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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924029405515 
 
SERMONS 
 
 PREACHED 
 
 ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS 
 
 JOHN HENRY, CARDINAL NEWMAN 
 
 NEIV EDITION 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST i6th STREET 
 1894 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
THE ABERDEEN UKIVEESITT PKESS. 
 
TO THE VERY REVEREND 
 
 HENRY EDWARD MANNING, D.D., 
 
 PROVOST OF WESTMINSTER, 
 &c., &o. 
 
 My dear Dr Manning, 
 
 On this day, when you are celebrating the 
 apening of your new Church and Mission at Bayswater, 
 I am led to hope, since I cannot give you my presence 
 on so happy an occasion, that you will accept from me 
 this small Volume instead, as my act of devotion to the 
 great St. Charles, St. Philip's friend, and your Patron, 
 and as some sort of memorial of the friendship which 
 there has been between ijs for nearly thiity years. 
 
 I am, my dear Dr. Manning, 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 John H. Newman 
 
 Of the Oratory. 
 
 In Fest. Visitat. B.M. V. 
 1857. 
 
ADVEETISEMENT. 
 
 WHEN the Author was preparing for the serious 
 step, which he took nearly twelve years ago, of 
 embracing the Catholic Eeligion, it was, if not his in- 
 tention, at least his expectation, that he should never 
 write again on any doctrinal subject. He was able to 
 fancy himself, in the time then before him, discussing 
 questions of philosophy or ecclesiastical history ; nor did 
 he exclude religious controversy, criticism, or literature, 
 from his view ; but it seemed to him incongruous that 
 one, who had so freely taught and published error in a 
 Protestant communion, should put himself forward as a 
 dogmatic teacher in the Catholic Church. 
 
 This disinclination to engage in the more sacred de- 
 partments of Theology was increased, first by his finding 
 his vocation already fixed, before he had had the oppor- 
 tunity of going through the regular scholastic course ; 
 and next, by the circumstance, that the Congregation, in 
 which that vocation lay, had ever placed its formal duties 
 in practical work, and had not commonly directed even 
 
vi Advertisement. 
 
 the personal talents or private labours or leisure hours of 
 its members towards the discussion or illustration of 
 Catholic doctrine. 
 
 On the other hand, the ordinary duties of a missionary- 
 priest have necessarily exacted of him to some extent, 
 and have accordingly justified, the assumption of a 
 teacher's office ; and the unexpected honour of a Degree 
 in Theology, conferred on him from Eome, without the 
 ordinary exercises, would have been no slight encourage- 
 ment to him to undertake that office, had he been other- 
 wise minded to do so. 
 
 However, he has been faithful on the whole to the 
 rule or anticipation, which he set before him on becoming 
 a Catholic. Why he has departed from it in the present 
 and one other instance, it is not worth while to explain. 
 He will but observe, that his volume of " Discourses to 
 Mixed Congregations,'' implies by its title, that it is 
 polemical and hortatory after all, rather than dogmatic, 
 and addressed to those who are external to the Church. 
 This is partly the case also with the Sermons contained 
 in the present Volume ; not to say that its title too, 
 announcing that they have been elicited by particular 
 occasions, carries with it the apology, that they are the 
 result of external circumstances rather than of any set 
 purpose of his own. 
 
 He takes the opportunity of its directly religious 
 character to ask of all those who feel an interest in his 
 past or present, to suffer it to be a call on them to bear 
 
Advertisement. vii 
 
 in mind in their charitable prayers his future and his end. 
 He has no intention that this should be the last of his 
 Volumes; but the last must come sooner or later, and 
 the catalogue must be completed and sealed up ; nor, at 
 the age to which he has already attained, should he ever 
 have reason to be surprised, if he were not allowed the 
 time or the power to add to their number.* 
 
 He has only to observe, as regards the Sermons which 
 this Volume contains, that the first eight, the tenth, and 
 the eleventh, were preached in High Mass, and written 
 before delivery ; the ninth and the twelfth have been com- 
 posed from the original notes, the former of them imme- 
 diately after delivery, the latter at this date. It must 
 be added that two of them, the ninth and tenth, have 
 been already published, and the third, the eleventh, has 
 been already in print. 
 
 July 2, 1857. 
 
 P.S.— Hehas added to the Third Edition (1870) two 
 Sermons, published since the Second, and both written 
 before delivery. And to the Fourth Edition (1874) one 
 more, written down after it was delivered. 
 
 [* This Edition contains the few verbal corrections made by the 
 Author for insertion in the next Eeprint.] 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Eight Sej^mons preached hefore the Catholic University of 
 Ireland, in 1856, 1857, beincf the first year of the opening 
 of its Gliurch. 
 
 SJIRMON I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Intellect,, the Instrument of Beligious Training .... 1 
 (Feast of St. Monica — Simday after Ascension, 1856.) 
 
 SERMON II. 
 
 The Keligion of the Pharisee the Eeligion of Mankind . . 15 
 (10ft Sunday after Pentecost, 1856.) 
 
 SEEMON III. 
 
 Waiting for Christ . 31 
 
 (27ffi Sunday after Pentecost, 1856.) 
 
 SERMON IV. 
 
 The Secret Power of Divine Grace - . . . . 47 
 
 (Wth Sunday after Pentecost, 1856.) 
 
 SERMON V. 
 
 Dispositions for Faith ... 60 
 
 (Feast of St. Thoinas — ith Sunday after Advent, 1856.) 
 
X Contents. 
 
 SEEMON VI. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Omnipotence in Bonds . . 75 
 
 lis* Sunday after Epiphany, 1857.) 
 
 SERMON VII. 
 
 St. PauJJs Charaoteristio Gift 91 
 
 (Feast of the Comversiim of St. Paid — Srd Sunday after Epiphany, 1857.) 
 
 SEEMON VIII. 
 
 St. Paul's Gift of Sympathy 106 
 
 {Sexagesima Sunday, 1857.) 
 
 ♦ 
 
 SEEMON IX. 
 
 Christ upon the Waters 121 
 
 {Preached Oct. 27, 1850, in St. Chad's, Birmingham, on occasion of the 
 Installation of Dr. Ullathome, the first Bishop of the See.) 
 
 SEEMON X. 
 
 The Second Spring 163 
 
 {Preached July 13, 1852, in St. Mary's, Oscott, in the first ProvindaZ 
 Synod of Westminster.) 
 
 SEEMON XI. 
 
 Order, the Witness and Instrument of Unity .... 183 
 
 [Preached Nov. 9, 1853, in St. Chad's, in the first Diocesan Synod of 
 Birmingham..) 
 
 SEEMON XII. 
 
 The Jlission of St. Philip Neri 199 
 
 (Preached Jan. 15 and 18, 1850, in the Oratory, Birmingham, on 
 QCcasUm of its first Anniversary.) 
 
Contents. xi 
 
 SEEMON XIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Tree beside the Waters 243 
 
 (PreacJied Nov. 11, 1859, in St. Mary's, Oscott, at the Funeral of the 
 Sight Rev. E. Weedall, S.D.) 
 
 SERMON XIV. 
 
 In the World, but not of the World . . . . 263 
 
 {Preached May 5, 1873, in the Church of the Jesuit Fathers, London, at 
 the Funeral of James R. Hope Scott, Esq., Q.G.) 
 
 SERMON XV. 
 
 The Pope and the Eevolution 281 
 
 {Preached Oct. 7, 1866, in the Church of the Oratory, Birmingham. ) 
 Notes . .... .... 317 
 
SERMON I. 
 
 INTELLECT, THE INSTEDMENT OF EELIGIOUS 
 TEAINING. 
 
 (Preached in the University Church, Dublin.) 
 BvANG. SEC. Luc, c. vii. V. 12. 
 
 Oum autem appropinquaret portse civitatis, ecoe defunotus effere- 
 batur filius miieiis matris suae : et hsee vidua erat. 
 
 And when He came mgh to the gate of the city, behold, a dead man 
 was carried out, the only son of his mother : and she was a widow. 
 
 THIS day we celebrate one of the most remarkable 
 feasts in the calendar. We commemorate a Saint 
 who gained the heavenly crown by prayers indeed and 
 tears, by sleepless nights and weary wanderings, but not 
 in the administration of any high office in the Church, not 
 in the fulfilment of some great resolution or special coun- 
 sel; not as a preacher, teacher, evangelist, reformer, or 
 champion of the faith ; not as Bishop of the flock, or 
 temporal governor ; not by eloquence, by wisdom, or by 
 controversial success ; not in the way of any other saint 
 whom we invoke in the circle of the year; but as a 
 mother, seeking and gaining by her penances the con- 
 version of her son. It was for no ordinary son that she 
 
 1 
 
2 Intellect, the Instrument 
 
 prayed, and it was no ordinary supplication by whicli 
 she gained him. When a holy man saw its vehemence, 
 ere it was successful, he said to her, "Go in peace; the 
 son of such prayers cannot perish." The prediction was 
 fulfilled beyond its letter ; not only was that young man 
 converted, but after his conversion he became a saint ; 
 not only a saint, but a doctor also, and "instructed 
 many unto justice." St. Augustine was the son for 
 whom she prayed ; and if he has been a luminary for all 
 ages of the Church since, many thanks do we owe to his 
 mother, St. Monica, who having borne him in the flesh, 
 travailed for him in the spirit. 
 
 The Church, in her choice of a gospel for this feast, 
 has likened St. Monica to the desolate widow whom our 
 Lord met at the gate of the city, as she was going forth 
 to bury the corpse of her only son. He saw her, and 
 said, " Weep not ; " and he touched the bier, and the 
 dead arose. St. Monica asked and obtained a more 
 noble miracle. Many a mother who is anxious for her 
 son's bodily welfare, neglects his soul. So did not the 
 Saint of to-day ; her son might be accomplished, elo- 
 quent, able, and distinguished ; all this was nothing to 
 her while he was dead in God's sight, while he was the 
 slave of sin, while he was the prey of heresy. She 
 desired his true life. She wearied heaven with prayer, 
 and wore out herself with praying ; she did not at once 
 prevail. He left his home ; he was carried forward by 
 his foui- bearers, ignorance, pride, appetite, and ambition ; 
 he was carried out into a foreign land, he crossed over 
 from Africa to Italy. She followed him, she followed 
 the corpse, the chief, the only mourner ; she went where 
 
of Religious Training. ' 3 
 
 he went, from city to city. It was nothing to her to 
 leave her dear home and her native soil ; she had no 
 country below ; her sole rest, her sole repose, her Nunc 
 dimittis, was his new birth. So while she still walked 
 forth in her deep anguish and isolation, and her silent 
 prayer, she was at length rewarded by the long-coveted 
 miracle. Grace melted the proud heart, and purified 
 the corrupt breast of Augustine, and restored and com- 
 forted his mother ; and hence, in to-day's Collect, the 
 Almighty Giver is especially addressed as " Moe.rentium 
 consolator et in Te sperantium salus " ; the consoler of 
 those that mourn, and the health of those who hope. 
 
 And thus Monica, as the widow in the gospel, becomes 
 an image of Holy Church, who is ever lamenting over 
 her lost children, and by her importunate prayers, ever 
 recovering them from the grave of sin ; and to Monica, 
 as the Church's representative, may be addressed those 
 words of the Prophet : " Put off, Jerusalem, the gar- 
 ments of thy mourning and aflSiction ; arise, and look 
 about towards the East, and behold thy children ; for 
 they went out from thee on foot, led by the enemies ; 
 but the Lord will bring them to thee exalted with 
 honour, as children of the kingdom." 
 
 This, I say, is not a history of past time merely, but 
 of every age. Generation passes after generation, and 
 there is on the one side the same doleful, dreary wander- 
 ing, the same feverish unrest, the same fleeting enjoy- 
 ments, the same abiding and hopeless misery ; and on 
 the other, the same anxiously beating heart of impotent 
 affection. Age goes after age, and still Augustine 
 rushes forth again and again, with his young ambition. 
 
4 Intellect, the Instrument 
 
 and his intellectual energy, and his turbulent appetites ; 
 educated, yet untaught ; with powers strengthened, 
 sharpened, refined by exercise, but unenlightened and 
 untrained, — goes forth into the world, ardent, self-willed, 
 reckless, headstrong, inexperienced, to fall into the 
 hands of those who seek his life, and to become the 
 victim of heresy and sin. And still, again and again 
 does hapless Monica weep ; weeping for that dear child 
 who grew up with her from the womb, and of whom 
 she is now robbed ; of whom she has lost sight ; wan- 
 dering with him in his wanderings, following his steps 
 in her imagination, cherishing his image in her heart, 
 keeping his name upon her lips, and feeling withal, 
 that, as a woman, she is unable to cope with the violence 
 and the artifices of the world. And still again and 
 again does Holy Church take her part and her place, 
 with a heart as tender and more strons, with an arm, 
 and an eye, and an intellect more powerful than hers, 
 with an influence more than human, more sagacious 
 than the world, and more religious than home, to 
 restrain and reclaim those whom passion, or example, 
 or sophistry is hurrying forward to destruction. 
 
 My Brethren, there is something happy in the cir- 
 cumstance, that the first Sunday of our academical 
 worship should fall on the feast of St. Monica. For is 
 not this one chief aspect of- a University, and an aspect 
 which it especially bears in this sacred place, to supply 
 that which that memorable Saint so much desiderated, 
 and for which she attempted to compensate by her 
 prayers? Is it not one part of our especial office to 
 receive those from the hands of father and mother, whom 
 
of Religious Training. 5 
 
 father and mother can keep no longer? Thus, while 
 professing all sciences, and speaking by the mouths of 
 philosophers and sages, a University delights in the 
 well-known appellation of "Alma Mater." She is a 
 mother who, after the pattern of that greatest and most 
 heavenly of mothers, is, on the one hand, " Mater Ama- 
 bilis," and "Causa nostras Isetitiae," and on the other, 
 " Sedes Sapientiae " also. She is a mother, living, not 
 in the seclusion of the family, and in the garden's 
 shade, but in the wide world, in the populous and busy 
 town, claiming, like our great Mother, the meek and 
 tender Mary, " to praise her own self, and to glory, and 
 to open her mouth," because she alone has "compassed 
 the circuit of Heaven, and penetrated into the bottom 
 of the deep, and walked upon the waves of the sea,'' and 
 in every department of human learning, is able to con- 
 fute and put right those who would set knowledge 
 against itself, and would make truth contradict truth, 
 and would persuade the world that, to be religious, you 
 must be ignorant, and to be intellectual, you must be 
 unbelieving. 
 
 My meaning will be clearer, if I revert to the nature 
 and condition of the human mind. The human mind, 
 as you know, my Brethren, may be regarded from two 
 principal points of view, as intellectual and as moral. As 
 intellectual, it apprehends truth ; as moral, it apprehends 
 duty. The perfection of the intellect is called ability 
 and talent ; the perfection of our moral nature is virtue. 
 And it is our great misfortune here, and our trial, that, 
 as things are found in the world, the two are separated, 
 and independent of each other ; that, where power of 
 
6 Intellect, the Instrument 
 
 intellect is, there need not be virtue; and that where 
 right, and goodness, and moral greatness are, there need 
 not be talent. It was not so in the beginning; not 
 that our nature is essentially different from what it was 
 when first created ; but that the Creator, upon its crea- 
 tion, raised it above itself by a supernatural grace, 
 which blended together all its faculties, and made them 
 conspire into one whole, and act in common towards one 
 end; so that, had the race continued in that blessed 
 state of privilege, there never would have been distance, 
 rivalry, hostility between one faculty and another. It 
 is otherwise now ; so much the worse for us ; — the grace 
 is gone; the soul cannot hold together; it falls to 
 pieces ; its elements strive with each other. And as, 
 when a kingdom has long been in a state of tumult, 
 sedition, or rebellion, certain portions break off from the 
 whole and from the central government, and set up for 
 themselves ; so is it with the soul of man. So is it, I 
 say, with the soul, long ago, — that a number of small 
 kingdoms, independent of each other and at war with 
 each other, have arisen in it, such and so many as to 
 reduce the original sovereignty to a circuit of territory 
 and to an influence not more considerable than they 
 have themselves. And all these small dominions, as I 
 may call them, in the soul, are, of course, one by one, 
 incomplete and defective, strong in some points, weak in 
 otliers, because not any one of them is the whole, sufficient 
 for itself, but only one part of the whole, which, 
 on the contrary, is made up of all the faculties of the 
 soul together. Hence you find in one man, or one set 
 of men, the reign, I may call it, the acknowledged 
 
of Religious Training. 7 
 
 reign of passion or appetite ; among others, the avowed 
 reign of brute strength and material resources ; among 
 others, the reign of intellect ; and among others (and 
 would they were many !) the more excellent reign of 
 virtue. Such is the state of things, as it shows to us, 
 when we cast our eyes abroad into the world ; and every 
 one, when he comes to years of discretion, and begins to 
 think, has all these separate powers warring in his own 
 breast, — appetite, passion, secular ambition, intellect, 
 and conscience, and trying severally to get possession of 
 him. And when he looks out of himself, he sees them 
 all severally embodied on a grand scale, in large esta- 
 blishments and centres, outside of him, one here and 
 another there, in aid of that importunate canvass, so to 
 express myself, which each of them is carrying on 
 within him. And thus, at least for a time, he is in a 
 state of internal strife, confusion, and uncertainty, first 
 attracted this way, then that, not knowing how to 
 choose, though sooner or later choose he must ; or rather, 
 he must choose soon, and cannot choose late, for he 
 cannot help thinking, speaking, and acting ; and to 
 think, speak, and act, is to choose. 
 
 This is a very serious state of things; and what 
 makes it worse is, that these various faculties and 
 powers of the human mind have so long been separated 
 from each other, so long cultivated and developed each 
 by itself, that it comes to be taken for granted that they 
 cannot be united ; and it is commonly thought, because 
 some men follow duty, others pleasure, others glory, 
 and others intellect, therefore that one of these things 
 excludes the other ; that duty cannot be pleasant, that 
 
8 Intellect, the Instrument 
 
 virtue cannot be intellectual, that goodness cannot be 
 great, that conscientiousness cannot be heroic ; and the 
 fact is often so, I grant, that there is a separation, 
 though I deny its necessity. I grant, that, from the 
 disorder and confusion into which the human mind has 
 fallen, too often good men are not attractive, and bad 
 men are ; too often cleverness, or wit, or taste, or rich- 
 ness of fancy, or keenness of intellect, or depth, or 
 knowledge, or pleasantness and agreeableness, is on the 
 side of error and not on the side of virtue. Excellence, 
 as things are, does lie, I grant, in more directions than 
 one, and it is ever easier to excel in one thing than in 
 two. If then a man has more talent, there is the chance 
 that he will have less goodness ; if he is careful about 
 his religious duties, there is the chance he is behind- 
 hand in general knowledge ; and in matter of fact, in 
 particular cases, persons may be found, correct and vir- 
 tuous, who are heavy, narrow-minded, and unintellectual, 
 and again, unprincipled men, who are brilliant and 
 amusing. And thus you see, my Brethren, how that 
 particular temptation comes about, of which I speak, 
 when boyhood is past, and youth is opening; — not only 
 is the soul plagued and tormented by the thousand 
 temptations which rise up within it, but it is exposed 
 moreover to the sophistry of the EvU One, whispering 
 that duty and religion are very right indeed, admirable, 
 supernatural, — who doubts it ? — but that, somehow or 
 other, religious people are commonly either very dull or 
 very tiresome : nay, that religion itself after all is more 
 suitable to women and children, who live at home, than 
 to men. 
 
of Religious Training. 9 
 
 my Brethren, do you not confess to the truth of 
 much of what I have been saying ? Is it not so, that, 
 when your mind began to open, in proportion as it 
 opened, it was by that very opening made rebellious 
 against what you knew to be duty ? In matter of fact, 
 was not your intellect in league with disobedience ? 
 Instead of uniting knowledge and religion, as you 
 might have done, did you not set one against the 
 other ? For instance, was it not one of the first volun- 
 tary exercises of your mind, to indulge a wrong curio- 
 sity ? — a curiosity which you confessed to yourselves to 
 be wrong, which went against your conscience, while 
 you indulged it. You desire to know a number of 
 things, which it could do you no good to know. This is 
 how boys begin ; as soon as their mind begins to stir, 
 it looks the wiong way, and runs upon what is evil. 
 This is their first wrong step ; and their next use of 
 their intellect is to put what is evil into words : this is 
 their second wrong step. They form images, and enter- 
 tain thoughts, which should be away, and they stamp 
 them upon themselves and others by expressing them. 
 And next, the bad turn which they do to others, 
 others retaliate on them. One wrong speech provokes 
 another; and thus there grows up among them from 
 boyhood that miserable tone of conversation, — hinting 
 and suggesting evil, jesting, bantering on the subject of 
 sin, supplying fuel for the inflammable imagination, — 
 which lasts through life, which is wherever the world 
 is, which is the very breath of the world, which the 
 world cannot do without, which the world " speaks out 
 of the abundance of its heart," and which you may 
 
lo Intellect, the Instrument 
 
 prophesy will prevail in every ordinary assemblage of 
 men, as soon as they are at their ease and begin to talk 
 freely, — a sort of vocal worship of the Evil One, to 
 which the Evil One listens with special satisfaction, 
 because he looks on it as the preparation for worse sin ; 
 for from bad thoughts and bad words proceed bad deeds. 
 Bad company creates a distaste for good ; and hence 
 it happens that, when a youth has gone the length I 
 have been supposing, he is repelled, from that very 
 distaste, from those places and scenes which would do 
 him good. He begins to lose the delight he once had 
 in going home. By little and little he loses his enjoy- 
 ment in the pleasant countenances, and untroubled 
 smiles, and gentle ways, of that family circle which is 
 so dear to him still. At first he says to himself that he 
 is not worthy of them, and therefore keeps away ; but 
 at length the routine of home is tiresome to him. He 
 has aspirations and ambitions which home does not 
 satisfy. He wants more than home can give. His 
 curiosity now takes a new turn ; • he listens to views and 
 discussions which are inconsistent with the sanctity of 
 religious faith. At first he has no temptation to adopt 
 them ; only he wishes to know what is " said." As 
 time goes on, however, living with companions who 
 have no fixed principle, and who, if they do not oppose, 
 at least do not take for granted, any the most elemen- 
 tary truths; or worse, hearing or reading what is 
 directly against religion, at length, without being con- 
 scious of it, he admits a sceptical influence upon his 
 mind. He Joes not know it, he does not recognize it, 
 but there it is ; and, hefore he recognizes it, it leads 
 
of Religious Training. 1 1 
 
 him to a fretful, impatient way of speaking of the per- 
 sons, conduct, words, and measures of religious men or 
 of men in authority. This is the way in which he re- 
 lieves his mind of the burden which is growing heavier 
 and heavier every day. And so he goes on, approxi- 
 mating more and more closely to sceptics and infidels, 
 and feeling more and more congeniality with their 
 modes of thinking, till some day suddenly, from some 
 accident, the fact breaks upon him, and he sees clearly 
 that he is an unbeliever himself. 
 
 He can no longer conceal from himself that he does 
 not believe, and a sharp anguish darts through him, and 
 for a time he is made miserable ; next, he laments indeed 
 that former undoubting faith, which he has lost, but as 
 some pleasant dream ; — a dream, though a pleasant one, 
 from which he has been awakened, but which, however 
 pleasant, he. forsooth, cannot help heing a dream. And 
 his next stage is to experience a great expansion and 
 elevation of mind ; for his field of view is swept clear of 
 all that filled it from childhood, and now he may build 
 up for himself anything he pleases instead. So he 
 begins to form his own ideas of things, and these please 
 and satisfy him for a time ; then he gets used to them, 
 and tires of them, and he takes up others ; and now he 
 has begun that everlasting round of seeking and never 
 finding : at length, after various trials, he gives up the 
 search altogether, and decides that nothing can be 
 known, and there is no such thing as truth, and that if 
 anything is to be professed, the creed he started from is 
 as good as any other, and has more claims ; — however, 
 that really nothing is true, nothing is certain. Or, if he 
 
1 2 Intellect, the Instrument 
 
 be of a more ardent temperature, or, like Augustine, 
 the object of God's special mercy, then he cannot give 
 up the inquiry, though he has no chance of solving it, 
 and he roams about, "walking through dry places, seek- 
 ing rest, and finding none." Meanwhile poor Monica 
 sees the change in its effects, though she does not esti- 
 mate it in itself, or know exactly what it is, or how it 
 came about : nor, even though it be told her, can she 
 enter into it, or understand how one, so dear to her, can 
 be subjected to it. But a dreadful change there is, and she 
 perceives it too clearly ; a dreadful change for him and 
 for her; a wall of separation has grown up between 
 them : she cannot throw it down again ; but she can 
 turn to her God, and weep and pray. 
 
 Now, my Brethren, observe, the strength of this 
 delusion lies in there being a sort of truth in it. 
 Young men feel a consciousness of certain faculties 
 within them which demand exercise, aspirations which 
 must have an object, for which they do not commonly 
 find exercise or object in religious circles. This want is 
 no excuse for them, if they think, say, or do anything 
 against faith or morals : but still it is the occasion of 
 their siuning. It is the fact, they are not only moral, 
 they are intellectual beings ; but, ever since the fall of 
 man, religion is here, and philosophy is there ; each has 
 its own centres of influence, separate from the other; 
 intellectual men desiderate something in the homes of 
 religion, and religious men desiderate something in the 
 schools of science. 
 
 Here, then, I conceive, is the object of the Holy See 
 and the Catholic Church in setting up Universities ; it 
 
of Religious Training. 13 
 
 is to reunite things which were in the beginning joined 
 together by God, and have been put asunder by man. 
 Some persons will say that I am thinking of confining, 
 distorting, and stunting the growth of the intellect by 
 ecclesiastical supervision. I have no such thought. 
 Nor have I any thought of a compromise, as if religion 
 must give up something, and science something. I 
 wish the intellect to range with the utmost freedom, 
 and religion to enjoy an equal freedom ; but what I am 
 stipulating for is, that they should be found in one and 
 the same place, and exemplified in the same persons. I 
 want to destroy that diversity of centres, which puts 
 everything into confusion by creating a contrariety of 
 influences. I wish the same spots and the same indi- 
 viduals to be at once oracles of philosophy and shrines 
 of devotion. It will not satisfy me, what satisfies so 
 many, to have two independent systems, intellectual 
 and religious, going at once side by side, by a sort of 
 division of labour, and only accidentally brought 
 together. It wUl not satisfy me, if religion is here, 
 and science there, and young men converse with science 
 all day, and lodge with religion in the evening. It is 
 not touching the evil, to which these remarks have been 
 directed, if young men eat and drink and sleep in one 
 place, and think in another: I want the same roof to 
 contain both the intellectual and moral discipline. 
 Devotion is not a sort of finish given to the sciences; 
 nor is science a sort of feather in the cap, if I may so 
 express myself, an ornament and set-off to devotion. I 
 want the intellectual layman to be religious, and the 
 devout ecclesiastic to be intellectual. 
 
14 Intellect, the Instrument, &c. 
 
 This is no matter of terms, nor of subtle distinctions. 
 Sanctity has its influence; intellect has its influence; 
 the influence of sanctity is the greater on the long run ; 
 the influence of intellect is greater at the moment. 
 Therefore, in the case of the young, whose education 
 lasts a few years, where the intellect is, ihere is the 
 influence. Their literary, their scientific teachers, really 
 have the forming of them. Let both influences act 
 freely, and then, as a general rule, no system of mere 
 religious guardianship which neglects the Reason, will 
 in matter of fact succeed against the School. Youths 
 need a masculine religion, if it is to carry captive their 
 restless imaginations, and their wild intellects, as well 
 as to touch their susceptible hearts. 
 
 Look down then upon us from Heaven, blessed 
 Monica, for we are engaged in supplying that very want 
 which called for thy prayers, and gained for thee thy 
 crown. Thou who didst obtain thy son's conversion by 
 the merit of thy intercession, continue that intercession 
 for us, that we may be blest, as human instruments, in 
 the use of those human means by which ordinarily the 
 Holy Cross is raised aloft, and religion commands the 
 world. Gain for us, first, that we may intensely feel 
 that God's grace is all in all, and that we are nothing ; 
 next, that, for His greater glory, and for the honour of 
 Holy Church, and for the good of man, we may be 
 " zealous for all the better gifts," and may excel in 
 intellect as we excel in virtue. 
 
SERMON II. 
 
 THE EELIGION OP THE PHAEISBE, THE 
 EELIGION OP MANKIND. 
 
 (Preached in the University Church, Dublin.) 
 
 BvANG. SBC. Luc. , c. xviii. v. 13. 
 
 Deus, propitius esto mihi pecoatori. 
 God, be merciful to me, a sinner. 
 
