigate subjects, and

strike out views for themselves, so that even old{20}

and established truths do not escape

modification and accidental change when subjected to this

process of mental digestion. Even the style of

original writers is stamped with the peculiarities

of their minds. When originality is found apart{25}

from good sense, which more or less is frequently

the case, it shows itself in paradox and rashness

of sentiment, and eccentricity of outward conduct.

Poetry, on the other hand, cannot be separated

from its good sense, or taste, as it is called, which{30}

is one of its elements. It is originality energizing

in the world of beauty; the originality of grace,

purity, refinement, and good feeling. We do not

hesitate to say, that poetry is ultimately founded

on correct moral perception; that where there is

no sound principle in exercise there will be no{5}

poetry; and that on the whole (originality being

granted) in proportion to the standard of a writer's

moral character will his compositions vary in

poetical excellence. This position, however,

requires some explanation.{10}

Of course, then, we do not mean to imply that

a poet must necessarily display virtuous and

religious feeling; we are not speaking of the actual

material of poetry, but of its sources. A right

moral state of heart is the formal and scientific{15}

condition of a poetical mind. Nor does it follow

from our position that every poet must in fact be

a man of consistent and practical principle;

except so far as good feeling commonly produces or

results from good practice. Burns was a man of{20}

inconsistent life; still, it is known, of much really

sound principle at bottom. Thus his acknowledged

poetical talent is in no wise inconsistent with

the truth of our doctrine, which will refer the

beauty which exists in his compositions to the{25}

remains of a virtuous and diviner nature within

him. Nay, further than this, our theory holds

good, even though it be shown that a depraved

man may write a poem. As motives short of the

purest lead to actions intrinsically good, so frames{30}

of mind short of virtuous will produce a partial

and limited poetry. But even where this is

instanced, the poetry of a vicious mind will be

inconsistent and debased; that is, so far only poetry

as the traces and shadows of holy truth still

remain upon it. On the other hand, a right moral{5}

feeling places the mind in the very center of that

circle from which all the rays have their origin

and range; whereas minds otherwise placed

command but a portion of the whole circuit of poetry.

Allowing for human infirmity and the varieties of{10}

opinion, Milton, Spenser, Cowper, Wordsworth,

and Southey may be considered, as far as their

writings go, to approximate to this moral center.

The following are added as further illustrations of

our meaning. Walter Scott's center is chivalrous{15}

honor; Shakspeare exhibits the characteristics of

an unlearned and undisciplined piety; Homer the

religion of nature and conscience, at times debased

by polytheism. All these poets are religious. The

occasional irreligion of Virgil's poetry is painful{20}

to the admirers of his general taste and delicacy.

Dryden's Alexander's Feast is a magnificent

composition, and has high poetical beauties; but to a

refined judgment there is something intrinsically

unpoetical in the end to which it is devoted, the{25}

praises of revel and sensuality. It corresponds to

a process of clever reasoning erected on an untrue

foundation-the one is a fallacy, the other is out

of taste. Lord Byron's Manfred is in parts

intensely poetical; yet the delicate mind naturally{30}

shrinks from the spirit which here and there reveals

itself, and the basis on which the drama is

built. From a perusal of it we should infer,

according to the above theory, that there was right

and fine feeling in the poet's mind, but that the

central and consistent character was wanting.{5}

From the history of his life we know this to be

the fact. The connection between want of the

religious principle and want of poetical feeling is

seen in the instances of Hume and Gibbon, who

had radically unpoetical minds. Rousseau, it{10}

may be supposed, is an exception to our doctrine.

Lucretius, too, had great poetical genius; but his

work evinces that his miserable philosophy was

rather the result of a bewildered judgment than

a corrupt heart.{15}

According to the above theory, Revealed

Religion should be especially poetical-and it is so

in fact. While its disclosures have an originality

in them to engage the intellect, they have a beauty

to satisfy the moral nature. It presents us with{20}

those ideal forms of excellence in which a poetical

mind delights, and with which all grace and

harmony are associated. It brings us into a new

world-a world of overpowering interest, of the

sublimest views, and the tenderest and purest{25}

feelings. The peculiar grace of mind of the New

Testament writers is as striking as the actual effect

produced upon the hearts of those who have

imbibed their spirit. At present we are not

concerned with the practical, but the poetical nature{30}

of revealed truth. With Christians, a poetical

view of things is a duty-we are bid to color all

things with hues of faith, to see a Divine meaning

in every event, and a superhuman tendency. Even

our friends around are invested with unearthly

brightness-no longer imperfect men, but beings{5}

taken into Divine favor, stamped with His seal,

and in training for future happiness. It may be

added, that the virtues peculiarly Christian are

especially poetical-meekness, gentleness,

compassion, contentment, modesty, not to mention{10}

the devotional virtues; whereas the ruder and

more ordinary feelings are the instruments of

rhetoric more justly than of poetry-anger,

indignation, emulation, martial spirit, and love of

independence.{15}

The Infinitude of the Divine Attributes

The attributes of God, though intelligible to us

on their surface,-for from our own sense of

mercy and holiness and patience and consistency,

we have general notions of the All-merciful and

All-holy and All-patient, and of all that is proper{20}

to His Essence,-yet, for the very reason that

they are infinite, transcend our comprehension,

when they are dwelt upon, when they are followed

out, and can only be received by faith. They are

dimly shadowed out, in this very respect, by the{25}

great agents which He has created in the material

world. What is so ordinary and familiar to us

as the elements, what so simple and level to us

as their presence and operation? yet how their

character changes, and how they overmaster us,

and triumph over us, when they come upon us in

their fullness! The invisible air, how gentle is it,

and intimately ours! we breathe it momentarily,{5}

nor could we live without it; it fans our cheek,

and flows around us, and we move through it

without effort, while it obediently recedes at every

step we take, and obsequiously pursues us as we

go forward. Yet let it come in its power, and{10}

that same silent fluid, which was just now the

servant of our necessity or caprice, takes us up

on its wings with the invisible power of an Angel,

and carries us forth into the regions of space, and

flings us down headlong upon the earth. Or go{15}

to the spring, and draw thence at your pleasure,

for your cup or your pitcher, in supply of your

wants; you have a ready servant, a domestic ever

at hand, in large quantity or in small, to satisfy

your thirst, or to purify you from the dust and{20}

mire of the world. But go from home, reach the

coast; and you will see that same humble element

transformed before your eyes. You were equal to

it in its condescension, but who shall gaze

without astonishment at its vast expanse in the bosom{25}

of the ocean? who shall hear without awe the

dashing of its mighty billows along the beach?

who shall without terror feel it heaving under him,

and swelling and mounting up, and yawning wide,

till he, its very sport and mockery, is thrown to{30}

and fro, hither and thither, at the mere mercy of

a power which was just now his companion and

almost his slave? Or, again, approach the flame:

it warms you, and it enlightens you; yet approach

not too near, presume not, or it will change its

nature. That very element which is so beautiful{5}

to look at, so brilliant in its character, so graceful

in its figure, so soft and lambent in its motion,

will be found in its essence to be of a keen,

resistless nature; it tortures, it consumes, it reduces to

ashes that of which it was just before the{10}

illumination and the life. So it is with the attributes

of God; our knowledge of them serves us for our

daily welfare; they give us light and warmth and

food and guidance and succor; but go forth with

Moses upon the mount and let the Lord pass by,{15}

or with Elias stand in the desert amid the wind,

the earthquake, and the fire, and all is mystery

and darkness; all is but a whirling of the reason,

and a dazzling of the imagination, and an

overwhelming of the feelings, reminding us that we{20}

are but mortal men and He is God, and that the

outlines which Nature draws for us are not His

perfect image, nor to be pronounced inconsistent

with those further lights and depths with which it

is invested by Revelation.{25}

Say not, my brethren, that these thoughts are

too austere for this season, when we contemplate

the self-sacrificing, self-consuming charity

wherewith God our Saviour has visited us. It is for that

very reason that I dwell on them; the higher He{30}

is, and the more mysterious, so much the more

glorious and the more subduing is the history of

His humiliation. I own it, my brethren, I love

to dwell on Him as the Only-begotten Word; nor

is it any forgetfulness of His sacred humanity to

contemplate His Eternal Person. It is the very{5}

idea, that He is God, which gives a meaning to

His sufferings; what is to me a man, and nothing

more, in agony, or scourged, or crucified? there

are many holy martyrs, and their torments were

terrible. But here I see One dropping blood,{10}

gashed by the thong, and stretched upon the

Cross, and He is God. It is no tale of human woe

which I am reading here; it is the record of the

passion of the great Creator. The Word and

Wisdom of the Father, who dwelt in His bosom{15}

in bliss ineffable from all eternity, whose very

smile has shed radiance and grace over the whole

creation, whose traces I see in the starry heavens

and on the green earth, this glorious living God,

it is He who looks at me so piteously, so tenderly{20}

from the Cross. He seems to say,-I cannot

move, though I am omnipotent, for sin has bound

Me here. I had had it in mind to come on earth

among innocent creatures, more fair and lovely

than them all, with a face more radiant than the{25}

Seraphim, and a form as royal as that of

Archangels, to be their equal yet their God, to fill

them with My grace, to receive their worship, to

enjoy their company, and to prepare them for the

heaven to which I destined them; but, before I{30}

carried My purpose into effect, they sinned, and

lost their inheritance; and so I come indeed, but

come, not in that brightness in which I went forth

to create the morning stars and to fill the sons of

God with melody, but in deformity and in shame,

in sighs and tears, with blood upon My cheek, and{5}

with My limbs laid bare and rent. Gaze on Me,

O My children, if you will, for I am helpless; gaze

on your Maker, whether in contempt, or in faith

and love. Here I wait, upon the Cross, the

appointed time, the time of grace and mercy; here{10}

I wait till the end of the world, silent and

motionless, for the conversion of the sinful and the

consolation of the just; here I remain in weakness

and shame, though I am so great in heaven, till

the end, patiently expecting My full catalogue of{15}

souls, who, when time is at length over, shall be

the reward of My passion and the triumph of My

grace to all eternity.

Christ upon the Waters

The earth is full of the marvels of Divine power;

"Day to day uttereth speech, and night to night{20}

showeth knowledge." The tokens of

Omnipotence are all around us, in the world of matter,

and the world of man; in the dispensation of

nature, and in the dispensation of grace. To do

impossibilities, I may say, is the prerogative of{25}

Him who made all things out of nothing, who

foresees all events before they occur, and controls

all wills without compelling them. In emblem of

this His glorious attribute, He came to His

disciples in the passage I have read to you, walking

upon the sea,-the emblem or hieroglyphic

among the ancients of the impossible, to show

them that what is impossible with man is{5}

possible with God. He who could walk the waters,

could also ride triumphantly upon what is still

more fickle, unstable, tumultuous,

treacherous-the billows of human wills, human purposes,

human hearts. The bark of Peter was struggling{10}

with the waves, and made no progress; Christ

came to him walking upon them; He entered the

boat, and by entering it He sustained it. He did

not abandon Himself to it, but He brought it

near to Himself; He did not merely take refuge{15}

in it, but He made Himself the strength of it,

and the pledge and cause of a successful passage.

"Presently," another gospel says, "the ship was

at the land, whither they were going."

