THE SAGACIOUS WIG.

"Methinks I see themThrough everlasting limbos of void timeTwirling and twiddling ineffectively,And indeterminately swaying for ever."

But it is only fair to say that here they are seen in their weakness, not in their strength. This vague and undecided habit of mind is the result of the circumstances in which they had their beginning. The spectacle of a great number of sects, each in practice arrogating to itself infallibility while they teach incompatible doctrines, produces different effects upon different minds. Its natural effect upon the shallow, who are just deep enough to find out that other sects exist beside the one in which they were brought up, is to breed scepticism. They know that two contradictorypropositions cannot both be true, and they think that the one is as well supported by evidence as the other; and out of these premises, by the help of bad logic, they draw the conclusion that both must be false. But sounder intellects set about investigating more closely the criterion of truth and falsehood; and to such we owe the critical theory, which is not only ingenious, but even true so far as it goes. Something of the indecision of men who have seen so much of error that they now hardly believe in the existence of truth, clings to these critics; and this makes their proceeding seem to be sceptical when it is not really so. Their theory may be briefly summed up as follows: "Interpret the Scripture," says one,[167]"like any other book." This in his mouth was a brief way of bidding us measure religious truth by the same tests, while we seek it by the same methods, as other truth. It is well known that the labor of successive generations of scholars, following the same main rules of criticism, has made a great approach to uniformity in the interpretation of profane authors; and nobody doubts that the common consent of the critics, if it could be obtained, would be the best possible evidence to the unlearned of the true meaning of an obscure passage. It is inferred that the same critical methods may be applied to the Bible, and that the same approach to uniformity of interpretation may thus be secured.

This is a plausible theory; and it is sound so far as it goes. But it completely ignores the Catholic theory of the interpretation of Scripture. Its authors evidently suppose, for example, that if a text quoted by the Council of Trent in support of a doctrine could be critically proved irrelevant to the purpose, then the doctrine would be seriously shaken in the minds of Catholics. But this opinion rests on a profound misapprehension of the Catholic view. We accept the doctrine on the authority of the council, as the voice of the church, without criticising the source from which the words are drawn; and although the church in her decisions is guided by her unalterable tradition, yet it is a possible case that she might be quite assured of the fact of the tradition, and yet (to speak reverently) erroneously quote a document in evidence. A Catholic would be very cautious about attributing critical errors of this kind to a general council; but no theologian will deny that such a thing might happen. The function of the church in interpreting Scripture is by no means limited to ascertaining what the words written represented to the mind of the writer; the question is much wider than this, including all that was intended by God to be conveyed or suggested by the written words to the church at large. It does not follow that, because a given meaning is the only sense which the words could appropriately bear at the time when they were written, therefore no other additional sense was intended to be conveyed at some future time. In proportion as we exalt the degree in which a passage or a book is supposed to be inspired, so much the more probable does it become that its words will bear more than one meaning. In the higher sense of the word inspiration, the human agent becomes a mere instrument to convey a message,which he himself may possibly not understand at all. The meaning then lies wholly in the mind of God; and it is to be sought out by the divinely appointed interpreter. Hence is apparent the reasonableness, when they are taken together, of the two elements which make up the Catholic theory of Scripture—the inspiration of the written word, and the commission of the church to interpret. Both these things are ignored or denied by that school of criticism about which we have been speaking. Their view is quite incompatible with the Catholic view of inspiration, and they at the same time naturally deny the right of interpretation to the church, in order to give it to the scholar. And they therefore limit the function of interpretation to that which the scholar can reasonably attempt—the discovery of the meaning appropriate to the circumstances under which the words were uttered.

The theory, as it stands by itself, is a plausible hypothesis, much better able to bear examination than any other theory which Protestants have ever put forward. We do not think that it will fulfil the hopes of its friends, by securing the wished for uniformity of interpretation. And we cannot help thinking that its adherents ought to be on their guard against their peculiar faculty of finding out likenesses in dissimilar things, lest they should deceive themselves by fancying that they have secured uniformity when they have not. At present, they are rather apt to mistake the progeny of their neighbors for their own—

... "simillima prolesIndiscreta suis gratusque parentibus error."

A few years ago, one of them placed on record his pious delight at the closeness with which Dr. Pusey's theological system resembled that of Mr. Jowett. He seemed to think that we are all of us getting year by year into closer agreement, and that the golden mean toward which all are gravitating is that hazy creed which looms vaguely upon the inner vision of Dean Stanley.

A wig may be said to have two lives—the one with its own head, the other with its adopted head, or rather the head which adopts it; it has, therefore, a double chance for wisdom, and might be expected to profit accordingly. Generally speaking, this is the case, and wig and wisdom are almost synonymous.

Such wonderful tales had been told in a certain shop, by wigs that came back to befixed a little, of the glory of their new abodes—wigs shorn from the very dregs of the people—from heads that had never been combed or petted or cared for—from heads houseless and hatless, that had been rained on and hailed on, and now in their second life dwelt in splendor unmitigated—that their discourses fairly curled up tighter every wig in the place. The shop had proved but a stepping-stone to blissful companionship with wits and statesmen; they reposed on the brows of sages and philosophers, shared the applauses of the multitude with popular orators, listened to the eloquence born ofchampagne and gaslight, and won the smiles and flirted with sweet ladies on Turkish divans and velvetfauteuils; all this and more, the wigs who came back had to relate. No wonder hopes were raised in each that went forth—hopes often delusive.

If the few hairs which made a kind of rim round the head of Martin Tryterlittle had chosen to speak when he first clapped a wig on his bald crown, (bald though not yet old,) they could have told a long story, or rather a succession of many stories, of hope, expectation, and disappointment in the three great walks of life—money-making, love-making, and fame-making. Striving, ever striving, he hardly paused to look back at the profitless path he had trodden. The meeting accidentally with an old school-chum in fine broadcloth, or the ultra urgency of his landlady or some other disagreeable creditor, gave him occasionally more vivid views of things, and at such times he indulged in indignant and certainly very disrespectful language toward mankind in general and some individuals in particular; but generally his mood was patient endurance.

Success in life was an enigma. There was Job Lovemee, who began his career by ridiculously marrying a girl as poor as himself, and blessed since with six children, was getting as rich as a nabob; "while I," said Martin, "with no such drawbacks, am as poor as a church mouse."

It was a pleasant bright spring morning when Martin Tryterlittle suddenly resolved to turn over a new leaf in his book of life and mend its story.

"No wonder I cannot succeed," said he; "look at me!" So, as no one was by, he looked at himself, bit at a time, in the little cracked mirror which adorned his attic lodging-room. As the fortunes of Martin had been gradually sinking in the scale of social existence, he had physically been rising; that is, from occupying the first floor handsomely furnished, as the advertisement set forth, he had ascended to the attic, so nearly unfurnished that a bed, a table, a chair, and a broken mirror comprised its whole inventory.

"Look at me!" said Martin to himself, "threadbare and bald! No wonder I find nothing to do and no one to woo, and stay lagging behind in this march of mankind! I'll buy a wig to-day if I have to sell something to pay for it; for every body can see my head, but nobody—well, I'll button up my coat!"