 THESE words set before us what may be called the 
 characteristic mark of the Christian Eeligion, as 
 contrasted with the various forms of worship and schools 
 of belief, which in early or in later times have spread 
 over the earth. They are a confession of sin and a prayer 
 for mercy. Not indeed that the notion of transgression 
 and of forgiveness was introduced by Christianity, and 
 is unknown beyond its pale ; on the contrary, most 
 observable it is, the symbols of guilt and pollution, 
 and rites of deprecation and expiation, are more or less 
 common to them all ; but what is peculiar to our divine 
 faith, as to Judaism before it, is this, that confession of 
 sin enters into the idea of its highest saintliness, and 
 that its pattern worshippers and the very heroes of its 
 
 (15) 
 
1 6 The Religion of the Pharisee, 
 
 history are ouly, and can only be, and cherish in their 
 hearts the everlasting memory that they are, and carry 
 with them into heaven the rapturous avowal of their 
 being, redeemed, restored transgressors. Such an avowal 
 is not simply wrung from the lips of the neophyte, or 
 of the lapsed ; it is not the cry of the common run of 
 men alone, who are buffeting with the surge of tempta- 
 tion in the wide world ; it is the hymn of saints, it is 
 the triumphant ode sounding from the heavenly harps 
 of the Blessed before the Throne, who sing to their 
 Divine Eedeemer, " Thou wast slain, and hast redeemed 
 us to God in Thy blood, out of every tribe, and tongue, 
 and people, and nation." 
 
 And what is to the Saints above a theme of never- 
 ending thankfulness, is, while they are yet on earth, 
 the matter of their perpetual humiliation. Whatever 
 be their advance in the spiritual life, they never rise 
 from their knees, they never cease to beat their breasts, 
 as if sin could possibly be strange to them while they 
 were in the flesh. Even our Lord Himself, the very 
 Son of G-od in human nature, and infinitely separate 
 from sin, — even His Immaculate Mother, encompassed 
 by His grace from the first beginnings of her existence, 
 and without any part of the original stain, — even they, 
 as descended from Adam, were subjected at least to 
 death, the direct, emphatic punishment of sin. And much 
 more, even the most favoured of that glorious company, 
 whom He has washed clean in His Blood ; they never 
 forget what they were by birth ; they confess, one and 
 all, that they are children of Adam, and of the same 
 nature as their brethren, and compassed with infirmities 
 
the Religion of Mankind. 1 7 
 
 while in the flesh, whatever may be the grace given 
 them and their own improvement of it. Others may 
 look up to them, but they ever look up to God ; others 
 may speak of their merits, but they only speak of their 
 defects. The young and unspotted, the aged and most 
 mature, he who has sinned least, he who has repented 
 most, the fresh innocent brow, and the hoary head, they 
 unite in this one litany, " God, be merciful to me, a 
 sinner.'' So it was with St. Aloysius ; so, on the other 
 hand, was it with St. Ignatius ; so was it with St. 
 Kose, the youngest of the saints, who, as a child, sub- 
 mitted her tender frame to the most amazing penances ; 
 so was it with St. Philip Neri, one of the most aged, 
 who, when some one praised him, cried out, " Begone ! 
 I am a devil, and not a saint;" and when going to 
 communicate, would protest before his Lord, that he 
 "was good for nothing, but to do evil." Such utter 
 self-prostration, I say, is the very badge and token of 
 the servant of Christ; — and this indeed is conveyed in 
 His own words, when He says, " I am not come to call 
 the just, but sinners;'' and it is solemnly recognized and 
 inculcated by Him, in the words which follow the text, 
 " Every one that exalteth himself, shall be humbled, and 
 he that humbleth himself, shall be exalted." 
 
 This, you see, my Brethren, is very different from 
 that merely general acknowledgment of human guilt, 
 and of the need of expiation, contained in those old and 
 popular religions, which have before now occupied, or 
 still occupy, the world. In them, guilt is an attribute 
 of individuals, or of particular places, or of particular 
 acts of nations, of bodies politic or their rulers, for whom, 
 
1 8 The Religion of the Pharisee, 
 
 in consequence, purification is necessary. Or it is the 
 purification of the worshipper, not so much personal as 
 ritual, before he makes his offering, and an act of intro- 
 duction to his religious service. All such practices 
 indeed are remnants of true religion, and tokens and 
 witnesses of it, useful both in themselves and in their 
 import ; but they do not rise to the explicitness and 
 the fulness of the Christian doctrine. "There is not any 
 man just.'' " All have sinned, and do need the glory of 
 God." " Not by the works of justice, which we have 
 done, but according to His mercy." The disciples of 
 other worships and other philosophies thought and think, 
 that the many indeed are bad, but the few are good. As 
 their thoughts passed on from the ignorant and erring 
 multitude to the select specimens of mankind, they left 
 the notion of guilt behind, and they pictured for them- 
 selves an idea of truth and wisdom, perfect, indefectible, 
 and self-sufficient. It was a sort of virtue without im- 
 perfection, which took pleasure in contemplating itself, 
 which needed nothing, and which was, from its own in- 
 ternal excellence, sure of a rewaid. Their descriptions, 
 their stories of good and religions men, are often beau- 
 tiful, and admit of an instructive interpretation ; but 
 in themselves they have this great blot, that they 
 make no mention of sin, and that they speak as if 
 shame and humiliation were no properties of the vir- 
 tuous. I will remind you, my Brethren, of a very 
 beautiful story, which you have read in a writer of 
 antiquity ; and the more beautiful it is, the more it is 
 fitted for my present purpose, for the defect in it will 
 come out the more strongly by the very contrast, viz.. 
 
the Religion of Mankind. 19 
 
 the defect that, though in some sense it teaches piety, 
 humility it does not teach. I say, when the Psalmist 
 would describe the happy man, he says, " Blessed are 
 they whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins are 
 covered ; blessed is the man to whom the Lord hath not 
 imputed sin." Such is the blessedness of the Gospel ; 
 but what is the blessedness of the religions of the world ? 
 A celebrated Greek sage once paid a visit to a prosperous 
 king of Lydia, who, after showing him all his greatness 
 and his glory, asked him whom he considered to have 
 the happiest lot, of all men whom he had known. On 
 this, the philosopher, passing by the monarch himself, 
 named a countryman of his own, as fulfilling his typical 
 idea of human perfection. The most blessed of men, he 
 said, was Tellus of Athens, for he lived in a flourishing 
 city, and was prospered in his children, and in their 
 families ; and then at length when war ensued with a 
 border state, he took his place in the battle, repelled 
 the enemy, and died gloriously, being buried at the public 
 expense where he fell, and receiving public honours. 
 When the king asked who came next to him in Solon's 
 judgment, the sage went on to name two 'brothers, con- 
 querors at the games, who, when the oxen were not 
 forthcoming, drew their mother, who was priestess, to 
 the temple, to the great admiration of the assembled 
 multitude ; and who, on her praying for them the best of 
 possible rewards, after sacrificing and feasting, lay down 
 to sleep in the temple, and never rose again. No one 
 can deny the beauty of these pictures ; but it is for that 
 reason I select them ; they are the pictures of men who 
 were not supposed to have any grave account to settle 
 
20 The Religion of the Pharisee, 
 
 with heaven, who had easy duties, as they thought, and 
 who fulfilled them. 
 
 Now perhaps you will ask me, my Brethren, whether 
 this heathen idea of religion he not really higher than 
 that which I have called pre-eminently Christian ; for 
 surely to obey in simple tranquillity and unsolicitous 
 confidence, is the noblest conceivable state of the crea- 
 ture, and the most acceptable worship he can pay to the 
 Creator. Doubtless it is the noblest and most acceptable 
 worship ; such has ever been the worship of the angels ; 
 such is the worship now of the spirits of the just made 
 perfect ; such will be the worship of the whole company 
 of the glorified after the general resurrection. But we 
 are engaged in considering the actual state of man, as 
 found in this world ; and I say, considering what he is, 
 any standard of duty, which does not convict him of 
 real and multiplied sins, and of incapacity to please God 
 of his own strength, is untrue ; and any rule of life, 
 which leaves him contented with himself, without fear, 
 without anxiety, without humiliation, is deceptive ; it is 
 the blind leading the blind : yet such, in one shape or 
 other, is the religion of the whole earth, beyond the pale 
 of the Church. 
 
 The natural conscience of man, if cultivated from 
 within, if enlightened by those external aids which in 
 varying degrees are given him in every place and time, 
 would teach him much of his duty to God and man, and 
 would lead him on, by the guidance both of Providence 
 and grace, into the fulness of religious knowledge ; but, 
 generally speaking, he is contented that it should tell 
 him very little, and he makes no efforts to gain any 
 
the Religion of Mankind. 2 1 
 
 juster views than he has at first, of his relations to the 
 world around him and to his Creator. Thus he appre- 
 hends part, and part only, of the moral law; has scarcely 
 any idea at all of sanctity ; and, instead of tracing 
 actions to their source, which is the motive, and judging 
 them thereby, he measures them for the most part by 
 their effects and their outward aspect. Such is the way 
 with the multitude of men everywhere and at all times; 
 they do not see the Image of Almighty God before them, 
 and ask themselves what He wishes : if once they did 
 this, they would begin to see how much He requires, 
 and they would earnestly come to Him, both to be par- 
 doned for what they do wrong, and for the power to do 
 better. And, for the same reason that they do not 
 please Him, they succeed in pleasing themselves. For 
 that contracted, defective range of duties, which falls so 
 short of God's law, is just what they can fulfil; or 
 rather they choose it, and keep to it, because they can 
 fulfil it. Hence, they become both self-satisfied and 
 self-sufficient; — they think they know just what they 
 ought to do, and that they do it all ; and in consequence 
 they are very well content with themselves, and rate 
 their merit very high, and have no fear at all of any 
 future scrutiny into their conduct, which may befall 
 them, though their religion mainly lies in certain out- 
 ward observances, and not a great number even of them. 
 So it was with the Pharisee in this day's gospel. He 
 looked upon himself with great complacency, for the very 
 reason that the standard was so low, and the range so 
 narrow, which he assigned to his duties towards God and 
 man. He used, or misused, the traditions in which he 
 
22 The Religion of the Pharisee, 
 
 had been brought up, to the purpose of persuading 
 himself that perfection ]ay in merely answering the 
 demands of society. He professed, indeed, to pay thanks 
 to God, but he hardly apprehended the existence of any 
 direct duties on his part towards his Maker. He thought 
 he did all that God required, if he satisfied public opinion. 
 To be religious, in the Pharisee's sense, was to keep the 
 peace towards others, to take his share in the burdens of 
 the poor, to abstain from gross vice, and to set a good 
 example. His alms and fastings were not done in 
 penance, but because the world asked for them; penance 
 would ha\'e implied the consciousness of sin ; whereas it 
 was only Publicans, and such as they, who had anything 
 to be forgiven. And these indeed were the outcasts of 
 society, and despicable ; but no account lay against 
 men of well-regulated minds such as his : men who 
 were well-behaved, decorous, consistent, and respect- 
 able. He thanked God he was a Pharisee, and not a 
 penitent. 
 
 Such was the Jew in our Lord's day ; and such the 
 heathen was, and had been. Alas ! I do not mean to 
 affirm that it was common for the poor heathen to ob- 
 serve even any religious rule at all ; but I am speaking 
 of the few and of the better sort: and these, I say, 
 commonly took up with a religion like the Pharisee's, 
 more beautiful perhaps and more poetical, but not at all 
 deeper or truer than his. They did not indeed fast, or 
 give alms, or observe the ordinances of Judaism ; they 
 threw over their meagre observances a philosophical garb, 
 and embellished them with the refinements of a culti- 
 vated intellect ; still their notion of moral and religious 
 
the Religion of Mankind. 23 
 
 duty was as shallow as that of the Pharisee, and the 
 sense of sin, the habit of self-abasement, and the desire 
 of contrition, just as absent from their minds as from his. 
 They framed a code of morals which they could without 
 trouble obey ; and then they were content with it and 
 with themselves. Virtue, according to Xenophon, one 
 of the best principled and most religious of their writers, 
 and one who had seen a great deal of the world, 
 and had the opportunity of bringing together in one 
 the highest thoughts of many schools and countries, 
 — -virtue, according to him, consists mainly in command 
 of the appetites and passions, and in serving others in 
 order that they may serve us. He says, in the well- 
 known Fable, called the choice of Hercules, that Vice 
 has no real enjoyment even of those pleasures which it 
 aims at ; that it eats before it is hungry, and drinks 
 before it is thirsty, and slumbers before it is wearied. 
 It never hears, he says, that sweetest of voices, its own 
 praise; it never sees that greatest luxury among sights, 
 its own good deeds. It enfeebles the bodily frame of 
 the young, and the intellect of the old. Virtue, on the 
 other hand, rewards young men with the praise of their 
 elders, and it rewards the aged with the reverence of 
 youth ; it supplies them pleasant memories and present 
 peace; it secures the favour of heaven, the love of 
 friends, a country's thanks, and, when death comes, an 
 everlasting renown. In all such descriptions, virtue is 
 something external ; it is not concerned with motives or 
 intentions; it is occupied in deeds which bear upon 
 society, and which gain the praise of men ; it has little 
 to do with conscience and the Lord of conscience ; and 
 
24 The Religion of the Pharisee, 
 
 knows nothing of shame, humiliation, and penance. It 
 is in substance the Pharisee's religion, though it be more 
 graceful and more interesting. 
 
 Now this age is as removed in distance, as in 
 character, from that of the Greek philosopher ; yet who 
 will say that the religion which it acts upon is very 
 different from the religion of the heathen ? Of course I 
 understand well, that it might know, and that it will 
 say, a great many things foreign and contrary to 
 heathenism. I am well aware that the theology of this 
 age is very different from what it was two thousand 
 years ago. I know men profess a great deal, and boast 
 that they are Christians, and speak of Christianity as 
 being a religion of the heart; but, when we put aside 
 words and professions, and try to discover what their 
 religion is, we shall find, I fear, that the great mass of 
 men in fact get rid of all religion that is inward ; that 
 they lay no stress on acts of faith, hope, and charity, on 
 simplicity of intention, purity of motive, or mortification 
 of the thoughts; that they confine themselves to two 
 or three virtues, superficially practised ; that they know 
 not the words contrition, penance, and pardon ; and 
 that they think and argue that, after all, if a man does 
 his duty in the world, according to his vocation, he 
 cannot fail to go to heaven, however little he may do 
 besides, nay, however much, in other matters, he may 
 do that is undeniably unlawful. Thus a soldier's duty 
 is loyalty, obedience, and valour, and he may let 
 other matters take their chance; a trader's duty is 
 honesty ; an artisan's duty is industry and content- 
 ment ; of a gentleman are required veracity, cour- 
 
the Religion of Mankind. 25 
 
 teousness, and self-respect ; of a public man, high- 
 principled ambition ; of a woman, the domestic virtues ; 
 of a minister of religion, decorum, benevolence, and some 
 activity. Now, all these are instances of mere Pharisaical 
 excellence ; because there is no apprehension of Almighty 
 God, no insight into His claims on us, no sense of the 
 creature's shortcomings, no self-condemnation, confes- 
 sion, and deprecation, nothing of those deep and sacred 
 feelings which ever characterize the religion of a Chris- 
 tian, and more and more, not less and less, as he mounts 
 up from mere ordinary obedience to the perfection of a 
 saint. 
 
 And such, I say, is the religion of the natural man in 
 every age and place ; — often very beautiful on the sur- 
 face, but worthless in God's sight ; good, as far as it 
 goes, but worthless and hopeless, because it does not go 
 further, because it is based on self-sufficiency, and results 
 in self-satisfaction. I grant, it may be beautiful to look 
 at, as in the instance of the young ruler whom our Lord 
 looked at and loved, yet sent away sad ; it may have all 
 the delicacy, the amiableness,the tenderness, the religious 
 sentiment, the kindness, which is actually seen in many 
 a father of a family, many a mother, many a daughter, 
 in the length and breadth of these kingdoms, in a refined 
 and polished age like this ; but still it is rejected by the 
 heart-searching God, because all such persons walk by 
 their own light, not by the True Light of men, because 
 self is their supreme teacher, and because they pace 
 round and round in the small circle of their own thoughts 
 and of their own judgments, careless to know what God 
 says to them, and fearless of being condemned by Him, 
 
26 The Religion of the Pharisee, 
 
 if only they stand approved in their own sight. And 
 thus they incur the force of those terrible words, spoken 
 not to a Jewish Euler, nor to a heathen philosopher, 
 but to a fallen Christian community, to the Christian 
 Pharisees of Laodicea, — " Because thou sayest I am 
 rich, and made wealthy, and have need of nothing; 
 and knowest not that thou art wretched, and miserable, 
 and poor, and blind, and naked ; I counsel thee to buy 
 of Me gold fire-tried, that thou niayest be made rich, 
 and be clothed in white garments, that thy shame may 
 not appear, and anoint thine eyes with eye-salve, that 
 thou mayest see. Such as 1 love, I rebuke and 
 chastise; be zealous, therefore, and do penance." 
 
 Yes, my Brethren, it is the ignorance of our under- 
 standing, it is our spiritual blindness, it is our banish- 
 ment from the presence of Him who is the source and 
 the standard of all Truth, which is the cause of this 
 meagre, heartless religion of which men are commonly 
 so proud. Had we any proper insight into things as 
 they are, had we any real apprehension of God as He is, 
 of ourselves as we are, we should never dare to serve Him 
 without fear, or to rejoice unto Him without trembling. 
 And it is the removal of this veil which is spread 
 between our eyes and heaven, it is the pouring in upon 
 the soul of the illuminating grace of the New Covenant, 
 which makes the religion of the Christian so different 
 from that of the various human rites and philosophies, 
 which are spread over the earth. The Catholic saints 
 alone confess sin, because the Catholic saints alone see 
 God. That awful Creator Spirit, of whom the Epistle 
 of this day speaks so much. He it is who brings into 
 
the Religion of Mankind. 2 7 
 
 religion the true devotion, the true worship, and changes 
 the self-satisiied Pharisee into the broken-hearted, self- 
 abased Publican. It is the sight of God, revealed to the 
 eye of faith, that makes us hideous to ourselves, from the 
 contrast which we find ourselves to present to that great 
 God at whom we look. It is the vision of Him in His 
 infinite gloriousness, the All-holy, the All-beautiful, the 
 All-perfect, which makes us sink into the earth with self- 
 contempt and self-abhorrence. We are contented with 
 ourselves till we contemplate Him. Why is it, I say, 
 that the moral code of the world is so precise and well- 
 defined? Why is the worship of reason so calm? 
 Why was the religion of classic heathenism so joyous ? 
 Why is the framework of civilized society all so graceful 
 and so correct ? Why, on the other hand, is there so 
 much of emotion, so much of conflicting and alternating 
 feeling, so much that is high, so much that is abased, in 
 the devotion of Christianity ? It is because the Chris- 
 tian, and the Christian alone, has a revelation of God ; 
 it is because he has upon his mind, in his heart, on his 
 conscience, the idea of one who is Self-dependent, who 
 is from Everlasting, who is Incommunicable. He knows 
 that One alone is holy, and that His own creatures are 
 so frail in comparison of Him, that they would dwindle 
 and melt away in His presence, did He not uphold them 
 by His power. He knows that there is One whose great- 
 ness and whose blessedness are not affected, the centre 
 of whose stability is not moved, by the presence or the 
 absence of the whole creation with its innumerable 
 beings and portions ; whom nothing can touch, nothing 
 can increase or diminish ; who was as mighty before He 
 
28 The Religion of the Pharisee, 
 
 made the worlds as since, and as serene and blissful 
 since He made them as before. He knows that there is 
 just One Beiug, in whose hand lies his own happiness, 
 his own sanctity, his own life, and hope, and salvation. 
 He knows that there is One to whom he owes every 
 thing, and against whom he can have no plea or remedy. 
 All things are nothing before Him ; the highest beings 
 do but worship Him the more ; the holiest beings are 
 such, only because they have a greater portion of Him. 
 Ah ! what has he to pride in now, when he looks 
 back upon himself ? "Where has fled all that comeliness ' 
 which heretofore he thought embellished him ? What 
 is he but some vile reptile, which ought to shrink aside 
 out of the light of day ? This was the feeling of St. 
 Peter, when he first gained a glimpse of the greatness 
 of his Master, and cried out, almost beside himself, 
 " Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, Lord ! " It 
 was the feeling of holy Job, though he had served God 
 for so many years, and had been so perfected in virtue, 
 when the Almighty answered him from the whirlwind : 
 "With the hearing of the ear I have heard Thee," he 
 said ; " but now my eye seeth Thee ; therefore I reprove 
 myself, and do penance in dust and ashes." So was it 
 with Isaias, when he saw the vision of the Seraphim, 
 and said, " Woe is me ... I am a man of unclean 
 lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people that hath un- 
 clean lips, and I have seen with my eyes the King, 
 the Lord of Hosts." So was it with Daniel, when, 
 even at the sight of an Angel, sent from God, 
 " there remained no strength in him, but the appear- 
 ance of his countenance was changed in him, and 
 
the Religion of Mankind. 29 
 
 he fainted away, and retained no strength." This then, 
 my Brethren, is the reason why every son of man, what- 
 ever he his degree of holiness, whether a returning pro- 
 digal or a matured saint, says with the Publican, " 
 God, be merciful to me ; " it is because created natures, 
 high and low, are all on a level in the sight and in com- 
 parison of the Creator, and so all of them have one 
 speech, and one only, whether it be the thief on the 
 cross, Magdalen at the feast, or St. Paul before his 
 martyrdom : — not that one of them may not have, what 
 another has not, but that one and all have nothing but 
 what comes from Him, and are as nothing before Him, 
 who is all in all. 
 
 For us, my dear Brethren, whose duties lie in this 
 seat of learning and science, may we never be carried 
 away by any undue fondness for any human branch of 
 study, so as to be forgetful that our true wisdom, and 
 nobility, and strength, consist in the knowledge of 
 Almighty God. Nature and man are our studies, but 
 God is higher than all. It is easy to lose Him in His 
 works. It is easy to become over-attached to our own 
 pursuit, to substitute it for religion, and to make it the 
 fuel of pride. Our secular attainments will avail us 
 nothing, if they be not subordinate to religion. The 
 knowledge of the sun, moon, and stars, of the earth and 
 its three kingdoms, of the classics, or of history, will 
 never bring us to heaven. We may " thank God," that we 
 are not as the illiterate and the dull ; and those whom we 
 despise, if they do but know how to ask mercy of Him, 
 know what is very much more to the purpose of getting 
 
30 The Religion of the P'larisee, &c. 
 
 to heaveu, than all our letters and aU our science. Let 
 this be the spirit in which we end our session. Let us 
 thank Him for all that He has done for us, for what He 
 is doing by us ; but let nothing that we know or that 
 we can do, keep us from a personal, individual adoption 
 of the great Apostle's words, " Christ Jesus came into 
 this world to save sinners, of whom I am the chief." 
 
SERMON III. 
 
 WAITING FOE CHRIST. 
 
 (Preached in the University Church, Dublin.) 
 
 Ep. I. Paul, ad Thbssal., c. i. v. 9, 10. 
 
 Servire Deo vivo et vero, et expectare Pilium ejus de ooelis, quern 
 susoitavit exmortms, Jesum, qui eripuit nos ab ira ventuiA. 
 
 To serve the living and true God, and to wait for His Sou from 
 heaven, whom He raised from the dead, Jesus, who hath delivered us 
 from the wrath to come. 
 
 A S we approach the season of our Lord's advent we 
 -^ are warned Sunday after Sunday by our tender 
 Mother, Holy Church, of the duty of looking out for it. 
 Last week we were reminded of that dreadful day, when 
 the Angels shall reap the earth, and gather together the 
 noxious weeds out of the midst of the corn, and bind 
 them in bundles for the burning. Next week we shall 
 read of that " great tribulation," which will immedi- 
 ately precede the failing of the sun and moon, and the 
 appearance of the Sign of the Son of Man in heaven. 
 And to-day we are told to wait in expectation of that 
 awful Sign, serving the Living and True God the while, 
 as is His due, who has " converted us from idols," and 
 "delivered us from the wrath to come." 
 
 What St. Paul calls " waiting," or " expecting," or 
 (31) 
 
32 Waiting for Christ. 
 
 " looking out," that our Lord Himself enjoins upon us, 
 when He bids us " look up and lift up our heads, when 
 these things begin to come to pass" ; as if it were our 
 duty to be on the alert, starting up at the first notice, 
 and straining, as it were, our eyes with eager and devout 
 interest, that we may catch the earliest sight of His 
 presence, when He is manifested in the heavens — ^just as 
 a whole city or country from time to time is found to sit 
 up all night for the appearance of some meteor or strange 
 star, which Science has told them is to come. Else- 
 where, this frame of mind is called watching, — whether 
 by our Lord or by His holy Apostles after Him. "Watch 
 ye, therefore," He says Himself, " for you know not 
 when the Lord of the house cometh ; at even, or at mid- 
 night, or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning ; lest, 
 coming suddenly. He find you sleeping. And what I say 
 to you, I say to all, — Watch." And St. Paul : " It is now 
 the hour for us to rise from sleep ; for now our salvation 
 is nearer than when we believed. The night is past, the 
 day is at hand." And St. John : '' Behold, I come as a 
 thief. Blessed is he that watcheth and keepeth his 
 garments." 
 
 Passages such as these might be multiplied, and they 
 lead to reflection of various kinds. The substance of 
 religion consists in faith, hope, and charity; and the 
 qualification for eternal life is to be in a state of grace 
 and free from mortal sin; yet, when we come to the 
 question, how we are to preserve ourselves in a state oi' 
 grace, and gain the gift of perseverance in it, then a 
 number of observances have claims upon us, over and 
 above those duties in which the substance of religion 
 
Waiting for Christ. 33 
 
 lies, as being its safeguard and protection. And these 
 same observances, as being of a nature to catch the eye 
 of the world, become the badges of the Christian, as con- 
 trasted with other men ; whereas faith, hope, and charity 
 are lodged deep in the breast, and are not seen. Now, 
 one of these characteristics of a Christian spirit, spring- 
 ing from the three theological virtues, and then in turn 
 defending and strengthening them, is that habit of 
 waiting and watching, to which this season of the 
 year especially invites us ; and the same habit is also 
 a mark of the children of the Church, and a note of her 
 divine origin. 
 
 If, indeed, we listen to the world, we shall take another 
 course. We shall think the temper of mind I am speak- 
 ing of, to be superfluous or enthusiastic. We shall aim 
 at doing only what is necessary, and shall try to find out 
 how little will be enough. We shall look out, not for 
 Christ, but for the prizes of this life. We shall form 
 our judgment of things by what others say ; we shall 
 admire what they admire ; we shall instinctively reverence 
 and make much of the world's opinion. We shall fear 
 to give scandal -to the world. We shall have a secret 
 shrinking from the Church's teaching. We shall have 
 an uneasy, uncomfortable feeling when mention is made 
 of the maxims of holy men and ascetical writers, not 
 liking them, yet not daring to dissent. We shall be 
 scanty in supernatural acts, and have little or nothing 
 of the habits of virtue which are formed by them, and 
 are an armour of proof against temptation. We shall 
 suffer our souls to be overrun with venial sins, which 
 tend to mortal sin, if they have not already reached it. 
 
 3 
 
34 Waiting for Christ. 
 
 We shall feel very reluctant to face the thought of death. 
 All this shall we be, all this shall we do ; and in con- 
 sequence, it will be very difficult for a spectator to say 
 how we differ from respectable, well-conducted men who 
 are not Catholics. In that case certainly we shall ex- 
 hibit no pattern of a Christian spirit, nor shall we be in 
 our own persons any argument for the truth of Chris- 
 tianity ; but I am trusting and supposing that our view 
 of Christianity is higher than to be satisfied with con- 
 duct so unlike that to which our Saviour and His 
 Apostles call us. Speaking, then, to men who wish now 
 to take that side and that place which they will have 
 wished to have taken when their Lord actually comes to 
 them, I say, that we must not only have faith in Him, 
 but must wait on Him ; not only must hope, but must 
 watch for Him ; not only love Him, but must long for 
 Him ; not only obey Him, but must look out, look up 
 earnestly for our reward, which is Himself We must 
 not only make Him the Object of our faith, hope, and 
 charity, but we must make it our duty not to believe the 
 world, not to hope in the world, not to love the world. 
 We must resolve not to hang on the world's opinion, or 
 study its wishes. It is our mere wisdom to be thus 
 detached from all things below. " The time is short,'' 
 says the Apostle ; " it remaineth that they who weep be 
 as though they wept not, and they that rejoice as if they 
 rejoiced not, and they that buy as though they possessed 
 not, and they that use this world as if they used it not, 
 for the fashion of this world passeth away." 
 
 We read in the Gospel of our Lord on one occasion 
 '•' entering into a certain town," and being received and 
 
Waiting for Christ. 35 
 
 entertained " by a certain woman named Martha." 
 There were two sisters, Martha and Mary; "Martha 
 was busy about much serving ; " but Mary sat at our 
 Lord's feet, and heard His words. You recollect, my 
 Brethren, His comparison of these two holy sisters, one 
 with another. " Martha, Martha,'' He said, " thou art 
 careful, and art troubled about many things, but one 
 thing is necessary; Mary hath chosen the best part." 
 JTow Martha loved Him, and Mary loved Him; but 
 Mary waited on Him too, and therefore had the promise 
 of perseverance held up to her : " Mary hath chosen the 
 best part, which shall not be taken away from her." 
 