Such was the power of the Son of God, the{20}

Saviour of man, manifested by visible tokens in

the material world, when He came upon earth;

and such, too, it has ever since signally shown

itself to be, in the history of that mystical ark

which He then formed to float upon the ocean of{25}

human opinion. He told His chosen servants to

form an ark for the salvation of souls: He gave

them directions how to construct it,-the length,

breadth, and height, its cabins and its windows;

and the world, as it gazed upon it, forthwith{30}

began to criticise. It pronounced it framed quite

contrary to the scientific rules of shipbuilding; it

prophesied, as it still prophesies, that such a craft

was not sea-worthy; that it was not water-tight;

that it would not float; that it would go to pieces

and founder. And why it does not, who can say,{5}

except that the Lord is in it? Who can say why

so old a framework, put together nineteen

hundred years ago, should have lasted, against all

human calculation, even to this day; always

going, and never gone; ever failing, yet ever{10}

managing to explore new seas and foreign

coasts-except that He, who once said to the rowers,

"It is I, be not afraid," and to the waters,

"Peace," is still in His own ark which He has

made, to direct and to prosper her course?{15}

Time was, my brethren, when the forefathers of

our race were a savage tribe, inhabiting a wild

district beyond the limits of this quarter of the

earth. Whatever brought them thither, they had

no local attachments there or political settlement;{20}

they were a restless people, and whether urged

forward by enemies or by desire of plunder, they

left their place, and passing through the defiles of

the mountains on the frontiers of Asia, they

invaded Europe, setting out on a journey towards{25}

the farther west. Generation after generation

passed away; and still this fierce and haughty

race moved forward. On, on they went; but

travel availed them not; the change of place

could bring them no truth, or peace, or hope, or{30}

stability of heart; they could not flee from themselves.

They carried with them their superstitions

and their sins, their gods of iron and of clay,

their savage sacrifices, their lawless witchcrafts,

their hatred of their kind, and their ignorance

of their destiny. At length they buried themselves{5}

in the deep forests of Germany, and gave

themselves up to indolent repose; but they had not

found their rest; they were still heathens, making

the fair trees, the primeval work of God, and the

innocent beasts of the chase, the objects and the{10}

instruments of their idolatrous worship. And,

last of all, they crossed over the strait and made

themselves masters of this island, and gave their

very name to it; so that, whereas it had hitherto

been called Britain, the southern part, which was{15}

their main seat, obtained the name of England.

And now they had proceeded forward nearly as

far as they could go, unless they were prepared

to look across the great ocean, and anticipate the

discovery of the world which lies beyond it.{20}

What, then, was to happen to this restless race,

which had sought for happiness and peace across

the globe, and had not found it? Was it to grow

old in its place, and dwindle away, and consume

in the fever of its own heart, which admitted{25}

no remedy? or was it to become great by being

overcome, and to enjoy the only real life of man,

and rise to his only true dignity, by being

subjected to a Master's yoke? Did its Maker and

Lord see any good thing in it, of which, under{30}

His Divine nurture, profit might come to His elect,

and glory to His name? He looked upon it, and

He saw nothing there to claim any visitation of

His grace, or to merit any relaxation of the awful

penalty which its lawlessness and impiety had

incurred. It was a proud race, which feared{5}

neither God nor man-a race ambitious,

self-willed, obstinate, and hard of belief, which would

dare everything, even the eternal pit, if it was

challenged to do so. I say, there was nothing

there of a nature to reverse the destiny which{10}

His righteous decrees have assigned to those who

sin wilfully and despise Him. But the Almighty

Lover of souls looked once again; and He saw in

that poor, forlorn, and ruined nature, which He

had in the beginning filled with grace and light,{15}

He saw in it, not what merited His favor, not

what would adequately respond to His influences,

not what was a necessary instrument of His

purposes, but what would illustrate and preach abroad

His grace, if He took pity on it. He saw in it,{20}

a natural nobleness, a simplicity, a frankness of

character, a love of truth, a zeal for justice, an

indignation at wrong, an admiration of purity, a

reverence for law, a keen appreciation of the

beautifulness and majesty of order, nay, further,{25}

a tenderness and an affectionateness of heart,

which He knew would become the glorious

instruments of His high will when illuminated and

vivified by His supernatural gifts. And so He

who, did it so please Him, could raise up children{30}

to Abraham out of the very stones of the earth,

nevertheless determined in this instance in His

free mercy to unite what was beautiful in nature

with what was radiant in grace; and, as if those

poor Anglo-Saxons had been too fair to be heathen,

therefore did He rescue them from the devil's{5}

service and the devil's doom, and bring them

into the house of His holiness and the mountain

of His rest.

It is an old story and a familiar, and I need not

go through it. I need not tell you, my Brethren,{10}

how suddenly the word of truth came to our

ancestors in this island and subdued them to its

gentle rule; how the grace of God fell on them,

and, without compulsion, as the historian tells us,

the multitude became Christian; how, when all{15}

was tempestuous, and hopeless, and dark, Christ

like a vision of glory came walking to them on

the waves of the sea. Then suddenly there was

a great calm; a change came over the pagan

people in that quarter of the country where the{20}

gospel was first preached to them; and from

thence the blessed influence went forth, it was

poured out over the whole land, till one and all,

the Anglo-Saxon people, were converted by it. In

a hundred years the work was done; the idols,{25}

the sacrifices, the mummeries of paganism flitted

away and were not, and the pure doctrine and

heavenly worship of the Cross were found in their

stead. The fair form of Christianity rose up and

grew and expanded like a beautiful pageant from{30}

north to south; it was majestic, it was solemn, it

was bright, it was beautiful and pleasant, it was

soothing to the griefs, it was indulgent to the

hopes of man; it was at once a teaching and a

worship; it had a dogma, a mystery, a ritual of

its own; it had an hierarchical form. A brotherhood{5}

of holy pastors, with miter and crosier and

uplifted hand, walked forth and blessed and ruled

a joyful people. The crucifix headed the

procession, and simple monks were there with hearts in

prayer, and sweet chants resounded, and the holy{10}

Latin tongue was heard, and boys came forth in

white, swinging censers, and the fragrant cloud

arose, and mass was sung, and the Saints were

invoked; and day after day, and in the still night,

and over the woody hills and in the quiet plains,{15}

as constantly as sun and moon and stars go forth

in heaven, so regular and solemn was the stately

march of blessed services on earth, high festival,

and gorgeous procession, and soothing dirge, and

passing bell, and the familiar evening call to{20}

prayer; till he who recollected the old pagan

time, would think it all unreal that he beheld and

heard, and would conclude he did but see a vision,

so marvelously was heaven let down upon earth,

so triumphantly were chased away the fiends of{25}

darkness to their prison below.

The Second Spring

Cant., c. ii. v. 10-12

Surge, propera, amica mea, columba mea, formosa

mea, et veni. Jam enim hiems transiit, imber abiit et

recessit. Flores apparuerunt in terra nostra.

Arise, make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful

one, and come. For the winter is now past, the rain is

over and gone. The flowers have appeared in our land.

We have familiar experience of the order, the

constancy, the perpetual renovation of the material

world which surrounds us. Frail and transitory

as is every part of it, restless and migratory as

are its elements, never ceasing as are its changes,{5}

still it abides. It is bound together by a law of

permanence, it is set up in unity; and, though it

is ever dying, it is ever coming to life again.

Dissolution does but give birth to fresh modes of

organization, and one death is the parent of a{10}

thousand lives. Each hour, as it comes, is but

a testimony, how fleeting, yet how secure, how

certain, is the great whole. It is like an image

on the waters, which is ever the same, though

the waters ever flow. Change upon{15}

change-yet one change cries out to another, like the

alternate Seraphim, in praise and in glory

of their Maker. The sun sinks to rise again;

the day is swallowed up in the gloom of the

night, to be born out of it, as fresh as if it{20}

had never been quenched. Spring passes into

summer, and through summer and autumn into

winter, only the more surely, by its own ultimate

return, to triumph over that grave, towards which

it resolutely hastened from its first hour. We

mourn over the blossoms of May, because they{5}

are to wither; but we know, withal, that May is

one day to have its revenge upon November, by

the revolution of that solemn circle which never

stops-which teaches us in our height of hope,

ever to be sober, and in our depth of desolation,{10}

never to despair.

And forcibly as this comes home to every one

of us, not less forcible is the contrast which exists

between this material world, so vigorous, so

reproductive, amid all its changes, and the moral{15}

world, so feeble, so downward, so resourceless,

amid all its aspirations. That which ought to

come to naught, endures; that which promises a

future, disappoints and is no more. The same

sun shines in heaven from first to last, and the{20}

blue firmament, the everlasting mountains,

reflect his rays; but where is there upon earth

the champion, the hero, the law giver, the body

politic, the sovereign race, which was great three

hundred years ago, and is great now? Moralists{25}

and poets, often do they descant upon this innate

vitality of matter, this innate perishableness of

mind. Man rises to fall: he tends to dissolution

from the moment he begins to be; he lives on,

indeed, in his children, he lives on in his name,{30}

he lives not on in his own person. He is, as regards

the manifestations of his nature here below,

as a bubble that breaks, and as water poured out

upon the earth. He was young, he is old, he is

never young again. This is the lament over him,

poured forth in verse and in prose, by Christians{5}

and by heathen. The greatest work of God's

hands under the sun, he, in all the manifestations

of his complex being, is born only to die.

His bodily frame first begins to feel the power

of this constraining law, though it is the last to{10}

succumb to it. We look at the gloom of youth

with interest, yet with pity; and the more

graceful and sweet it is, with pity so much the more;

for, whatever be its excellence and its glory, soon

it begins to be deformed and dishonored by the{15}

very force of its living on. It grows into

exhaustion and collapse, till at length it crumbles

into that dust out of which it was originally

taken.

So is it, too, with our moral being, a far higher{20}

and diviner portion of our natural constitution;

it begins with life, it ends with what is worse

than the mere loss of life, with a living death.

How beautiful is the human heart, when it puts

forth its first leaves, and opens and rejoices in{25}

its spring-tide! Fair as may be the bodily form,

fairer far, in its green foliage and bright blossoms,

is natural virtue. It blooms in the young, like

some rich flower, so delicate, so fragrant, and so

dazzling. Generosity and lightness of heart and{30}

amiableness, the confiding spirit, the gentle temper,

the elastic cheerfulness, the open hand, the

pure affection, the noble aspiration, the heroic

resolve, the romantic pursuit, the love in which

self has no part,-are not these beautiful? and

are they not dressed up and set forth for{5}

admiration in their best shapes, in tales and in poems?

and ah! what a prospect of good is there! who

could believe that it is to fade! and yet, as night

follows upon day, as decrepitude follows upon

health, so surely are failure, and overthrow, and{10}

annihilation, the issue of this natural virtue, if

time only be allowed to it to run its course.

There are those who are cut off in the first

opening of this excellence, and then, if we may trust

their epitaphs, they have lived like angels; but{15}

wait awhile, let them live on, let the course of

life proceed, let the bright soul go through the

fire and water of the world's temptations and

seductions and corruptions and transformations;

and, alas for the insufficiency of nature! alas for{20}

its powerlessness to persevere, its waywardness

in disappointing its own promise! Wait till

youth has become age; and not more different

is the miniature which we have of him when a

boy, when every feature spoke of hope, put side{25}

by side of the large portrait painted to his honor,

when he is old, when his limbs are shrunk, his

eye dim, his brow furrowed, and his hair gray,

than differs the moral grace of that boyhood from

the forbidding and repulsive aspect of his soul,{30}

now that he has lived to the age of man. For

moroseness, and misanthropy, and selfishness, is

the ordinary winter of that spring.

Such is man in his own nature, and such, too,

is he in his works. The noblest efforts of his

genius, the conquests he has made, the doctrines{5}

he has originated, the nations he has civilized,

the states he has created, they outlive himself,

they outlive him by many centuries, but they

tend to an end, and that end is dissolution.

Powers of the world, sovereignties, dynasties,{10}

sooner or later come to nought; they have their

fatal hour. The Roman conqueror shed tears

over Carthage, for in the destruction of the rival

city he discerned too truly an augury of the fall

of Rome; and at length, with the weight and the{15}

responsibilities, the crimes and the glories, of

centuries upon centuries, the Imperial City fell.

Thus man and all his works are mortal; they

die, and they have no power of renovation.