It was no one's business how it was accomplished, as Martin truly said, but itwasdone; the wig was bought and paid for, and rested now on his table in happy anticipation of the triumphs of the ensuing day. "No one will know me," said he. "I hardly know myself! O my wig! how happy we shall be; to thee shall I owe friends and fortune!"

It may startle some old-fashioned people to hear me assert that there was a responsive chord in the wig which answered to all this; but those familiar with modern metaphysical speculations will easily credit it. The wig, be it remembered, was once part and parcel of a sentient being; nor have we any reason to suppose that baking and boiling, in the process of wig-making, could in any way touch the spark immortal and invisible which once pervaded it. It is true that counter arguments might be advanced, and so there is no end to controversy; but there is a shorter way—and having demonstrated how the thingmighthave been, we are satisfied to believe that so itwas. Martin felt that his wig understood him. He was no longer alone in the world; companionshipis something even with a wig, and he realized it as he laid his purchase carefully on the table and betook himself to his bed.

It was a long night; but day dawned at last, and, in the mean time, the whole future had been mapped out in the mind of Martin Tryterlittle. He rose early, made a careful toilette of such materials as were to be had, and sallied forth in thoughtful mood.

"Fame, wealth, love"—he conned them over in the order of valuation. "Fame (said he) I must first secure, and then I can command my own price in every thing else. Wealth will follow; and as for love, I need not go after that. Lord! there is no end to the love that comes tumbling in upon fame and money!"

C'est le premier pas qui coute—the problem was, how to be famous. There was a military and a civil career. There was invention in all the arts subservient to human needs. Could any wheels anywhere be made to go faster or smoother or with less smashing up? Well, as far as he saw, every thing was as good as it could be. Literature? Ah! that is a long track; besides, publishers are "lions in the way"—they cannot or will not always appreciate merit; fame seldom comes to the scribe till after he is beyond the reach of earthly pain or blame. "No," said Martin, "I must be famous living; what matters it after one is dead?"

"What is all this jabber about?" thought the wig; "surely my master has so many ways before him he cannot tell which to choose; but so jauntily I sit on his brow, he cannot fail of success whichever he takes."

This cogitating mood brought them step by step to a corner—one of those comers peculiar to great cities; where, while down one wide avenue the mighty human tide goes rushing and roaring, the narrow side street, like a little sluggish stream with scarce a perceptible ripple, joins it and empties its trifle into it. At this moment the usual tide in the great thoroughfare was swollen to a torrent; in plain words, at the corner Martin encountered a mighty mob. Hark! what a rabble shout! pell-mell—something had happened. Somebody had sinned, and very vindictive seemed the sufferers. Martin was caught in the current and twirled into their midst. Then was heard, "Oh! the man had a wig on!"—"wig!" "man!" "man!" "wig!" It went from mouth to mouth. Well, here was a man with a wig on in their midst; this must be he. The logic was conclusive; so Martin was seized and hurried along.

"What have I done?" cried he.

"Oh! yes, you know what you've done; and we know what you've done," shouted a dozen tongues. So, pinioned close, he was borne onward to the halls of justice, or injustice, as the case might be.

"Well, well!" thought the wig; "I little expected to get in such a fix with my gentleman, or I should have clinched his bald pate till he would have been glad to leave me for some other customer. It is disgraceful!"

"It's villainous! it's outrageous!" roared Martin.

"Shut up!" said a looker-on.

Now came a medley of questions and cross-questions, and ejaculations, and assertions, and confirmations, and contradictions, and, in short, the usual path of law and order was trodden over, till they settled down to unanimity on one point: the evil deed, whatever it was, (and very few seemed to know exactly what it was,) had been done by a man in a wig; but then it was a yellow-white, frowsy, sunburnt sort of a wig. Who could ever suspect that mass of dark, glossy curls of concealing a rogue? No one. So Martin was dismissed with thegalling consciousness that for the great wrong done him there was no redress. A great wrong, too, he felt it; for what was he henceforth? Why, the very boys in the street would point to him as "the one wot was took up." He shrank from being seen; he had been too famous already.

He turned his steps homeward to collect his thoughts and rearrange his dress.

"This comes of a wig," said he; "a wig is deception, deception is rascality. A man guilty of one deception must not take it in dudgeon that he is suspected of another. I scorn fame! I go for money; and money shall make me famous. I began at the wrong end."

"Yes," (chimed in the wig,) "we'll be rich and loved; and the rest is all bosh."

It took Martin Tryterlittle a long time to put himself again in presentable order; one more such adventure, and he would be obliged to cease intercourse with that portion of creation who walk in sunlight, and join the human owls who, from choice or necessity, fly only by night. Their ways are not so widely different as a casual observer might suppose. Money is dear to both, and both are fond of taking short roads to it. Only in one thing they differ vastly—the day-worker sighs and seeks for notoriety, and often fails to obtain it; the night-prowlers have it thrust upon them, though they shun it. Martin had shared their hapless luck, and his ideas were changed; henceforth he scorned fame in all its phases, and exalted that other idol—money.

A second time day-dawn called up Martin and his wig for new projects. It was a glorious morning. There was something exhilarating in that yellow flood of light which promised success. It was so cosmopolitan—that sunlight! It gave to all things such a gloss of delicate beauty. First, it just touched with gold the spires, and tallest trees and chimney-tops; then it slid down the house-side to peep in my lady's chamber; then it poured a glow all over the pavement, and made merry and warm all the little things, animate and inanimate, which but for that would have been dark and cold. Into this atmosphere of joyousness walked forth now Martin Tryterlittle to find something to do, some fellow-creature with a want unfilled.

It is surprising that any one ever begins to do any thing in this world, where every avenue to success is crowded, every necessity supplied, and every evil surrounded by a belt of antidotes; it takes immense penetration to discover where there is left any thing to be done.

"I must find awant," said he. And he turned to that dragon ever watchful of human interests—a newspaper. Thewantedthere were many—workers for metals, accountants for wealth, delvers for the riches of earth; but all these anticipated a certain previous training.Wanted, a teacher."That's it," said Martin. "I think I am fitted for that." So he moved on to the field of action—the institute.

The building was easily found—a large brick pile surrounded by grass, or rather, what would have been grass had juvenile footsteps permitted. To point the searcher for knowledge to the proper entrance, its name was displayed there in conspicuous letters.

The master was not so accessible; and he sat a long time in the parlor with several other visitors, and listened to the tinkling of sundry little bells, and saw passing in the distance sundrylittle processions armed with books and slates, until they were all properly impressed with an idea of the extent of the establishment and the awful responsibility of conducting it. At length, slowly and with dignity, entered Mr. Pushem.

"A teacher, you want?" modestly inquired Martin.

"Yes, sir," was the laconic reply; and a little silence ensued.

"For what, sir?" again modestly asked Martin.

"Well, sir, for several things; in fact, sir, for most any thing."