 They, then, watch and wait for their Lord, who are 
 tender and sensitive in their devotion towards Him; who 
 feed on the thought of Him, hang on His words ; live in 
 His smile, and thrive and grow under His hand. They 
 are eager for His approval, quick in catching His mean- 
 ing, jealous of His honour. They see Him in all things, 
 expect Him in all events, and amid all the cares, the 
 interests, and the pursuits of this life, still would feel an 
 awful joy, not a disappointment, did they hear that He 
 was on the point of coming. " By night I sought Him 
 whom my soul loveth," says the inspired canticle; "I 
 sought Him and found Him not. I will rise, and in the 
 streets and broad places will I seek Him." Must I be 
 more definite in my description of this affectionate 
 temper ? I ask, then, do you know the feeling of ex- 
 pecting a friend, expecting him to come, and he delays? 
 or do you know what it is to be in the company of those 
 with whom you are not at your ease, and to wish the 
 time to pass away, and the hour to strike when you are 
 
36 Waiting for Christ. 
 
 to be released from them? or do you know what it is to 
 be in anxiety lest something should happen, which may 
 happen, or may not ; or to be in suspense about some 
 important event, which makes your heart beat when 
 anything reminds you of it, and of which you think the 
 first thing in the morning ? or do you know what it is 
 to have friends in a distant country, to expect news from 
 them, and to wonder from day to day what they are 
 doing, and whether they are well ? or do you know, on 
 the other hand, what it is to be in a strange country 
 yourself, with no one to talk to, no one who can sympa- 
 thize with you, homesick, — downcast because no letter 
 comes to you, — and perplexed how you are ever to get 
 back again ? or do you know what it is so to love and 
 live upon a person who is present with you, that your 
 eyes follow his, that you read his soul, that you see its 
 changes in his countenance, that you anticipate his 
 wants, that you are sad in his sadness, troubled when 
 he is vexed, restless when you cannot understand him, 
 relieved, comforted, when you have cleared up the 
 mystery ? 
 
 This is a state of mind, when our Lord and Saviour is 
 its Object, not intelligible at first sight to the world, 
 not easy to nature, yet of so ordinary fulfilment in the 
 Church in aU ages, as to become the sign of the Presence 
 of Him who is unseen, and to be a sort of note of the 
 divinity of our religion. Tou know there are subtle in- 
 stincts in the inferior animals, by which they apprehend 
 the presence of things which man cannot discern, as 
 atmospheric changes, or convulsions of the earth, or their 
 natural enemies, whom yet they do not actually see; 
 
Waiting for Christ. 37 
 
 and we consider the uneasiness or the terror which they 
 exhibit, to be a proof that there is something near them 
 which is the object of the feeling, and is the evidence of 
 its own reality. Well, in some such way the continuous 
 watching and waiting for Christ, which Prophets, Apos- 
 tles, and the Church built upon them, have manifested, 
 age after age, is a demonstration that the Object of it is 
 not a dream or a fancy, but really exists ; in other words, 
 that He lives still, that He has ever lived, who was once 
 upon earth, who died, who disappeared, who said He 
 would come again. 
 
 Por centuries before He came on earth, prophet after 
 prophet was upon his high tower, looking out for Him, 
 through the thick night, and watching for the faintest 
 glimmer of the dawn. " I will stand upon my watch," 
 says one of them, " fix my feet upon the tower, and I 
 will watch to see what will be said to me. For, as yet, 
 the vision is far off, and it shall appear at the end, and 
 shall not lie; if it make any delay, wait for it, for it 
 shall surely come, and it shall not be slack." Another 
 prophet says, " God, my God, to Thee do I watch at 
 break of day. For Thee my soul hath thirsted in a 
 desert land, where there is no way nor water." And 
 another, " To Thee have I lifted up my eyes, who dwellest 
 in the heaven ; as the eyes of servants on the hands 
 of their masters, as the eyes of the handmaid towards 
 her mistress." And another, " that Thou wouldst 
 rend the heavens, and come down ! — the mountains 
 would melt away at Thy presence. They would melt, 
 as at the burning of fire ; the waters would burn with 
 fire. From the beginning of the world the eye hath not 
 
J 
 
 8 Waiting for Christ. 
 
 seen, God, besides Thee, what things Thou hast pre- 
 pared for them that wait on Thee." Now, if there were 
 any men who had a right to be attached to this world, 
 not detached from it, it was the ancient servants of God. 
 This earth was given them as their portion and reward 
 by the very word of the Most High. Our reward is 
 future ; the Jew was promised a temporal reward. Yet 
 they put aside God's good gift for His better promise; 
 they sacrificed possession to hope. They would be con- 
 tent with nothing short of the fruition of their Creator ; 
 they would watch for nothing else than the face of their 
 Deliverer. If earth must be broken up, if the heavens 
 must be rent, if the elements must melt, if the order of 
 nature must be undone, in order to His appearing, let 
 the ruin be, rather than they should be without Him. 
 Such was the intense longing of the Jewish worshipper, 
 looking out for that which was to come ; and I say that 
 their very eagerness in watching and patience in wait- 
 ing, were of a nature to startle the world, and to impress 
 upon it the claims of Christianity to be accepted as true ; 
 for their perseverance in looking out proves that there 
 was something to look out for. 
 
 Nor were the Apostles, after our Lord had come and 
 gone, behind the Prophets in the keenness of their 
 apprehension, and the eagerness of their longing for 
 Him. The miracle of patient waiting was continued. 
 When He went up on high from Mount Olivet, they 
 kept looking up into heaven ; and it needed Angels to 
 send them to their work, before they gave over. And 
 ever after, still it was Sursum corda with them. " Our 
 conversation is in heaven," says St. Paul ; that is, our 
 
Waiting for Christ. 39 
 
 citiaensliip, and our social duties, our active life, our 
 daily intercourse, is with the world unseen ; " from 
 whence, also, we look for the Saviour, the Lord Jesus 
 Christ." And again, " If you be risen with Christ, seek 
 the things that are above, where Christ is sitting at the 
 right hand of God. Mind the things that are above, 
 not the things that are upon the earth ; for ye are dead, 
 and your life is hid with Christ in God. When Christ 
 shall appear, who is your life, then you also shall appear 
 with Him in glory." 
 
 So vivid and continuous was this state of mind with 
 the Apostles and their successors, that to the world they 
 seemed expecting the immediate reappearance of their 
 Lord. " Behold, He cometh with the clouds,'' says 
 St. John, " and every eye shall see Him, and they also 
 that pierced Him. And all the tribes of the earth shall 
 bewail themselves because of Him. He that giveth 
 testimony of those things, saith, Surely, I come quickly. 
 Amen, come, Lord Jesus." They forgot the long lapse 
 of time, as holy men may do in trance. They passed 
 over in their minds the slow interval, as the eye may 
 be carried on beyond a vast expanse of flat country, 
 and see only the glorious clouds in the distant horizon. 
 Accordingly, St. Peter had to explain the matter. " In 
 the last day,'' he says, "shall come deceitful scoffers, 
 saying. Where is the promise of His coming ? But of 
 this one thing be not ignorant, my beloved, that one 
 day with the Lord is as a thousand years, and a thou- 
 sand years as one day. Seeing all these things are to 
 be dissolved, what manner of people ought you to be, in 
 daily conversation and godliness, /oo^mt/' /or andvjaiting 
 
40 Waiting for Christ. 
 
 unto the coining of the day of the Lord?" You see 
 the Great Apostle does not dissuade his brethren from 
 anticipating the day, while he confesses it will be long 
 in coining. He explains the mistake of the world, which 
 understood their eager expectation of our Lord's coming 
 to be a proof that they thought that He was to come in 
 their day ; but how intense and absorbing must have 
 been their thought of Him, that it was so mistaken ! 
 Nay, it is almost the description which St. Paul gives 
 of the elect of God. When he was in prison, on the eve 
 of his martyrdom, he sent to his beloved disciple, St. 
 Timothy, his last words ; and he says, " There is laid up 
 for me a crown of justice ; and not only to me, but " — 
 to whom ? how does he describe the heirs of glory ? he 
 proceeds, " not only to me, but to those also who love 
 His coming'.' 
 
 This energetic, direct apprehension of an unseen Lord 
 and Saviour has not been peculiar to Prophets and 
 Apostles ; it has been the habit of His Holy Church, 
 and of her children, down to this day. Age passes after 
 age, and she varies her discipline, and she adds to her 
 devotions, and all with the one purpose of fixing her 
 own and their gaze more fully upon the person of her 
 unseen Lord. She has adoringly surveyed Him, feature 
 by feature, and has paid a separate homage to Him in 
 every one. She has made us honour His Five Wounds, 
 His Precious Blood, and His Sacred Heart. She has 
 bid us meditate on His infancy, and the Acts of His 
 ministry ; His agony, His scourging, and His crucifixion. 
 She has sent us on pilgrimage to His birthplace and 
 His sepulchre, and the mount of His ascension. She 
 
Waiting for Christ. 41 
 
 has sought out, and placed before us, the memorials of 
 His life and death ; His crib and holy house, His holy 
 tunic, the handkerchief of St. Veronica, the cross and 
 its nails, His winding sheet, and the napkin for His 
 head. 
 
 And so, again, if the Church has exalted Mary or 
 Joseph, it has been with a view to the glory of His 
 sacred humanity. If Mary is proclaimed as immaculate, 
 it illustrates the doctrine of her Maternity. If she is 
 called the Mother of God, it is to remind Him that, 
 though He is out of sight. He, nevertheless, is our pos- 
 session, for He is of the race of man. If she is painted 
 with Him in her arms, it is because we will not suffer 
 the Object of our love to cease to be human, because He 
 is also divine. If she is the Mater Dolorosa, it is be- 
 cause she stands by His cross. If she is Maria Desolata, 
 it is because His dead body is on her lap. If, again, she 
 is the Coronata, the crown is set upon her head by His 
 dear hand. And, in like manner, if we are devout to 
 Joseph, it is as to His foster-father ; and if he is the 
 saint of happy death, it is because he dies in the hands 
 of Jesus and Mary. 
 
 And what the Church urges on us down to this day, 
 saints and holy men down to this day have exemplified. 
 Is it necessary to refer to the lives of the Holy Virgins, 
 who were and are His very spouses, wedded to Him by 
 a mystical marriage, and in many instances visited here 
 by the earnests of that ineffable celestial benediction 
 which is in heaven their everlasting portion ? The 
 martyrs, the confessors of the Church, bishops, evan- 
 gelists, doctors, preachers, monks, hermits, ascetical 
 
42 Waiting for Christ. 
 
 teachers, — have they not, one and all, as their histories 
 show, lived on the very name of Jesus, as food, as medi- 
 cine, as fragrance, as light, as life from the dead? — 
 as one of them says, "in aure dulce canticum, in ore 
 mel mirificum, in corde nectar ccelicum." 
 
 Nor is it necessary to be a saint thus to feel: this 
 intimate, immediate dependence on Emmanuel, God 
 with us, has been in all ages the characteristic, almost 
 the definition, of a Christian. It is the ordinary feeling 
 of Catholic populations ; it is the elementary feeling 
 of every one who has but a common hope of heaven. 
 I recollect years ago, hearing an acquaintance, not a 
 Catholic, speak of a work of devotion, written as 
 Catholics usually write, with wonder and perplexity, 
 because (he said) the author wrote as if he had " a sort 
 of personal attachment to our Lord " ; " it was as if he 
 had seen Him, known Him, lived with Him., instead of 
 merely professing and believing the great doctrine of the 
 Atonement." It is this same phenomenon which strikes 
 those who are not Catholics, when they enter our 
 churches. They themselves are accustomed to do reli- 
 gious acts simply as a duty ; they are serious at prayer 
 time, and behave with decency, because it is a duty. 
 But you know, my Brethren, mere duty, a sense of pro- 
 priety, and good behaviour, these are not the ruling 
 principles present in the minds of our worshippers. 
 Wherefore, on the contrary, those spontaneous postures 
 of devotion ? why those unstudied gestures ? why those 
 abstracted countenances? why that heedlessness of the 
 presence of others? why that absence of the shame- 
 facedness which is so sovereign among professors of 
 
Waiting for Christ. 43 
 
 other creeds ? The spectator sees the effect ; he cannot 
 understand the cause of it. Why is this simple earnest- 
 ness of worship ? we have no difficulty in answering. It 
 is because the Incarnate Saviour is present in the 
 tabernacle ; and then, when suddenly the hitherto silent 
 church is, as it were, illuminated with the full piercing 
 burst of voices from the whole congregation, it is because 
 He now has gone up upon His throne over the altar, 
 there to be adored. It is the visible Sign of the Son of 
 Man, which thrills through the congregation, and makes 
 them overflow with jubilation. 
 
 Here I am led to refer to a passage in the history of 
 the last years of the wonderful man who swayed the 
 destinies of Europe in the beginning of this century. 
 It has before now attracted the attention of philo- 
 sophers and preachers, as bearing on his sentiments 
 towards Christianity, and containing an argument in 
 its behalf cognate to that on which I have been in- 
 sisting. It was an argument not unnatural in one 
 who had that special passion for human glory, which 
 has been the incentive of so many heroic careers and 
 so many mighty revolutions in the history of the world. 
 In the solitude of his imprisonment, and in the view 
 of death, he is said to have expressed himself to the 
 following effect : — 
 
 I have been accustomed to put before me the examples 
 of Alexander and Csesar, with the hope of rivalling their 
 exploits, and living in the minds of men for ever. Yet, 
 after all, in what sense does Csesar, in what sense does 
 Alexander live ? Who knows or cares anything about 
 them ? At best, nothing but their names is known ; 
 
44 Waiting for Christ. 
 
 for who among the multitude of men, who hear or who 
 utter their names, really knows anything ahout their 
 lives or their deeds, or attaches to those names any 
 definite idea? Nay, eve.i their names do hut flit 
 up and down the world like ghosts, mentioned only on 
 particular occasions, or from accidental associations. 
 Their chief home is the school-room; they have a 
 foremost place in boys' grammars and exercise-books ; 
 they are splendid examples for themes ; they form 
 writing-copies. So low is heroic Alexander faUen, so 
 low is imperial Csesar ; " ut pueris placeas et declam- 
 atio fias." 
 
 But, on the contrary (he is reported 1:o have continued), 
 there is just one Name in the whole world that lives ; it 
 is the Name of One who passed His years in obscurity, 
 and who died a malefactor's death. Eighteen hundred 
 years have gone since that time, but still It has Its hold 
 upon the human mind. It has possessed the world, and 
 It maintains possession. Amid the most various nations, 
 under the most diversified circumstances, in the most 
 cultivated, in the rudest races and intellects, in all 
 classes of society, the Owner of that great Name reigns. 
 High and low, rich and poor acknowledge Him. Mil- 
 lions of souls are conversing with Him, are venturing at 
 His word, are looking for His presence. Palaces, sump- 
 tuous, innumerable, are raised to His honour; His image, 
 in its deepest humiliation, is triumphantly displayed in 
 the proud city, in the open country ; at the corners of 
 streets, on the tops of mountains. It sanctifies the ances- 
 tral hall, the closet, and the bedchamber; it is the subject 
 for the exercise of the highest genius in the imitative 
 
Waiting for Christ. 45 
 
 arts. It is worn next the heart in life ; it is held before 
 the failing eyes in death. Here, then, is One who is not 
 a mere name ; He is no empty fiction ; He is a sub- 
 stance ; He is dead and gone, but still He lives, — as the 
 living, energetic thought of successive generations, and 
 as the awful motive power of a thousand great events. 
 He has done without effort, what others with lifelong, 
 heroic struggles have not done. Can He be less than 
 Divine ? Who is He but the Creator Himself, who is 
 sovereign over His own works ; towards whom our eyes 
 and hearts turn instinctively, because He is our Father 
 and our God ? 
 
 My Brethren, I have assumed that we are what we 
 ought to be ; but if there be any condition or description 
 of men within the Church who are in danger of failing 
 in the duty on which I have been insisting, it is ourselves. 
 If there be any who are not waiting on their Lord and 
 Saviour, not keeping watch for Him, not longing for 
 Him, not holding converse with Him, it is they who, 
 like ourselves, are in the possession, or in the search, of 
 temporal goods. Those saintly souls, whose merits and 
 satisfactions almost make them sure of heaven, they, 
 by the very nature of their state, are feeding on Christ. 
 Those holy communities of men and women, whose life 
 is a mortification, they, by their very profession of per- 
 fection, are waiting and watching for Him. The poor, 
 those multitudes who pass their days in constrained 
 suffering, they, by the stern persuasion of that suffering, 
 are looking out for Him. But we, my Brethren, who 
 are in easy circumstances, or in a whirl of business, or in 
 
46 Waiting for Christ. 
 
 a labyrinth of cares, or in a war of passions, or in the race 
 of wealth, or honour, or station, or in the pursuits of 
 science or of literature, alas ! we are the very men who 
 are likely to have no regard, no hunger or thirst, 
 no relish for the true bread of heaven and the living 
 water. " The Spirit and the Bride say. Come ; and he 
 that heareth, let him say. Come. And he that thirsteth, 
 let him come : and he that will, let him take of the 
 water of life, freely." God in His mercy rouse our 
 sluggish spirits, and inflame our earthly hearts, that we 
 may cease to be an exception in His great family, which 
 is ever adoring, praising, and loving Him. 
 
SERMON IV.^ 
 
 THE SECEBT POWEE OF DIVINE GEACE. 
 
 (Preached in the University Church, Dublin.) 
 
 EvANG. SEC. Luc, c. xvii. V. 20, 21. 
 
 Non venit regnimi Dei cum observatione : neque dioeut, Eooehic 
 aut ecce illio. Ecoe enim regnum Dei intra vos est. 
 
 The kingdom of God cometh not with observation ; neither shall 
 they say, Behold here, or behold there. For lo, the kingdom of God 
 is within you. 
 
 WHAT our Lord announces in these words, came to 
 pass : and we commemorate it to this day, espe- 
 cially at this season of the year. The kingdom of God 
 was inaugurated by the Apostles, and spread rapidly. It 
 filled the world : it took possession of the high places of 
 the earth ; but it came and progressed without "observa- 
 tion." All other kingdoms that ever were, have sounded 
 a trumpet before them, and have challenged attention. 
 They have come out " with a sword, and with a spear, 
 and with a shield." They have been the ravenous beast 
 from the north, the swift eagle, or the swarming locusts. 
 In the words of the Prophet, " Before them a devouring 
 
 1 The first pages of this Sermon are borrowed from the author's 
 " Sermons on Subjects of the Day," No. xxi, 
 
 (47) 
 
48 Secret Power of Divine Grace. 
 
 fire, and behind them a burning flame. The appearance 
 of them has been as the appearance of horses, and they 
 ran like horsemen. . . And the noise of their wings 
 was as the noise of chariots and many horses running to 
 battle." Such has ever been the coming of earthly 
 power ; and a Day will be, when that also will have a 
 fulfilment and find its antitype in the history of heaven ; 
 for, when our Lord comes again, He too will come " with 
 the word of command, and with the voice rff an Arch- 
 angel, and with the trumpet of God." This will be with 
 observation ; so will He end ; so did He not begin His 
 Church upon earth; for it had been foretold of Him, 
 " He shall not contend nor cry out ; neither shall any 
 man hear His voice in the streets. The bruised reed He 
 shall not break, and smoking flax he shall not extin- 
 guish, till He send forth judgment unto victory." 
 
 And that noiseless, unostentatious conquest of the 
 earth, made by the Holy Apostles of Christ, became, as 
 regards the Jews, still more secret, from the circumstance 
 that they believed it would be with outward show, though 
 He assured them of the contrary. The Pharisees looked 
 out for some sign from heaven. They would not believe 
 that His kingdom could come, unless they saw it come ; 
 they looked out for a prince with troops in battle array; 
 and since He came with twelve poor men and no visible 
 pomp. He was to them as a " thief in the night," because 
 of their incredulity, and He was come and in possession 
 before they would allow that He was coming. 
 
 But the coming of His kingdom would anyhow have 
 been secret, even though they had not been resolved that 
 it should not be so. And He tells us in the text the 
 
Secret Power of Divine Grace. 49 
 
 reason why. " Neither shall they say, Behold here, or 
 behold there. For lo, the kingdom of God is within you." 
 You see, He tells us why He came so covertly. It could 
 not be otherwise, because it was a conquest, not of the 
 body, but of the heart. It was not an assault from without, 
 but it was an inward influence not subduing the outward 
 man through the senses, but, in the words of the Apostle, 
 " bringing into captivity every understanding unto the 
 obedience of Christ." Kingdoms of this world spread in 
 space and time ; they begin from a point, and they travel 
 onwards, and range round. Their course may be traced : 
 first they secure this territory, then they compass that. 
 They make their ground good, as they go, and consolidate 
 their power. Of course, the kingdom of Christ also, as 
 being in this world, has an outward shape, and fortunes, 
 and a history, like institutions of this world, though it be 
 not o/this world. It began from Jerusalem, and went for- 
 ward to Scythia and to Africa, to India and to Britain; 
 and it has ranks and officers and laws ; it observes a strict 
 discipline, and exacts an implicit obedience : but still this 
 is not the full account, or the true process, of its rise and 
 establishment. " The weapons of its warfare were not 
 carnal ; " it came by an inward and intimate visitation ; 
 by outward instruments, indeed, but with effects far 
 higher than those instruments ; with preaching and 
 argument and discussion, but really by God's own 
 agency. He who is Omnipotent and Omniscient, touched 
 many hearts at once and in many places. They forth- 
 with, one and all, spoke one language, not learning it one 
 from the other so much as taught by Himself the 
 
 canticle of the Lamb : or, if by men's teaching too, yet 
 
 4 
 
50 Secret Power of Divine Grace. 
 
 catching and mastering it spontaneously, almost before 
 the words were spoken. For time and space, cause and 
 effect, are the servants of His will. 
 
 And so, voices broke out all at once into His praise, 
 in the East and in the West, in the North and in the 
 South : and the perplexed world searched about in vain, 
 whence came that concord of sweet and holy sounds. 
 Upon the first word of the preacher, upon a hint, upon a 
 mere whisper in the air, a deep response came from many 
 lips, — a deep, full, and ready harmony of many voices 
 one and all proclaiming the Saviour of men. For the 
 Spirit of the Lord had descended and filled the earth ; 
 and there were thrilling hearts, and tremulous pulses, and 
 eager eyes, in every place. It was a time of visitation when 
 the weak were to become strong, and the last become first. 
 It was the triumph of faith, which delays not, but accepts 
 generously and promptly, — according to the Scripture, 
 " The word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth and in thy 
 heart ; this is the word of faith which we preach." And 
 thus, as Mneveh and Babylon were surprised of old by 
 the army of the enemy, so was the world thus surprised by 
 Him, who, in prophetic language, rode upon a white horse 
 and was called " Faithful and True " ; and, as it befell 
 Egypt at the first Pasch, that there was not a house 
 where there lay not one dead, so now, on this more 
 gracious Passage there was not a house where there was 
 not one alive. For the Highest had come down among 
 them, and was everywhere; the Lord of Angels was 
 walking the earth ; He was scattering His gifts freely, 
 and multiplying His Image : and, in this sense, as well 
 as in that in which He spoke the words, "a man's 
 
Secret Power of Divine Grace. 5 1 
 
 enemies were they of his own household." The despised, 
 the hated influence insinuated itself everywhere ; the 
 leaven spread, and none could stay it ; and in the most 
 unlikely places, in the family of the haughty and fierce 
 soldier, amid the superstitions of idolatry and the degra- 
 dations of slavery, the noblest, and the ablest, and the 
 fairest, as well as the brutish and the ignorant, one and 
 all, by a secret power, became the prey of the Church 
 and the bondsmen of Christ. And thus a great and 
 wide-spreading kingdom flushed into existence all at 
 once, like spring after winter, from within. 
 
 Such were the immediate concomitants of the first 
 coming of Him, who was " the most abject of men,'' and 
 " acquainted with infirmity," and whose " look was as it 
 were hidden and despised," and " as one struck by God 
 and afflicted." As the prophecy goes on to say, " He 
 divided the spoil of the strong " ; and if you ask me, my 
 Brethren, how it was that He did this marvel ? what was 
 the way and the instrument of His grace in His dealings 
 with the spirits which He had created ? — I answer in 
 brief, by referring back to the past history of our race. 
 It is certain that man is not sufficient for his own happi- 
 ness, that he is not himself, is not at home with himself, 
 without the presence within him of the grace of Him who, 
 knowing it, has offered that grace to all freely. When 
 he was created, then his Maker breathed into him the 
 supernatural life of the Holy Spirit, which is his true 
 happiness ; when he fell, he forfeited the divine gift, and 
 with it his happiness also. Ever since he has been un- 
 happy ; ever since he has felt a void in his breast, and 
 does not know how to satisfy it. He scarcely appre- 
 
5 2 Secret Power of Divine Grace. 
 
 hends his own need ; only the unstudied, involuntary 
 movement of his mind and heart show that he feels it, 
 for he is either languid, dull, or apathetic under this 
 hunger, or he is feverish and restless, seeking first in 
 one thing, then in another, that blessing which he has 
 lost. For a time, perhaps even till old age comes, he 
 continues to form to himself some idol on which he may 
 feed, and sustain some sort of existence, just as the 
 weeds of the field or the innutritious earth may allay the 
 pangs of famine. One man determines to rise in life, 
 another is wrapt up in his family. Numbers get through 
 the day and the year with the alternation of routine 
 business and holyday recreation. Eich men are lavish 
 in pomp and show; poor men give themselves to in- 
 temperance ; the young give themselves up to sensual 
 pleasures. They cannot live without an object of life, 
 though it be an object unworthy of an immortal 
 spirit. 
 
 Is it wonderful then, that, when the True Life, the 
 very supply of the need of mankind, was again offered 
 them in its fulness, that it should have carried power 
 with it to persuade them to accept it ? Is it wonderful 
 that its announcement should have startled them, 
 that its offer should have drawn them, that a first 
 trial and a first fruit of the gift should have made 
 them desirous of further and larger measures of it ? 
 This, then, is the secret of the triumph of the unearthly 
 kingdom of God among the self-willed, self-wise children 
 of Adam. Soldiers of this world receive their bounty- 
 money on enlisting. They take it, and become the ser- 
 vants of an earthly prince ; shall not they, much more. 
 
Secret Power of Divine Grace. 53 
 
 be faithful, yes, even unto the death, who have received 
 the earnest of the true riches, who have been fed with 
 " the hidden manna," who have, in the Apostle's words, 
 " been once illuminated, and tasted the good word of 
 God, and the powers of the world to come " ? And thus 
 it is that the kingdom of God spreads externally over 
 the earth, because it has an internal hold upon us, 
 because, in the words of the text, " it is within us," in 
 the hearts of its individual members. Bystanders mar- 
 vel ; strangers try to analyze what it is that does the 
 work ; they imagine all manner of human reasons and 
 natural causes to account for it, because they cannot see, 
 and do not feel, and will not believe, what is in truth a 
 supernatural influence ; and they impute to some caprice 
 or waywardness of mind, or to the force of novelty, or to 
 some mysterious, insidious persuasiveness, or to some 
 foreign enemy, or to some dark and subtle plotting, and 
 they view with alarm, and they fain would baffle, what 
 is nothing else but the keen, vivid, constraining glance 
 of Christ's countenance. " The Lord, turning, looked 
 on Peter:" and "as the lightning cometh out of the east, 
 and appeareth even unto the west," such is the piercing, 
 soul-subduing look of the Son of man. It is come, it is 
 gone, it has done its work, its abiding work, and the 
 world is at fault to account for it. It sees the result; it 
 has not perceived, it has not eyes to see, the Divine 
 Hand. 
 
 Nay, not the world only, but the Church herself, is 
 oftentimes surprised, I may say, even perplexed, at the 
 operation of that grace which is without observation, and 
 at the miraculous multiplication of her children. The 
 
5 4 Secret Power of Divine Grace. 
 
 net of Peter seems about to break, from the multitude of 
 fishes, and is hard to draw to shore. So was it singu- 
 larly in the first age, in the issues of that glorious history 
 of primitive conversion on which I have been dwelling. 
 " The Lord added daily to their society,'' says the 
 text, "such as should be saved." This process went on 
 for three centuries ; then came a most bitter and horrible 
 persecution ; at length it ceased ; and then with awful 
 abruptness, rushing upon the wings of the wind, the 
 overwhelming news was heard, that the Lord of the 
 earth, the Koman Emperor, had become a Christian, and 
 all his multitude of nations with him. What an an- 
 nouncement! no human hand did it — no human instru- 
 ment of it, preacher or apologist, can be pointed out. It 
 was not "Behold here, or behold there" — it was the 
 secret power of God acting directly without observation 
 upon the hearts of men. All of a sudden, when least 
 expected, in the deep night of persecution, " as a thief," 
 He came. All of a sudden, the Eulers of the Church 
 had upon their hands the gigantic task, to which she 
 alone was equal, that of bringing into shape and consis- 
 tency a whole world. The event, and the almost fearful 
 grandeur of it, had been visibly described by prophecy 
 a thousand years before it. " Lift up thy eyes round 
 about," was the word of promise to the Church ; " lift 
 up thy eyes, and see. AU these are gathered together, 
 they are come to thee. Thou shalt be clothed with all 
 these as with an ornament, and as a bride thou shalt put 
 them about thee. The children of thy barrenness shall 
 still say in thy ears, The place is too strait for me, 
 make me room to dwell in. And thou shalt say in thy 
 
Secret Power of Divine Grace. 5 5 
 
 heart, Who hath begotten these? I was barren and 
 brought not forth, led away, and captive, and who hath 
 brought up these? I was destitute and alone; and these, 
 where were they ? Thus saith the Lord God, Behold I 
 will lift up My hand to the Gentiles, and will set up 
 My standard to the people. And they shall bring thy 
 sons in their arms, and carry thy daughters upon their 
 shoulders. And kings shall be thy nursing fathers, and 
 queens thy nurses. They shall worship thee with their 
 face towards the earth, and they shall lick up the dust of 
 thy feet." 
 