But what is it, my Fathers, my Brothers, what{20}

is it that has happened in England just at this

time? Something strange is passing over this

land, by the very surprise, by the very commotion,

which it excites. Were we not near enough the

scene of action to be able to say what is going{25}

on,-were we the inhabitants of some sister planet

possessed of a more perfect mechanism than this

earth has discovered for surveying the

transactions of another globe,-and did we turn our

eyes thence towards England just at this season,{30}

we should be arrested by a political phenomenon

as wonderful as any which the astronomer notes

down from his physical field of view. It would

be the occurrence of a national commotion, almost

without parallel, more violent than has happened

here for centuries-at least in the judgments{5}

and intentions of men, if not in act and deed.

We should note it down, that soon after St.

Michael's day, 1850, a storm arose in the moral

world, so furious as to demand some great

explanation, and to rouse in us an intense desire to{10}

gain it. We should observe it increasing from

day to day, and spreading from place to place,

without remission, almost without lull, up to this

very hour, when perhaps it threatens worse still,

or at least gives no sure prospect of alleviation.{15}

Every party in the body politic undergoes its

influence,-from the Queen upon her throne,

down to the little ones in the infant or day school.

The ten thousands of the constituency, the

sum-total of Protestant sects, the aggregate of{20}

religious societies and associations, the great body

of established clergy in town and country, the bar,

even the medical profession, nay, even literary

and scientific circles, every class, every

interest, every fireside, gives tokens of this{25}

ubiquitous storm. This would be our report of it, seeing

it from the distance, and we should speculate

on the cause. What is it all about? against what

is it directed? what wonder has happened upon

earth? what prodigious, what preternatural event{30}

is adequate to the burden of so vast an effect?

We should judge rightly in our curiosity about

a phenomenon like this; it must be a portentous

event, and it is. It is an innovation, a miracle,

I may say, in the course of human events. The

physical world revolves year by year, and begins{5}

again; but the political order of things does not

renew itself, does not return; it continues, but it

proceeds; there is no retrogression. This is so

well understood by men of the day, that with

them progress is idolized as another name for{10}

good. The past never returns-it is never good;

if we are to escape existing ills, it must be by

going forward. The past is out of date; the past

is dead. As well may the dead live to us, as well

may the dead profit us, as the past return. This,{15}

then, is the cause of this national transport, this

national cry, which encompasses us. The past has

returned, the dead lives. Thrones are overturned,

and are never restored; States live and die, and

then are matter only for history. Babylon was{20}

great, and Tyre, and Egypt, and Nineveh, and

shall never be great again. The English Church

was, and the English Church was not, and the

English Church is once again. This is the

portent, worthy of a cry. It is the coming in of a{25}

Second Spring; it is a restoration in the moral

world, such as that which yearly takes place in

the physical.

Three centuries ago, and the Catholic Church,

that great creation of God's power, stood in this{30}

land in pride of place. It had the honors of near

a thousand years upon it; it was enthroned on

some twenty sees up and down the broad country;

it was based in the will of a faithful people;

it energized through ten thousand instruments of

power and influence; and it was ennobled by a{5}

host of Saints and Martyrs. The churches, one

by one, recounted and rejoiced in the line of

glorified intercessors, who were the respective

objects of their grateful homage. Canterbury

alone numbered perhaps some sixteen, from St.{10}

Augustine to St. Dunstan and St. Elphege, from

St. Anselm and St. Thomas down to St. Edmund.

York had its St. Paulinus, St. John, St. Wilfrid,

and St. William; London, its St. Erconwald;

Durham, its St. Cuthbert; Winton, its St.{15}

Swithun. Then there were St. Aidan of

Lindisfarne, and St. Hugh of Lincoln, and St.

Chad of Lichfield, and St. Thomas of

Hereford, and St. Oswald and St. Wulstan of

Worcester, and St. Osmund of Salisbury, and{20}

St. Birinus of Dorchester, and St. Richard of

Chichester. And then, too, its religious orders,

its monastic establishments, its universities,

its wide relations all over Europe, its high

prerogatives in the temporal state, its wealth, its{25}

dependencies, its popular honors,-where was

there in the whole of Christendom a more

glorious hierarchy? Mixed up with the civil

institutions, with kings and nobles, with the people,

found in every village and in every town,-it{30}

seemed destined to stand, so long as England

stood, and to outlast, it might be, England's

greatness.

But it was the high decree of heaven, that the

majesty of that presence should be blotted out.

It is a long story, my Fathers and {5}

Brothers-you know it well. I need not go through it. The

vivifying principle of truth, the shadow of St.

Peter, the grace of the Redeemer, left it. That

old Church in its day became a corpse (a

marvelous, an awful change!); and then it did but{10}

corrupt the air which once it refreshed, and

cumber the ground which once it beautified. So all

seemed to be lost; and there was a struggle for

a time, and then its priests were cast out or

martyred. There were sacrileges innumerable.{15}

Its temples were profaned or destroyed; its

revenues seized by covetous nobles, or squandered

upon the ministers of a new faith. The presence

of Catholicism was at length simply

removed,-its grace disowned,-its power despised,-its{20}

name, except as a matter of history, at length

almost unknown. It took a long time to do this

thoroughly; much time, much thought, much

labor, much expense; but at last it was done.

Oh, that miserable day, centuries before we were{25}

born! What a martyrdom to live in it and see

the fair form of Truth, moral and material,

hacked piecemeal, and every limb and organ

carried off, and burned in the fire, or cast into

the deep! But at last the work was done. Truth{30}

was disposed of, and shoveled away, and there

was a calm, a silence, a sort of peace-and such

was about the state of things when we were born

into this weary world.

My Fathers and Brothers, you have seen it on

one side, and some of us on another; but one and{5}

all of us can bear witness to the fact of the utter

contempt into which Catholicism had fallen by

the time that we were born. You, alas, know it

far better than I can know it; but it may not be

out of place, if by one or two tokens, as by the{10}

strokes of a pencil, I bear witness to you from

without, of what you can witness so much more

truly from within. No longer the Catholic

Church in the country; nay, no longer, I may

say, a Catholic community; but a few{15}

adherents of the Old Religion, moving silently

and sorrowfully about, as memorials of what had

been. The "Roman Catholics,"-not a sect,

not even an interest, as men conceived of

it,-not a body, however small, representative of the {20}

Great Communion abroad,-but a mere handful

of individuals, who might be counted, like the

pebbles and detritus of the great deluge, and

who, forsooth, merely happened to retain a creed

which, in its day indeed, was the profession of a{25}

Church. Here a set of poor Irishmen, coming and

going at harvest time, or a colony of them lodged

in a miserable quarter of the vast metropolis.

There, perhaps an elderly person, seen walking

in the streets, grave and solitary, and strange,{30}

though noble in bearing, and said to be of good

family, and a "Roman Catholic." An

old-fashioned house of gloomy appearance, closed in

with high walls, with an iron gate, and yews, and

the report attaching to it that "Roman Catholics"

lived there; but who they were, or what they did,{5}

or what was meant by calling them Roman

Catholics, no one could tell-though it had an

unpleasant sound, and told of form and

superstition. And then, perhaps, as we went to and fro,

looking with a boy's curious eyes through the{10}

great city, we might come to-day upon some

Moravian chapel, or Quaker's meeting-house, and

to-morrow on a chapel of the "Roman Catholics";

but nothing was to be gathered from it, except

that there were lights burning there, and some{15}

boys in white, swinging censers; and what it all

meant could only be learned from books, from

Protestant Histories and Sermons; and they did

not report well of the "Roman Catholics," but,

on the contrary, deposed that they had once had{20}

power and had abused it. And then, again, we

might on one occasion hear it pointedly put out

by some literary man, as the result of his careful

investigation, and as a recondite point of

information, which few knew, that there was this{25}

difference between the Roman Catholics of England

and the Roman Catholics of Ireland, that the

latter had bishops, and the former were governed

by four officials, called Vicars-Apostolic.

Such was about the sort of knowledge possessed{30}

of Christianity by the heathen of old time, who

persecuted its adherents from the face of the

earth, and then called them a gens lucifuga, a

people who shunned the light of day. Such were

Catholics in England, found in corners, and alleys,

and cellars, and the housetops, or in the recesses{5}

of the country; cut off from the populous world

around them, and dimly seen, as if through a

mist or in twilight, as ghosts flitting to and fro,

by the high Protestants, the lords of the earth.

At length so feeble did they become, so utterly{10}

contemptible, that contempt gave birth to pity;

and the more generous of their tyrants actually

began to wish to bestow on them some favor,

under the notion that their opinions were simply

too absurd ever to spread again, and that they{15}

themselves, were they but raised in civil

importance, would soon unlearn and be ashamed of

them. And thus, out of mere kindness to us,

they began to vilify our doctrines to the Protestant

world, that so our very idiotcy or our secret{20}

unbelief might be our plea for mercy.

A great change, an awful contrast, between the

time-honored Church of St. Augustine and St.

Thomas, and the poor remnant of their children

in the beginning of the nineteenth century! It{25}

was a miracle, I might say, to have pulled down

that lordly power; but there was a greater and a

truer one in store. No one could have prophesied

its fall, but still less would any one have ventured

to prophesy its rise again. The fall was{30}

wonderful; still after all it was in the order of nature;

all things come to naught: its rise again would

be a different sort of wonder, for it is in the order

of grace,-and who can hope for miracles, and

such a miracle as this? Has the whole course of

history a like to show? I must speak cautiously{5}

and according to my knowledge, but I recollect

no parallel to it. Augustine, indeed, came to

the same island to which the early missionaries

had come already; but they came to Britons, and

he to Saxons. The Arian Goths and Lombards,{10}

too, cast off their heresy in St. Augustine's age,

and joined the Church; but they had never fallen

away from her. The inspired word seems to imply

the almost impossibility of such a grace as the

renovation of those who have crucified to{15}

themselves again, and trodden under foot, the Son of

God. Who then could have dared to hope that,

out of so sacrilegious a nation as this is, a people

would have been formed again unto their Saviour?

What signs did it show that it was to be singled{20}

out from among the nations? Had it been

prophesied some fifty years ago, would not the

very notion have seemed preposterous and wild?

My Fathers, there was one of your own order,

then in the maturity of his powers and his{25}

reputation. His name is the property of this diocese;

yet is too great, too venerable, too dear to all

Catholics, to be confined to any part of England,

when it is rather a household word in the mouths

of all of us. What would have been the feelings{30}

of that venerable man, the champion of God's ark

in an evil time, could he have lived to see this

day? It is almost presumptuous for one who

knew him not, to draw pictures about him, and

his thoughts, and his friends, some of whom are

even here present; yet am I wrong in fancying{5}

that a day such as this, in which we stand, would

have seemed to him a dream, or, if he prophesied

of it, to his hearers nothing but a mockery? Say

that one time, rapt in spirit, he had reached

forward to the future, and that his mortal eye had{10}

wandered from that lowly chapel in the valley

which had been for centuries in the possession of

Catholics, to the neighboring height, then waste

and solitary. And let him say to those about

him: "I see a bleak mount, looking upon an open{15}

country, over against that huge town, to whose

inhabitants Catholicism is of so little account.

I see the ground marked out, and an ample

inclosure made; and plantations are rising there,

clothing and circling in the space.{20}

"And there on that high spot, far from the

haunts of men, yet in the very center of the island,

a large edifice, or rather pile of edifices, appears

with many fronts, and courts, and long cloisters

and corridors, and story upon story. And there{25}

it rises, under the invocation of the same sweet

and powerful name which has been our strength

and consolation in the Valley. I look more

attentively at that building, and I see it is fashioned

upon that ancient style of art which brings back{30}

the past, which had seemed to be perishing from

off the face of the earth, or to be preserved only

as a curiosity, or to be imitated only as a fancy.