So, as Martin announced himselfau faiton all subjects, and the salary, without decided specification, was declared by the dignified principal to be unquestionably liberal, and the duties could not well be defined until he entered upon them; and as the only positive point was that he was to be niggard never in either time or labor, for the reason that time and labor were dust in the balance compared with the progress of immortal minds, the applicant was regularly enlisted under the banner of theInstitute. He was to pay his board and lodging of course, said Mr. Pushem; and, of course, Martin did not expect to board and lodge without pay, though he had some remembrance of having done so occasionally; and so the matter was settled, and he returned home.

It took him small time to pack his bundle. His trunk had been detained a long time ago by a savage old dame for rent; and, knowing that the same gulf yawned ever for all succeeding trunks, he had never replaced it. So, packing his little bundle, I say, and leaving a kind message for his landlady with a fellow-lodger, to the purport that he would come back and pay her as soon as he could, he vanished from his old abode as effectually as if he had gone to another planet.

Loving parents tell us there is nothing so delightful as watching the daily progress of children in learning the alphabet of life. Not that villainous regiment called A B C, which merits execration as the first herald of toil and sorrow to the infantile heart, but that beautiful alphabet of rosy hues and rainbow colors, stamped on leaf, and flower, and fruit, and wave, and hill-side, and which, in conning over, the little eye learns to see, and the ear to hear; and the touch refines itself, and fragrance grows to be an idea; and the little gourmand makes its first essay in luxurious living on peaches and berries. Every little incident here is delightful. But not so pleasant is it to note the later wanderings of human beings in quest of that vague thing—a living. The traveller on the highway of life has grown weary now, and stumbles and plunges ankle-deep in all things disagreeable. He has heard the bird of promise sing so falsely, he knows how little the song is worth—he has grown sad while growing wise; and thus plodded on Martin Tryterlittle.

Some months had passed now since the roof of the institute first sheltered him; and the bread and bones and watery tea of the institute first nourished him; and the boys harassed him, and made fun of him; and twigged his wig, and put nettles in his bed in more than a metaphorical sense. His master had kept him like a toad under a harrow, (to use an inelegant but expressive phrase,) always doing, never done; the salary was yet unsettled, and the duties undefined, when one night the wig claimed a hearing.

"I am growing shabby," said the wig, "and you are no richer."

Not that these words were uttered in an audible tone, but the thought passed to Martin and was comprehended.

"You are growing shabby," sighed Martin, ruthfully gazing, "and I am no richer."

"O master mine!" quoth the wig, "do you see how you are walking on? You are growing poorer, not richer! What is to you all the glory of this concern, when you own not even a nail in the wall? You are just the stone they step on who mount up over you. What do you get for it? O master mine! you are an ass to stay!"

Martin was not inaccessible to reason; he was impressed daily more and more with the good sense of his old friend Horace.

"Et genus et virtus, nisi cum re, vilior algâ est."[168]

His rusty garments and diminished bundle told him that the wig spoke truth, and he prepared, not for a hegira, but for an official resignation. It took no long time for this, and his little hard bed in its windy corner was left empty the very next night. The boys felt that a great source of amusement had departed, and sincerely regretted his loss; and Mr. Pushem, after due astonishment at such blindness to advantages, disbursed to him the smallest possible sum as balance due, and advertised for another teacher.

O gold, gold!Slave of the dark and dirty mine!what need to record how often thou didst beckon on luckless Martin Tryterlittle, only to flit from him further than ever? What matters how he slept in back offices and front basements, dreaming of mines somewhere at the antipodes, of which he was to have such a glittering slice—or of lovely landscapes away off in the vast wilderness of which he would one day be landed proprietor?—that is, as soon as he could persuade certain people into certain projects which seemed in theory mighty attractive, but proved in practice to have no attractions whatever—suffice to say that at last, quite desponding, he invested most part of his few remaining coin in the prepayment of an attic, and seated himself sadly at its window.

"I shall never be rich," quoth he; "fame and fortune!—well, let them go." His heart threw a sigh to the other one of the trio, and the wig took it up. "I was born for love," said the wig; "the first sweet words I remember came from the rosy lips of our pretty shop-girl,What a love of a wig!I have never yet had a fair chance in life. What care those bankers and old money-scrapers for good looks? They are all gray and bald and wrinkled before their time. Put me on my own field, master, andSEEwhatIcan do!"

Perhaps this prompted Martin to lean further out of his window, and thus give his wig the full benefit of sunlight and the chance of making acquaintances; at least he did so; and doing so, he glanced across the street to a window nearly as high as his own, and saw there—what? Why, two bright eyes looking intently at him! He drew back; for Martin was diffident with the fair sex, and being, besides, innately a gentleman, it did not occur to him to embarrass the damsel with a rude stare. So he retreated; and the bright eyes also retreated and what was worse than all, a little, plump, white hand came out and closed the shutters.

Nothing more was seen all day; but he had ample occupation in conjecturing who it could be. No toil-worn seamstress ever had such a laughing glance and such a plump little hand; no, it was evidently a maiden quite above care for the morrow. Most anxiously he awaited the following morning, when about the same hour—that is, early day—could he believe his senses?—again the shutter was opened, and the bright eyes glanced up athim as if they too remembered. The little fairy was evidently a household fairy engaged in some fairy-like duties about the chamber, and ever and anon, as these brought her near the window, she glanced up at Martin.

That any loving and lovable woman should bestow a thought onhimwas a leaf of paradise painted in dreams sometimes on the far-off days to come, when he should be rich and renowned; but that such bright, happy eyes should seek and rest on poor Martin Tryterlittle was hardly credible; as soon would he have expected Luna to step down from her orbit, peep into his attic, and say, "Good evening to you, Martin;" but so it was.

"It ismydoing," said the wig; "all mine!"

One day was the story of the next, and the next, and several more beyond. It is surprising how much may be learned of the inhabitants of a house from its exterior. As the beatific vision lasted but a short time each morning, a long day and night was left him to study its surroundings, and in a brief space of time he read the whole plain as a book. It was a handsome mansion, and a private one. There was a sensible housekeeping mistress there; for the railings were black and the knocker bright, and the steps were clean and the housemaids tidy; even the pavements were a pattern to the neighbors. There were order and industry throughout the establishment, evidently. All this and more besides he deciphered by processes whose intricate premises laughed to scorn quadratic equations, and yet he was never tired.

Martin had done, here and there and everywhere in his lifetime, a deal more head-work than he had ever been paid for, rather by compulsion; but now he laboredcon amoreon the loveliest subject life affords; and so far from wearying him, his wits grew brighter, his ideas received a new impetus, and, strange to say, the beneficial influence extended to his purse.

"I must have some honest occupation now," cried he; "it will never do to introduce myself as lounger in an attic window!" Yes! he really dreamed of an introduction.

"Let me see," (and he picked up his old dragon friend the newspaper;) "wants, wants—small salary, etc.; well, I will try." So he speedily bargained himself away to—no matter what, so it was honest, and went to work with a good-will.

It was pleasant, too, (strange he had never thought of it before;) it was pleasant to have a defined place among his fellow-mortals, and to feel that he could not now, as heretofore, be blown away on some windy day, and no one miss him.