 My Brethren, you know our Lord spoke, when He 
 went away, of coming back, not only suddenly, but soon. 
 Well, in the sense in which I have been speaking. He 
 is ever coming. Again and again He comes to His 
 Church ; He ever comes as a strong warrior, bringing in 
 with Him fresh and fresh captives of His arrows and His 
 spear. That same marvel of an inward work in the souls 
 of men on a large scale, which He wrought at the first. 
 He is ever reiterating and renewing in the history of the 
 Church down to this day. Multitudes are ever pouring 
 into her, as the fish into Peter's net, beyond her own 
 thought and her own act, by the immediate and secret 
 operation of His grace. This is emphatically the case 
 now. It is seen on a large scale all over Christendom. 
 Fifty years ago religion seemed almost extinguished. 
 To the eyes of man, it was simply declining and wasting 
 away all through the last century. There were indeed 
 in that century saints and doctors and zealous preachers 
 and faithful populations, as heretofore, but these the 
 world could not see. The political power and social 
 
56 Secret Power of Divine Grace. 
 
 influence of religion was ever less and less ; and then at 
 last a European revolution came, and in man's judgment 
 all was lost. But in its deepest misfortunes began its 
 most wonderful rise ; a reaction set in, and steadily has 
 it progressed, with every sign of progress still. And in 
 its progress the same phenomenon, I say, reveals itself 
 which we read of in the history of former times; for 
 while the Holy Church has been praying and labouring 
 on her own field, converts, beyond that field, whom she 
 was not contemplating, have been added to her from all 
 classes, as at the beginning. Germany and England, the 
 special seats of her enemies, are the very scenes of this 
 spontaneous accession. To the surprise of all that know 
 them, often to their own surprise, those who fear the 
 Church, or disown her doctrines, find themselves drawing 
 near to her by some incomprehensible influence year 
 after year, and at length give themselves up to her, and 
 proclaim her sovereignty. Those who never spoke to a 
 Catholic Priest, those who have never entered a Catholic 
 Church, those even who have learned their religion from 
 the Protestant Bible, have, in matter of fact, by the 
 overruling Providence of God, been brought through 
 that very reading to recognize the Mother of Saints. 
 Her very name, her simple claim, constrains men to 
 think of her, to enquire about her, to wish her to be 
 what she says she is, to submit to her; not on any 
 assignable reason, save the needs of human nature and 
 the virtue of that grace, which works secretly, rouud 
 about the Church, without observation. 
 
 My Brethren, there are those who imagine that, 
 when we use^reat words of the Church, invest her.'svith 
 
Secret Power of Divine Grace. 57 
 
 heavenly privileges, and apply to her the evangelical 
 promises, we speak merely of some external and political 
 structure. They think we mean to spend our devotion 
 upon a human cause, and that we toil for an object of 
 Imman ambition. They think that we should acknow- 
 ledge, if cross-examined, that our ultimate purpose was 
 the success of persons and parties, to whom we were 
 bound in honour, or by interest, or by gratitude ; and 
 that, if we looked to objects above the world or beyond 
 the grave, we did so with very secondary aims and faint 
 perceptions. They fancy, as the largest concession of 
 their liberality, that we are working from the desire, 
 generous, but still human, of the praise of earthly su- 
 periors, and that, after all, in some way or other, we are 
 living on the breath, and basking in the smile, of man. 
 But the text, and the train of thought which I have 
 been pursuing, remind us of the true view of the matter, 
 were we ever likely to forget it. The Church is a col- 
 lection of souls, brought together in one by God's secret 
 grace, though that grace comes to them through visible 
 instruments, and unites them to a visible hierarchy. 
 What is seen, is not the whole of the Church, but the 
 visible part of it. When we say that Christ loves His 
 Church, we mean that He loves, nothing of earthly 
 nature, but the fruit of His own grace ; — the varied fruits 
 of His grace in innumerable hearts, viewed as brought 
 together in unity of faith and love and obedience, of 
 sacraments, and doctrine, and order, and worship. The 
 object which He contemplates, which He loves in the 
 Church, is not human nature simply, but human nature 
 illuiriiriated and renovated by His own supernaturj^J 
 
58 Secret Power of Divine Grace. 
 
 power. If He has called the visible Church His spouse, 
 it is because she is the special seat of this divine gift. 
 If He loved Peter, it was not simply because he was His 
 Apostle, but because Peter had that intense, unearthly 
 love of Him, and that faith which flesh and blood could 
 not exercise, which were the fitting endowments of an 
 Apostle. If He loved John, it was not as merely one of 
 the Twelve, but because he again was adorned with the 
 special gift of supernatural chastity. If He loved Mary, 
 Martha, and Lazarus, it was not only as His friends and 
 guests, but for their burning charity, and their pure 
 contrition, and their self-sacrificing devotion. So it is 
 now : what He creates, what He contemplates, what He 
 loves, what He rewards, is (in St. Peter's words) " the 
 hidden man of the heart," of which the visible Church is 
 the expression, the protection, the instrumental cause, 
 and the outward perfection. 
 
 And therefore, applying this great truth to our own 
 circumstances, let us ever bear in mind, my Brethren, 
 that we in this place are only then really strong, when 
 we are more than we seem to be. It is not our attain- 
 ments or our talents, it is not philosophy or science, 
 letters or arts, which will make us dear to God. It is 
 not secular favour, or civil position, which can make us 
 worthy the attention and the interest of the true Chris- 
 tian. A great University is a great power, and can do 
 great things ; but, unless it be something more than 
 human, it is but foolishness and vanity in the sight and 
 in comparison of the little ones of Christ. It is really 
 dead, though it seems to live, unless it be grafted upon 
 the True Vine, and is partaker of the secret supernatural 
 
Secret Power of Divine Grace. 59 
 
 life which circulates through the undecaying branches. 
 " Unless the Lord build the House, they labour in vain 
 that build it." Idle is our labour, worthless is our toil, 
 ashes is our fruit, corruption is our reward, unless we 
 begin the foundation of this great undertaking in faith 
 and prayer, and sanctify it by purity of life. 
 
SEEMON V.i 
 
 DISPOSITIONS FOE FAITH. 
 (Preached in the University Church, Dublin.) 
 
 EvANG. SEC. Luc, li. iii. v. 4-6. 
 
 Parate viam Domini : rectas f acite semitas ejus : omnis vallis imple - 
 bitur, et omnis mons et collis humiliabitm: : et enmt prava in directa, 
 et aspera in vias planas : et videbit omnis caro salutare Dei. 
 
 Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight His path. Every 
 valley shall be filled, and every momitain and hill shall be brought 
 low ; and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways 
 plain : and all flesh shall see the salvation of God. 
 
 THE Holy Baptist was sent before our Lord to prepare 
 His way ; that is, to be His instrument in rousing, 
 warning, humbling, and inflaming the hearts of men, so 
 that, when He came, they might believe in Him. He 
 Himself is the Author and Finisher of that Faith, of 
 which He is also the Object; but, ordinarily. He does 
 not implant it in us suddenly, but He first creates certain 
 dispositions, and these He carries on to faith as their 
 reward. When then He was about to appear on earth 
 among His chosen people, and to claim for Himself their 
 faith, He made use of St. John first to create in them 
 these necessary dispositions ; and therefore it is that, at 
 
 ^ This sermon is No. 2 of the author's " Parochial Sermons," yol. 
 ii.j re-written. 
 
 (60) 
 
Dispositions for Faith. 6 1 
 
 this season, when we are about to celebrate His birth, we 
 commemorate again and again the great Saint who was 
 His forerunner, as in to-day's Gospel, lest we should for- 
 get, that, without a diie preparation of heart, we cannot 
 hope to obtain and keep the all-important gift of faith. 
 
 It is observable too, that, on the same day, just the 
 fifth day before Christmas, we are accustomed to celebrate 
 the feast of St. Thomas, who for a while incurred the sin 
 of unbelief ; as if our tender Mother, Holy Church, as an 
 additional safeguard, would make an example of the great 
 Apostle for our sakes, and hold him up to us, who now 
 reigns with Christ in heaven, in the image of his earthly 
 weakness, in order to force us to consider that certain 
 dispositions of mind are necessary for faith, and how the 
 want of them shows itself, and wherein lies its fault. 
 
 I think, then, that I shall be taking a subject suitable 
 both to the season and the day, if I attempt to set 
 before you, my Brethren, as far as time permits, how it 
 is, humanly speaking, that a man comes to believe the 
 revealed word of God, and why one man believes and 
 another does not. And, in describing the state of mind 
 and of thought which leads to faith, I shall not of course 
 be forgetting that faith, as I have already said, is a super- 
 natural work, and the fruit of divine grace ; I only shall 
 be calling your attention to what must be your own part 
 in the process. 
 
 As to the account, given us in Scripture, of St. Thomas's 
 incredulity, its prominent points are these : — llrst, that 
 when told by his brethren that our Lord was risen, he 
 said, " Except I shall see in His hands the print of the 
 nails, and put my finger into the place of the nails, and 
 
62 Dispositions for Faith. 
 
 put my hand into His side, I will not believe." Now, 
 here the question is. What was wrong in this ? for the 
 other Apostles A<w? seen and touched our Lord, and appear 
 not to have believed until they did. Secondly, that our 
 Lord said to him on a subsequent occasion, after allow- 
 ing to him the evidence he desired, " Because thou hast 
 seen Me, Thomas, thou hast believed ; blessed are they 
 that have not seen, and have believed." Xow why was it 
 blessed to believe in Him without seeing, rather than to 
 have that sight of Him which the other Apostles had 
 when they believed ? 
 
 The subject is a very large one : I shall attempt to 
 follow out only one out of various trains of thought to 
 which it gives rise. 
 
 Now, first, I think it will be granted by any one who 
 knows Scripture well, that the doctrine laid down by our 
 Lord on the occasion in question. He had expressed on 
 other occasions and in other ways. For instance, He said, 
 " Unless you see signs and wonders, you believe not." 
 Elsewhere we read, "He wrought not many miracles 
 then, because of their unbelief." In these passages He 
 implies that hardness of belief is a fault. Elsewhere He 
 praises easiness of belief. For instance, " O woman, 
 great is thy faith." " Amen, I say to you, I have not 
 found so great faith in Israel." "Be of good heart, 
 daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole." " Thy faith 
 hath made thee safe, go in peace." " If thou canst 
 believe, all things are possible to him that believeth." 
 I might quote many other passages to the same effect, 
 from the Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles, and St. Paul's 
 Epistles. 
 
Dispositions for Faith. 6 
 
 o 
 
 Now these passages cannot mean that faith is against 
 reason, or that reason does not ordinarily precede faith, 
 for this is a doctrine quite contrary to Eevelation, but I 
 think I shall not be wrong in understanding them thus, — 
 that with good dispositions faith is easy ; and that with- 
 out good dispositions, faith is not easy ; and that those 
 who were praised for their faith, were such as had already 
 the good dispositions, and that those who were blamed 
 for their unbelief, were such as were wanting in this 
 respect, and would have believed, or believed sooner, had 
 they possessed the necessary dispositions for believing, or 
 a greater share of them. This is the point I am going to 
 insist on : I am led to it by the Baptist's especial of&ce of 
 " preparing the way of the Lord " ; for by that prepara- 
 tion is meant the creating in the hearts of his hearers the 
 dispositions necessary for faith. And I consider that the 
 same truth is implied in the glorious hymn of the Angels 
 upon Christmas night ; for to whom was the Prince of 
 Peace to come ? They sang, " Glory to God in the 
 highest, and on earth 'peace to me,n of good, will." By 
 " good will" is meant, " good disposition" ; the peace of 
 the Gospel, the full gifts of the knowledge, and of the 
 power, and of the consolation of Christian Piedemption, 
 were to be the reward of men of good dispositions. 
 They were the men to whom the Infant Saviour came ; 
 they were those in whom His grace would find its 
 fruit and recompense ; they were those, who, by con- 
 gruous merit, would be led on, as the Evangelist says, 
 to "believe in His Name," and "to be born, not of 
 blood, nor of the will of the ilesh, nor of the will of 
 man, but of God." 
 
64 Dispositions for Faith. 
 
 Now in order to show what this good will, or good 
 disposition is, and how it bears upon faith, I observe as 
 follows : What is the main guide of the soul, given to 
 the whole race of Adam, outside the true fold of Christ 
 as well as within it, given from the first dawn of reason, 
 given to it in spite of that grievous penalty of igno- 
 rance, which is one of the chief miseries of our fallen 
 state ? It is the light of conscience, " the true Light," 
 as the same Evangelist says, in the same passage, 
 " which enlighteneth every man that cometh into this 
 world." Whether a man be bom in pagan darkness, or 
 in some corruption of revealed religion, — whether he has 
 heard the name of the Saviour of the world or not, — 
 whether he be the slave of some superstition, or is in 
 possession of some portions of Scripture, and treats the 
 inspired word as a sort of philosophical book, which he 
 interprets for himself, and comes to certain conclusions 
 about its teaching, — in any case, he has within his breast 
 a certain commanding dictate, not a mere sentiment, 
 not a mere opinion, or impression, or view of things, but 
 a law, an authoritative voice, bidding him do certain 
 things and avoid others. I do not say that its particular 
 injunctions are always clear, or that they are always 
 consistent with each other ; but what I am insisting on 
 here is this, that it commands, — that it praises, it blames, 
 it promises, it threatens, it implies a future, and it wit- 
 nesses the unseen. It is more than a man's own self. 
 The man himself has not power over it, or only with 
 extreme difficulty ; he did not make it, he cannot destroy 
 it. He may silence it in particular cases or directions, 
 he may distort its enunciations, but he cannot, or it is 
 
Dispositions for Faith. 65 
 
 quite the exception if he can, he cannot emancipate 
 himself from it. He can disobey it, he may refuse to 
 use it ; but it remains. 
 
 This is Conscience ; and, from the nature of the case, 
 its very existence carries on our minds to a Being 
 exterior to ourselves ; for else whence did it come ? and 
 to a Being superior to ourselves ; else whence its strange, 
 troublesome peremptoriness ? I say, without going on 
 to the question what it says, and whether its par- 
 ticular dictates are always as clear and consistent as 
 they might be, its very existence throws us out ot 
 ourselves, and beyond ourselves, to go and seek for 
 Him in the height and depth, whose Voice it is. As 
 the sunshine implies that the sun is in the heavens, 
 though we may see it not, as a knocking at our doors 
 at night implies the presence of one outside in the 
 dark who asks for admittance, so this Word within 
 us, not only instructs us up to a certain point, but 
 necessarily raises our minds to the idea of a Teacher, 
 an unseen Teacher: and in proportion as we listen to 
 that Word, and use it, not only do we learn more 
 from it, not only do its dictates become clearer, and 
 its lessons broader, and its principles more consistent, 
 but its very tone is louder and more authoritative 
 and constraining. And thus it is, that to those who 
 use what they have, more is given; for, beginning 
 with obedience, they go on to the intimate perception 
 and belief of one God. His voice within them wit- 
 nesses to Him, and they believe His own witness about 
 Himself. They believe in His existence, not because 
 others say it, not in the word of man merely, but with a 
 
66 Dispositions for Faith. 
 
 personal apprehension of its truth. This, then, is the 
 first step in those good dispositions which lead to faith m 
 the Gospel. 
 
 And my second remark is this : that, in spite of all 
 that this Voice does for them, it does not do enough, as 
 they most keenly and sorrowfully feel. They find it 
 most difficult to separate what it really says, taken hy 
 itself, from what their own passion or pride, self-love or 
 self-will, mingles with it. Many is the time when they 
 cannot tell how much that true inward Guide commands, 
 and how much comes from a mere earthly source. So 
 that the gift of conscience raises a desire for what it 
 does not itself fully supply. It inspires in them the 
 idea of authoritative guidance, of a divine law ; and the 
 desire of possessing it in its fulness, not in mere frag- 
 mentary portions or indirect suggestion. It creates in 
 them a thirst, an impatience, for the knowledge of that 
 Unseen Lord, and Governor, and Judge, who as yet 
 speaks to them only secretly, who whispers in their 
 hearts, who tells them something, but not nearly so 
 much as they wish and as they need. Thus you see, my 
 Brethren, a religious man, who has not the blessing of 
 the infallible teaching of revelation, is led to look out 
 for it, for the very reason that he is religious. He has 
 something, but not all ; and if he did not desire more, it 
 would be a proof that he had not used, that he had not 
 profited by, what he had. Hence he will be on the 
 look-out. Such is the definition, I may say, of every 
 religious man, who has not the knowledge of Christ ; he 
 is on the look-out. As the Jewish believers were on 
 the look-out for a Messias who they knew was to 
 
Dispositions for Faith. 67 
 
 come, so at all times, and under all dispensations, and in 
 all sects, there are those who know there is a truth, who 
 know they do not possess it except in a very low mea- 
 sure, who desire to know more, who know that He alone 
 who has taught them what they know, can teach them 
 more, who hope that He loill teach them more, and so 
 are on the look-out for His teaching. 
 
 There is another reason why they will be thus waiting 
 and watching for some further knowledge of God's will 
 than they at present possess. It is because the more a 
 person tries to obey his conscience, the more he gets 
 alarmed at himself, for obeying it so imperfectly. His 
 sense of duty will become more keen, and his perception 
 of transgression more delicate, and he will understand 
 more and more how many things he has to be forgiven. 
 But next, while he thus grows in self-knowledge, he 
 also understands more and more clearly that the voice of 
 conscience has nothing gentle, nothing of mercy in its 
 tone. It is severe, and even stern. It does not speak 
 of forgiveness, but of punishment. It suggests to him 
 a future judgment; it does not tell him how he can 
 avoid it. Moreover it does not tell him how he is to 
 get better ; he feels himself very sinful at the best ; he 
 feels himself in bondage to a tyranny which, alas ! he 
 loves too well, even while he hates it. And thus he is 
 in great anguish, and cries out in the Apostle's words, 
 " Unhappy man that I am, who shall deliver me from 
 the body of this death ! " 
 
 For all these reasons then, — because he feels his igno- 
 rance, because he feels his bondage, because he feels his 
 guilt and danger, — a religious man who has not the 
 
68 Dispositions for Faith. 
 
 blessing of revelation, will be on the look-out for revela- 
 tion. And this is the second disposition leading to faith 
 in Christ : the first was belief in God, as our Teacher, 
 Governor, and Judge; and the second is the earnest 
 desire that He would reveal Himself, and an eager 
 looking-out for the chance of His doing so. 
 
 This is the state of mind of the elect few : now, on 
 the other hand, let us consider the state of mind of the 
 multitude, who care little or nothing for religion, who 
 disobey their conscience, who think as little of its dic- 
 tates as they can, who would get rid of it, if they could. 
 What will they know of the convictions, the apprehen- 
 sions, and the hopes and wishes, of which I have been 
 speaking ? Will they have any nervous anxiety, any 
 painful longing to be brought out of their present dark- 
 ness ? Will they, being, as I am supposing, strangers 
 to revealed truth, will they be on the look-out for reve- 
 lation ? What is revelation to them ? What do they 
 care how sins are to be forgiven, when they do not feel 
 the burden of sin ? What desire have they for strength 
 greater than their own to overcome their passions or 
 their pride, seeing that they make much of their pride, 
 as their true dignity, and freely indulge their passions, 
 as their sole joyi They are contented with themselves; 
 they think themselves as happily conditioned as they 
 can be under the circumstances ; they only wish to be 
 let alone ; they have no need of priest or prophet ; they 
 live in their own way and in their own home, pursuing 
 their own tastes, never looking out of doors; perhaps 
 with natural virtues, perhaps not, but with no distinct 
 or consistent religious sense. Thus they live, and thus 
 
Dispositions for Faith. 69 
 
 they die. Such is the character of the many, all over 
 the earth ; they live, to all appearance, in some object of 
 this world, and never rise above the world, and, it is 
 plain, have nothing of those dispositions at all which 
 lead to faith. 
 
 Now take a man from each of these two classes, and 
 suppose the news actually reaches them both, that a 
 message has been received from the unseen world : how 
 will they respectively act ? It is plain : on him who has 
 been looking out, or hoping, or at least longing, for such 
 a mercy, its operation will be wonderful. It will affect 
 him profoundly ; it will thrill through him ; so much so, 
 that, provided only the message, on examination, be of a 
 nature to answer his needs, he will be under a strong 
 temptation to believe it, if he can, on very little evi- 
 dence, or on none at all. At all events he will set about 
 inquiring what its evidence is, and will do his best to 
 find it all out, whether it be more or less. On the other 
 hand, the man who is without the due religious dispo- 
 sitions I have been describing, simply is not moved at 
 all. He takes no interest in the report, and wiU not go 
 to the pains to inquire about it. He will sit at home ; 
 and it will not even occur to him that he ought to rise, 
 and look about him. He is as little stirred, as if he 
 heard that a great man had arisen in the antipodes, or 
 that there was a revolution in Japan. Here then we 
 have come to the critical difference between the two 
 descriptions of men. The one is active, and the other 
 passive, when Christ is preached as the Saviour of the 
 world. The one goes to meet the truth ; the other 
 thinks that the Truth ought to come to Mm. The one 
 
70 Dispositions for Faith. 
 
 examines into the proof that God has spoken ; the other 
 waits till this is proved -to him. He feels no personal 
 interest in it ; he thinks it not his own concern, but (if I 
 may so say) God Almighty's concern. He does not care 
 to make the most of his knowledge ; he does not put 
 things together ; he does not add up his facts and cumu- 
 late his arguments ; he leaves all this to be done for him 
 by Him who speaks to him ; and if he is to have any 
 trouble in the matter, then he is willing to dismiss it 
 altogether. And next, supposing proof is actually 
 offered him, he feels no sort of gratitude or delicacy 
 towards Him who offers it : he says without compunc- 
 tion, " I do not see this " ; and " that does not follow " ; 
 for he is a critic and a judge, not an inquirer, and he 
 negotiates and bargains, when he ought to be praying 
 for light. And thus he learns nothing rightly, and 
 goes the way to reject a divine message, because he will 
 not throw himself upon and into the evidence ; while his 
 neighbour, who has a real concern for his own salvation, 
 finds it and believes. 
 
 Eeturning, then, to what I said when I began, we 
 see now how it was that our Lord praised easiness of 
 belief, and condemned hardness of belief. To be easy in 
 believing is nothing more or less than to have been 
 ready to inquire ; to be hard of belief is nothing else 
 but to have been loth and reluctant to inquire. Those 
 whose faith He praised had no stronger evidence than 
 those whose unbelief He condemned ; but they had used 
 their eyes, used their reason, exerted their minds, and 
 persevered in inquiry till they found ; while the others, 
 whose unbelief He condemned, had heard indeed, but 
 
Dispositions for Faith. 7 1 
 
 had let the divine seed lie by the roadside, or in the 
 rocky soil, or among the thorns which choked it. And 
 here I am led to say, what seems to me, as far as it is 
 reverent to conjecture it, the fault of the holy Apostle 
 St. Thomas. He said that he would not believe that 
 our Lord had risen, unless he actually saw Him. What ! 
 is there not more than one way of arriving at faith in 
 Christ ? are there not a hundred proofs, distinct from 
 each other, and all good ones ? Was there no way of 
 being sure He came from God, except that of seeing the 
 great miracle of the resurrection ? Surely there were 
 many others ; but St. Thomas prescribed the only mode 
 in which he would consent to believe in Him. This 
 was the case of his countrymen also, for in this point he 
 only did what they had done. The Jews had long been 
 the people of G-od, and they had the writings of the 
 Prophets. The fulfilment of the prophecies in the 
 Person of our Lord was the most obvious and natural 
 evidence to the Jews that He was the Messias ; but 
 they would not accept this evidence, and determined to 
 have another. They determined to be convinced in one 
 particular way, viz., by miracles ; and when, out of the 
 superabundant mercy of God, miracles were wrought 
 before their eyes, then they would choose the special 
 kind of miracle which was to convince them, and would 
 not believe, unless it was a miracle to their liking. And 
 hence it was that our Lord said, as I have already 
 quoted His words ; " Unless ye see signs and wonders, 
 ye believe not." Hence too He said, on other occasions : 
 " foolish and slow of heart to believe in all things 
 which the Prophets have spoken." And : " If they hear 
 
72 Dispositions for Faith. 
 
 not Moses and the Prophets, neither will they believe if 
 one rise again from the dead." And : " An evil and 
 adulterous generation seeketh a sign, and a sign shall 
 not be given it, but the sign of Jonas the Prophet." 
 And hence the Jews of Thessalonica are censured, and 
 the Bereans, on the contrary, praised, "who received 
 the word with all eagerness, daily searching fJie Scrip- 
 tures, whether these things were so." It is added, " and 
 many of them believed." And therefore, in the instance 
 of St. Thomas, I say that, when he was so slow to 
 believe, his fault lay in thinking he had a right to be 
 fastidious, and to pick and choose by what arguments 
 he would be convinced, instead of asking himself whether 
 he had not enough to convince him already ; just as if, 
 forsooth, it were a great matter to his Lord that he 
 should believe, and no matter at all to himself. And 
 therefore it was, that, while Christ so graciously granted 
 him the kind of proof he desired. He said to him for our 
 sakes : " Because thou hath seen Me, Thomas, thou hast 
 believed : blessed are they that have not seen, and have 
 believed." 
 
 And so, alas ! it is now : many is the man who has 
 a drawing towards the Catholic Church, and resists it, 
 on the plea that he has not sufficient proof of her claims. 
 Now he cannot have proof all at once, he cannot be 
 converted all at once, I grant ; but he can inquire ; he 
 can determine to resolve the doubt, before he puts it 
 aside, though it cost labour and time to do so. The 
 intimate feeling of his heart should be : " What mu^t I 
 do, that I may be saved?" His best consolation is the 
 promise : " Ask, and it shall be given you ; seek, and 
 
Dispositions for Faith. y^ 
 
 you shall find ; knock, and it shall be opened to you." 
 If, instead of this, he quarrels with this or that particular 
 proof, never thinks of inquiring for himself, and ascer- 
 taining where the truth lies, contents himself with 
 admiring the Church, and so ends the matter, what is 
 this but the conduct of one who has no sensitive consci- 
 ence, who loves his own ease, or the comforts of life, or 
 his worldly reputation, or the society of his relatives, or 
 his worldly interests, and considers that religious truth 
 is not worth the sacrifice of these temporal advantages ? 
 Do not fancy, my Brethren, that what I have been 
 saying . about inquirers, in no sense applies to you. 
 Catholics, indeed, have not to seek ; the anxious ques- 
 tions which natural conscience asks, are in your case 
 answered to the full. You know who saves you, and 
 how ; but recollect that that same sensitiveness and 
 delicacy of conscience, which is the due disposition for 
 faith, is also its safeguard and its nutriment, when it is 
 at length possessed. It feeds the flame of faith, and 
 makes it burn brightly. St. Paul speaks of those, 
 who, having " rejected a good conscience," had " made 
 shipwreck of their faith." This will be particularly 
 the case in a day like this. Catholics go into the world ; 
 they mix with men of all religions ; they hear all 
 manner of sophistical objections made to the Church, her 
 doctrines, and her rules. What is practically to keep 
 them steadfast in the faith, but their intimate percep- 
 tion of their need of it ? what is to bring them to the 
 sacrament of penance, but their sorrow and their detes- 
 tation of sin ? what is to bring them to communiou, but 
 a thirst for the Living and True God ? what is to be 
 
74 Dispositions for Faith. 
 
 their protection against the aberrations of the intellect, 
 but the deep convictions and eager aspirations of the 
 heart ? 
 
 My dear Brethren, this is a day in which much stress 
 is laid upon the arguments producible for believing 
 Eeligion, Ifatural and Eevealed ; and books are written 
 to prove that we ought to believe, and why. These 
 books are called Natural Theology, and Evidences of 
 Christianity ; and it is often said by our enemies, that 
 Catholics do not know why they believe. Now I have 
 no intention whatever of denying the beauty and the 
 cogency of the argument which these books contain ; 
 but I question much, whether in matter of fact they make 
 or keep men Christians. I have no such doubt about 
 the argument which I have been here recommending to 
 you. Be sure, my Brethren, that the best argument, 
 better than all the books in the world, better than all 
 that astronomy, and geology, and physiology, and aU 
 other sciences can supply, — an argument intelligible to 
 those who cannot read as well as to those who can, — an 
 argument which is " within us," — an argument intellec- 
 tually conclusive, and practically persuasive, whether 
 for proving the Being of a God, or for laying the ground 
 for Christianity, — is that which arises out of a careful 
 attention to the teachings of our heart, and a comparison 
 between the claims of conscience and the announce- 
 ments of the Gospel. 
 
SERMON VI. 
 
 OMNIPOTEISICB IN BONDS. 
 
 (Preached in the Universitii Church, Dublin.) 
 EvANG. SEC. Luc, o. ii. v. 51. 
 