I listen, and I hear the sound of voices, grave

and musical, renewing the old chant, with which

Augustine greeted Ethelbert in the free air upon{5}

the Kentish strand. It comes from a long

procession, and it winds along the cloisters. Priests

and Religious, theologians from the schools, and

canons from the Cathedral, walk in due precedence.

And then there comes a vision of well-nigh{10}

twelve mitered heads; and last I see a Prince of

the Church, in the royal dye of empire and of

martyrdom, a pledge to us from Rome of Rome's

unwearied love, a token that that goodly

company is firm in Apostolic faith and hope. And{15}

the shadow of the Saints is there; St. Benedict

is there, speaking to us by the voice of bishop

and of priest, and counting over the long ages

through which he has prayed, and studied, and

labored; there, too, is St. Dominic's white wool,{20}

which no blemish can impair, no stain can dim:

and if St. Bernard be not there, it is only that

his absence may make him be remembered more.

And the princely patriarch, St. Ignatius, too, the

St. George of the modern world, with his chivalrous{25}

lance run through his writhing foe, he, too, sheds

his blessing upon that train. And others, also,

his equals or his juniors in history, whose pictures

are above our altars, or soon shall be, the surest

proof that the Lord's arm has not waxen short,{30}

nor His mercy failed,-they, too, are looking

down from their thrones on high upon the throng.

And so that high company moves on into the holy

place; and there, with august rite and awful

sacrifice, inaugurates the great act which brings

it thither." What is that act? it is the first{5}

synod of a new Hierarchy; it is the resurrection

of the Church.

O my Fathers, my Brothers, had that revered

Bishop so spoken then, who that had heard him

but would have said that he spoke what could{10}

not be? What! those few scattered worshipers,

the Roman Catholics, to form a Church! Shall

the past be rolled back? Shall the grave open?

Shall the Saxons live again to God? Shall the

shepherds, watching their poor flocks by night,{15}

be visited by a multitude of the heavenly army,

and hear how their Lord has been new-born in

their own city? Yes; for grace can, where

nature cannot. The world grows old, but the

Church is ever young. She can, in any time, at{20}

her Lord's will, "inherit the Gentiles, and inhabit

the desolate cities." "Arise, Jerusalem, for thy

light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen

upon thee. Behold, darkness shall cover the

earth, and a mist the people; but the Lord shall{25}

arise upon thee, and His glory shall be seen upon

thee. Lift up thine eyes round about, and see;

all these are gathered together, they come to

thee; thy sons shall come from afar, and thy

daughters shall rise up at thy side." "Arise,{30}

make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful one,

and come. For the winter is now past, and the

rain is over and gone. The flowers have appeared

in our land ... the fig tree hath put forth her

green figs; the vines in flower yield their sweet

smell. Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and{5}

come." It is the time for thy Visitation. Arise,

Mary, and go forth in thy strength into that north

country, which once was thine own, and take

possession of a land which knows thee not. Arise,

Mother of God, and with thy thrilling voice speak{10}

to those who labor with child, and are in pain,

till the babe of grace leaps within them! Shine

on us, dear Lady, with thy bright countenance,

like the sun in his strength, O stella matutina, O

harbinger of peace, till our year is one perpetual{15}

May. From thy sweet eyes, from thy pure smile,

from thy majestic brow, let ten thousand

influences rain down, not to confound or

overwhelm, but to persuade, to win over thine enemies.

O Mary, my hope, O Mother undefiled, fulfill to{20}

us the promise of this Spring. A second temple

rises on the ruins of the old. Canterbury has

gone its way, and York is gone, and Durham is

gone, and Winchester is gone. It was sore to

part with them. We clung to the vision of past{25}

greatness, and would not believe it could come

to naught; but the Church in England has died,

and the Church lives again. Westminster and

Nottingham, Beverley and Hexham, Northampton

and Shrewsbury, if the world lasts, shall be{30}

names as musical to the ear, as stirring to the

heart, as the glories we have lost; and Saints

shall rise out of them, if God so will, and

Doctors once again shall give the law to Israel,

and Preachers call to penance and to justice, as

at the beginning.{5}

Yes, my Fathers and Brothers, and if it be

God's blessed will, not Saints alone, not Doctors

only, not Preachers only, shall be ours-but

Martyrs, too, shall re-consecrate the soil to God.

We know not what is before us, ere we win our{10}

own; we are engaged in a great, a joyful work,

but in proportion to God's grace is the fury of

His enemies. They have welcomed us as the

lion greets his prey. Perhaps they may be

familiarized in time with our appearance, but{15}

perhaps they may be irritated the more. To set

up the Church again in England is too great an

act to be done in a corner. We have had reason

to expect that such a boon would not be given

to us without a cross. It is not God's way that{20}

great blessings should descend without the sacrifice

first of great sufferings. If the truth is to be

spread to any wide extent among this people, how

can we dream, how can we hope, that trial and

trouble shall not accompany its going forth? And{25}

we have already, if it may be said without

presumption, to commence our work withal, a large

store of merits. We have no slight outfit for our

opening warfare. Can we religiously suppose that

the blood of our martyrs, three centuries ago and{30}

since, shall never receive its recompense? Those

priests, secular and regular, did they suffer for

no end? or rather, for an end which is not yet

accomplished? The long imprisonment, the fetid

dungeon, the weary suspense, the tyrannous trial,

the barbarous sentence, the savage execution, the{5}

rack, the gibbet, the knife, the caldron, the

numberless tortures of those holy victims, O my God,

are they to have no reward? Are Thy martyrs

to cry from under Thine altar for their loving

vengeance on this guilty people, and to cry in{10}

vain? Shall they lose life, and not gain a

better life for the children of those who persecuted

them? Is this Thy way, O my God, righteous

and true? Is it according to Thy promise, O

King of Saints, if I may dare talk to Thee of{15}

justice? Did not Thou Thyself pray for Thine

enemies upon the cross, and convert them? Did

not Thy first Martyr win Thy great Apostle, then

a persecutor, by his loving prayer? And in that

day of trial and desolation for England, when{20}

hearts were pierced through and through with

Mary's woe, at the crucifixion of Thy body

mystical, was not every tear that flowed, and

every drop of blood that was shed, the seeds of a

future harvest, when they who sowed in sorrow{25}

were to reap in joy?

And as that suffering of the Martyrs is not yet

recompensed, so, perchance, it is not yet

exhausted. Something, for what we know, remains

to be undergone, to complete the necessary{30}

sacrifice. May God forbid it, for this poor nation's

sake! But still could we be surprised, my Fathers

and my Brothers, if the winter even now should

not yet be quite over? Have we any right to

take it strange, if, in this English land, the

spring-time of the Church should turn out to be an{5}

English spring, an uncertain, anxious time of hope

and fear, of joy and suffering,-of bright promise

and budding hopes, yet withal, of keen blasts, and

cold showers, and sudden storms?

One thing alone I know,-that according to{10}

our need, so will be our strength. One thing I

am sure of, that the more the enemy rages against

us, so much the more will the Saints in Heaven

plead for us; the more fearful are our trials from

the world, the more present to us will be our{15}

Mother Mary, and our good Patrons and Angel

Guardians; the more malicious are the devices of

men against us, the louder cry of supplication will

ascend from the bosom of the whole Church to

God for us. We shall not be left orphans; we{20}

shall have within us the strength of the Paraclete,

promised to the Church and to every member of

it. My Fathers, my Brothers in the priesthood,

I speak from my heart when I declare my

conviction, that there is no one among you here{25}

present but, if God so willed, would readily

become a martyr for His sake. I do not say you

would wish it; I do not say that the natural will

would not pray that that chalice might pass

away; I do not speak of what you can do by any{30}

strength of yours; but in the strength of God,

in the grace of the Spirit, in the armor of justice,

by the consolations and peace of the Church, by

the blessing of the Apostles Peter and Paul, and

in the name of Christ, you would do what nature

cannot do. By the intercession of the Saints on{5}

high, by the penances and good works and the

prayers of the people of God on earth, you would

be forcibly borne up as upon the waves of the

mighty deep, and carried on out of yourselves by

the fullness of grace, whether nature wished it or{10}

no. I do not mean violently, or with unseemly

struggle, but calmly, gracefully, sweetly, joyously,

you would mount up and ride forth to the battle,

as on the rush of Angels' wings, as your fathers

did before you, and gained the prize. You, who{15}

day by day offer up the Immaculate Lamb of

God, you who hold in your hands the Incarnate

Word under the visible tokens which He has

ordained, you who again and again drain the

chalice of the Great Victim; who is to make you{20}

fear? what is to startle you? what to seduce

you? who is to stop you, whether you are to

suffer or to do, whether to lay the foundations of

the Church in tears, or to put the crown upon the

work in jubilation?{25}

My Fathers, my Brothers, one word more. It

may seem as if I were going out of my way in

thus addressing you; but I have some sort of

plea to urge in extenuation. When the English

College at Rome was set up by the solicitude of a{30}

great Pontiff in the beginning of England's sorrows,

and missionaries were trained there for

confessorship and martyrdom here, who was it that

saluted the fair Saxon youths as they passed by

him in the streets of the great city, with the

salutation, "Salvete flores martyrum"? And when{5}

the time came for each in turn to leave that

peaceful home, and to go forth to the conflict, to whom

did they betake themselves before leaving Rome,

to receive a blessing which might nerve them for

their work? They went for a Saint's blessing;{10}

they went to a calm old man, who had never

seen blood, except in penance; who had longed

indeed to die for Christ, what time the great St.

Francis opened the way to the far East, but who

had been fixed as if a sentinel in the holy city,{15}

and walked up and down for fifty years on one

beat, while his brethren were in the battle. Oh!

the fire of that heart, too great for its frail

tenement, which tormented him to be kept at home

when the whole Church was at war! and{20}

therefore came those bright-haired strangers to him,

ere they set out for the scene of their passion,

that the full zeal and love pent up in that burning

breast might find a vent, and flow over, from him

who was kept at home, upon those who were to{25}

face the foe. Therefore one by one, each in his

turn, those youthful soldiers came to the old man;

and one by one they persevered and gained the

crown and the palm,-all but one, who had not

gone, and would not go, for the salutary blessing.{30}

My Fathers, my Brothers, that old man was

my own St. Philip. Bear with me for his sake.

If I have spoken too seriously, his sweet smile

shall temper it. As he was with you three

centuries ago in Rome, when our Temple fell, so

now surely when it is rising, it is a pleasant token{5}

that he should have even set out on his travels to

you; and that, as if remembering how he

interceded for you at home, and recognizing the

relations he then formed with you, he should now be

wishing to have a name among you, and to be{10}

loved by you, and perchance to do you a service,

here in your own land.

St. Paul's Characteristic Gift

Ep. II. S. Paul ad Cor., c. xii. v. 9

Libenter igitur gloriabor in infirmitatibus meis, ut

inhabitet in me virtus Christi.

Gladly therefore will I glory in my infirmities, that

the power of Christ may dwell in me.

All the Saints, from the beginning of history

to the end, resemble each other in this, that their

excellence is supernatural, their deeds heroic, their{15}

merits extraordinary and prevailing. They all

are choice patterns of the theological virtues;

they all are blessed with a rare and special union

with their Maker and Lord; they all lead lives of

penance; and when they leave this world, they{20}

are spared that torment, which the multitude of

holy souls are allotted, between earth and heaven,

death and eternal glory. But, with all these

various tokens of their belonging to one and the

same celestial family, they may still be divided,{25}

in their external aspect, into two classes.