Great changes are not wrought in a day. It took him some time to straighten out his line of existence and untie all the knots he had always been tying in it; to settle up scores with the past, and open accounts with the future—but it was all accomplished; and see now the life of Martin Tryterlittle.

He rose betimes, drank an elixir from those bright eyes perfectly intoxicating, and speeded to business. At eventide—where think you he spent his evenings? Why, in the back-parlor of that same handsome mansion, with little household fairy at his side, and papa smiling approval. He was no longer threadbare and shabby, and the only bit of deception about him—his wig—had been long ago confessed and forgiven.

"I'm a deal better than any hair that ever grew on any man's head," said the wig; "for if you live to be a hundred years old, I shall never be bald or gray."

"You will never be bald or gray," said Martin.

"It will never be bald or gray," laughed the little fairy.

On a certain evening about a year after this, Martin and his wig sat down for the last time to their dual converse; the next day a little lady was to be admitted, and the partnership would be a trio. Martin reclined on a sofa in his own domicil this night, and looked on a soft, bright carpet. His purse had filled up; nor was he unknown to fame—at least to a holy fame born of benevolence, which in after years lighted up many a desolated heart and hearth, and carved his name on structures where the homeless were sheltered and the hungry fed.

"Master mine," said the wig, "we mistook our track. Human life was not bestowed for the hoarding up of money—or men would have been all born with pockets; nor yet for a chase after fame. There are innate, loftier, and purer aspirations to be satisfied—the living soul craves something to love, and craves to be loved; and like sunshine to earth, that brings forth golden grain and sweet flowers, so pure love, the household sunshine, calls out wealth of thought and energy of action; and so comes fame, and so comes money!"

"Just so," said Martin; "you talk like a book!"

As the reader will have seen in our previous article, it became necessary to interrogate history at some length in order to elucidate and substantiate our arguments on the two points we have already set forth, namely, the real purpose ofJanus, and the orthodoxy which the authors of this work profess. We have thus prepared the way for our examination of the historical and critical parts ofJanus, for which he has found so many ardent admirers who would assign him a "position in the very front rank of science."

Janusis principally hailed as a work of history, and as such, makes by no means ordinary or modest pretensions. That promiscuous array of matter presented to the reader in the third chapter, subdivided into thirty-three paragraphs with those numerous references to "original authorities," has dazzled so many eyes and overpowered so many minds, that they could not "help feeling convinced of its veracity." He has been held up as a "thorough Catholic" and a "learned canonist," and whether or not by any legitimate and scientific criterionJanusmerits these encomiums, the reader can infer from the unexceptionable authorities we have advanced.

We now ask the simple question, HasJanusshown himself to be "a faithful and discriminating historian"? Having already appealed to the verdict of history on points of the very first importance, we may confine ourselves exclusively to the historical merits ofJanus'swork. It cannot be expected that, within the space allowedto such an examination, we can touch upon every point; yet we trust to be able to make such selections as will be sufficient to clear up the most important historical questions upon whichJanushimself lays most stress. The following extract gives the key to the historical edifice ofJanus:

"In this book the first attempt has been made to give a history of the hypothesis of papal infallibility, from its first beginnings to the end of the sixteenth century, when it appears in its complete form." (P. 24.)

To take away all historical basis from "ultramontanism," the authors go over the whole field of ecclesiastical history, and particularly the lives, both private and public, of the popes, together with their acts of administration, whether referring to the religious or civil government; in short, any thing and every thing is gathered "to bring forward a very dark side of the history of the papacy." The authors pledge themselves to oppose what they term the "ultramontane scheme," to which they will never submit, and hence their appeal to history, which should show that, since the ninth century, the constitution of the church has undergone a transformation neither sound nor natural, because in contradiction with that of the "ancient church." But the question which naturally suggests itself is, Who is responsible for this movement in the church, "preparing, like an advancing flood-tide, to take possession of its whole organic life"? A "powerful party which, in ignorance of past history or by deliberately falsifying it," is now about to complete its system and surround itself with an "impregnable bulwark," by the doctrine of infallibility. To ward off so fatal a catastrophe,Janusenters this protest, based on history.

"Only when a universal conflagration of libraries had destroyed all historical documents, when easterns and westerns knew no more of their own early history than the Maories in New Zealand know of theirs now, and when, by a miracle, great nations had abjured their whole intellectual character and habits of thought, then, and not till then, would such a submission be possible." (P. 26.)

We have thus fairly stated the whole issue. True enough, the ultramontanes were not wise when they did not give over to the flames all libraries, with the exception of the Isidorian decretals, as the Mohammedans are known to have done with the library of Alexandria. Yet we are happy to say that such an expedient measure has not been resorted to, being thereby enabled to trace the truth or falsehood of this "mighty programme" of ultramontanism whichJanusis pleased to honor with the name of "Papalism."

We can easily dispense with the alleged historical misconceptions of the middle ages, and draw upon the very same historical documents with whichJanusso confidently proclaims his victory. Attention has already been directed to the peculiar mode of warfare pursued byJanus, namely, to its purely negative and destructive character. The third chapter bears the title of "Papal Infallibility," (pp. 31-346,) and hence we are led to expect a clear, authentic, and fair exposition of the doctrine in question, and then all other arguments which, either from scripture and patristic authority or from history, could be brought to bear against such a doctrine. No reasonable man, much less a theologian, could object to such a mode of proceeding. The authors ofJanus, wishing to cede to none in their loyal devotion to Catholic truth, could make ample use of that liberty of scientific discussion and historical investigation for or against the question of infallibility, and no charge of "radical aversion," as they seemed to apprehend, could be brought against their work.

SinceJanusopenly avows his purposeof disproving the doctrine of infallibility, why does he not give such an explanation of it as is taught by its most able and acknowledged defenders? What right has he to produce a version of it to suit his own fancy? Why bring up arguments militating, indeed, against hisowntheory, but in nowise conclusive against the doctrine as laid down by its own exponents? That it may not appear as if we made unfounded charges againstJanus, we will subjoin his own definition and development of the doctrine he sees fit to attack:

"When we speak of the church, we mean the pope, says the Jesuit Gretser. Taken by itself as the community of believers, clergy and bishops, the church, according to Cardinal Cajetan, is the slave of the pope." (P. 31.)

Apparently, our authors would make this the ultramontanist tenet: henceforward the "l'église c'est moi" would be the genuine expression of papal infallibility. We know of no theologian who sustains any such thesis as the above, and we had expected areferenceto the authorities quoted; but none is given, and we little heed the utterances attributed to them. Nothing, indeed, is easier than to place a question in a false point of view, either by exaggeration or misrepresentation, in order to make it appear ludicrous and absurd.

"It is a fundamental principle of the ultramontane view that, when we speak of the church, its rights and its action, we always mean the pope, and the pope only." (P. 31.)