 Et descendit cum eis, et venit Nazareth : et erat subditus illis. 
 
 And He went down with them, and came to Nazareth ; and was 
 subject to them. 
 
 AT this Christmas season, when we are celebrating those 
 joyful mysteries which ushered in the Gospel, it seems 
 almost an officious intrusion upon our holiday to engage 
 in any exercise of the reason, even though it be in order 
 to enliven the devotional feelings proper to the holy tide. 
 It is a time of religious rest and spiritual festivity, and 
 even on the ground that discussion is a kind of labour, 
 we seem to have a right to be protected against it. And 
 yet, as the days go on, and thankfulness has had free 
 current and joy has had its fill, it seems allowable too, to 
 look back at length on what has been occupying the 
 heart, and to reason upon it. Nay, we seem to have the 
 highest of possible authorities fur doing so ; for after two 
 of the joyful mysteries, the third and the fifth, the holy 
 
 Virgin is said to have done this very thing. Upon the 
 
 (V5) 
 
76 Omnipotence in Bonds. 
 
 N'ativity of our Lord and Saviour, the very feast we 
 have been celebrating, the Evangelist tells us, "Mary 
 kept all these words, 'pondering them in her heart " ; and 
 after she had found Him in the Temple in the midst of 
 the Doctors, which is the subject of this day's Gospel, 
 " His Mother," we are told, " kept all these words in her 
 heart." Surely, then, it is permitted to me, consistently 
 with the love and adoration due to this happy time of 
 Christmas, to direct your minds, my Brethren, to a con- 
 sideration which it suggests, not indeed very recondite, 
 on the contrary, obvious to all of us, lying on the very 
 face of the great Mystery, but adapted, I think, both 
 to strengthen the faith and to deepen the love, with 
 which we receive it into our hearts. 
 
 " The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us ; " 
 this is the glorious, unsearchable, incomprehensible 
 Truth, on which all our hopes for the future depend, and 
 which we have now been commemorating. It is the 
 wonderful Economy of Redemption, by which God be- 
 came man, the Highest became the lowest, the Creator 
 took His place among His own creatures. Power became 
 weakness, and Wisdom looked to men like felly. He 
 that was rich was made poor ; the Lord of all was re- 
 jected : "He came unto His own, and His own received 
 Him not." This, I say, is the grand mystery of the 
 season, and this is the subject on which I now propose 
 to make one remark. 
 
 I say then, my Brethren, consider what the Divine 
 Being is, and what we mean, when we use His name. 
 The very first idea of Him, if we make the Creed our 
 guide, is Omnipotence: "I believe in God, the Father 
 
Omnipotence in Bonds. yj 
 
 Almighty." And if you wish to enter into this idea of 
 Omnipotence, and investigate what it is, trace it back 
 into the further mystery of a past eternity. For ages 
 innumerable, for infinite periods, long and long before 
 any creature existed, He was. When there was no crea- 
 ture to exercise His power upon, still He was Omni- 
 potent in His very Essence, as being not sovereign 
 merely, but sole, — as the One Being, without any greater, 
 less, or equal, full of all resources within, and in need of 
 nothing, and, though infinitely one, yet being, at the 
 same time, a whole infinite universe, as I may say, in 
 Himself; — so much so that the breadth and depth and 
 richness and variety and splendour of this created world 
 which we behold, is simply nothing at all, compared to 
 the vastness of that Ocean of perfection which lay con- 
 centrated in the intensity of His unity. A king of this 
 world, though a sovereign, though an autocrat, depends 
 on his subjects ; but the Almighty God is absolutely and 
 utterly free from any necessary alliance with His crea- 
 tures. He is complete in Himself, for this reason, if for no 
 other, that He existed for everlasting ages before any one 
 of them was, and was able to do without them for a past 
 eternity, and then created them all out of nothing. He 
 borrows nothing from them ; He owes nothing whatever 
 even to the highest of them ; they, on the contrary, owe 
 it to Him that they are even able to remain in their own 
 proper nature, and they derive from Him, moment by 
 moment, every pulsation of their life and every ray of 
 such glory as they possess. 
 
 Such is the omnipotent, self-dependent God : fixed in 
 His own centre, and needing no point of motion or 
 
78 Omnipotence in Bonds. 
 
 vantage-ground out of Himself, whereupon to bring into 
 action, or to use, or to apply, His inexhaustible power. 
 He can make, He can unmake ; He can decree and 
 bring to pass, He can direct, control, and resolve, abso- 
 lutely according to His will. He could create this vast 
 material world, with all its suns and globes, and its 
 illimitable spaces, in a moment. All its overwhelming 
 multiplicity of laws, and complexity of formations, and 
 intricacy of contrivances, both to originate and to accom- 
 plish, is with Him but the work of a moment. He 
 could destroy it all in all its parts in a moment ; in the 
 same one moment He could create another universe 
 instead of it, indefinitely more vast, more beautiful, more 
 marvellous, and indefinitely unlike that universe which 
 He was annihilating. He could bring into existence 
 and destroy an infinite series of such universes, each in 
 succession more perfect than that which iuimediately 
 preceded it. He is the Creator, too, of all the intellectual 
 natures which exist, whether in the heavens above, or on 
 the earth, or in the regions under the earth. Angels in 
 their nine multitudinous orders, and men in their popu- 
 lous generations, good spirits and bad, saints and souls 
 on trial, the saved and the lost, first, He created them 
 and creates, each in its own time ; and next, He keeps 
 the complete and exact tale of them all, as He keeps the 
 catalogue also of all one beasts, the birds, the fishes, the 
 reptiles, and insects, all over the earth. Not a sparrow 
 falls without Him ; not a hair of our heads, but He has 
 counted it in with the rest ; and so, too, not a soul, but 
 He has before Him its whole history from beginning to 
 end, and its every thought, word, and deed, and its 
 
Omnipotence in Bonds. 'jg 
 
 every motion through every day, and its relative place 
 in the scale of merit and of sin. 
 
 And, while He thus intermingles His presence and 
 His operations with an ineffable intimacy of union in 
 every place, in every substance, in every act, everywhere, 
 He is at the same time, as I have said, infinitely sepa- 
 rated from everything, and absolutely incommunicable 
 and unapproachable, and self-dependent in His own 
 glorious Essence. Nothing can add to Him; no one 
 can be His creditor, no one can claim anything of Him. 
 He has no duties (if I may use such a term) towards 
 the beings He has created. It is a saying about earthly 
 possessions, that property has its duties as well as its 
 privileges. Such words and such ideas apply not to the 
 Self- subsisting. Everlasting God. He asks of His crea- 
 tures, "Is it not lawful for Me to do what I will?" 
 And St. Paul says of Him : " man ! who art thou 
 that repliest against God? shall the thing formed say 
 to Him who formed it. Why hast Thou made me thus?" 
 If I must still use the word " duties " or obligations of 
 Almighty God, I will say, that He has obligations to- 
 wards Himself, but none towards us. What binds Him 
 is the dictate of His own holy and perfect attributes. 
 He is just and true, because His attributes are such ; 
 but we have no claims upon Him. Or, if we have 
 claims, it is in consequence of His own gratuitous and 
 express promise, by which indeed He does bind Himself; 
 and then He is but faithful to His own word, because 
 He is the Truth, and His obligation is still to Himself, 
 and not to us. You know, my Brethren, we, in our turn, 
 have no duties toward the brute creation ; there is no 
 
8o Omnipotence in Bonds. 
 
 relation of justice between them and us. Of course we 
 are bound not to treat them ill, for cruelty is an offence 
 against that holy Law which our Maker has written on 
 our hearts, and is displeasing to Him. But they can 
 claim nothing at our hands ; into our hands they are 
 absolutely delivered. We may use them, we may destroy 
 them at our pleasure, not our wanton pleasure, but still 
 for our own ends, for our own benefit or satisfaction, 
 provided we can give a rational account of what we do. 
 Now, I do not say that the case is the same between us 
 and our Maker, but it is illustrated by this parallel. He 
 has no account at all to render to us : He has no claims of 
 ours to settle : we are bound to Him ; He is not bound to 
 us, except as He binds Himself: we have no merit in 
 His sight, and can do Him no service, unless His pro- 
 mise brings these ideas into existence. I say. He is only 
 bound by His own perfect Nature, infinitely good, and 
 holy, and true, as it is ; and in that is the creature's 
 stay. If we accuse Him, He will prevail, according to 
 the text, " that Thou mayest be justified in Thy words, 
 and mayest overcome when Thou art judged." And if 
 we are utterly without claims upon Him as creatures, 
 we are doubly destitute considered as sinners also : and 
 thus, if even Angels are unprofitable in His sight, what 
 are we ? 
 
 In the words of Holy Scripture^: "Can a man be 
 compared with God ? What doth it profit God, if thou 
 be just? or what dost thou give Him, if thy way be 
 unspotted ? Behold, even the moon doth not shine, and 
 the stars are not pure in His sight. Behold, among His 
 ^ Job iv., ix, XV., xxii., rxv., xxxiii. 
 
Omnipotence in Bonds. 8i 
 
 saints, none is unchangeable, and the heavens are not 
 pure in His sight. Behold, they that serve Him are not 
 steadfast, and in His Angels He found wickedness. 
 How much more is man abominable and unprofitable, 
 who drinketh iniquity like water ! Behold, He taketh 
 away, and who can hinder Him ? Who will say to 
 Him : What dost Thou ? Why dost thou strive against 
 Hiiu ? for He giveth not account of any of His 
 matters." 
 
 Such is the Omnipotence, the Self-dependence, the 
 Self-sufiiciency, the infinite Liberty of the Eternal God, 
 our Creator and Judge. And now, this being so, let me 
 go on to the particular thought which I wish, my 
 Brethren, to suggest to you for your reflection at this 
 season. 
 
 It is, not merely that God became man, not merely 
 that the All-possessing became destitute ; but the point 
 on which I shall particularly insist is, in contrast with 
 what I have been enlarging on, that the All-powerful, 
 the All-free, the Infinite, became and becomes, as the 
 text says, "subject" to the creature; nay, not only a 
 subject, but literally a captive, a prisoner, and that 
 not once, but on many different occasions and in many 
 different ways. 
 
 Now, observe, my Brethren, when the Eternal son of 
 God came among us, He might have taken our nature, 
 as Adam received it, from the earth, and have begun 
 His human life at mature age ; He might have been 
 moulded under the immediate hand of the Creator ; He 
 need have known nothing of the feebleness of infancy or 
 the slow growth of manhood. This might have been. 
 
82 Omnipotence in Bonds. 
 
 had He so willed ; but no : He preferred the penance of 
 taking His place in the line of Adam, and of being born 
 of a woman. This was the very scandal of the ancient 
 heretics, as it has been of free-thinkers in all ages. 
 They shrank from the notion of such a birth from Mary, 
 as a something simply intolerable and past belief ; and 
 truly in that belief is the commencement of the wonder- 
 ful captivity of the Infinite God, on which I am to 
 dwell. Tet I will not do more than suggest so much of 
 it to your devout meditation. I mean the long impri- 
 sonment He had, before His birth, in the womb of the 
 Immaculate Mary. There was He in His human nature, 
 who, as God, is everywhere ; there was He, as regards 
 His human soul, conscious from the first with a full 
 intelligence, and feeling the extreme irksomeness of the 
 prison-house, full of grace as it was. 
 
 At length He sees the light, and He is free ; but free 
 only in that His imprisonment is changed. The very 
 first act of His Mother's on His birth, is both an example 
 and a figure of His life-long captivity. " Mary brought 
 forth her first-born Son, and wrapped Him up in swad- 
 dling clothes, and laid Him in a manger." It is the 
 custom in those southern parts to treat the new-born 
 babe in a way strange to this age and country. The 
 infant is swathed around with cloths much resembling 
 the winding-sheet, the bandages and ligaments of the 
 dead. You may recoUect, my Brethren, the account of 
 Lazarus's revival; how that, when miracle had lifted 
 him up out of the tomb, there he lay motionless, till his 
 fastenings were cut off from him. " He that had been 
 dead came forth, bound foot and baud with winding- 
 
Omnipotence in Bonds. 83 
 
 bands ; and Jesus said to them : Loose him, and let him 
 go." So was it with that wonder-working Lord Him- 
 self in His own infancy. He submitted to the customs, 
 as well as to the ritual, of His nation ; and, as He had 
 lain so long in Mary's womb, so now again He left that 
 sacred prison, only that her loving hands might manacle 
 and fetter Him once more, inflicting on Him the special 
 penance which He had chosen. And so, like some in- 
 animate image of wood or stone, the All-powerful lies in 
 the manger, or on her bosom, doubly helpless, both 
 because His infancy is feeble, and because His bonds 
 are strong. 
 
 It is in this wise He was shown to the shepherds; 
 thus He was worshipped by the wise men; thus He was 
 presented in the Temple, taken iip in Simeon's arms, 
 hurried off to Egypt by night. His tender Mother 
 adoring the while that abject captivity to which it was 
 her awful duty to reduce Him. So His first months 
 passed; and though, as time went on. He grew in 
 stature, and burst His bonds, still through a slow and 
 tedious advance did He enter on His adolescence. And 
 then, when for a moment He anticipated His mission 
 and sat down among the Doctors in the Temple, He was 
 quickly recalled by His Mother's chiding, and went 
 back again to her and Joseph, and, in the emphatic 
 words of the text, was " subject unto them." It is said, 
 He worked at His father's trade, not even yet His own 
 master, and confined till the age of thirty to the limits 
 of one city. 
 
 And when at length the hour came for His breaking 
 away from His humble home and quitting Nazareth, 
 
84 Omnipotence in Bonds. 
 
 even then this law of captivity, as I may call it, con- 
 tinued, and that even with the circumstances of a fright- 
 ful development. For is it not terrifying, so as even to 
 scare the mind, that in His infancy indeed His Mother's 
 pure embrace had been His prison, but now, as a pre- 
 paration for His public ministry. He is made over to 
 His enemy, and undergoes the handling of the foul spirit 
 himself! The rebel archangel, who would not be in 
 subjection, who had assailed the throne of God, and had 
 been cast out of heaven, he it is who now has got fast 
 hold of the Eternal Word Incarnate, and is lifting Him 
 up, and transporting Him according to his will ; taking 
 Him into the holy city, and setting Him upon the 
 pinnacle of the Temple, and taking Him up into a very 
 high mountain in order to seduce Him with a bribe 
 of the unshackled lordship of the wide earth. " What 
 concord hath Christ with Belial ? " Yet the fiend is 
 allowed the momentary possession of the Omnipotent. 
 
 But at least when He has begun to preach. He will 
 be free. My Brethren, it is true; but even then the 
 thveatenings at least and the earnests of a renewed cap- 
 tivity pursue Him. As soon as He does miracles and 
 collects followers. His brethren take the alarm, and try 
 to capture Him. " When His friends had heard of it, 
 they went out to lay hold of Him, for they said. He is 
 become mad." When He preached in Nazareth, " the 
 people rose and seized Him violently, and brought Him 
 to the brow of the hill, to cast Him headlong." At 
 another time He was in danger from His own hearers ; 
 they went about to take Him by force to make Him a 
 king. At another time, "the Scribes and Pharisees 
 
Omnipotence in Bonds. 85 
 
 sent ministers to apprehend Him." At another time, 
 Herod was about to seize Him and put Him to death. 
 
 At length He is to die for us ; but still that sacrifice of 
 Himself was not to please Him,if imprisonment was away. 
 He allowed Himself, in the Church's words, " mauibus 
 tradi nocentium," to be given into the hands of the 
 violent. Now, I ask, what need of this superfluity of 
 humiliation ? He was to shed His blood and die ; 
 doubtless : but in the manifold dispositions of Provi- 
 dence there were many ways whereby to die, without 
 falling into the fierce handling of jailers and hangmen. 
 He might have taken upon Himself the mode of satisfy- 
 ing the Divine Decree, and have dispensed with the 
 instrumentality of man. We read in history of kings 
 going to death, who refused the assistance of the execu- 
 tioner, and submitted to their fate by their own act. 
 And it was in order to remind us that He need, not have 
 undergone that profanation, that, on His enemies first 
 approaching Him, He smote them to the ground. And 
 again, it was in order to impress upon us that He Aid 
 undergo it, that He touchingly asked them : " Are ye 
 come out as to a robber, with swords and clubs, to 
 apprehend Me ? but this is your hour and the power of 
 darkness." 
 
 Thus He spoke, and that expostulation was the imme- 
 diate signal for those special indignities to begin in 
 which He chose to invest His passion and death. He 
 who was submitted to the wine-press in Gethsemani, 
 and agonized with none to see Him but Apostles and 
 attendant Angels, might surely have gone through His 
 solemn sacrifice in solitude, as He commenced it; but 
 
86 Omnipotence in Bonds. 
 
 He preferred the " hands of men " ; He preferred the 
 loathsome kiss of the traitor ; He preferred the staves 
 and swords of the ministers of a fallen priesthood ; He 
 preferred to die in the midst of a furious mob, haling 
 Him to and fro; under the fists and scourges and 
 hammers of savage lictors ; now shut up in a dungeon, 
 now dragged before the judgment-seat, now tied to a 
 pillar, now nailed to the cross, and then at length, 
 when the worst was over, and His soul was fled, hurried, 
 as the best His friends could do for Him, hurried into a 
 narrow sepulchre of stone. marvellous dispensation, 
 full of mystery ! that the God of Nature, the Lord of 
 the Universe, should take to Himself a body to suffer 
 and die in ; not only so, but should not even allow Him- 
 self the birthright of man, should refuse to be master of 
 His own limbs, and outgrow the necessity of a Mother's 
 arms, only to present Himself to the tyrannous grasp of 
 the heathen soldiers. 
 
 And now surely, my Brethren, we are come to the end 
 of these wonders. He tore open the solid rock ; He rose 
 from the tomb ; He ascended on high ; He is far off from 
 the earth ; He is safe from profanation ; and the soul and 
 body, which He assumed, partake of course, as far as 
 created nature allows, of the Sovereign Freedom and the 
 Independence of Omnipotence. It is not so : He is indeed 
 beyond the reach of suffering ; but you anticipate, my 
 Brethren, what I have yet to say. Is He then so ena- 
 moured of the prison, that He should purpose to revisit 
 earth again, in order that, as far as possible. He may 
 undergo it still ? Does He set such a value on subjection 
 to His creatures, that, before He goes away, on the very 
 
Omnipotence in Bonds. 87 
 
 eve of His betrayal, He must actually make provision, 
 after death, for perpetuating His captivity to the end of 
 the world ? My Brethren, the great truth is daily before 
 our eyes : He has ordained the standing miracle of His 
 Body and Blood under visible symbols, that He may secure 
 thereby the standing mystery of Omnipotence in bonds. 
 
 He took bread, and blessed, and made it His Body ; 
 He took wine, and gave thanks, and made it His Blood ; 
 and He gave His priests the power to do what He had 
 done. Henceforth, He is in the hands of sinners once 
 more. Frail, ignorant, sinful man, by the sacerdotal 
 power given to him, compels the presence of the 
 Highest; he lays Him up in a small tabernacle j he 
 dispenses Him to a sinful people. Those who are only 
 just now cleansed from mortal sin, open their lips for 
 Him ; those who are soon to return to mortal sin, receive 
 Him into their breasts; those who are polluted with 
 vanity and selfishness and ambition and pride, presume 
 to make Him their guest ; the frivolous, the tepid, the 
 worldly-minded, fear not to welcome Him. Alas ! alas ! 
 even those who wish to be more in earnest, entertain 
 Him with cold and wandering thoughts, and quench 
 that Love which would inflame them with Its own fire, 
 did they but open to It. Such are the best of us ; and 
 then for the worst ? my Brethren, what shall we say 
 of sacrilege ? of His reception into hearts polluted with 
 mortal, unforsaken sin? of those further nameless 
 profanations, which from time to time occur, when un- 
 belief dares to present itself at the Holy Altar, and 
 blasphemously gains possession of Him ? 
 
 My Brethren, it is plain that, when we confess God 
 
88 Omnipotence in Bonds. 
 
 as Omnipotent only, we have gained but a half-know- 
 ledge of Him : His is an Omnipotence which can at the 
 same time swathe Itself in infirmity and can become 
 the captive of Its own creatures. He has, if I may so 
 speak, the incomprehensible power of even making 
 Himself weak. We must know Him by His names, 
 Emmanuel and Jesus, to know Him perfectly. 
 
 One word more before I conclude. Some persons may 
 consider that a thought, such as that I have been en- 
 larging on, is a difficulty to faith. Every one has his 
 own trials and his own scandals : I grant it. For me, 
 my Brethren, I can only say that its effect on myself 
 lies just in the very opposite direction, and, awful as it is, 
 it does but suggest an incentive, as for adoration, so for 
 faith also. What human teacher could thus open for us 
 an insight into the infinitude of the Divine Counsels ? 
 Eye of man hath not seen the face of God ; and heart of 
 man could never have conceived or invented so wonderful 
 a manifestation, as the Gospel contains, of His ineffable, 
 overwhelming Attributes. I believe the infinite conde- 
 scension of the Highest to be true, because it has been 
 imagined. Moreover, I recognize it to be true, just as I 
 believe in the laws of this material world, according as 
 human science elicits them ; viz., because I see here the 
 silent operation, beneath the surface, of a great principle, 
 which is not seen till it is investigated. I adore a truth, 
 which, though patent to all who look for it, yet, to be 
 seen in its consistency and symmetry, lias to be looked 
 for. And further, I glory in it, for I see in it the most 
 awful antagonism to the very idea and essence of sin, 
 whether as existing in Angels or in men. For what was 
 
Omnipotence in Bonds. 89 
 
 the sin of Lucifer, but the resolve to be liis own master ? 
 What was the sin of Adam, but impatience of subjec- 
 tion, and a desire to be his own god ? What is the sin of 
 all his children, but the movement, not of passion merely, 
 not of selfishness, not of unbelief, but of pride, of the 
 heart rising against the law of God, and set on being 
 emancipated from its trammels? What is the sin of 
 Antichrist, but, as St. Paul says, that of being " the 
 Lawless One," of " opposing or being lifted up against 
 all that is called G-od, or worshipped, so that he sitteth 
 in the temple of God, showing himself as if he were 
 God " ? If, then, the very principle of sin is insubordi- 
 nation, is there not a stupendous meaning in the fact, 
 that He, the Eternal, who alone is sovereign and 
 supreme, has given us an example in His own Person of 
 that love of subjection, which in Him alone is simply 
 voluntary, but in all creatures is an elementary duty ? 
 
 my Brethren, let us blush at our own pride and 
 self-will. Let us call to mind our impatience at God's 
 providences towards us, our wayward longings after 
 what cannot be, our headstrong efforts to reverse His 
 just decrees, our bootless conflicts with the stern neces- 
 sities which hem us in, our irritation at ignorance or 
 suspense about His will, our fierce, passionate wilfulness 
 when we see that will too clearly, our haughty contempt 
 of His ordinances, our determination to do things for 
 ourselves without Him, our preference of our own reason 
 to His word, — the many, many shapes in which the Old 
 Adam shows itself, and one or other of which our con- 
 science tells us is our own ; and let us pray Him who is 
 independent of us all, j^et who at this seasoii became as 
 
90 Omnipotence in Bonds. 
 
 though our fellow and our servant, to teach us our place 
 in His wide universe, and to make us ambitious only 
 of that grace here and glory hereafter, which He has 
 purchased for us by His own humiliation. 
 
SERMON VII. 
 
 ST. PAUL'S 0HAEA0TBEI8TIC GIFT. 
 
 (Preached in the University Church, Dublin.) 
 
 Ep. II. S. Paul ad Ooe., c. xii. v. 9. 
 
 Libenter igitur gloriabor in infirmitatibus meis, ut inhabitet in 
 me virtus Cbristi. 
 
 Gladly therefore will I glory in my infirmities, tbat 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 excel- 
 lence is supernatural, their deeds heroic, their merits 
 extraordinary and prevailing. They all are choice pat- 
 terns 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 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, in their 
 external aspect, into two classes. 
 
 There are those, on the one hand, who are so absorbed 
 in the divine life, that they seem, even while they are in 
 
 (91) 
 
92 SL Paul's Characteristic Gift. 
 
 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 
 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 ; 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 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 highest 
 order of sanctity too, as far as our eyes can see, iu whom 
 the supernatural combines with nature, instead of super- 
 seding it, — invigorating it, elevating it, ennobling it ; 
 and who are not the less men, because they are saints. 
 They do 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 society; they understand the human 
 heart ; they can throw themselves into the minds of other 
 men ; and all this in cousequence of natural gifts and 
 secular education. While they themselves stand secure 
 in the blessedness of purity and peace, they can follow in 
 imagination the ten thousand aberrations of pride, pas- 
 
SL Paid's Ckaracteristic Gift. 93 
 
 sion, 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 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, antipa- 
 thies 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 being more holy. In this latter class 
 I may perhaps without presumption place many of the 
 early Fathers, St. Chrysostotn, St. Gregory Nazianzen, 
 St. Athanasius, and above all, the great Saint of this 
 day, St. Paul the Apostle. 
 
 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 the first year of our assembling here, each 
 have fallen on a Sunday. And now that we have arrived, 
 througii God's protecting Providence, at the latter of 
 these two days, the Conversion of St. Paul, I do not 
 like to forego the opportunity, 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 of 
 him, I know, is the best that I can say ; and even that 
 
94 St. Paul's Characteristic Gift. 
 
 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, defective though it be, and be a plea for his 
 favourable 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. John lived a life 
 more simply supernatural than St. Paul, I may seem to 
 you, my Brethren, to be speaking to St. Paul's dispa- 
 ragement; and you may therefore ask me whether it 
 is possible for any Saint on earth to have a more intimate 
 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 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 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 favours, equal, in our apprehensions, 
 to 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 whatever, as I said 
 
SL Pauls Characteristic Gift. 95 
 
 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 ; and I think his characteristic is this ; — that, as I 
 have said, in him the fulness 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, as it were, the prin- 
 ciple on which his own character was formed, — " We 
 would not be tmclothed," he says, but " clothed wpon, 
 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 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. 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 with- 
 out interest to me : " and the sentiment has been widely 
 and deservedly praised. Now this, in a fulness of mean- 
 ing 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 " 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 fulness, al- 
 ways under the sovereign command of divine grace, but 
 
96 SL Paul's Characteristic Gift. 
 
 losing 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. 
 
 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 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 of this, I am a 
 man like my neighbours, and nothing more." Well, I 
 mean, that somewhat in this way, St. Paul felt all his 
 neighbours, all the whole race of Adam, to be existing 
 in himself. He knew himself to be possessed of a 
 nature, he was conscious of possessing a nature, which 
 was capable of running into all the multiplicity of emo- 
 tions, 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 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 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 
 
SL Paul's Characteristic Gift. 97 
 
 not only counts himself, as his birth made him, in the 
 number of " 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 " 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, 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 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 exag- 
 gerating 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 exhorta- 
 tion to his disciple St. Titus. And it is the more remark- 
 able, 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. ITow how shall 
 we account for this ? Did St. Paul delight in what was 
 licentious ? God forbid : but he had the feeling of a 
 guardian-angel who sees every sin of the rebellious being 
 
98 SL Pau/'s Characteristic Gift. 
 
 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 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. 
 
 This is how I account for his familiar knowledge of 
 the heathen poets. Some of the ancient Fathers con- 
 sider that the Greeks were under a special dispensation 
 of Providence, preparatory to the Gospel, though not 
 directly from heaven as the Jewish was. Now St. Paul 
 seems, if I may say it, to partake of this feeling ; dis- 
 tinctly as he teaches that the heathen are in darkness, 
 and in sin, and under the power of the Evil One, he vrill 
 not allow that they are beyond the eye of Divine 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 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 wor- 
 shipped him, he at once places himself on their level and 
 reckons himself among them, and at 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 
 
SL Paul's Characteristic Gift. 99 
 
 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 over the food, and the 
 gladness which food causes, which the poor heathen were 
 granted. Hence it is that he is the Apostle who espe- 
 cially insists on our all coming from one father, Adam ; 
 for he had pleasure in thinking that all men were 
 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 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 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 crea- 
 ture 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 ! 
 what a special 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 
 
loo Si. Pau/'s Characteristic Gift. 
 
 own dear people, whose glories were before his imagina- 
 tion 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, 
 and was only saved from his infatuation by the mira- 
 culous power of God ! dearest ones, glorious race, 
 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 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 great sadness and con- 
 tinual 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 soKcitude for all the churches " — you would 
 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 
 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 lingering over their past glories, " who 
 are Israelites, to whom belongeth the adoption of chil- 
 dren, and the glory, and the testament, and the giving 
 of wealth, and the service of God, and the promises : 
 
SL Paul's Characteristic Gift. loi 
 
 whose are the fathers, and of whom is Christ according 
 to the flesh, who is over all things, God blessed for ever. 
 Amen." 
 