There are those, on the one hand, who are so{5}

absorbed in the Divine life, that they seem, even

while they are in the flesh, to have no part in

earth or in human nature; but to think, speak,

and act under views, affections, and motives

simply supernatural. If they love others, it is{10}

simply because they love God, and because man

is the object either of His compassion, or of His

praise. If they rejoice, it is in what is unseen; if

they feel interest, it is in what is unearthly; if

they speak, it is almost with the voice of Angels;{15}

if they eat or drink, it is almost of Angels' food

alone-for it is recorded in their histories, that

for weeks they have fed on nothing else but that

Heavenly Bread which is the proper sustenance

of the soul. Such we may suppose to have been{20}

St. John; such St. Mary Magdalen; such the

hermits of the desert; such many of the holy

Virgins whose lives belong to the science of

mystical theology.

On the other hand, there are those, and of the{25}

highest order of sanctity too, as far as our eyes

can see, in whom the supernatural combines with

nature, instead of superseding it,-invigorating

it, elevating it, ennobling it; and who are not

the less men, because they are saints. They do{30}

not put away their natural endowments, but use

them to the glory of the Giver; they do not act

beside them, but through them; they do not

eclipse them by the brightness of Divine grace,

but only transfigure them. They are versed in

human knowledge; they are busy in human{5}

society; they understand the human heart; they

can throw themselves into the minds of other

men; and all this in consequence of natural gifts

and secular education. While they themselves

stand secure in the blessedness of purity and{10}

peace, they can follow in imagination the ten

thousand aberrations of pride, passion, and

remorse. The world is to them a book, to which

they are drawn for its own sake, which they read

fluently, which interests them{15}

naturally,-though, by the reason of the grace which dwells

within them, they study it and hold converse

with it for the glory of God and the salvation

of souls. Thus they have the thoughts, feelings,

frames of mind, attractions, sympathies,{20}

antipathies of other men, so far as these are not

sinful, only they have these properties of human

nature purified, sanctified, and exalted; and they

are only made more eloquent, more poetical, more

profound, more intellectual, by reason of their{25}

being more holy. In this latter class I may

perhaps without presumption place many of the early

Fathers, St. Chrysostom, St. Gregory Nazianzen,

St. Athanasius, and above all, the great Saint of

this day, St. Paul the Apostle.{30}

I think it a happy circumstance that, in this

Church, placed, as it is, under the patronage of

the great names of St. Peter and St. Paul, the

special feast days of these two Apostles (for such

we may account the 29th of June as regards St.

Peter, and to-day as regards St. Paul) should, in{5}

the first year of our assembling here, each have

fallen on a Sunday. And now that we have

arrived, through God's protecting Providence, at

the latter of these two days, the Conversion of

St. Paul, I do not like to forego the opportunity,{10}

with whatever misgivings as to my ability, of

offering to you, my brethren, at least a few

remarks upon the wonderful work of God's creative

grace mercifully presented to our inspection in

the person of this great Apostle. Most unworthy{15}

of him, I know, is the best that I can say; and even

that best I cannot duly exhibit in the space of

time allowed me on an occasion such as this;

but what is said out of devotion to him, and for

the Divine glory, will, I trust, have its use,{20}

defective though it be, and be a plea for his favorable

notice of those who say it, and be graciously

accepted by his and our Lord and Master.

Now, since I have begun by contrasting St.

Paul with St. John, and by implying that St.{25}

John lived a life more simply supernatural than

St. Paul, I may seem to you, my brethren, to be

speaking to St. Paul's disparagement; and you

may therefore ask me whether it is possible for

any Saint on earth to have a more intimate{30}

communion with the Divine Majesty than was granted

to St. Paul. You may remind me of his own

words, "I live, now not I, but Christ liveth in

me; and, that I now live in the flesh, I live in the

faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and

delivered Himself for me." And you may refer to{5}

his most astonishing ecstasies and visions; as

when he was rapt even to the third heaven, and

heard sacred words, which it "is not granted to

man to utter." You may say, he "no way came

short" of St. John in his awful initiation into the{10}

mysteries of the kingdom of heaven. Certainly

you may say so; nor am I imagining anything

contrary to you. We indeed cannot compare

Saints; but I agree with you, that St. Paul was

visited by favors, equal, in our apprehensions, to{15}

those which were granted to St. John. But then,

on the other hand, neither was St. John behind

St. Paul in these tokens of Divine love. In truth,

these tokens are some of those very things which,

in a greater or less degree, belong to all Saints{20}

whatever, as I said when I began; whereas my

question just now is, not what are those points in

which St. Paul agrees with all other Saints, but

what is his distinguished mark, how we recognize

him from others, what there is special in him;{25}

and I think his characteristic is this,-that, as I

have said, in him the fullness of Divine gifts does

not tend to destroy what is human in him, but to

spiritualize and perfect it. According to his own

words, used on another subject, but laying down,{30}

as it were, the principle on which his own character

was formed,-"We would not be

un-clothed," he says, but "clothed upon, that what

is mortal may be swallowed up by life." In him,

his human nature, his human affections, his

human gifts, were possessed and glorified by a new{5}

and heavenly life; they remained; he speaks of

them in the text, and in his humility he calls

them his infirmity. He was not stripped of

nature, but clothed with grace and the power of

Christ, and therefore he glories in his infirmity.{10}

This is the subject on which I wish to enlarge.

A heathen poet has said, Homo sum, humani

nihil a me alienum puto. "I am a man; nothing

human is without interest to me:" and the

sentiment has been widely and deservedly praised.{15}

Now this, in a fullness of meaning which a heathen

could not understand, is, I conceive, the

characteristic of this great Apostle. He is ever

speaking, to use his own words, "human things," and

"as a man," and "according to man," and{20}

"foolishly"; that is, human nature, the

common nature of the whole race of Adam, spoke in

him, acted in him, with an energetical presence,

with a sort of bodily fullness, always under the

sovereign command of Divine grace, but losing{25}

none of its real freedom and power because of

its subordination. And the consequence is, that,

having the nature of man so strong within him,

he is able to enter into human nature, and to

sympathize with it, with a gift peculiarly his own.{30}

Now the most startling instance of this is this,

-that, though his life prior to his conversion

seems to have been so conscientious and so pure,

nevertheless he does not hesitate to associate

himself with the outcast heathen, and to speak

as if he were one of them. St. Philip Neri, before{5}

he communicated, used to say, "Lord, I protest

before Thee that I am good for nothing but to

do evil." At confession he used to say, "I have

never done one good action." He often said, "I

am past hope." To a penitent he said, "Be sure{10}

of this, I am a man like my neighbors, and

nothing more." Well, I mean, that somewhat in this

way, St. Paul felt all his neighbors, all the whole

race of Adam, to be existing in himself. He

knew himself to be possessed of a nature, he was{15}

conscious of possessing a nature, which was

capable of running into all the multiplicity of

emotions, of devices, of purposes, and of sins,

into which it had actually run in the wide world

and in the multitude of men; and in that sense{20}

he bore the sins of all men, and associated

himself with them, and spoke of them and himself

as one. He, I say, a strict Pharisee (as he

describes himself), blameless according to legal

justice, conversing with all good conscience{25}

before God, serving God from his forefathers with a

pure conscience, he nevertheless elsewhere speaks

of himself as a profligate heathen outcast before

the grace of God called him. He not only counts

himself, as his birth made him, in the number of{30}

"children of wrath," but he classes himself with

the heathen as "conversing in the desires of the

flesh," "and fulfilling the will of the flesh." And

in another Epistle, he speaks of himself, at the

time he writes, as if "carnal, sold under sin";

he speaks of "sin dwelling in him," and of his{5}

"serving with the flesh the law of sin"; this, I

say, when he was an Apostle confirmed in grace.

And in like manner he speaks of concupiscence as

if it were sin; all because he vividly apprehended,

in that nature of his which grace had sanctified,{10}

what it was in its tendencies and results when

deprived of grace.

And thus I account for St. Paul's liking for

heathen writers, or what we now call the classics,

which is very remarkable. He, the Apostle of the{15}

Gentiles, was learned in Greek letters, as Moses,

the lawgiver of the Jews, his counterpart, was

learned in the wisdom of the Egyptians; and he

did not give up that learning when he had

"learned Christ." I do not think I am{20}

exaggerating in saying so, since he goes out of his way three

times to quote passages from them; once,

speaking to the heathen Athenians; another time, to

his converts at Corinth; and a third time, in a

private Apostolic exhortation to his disciple St.{25}

Titus. And it is the more remarkable, that one

of the writers whom he quotes seems to be a

writer of comedies, which had no claim to be read

for any high morality which they contain. Now

how shall we account for this? Did St. Paul{30}

delight in what was licentious? God forbid; but

he had the feeling of a guardian-angel who sees

every sin of the rebellious being committed to

him, who gazes at him and weeps. With this

difference, that he had a sympathy with sinners,

which an Angel (be it reverently said) cannot{5}

have. He was a true lover of souls. He loved

poor human nature with a passionate love, and

the literature of the Greeks was only its

expression; and he hung over it tenderly and

mournfully, wishing for its regeneration and salvation.{10}

This is how I account for his familiar

knowledge of the heathen poets. Some of the ancient

Fathers consider that the Greeks were under a

special dispensation of Providence, preparatory

to the Gospel, though not directly from heaven{15}

as the Jewish was. Now St. Paul seems, if I may

say it, to partake of this feeling; distinctly as he

teaches that the heathen are in darkness, and in

sin, and under the power of the Evil One, he will

not allow that they are beyond the eye of Divine{20}

Mercy. On the contrary, he speaks of God as

"determining their times and the limits of their

habitation," that is, going along with the

revolutions of history and the migrations of races, "in

order that they should seek Him, if haply they{25}

may feel after Him and find Him," since, he

continues, "He is not far from every one of us."

Again, when the Lycaonians would have

worshiped him, he at once places himself on their

level and reckons himself among them, and at{30}

the same time speaks of God's love of them,

heathens though they were. "Ye men," he cries,

"why do ye these things? We also are mortals,

men like unto you;" and he adds that God in

times past, though suffering all nations to walk

in their own ways, "nevertheless left not Himself{5}

without testimony, doing good from heaven,

giving rains and fruitful seasons, filling our hearts

with food and gladness." You see, he says, "our

hearts," not "your," as if he were one of those

Gentiles; and he dwells in a kindly human way{10}

over the food, and the gladness which food causes,

which the poor heathen were granted. Hence it

is that he is the Apostle who especially insists on

our all coming from one father, Adam; for he

had pleasure in thinking that all men were{15}

brethren. "God hath made," he says, "all

mankind of one"; "as in Adam all die, so in Christ

all shall be made alive." I will cite but one

more passage from the great Apostle on the same

subject, one in which he tenderly contemplates{20}

the captivity, and the anguish, and the longing,

and the deliverance of poor human nature. "The

expectation of the creature," he says, that is, of

human nature, "waiteth for the manifestation

of the sons of God. For the creature was made{25}

subject to vanity, not willingly, but by reason of

Him that made it subject, in hope; because it

shall be delivered from the servitude of

corruption into the liberty of the glory of the children

of God. For we know that every creature{30}

groaneth and travaileth in pain until now."

These are specimens of the tender affection

which the great heart of the Apostle had for all

his kind, the sons of Adam: but if he felt so much

for all races spread over the earth, what did he

feel for his own nation! O what a special{5}

mixture, bitter and sweet, of generous pride (if I may

so speak), but of piercing, overwhelming anguish,

did the thought of the race of Israel inflict upon

him! the highest of nations and the lowest, his

own dear people, whose glories were before his{10}

imagination and in his affection from his

childhood, who had the birthright and the promise,

yet who, instead of making use of them, had

madly thrown them away! Alas, alas, and he

himself had once been a partner in their madness,{15}

and was only saved from his infatuation by the

miraculous power of God! O dearest ones, O

glorious race, O miserably fallen! so great and so

abject! This is his tone in speaking of the Jews,

at once a Jeremias and a David; David in his{20}

patriotic care for them, and Jeremias in his

plaintive and resigned denunciations.