There is no treatise on the church in which any such definition is to be found, or any author who declares the pope alone to be the church, in any possible sense or conception.Janusdelights to cite Bellarmine as one of such ultramontane view. Now, we confidently assert that nowhere in his elaborate treatises on theRoman Pontiffor theChurch Militantany similar definition to the one alleged can be found. Who is there who does not know that clear and concise notion given by Bellarmine, in which he has been followed by all standard works? For he says,

"Nostra autem sententia est, Ecclesiam unam et veram esse cœtum hominum ejusdem Christianæ fidei professione, et eorundem sacramentorum communione colligatum sub regimine legitumorum pastorum ac præcipue unius Christi in terris Vicarii Romani Pontificis."[169]"Our doctrine is, that the one true church is that society of men which is bound together by the profession of the same Christian faith under the government of their lawful pastors, and especially of one vicar of Christ on the earth, the Roman pontiff."

"Our doctrine is, that the one true church is that society of men which is bound together by the profession of the same Christian faith under the government of their lawful pastors, and especially of one vicar of Christ on the earth, the Roman pontiff."

The following passages would exhibit the ultramontane doctrine of infallibility and its consequences:

"God has gone to sleep, because in his place his ever-wakeful and infallible vicar on earth rules, as lord of the world, and dispenser of grace and punishment." (P. 32.)"The inevitable result of the principle would speedily bring us to this point, that the essence of infallibility consists in the pope's signature to a decree hastily drawn up by a congregation or a single theologian." (Preface, xxv.)"Rome is an ecclesiastical address and inquiry-office, or rather, a standing oracle, which can give at once an infallible solution of every doubt, speculative and practical.... With ultramontanes, the authority of Rome, and the typical example of Roman morals and customs, are the embodiment of the moral and ecclesiastical law." (P. 35.)"What is called Catholicity can only be attained in the eyes of the court of Rome, by every one translating himself and his ideas, on every subject that has any connection with religion, into Italian." (P. 37.)"Infallibility is a principle which will extend its dominion over men's minds more and more, till it has coerced them into subjection to every papal pronouncement in matters of religion, morals, politics, and social science.""Every pope, however ignorant of theology, will be free to make what use he likes of his power ofdogmatic creativeness, and toerect his own thoughts into the common belief, binding on the whole church." (P. 39.)"A papal decision, itself the result of a direct divine inspiration.""Every other authority will pale beside the living oracle of the Tiber, which speaks with plenary inspiration.""What use in tedious investigation of Scripture, what use in wasting time on the difficult study of tradition, which requires so many kinds of preliminary knowledge, when a single utterance of the infallible pope ... and a telegraphic message becomes an axiom and article of faith?" (P. 40.)"And how will it be in the future?" asksJanus; "the rabbis say, on every apostrophe in the Bible hang whole mountains of hidden sense, and this will apply equally to papal bulls." (P. 41.)

"God has gone to sleep, because in his place his ever-wakeful and infallible vicar on earth rules, as lord of the world, and dispenser of grace and punishment." (P. 32.)

"The inevitable result of the principle would speedily bring us to this point, that the essence of infallibility consists in the pope's signature to a decree hastily drawn up by a congregation or a single theologian." (Preface, xxv.)

"Rome is an ecclesiastical address and inquiry-office, or rather, a standing oracle, which can give at once an infallible solution of every doubt, speculative and practical.... With ultramontanes, the authority of Rome, and the typical example of Roman morals and customs, are the embodiment of the moral and ecclesiastical law." (P. 35.)

"What is called Catholicity can only be attained in the eyes of the court of Rome, by every one translating himself and his ideas, on every subject that has any connection with religion, into Italian." (P. 37.)

"Infallibility is a principle which will extend its dominion over men's minds more and more, till it has coerced them into subjection to every papal pronouncement in matters of religion, morals, politics, and social science."

"Every pope, however ignorant of theology, will be free to make what use he likes of his power ofdogmatic creativeness, and toerect his own thoughts into the common belief, binding on the whole church." (P. 39.)

"A papal decision, itself the result of a direct divine inspiration."

"Every other authority will pale beside the living oracle of the Tiber, which speaks with plenary inspiration."

"What use in tedious investigation of Scripture, what use in wasting time on the difficult study of tradition, which requires so many kinds of preliminary knowledge, when a single utterance of the infallible pope ... and a telegraphic message becomes an axiom and article of faith?" (P. 40.)

"And how will it be in the future?" asksJanus; "the rabbis say, on every apostrophe in the Bible hang whole mountains of hidden sense, and this will apply equally to papal bulls." (P. 41.)

We have been rather copious in our extracts fromJanusin order to give him a fair hearing. The question which first presents itself to a candid mind is, HasJanusgiven a just and authentic explanation of the doctrine of infallibility? We answer most emphatically, No! Never has a doctrine been more unfairly represented than this "ultramontane" one by our authors. No one will choose to call it fair and equitable to disfigure and distort in divers ways the doctrine of an opponent, how much soever it may be against our own convictions. Those who make parade of their "scientific criticism" can least resort to such tactics with a view to seek popularity and win the smiles of the uninformed and ignorant among their readers, as the authors ofJanushave done. Who would fain recognize this doctrine under the colors and shades of this portrait sketched byJanus? Bellarmine is the great champion of infallibility. (P. 318.) Yet, nowhere does this eminent divine teach that a papal decision is the result ofdivineinspiration, nor does he attribute to the pope any power of dogmaticcreativeness—much less that he can erect his own thoughts into universal belief binding the church. "The sovereign pontiff," says Bellarmine,[170]"when he teaches the universal church, cannot err either in his decrees of faith or in moral precepts which are binding on the whole church, and in such things as are necessary to salvation and in themselves, that is,essentiallygood or evil." Another authority well known has the following clearexposéof this question: "The subject-matter of such irreformable judgments of the sovereign pontiff is limited to questions of dogmatic and moral import. We distinguish a two-fold character in the pope, namely, considering him as a private individual ordoctor privatus, and by virtue of his office as chief pastor and as the universal doctor and teacher of all the faithful, appointed by Christ. The pope is considered asuniversal teacherwhen, using his public authority as the supreme guide of the church, (supremus ecclesiæ magister,) he proposes something to the whole church, obliging all the faithful under anathema, or pain of heresy, to believe the article thus proposed with internal assent and divine faith. The pope when teaching under these conditions is said to speakex cathedra. We do not here speak of the pope as an individual teacher, (doctor privatus,) since every one agrees on this, that the pope, just as well as other men, is liable to err, and his judgment may be reversed."[171]

Now,Janusdoes away with this distinction by comparing it to "wooden iron" invented merely as an expedient hypothesis, whereas all theologians of repute agree on this difference, as well as on theessentialconditions of theex cathedradecisions. If there be some difficulties and minor differences among theologians on papal decrees, this by no means affects the value of this important and necessarydistinction itself. Even the decrees of an œcumenical council may give rise to similar differences among theologians. It is nothing less than a falsehood on the part ofJanusthat the cause of this inerrancy claimed for the pope as universal teacher is due to direct divine and plenary inspiration. All theologians are unanimous in asserting merely adivine assistanceto guard against error, just as the church herself is divinely guided by the Holy Spirit, promised by Christ to reside with her for ever. There cannot be any necessity for substituting inspiration or a new revelation, since the infalliblemagisteriumin the church is exercised in the two-fold duty of teaching and preservingall those truthswhich she has received as asacred depositfrom her divine Founder. Moreover, it is supposed that the pope when issuing such decrees to the universal church, binding all the faithful, proceeds with that caution and prudence which such weighty acts demand, that he has full liberty to assure himself of all human counsel and human means to find the true and genuine sense of Scripture and tradition. Alluding, therefore, toignorant popesmaking use of their power of dogmatic creativeness and erecting their "own thoughts" into dogmas of faith, is an appeal to prejudice and commonplace mockery wholly unworthy of writers who would be admired for their calm and dignified scientific labors. Other opponents of papal infallibility have never gainsaid thatat leastthis doctrine has always found many and able adherents, who have advanced strong arguments claiming the serious consideration of every theologian and thinking Christian, and therefore recommended by most respectable authority. ButJanuscomes forward to stamp this "ultramontane doctrine" with the stigma of absurdity and ridicule, and declares its advocates to be miserable sycophants, devoid of all learning or honesty of intention. (P. 320.)