 What a hard thing it was for him to give them up ! 
 He pleaded for them, while they vrere persecuting his 
 Lord and himself. He reminded his Lord that he him- 
 self 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 
 Stephen, Thy witness, was shed, I stood by and con- 
 sented, 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 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." 
 blind ! blind ! he seems to say ; — that there should be 
 so much of good in them, so much zeal, so much of 
 religious purpose, so much of steadfastness, such resolve 
 like Josias, Mathathias, or Machabteus, to keep the 
 whole law, and honour Moses and the Proj^hets, but all 
 spoiled, all undone, by one fatal sin ! And what is he 
 prompted to do ? Moses, on one occasion, desired to 
 suffer 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 great Apostle desired the 
 same : "I wished myself," he says, speaking of the agony 
 he had passed through, " I wished myself to be an 
 
I02 S/. Paul's Characteristic Gift. 
 
 anathema from Christ, for my brethren, who are my 
 kinsmen according to the flesh." And then, 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 how many were the exceptions to so dismal a sen- 
 tence. " 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 he dwells upon his 
 confident anticipation of their recovery in time to come. 
 "They are enemies," he says, writing to the Eomans, 
 " 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 repentance." 
 "Blindness in part has happened to Israel, until the 
 fulness 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. 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 it ; he 
 sympathized with it, while he mortifi^ed 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 in the history of the past. His vivid imagi- 
 nation enabled him to throw himself into the state of 
 
Si. Patii's Characteristic Gift. 103 
 
 heathenism, with all those tendencies which lay dormant 
 in his human nature carried out, and its infirmities de- 
 veloped into sin. His wakeful 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 his own 
 apprehension still a sinner. 
 
 And this being so, do you not see, my Brethren, how 
 well fitted he was for the ofBce of an Ecumenical Doctor, 
 and an Apostle, not of the Jews only, but of the Gen- 
 tiles ? The Almighty sometimes works by miracle, but 
 commonly He 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 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 Euler of the 
 faithful, he too was passed 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 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, as if I were without 
 
I04 Si. Pau/'s Characteristic Gift. 
 
 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." 
 
 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 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 Con- 
 version, to stop 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 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 heart, have a kind thought for every one of 
 us here according to our respective needs ! He has car- 
 ried his human thoughts and feelings with him to his 
 throne above; and, though he sees the Infinite and 
 Eternal Essence, he still remembers well that troublous, 
 restless ocean below, of hopes and fears, of impulses and 
 aspirations, of efforts 8,nd 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 have some 
 
Si. PauVs Characteristic Gift. 105 
 
 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 ; 
 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 dav of account. 
 
SERMON VITL 
 
 ST. PAUL'S GIFT OF SYMPATHY. 
 (Preached in the University Church, Dublin.) 
 
 H. Cob., c. i. v. 3, 4. 
 
 Benedictus Peus et Pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi, Pater miseri- 
 oordiarimi, et Deus totius consolationis. Qui consolatur nos in omni 
 tribulatipne nostra, ut possimus et ipsi consolari eos qui in omni 
 pressure, sunt, per exhortationem quS. exhortamur et ipsi a Deo. 
 
 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father 
 of mercies, and the God of all consolation. Who comf orteth us in all 
 our tribulation, that we also may be able to comfort those who are in 
 any distress, by the exhor tation wherewith we also are exhorted by God. 
 
 THERE is no one who has loved the world so well, 
 as He who made it. None has so understood 
 the human heart, and human nature, and human 
 society in its diversified forms, none has so tenderly 
 entered into and measured the greatness and little- 
 ness of man, his doings and sufferings, his circum- 
 stances and his fortunes, none has felt such profound 
 compassion for his ignorance and guilt, his present 
 rebellion and his prospects hereafter, as the Omni- 
 scient. What He has actually done for us is the 
 proof of this. " God so loved the world, as to give 
 His Only-begotten Son." He loved mankind in their 
 
 pollution, in spite of the abhorrence with which that pol- 
 (106) 
 
S^. Pau/'s Gift of Sympathy. 107 
 
 lution filled Him. He loved them with a father's love, 
 who does not cast off a worthless son once for all, but is 
 affectionate towards his person, while he is indignant at 
 his misconduct. He loved them for what still remained 
 in them of their original excellence, which was in its 
 measure a reflexion of His own. He loved them before 
 He redeemed them, and He redeemed them because He 
 loved them . This is that " philanthropy " or "humanity " 
 of God our Saviour, of which the inspired writers speak. 
 
 None, I say, can know the race of man so well, none 
 can so truly love it for its own sake, as He who sent His 
 Co-equal Son, as He who came from the Eternal Father, 
 to save it. But His knowledge of it and His love of it 
 arose, not from any sympathy of nature, but because it 
 was His Divine prerogative to "know what was in man." 
 And, even when He became man, still He knew only by 
 means of that Divine Omniscience, and not experimen- 
 tally, the disorder of our minds and the tyranny of Satan. 
 He was partaker indeed of our infirmities, but He could 
 not partake of our waywardness, our passionateness, and 
 our ignorance. 
 
 But there is a knowledge and a love of human nature, 
 which Saints possess, which follows on an intimate ex- 
 perience of what human nature actually is, in its irrita- 
 bility and sensitiveness, its despondency and changeable- 
 ness, its sickliness, its blindness, and its impotence. 
 Saints have this gift, and it is from above ; though it be 
 gained, humanly speaking, either from the memory of 
 what they themselves were before their conversion, 
 or from a keen apprehension and appreciation of their 
 own natural feelings and tendencies. And of those who 
 
io8 Si. Paul's Gift of Sympathy. 
 
 have possessed it, I think the most conspicuous and re- 
 markable instance is the great Apostle of the Gentiles ; 
 and this is a time of year when it cannot be out of place 
 to speak of hira, considering how diligent the Church is 
 in the weeks which are now closing, to bring him before 
 us. First, on Christmas Eve she lets us hear his voice, 
 like some herald's trunapet, announcing again and again 
 through the day the coming of Incarnate Grace upon 
 earth. Then she proceeds to read his Epistles till Sep- 
 tuagesima ; and further, not content with the feast of 
 his Conversion, she reiterates his festival on Sexagesima, 
 which sometimes falls on that very day, and which is a 
 second commemoration of the Apostle. As then I have 
 already made some remarks on his love of human nature, 
 or philanthropy, generally, so now, on Sexagesima, I 
 will describe it, as far as time will admit, as exercised by 
 him within the Church, towards his brethren, — exercised 
 towards them, not simply as heirs of heaven, but as 
 children of Adam who are heirs of heaven, as possessed 
 still of that nature as fully as before, which had to be 
 redeemed. 
 
 He says in the text, " Blessed be the God and Father 
 of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the 
 God of all consolation. "Who comforteth us in all our 
 tribulation, that we also may be able to comfort those 
 who are in any distress, by the exhortation wherewith 
 we also are exhorted by God." Here he speaks of a 
 ministration of charitable services, and he makes it arise 
 out of sympathy with others; our own memory and 
 experience of trouble urging us, and enabling us, to aid 
 others who are in like trouble. Charity, we know, is a 
 
SL Paul's Gift of Sympathy. 109 
 
 theological virtue, and the love of man is, properly 
 speaking, included in the love of God. "Every one," 
 says St. John, " that loveth Him that begat, loveth him 
 also who is born of Him." Again, " This command- 
 ment we have from God, that he who loveth God, love f 
 also his brother." But there is another virtue distinct 
 from charity, though closely connected with it. As 
 Almighty God Himself has the compassion of a father 
 on his children, "for He knoweth our frame, He remem- 
 bereth that we are dust '' ; so, after His pattern, we are 
 called upon to cherish the virtue of humanity, as it may 
 be called, a virtue which comes of His supernatural 
 grace, and is cultivated for His sake, though its object is 
 human nature viewed in itself, in its intellect, its affec- 
 tions, and its history. And it is this virtue which I 
 consider is so characteristic of St. Paul ; and he himself 
 often inculcates it in his Epistles, as when he enjoins 
 bowels of mercy, benignity, kindness, gentleness, and 
 the like. 
 
 It is the habit, then, of this great Apostle to have 
 such full consciousness that he is a man, and such love 
 of others as his kinsmen, that in his own inward con- 
 ception, and in the tenor of his daily thoughts, he 
 almost loses sight of his gifts and privileges, his station 
 and dignity, except he is called by duty to remember 
 them, and he is to himself merely a frail man speaking 
 to frail men, and he is tender towards the weak from a 
 sense of his own weakness ; nay, that his very office and 
 functions in the Church of God, do but suggest to him 
 that he has the imperfections and the temptations of 
 other men. 
 
no St Paul's Gift of Sympathy. 
 
 As an apposite instance, take the passage in which, 
 without speaking of himself in particular, he describes 
 the sublime place which he, as well as the other Apostles, 
 held in the Christian body. He was one of those Twelve 
 (to use the mystical number) who were the special High- 
 Priests of the New Testament, who sit on thrones as 
 judges of the people, and offer before the Lamb, as 
 Scripture speaks, golden vials, full of odours, that is, the 
 prayers of the Saints. Yet that privilege of pontifical 
 elevation was to him only a personal humiliation, for he 
 himself was one of that sinful race for whom the sacrifice 
 was offered. He contrasts all earthly High-Priests with 
 Christ Himself, in order to bring them down to the level 
 of their flocks. " Every High-Priest," he says, " taken 
 from among men, is ordained for men in the things that 
 appertain to God, that he may ofi'er up gifts and sacrifices 
 for sins ; who can have compassion on them that are 
 ignorant and err, because he himself also is compassed 
 with infirmity. And therefore he ought, as for the 
 people, so also for himself, to offer for sins." Observe 
 his singular condescension ; the one thought which his 
 hierarchical dignity impresses on him, is that he who 
 bears it offers sacrifice for his own sins, and ought to 
 feel for those of others. 
 
 And when he speaks of himself and of his own office 
 more immediately, it is in the same way. " "We preach 
 not ourselves," he says, "but Jesus Christ our Lord, and 
 ourselves, your servants through Jesus." And then he 
 proceeds, " We have this treasure in earthen vessels, that 
 the excellency may be of the power of God, and not of 
 us ; always bearing about in our body the mortification 
 
►S^. Paul 's Gift of Sympathy. 1 1 1 
 
 of Jesus, that the life also of Jesus may he made mani- 
 fest in our bodies." 
 
 His two chief scenes of lahour, as far as sacred history 
 has preserved the record, were Asia Minor and Greece. 
 Of both countries he is especially the Apostle, but 
 observe how he puts off the Apostle, if I may so speak, 
 when he goes upon his Apostolic work, and rejoices to 
 exhibit himself on that footing of human infirmity 
 which is common to him and his hearers and converts, 
 who in the order of grace and of the Church were so 
 immeasurably his inferiors. 
 
 Speaking of his Apostolic labours in Greece, he says 
 first : " When we were come into Macedonia, our flesh 
 had no rest; but we suffered all tribulation; combats 
 without, fears within." Next he came down into Achaia, 
 and his trial, and his confession of it, continue as before. 
 "I was with you," he says to the Corinthians, "in 
 weakness, and in fear, and in much trembling"; and this 
 all the while that he was evidencing his Apostolic com- 
 mission, as he says, "in spirit and in power." On 
 another occasion he finds it necessary to rehearse to the 
 same converts some of those Apostolic signs, but he 
 is ever interrupting his catalogue with apologies for 
 making it, and with incidental mention of his personal 
 failings. "Although I he rude in speech," he says, 
 "yet not in knowledge." "That which I speak, I speak, 
 as it were, foolishly, in this matter of glorying." And 
 then, after referring to his visions and ecstasies, he is not 
 content without coming back and dwelling anew upon 
 the infirmities he had as a man. " Lest the greatness of 
 the revelations," he says, " should exalt rae, there was 
 
112 SL Paul 's Gift of Sympathy. 
 
 given me a sting of my flesh, an angel of Satan, to 
 buffet me. For which thing thrice I besought the Lord 
 that it should depart from me ; and He said. My grace 
 is sufficient for thee, for power is made perfect in infir- 
 mity. Gladly, therefore, will I glory in my infirmities, 
 that the power of Christ may dwell in me." What does 
 all this argue in the great Apostle, but a profound self- 
 knowledge, and an impatience lest he should not appear 
 to his converts partaker of the same earth and ashes as 
 themselves ? 
 
 Thus he felt and spoke as regards his converts in 
 Greece ; and in Asia Minor, his manifestations, if I may 
 so call them, are of the same kind. " I would not have 
 you ignorant, brethren," he says, "of our tribulation, 
 which came to us in Asia, that we were pressed out of 
 measure, above our strength, so that we were weary even 
 of Hfe." And when he takes his last leave of his converts 
 there, his language is the same; he speaks to them as their 
 equal rather than as an Apostle, and calls them to witness 
 that he had ever so regarded himself : " You know," he 
 says to them,^' from the first day I came into Asia, in what 
 manner I have been with you for all the time, serving 
 the Lord with all humility, and with tears and tempta- 
 tions." 
 
 Now we could have easily anticipated what would be 
 the consequence of a temper of mind so natural and so 
 open. A man who thus divests himself of his own 
 greatness, and puts himself on the level of his brethren, 
 and throws himself upon the sympathies of human 
 nature, and speaks with such simplicity and such spon- 
 taneous outpouring of heart, is forthwith in a condition 
 
SL Paul 's Gift of Sympathy. 1 1 3 
 
 both to conceive great love of them, and to inspire great 
 love towards himself. So was it with St. Paul, and we 
 have the evidence and record of it on that farewell visit, 
 of which I have begun to speak, to his brethren at 
 Ephesus, Tyre, and Csesarea. He was leaving them for 
 his enemies ; leaving them to go to suffer at Jerusalem. 
 What was it that was his trouble then ? not the prospect 
 of suffering, but the pain which that prospect gave to his 
 friends. " Behold," he says, " being bound in the spirit, 
 I go to Jerusalem, not knowing the things which shall 
 befall me there, save that the Holy Ghost in every city 
 witnesseth to me, saying that bonds and afflictions wait 
 for me at Jerusalem ; but I fear none of these things." 
 So far he is calm as well as brave. But they earnestly 
 besought him not to go up to Jerusalem : observe the 
 effect this had on him: "What mean ye," he says, 
 " weeping and afflicting my heart ? for I am ready, not 
 only to be bound, but to die at Jerusalem, for the Name 
 of the Lord Jesus." You see, my Brethren, what inti- 
 mate personal attachment, what keen affection, existed 
 between him and them. Further, he told them that 
 whatever happened to him, ceitainly they would not see 
 him again. " Now behold I know that all you, among 
 whom I have gone preaching the kingdom of God, shall 
 see my face no more. And, kneeling down, he prayed 
 with them all." We might have been sure what would 
 follow on their part : " There was much weeping among 
 them all ; and, falling on the neck of Paul, they kissed 
 him, being grieved most of all for the word that he had 
 said, that they should see his face no more.'' 
 
 There are Saints in whom grace supersedes nature; so 
 
114 •^^- PauVs Gift of Sympatli,y. 
 
 was it not with this great Apostle ; in him grace did but 
 sanctily and elevate nature. It left hi rn in the full posses- 
 sion, in the full exercise, of all that was human, which was 
 not sinful. He who had the constant contemplation of his 
 Lord and Saviour, and if he saw Him with his bodily eyes, 
 was nevertheless as susceptible of the affections of human 
 nature and the influences of the external world, as if he were 
 a stranger to that contemplation. Wonderful to say, he 
 who had rest and peace in the love of Christ, was not 
 satisfied without the love of man ; he whose supreme 
 reward was the approbation of God, looked out for the 
 approval of his brethren. He who depended solely on 
 the Creator, yet made himself dependent on the creature. 
 Though he had That which was Infinite, he would not 
 dispense with the finite. He loved his brethren, not 
 only " for Jesus' sake," to use his own expression, but 
 for their own sake also. He lived in them ; he felt with 
 them and for them ; he was anxious about them ; he 
 gave them help, and in turn he looked for comfort 
 from them. His mind was like some instrument of 
 music, harp or viol, the strings of which vibrate, though 
 untouched, by the notes which other instruments give 
 forth, and he was ever, according to his own precept, 
 " rejoicing with them that rejoice, and weeping with 
 them that wept"; and thus he was the least magisterial 
 of all teachers, and the gentlest and most amiable of all 
 rulers. " Who is weak," he asks, " and I am not weak ? 
 who is scandalized, and I am not on fire ? " And, after 
 saying this, he characteristically adds, " If I must needs 
 glory, I will glory of the things that concern my infir- 
 mity." 
 
SL Pazt/'s Gift of Sympathy. 1 15 
 
 This faithful affection towards his brethren, this 
 ardent, yet not idolatrous, love shows itself in all that he 
 writes, i'or instance, we can fancy the burning desire 
 which an Apostle must have felt to leave this scene of 
 anguish and to be taken to enjoy the Divine Presence ; 
 yet he speaks of himself as "straitened between two, 
 having a desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ, a 
 thing by far the better ; but to abide still in the flesh," 
 he continues, "is needful for you.'" 
 
 And when he looks forward to that happy day, when 
 he shall receive God Himself for his reward, he associates 
 the joys of heaven with the presence of his converts. 
 "What is our hope, or joy, or crown of glory? Are 
 not you, in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ at His 
 coming ? for you are our glory and joy." 
 
 And so of his friends, one by one : amid the fulness of 
 his supernatural union with the Infinite and Eternal God, 
 he is still ever eager for the sight of their familiar faces. 
 " I rejoice," he says, " in the presence of Stephanas, For- 
 tunatus, and Achaicus, for they have refreshed both my 
 spirit and yours." Again, " I had no rest in my spirit, 
 because I found not Titus my brother." Again, " God 
 who comforted the humble, comforted us by the coming 
 of Titus." Again, he speaks of Epaphroditus as "sick 
 nigh unto death ; but God had mercy on him, and on me 
 also, lest I should have sorrow upon sorrow." He says 
 with a tender lament, that " all they who are in Asia are 
 turned away from him." For so it was, that now too, 
 when he was about to be martyred, still, as before, he had 
 time to think of his friends, of those who were near him, 
 those who were away, and those who had deserted him. 
 
ii6 6"/. Paul's Gift of Sympathy. 
 
 " At my first answer," he says, when I was first put 
 upon trial, " no man stood with me, but all forsook me, 
 but the Lord stood with me." " Demas hath left me, 
 loving the present world." Luke, " the most dear 
 physician," as he elsewhere calls him, "only Luke is 
 with me." 
 
 I might go on in like manner, if time permitted, to 
 remind you also how desirous he is of the approbation of 
 his brethren : — " To God we are manifest," he says, 
 " and I trust also in your consciences we are manifest." 
 I might show how alive he is to slights, though at the 
 same time most forgiving : how sensitive he is of ingra- 
 titude, though as meek and gentle as he is sensitive: how 
 fearful he is of the eiiect of his punishments upon 
 offenders, though firm in inflicting them when it is his 
 duty: bow, in short, there is not any one of those refine- 
 ments and delicacies of feeling, which are the result of 
 advanced civilization, not any one of those proprieties 
 and embellishments of conduct in which the cultivated 
 intellect delights, but he is a pattern of it, in the midst 
 of that assemblage of other supernatural excellences, 
 which is the common endowment of Apostles and Saints. 
 He, in a word, who is the special preacher of Divine 
 Grace, is also the special friend and intimate of human 
 nature. He who reveals to us the mystery of God's 
 Sovereign Decrees, manifests at the same time the 
 tenderest interest in the souls of individuals. 
 
 And, such being his characteristics of mind, as I have 
 been describing them, you will understand how indig- 
 nant he would be sure to be, for no lighter word can be 
 used, at the sight of jealousies, enmities, and divisions in 
 
Sf. Pmil 's Gift of Sympathy. i t 7 
 
 the Christian body. He would abhor them, not only as 
 injurious to his Saviour, but as an offence against that 
 common nature which gives us one and all a right to 
 the title of men. As he loved that common nature, so 
 he took pleasure in viewing all who partake of it as one, 
 scattered though they were all over the earth. He sym- 
 pathized with them all, wherever and whatever they 
 were ; and he felt it to be one special mercy, conveyed 
 to them in the Gospel, that the unity of human nature 
 was henceforth recognized and restored in Jesus Christ. 
 The spirit of party, then, was simply antagonistic to the 
 spirit of the Apostle, and a great offence to him, even 
 when it did not go so far as schism. " Every one of you 
 saith, I, indeed, am of Paul, and I am of Apollos, and 
 I of Cephas, and I of Christ. Is Christ divided ? " 
 "There is neither Gentile nor Jew, Barbarian nor 
 Scythian, bond nor free, for Christ is all, and in all." 
 
 And now I will conclude with one allusion, which it 
 is natural for me to make, and which will justify me in 
 saying that I have not in any great degree misconceived 
 the Apostle's character. It is recorded of St. Philip 
 ISTeri that he was specially fond of St. Paul's writings. 
 " Of the different books of Saints," says his biographer, 
 " he had a particular liking for the Epistles of St. Paul ; 
 in order to make his reading of them fruitful, he read 
 slowly, and made pauses. When he felt himself warmed 
 by what he read, he went no further, but stopped to ponder 
 the text. When the feeling subsided, he resumed his 
 reading, and so he went on with passage after passage." 
 Now we may ask at first sight what special sympathy 
 
1 1 8 SL Paul 's Gift of Sympathy. 
 
 could there be, except that they both were saints, 
 between a humble priest, without station, without 
 of&ce, without extraordinary endowments of mind, 
 and a Euler and Doctor of the Church, a preacher, a 
 missionary, a man of the world, and an accomplished 
 scholar ? Why did the Apostle's words come home with 
 especial force to Philip's heart, and become food to his 
 mind, in his small cell in the midst of a crowded city ? 
 It was, I think, because, different as the two were 
 from each other in every other respect, in position, in 
 gifts, and in history, they had, nevertheless, some points 
 strikingly in common in their personal character : — these 
 I shall sum up briefly under two heads, and so conclude. 
 1. And first, St. Philip Neri bears the title of the 
 "Apostle of Eome." "Why? Was he a great divine ? No; 
 he never professed any theological learning, sufficiently 
 as he was versed in it ; and it is remarkable that, great 
 as has been the learning of many Fathers of his Congre- 
 gation after him, not one of them, as far as I know, has 
 written on a dogmatic subject, or is an authority in the 
 sacred sciences. Did he undertake to form great saints ? 
 not so ; for, leaving (as is commonly said of him) that 
 high office for others, he turned himself in his humility 
 to the sanctification of ordinary men. He was not a 
 theologian, not an ascetical writer ; but in a familiar way, 
 by precept and maxim, by biographical specimens, by 
 the lessons of history, he addressed himself to the whole 
 community, with a view of converting all men, high and 
 low, to God, and forming them upon the great principles, 
 and fixing in their hearts the substance and solidity, of 
 religious duty. He lived in an age, too, when literature 
 
S^. Pmil 's Gift of Sympathy. 1 1 9 
 
 and art were receiving their fullest development, and 
 commencing their benign reign over the populations 
 of Europe, and his work was not to destroy or supersede 
 these good gifts of God, but, in the spirit, I may say, of 
 a Catholic University, to sanctify poetry, and history, 
 and painting, and music, to the glory of the G-iver. N'ow 
 do you not see, my Brethren, that I am but continuing 
 my illustration of St. Paul's own character by thus 
 speaking of the modern Saint who was his pupil ? For 
 surely St. Paul too, though an inspired Teacher, and 
 though " nothing less than the great Apostles " in theo- 
 logical knowledge, nevertheless in his Epistles, instead 
 of insisting on science and system, addresses himself 
 chiefly to the hearts of his disciples, and introduces doc- 
 trine, not so much for its own sake as for practical uses. 
 And hence, though he was especially the " Doctor Gen- 
 tium," yet the chief exercise of his Apostolic Office lay 
 in forming the character and improving the heart, 
 according to the lines of the Hymn, — 
 
 Egregie Doctor Paule, mmes instrue, 
 Et nostra teotun pectora in ooelum trahe. 
 
 2. So much on St. Paul's work : and the latter of 
 these two lines suggests, secondly and lastly, his manner 
 of fulfilling it. Here, too, he was the forerunner of St. 
 Philip. The one indeed was a ruler and a Prince in the 
 Church, with the amplest jurisdiction; St. Philip was 
 an obscure priest, with only the jurisdiction of a con- 
 fessor ; yet the highest and the lowest agreed in this, 
 that, putting aside forms as far as it was right to do so, 
 and letting influence take the place of rule, and charity 
 stand instead of authority, they drew souls to them by 
 
I20 S^. PauVs Gift of Sympathy. 
 
 their interior beauty, and held them captive by the re- 
 generate affections of human nature. St. Paul seems to 
 have felt towards his awful Apostolic power, in some 
 sense as David felt towards the armour of his King ; 
 and, though he used it at the call of duty, he preferred 
 "the cords of Adam," and the voice of persuasion. 
 What he says on one occasion to Philemon, forms a sort 
 of motto to his whole ministry. " Though I have much 
 confidence in Christ Jesus to command thee that which 
 is to the purpose, for charity's sake I rather beseech, as 
 Paul an old man, and now a prisoner also of Jesus 
 Christ." 
 
 No wonder then that my own Saint, being what he 
 was, should have felt the most intimate sympathy with 
 such a man as this ; that he, who is recorded never to 
 have said "I command" but once, and who won and 
 guided his children by his voice and eye and look, should 
 have felt the tenderest devotion towards the loving heart 
 of that glorious Apostle, who was gentle on the pinnacle 
 of the sublimest power, cheerful after ten thousand dis- 
 appointments, and affectionate and sweet-tempered amid 
 the trials of old age. 
 
 May we all of us, my Brethren, in our respective 
 callings and stations, be partakers of this same gift, a 
 gift which is especially needful in this age, a gift which 
 is in singular correspondence with the duties and the 
 objects of a University. 
 
SERMON IX. 
 
 CHEIST UPON THE WATBES.^ 
 (Preached in St. Chad's, Birmingham.) 
 
 EvANG. SEO. Matt., c. xiv. v. 2i-27. 
 
 Navioula autem in medio mari jaotatatur fluotibus ; erat enim con- 
 trarius ventus. Quarts, autem vigiliS, nootis, venit ad eos ambulans 
 super mare. Bt videntes eum super mare ambulantem, turbati sunt 
 dicentes: Quia phautasma est. Bt prae timore clamaverunt. Statim- 
 que Jesus looutus est eis, dicens : Habete fiduciam ; ego sum ; nolite 
 timere. 
 
 The boat in the midst of the sea was tossed with the waves ; for the 
 wind was contrary. And in the fourth watch of the night He came to 
 them, waUdng upon the sea. And they, seeing Him walking upon the 
 sea, were troubled, saying : It is an apparition. And they cried out for 
 fear. And immediately Jesus spoke to them, saying : Be of good heart ; 
 it is I ; fear ye not. 
 
 THE earth is full of the marvels of divine power; " Day 
 to day uttereth speech, and night to night 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 
 
 1 The following sermon is written from the notes made previously to 
 its delivery, with an attempt to preserve closely, as far as memory 
 served, the course and matter of it, as actually delivered. 
 
 As it has been publicly asserted, that its author has been concerned 
 in the great measure which occasioned it, he takes this opportunity of 
 distinctly negativing the report. It is utterly and absolutely untrue. 
 He denies it in every shape into which it can be oast. He never was 
 asked, and never gave, his opinion upon it, nor had he any opinion to 
 (121) 
 
1 2 2 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 grace. To do impossibilities, I may say, is the preroga- 
 tive of 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 pas- 
 sage I have read to you, walking upon the sea, — the 
 emblem or hieroglyphic among the ancients of the impos- 
 sible ; to show them that what is impossible with man, 
 is possible with G-od. 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 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 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 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 
 
 give. He doubts whether, even in private, and to his intimate friends, 
 he has ever expressed any sort of opinion. It was a measure in agita- 
 tion before he was a CathoUc. It was one of the first subjects he heard 
 in discussion, when he became one, five years ago, and that from the 
 lips of persons high in authority. He believes its adoption has been 
 simply owing to the growing and full conviction of both rulers and laity 
 in England in its favour, unattended by any suspicion whatever of its 
 giving ofienee to others. — Advertisemevt to first editicm. 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 1 2 3 
 
 that mystical ark which He then formed to float upon 
 the ocean of human opinion. He told His chosen ser- 
 vants 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 began to criticize. It pro- 
 nounced 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, except that the Lord is in it ? Who can say why 
 so old a framework, put together eighteen hundred years 
 ago, should have lasted, against all human calculation, 
 even to this day ; always going, and never gone ; ever 
 failing, yet ever 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 ? 
 