Consider his words: "I speak the truth in

Christ," he says; "I lie not, my conscience

bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost; that I have{25}

great sadness and continual sorrow in my heart."

In spite of visions and ecstasies, in spite of his

wonderful election, in spite of his manifold gifts,

in spite of the cares of his Apostolate and "the

solicitude for all the churches"-you would{30}

think he had had enough otherwise both to grieve

him and to gladden him-but no, this special

contemplation remains ever before his mind and in

his heart. I mean, the state of his own poor

people, who were in mad enmity against the

promised Saviour, who had for centuries after{5}

centuries looked forward for the Hope of Israel,

prepared the way for it, heralded it, suffered for

it, cherished and protected it, yet, when it came,

rejected it, and lost the fruit of their long patience.

"Who are Israelites," he says, mournfully{10}

lingering over their past glories, "who are Israelites, to

whom belongeth the adoption of children, and

the glory, and the testament, and the giving of

wealth, and the service of God, and the promises:

whose are the fathers, and of whom is Christ{15}

according to the flesh, who is over all things, God

blessed forever. Amen."

What a hard thing it was for him to give them

up! He pleaded for them, while they were

persecuting his Lord and himself. He reminded his{20}

Lord that he himself had also been that Lord's

persecutor, and why not try them a little longer?

"Lord," he said, "they know that I cast into

prison, and beat in every synagogue, them that

believed in Thee. And, when the blood of{25}

Stephen, Thy witness, was shed, I stood by and

consented, and kept the garments of them that

killed him." You see, his old frame of mind, the

feelings and notions under which he persecuted

his Lord, were ever distinctly before him, and he{30}

realized them as if they were still his own. "I

bear them witness," he says, "that they have a

zeal of God, but not according to knowledge."

O blind! blind! he seems to say; O that there

should be so much of good in them, so much zeal,

so much of religious purpose, so much of{5}

steadfastness, such resolve like Josias, Mathathias, or

Machab?us, to keep the whole law, and honor

Moses and the Prophets, but all spoiled, all

undone, by one fatal sin! And what is he prompted

to do? Moses, on one occasion, desired to suffer{10}

instead of his rebellious people: "Either forgive

them this trespass," he said, "or if Thou do not,

strike me out of the book." And now, when the

New Law was in course of promulgation, and the

chosen race was committing the same sin, its{15}

great Apostle desired the same: "I wished

myself," he says, speaking of the agony he had

passed through, "I wished myself to be an

anathema from Christ, for my brethren, who are

my kinsmen according to the flesh." And then,{20}

when all was in vain, when they remained

obdurate, and the high decree of God took effect, still

he would not, out of very affection for them, he

would not allow after all that they were

reprobate. He comforted himself with the thought of{25}

how many were the exceptions to so dismal a

sentence. "Hath God cast away His people?"

he asks; "God forbid. For I also am an Israelite,

of the seed of Abraham, of the tribe of Benjamin."

"All are not Israelites that are of Israel." And{30}

he dwells upon his confident anticipation of their

recovery in time to come. "They are enemies,"

he says, writing to the Romans, "for your sakes;"

that is, you have gained by their loss; "but they

are most dear for the sake of the fathers; for the

gifts and the calling of God are without{5}

repentance." "Blindness in part has happened to

Israel, until the fullness of the Gentiles should

come in; and so all Israel should be saved."

My Brethren, I have now explained to a

certain extent what I meant when I spoke of St.{10}

Paul's characteristic gift, as being a special

apprehension of human nature as a fact, and an

intimate familiarity with it as an object of

continual contemplation and affection. He made it

his own to the very full, instead of annihilating{15}

it; he sympathized with it, while he mortified it

by penance, while he sanctified it by the grace

given him. Though he had never been a heathen,

though he was no longer a Jew, yet he was a

heathen in capability, as I may say, and a Jew{20}

in the history of the past. His vivid imagination

enabled him to throw himself into the state of

heathenism, with all those tendencies which lay

dormant in his human nature carried out, and

its infirmities developed into sin. His wakeful{25}

memory enabled him to recall those past

feelings and ideas of a Jew, which in the case of

others a miraculous conversion might have

obliterated; and thus, while he was a Saint inferior

to none, he was emphatically still a man, and to{30}

his own apprehension still a sinner.

And this being so, do you not see, my brethren,

how well fitted he was for the office of an

Ecumenical Doctor, and an Apostle, not of the Jews

only, but of the Gentiles? The Almighty

sometimes works by miracle, but commonly He{5}

prepares His instruments by methods of this world;

and, as He draws souls to Him, "by the cords of

Adam," so does He select them for His use

according to their natural powers. St. John, who lay

upon His breast, whose book was the sacred heart{10}

of Jesus, and whose special philosophy was the

"scientia sanctorum," he was not chosen to be

the Doctor of the Nations. St. Peter, taught in

the mysteries of the Creed, the Arbiter of doctrine

and the Ruler of the faithful, he too was passed{15}

over in this work. To him specially was it given

to preach to the world, who knew the world; he

subdued the heart, who understood the heart. It

was his sympathy that was his means of influence;

it was his affectionateness which was his title and{20}

instrument of empire. "I became to the Jews a

Jew," he says, "that I might gain the Jews; to

them that are under the Law, as if I were under

the Law, that I might gain them that were under

the Law. To those that were without the Law,{25}

as if I were without the Law, that I might gain

them that were without the Law. To the weak

I became weak, that I might gain the weak. I

became all things to all men, that I might save

all."{30}

And now, my brethren, my time is out, before

I have well begun my subject. For how can I

be said yet to have entered upon the great

Apostle, when I have not yet touched upon his

Christian affections, and his bearing towards the

children of God? As yet I have chiefly spoken{5}

of his sympathy with human nature unassisted

and unregenerate; not of that yearning of his

heart, as it showed itself in action under the

grace of the Redeemer. But perhaps it is most

suitable on the feast of his Conversion, to stop{10}

at that point at which the day leaves him; and

perhaps too it will be permitted to me on a future

occasion to attempt, if it be not presumption, to

speak of him again.

Meanwhile, may this glorious Apostle, this{15}

sweetest of inspired writers, this most touching

and winning of teachers, may he do me some

good turn, who have ever felt a special devotion

towards him! May this great Saint, this man of

large mind, of various sympathies, of affectionate{20}

heart, have a kind thought for every one of us

here according to our respective needs! He has

carried his human thoughts and feelings with

him to his throne above; and, though he sees

the Infinite and Eternal Essence, he still{25}

remembers well that troublous, restless ocean below, of

hopes and fears, of impulses and aspirations, of

efforts and failures, which is now what it was

when he was here. Let us beg him to intercede

for us with the Majesty on high, that we too may{30}

have some portion of that tenderness, compassion,

mutual affection, love of brotherhood, abhorrence

of strife and division, in which he excelled. Let

us beg him especially, as we are bound, to bless

the most reverend Prelate, under whose

jurisdiction we here live, and whose feast day this is;{5}

that the great name of Paul may be to him a

tower of strength and fount of consolation now,

and in death, and in the day of account.

* * *

NOTES

SAUL

Introductory Note. The sketches of Saul and David are contained in the third volume of Parochial and Plain Sermons. These discourses were delivered at Oxford before Newman's conversion to the Catholic Church.

Saul. The first king of Israel reigned from 1091 to 1051 B.C. He ruled conjointly with Samuel the prophet eighteen years, and alone, twenty-two years. Samuel had been judge of Israel twelve years when the discontented Jews demanded a king, and Saul was elected by lot.

13: 7. Manna. Miraculous food supplied to the Jews, wandering in the desert of Sin, after their exodus from Egypt. The taste of manna was that of flour mixed with honey.

13: 10. Moses. Deliverer, lawgiver, ruler, and prophet of Israel, 1447 B.C. The author of the Pentateuch is probably the greatest figure of the Old Law and the most perfect type of Christ.

14: 3. Gadara. Noted for the miracle of casting out demons, wrought there by our Lord. The inhabitants in fear besought Him to leave their coasts. Mark v. 17.

16: 24. David. The prophet and king famous as the royal psalmist. From his line sprang the Messias.

17: 4. The asses. Saul, searching for his father's asses, was met by Samuel and anointed king.

17: 14. The Ammonites and Moabites. Warlike heathen tribes probably descended from Lot. They dwelt near the Dead Sea; were very hostile to the Jews.

17: 15. The Jordan. Largest river of Palestine, especially consecrated by the baptism of Christ in its waters; is called the river of judgment. An air line from the Sea of Galilee to the Dead Sea is sixty miles, but so tortuous is the Jordan, its length is two hundred miles.

18: 12. Philistines (strangers). Gentiles beyond the Western Sea, frequently at war with the Hebrews. Samson, Saul, and David were famous for their victories over these powerful enemies.

19: 29. God's vicegerent. Representative as king. Before Saul the Jewish government was theocratic, i.e. directly from God.

20: 15. Solomon. Son and successor of David, called the wisest of men: built the temple; became exalted with pride; was punished for his sins: died probably unrepentant. A striking example of the vanity of human success unblessed by God.

20: 16. Religious principle. A fundamental truth upon which conduct is consistently built. A conviction of the intellect and hence distinguished from instinct, disposition, feeling, often the spring of men's actions.

21: 18. Shekel. A silver coin worth about fifty-seven cents.

22: 23. Sacrifice offered by Saul. Sacrilegious in Saul, as the right was limited to the priesthood of Aaron.

23: 11. Ark of God. A figure of the Christian Tabernacle; divinely ordained for the Mosaic worship; contained the covenant of God with His chosen people.

24: 13. Religion a utility. Inversion of Christ's command,-"Seek ye therefore first the kingdom of God and His justice and all these things shall be added unto you." Matthew vi. 33.

25: 8. Joshua. Successor of Moses and leader of the Jews into the Promised Land.

27: 8. The uncircumcised. Term applied to all outside the Hebrew people. Circumcision, a figure of baptism, was the sign of covenant given by God to Abraham and his descendants.

EARLY YEARS OF DAVID

28: 6. The Psalms. One hundred and fifty inspired hymns of praise, joy, thanksgiving, and repentance, composed chiefly by David. Humanly speaking, they form the most exquisite lyric poetry extant, and in their strong, majestic beauty are most suitable to the Divine Offices of the Church.

29: 3. Balaam. An Oriental prophet of Mesopotamia, 1500 B.C. Sent for by the Moabite king to curse the Israelites.

29: 11. (a) Judah. (b) Shiloh. (a) The fourth son of Jacob and Leah. (b) The Messias.

30: 14. Anointing of David. To signify that the kingship, like the priesthood, is a sacred office, all power coming from God.

31: 6. Sacred songs. The inspired music of David was the means of restoring grace to the troubled spirit of Saul. Browning's Saul paints strikingly the character of the shepherd boy and of the distracted old king.

32: 1. Goliath of Gath. A type of the giant, Sin; also of Lucifer, overcome by the meek Christ, who is prefigured by David.

34: 6. The Apostle. St. Paul, who recounts to the Hebrews his sufferings for Christ.

36: 5. Joseph. Son of Jacob; governor of Egypt under Pharaoh.

36: 16. From Moses. A fine distinction between the theocratic and the royal government of Israel.

38: 24. The king's son-in-law. Saul in envy married his daughter Michol to David "that she might prove a stumbling-block to him."

39: 4. David and Joseph. Note the consistent and forcible parallel.

43 and 44: The patriarchs. This passage illustrates the exquisite choice of words, the perfect finish of sentence, and the wonderful beauty of thought characteristic of Newman.

BASIL AND GREGORY

Introductory Note. These Essays on the Fathers are to be found in Historical Sketches, Vol. III. They were written to illustrate the tone and mode of thought, the habits and manners of the early times of the Church.