The references we have given exhibit the doctrine of infallibility in such colors as scarcely to be recognized, and all advocates of the doctrine will repudiate such an unfair and arbitrary statement. The cunning insinuation that infallibility invests the popes with personal sanctity and integrity of morals, is no less captious and shallow. To what purpose those tirades on the private lives of the popes, or the extravagances of theCuria, and the administrative measures of the civil government, etc.? The supposition as though the whole church, that is, all the faithful, would have to accept falsehood for truth, vice for virtue, is a play ofJanus'simagination. For those who uphold papal infallibility exclude the possibility of such an issue on account of the intimate union necessarily existing between the church and its spiritual head. According to the promises of Christ, that union—eminently one of faith—will never be severed, since Christ himself commanded this obedience of the flock to Peter and his successors. It cannot for a moment be supposed that the wise Lord of his vineyard sanctioned an obligation to accept falsehood for truth, or vice for virtue. The infalliblemagisteriumof the church would be fatally compromised if the faithful were commanded by lawful authority to give interior assent to a false doctrine. So much for the intrinsic falsehood of the hypothesis ofJanus. Yet he attempts to surround it with an authoritative garb by citing Bellarmine as maintaining "that if the pope were to err by prescribing sins and forbidding virtues, the church would be bound to consider sins good and virtues evil, unless she chose to sin against conscience." (P. 318.)

Who does not at once see this terrible alternative by whichJanustriumphantly proves from the author quoted "that whatever doctrine it pleases the pope to prescribe, the church must receive"? Having the work of Bellarmine before our eyes, with the above passage in the context, we were greatly amazed, to say the least, to see how theentireproposition conveys just the very opposite meaning of whatJanuswould induce his readers to believe. Here is the argument in question:

"The pope cannot err in teaching doctrines of faith, nor is he liable to err in giving moral precepts binding the whole church in matters ofessentialgood and evil. For if this were the case, that is, if the pope erred in matters of essential good or evil, he would necessarily err also in faith; for Catholic faith teaches that every virtue is good and every vice evil. Now, if the pope erred by commanding vices or prohibiting virtues, the church would be bound to believe vices good and virtues evil, unless she chose to sin against conscience."[172]

Bellarmine's meaning evidently is that such an issue becomes impossible. Thisreductio ad absurdum, or showing to what contradiction a denial of his thesis would lead, has been exhibited by our authors as abona fidetenet of Bellarmine! The passage itself ispartlytranscribed with minute reference, so that it is beyond the courtesy of even a mild critique to exonerateJanusfrom the charge of deliberate dishonesty in this instance.

Hitherto we have confined ourselves to a critical examination of a doctrine against whichJanusdirects his assaults. In the first place, we submitted his version of the same, and afterward the authentic explanation by those whom our authors acknowledge to be its most able exponents. The inevitable conclusion which forces itself on every mind is, thatJanushas developed the doctrine of infallibility to suit his own fancy, and consequently the arguments he brings forward, supposing them true for discussion's sake, would indeed undermine the position assumed by himself, but in no way affect the genuine one propounded by his opponents. In order to make good his arguments from church history and canonical sources against the stand-point taken by the acknowledged advocates of infallibility, these three conditions must be verified, 1st. That the pope acted in his capacity of universal teacher, using his public authority as supreme head of the church; 2d. That his judgments appertain to matters of doctrinal belief and moral law necessary to salvation. 3d. That he proposes such things to the faithful, under pain of heresy, to be believed with interior assent as of divine faith, that is, a revealed truth. There is the simple issue betweenJanusand his adversaries. Has he advanced one single decree of any pope, invested with these essential conditions, obliging to believe falsehood and heresy or commanding to commit an evil and absolutely vicious action under the name of virtue? We doubt whether any candid and discriminating historian will maintain thatJanushas accomplished any such task. However, that the reader may not suspect us of narrowing the domain of papal infallibility, we will quote a passage from an able and warm adherent of this doctrine, whose writings are well known as by no means liable to any suspicion of under-statement:

"In the case of any given document, we have to consider, from the context and circumstances, which portion of itexpressessuch doctrine; for many statements, even doctrinal, may be introduced, not as authoritative determinations, but in the way of argument and illustration. Many papal pronouncements, though they may introduce doctrinal reasons, yet are not doctrinal pronouncementsat all, but disciplinary enactments; the pope's immediate end in issuing them is, not that certain things may be believed, but that certain things may be done. If the doctrinal reasons, even for a doctrinal declaration, are not infallible, much less can infallibility be claimed for the doctrinal reasons of a disciplinarian enactment. Then again, the pope may give some doctrinal decision as head of the church, and yet not as universal teacher. Some individual may ask at his hands, and receive, practical direction on the doctrine to be followed in a particular case, while yet the pope has no thought whatever of determining the question for the whole church and for all time. Much less, as Benedict XIV. remarks, does the fact of his acting officially on some moral opinion fix on it the seal of infallibility as certainly true. Nor, lastly, can any conclusive inference be drawn in favor of some doctrinal practice, from the fact of its not having been censured or prohibited. The pontiff of the day, whether from intellectual or moral defect, may even omit censures and prohibitions which are greatly desirable in the church's interest, or enact laws of an unwise and prejudicial character."[173]

As we have already insinuated,Janusmakes this infallibility extend to the private conduct of the popes, to their particular sayings and to all other things which were merely preliminary steps to their official measures. Now, it is certain, as is frequently urged by ultramontanes, that the pope, in becoming pope, does not cease to be a man, and to have his own private opinions, and not being infallible in these, by the very force of terms, they may be erroneous.

What we might thus far have conceded toJanuswithout great injury to the doctrine he opposes, we now proceed to question, and examine this "history of the hypothesis of papal infallibility, from its first beginnings to the end of the sixteenth century." He has indeed resuscitated weighty questions, and not unfrequently antiquated difficulties which we could point out from works printed for three hundred years and more. In order to be brief and clear, we shall begin with the alleged "forgeries" upon whichJanusinsists throughout his book, and thereafter interrogate history as to the many "papal errors," usurpations, and encroachments.