 And hence so many instances are to be found in his- 
 tory, of the triumph of the bark of Peter amid adversity 
 of every kind. "The floods have lifted up, the floods 
 have lifted up their voice ; the floods have lifted up their 
 waves with the noise of many waters. Wonderful are 
 the surges of the sea; wonderful is the Lord on high." 
 It is the Lord from heaven, who is our light in the 
 gloom, our confidence in the storm. There is nothing 
 hard to Him who is almighty ; nothing strange to Him 
 who is all-manifold in operation and all-fruitful in re- 
 source. The clouds break, and the sun shines, and the 
 
r 24 Christ tipon the Waters. 
 
 sea is smooth, in its appointed season. Such, my dear 
 Brethren, is the thought which naturally possesses the 
 mind on a day like this,^ when we are met together 
 solemnly to return thanks to our merciful God for the 
 restoration of the Catholic Hierarchy to the faithful of 
 this land. His works are ever slow and gradual ; year 
 after year brings its silent influence and contribution in 
 aid of the object which He may have in view; and we are 
 unable, except artificially and for convenience, to divide 
 into portions or stages what with Him is the continuous 
 introduction of an integral whole. But still from time 
 to time occur greater and more striking events, in which 
 the past and the future are, as it were, summed up ; and 
 which, though intrinsically great, may be taken as 
 symbols and are representatives of even more than they 
 are themselves, of the labours and the prospects of a 
 course of years. And such as this is the great act which 
 we are now commemorating : it witnesses that much has 
 been done ; it predicts that much has to follow : it is the 
 authoritative recognition and seal of the .successes which 
 God has given us, and the instrument of their con- 
 solidation. Well then they may rejoice on this day ; and 
 happily does it fall on the feast of Our Lady's Patron- 
 age, for to whom, under God, are our acknowledgments 
 more truly due, and our expectations more securely 
 turned, than to His aU-holy and ever-glorious Mother ? 
 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. What- 
 
 1 The mstallation of the Right Rev. Dr. Ullathome as first Bishop 
 of Birmingham. 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 125 
 
 ever brougnt them thither, they had no local attach- 
 ments there or political settlement ; 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 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 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 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 instruments of their idolatrous worship. And, 
 last of all, they crossed over the strait and made them- 
 selves 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 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. 
 
 What, then, was to happen to this restless race, which 
 had sought for happiness and peace across the globe. 
 
126 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 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 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 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 neither 
 God nor man — a race ambitioiis, self-willed, obstinate, 
 and hard of belief, which would dare everything, eyen 
 the eternal pit, if it was challenged to do so. I say, 
 there was nothing there of a nature to reverse the des- 
 tiny which 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, He saw in it, not 
 what merited His favour, not what would adequately 
 respond to His influences, not what was a necessary in- 
 strument of His purposes, but what would illustrate and 
 preach abroad His grace, if He took pity on it. He 
 saw in it, a natural nobleness, a simplicity, a frankness 
 of character, a love of truth, a zeal for justice, an in- 
 dignation at wrong, an admiration of purity, a reverence 
 for law, a keen appreciation of the beautifulness and 
 majesty of order, nay, further, a tenderness and an 
 affectionateness of heart, which He knew would become 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 127 
 
 the glorious instruments of His high will, when illumi- 
 nated and vivified by His supernatural gifts, iind so 
 He who, did it so please Him, could raise up children 
 to Abraham out of the very stones of the earth, never- 
 theless 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 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, 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 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 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, the sacri- 
 fices, 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 north to south ; it was majestic 
 
128 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 it was solemn, it was bright, it was beautiful and plea- 
 sant, 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 of holy 
 pastors, with mitre 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 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, 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 prayer : 
 till he who recollected the old pagan time, would think 
 it all unreal that he beheld and heard, and would con- 
 clude he did but see a vision, so marvellously was heaven 
 let down upon earth, so triumphantly were chased away 
 the fiends of darkness to their prison below. 
 
 Such was the change which came over our forefathers; 
 such was the Eeligion bestowed upon them, bestowed on 
 them as a second grant, after the grant of the territory 
 itself; nay, it might almost have seemed as the divine 
 guarantee or pledge of its occupation. And you know 
 its name ; there can be no mistake, my Brethren ; you 
 know what that Eeligion was caUed. It was called by 
 no modern name — for modern religions then were not. 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 129 
 
 You know, my dear Brethren, what religion has priests 
 and sacrifices, and mystical rites, and the monastic rule, 
 and care for the souls of the dead, and the profession of 
 an ancient faith, coming through all ages from the 
 Apostles. There is one, and only one, religion such : it 
 is known everywhere ; every poor boy in the street 
 knows the name of it ; there never was a time, since it 
 first was, that its name was not known, and known to 
 the multitude. It is called Catholicism — a world-wide 
 name, and incommunicable; attached to us from the first ; 
 accorded to us by our enemies ; in vain attempted, never 
 stolen from us, by our rivals. Such was the worship 
 which the English people gained when they emerged 
 out of paganism into gospel light. In the history of 
 their conversion, Christianity and Catholicity are one ; 
 they are, as in their own nature, so in that history, 
 convertible terms. It was the Catholic faith which that 
 vigorous young race heard and embraced, — that faith 
 which is still found the further you trace back towards 
 the age of the Apostles, which is still visible in the dim 
 distance of the earliest antiquity, and to which the wit- 
 ness of the Church, when investigated even in her first 
 startings and simplest rudiments, " sayeth not the con- 
 trary." Such was the religion of the noble English ; 
 they knew not heresy ; and, as time went on, the work 
 did but sink deeper and deeper into their nature, into 
 their social structure and their political institutions ; it 
 grew with their growth, and strengthened with their 
 strength, till a sight was seen, — one of the most beau- 
 tiful which ever has been given to man to see, — what 
 
 was great in the natural order, made greater by its 
 
 9 
 
1 30 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 elevation into the supernatural. The two seemed as if 
 made for each other ; that natural temperament and that 
 gift of grace ; what was heroic, or generous, or magnani- 
 mous in nature, found its corresponding place or office 
 in the divine kingdom. Angels in heaven rejoiced to 
 see the divinely wrought piety and sanctity of penitent 
 sinners : Apostles, Popes, and Bishops, long since taken 
 to glory, threw their crowns in transport at the foot of 
 the throne, as saints, and confessors, and martyrs, came 
 forth hefore their wondering eyes out of a horde of 
 heathen robbers ; guardian spirits no longer sighed over 
 the disparity and contrast which had so fearfully inter- 
 vened between themselves and the souls given to them 
 in change. It did indeed become a peculiar, special 
 people, with a character and gen;ius of its own ; I will 
 say a bold thing — in its staid ness, sagacity, and sim- 
 plicity, more like the mind that rules, through all time, 
 the princely line of Koman pontiffs, than perhaps any 
 other Christian people whom the world has seen. And 
 so things went on for many centuries. Generation fol- 
 lowed generation; revolution came after revolution; 
 great men rose and fell : there were bloody wars, and 
 invasions, conquests, changes of dynasty, slavery, re- 
 coveries, civil dissensions, settlements ; Dane and Nor- 
 man overran the land ; yet all along Christ was upon 
 the waters ; and if they rose in fury, yet at His word 
 they fell again and were in calm. The bark of Peter was 
 still the refuge of the tempest-tost, and ever solaced 
 and recruited those whom it rescued from the deep. 
 
 But at length a change again came over the land : a 
 thousand years had well-nigh rolled, and this great 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 131 
 
 people grew tired of the heavenly stranger who sojourned 
 among them. They had had enough of blessings and 
 absolutions, enough of the intercession of saints, enough 
 of the grace of the sacraments, enough of the prospect of 
 the next life. They thought it best to secure this life in 
 the first place, because they were in possession of it, and 
 then to go on to the next, if time and means allowed. 
 And they saw that to labour for the next world was 
 possibly to lose this ; whereas, to labour for this world 
 might be, for what they knew, the way to labour for the 
 next also. Anyhow, they would pursue a temporal 
 end, and they would account any one their enemy who 
 stood in the way of their pursuing it. It was a mad- 
 ness ; but madmen are strong, and madmen are clever ; 
 so with the sword and the halter, and by mutilation and 
 fine and imprisonment, they cut off, or frightened away 
 from the land, as Israel did in the time of old, the 
 ministers of the Most High, and their ministrations : 
 they " altogether broke the yoke, and burst the bonds." 
 " They beat one, and killed another, and another they 
 stoned," and at length they altogether cast out the Heir 
 from His vineyard, and killed Him, " that the inherit- 
 ance might be theirs." And as for the remnant of His 
 servants whom they left, they drove them into corners 
 and holes of the earth, and there they bade them die out ; 
 and then they rejoiced and sent gifts either to other, and 
 made merry, because they had rid themselves of those 
 " who had tormented them that dwelt upon the earth." 
 And so they turned to enjoy this world, and to gain for 
 themselves a name among men, and it was given unto 
 them according to their wish. They preferred the 
 
132 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 heathen virtues of their original nature, to the robe of 
 grace which God had given them : they fell back, with 
 closed affections, and haughty reserve, and dreariness 
 within, upon their worldly integrity, honour, energy, 
 prudence, and perseverance ; they made the most of the 
 natural man, and they "received their reward." Forth- 
 with they began to rise to a station higher than the 
 heathen Eoman, and have, in three centuries, attained a 
 wider range of sovereignty ; and now they look down 
 in contempt on what they were, and upon the EeHgion 
 which reclaimed them from paganism. 
 
 Yes, my dear Brethren, such was the temptation of 
 the evil one, such the fall of his victim, such the disposi- 
 tion of the Most High. The tempter said, " All these 
 will I give thee, if, falling down, thou wilt adore me ;" 
 and their rightful Lord and Sovereign permitted the 
 boast to be fulfilled. He permitted it for His greater 
 glory : He might have hindered it, as He might hinder 
 all evil ; but He saw good. He saw it best, to let things 
 take their course. He did not interfere. He kept silence, 
 He retired from the land which would be rid of Him. 
 And there were those at that crisis who understood not 
 His providence, and would have interfered in His behalf 
 with a high hand. Holy men and true they were, zealous 
 for God, and tender towards His sheep ; but they divined 
 not His will. It was His will to leave the issue to time, 
 and to bring things round slowly and without violence, 
 and to conquer by means of His adversaries. He willed 
 it that their pride should be its own correction ; that 
 they should be broken without hands, and dissolve under 
 their own insufB.ciency. He who might have brought 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 133 
 
 myriads of Angels to the rescue, He who might have 
 armed and blessed the forces of Christendom against Hi» 
 persecutors, wrought more wondrously. He deigned not 
 to use the carnal weapon : He bade the drawu sword re- 
 turn to its sheath : He refused the combinations and the 
 armaments of earthly kings. He who sees the end from 
 the beginning, who is "justified in His words, and over- 
 comes when He is judged," did but wait. He waited 
 patiently ; He left the world to itself, nor avenged His 
 Church, but stayed till the fourth watch of the night, 
 when His faithful sons had given up hope, and thought 
 His mercy towards them at an end. He let the winds 
 and the waves insult Hiiu and His own; He suffered 
 meekly the jeers and blasphemies which rose on every 
 side, and pronounced the downfall of His work. " All 
 things have an end," men said; " there is a time for all 
 things ; a time to be born, and a time to die. All things 
 have their course and their term ; they may last a long 
 time, but after all, a period they have, and not an im- 
 mortality. So is it with man himself; even Mathusala 
 and Noe exhausted the full fountain of their being, and 
 the pitcher was at length crushed, and the wheel broken. 
 So is it with nations ; they rise, and they flourish, and 
 they fall ; there is an element in them, as in individuals, 
 which wears out and perishes. However great they may 
 be in their day, at length the moment comes, when they 
 have attained their greatest elevation, and accomplished 
 their full range, and fulfilled their scope. So is it with 
 great ideas and their manifestations ; they are realized, 
 they prevail, and they perish. As the constituents of 
 the animal frame at length refuse to hold together, so 
 
1 34 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 nations, philosophies, and religions one day lose their 
 unity and undergo the common law of decomposition. 
 Our nation doubtless will find its term at length, as well 
 as others, though not yet ; but that ancient faith of ours 
 has come to nought already. We have nothing then to 
 fear from the past ; the past is not, the past cannot re- 
 vive ; the dead tell no tales ; the grave cannot open. 
 New adversaries we may have, but with the Old Eeli- 
 gion we have parted once for all," 
 
 Thus speaks the world, deeming Christ's patience to 
 be feebleness, and His loving affection to be enmity. And 
 the faithful, on the other hand, have had their own mis- 
 givings too, whether Catholicism could ever flourish in 
 this country again. Has it yet happened anywhere in 
 the history of the Church, that a people which once lost 
 its faith ever regained it ? It is a gift of grace, a special 
 mercy to receive it once, and not to be expected a second 
 time. Many nations have never had it at all; from some 
 it has been taken away, apparently without their fault, 
 nay, in spite of their meritorious use of it. So was it 
 with the old Persian Church, which, after enduring two 
 frightful persecutions, had scarcely emerged from the 
 second, when it was irretrievably corrupted by heresy. 
 So was it with the famous Church of Africa, whose great 
 saint and doctor's dying moments were embittered by 
 the ravages around him of those fierce barbarians who 
 were destined to be its ruin. What are we better than 
 they ? It is then surely against the order of Provi- 
 dence hitherto, that the gift once given should be given 
 again ; the world and the Church bear a concordant 
 testimony here. 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 135 
 
 And the just Judge of man made as though He would 
 do what man anticipated. He retired, as I have said, 
 from the field ; He yielded the battle to the enemy ; — but 
 He did so that He might in the event more signally 
 triumph. He interfered not for near three hundred years, 
 that His enemies might try their powers of mind in form- 
 ing a religion instead of His own. He gave them three 
 hundred years' start, bidding them to do something bet- 
 ter than He, or something at all, if so be they were able, 
 and He put Himself to every disadvantage. He suffered 
 the daily sacrifice to be suspended, the hierarchy to be 
 driven out, education to be prohibited, religious houses 
 to be plundered and suppressed, cathedrals to be dese- 
 crated, shrines to be rifled, religious rites and duties to 
 be interdicted by the law of the land. He would owe 
 the world nothing in that revival of the Church which 
 was to follow. He wrought, as in the old time by His 
 prophet Elias, who, when he was to light the sacrifice 
 with fire from heaven, drenched the burnt-offering with 
 water the first time, the second time, and the third time ; 
 " and the water ran round about the altar, and the 
 trench was filled up with water." He wrought as He 
 Himself had done in the laising of Lazarus ; for when 
 He heard that His friend was sick, " He remained in the 
 same place two days'': on the third day He "said 
 plainly, Lazarus is dead, and I am glad, for your sake, 
 that 1 was not there, that you may believe" ; and then, 
 at length, He went and raised him from the grave. So 
 too was it in His own resurrection ; He did not rise froii] 
 the cross ; He did not rise from His mother's arms ; He 
 rose from the grave, and on the third day. 
 
136 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 So, my dear Brethren, is it now ; " He hath taken 
 us, and He will heal us ; He will strike, and He will 
 cure us. He will revive us after two days ; on the third 
 day He will raise us up, and we shall live in His sight." 
 Three ages have passed away ; the bell has tolled once, 
 and twice, and thrice ; the intercession of the saints has 
 had effect; the mystery of Providence is unravelled; the 
 destined hour is come. And, as when Christ arose, men 
 knew not of His rising, for He rose at midnight and in 
 silence, so when His mercy would do His new work 
 among us, He wrought secretly, and was risen ere men 
 dreamed of it. He sent not His Apostles and preachers, 
 as at the first, from the city where he has fixed His 
 throne. His few and scattered priests were about their 
 own work, watching their flocks by night, with little 
 time to attend to the souls of the wandering multitudes 
 around them, and with no thoughts of the conversion of 
 the country. But He came as a spirit upon the waters ; 
 He walked to and fro Himself over that dark and 
 troubled deep; and wonderful to behold, and inex- 
 plicable to man, hearts were stirred, and eyes were 
 raised in hope, and feet began to move towards the 
 Great Mother, who had almost given up the thought 
 and the seeking of them. First one, and then another, 
 sought the rest which she alone could give. A first, and 
 a second, and a third, and a fourth, each in his turn, as 
 grace inspired him, — not altogether, as by some party 
 understanding or political call, — but each drawn by divine 
 power, and against his will, for he was happy where he 
 was, yet with his will, for he was lovingly subdued by 
 the sweet mysterious influence which called him on. One 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 137 
 
 by one, little noticed at the moment, silently, swiftly, 
 and abundantly, they drifted in till all could see at 
 length that surely the stone was rolled away, and that 
 Christ was risen and abroad. And as He rose from the 
 grave, strong and glorious, as if refreshed with His sleep, 
 so, when the prison doors were opened, the Church came 
 forth, not changed in aspect or in voice, as calm and 
 keen, as vigorous and as well furnished, as when they 
 closed on her. It is told in legends, my Brethren, of 
 that great saint and instrument of God, St. Athanasius, 
 how that when the apostate Julian had come to his end, 
 and persecution with him, the saintly confessor, who had 
 been a wanderer over the earth, was found to the sur- 
 prise of his people in his cathedral at Alexandria, seated 
 on his episcopal throne, and clad in the vestments of 
 religion. So is it now ; the Church is coming out of 
 prison as collected in her teaching, as precise in her 
 action, as when she went into it. She comes out with 
 pallium, and cope, and chasuble, and stole, and wonder- 
 working relics, and holy images. Her bishops are again 
 in their chairs, and her priests sit round, and the perfect 
 vision of a majestic hierarchy rises before our eyes. 
 
 What an awful vitality is here ! What a heavenly- 
 sustained sovereignty ! What a self-evident divinity ' 
 She claims, she seeks, she desires no temporal power, no 
 secular station ; she meddles not with CiBsar or the things 
 of Caesar ; she obeys him in his place, but she is inde- 
 pendent of him. Her strength is in her God ; her rule is 
 over the souls of men ; her glory is in their willing sub- 
 jection and loving loyalty. She hopes and fears nothing 
 irom the world ; it made her not, nor can it destroy her. 
 
138 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 She can benefit it largely, but she does not force herself 
 upon it. She may be persecuted by it, but she thrives 
 under the persecution. She may be ignored, she may be 
 silenced and thrown into a corner, but she is thought of 
 the more. Calumniate her, and her influence grows ; 
 ridicule her, — she does but smile upon you more awfully 
 and persuasively. What will you do with her, ye sons 
 of men, if you will not love her, if at least you will not 
 endure her ? Let the last three hundred years reply. Let 
 her alone, refrain from her; for if her counsel or her 
 work be of men, it will come to nought ; but if it be of 
 God, you cannot overthrow it, lest perhaps you be found 
 even to fight against God, 
 
 And here 1 might well stop, for I have brought the 
 line of thought which I have been pursuing to an end; 
 but it is right to inquire how our enemies view these 
 things, as well as how we view them ourselves ; and this 
 will lead me to ask your patient attention for a longer 
 time. 
 
PAET IT. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Bt videntes eum super mare ambulantem, turbati sunt, dicentes : 
 Quia phantasma est. Et prae timore clamaverunt. 
 
 And they, seeing Him walking upon the sea, were troubled, say- 
 ing : It is an apparition. And they cried out for fear. 
 
 YES, my dear Brethren, would I could end at the point 
 to which I have brought you ! I ought to be able to 
 end here ; it is hard I cannot end here. Surely I have 
 set before you a character of the Church of this day 
 remarkable enough to attach to her the prerogatives of 
 that divinely favoured bark in which Peter rowed, and 
 into which the Eternal Lord entered, on the lake of 
 Genesareth. Her fortunes during eighteen centuries 
 have more than answered to the instance of that mi- 
 raculous protection which was manifested in the fisher's 
 boat in Galilee. It is hard that I must say more, but 
 not strange; not strange, my Brethren, for both our 
 Saviour's own history and His express word prepare us 
 to expect that what is in itself so miraculous would fail 
 to subdue, nay, would harden, the hearts of those to 
 whom it so forcibly appeals. There is, indeed, no argu- 
 ment so strong but the wilful ingenuity of man is able 
 to evade or retort it; and what happens to us in this day 
 (139) 
 
140 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 happened to Him also, who is in all things our archetype 
 and forerunner. There was a time when He wrought a 
 miracle to convince the incredulous, but they had their 
 ready explanation to destroy its cogency. " There was 
 offered unto Him," says the Evangelist, " one possessed 
 with a devil, both blind and dumb ; and He healed him, 
 so that he both spoke and saw. And all the multitudes 
 were amazed, and said, Is this not the son of David ? But 
 the Pharisees hearing it, said : This man casteth not out 
 devils hut hy Beelzebub, the prince of the devils." So said 
 the Pharisees ; and He of whom they spoke forewarned 
 His disciples, that both He and His adversaries would 
 have their respective representatives in after times, both 
 in uttering and bearing a like blasphemy. " The dis- 
 ciple is not above his master," He said, " nor the servant 
 above his lord. It is enough for the disciple that he is 
 as his master, and the servant as his lord. If they have 
 called the good-man of the house Beelzebub, how mibch more 
 them of His household ! " 
 
 So it was, my Brethren, that our Saviour was not 
 allowed to point to His miracles as His warrant, but was 
 thought the worse of for them ; and it cannot startle us 
 that we too have to suffer the like in our day. The Sinless 
 was called Beelzebub, much more His sinful servants. 
 And what happened to Him then, is our protection as 
 well as our warning now : for that must be a poor argu- 
 ment, which is available, not only against us, but against 
 Him. For this reason, I am not called upon to enter 
 upon any formal refutation of this charge against us ; 
 yet it will not be without profit to ta-ace its (^ration, 
 and that I shall now proceed to do. 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 141 
 
 The world, then, witnesses, scrutinizes, and confesses 
 the marvellousness of the Church's power. It does not 
 deny that she is special, awful, nay, supernatural in her 
 history ; that she does what unaided man cannot do. It 
 discerns and recognizes her abidingness, her unchange- 
 ableness, her imperturbability, her ever youthful vigour, 
 the elasticity of her movements, the consistency and har- 
 mony of her teaching, the persuasiveness of her claims. 
 It confesses, I say, that she is a supernatural pheno- 
 menon ; but it makes short work with such a confession, 
 viewed as an argument for submitting to her, for it 
 ascribes the miracle which it beholds, to Satan, not to 
 God. 
 
 This being taken for granted, as an initial assumption 
 from which the whole course of investigation is to pro- 
 ceed, and to which every result is to be referred, — viz., 
 that the Church is not the spouse of Christ, but the 
 child of the evil one, the sorceress described by St. John ; 
 and her supreme head, not the vicar of Christ, and pastor 
 and doctor of His people, but the man of sin, and the des- 
 tined deceiver and son of perdition, — I say, this is being 
 assumed without proof on starting, it is plain that the 
 very evidences, which really demonstrate our divine 
 origin, are plausibly retorted on us, as they were retorted 
 on our Lord and Saviour, as tokens of our reprobation. 
 Antichrist, when he comes, will be an imitative or coun- 
 terfeit Christ; therefore he will look like Christ to the 
 many, otherwise he would not he a counterfeit; but if 
 Antichrist looks like Christ, Christ, of course, must look 
 like Antichrist. The idolatrous sorceress, if she is to 
 have any success in her enchantments, must feign a 
 
142 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 gravity, an authority, a sanctity, and a nobleness, which 
 really belong to the Church of Christ alone ; no wonder, 
 then, since Satan is to be able to persuade men that she 
 is like the Church, he is also able to persuade them that 
 the Church is like her. Christ Himself twice was not 
 recognized even by His disciples in the boat, who loved 
 Him : St. Peter did not know Him after the resurrec- 
 tion, till St. John detected Him ; and when, before this, 
 He came walking on the sea, they at first were afraid of 
 Him, as though He had been some evil or malignant 
 being : " they were troubled, saying : It is an apparition, 
 and they cried out for fear." No wonder the enemy of 
 souls should have abundant opportunity and means of 
 seducing the thoughtless and the headstrong, when the 
 very Apostles, in the first years of their discipleship, 
 were so dull in spiritual apprehension. 
 
 1. I say, the more numerous and striking are the evi- 
 dences of the divinity of the Church, so much the more 
 conclusively are they retorted against her, when meu 
 assume at starting that she comes, not from above, but 
 from below. Does she claim to be sent from God ? but 
 Antichrist will claim it too. Do nien bow before her, 
 " and lick up the dust from her feet " ? but on the other 
 hand, it is said of the apocalyptic sorceress also, that the 
 kings of the earth shall be made " drunk with her wine." 
 Does the Church receive the homage of "the islands, 
 and the ships of the sea " ? The answer is ready ; for it 
 is expressly said in Scripture that the evil woman shall 
 make " the merchants of the earth rich by the abundance 
 of her delicacies." Is the Church honoured with " the 
 gold and frankincense of Saba, the multitude of camels. 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 143 
 
 the dromedaries of Madian, and the flocks of Cedar " ? 
 Her impious rival, too, will be clothed "in purple and 
 scarlet, and gilded with gold," and enriched with " beasts, 
 and sheep, and horses, and chariots." Does the Church 
 exercise a power over the soul ? The enchantress, too, 
 will be possessed, not only of the goods of this world, 
 but of " the souls of men." Was it promised to the sons 
 of the Church to do miracles? Antichrist is to do 
 "lying wonders." Do they exhibit a meekness and a 
 firmness most admirable, a marvellous self-denial, a fer- 
 vency in prayer, and a charity ? It is answered : " This 
 only makes them more dangerous. Do you not know 
 that Satan can transform himself into an angel of light ? " 
 Are they, according to our Lord's bidding, like sheep, 
 defenceless and patient ? This does but fulfil a re- 
 markable prophecy, it is retorted ; for the second beast, 
 which came up out of the earth, " had two horns like a 
 lamb's, while it spoke like a dragon." Does the Church 
 fulfil the Scripture description of being weak and yet 
 strong, of conquering by yielding, of having nothing yet 
 gaining all things, and of exercising power without 
 wealth or station ? This wonderful fact, which ought 
 surely to startle the most obstinate, is assigned, not to 
 the power of God, but to some political art or conspiracy. 
 Angels walk the earth in vain ; to the gross prejudice of 
 the multitude their coming and going is the secret plot- 
 ting, as they call it, of " monks and Jesuits." Good 
 forsooth it cannot, shall not be ; rather believe anything 
 than that it comes from God ; believe in a host of invi- 
 sible traitors prowling about and disseminating doctrine 
 adverse to your own, believe us to be liars and deceivers, 
 
144 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 men of blood, ministers of hell, rather than turn your 
 minds, by way of solving the problem, to the possibility 
 of our being what we say we are, the children and ser- 
 vants of the true Church. There never was a more 
 successful artifice than this, which the author of evil has 
 devised against his Maker, that God's work is not God's 
 but his own. He has spread this abroad in the world, as 
 thieves in a crowd escape by giving the alarm ; and men, 
 in their simplicity, run away from Christ as if Christ 
 were he, and run into his arms as if he were Christ. 
 
 2. And if Satan can so well avail himself even of the 
 gifts and glories of the Church, it is not wonderful that 
 he can be skilful also in his exhibition and use of those 
 offences and scandals which are his own work in her now 
 or in former times, lly Brethren, she has scandals, she 
 has a reproach, she has a shame : no Catholic will deny 
 it. She has ever had the reproach and shame of being 
 the mother of children unworthy of her. She has good 
 children ; — she has many more bad. Such is the will of 
 God, as declared from the beginning. He might have 
 formed a pure Church ; but He has expressly predicted 
 that the cockle, sown by the enemy, shall remain 
 with the wheat, even to the harvest at the end of the 
 world. He pronounced that His Church should be like 
 a fisher's net, gathering of every kind, and not examined 
 till the evening. Xay, more than this, He declared that 
 the bad and imperfect should far surpass the good. "Many 
 are called," He said, " but few are chosen " ; and His 
 Apostle speaks of " a remnant saved according to the 
 election of grace." There is ever, then, an abundance of 
 materials in the lives and the histories of Catliolics ; 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 145 
 
 ready to the use of those oppoaents who, starting with 
 the notion that the Holy Church is the work of the devil, 
 wish to have some corroboration of their leading idea. 
 Her very prerogative gives special opportunity for it ; 
 I mean, that she is the Church of all lands and of all 
 times. If there was a Judas among the Apostles, and a 
 Nicholas among the deacons, why should we be sur- 
 prised that in the course of eighteen hundred years, there 
 should be flagrant instances of cruelty, of unfaithfulness, 
 of hypocrisy, or of profligacy, and that not only in the 
 Catholic people, but in high places, in royal palaces, in 
 bishops' households, nay, in the seat of St. Peter itself ? 
 Why need it surprise, if in barbarous ages, or in ages of 
 luxury, there have been bishops, or abbots, or priests who 
 have forgotten themselves and their God, and served the 
 world or the flesh, and have perished in that evil service ? 
 What triumph is it, though in a long line of between 
 two and three hundred popes, amid martyrs, confessors, 
 doctors, sage rulers, and loving fathers of their people, 
 one, or two, or three are found who fulfil the Lord's 
 description of the wicked servant, who began " to strike 
 the manservants and maidservants, and to eat and drink 
 and be drunk " ? What will come of it, though we grant 
 that at this time or that, here or there, mistakes in policy, 
 or ill-advisedmeasures,ortimidity,or vacillation in action, 
 or secular maxims, or inhumanity, or narrowness of mind 
 have seemed to influence the Church's action, or her bear- 
 ing towards her children ? I can only say tliat, taking 
 man as he is, it would be a miracle were such offences 
 altogether absent from her history. Consider what it is 
 
 to be left to oneself and one's conscience, without others' 
 
 10 
 
146 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 judgment on what we do, which at times is the case 
 with all men ; consider what it is to have easy opportu- 
 nities of sinning ; and then cast the first stone at church- 
 men who have abused their freedom from control, or 
 independence of criticism. My Brethren, with such 
 considerations before me, I do not wonder that these 
 scandals take place ; which, of course, are the greater in 
 proportion as the field on which they are found is larger 
 and wider, and the more shocking in proportion as the 
 profession of sanctity, under which they exhibit them- 
 selves, is more prominent. What religious body can 
 compare with us in duration or in extent ? There are 
 crimes enough to be found in the members of all denomi- 
 nations : if there are passages in our history, the like of 
 which do not occur in the annals of Wesleyanism or of 
 Independency, or the otlier religions of the day, recollect 
 there have been no Anabaptist pontiffs, no Methodist 
 kings, no Congregational monasteries, no Quaker popu- 
 lations. Let the tenets of Irving or Swedenborg spread, 
 as they never can, through the world, and we should see 
 if, amid the wealth, and power, and station which would 
 accrue to their holders, they would bear their faculties 
 more meekly than Catholics have done. 
 