Athens. Most of those who sought Attic wisdom were natures without control. "Basil and Gregory were spoiled for subtle, beautiful, luxurious Athens. They walked their straight and loving road to God, with the simplicity which alone could issue out of the intense purpose of their lives-the love and service of Christ their Lord."

45: 15. Hildebrand. St. Gregory VII, one of the greatest among the great Roman pontiffs. He combated the evils of the eleventh century, within and without the Church, and effected incalculable good, especially in the war of Investitures waged against Henry IV of Germany.

45: 17. City of God. The Church.

45: 18. Ambrose. Archbishop of Milan, noted for zeal in spreading the faith; remembered for his fearless

rebuke of the Emperor Theodosius. 46: 30. Pontus. Part of Cappadocia in Asia Minor; founded by Alexander the Great.

47: 28. The contention. See Acts of the Apostles xv. 39.

49: 16. Armenian creed. Similar to that of the Greek Church.

55: 17. The Thesbite. Elias, who dwelt on Carmel, as did St. John the Baptist, in most rigorous penance.

55: 18. Carmel. A mountain on the coast of Palestine, noted in sacred history.

AUGUSTINE AND THE VANDALS

56: 7. Heretical creed. The Arians were followers of Arius of Alexandria, who boldly denied the Divinity of Jesus Christ. The heresy was condemned by the Council of Nice, 325 A.D., but its baneful effects were widely felt for centuries.

56: 15. Apocalypse. Wonderful revelations made to St. John at Patmos concerning the Church, the final judgment, the future life.

57: 21. The Vandals. A barbarian race of Southern Germany, who in the fifth century ravaged Gaul, Spain, Italy, and Northern Africa.

59: 13. Montanists. A sect of the second century that believed in Montanus as a prophet, and in the near advent of Christ to judge the world.

60: 31. (a) The prophet. (b) Jeroboam. (a) Ahias. (b) The first king of Israel after the separation of the tribes; a man perverse and irreverent in his relations with God and subject.

59 to 70. The argument. The apology for flight in times of religious persecution, made by Athanasius, the great bishop of Alexandria, fourth century, and the cogent argument against it of Tertullian, a celebrated writer of the second century, show how circumstances, above all, Divine inspiration, justify opposite lines of action. St. Augustine's letter, written in his strong and luminous style, reconciles the two points of view.

71 to 74. The misery of irreligion. A profound analysis of the two classes of men without religion,-the one distorted, brutalized, and deadened; the other confused, wild, and hungering after what is to them indefinable, yet alone satisfying. Compare in its source, tenor, and effect the unhappiness of the "popular poet" Byron and that of Augustine.

76: 8. St. Monica. One of the greatest women of all times; a model of faith, constancy, and maternal love.

79: 23. Christianity a philosophy. Such it is accounted by many modern thinkers who, in spite of clear, full evidences of its divinity, affect to doubt or deny altogether the supernatural. These reduce the Gospels to a code of ethics, and regard Christ as merely a teacher of morality; the earnestness of Augustine would lead them by a short road to recognize and worship God in Jesus Christ.

CHRYSOSTOM

84 to 90. The Introduction. The personal touch of these pages gives an insight into the tender, sensitive nature of Cardinal Newman. He was a man not only of intense and powerful intellect, but of delicate and affectionate heart. It is his gracious, winning appeal that renders him irresistible in influence.

90: 12. Chrysostom. "Golden mouth," from his eloquence. He is counted among the great Patristic writers.

90: 21. Antipater. Son of Herod the Great; called by Josephus "a monster of iniquity." He was put to death, 1 B.C. 90: 22. Fulvia. Wife of Marc Antony; noted for her cruelty and ambition.

92: 6. (a) Gallus. (b) Ovid. (a) Governor of Egypt under Augustus; accused of crime and oppression, and banished. (b) A celebrated Roman poet, author of Metamorphoses; exiled by Augustus for some grave offense never revealed.

97: 12. The seasons. This apt and ingenious analogy is regarded as one of Newman's more beautiful passages.

100: 30. Chrysostom's discriminating affectionateness. The reason, probably, why he has so great a hold upon the heart of posterity-love begets love.

105: 8. Cucusus. In Caucasus, east of the Black Sea and north of Persia.

108: 19. Troas. In Northwest Asia Minor. Troad contains ancient Troy.

105 to 110. The letters of Chrysostom. The charm of his genius, the sweetness of his temper under suffering, and the unselfishness of his lofty soul appear in these simple lines written on the road or in the desert of his banishment.

THE TARTAR AND THE TURK

Introductory Note. These sketches of Turkish history form the substance of lectures delivered in Liverpool, 1853. Special interest attached to them at the time, as England was about to undertake the defense of the Turks against Russia in the Crimean War. Selections from only three are here possible.

111: 7. The Tartars. Fierce, restless tribes originally inhabiting Manchuria and Mongolia.

112: 31. (a) Attila. (b) Zingis. (a) Leader of the Huns, who overran Southern Europe in the fifth century.

He was defeated by A?tius at Chalons, 451, and miraculously turned from Rome by Pope Leo the Great. (b) Zenghis Khan, a powerful Mongol chief whose hordes descended upon Eastern Europe in the thirteenth century.

114: 21. Timour. Known as Tamerlane, founder of a Mongol empire in Central Asia; victor over Bajazet at Angora, 1402 A.D.

116: 20. Heraclius. Emperor of Greece in the seventh century; noted for his rescue of the true Cross from the Persians, with whom he waged long wars.

116: 26. That book. The Koran or bible of the Mahometans. It is a mixture of Judaism, Nestorianism, and Mahomet's own so-called "revelations."

120: 10. Monotheism ... mediation. Belief in one God, but denial of the Redemption of fallen man by Jesus Christ, the God-Man.

120: 26. Durbar. A levee held by a dignitary in British India; also the room of reception.

THE TURK AND THE SARACEN

Saracens. Eastern Mahometans that crossed into Turkey, Northern Africa, and Spain. The Moors are a type.

122: 14. Sogdiana. Northeast of the river Oxus; included in modern Bokhara.

123: 6. White Huns. Ancient people living near the Oxus; called white from their greater degree of civilization.

125: 23. Damascus. In Asiatic Turkey; thought to be the oldest city in the world.

126: 1. Harun al Raschid. Caliph of Bagdad; contemporaneous with Charlemagne in the eighth century.

127: 28. Ended its career. The power of the European Turks, virtually broken at Lepanto, 1571, has continued to decline, so that were it not for the jealousy of the Powers, Turkey would long since have been dismembered.

129: 24. Khorasan. North central province of Persia.

133: 25. (a) Seljuk. (b) Othman. (a) Grandfather of Togrul Beg, who founded a powerful dynasty in Central Asia. (b) Third successor of Mahomet; caliph in 644; noted for his extensive conquests and for having given his name to the Ottomans.

135: 20. Greek Emperor. Romanus Diogenes, defeated in 1071 A.D.

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE OTTOMANS

144: 17. (a) Thornton. (b) Volney. (a) An English writer on political economy, belonging to the nineteenth century. (b) A distinguished French author. His Travels in Egypt and Syria is a work of high reputation.

148: 12. Scythians. In ancient times the inhabitants of all North and Northeastern Europe and Asia.

149: 31. The Greek schism. Separation of the Greek Church from Rome. The schism was begun by the crafty, ambitious Photius in the ninth century, and consummated by Michael Cerularius in 1054.

154. Principle of superiority. A forcible proof that Christianity must be and is the religion of civilization. See Balmes on the Civilization of Europe.

WHAT IS A UNIVERSITY?

Introductory Note. Newman's purpose in these Essays is to set forth by description and statement the nature, the work, and the peculiarities of a University; the aims with which it is established, the wants it may supply, the methods it adopts, its relation to other institutions, and its general history. The illustrations of his idea of a University first appeared in the Dublin University Gazette; later, in one volume, Office and Work of Universities. In the present form the author has exchanged the title to Historical Sketches, but has retained the pleasantly conversational tone of the original, lest, as he says, he might become more exact and solid at the price of becoming less readable, in the judgment of a day which considers that "a great book is a great evil."

159: 14. A gentleman. Dr. Newman is unconsciously painting his own portrait in this passage.

161: 17. St. Iren?us. A Christian martyr of the second century. He was a Greek by birth, a pupil of St. Polycarp, and an eminent theologian of his day.

163: 19. Its associations. Universities are both the cause and the effect of great men; and these cherish their Alma with unlimited devotion. Read Gray's Eton, Lowell's Commemoration Ode, etc., as illustrations of this point.

UNIVERSITY LIFE: ATHENS

164: 14. (a) Saronic waves. (b) Pir?us. (a) The Gulf of ?gina. (b) Commercial port of Athens.

164: 31. Obolus. A Greek coin worth about three cents. Paid by spirits to Charon for ferriage over the Styx, according to legend.

165: 23. Eleusinian mysteries. Secret rites of the goddess Ceres, celebrated at Eleusis.

166: 31. Philippi. Battle in which Antony defeated the conspirators that had slain C?sar.

167: 9. Pro?resius. Student of Athens, a native of Armenia, famous for his gigantic stature as well as for an astounding memory, displayed in the field of rhetoric.

170: 11. Gallipoli. In Turkey, at the entrance to the Dardanelles. It was the first conquest of the Turks in Europe, 1354 A.D.

173: 3. (a) Acropolis. (b) Areopagus. (a) The citadel of Athens, ornamented by groups of statuary immortal in beauty. (b) The chief tribunal, held on a hill named for Ares or Mars.

173: 5. Parthenon. The official temple of Pallas, protectress of Athens; it is the work of Phidias, under Pericles.

173: 7. Polygnotus. A Greek painter, contemporaneous with Phidias. His work is in statuesque style, few colors, form and outline exquisite.

173: 13. Agora. The commercial and political market place, located near the Acropolis. It was designed by Cimon.

173: 14. Demosthenes. The most famous orator of Greece, if not of all times. He learned philosophy of Plato, oratory of Isocrates. His Philippics are of world-wide note.

174: 6. Plato. The Divine, on whose infant lips the bees are said to have dropped their honey. He was the pupil of Socrates and the master of Aristotle; he founded the Academy, or the Platonic School of Philosophy, and wrote the Republic. Plato was a man of vast intellect, high ideals, and exceptionally pure life.

175: 17. Aristotle. Called the Stagyrite from Stagerius, his birthplace. He was preceptor to Alexander the Great and founder of the Peripatetic School, i.e. of scholasticism. Aristotle undoubtedly possessed the most comprehensive, keen, and logical intellect of antiquity, and his influence on the philosophical thought of all succeeding ages is incalculable. His work in the field of physical science was also profound and extensive.

176: 26. The fourth century. The Golden Age of Athenian art, letters, civil and military prestige; it was the age that crowned Athens Queen of Mind.

177: 12. Epicurus. Founder of a school of materialism whose maxim was, "Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die." The Epicurean said, "indulge the passions," the Stoic, "crush them," the Peripatetic,-like the Christian of later times,-"control them." Imperial Athens, no less than other powers, fell when her sons ceased to follow the counsel of her wisest philosophers.-"Play the immortal."

SUPPLY AND DEMAND: THE SCHOOLMEN

183: 21. Paris, etc. The great Universities reached the zenith of excellence in the thirteenth century, the age of Pope Innocent III, St. Thomas, and Dante.

185: 10. Bec. Famous monastery founded by a poor Norman knight, Herluin. Bec drew the great Lanfranc and others to its school. Many are accustomed to regard the Renaissance as the fountain whence have issued all streams of art, literature, and science. It is only necessary to turn to any of the teeming university or monastic centers of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries to dispel this so common illusion.

THE STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS OF UNIVERSITIES: ABELARD

186: 15. Abelard. Born in Brittany, 1079. He was a contentious, arrogant, but brilliant and fascinating rationalist. He triumphed over William of Champeaux, but was defeated in a theological contest by St. Bernard.