Note.—The terms "faith," "heresy," and "under anathema," in the foregoing article, must be understood in their general and not their restricted sense. That is to say, whenever the pope declares or defines any thing which is to be believed with absolute interior assent, this is to be considered as belonging to faith, whether it be technically a propositionde fide, or one which is only virtually and implicitly contained in a dogma. So, also, when he condemns an opinion which is indirectly and virtually contrary to a dogma of faith, this condemnation is of equal authority with the condemnation of an opinion technically called heretical. The anathema need not be formally expressed, or a special censure annexed, if it is made manifest that all Catholics are forbidden to hold the opinion condemned under pain of grievous sin. The monition of the Council of the Vatican at the end of the decree on Catholic faith expressly enjoins on all Catholics the duty of rejecting not only all heresies, that is, opinions in point-blank contradiction to the dogmas of Catholic faith, but all errors approaching more or less to heresy which are condemned by the holy see.—Editor of Catholic World.

TO BE CONTINUED.

All went on quietly with our young Vermonters for a long time. They were engaged in close attention to their studies, in the regular routine of school duties and recreations of the play-ground, until late in August, when the peaceful current was again disturbed by the restlessness of Frank Blair; and it happened in this wise.

In the vicinity of the village lived a farmer whom the boys had named Old Blue Beech, from his fondness for using a rod of that description over the backs of lawless juveniles whom he caught trespassing on his premises. Now, this farmer was very skilful in cultivating choice fruit, and spared no expense or labor in that department; rejoicing in an orchard which he held in higher estimation than any other earthly possession, and which was an object of greedy envy to the village urchins, who indulged an inveterate spite and aversion against him, without really knowing why or stopping to inquire. They seemed to imagine that his keeping guard over his cherished treasures justified them in making frequent incursions, and waging a perpetual warfare of petty annoyances against him.

It so happened this year that he had several early pear and apple-trees, of rare and excellent varieties, in bearing for the first time, and well laden with most tempting fruit, now nearly ripe.

Frank Blair set his wits about inventing some plan by which he and his comrades could possess themselves of this fruit without detection. He formed and dismissed many schemes, at length devising one that he thought could be safely carried out. Accordingly, on a certain cloudy evening an assemblage of the boys—among whom I am sorry to say were Mike Hennessy and Johnny Hart—met by appointment in a grove near the farm, and from which to the orchard a strip of woodland extended, furnishing a convenient hiding-place, to accomplish the project.

It never entered their heads that stealing this fruit was just as much a theft as to steal one of the farmer's horses. Nothing could have tempted one of their number to steal, and any confectioner in the village might have spread his most tempting stores unguarded before them without losing so much as a comfit; so sacredly would they have held his right to his own. But boys have a most perverse and wicked mode of reasoning about fruit. They cannot be made to regard it as the property of the person who has expended much money and many years of patient labor to produce it; and while these boys would have shuddered at the thought of purloining the farmer's gold watch or his silver spoons, which, perhaps, he would sooner have parted with, they did not scruple to rob him of what he had taken infinite pains to cultivate for his own benefit.

On this occasion our young marauders had furnished themselves with bags and baskets, in which to deposit their plunder; and as the night advanced, they proceeded through the woods to the orchard very cautiously, pausing every few steps to listen ifany movement was to be heard. As all was quiet, they hoped the family in the farm-house were asleep. After they had gathered most of the pears and a large portion of the apples, they were startled by the low growl of a dog at some distance.

"I wonder if the old chap keeps a watch-dog?" said Frank. They listened in perfect silence for some time, hardly daring to breathe; but hearing nothing further, set about their task with renewed energy, and were all engaged in stowing away the apples, when suddenly a glare of light from a large dark-lantern was thrown full upon the faces of the whole party, at the same moment revealing the burly form of farmer Brown, and his Frenchman, leading a powerful watch-dog by a chain. At the instant the farmer turned the light upon them, he said sternly, "Any boy that attempts to stir from the spot, I will let the dog loose after him, and I warrant he'll be glad to come back in a hurry!"

The boys needed no such warning. They were taken so entirely by surprise that they could not move. The farmer made a low bow, and said with mock courtesy,

"I am very much obliged to you, young gentlemen, for your kind assistance in gathering my fruit, though you selected rather an unseasonable hour for performing the service. Your bags and baskets will repay me, however, for my broken rest. It is a pity such friendly labors should go unrewarded, and I shall take pains to inform your fathers of them to-morrow morning, that they may bestow the recompense you have so well earned."

With that he gathered together the bags and baskets of fruit, saying, "Good-night, you young dogs! The next time you undertake to steal fruit, I advise you to find out first how the orchard is guarded, and whether there's a dog on the premises stronger and swifter of foot than yourselves!" and departed.

A more chap-fallen crew than he left behind him cannot well be imagined! They started for the village by the most direct route, as there was no further need of concealment, and for a long time the silence of their rapid homeward march was unbroken. At length the wrath of Frank Blair found utterance.

"The mean old hunks! who would have thought of his keeping that sneaking Frenchman on guard that way? If it hadn't been for the dog, I would have shown fight, and they shouldn't have carried off the prize without some broken noses; but I knew it was no use to pitch into a fight with that fierce dog against us! He's an old milksop to depend on a dog for help."

The boys made no reply, and Frank saw he had gained no renown by this adventure. He felt heartily ashamed of the whole affair, while an innate sense of justice assured him and his companions that the farmer had a right to defend his own property by any means within his reach.

They all betook themselves to rest with no enviable feelings. Some of them, who feared to disturb their families, were glad to lie on the hay in the barn.

In the morning they trudged off to school in good season, with many gloomy forebodings as to what was in store for them. About the middle of the forenoon, Mr. Blair made his appearance accompanied by the farmer, and informed the teacher of the attempt to rob the orchard, and that he had requested Mr. Brown to come with him to identify the culprits.

Mr. Brown selected them one by one, and, as each was pointed out, hehad to rise and take his place in the middle of the school-room.

When they were all arranged there, with Frank at their head, Mr. Blair delivered a sharp reprimand to them, not failing to intimate that nothing but future ruin was in store for the country if Yankee boys allowed themselves to be drawn into disgraceful rows and thieving expeditions by a set of Irish blackguards, and winding up by severe threats against those of this company in particular, and all "foreign scum" in general.

After a short consultation between the teacher and Mr. Blair, it was announced that the punishment of the offenders would be left to Mr. Brown.

The farmer then stated that he had advised with his wife, and, as he had been pretty severe upon such culprits hitherto, without much effect, they had decided to take another course now.

"So, young gentlemen," he added, "she has authorized me to present her compliments to the school, and request all but the boys who were engaged in this transaction to come with the principal early on Saturday morning next, to pass the day with us. I have two boats engaged, with abundant fishing-tackle, for those who prefer the water, and fowling-pieces for the woods, where game is plenty; so you can take your choice of sports on land or water. I promise you a plentiful feast of the fruit which these youngsters kindly gathered."

The teacher politely accepted the invitation on behalf of himself and the scholars, and the farmer, after again reminding them to come early in the day, departed with Mr. Blair.