187: 29. Heresy of (a) Tertullian, (b) Sabellius. (a) Modified Montanism; belief in rigid asceticism, the Montanists being, according to their doctrine, "Pneumatics," the Catholics, "Psychics," i.e. men of heaven, men of earth. (b) A heresy which attempted to explain the Trinity, and which denied the Personality of Jesus Christ.

188: 28. Scholastic philosophy. A constructive system founded by Aristotle, Christianized by Boethius, amplified by St. Anselm, Albert the Great, and others, perfected as a school, in its being harmonized with theology, by St. Thomas of Aquin. Love of subtilizing and of display, and barbarity of terminology, caused its decline after the thirteenth century. Political and religious strife also accelerated decadence, until the Council of Trent restored philosophy to its true position as queen of human sciences and handmaid of Religion. The chief feature of Christian scholastic philosophy is the harmonizing of natural and supernatural truth, i.e. the unifying of philosophy and theology, or the perfect conciliation of reason with faith-distinction without opposition.

192: 10. The Seven Arts. The Trivium and Quadrivium: Grammar, Logic, Rhetoric; Music, Arithmetic, Astronomy, and Geometry,-these seven comprising the Liberal Arts.

193: 19. John of Salisbury. Noted English scholar of the twelfth century. In disfavor with Henry II, because of his defense of St. Thomas á Becket.

195: 17. St. James iii. 17.

195: 23. St. James iii. 6.

196: 21. Samson and Solomon. Type of bodily and of spiritual strength-strength forfeited by folly. One of Newman's striking comparisons.

199: 18. Heu, vitam.... Alas, I have wasted my life by doing nothing thoroughly.

POETRY ACCORDING TO ARISTOTLE

Introductory Note. This instructive Essay on poetry forms one of the series titled Critical and Historical Essays. Cardinal Newman's own gifts and tastes for music and poetry render his appreciation of these arts keen, delicate, and true.

200 to 203. Nature and office of poetry. A profound and beautiful definition of poetry and of the poetical mind.

203: 1. (a) Iliad. (c) Cho?phor?. (a) Epic of the Fall of Troy by Homer. (b) A tragedy by ?schylus, so named from the chorus that bear offerings to the tomb of Agamemnon.

203: 26. (a) Empedocles. (b) Oppian. (a) A Sicilian; haughty, passionate; proclaimed himself a god; plunged into the crater of Mt. Etna. (b) A Greek poet of Cilicia; lived in the second century.

208: 15. The Divine vengeance. Does not the same criticism apply to Milton's Satan, a majestic spirit, punished beyond his due, and therefore worthy our admiration and pity? Compare Dante and Milton in their conception of Lucifer.

210: 17. Eloquence mistaken for poetry. A finely distinguished truth, which explains why much rhetoric, even declamation, passes in our day for poetry.

215: 16. Conditions of the poetical mind. Mark the line drawn between the sources of true poetry and the actual practices of the poet. Compare with the theory of Wordsworth, to find likenesses on this point.

THE INFINITUDE OF THE DIVINE ATTRIBUTES

Introductory Note. This and other typical addresses

are comprised in Discourses to Mixed Congregations.

The unerring taste of Newman employs the grave, dignified style suited to the subject-matter, which, however, never loses the simplicity and charm we expect in him.

218: 28. The elements. Earth, air, fire, and water were believed primal elements by the ancients.

220: 27. This season. Lent, which commemorates the Sacred Passion of Christ.

221: 21. He seems to say: to the end. An illustration of Newman's sweet, impassioned eloquence. His sentences roll on like music of indefinable tenderness and beauty. What wonder if men "who came to scoff remained to pray," when the tones of that voice Matthew Arnold could not describe-for its singular sweetness-fell upon their listening souls?

CHRIST UPON THE WATERS

Introductory Note. This discourse was written from notes of a sermon preached at Birmingham, on occasion of the installation of Dr. Ullathorne as first bishop of the see. Again it says to us, "I believe, therefore I have spoken."

222: 20. "Day to day." See Psalm xviii. 2.

222: 25. Impossibilities. Extrinsic impossibilities, that is, those things whose elements are not metaphysically opposed, one to another.

223: 1. He came. See St. Matthew xiv. 24, 27.

223: 24. That mystical ark. The Church, called the ark because prefigured by the Ark of Noe,-the House of Salvation.

224: 14. Christ in His ark. "Behold I am with you all days, even to the consummation of the world." St. Matthew xxviii. 20.

224: 17. A savage tribe. The Anglo-Saxons of Teutonic stock and sprung from the Aryan branch of the human family. 226 to 228. It was a proud race ... hierarchical form. A passage of inimitable grace and simplicity. Note the sentence-structure, the repetition of "it" in the last sentence, and other features of the consummate master.

227: 4. Too fair to be heathen. On seeing some Angles in Rome, Pope Gregory exclaimed, "They should rather be called Angels than Angles."

228: 5. A brotherhood ... below. Where in the range of English prose is to be found form wedded to sense in a more surpassingly beautiful way? Neither music, nor painting, nor poetry, can have anything more exquisite to yield, it would seem.

Other numbers of this volume equally admirable are The Second Spring, The Tree beside the Waters, and Intellect the Instrument of Religious Training.

THE SECOND SPRING

Introductory Note. This discourse was given in St. Mary's, Oscott, on the restoration of the Catholic hierarchy to England. It furnishes an excellent specimen of the simplicity and grace of Newman's style. The climax is reached in the glory of the last pages.

229: 17. Alternate Seraphim. The angelic choirs whom St. John in vision heard crying, "Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty." Apocalypse iv. 8.

231: 24. How beautiful.... A strong presentation of the weakness of human nature left to itself. "Without me you can do nothing," says Christ. John xv. 5.

233: 12. Roman conqueror. Scipio Africanus, victor of the Carthaginians in the Third Punic War.

235: 22. The English Church. The Catholic Church in England was virtually destroyed by Henry VIII, restored by Mary I, and officially re-destroyed by Elizabeth, who attempted, through Matthew Parker, to create new orders. The Second Spring is the resuscitation of the Church in England, 1850.

237: 11. Cumber the ground. "Why doth it (the barren fig tree) cumber the ground?" Newman's writings, like St. Augustine's, are saturated with Scripture.

240: 23. (a) St. Augustine. (b) St. Thomas. (a) Called St. Austin, sent by Gregory the Great to convert the Anglo-Saxons, 597 A.D. (b) Martyred at Canterbury by the nobles of Henry II because of his fearless defense of the rights of the Church. The Pilgrims in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales are on their way to the shrine of St. Thomas á Becket.

241: 10. Arian Goths and Lombards. Barbarians that successively conquered and occupied Italy; from the fifth to the eighth century their power was felt. They embraced the heresy of Arius instead of true Christianity.

242: 29. That building. Cathedral of Westminster, built in Gothic style.

243: 11. Prince of the Church. Cardinal Archbishop Wiseman, clad in purple as bishop; in red, as cardinal. In his person the hierarchy was restored to England.

243: 16. St. Benedict. Founder of monasticism in the West. Europe owes much of its progress in early centuries to the zeal and intelligence of the Benedictine monks,-builders of churches and schools, makers of laws, tillers of lands.

244: 15. The shepherds. They who heard from angels

the tidings of Christ's birth in Bethlehem.

244: 22. Arise, Jerusalem.... Quotations from Isaias and the Canticle of Canticles.

245: 6. Thy visitation. Allusion to Mary's going over the hill country to visit her cousin Elisabeth. At the presence of Mary, the unborn child of Elisabeth, John the Baptist, leaped for joy and was sanctified by the grace of Christ.

247: 1. Regular and secular priests. The first are those bound by vows to observe a religious rule, as the Dominicans; the second are those under obedience to their bishop, and bound only by the vow of celibacy.

247: 18. Thy first Martyr. St. Stephen, whose death won the conversion of St. Paul. Note the beauty of the apostrophe.

248: 20. Orphans. "I will not leave you orphans." John xiv. 18.

249: 15. You ... victim. Reference to the august Sacrifice of the Mass.

249: 31. A great Pontiff. Gregory XIII, 1572-1585, established colleges for the spread of the Faith; his work was continued by Gregory XV in the Propaganda; but it was left for Pope Urban VIII to create the great missionary colleges for the six nations.

250: 13. St. Francis. Xavier, the illustrious Jesuit, who converted millions to Christ in India and Japan; he died on his way to China, in the latter part of the sixteenth century.

251: 1. St. Philip. 1515-1595. An Italian saint, contemporaneous with St. Ignatius of Loyola, who established the Society of Jesus. St. Philip Neri founded the Oratorians, a body devoted to preaching and to education.

The Second Spring. This sermon is very characteristic of Newman in its appeal to the whole man listening; he not only rivets the intelligence, but stirs the will and moves the heart by the intensity, the Vigor, and the tenderness that breathe in every word.

ST. PAUL'S CHARACTERISTIC GIFT

Introductory Note. This discourse on St. Paul, delivered in Dublin, 1857, forms one of the Sermons on Various Occasions. Paul-that godlike man who longed to be anathema from Christ if thereby he could serve the brethren-was Newman's saint by predilection; and allusions to his character and mission are frequent in the Cardinal's writings.

As these selections for study began with Saul, they may well finish with a sketch of the greater Saul-the Apostle of the Gentiles.

251: 17. Theological virtues. Faith, hope, and charity; so-called because God is their direct object and motive.

252: 19. Heavenly Bread. The Holy Eucharist. "I am the living bread which came down from heaven." St. John vi. 51. "And the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world." St. John vi. 52.

254: 9. Conversion of St. Paul. Commemorated January 25.

256: 12. Heathen poet. Terence. There is much philanthropy in these latter times,-even to altruism,-but less of charity, which loves the neighbor for God's sake.

257: 5. St. Philip Neri. Lived in the sixteenth century. Founder of the Oratorians, a congregation devoted to preaching and works of charity. Newman introduced the Oratorians into England.

259: 28. Lycaonians. People of south central part of Asia Minor; evangelized by St. Paul.

262: 26. Stephen. The first Christian martyr; stoned to death by the Jews, outside the walls of Jerusalem.

263: 6. (a) Josias. (b) Mathathias. (c) Machabeus. (a) King of Juda, seventh century B.C. A great warrior and defender of the Jewish religion. (b) "Gift of God." Lived in the second century B.C. and fought bravely in defense of Juda during the bloody persecutions of Antiochus. He appointed Judas Machabeus, the most famous of his five sons, to succeed him in the struggle, (c) "The Hammer." Judas gained glorious victories over the Idumeans, Ammonites, and other heathen tribes, and the Bible immortalizes his character as that of one of the greatest of the sons of Juda. "He made Jacob glad with his works and his memory is blessed forever."

The books of the Machabees are the history of the final struggles of the Jews against their Syrian and Persian foes.

265: 2. Ecumenical Doctor. A teacher of the universal Church.

265: 31. And now my time is out. This conclusion exhibits once more the felicity of diction, the delicate rhythm of structure, the simple grace, the direct force-above all, the unconsciousness, almost disdain of producing literary effect, that everywhere characterize Newman's writings, whatever be the subject.

267: 4. Reverend Prelate. Paul Cardinal Cullen, primate of Ireland in 1850.

Transcriber's Note. There were a few minor printers' errors which have been amended. For example, ascendency is now ascendancy, rebrobate is now reprobate and offically is now officially.

In the original book the line numbers ran from 1 to 30 on each page. In the Notes, the first figure represents the page number and the second number represents the line number. For example, in the third note:

13: 7. Manna. Miraculous food supplied to the Jews, wandering in the desert of Sin, after their exodus from Egypt. The taste of manna was that of flour mixed with honey.

the 13 refers to the page number and the 7 refers to the line number on that page.

Links to the end notes have been made to the nearest line number, for the convenience of the reader.