The feelings of the excluded boys may be imagined, and the teacher gave them such touching advice in relation to the enticements and temptations of boyhood—speaking like one who remembered he had himself been a boy—that they doubted more than ever the fun of "tip-top times," and the wisdom of following leaders like Frank Blair.

The next morning as the scholars collected, they found Frank Blair and several of the excluded boys in the play-ground, grouped together in close discussion. When they approached, Frank called out exultingly,

"I give you fellows joy of your select party to-morrow! Joe Bundy is to be one of the company."

This Joe Bundy, whose mother died in the poor-house some years before, was a vile, depraved boy, somewhat older than the subjects of our narrative, who never came to school, leading an idle, vagabond life, and so heartily despised by the boys on account of his vagrant habits and thievish propensities that they would have nothing to do with him. They heard with great surprise and indignation, therefore, that he was among the invited on this occasion, for his character was well known to the farmer.

In explanation of this singular circumstance, a fact, not made known to them until long after these events, may as well be communicated here. On the night when our heroes set out to rob the orchard, it so chanced that Joe Bundy had entered upon a similar exploit on his own account, and was concealed in the grove where he overheard their conversation, and, suddenly relinquishing his own plan, hastened to inform the farmer, the result of which report has been already related. Mr. Brown was so well pleased that he included the informer among the invited, though he knew he was a bad boy and disliked by all the others.

At noon on that day, Joe saw Michael Hennessy, and called out, "Hallo, Mike! don't you wish you was going to the farm with the rest of us? Such precious fun as we shall have, and sights of good eating, too! An't you sorry you can't go?"

"No, I'm not!" said Michael; "I wouldn't go any way, if you were to be there!"

Joe turned off, muttering something in a sullen undertone, and casting a malignant glance at Michael.

At the close of school in the afternoon, the teacher told the scholars to meet him at the school-house the next morning, that they might all set out together. Bright and early on as fine a morning as could be desired, did the merry company gather, with nothing but the absence of those who were generally foremost in their frolics, and the presence of Joe Bundy, to mar their pleasure.

After a delightful walk, they were greeted at the farm-house with a hearty welcome, and found every possible arrangement made for their enjoyment.

Some betook themselves to the boats provided with means for fishing. Others, armed with fowling-pieces, sought the woods in quest of partridges, squirrels, and other game of the season; while a few strolled off to a sequestered pond, where wild ducks abounded, and where a small duck-boat was provided to aid in securing the spoils.

At the proper time they were summoned to partake of an excellent dinner; and so swift had been the flight of the hours that they could hardly believe the forenoon was gone. At the close of a sumptuous feast and dessert, they were regaled with an abundant supply of the captured fruit, to all of which their fine appetites prepared them to do ample justice.

The whole day was so replete with mirth, frolic, and sunshine that they saw the time for their return drawing near with regret.

When they left, Mrs. Brown distributed to each a portion of the fruit for their mothers and sisters, and Mr. Brown invited them to come again late in the fall, to gather nuts that abounded in the woods.

They could talk of nothing on their way home but the kindness of good Mr. and Mrs. Brown, and the incidents and pleasures of the day; the teacher taking occasion to contrast such innocent and simple delights with the wild excitements and lawless frolics in which boys are too apt to seek for enjoyment.

When the scholars assembled on Monday morning, the first news they heard was that Mr. Brown's splendid and valuable watch-dog had been poisoned, and died on Saturday night.

Mr. Brown had obtained evidence so convincing against Michael Hennessy as to cause his arrest.

Great was the indignation of his young friends, and unanimous their declarations that they knew Michael did not do it.

"A great deal more like that hateful Joe Bundy," said one.

"Oh! it couldn't be him," said another; "for he was one of the party, and of course it wasn't he. If he hadn't been invited, he might have done it out of spite; but now he had no object."

Various were the conjectures and discussions at school and in the whole neighborhood.

The trial was on Tuesday, and Mr. Blair was the prosecuting attorney. The village apothecary testified that on the Friday previous Michael Hennessypurchased some poison of him, representing that his mother sent him for it to poison rats. A neighbor of Mr. Brown's alleged that he saw Michael passing his residence in the road on Saturday afternoon, and Joe Bundy averred that he saw him prowling around the farm buildings about the time indicated by the last witness.

Mrs. Hennessy testified that she sent Michael for the poison to kill the rats that infested their premises. Mr. Hennessy said he had mended a hand-reel for a person who lived just beyond Mr. Brown's, and sent Michael home with it on Saturday afternoon.

Mr. Blair accepted the evidence of the parents, and urged the probability that a portion of the poison had been reserved by the lad as an instrument of his spite against Mr. Brown, for the application of which the errand upon which he was dispatched furnished an opportunity.

He set forth every circumstance unfavorable to poor Michael in the strongest possible light, blending with his argument such reflections and assertions upon the character and training of the children of foreign parentage as could not fail to influence a prejudiced jury.

Notwithstanding an able defence, the jury, after a short consultation, returned a verdict of "guilty," and Michael was sentenced for twelve months to the reform-school.

Nothing could exceed the grief and indignation of his comrades, or the sympathy of the whole village with poor Mr. and Mrs. Hennessy. Michael stoutly protested his innocence, and there were but very few who doubted it; but his father, whose health was very poor and his family large, was not able to risk an appeal to a higher court, which would probably, after all, confirm the decision, and Mike was not willing to have him. So they prepared, with heavy hearts, for the separation.

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Sullivan to her neighbor Mrs. Mellen—"indeed, it's a sore thing to be put upon two such decent people, through the hatred of that miserable old Blair against an Irishman's boy, and him as innocent as the child in his mother's arms!"

"You knew them before they came here, I have heard," said Mrs. Mellen, who had not lived long in the place.

"They came over on the vessel with us, and were from the next county at home; and this was the way of it:

"The two brothers, Pat and Mike Hennessy, married two sisters, Mary and Bridget Denver. They were decent tradesmen as any in the two counties, and were well enough to do until the hard times came, when old Ireland saw her poor children starving on every side so that it would melt the heart of a stone, or any thing softer than an English landlord's, to hear tell of it. Well, in the midst of the famine, Mike agreed that he'd come to America, and prepare a place against Patrick should come with Mary and Bridget. So when he left them, Pat set to get all he could together by selling his bits of furniture and things, and when times grew worse and worse, he would not delay, but took Mary with her baby of a week old, and Bridget, and came, as I said, on the vessel with us; and, by the same token, the ship's name was the Hibernia. A good name with a rough fortune, like the dear old land; for the weather was boisterous from first to last, and when we had been out four days, the most awful storm arose, that you'd think heaven and earth was comin' together. And in the midst of it what does poor Bridget do but sicken and die with the fright, leaving herlittle baby; but it followed its mother that same night which was God's blessing on it, poor motherless thing, seein' it was baptized by a priest we had on board, and who attended Bridget at the last.

"When we reached Boston, no tidings was to be heard of Mike; so Pat staid there hopin' to get news of him, and we came on to Vermont, where Sullivan's sister's husband came the year before.

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