 Come, my Brethren, I will use a very homely illus- 
 tration ; suffer it, if it be but apposite. You know 
 what a sensation railway accidents occasion. Why ? 
 because so enormous are the physical and mechanical 
 forces which are put in motion in that mode of travelling, 
 that, if an accident occurs, it must be gigantic. It is 
 horrible from the conditions under which it takes place. 
 In consequence, it impresses the imagination beyond 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 147 
 
 what the reason can warrant ; so that you may fall in 
 with persons, who, on hearing, and much more, on under- 
 going such a misfortune, are not slow to protest that 
 they never will travel by a railroad again. But sober 
 men submit the matter to a more exact investiga- 
 tion. They do not suffer their minds to be fastened 
 down or carried away by the thought of one or two 
 casualties which shock them. They consider the number 
 of lines, the frequency of trains, the multitude of pas- 
 sengers ; they have recourse to the returns, and they 
 calculate the average of accidents, and determine the 
 percentage. And then they contrast with the results 
 thus obtained the corresponding results which coach 
 travelling supplies, and they end, perhaps, by coming to 
 the conclusion that, in matter of fact, the rail is safer 
 than the road ; and yet still, in spite of these undeniable 
 facts, there are timid persons, whose imagination is more 
 active than their reason, and who are so arrested by the 
 exceptions, few as they are, that they cannot get them- 
 selves to contemplate the rule. In consequence they 
 protest as steadily as before, that steam travelling is 
 perilous and suicidal, and that they never will travel except 
 by coach. Oh, my Brethren, there are many such alarm- 
 ists in religion ; they dress out in tract or pamphlet, 
 they cut out and frame, some special story of tyranny, 
 or fraud, or immorality in the long history of world-wide 
 Catholicism, and that to them is simply Catholicism — 
 that to them is nothing short of a picture, a definition 
 of Catholicism. They shrink from the great road of 
 travel which God has appointed, and they run, as I 
 may say, their own private conveyance, be it Wesley- 
 
148 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 anism, or Anglicanism, or Dissent, on their own track, 
 as safer, surer, pleasanter, than the Catholic way of pas- 
 sage, because that passage is not secure from danger and 
 mishap. And if this frame of mind is possible in a matter 
 of this life, into which prejudice, and especially religious 
 prejudice, does not enter, much more commonly and 
 fatally will it obtain, when men are not looking for reasons 
 to ascertain a point, but for arguments to defend it. 
 
 3. You see, my Brethren, from what I have been say- 
 ing, how it is that on the one hand, the visible preroga- 
 tives of Catholicism do but make men suspicious of it, 
 while on the other its scandals are sure to iill them with 
 dread aud horror. But now let me pursue the matter 
 further ; let me attempt to trace out more fully how the 
 English mind, in these last centuries, has come to think 
 there is nothing good in that Eeligion, which it once 
 thought the very teaching of the Most High. Consider, 
 then, this : most men, by nature, dislike labour and 
 trouble ; if they labour, as they are obliged to do, they 
 do so because they are obliged. They exert themselves 
 under a stimulus or excitement, and just as long as it 
 lasts. Thus they labour for their daily bread, for their 
 families, or for some temporal object which they de- 
 sire ; but they do not take on them the trouble of doing 
 so without some such motive cause. Hence, in religious 
 matters, having no urgent appetite after truth, or desire 
 to please God, or fear of the consequences of displeasing 
 Him, or detestation of sin, they take what comes, they 
 form their notions at random, they are moulded passively 
 from without, and this is what is commonly meant by 
 
 pri't ate judgment." " Private judgment " commonly 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 149 
 
 means passive impression. Most men in this country 
 like opinions to be brought to them, rather than to be at 
 the pains to go out and seek for them. They like to be 
 waited on, they like to be consulted, for theyliketo be their 
 own centre. As great men have their slaves or their body- 
 servants for every need of the day, so, in an age like this, 
 when every one reads and has a voice in public matters, 
 it is indispensable that they should have persons to pro- 
 vide them with their ideas, the clothing of their mind, and 
 that of the best fashion. Hence the extreme influence of 
 periodical publications at this day, quarterly, monthly, or 
 daily ; these teach the multitude of men what to think 
 and what to say. And thus is it that, in this age, every 
 one is, intellectually, a sort of absolute king, though his 
 realm is confined to himself or to his family ; for at least 
 he can think and say, though he cannot do, what he will, 
 and that with no trouble at all, because he has plenty of 
 intellectual servants to wait on him. Is it to be supposed 
 that a man is to take the trouble of finding out truth him- 
 self, when he can pay for it ? So his only object is to have 
 cheap knowledge ; that he may have his views of reve- 
 lation, and dogma, and policy, and conduct, — in short, 
 of right and wrong, — ready to hand, as he has his table- 
 cloth laid for his breakfast, and the materials provided for 
 the meal. Thus it is, then, that the English mitid grows 
 up into its existing character. There are nations natu- 
 rally so formed for speculation, that individuals, almost 
 as they eat and drink and work, will originate doctrines 
 and follow out ideas ; they, too, of course have their own 
 difficulties in submitting to the Church, but such is not 
 the Englishman. He is in his own way the creature of 
 
1 50 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 circumstances ; he is bent on action, but as to opinion 
 he takes what comes, only he bargains not to be teased 
 or troubled about it. He gets his opinions anyhow, 
 some from the nursery, some at school, some from the 
 world, and has a zeal for them, because they are his own. 
 Other men, at least, exercise a judgment upon them, and 
 prove them by a rule. He does not care to do so, but he 
 takes them as he finds them, whether they fit together or 
 not, and makes light of the incongruity, and thinks it a 
 proof of common sense, good sense, strong shrewd sense, 
 to do so. All he cares for is, that he should not be put 
 to rights ; of that he is jealous enough. He is satisfied to 
 walk about, dressed just as he is. As opinions come, so they 
 must stay with him : and, as he does not like trouble in 
 his acquisition of them, so he resents criticism in his use. 
 When, then, the awful form of Catholicism, of which 
 he has already heard so much good and so much evil — so 
 much evil which revolts him, so much good which amazes 
 and troubles him — when this great vision, which hitherto 
 he has known from books and from rumour, but not b)' 
 sight and hearing, presents itself before him, it finds in 
 him a very different being from the simple Anglo-Saxon 
 to whom it originally came. It finds in him a being, 
 not of rude nature, but of formed habits, averse to 
 change and resentful of interference ; a being who looks 
 hard at it, and repudiates and loathes it, first of all, 
 because, if listened to, it would give him much trouble. 
 He wishes to be let alone ; but here is a teaching 
 which purports to be revealed, which would mould 
 his mind on new ideas, which he has to learn, and 
 which, if he cannot learn thoroughly, he must borrow 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 1 5 1 
 
 from strangers. The very notion of a theology or a ritual 
 frightens and oppressed him ; it is a yoke, because it 
 makes religion difficult, not easy. There is enough of 
 labour in learning matters of this life, without con- 
 cerning oneself with the revelations of another. He does 
 not choose to believe that the Almighty has told us so 
 many things, and he readily listens to any person or 
 argument maintaining the negative. And, moreover, he 
 resents the idea of interference itself ; " an Englishman's 
 house is his castle ; " a maxim most salutary in politics, 
 most dangerous in moral conduct. He cannot bear the 
 thought of not having a will of his own, or an opinion 
 of his own, on any given subject of inquiry, whatever 
 it be. It is intolerable, as he considers, not to be able, 
 on the most awful and difficult of subjects, to think for 
 oneself ; it is an insult to be told that God has spoken 
 and superseded investigation. 
 
 4. And, further still, consider this : strange as it may 
 be to those who do not know him, he really believes in 
 that accidental collection of tenets, of which I have been 
 speaking ; habit has made it all natural to liim, and he 
 takes it for granted ; he thinks his own view of things 
 as clear as day, and every other view irrational and ludi- 
 crous. In good faith and in sincerity of heart, he thinks 
 the Englishman knows more about God's dealings with 
 men, than any one else ; and he measures all things in 
 heaven and earth by the floating opinions which have 
 been drifted into his mind. And especially is he satis- 
 fied and sure of \i\% frincvples ; he conceives them to be 
 the dictates of the simplest and most absolute sense, and 
 it does not occur to him for a moment, that objective 
 
152 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 truth claims to be sought, and a revealed doctrine requires 
 to be ascertained. He himself is the ultimate sanction 
 and appellate authority of all that he holds. Putting 
 aside, then, the indignation which, under these circum- 
 stances, he naturally feels in being invited to go to 
 school again, his present opinions are an effectual bar to 
 his ever recognizing the divine mission of Catholicism ; 
 for he criticizes Catholicism simply by those opinions 
 themselves which are antagonists of it, and takes his 
 notes of truth and error from a source which is already 
 committed against it. And thus you see that frequent 
 occurrence, of reaUy worthy persons unable to reconcile 
 their minds, do what they will, to the teaching and the 
 ways of the Catholic Church. The more they see of her 
 members, the more their worst suspicions are confirmed. 
 They did not wish, they say, to believe the popular 
 notions of her anti-Christian character ; but, really, after 
 what they have seen of her authorities and her people, 
 nothing is left to them but an hostility to her, which 
 they are loth to adopt. They wish to think the best of 
 every one ; but this ecclesiastical measure, that speech, 
 that book, those persons, those expressions, that line of 
 thought, those realized results, all tend one way, and 
 force them to unlearn a charitableness which is as perni- 
 cious as it is illusory. Thus, my Brethren, they speak ; 
 alas, they do not see that they are assuming the very 
 point in dispute ; for the original question is, whether 
 Catholics or they are right in their respective principles 
 and views, and to decide it merely by what is habitual to 
 themselves is to exercise the double ofSce of accuser and 
 judge. Yet multitudes, of sober and serious minds and 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 153 
 
 well-regulated lives, look out upon the Catholic Church 
 and shrink back again from her presence, on no better 
 reasons than these. They cannot endure her; their 
 whole being revolts from her ; she leaves, as they speak, 
 a bad taste in their mouths ; all is so novel, so strange, 
 so unlike what is familiar to them, so unlike the 
 Anglican prayer-book, so unlike some favourite author 
 of their own, so different from what they would do or 
 say themselves, requires so much explanation, is so 
 strained and unnatural, so unreal and extravagant, so 
 unquiet, nay, so disingenuous, so unfeeling, that they 
 cannot even tolerate it. The Mass is so difficult to fol- 
 low, and we say prayers so very quickly, and we sit 
 when we should stand, and we talk so freely when we 
 should be reserved, and we keep Sunday so differently 
 from them, and we have such notions of our own 
 about marriage and celibacy, and we approve of vows, 
 and we class virtues and sins on so unreasonable a 
 standard ; these and a thousand such details are, in the 
 case of numbers, decisive proofs that we deserve the 
 hard names which are heaped on us by the world. 
 
 5. Eecollect, too, my Brethren, that a great part of 
 the actions of every day, when narrowly looked into, are 
 neither good nor bad in themselves, but only in relation 
 to the persons who do them, and the circumstances or 
 motives under which they are done. There are actions, 
 indeed, which no circumstances can alter ; which, at all 
 times, and in all places, are duties or sins. Veracity, 
 purity, are always virtues — blasphemy, always a sin ; 
 but to speak against another, for instance, is not always 
 detr3,ction, and swearing is not always taking God's 
 
154 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 name in vain. What is right in one person, may be 
 wrong in another ; and hence the various opinions v^^hich 
 are formed of public men, who, for the most part, cannot 
 be truly judged, except with a knowledge of their prin- 
 ciples, characters, and motives. Here is another source 
 of misrepresenting the Church and her servants ; much 
 of what they do admits both of a good interpretation 
 and a bad ; and when the world, as I have supposed, 
 starts with the hypothesis that we are hypocrites or 
 tyrants, that we are unscrupulous, crafty, and profane, 
 it is easy to see how the very same actions wliich it 
 would extol in its friends, it will unhesitatingly con- 
 demn in the instance of the objects of its hatred or sus- 
 picion. When men live iu their own world, in their own 
 habits and ways of thought, as I have been describing, 
 they contract, not only a narrowness, but what may be 
 called a one-sidedness of mind. They do not judge of 
 us by the rules they apply to the conduct of themselves 
 and each other; what they praise or allow in those they 
 admire is an offence to them in us. Day by day, then, 
 as it passes, furnishes, as a matter of course, a series of 
 charges against us, simply because it furnishes a succes- 
 sion of our sayings and doings. Whatever we do, what- 
 ever we do not do, is a demonstration against us. Do 
 we argue ? men are surprised at our insolence or effron- 
 tery ; are we silent ? we are underhand and deep. Do 
 we appeal to the law ? it is in order to evade it ; do we 
 obey the Church ? it is a sign of our disloyalty. Do we 
 state our pretensions ? we blaspheme ; do we conceal 
 them ? we are liars and hypocrites. Do we display the 
 pomp of our ceremonial, and the habits of our Religious ? 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 1 5 5 
 
 our presumption has become intolerable ; do we put 
 them aside and dress as others ? we are ashamed of being 
 seen, and skulk about as conspirators. Did a Catholic 
 priest cherish doubts of his faith ? it would be an inter- 
 esting and touching fact, suitable for public meetings ; 
 does a Protestant minister, on the other hand, doubt of 
 the Protestant opinions ? he is but dishonestly eating 
 the bread of the Establishment. Does a Protestant 
 exclude Catholic books from his house ? he is a good 
 father and master ; does a Catholic do the same with 
 Protestant tracts ? he is afraid of the light. Protestants 
 may ridicule a portion of our Scriptures under the name 
 of the Apocrypha : we may not denounce the mere 
 Protestant translation of the Bible. Protestants are to 
 glory in their obedience to their ecclesiastical head ; we 
 may not be faithful to ours. A Protestant layman may 
 determine and propound all by himself the terms of sal- 
 vation; we are bigots and despots, if we do but proclaim 
 what a thousand years have sanctioned. The Catholic is 
 insidious, when the Protestant is prudent; the Protestant 
 frank and honest, when the Catholic is rash or profane. 
 Not a word that we say, not a deed that we do, but is 
 viewed in the medium of that one idea, by the light of 
 that one prejudice, which our enemies cherish concerning 
 us ; not a word or a deed but is grafted on the original 
 assumption that we certainly come from below, and are 
 the servants of Antichrist. 
 
 6. Now, my dear Brethren, I have not said a word 
 of much more that might be insisted on, and of the 
 greatest importance. I have not said a word of the 
 unhappy interest that men have in denying a Religion 
 
156 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 so severe against the wilful sinner as ours is : — no one 
 likes a prophet of evil. Nor have I shown you, as I 
 might, how natural it is, that they who sit at home and 
 judge of all things by their personal experience of what 
 is possible, and their private notion of what is good, 
 should, humanly speaking, be incapable of faith in reli- 
 gious mysteries, such as ours. They think nothing true 
 which is strange to them ; and, in consequence, they 
 consider our very doctrines a simple refutation of our 
 claims. Nor, again, have I spoken of the misre- 
 presentations and slanders with which the father of 
 lies floods the popular mind, and which are so safe to 
 utter, because they are, as he knows, so welcome to hear. 
 Alas ! there is no calumny too gross for the credulity of 
 our countrymen, no imputation on us so monstrous which 
 they will not drink up greedily like water. There is a 
 demand tor such fabrications, and there is a consequent 
 supply ; our antiquity, our vastness, our strangeness, our 
 successes, our unniovableness, all require a solution; 
 and the impostor is hailed as a prophet, who will ex- 
 temporize against us some tale of blood, and the orator 
 as an evangelist, who points to some real scandal of the 
 Church, dead and gone, man or measure, as the pattern 
 fact of Catholicism. And thus it comes to pass that we 
 are distrusted, feared, hated, and ridiculed, whichever 
 way we look ; all parties, the most hostile to each other, 
 are still more hostile to us, and will combine in attack- 
 ing us. No one but is brave enough to spurn us ; it is 
 no cowardice to accuse us when we cannot answer, no 
 cruelty to fasten on us what we detest. We are fair 
 game for all comers. Other men they view and oppose 
 
Christ iLpon the Waters. 157 
 
 in their doctrines, but us they oppose in our persons ; we 
 are thought morally and individually corrupt, we have 
 not even natural goodness ; we are not merely ignorant 
 of the new birth, but are signed and sealed as the mini- 
 sters of the evil one. We have his mark on our fore- 
 heads. That we are living beings with human hearts 
 and keen feelings, is not conceived ; no, the best we can 
 expect is to be treated as shadows of the past, names a 
 thousand mUes away, abstractions, commonplaces, his- 
 torical figures, or dramatic properties, waste ground on 
 which any load of abuse may be shot, the convenient 
 conductors of a distempered political atmosphere — who 
 are not Englishmen, who have not the right of citizens, 
 nor any claim for redress, nor any plea for indulgence, 
 but who are well off, forsooth, if they are allowed so 
 much as to pollute this free soil with their odious 
 presence. 
 
 And thus we are thrown back on ourselves : for no- 
 thing we can do on the stage of the world, but is turned 
 against us as an offence. Our most innocent actions, our 
 attempts to please the community, our sanguine expec- 
 tations of conciliating our foes, our expressions of love, 
 are flung back upon us with scorn, to our pain and 
 disappointment. Our simplicity, inexperience of life, 
 ignorance of human nature, or want of tact and pru- 
 dence, are put down to duplicity ; and the more honest 
 and frank are our avowals, the more certainly it is 
 thought that a fraud lurks in the background. We are 
 never so double-dealing as when we are candid. We 
 are never so deep as when we have been accused and 
 acquitted. Thus we tind ourselvee quite at fault how 
 
158 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 anything we do is likely to be taken ; and at length, 
 with wounded feelings, we determine to let it alone, 
 as never knowing where to find men, or how to treat 
 them. I have often been reminded, my Brethren, by 
 these circumstances of ours, of the complication, not un- 
 common, I think, in the fictions of a popular writer who 
 died some twenty years ago. He delights to represent 
 innocent persons involved in circumstances which 
 plausibly convict them of guilt, and which they are 
 unable satisfactorily to explain. I think I recollect a 
 young man who is accused of treason, and who, when 
 fact after fact is brought forward to his disadvantage, 
 conscious of his innocence, yet feeling the ingenuity of 
 the allegation, and the speciousness of the evidence by 
 which it is supported, and, moreover, the prejudice and 
 cold suspicions of his judge, bursts into tears, buries his 
 head in his hand, and refuses to answer any more inter- 
 rogatories. " Do your worst,'' he seems to say, " not a 
 word more shall you extract from me. Tou refuse to 
 believe me ; cease to question me. Tou are determined 
 I am guilty ; make the most of your persuasion." What 
 is there represented in fiction happens to us in fact. We 
 are innocent, we seem guilty, we despair of the vindica- 
 tion which we deserve ; but we do not bury our faces 
 in our hands, we raise our hands and our faces to our 
 Eedeemer. " As the eyes of servants are on the hands 
 of their masters, and the eyes of the handmaid are on 
 the hands of her mistress, so are our eyes unto the Lord 
 our God, until He have mercy upon us. Have mercy 
 on us, Lord ; have mercy on us, for we are greatly 
 filled with contempt. We ar« a reproach to the rich 
 
Christ upon the Waters. 159 
 
 and a contempt to the proud." To Thee do we appeal, 
 true Judge, for Thou seest us. We care not for man 
 while we have Thee. We can afford to part with the 
 creature while we have the Creator. We can endure 
 " the snare of an unjust tongue, and the lips of them that 
 forge lies," while we have Thy presence in our assem- 
 blies, and Thy witness and Thy approval in our hearts. 
 
 We do not, then, we cannot, rejoice in a mere worldly 
 temper or in a political tone, on occasion of the event 
 which we are celebrating to-day : no, we are too conscious 
 both of our divine prerogatives and our high destiny, 
 and again of the weight of that calumny and reproach 
 which is our cross. We rejoice, not " as those who re- 
 joice in the harvest, or as conquerors rejoice when they 
 divide the spoils." We rejoice surely, but solemnly, re- 
 ligiously, courageously, as the priests of the Lord, when 
 they were carrying into battle " the ark of the Lord, the 
 God of the whole earth." We rejoice, as those who love 
 men's souls so well that they would go through much to 
 save them, yet love God more, and find the full reward 
 of all disappointments in Him ; as those whose work 
 lies with sinners, but whose portion is with the saints. 
 We love you, men of this generation, but we fear you 
 not. Understand well and lay it to heart, that we will 
 do the work of God and fulfil our mission, with your 
 consent, if we can get it, but in spite of you, if we can- 
 not. You cannot touch us except in a way of which you 
 do not dream, by the arm of force ; nor do we dream of 
 asking for more than that which the Apostle claimed, 
 freedom of speech, "an open door,'' which, through God's 
 
i6o Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 grace, will be " evident," though there be " many adver- 
 saries." We do but wish to subdue you by appeals to 
 your reason and to your heart ; give us but a fair field 
 and in due time, and we hope to gain our point. I do not 
 say that we shall gain it in this generation ; I do not 
 say we shall gain it without our own suffering; but we 
 look on to the future, and we do not look at ourselves. 
 As to ourselves, the world has long ago done its worst 
 against us: long ago has it seasoned us for this en- 
 counter. In the way of obloquy and ridicule it has 
 exhausted upon us long since all it had to pour, and now 
 it is resourceless. More it cannot say against us than 
 it has said already. We have parted company with it 
 for many years ; we have long chosen our portion with 
 the old faith once delivered to the saints, and we have 
 intimately comprehended that a penalty is attached to 
 the profession. No one proclaims the truth to a de- 
 ceived world, but will be treated himself as a deceiver. 
 "We know our place and our fortunes : to give a witness, 
 and to be reviled; to be cast out as evil, and to succeed. 
 Such is the law which the Lord of all has annexed to 
 the promulgation of the truth : its preachers suffer, but 
 its cause prevails. Joyfully have we become a party to 
 this bargain ; and as we have resigned ourselves to the 
 price, so we intend, by God's aid, to claim the compen- 
 sation. 
 
 Fear not, therefore, dear Brethren of the household of 
 faith, any trouble that may come upon us, or upon you, 
 if trouble be God's will ; trouble will but prove the 
 simplicity of our and your devotion to Him. When our 
 Lord walked on the sea, Peter went out to meet Him, 
 
Christ tipon the Waters. i6i 
 
 and, " seeing the wind strong he was afraid." Doubt 
 not that He, who caught the disciple by the hand, will 
 appear, to rescue you ; doubt not that He, who could 
 tread the billovv's so securely, can self-sustained bear any 
 weight your weakness throws upon Him, and can be 
 your immovable refuge and home amid the tossing and 
 tumult of the storm. The waves roared round the 
 Apostle, they could do nothing more: they could but 
 excite his fear ; they could but assault his faith ; they 
 could not hurt him but by tempting him ; they could not 
 overcome him except through himself. While he was 
 true to himself, he was safe ; whea he feared and doubted, 
 he began to sink. So it is now : " your adversary, the 
 devil, as a roaring lion, goeth about : " it is all he can 
 do. So says the great Saint Antony, the first monk, 
 who lived his long life in the Egyptian desert, and had 
 abundant experience of conflicts with the evil one. He 
 tells his children that bad spirits make a noise and clatter, 
 and shout and roar, because they have nothing else to do ; 
 it is their way of driving us from our Saviour. Let us 
 be true to ourselves, and the blustering wind will drop, 
 the furious sea will calm. No, I fear not, my Brethren, 
 this momeutary clamour of our f(je : I fear not this great 
 people, among whom we dwell, of whose blood we come, 
 and who have still, under the habits of these later cen- 
 turies, the rudiments of that faith by which, in the 
 beginning, they were new-born to God : who still, de- 
 spite the loss of heavenly gifts, retain the love of justice, 
 manly bearing, and tenderness of heart, which Gregory 
 saw in their very faces. I have no fear about our Holy 
 
 Father, whose sincerity of affection towards His ancient 
 
 11 
 
1 62 Christ upon the Waters. 
 
 flock, whose simplicity and truthfulness I know full well. 
 I have no fear about the zeal of the college of our bishops, 
 the sanctity of the body of our clergy, or the inward 
 perfection of our Eeligious. One thing alone I fear. I 
 fear the presence of sin in the midst of us. My Brethren, 
 the success of the Church lies not with pope, or bishops, 
 or priests, or monks ; it rests with yourselves. If the 
 present mercies of God come to nought, it will be because 
 sin has undone them. The drunkard, the blasphemer, the 
 unjust dealer, the profligate liver — these will be our ruin; 
 the open scandal, the secret sin known only to God, these 
 form the devil's real host. We can conquer every foe but 
 these : corruption, hoUowness, neglect of mercies, deadness 
 of heart, worldliness — these will be too much for us. 
 
 And, my dear Brethren, if, through God's mercy, you 
 are among those who are shielded from these more pal- 
 pable dangers and more ordinary temptations of humanity, 
 then go on to pray for all who are in a like state with 
 yourselves, that we may all " forget the things that are 
 behind, and stretch forth to those that are before " ; that 
 we may "join with faith, virtue, and with virtue, know- 
 ledge, and with knowledge, abstinence, and with absti- 
 nence, patience, and with patience, pity, and with pity, love 
 of brotherhood, and with love of brotherhood, charity." 
 Pray that we may not come short of that destiny to 
 which God calls us ; that we may be visited by His 
 effectual grace, enabling us to break the bonds of luke- 
 warmness and sloth, to command our will, to rule our 
 actions through the day, to grow continually in devotion 
 and fervour of spirit, and, while our natural vigour decays, 
 to feel that keener energy which comes from heaven. 
 
SERMON X. 
 
 THE SECOND SPEING. 
 
 (Preached in St. Mary's, Oscott}) 
 Gaut., c. ii. u. 10-12. 
 
 Surge, propera, arnica mea, columba mea, formosa mea, et veni. 
 Jam enim hiems transiit, imber abiit et recessit. iPlores apparue- 
 runt in terrS, nostrS,. 
 
 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 con- 
 stancy, 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, 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 
 
 ' Dedication in the first Edition : — To the Fathers of the Synod 
 at Oscott, to the Clergy who assisted at it, who, in the strength of 
 the Most High, have begun a work which is to live after them, the 
 following Sermon, preached under the illumination of their pre- 
 sence, is humbly and affectionately inscribed, by their devoted 
 servant in Christ, the Author. 
 
 (163) 
 
164 The Second Spring. 
 
 thousand lives. Each hour, as it comes, is but a testi- 
 mony, how fleeting, yet hov/ 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 
 change — yet one change cries out to another, like the al- 
 ternate 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 bom out of it, as fresh as if it 
 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 are to wither ; but we know, vnthal, that May is one 
 day to have its revenge upon November, by the revolu- 
 tion 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, 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 world, so feeble, so down- 
 ward, so resourceless, amid all its aspirations. That 
 which ought to come to nought, endures ; that which 
 promises a future, disappoints and is no more. The 
 same sun shines in heaven from first to last, and the blue 
 firmament, the everlasting mountains, reflect his rays ; 
 but where is there upon earth the champion, the hero, 
 the lawgiver, the body politic, the sovereign race, which 
 was great three hundred years ago, and is great now ? 
 Moralists and poets, often do they descant upon this 
 
The Second Spring. 165 
 
 innate vitality of matter, this iunate 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 ou in his name, 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 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 succumb to it. 
 We look at the bloom 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 dishonoured by 
 the 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 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 its spring-tide. Pair 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 amiableness, the 
 
1 66 The Second Spring. 
 
 confiding spirit, the gentle temper, the elastic cheerful- 
 ness, the open hand, the pure affection, the noble aspira- 
 tion, 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 admiration in their 
 best shapes, in tales and in poems? and ah! what a pros- 
 pect 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 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 
 Kke angels ; but wait a while, 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 its powerlessness to per- 
 severe, 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 by side of 
 the large portrait painted to his honour, when he is old, 
 when his limbs are shrunk, his eye dim, his brow fur- 
 rowed, and his hair grey, than differs the moral grace of 
 that boyhood from the forbidding and repulsive aspect of 
 his soul, now that he has lived to the age of man. Por 
 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 efl'urts of his genius, the con- 
 
The Second Spring. 167 
 
 quests he has made, the doctrines 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, 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 au- 
 gury of the fall of Eome ; and at length, with the weight 
 and the 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 Pathers, my Brothers, what is it 
 that has happened in England just at this time? Some- 
 thing strange is passing over this land, by the very sur- 
 prise, by the very commotion, which it excites. Were we 
 not near enough the scene of action to be able to say what 
 is going 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, 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 and in- 
 tentions 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 
 
1 68 The Second Spring. 
 
 great explanation, and to rouse in us an intense desire to 
 gain it. We should observe it increasing from day to 
 day, and spreading from place to place, without remis- 
 sion, almost without lull, up to this very hour, when 
 perhaps it threatens worse still, or at least gives no sure 
 prospect of alleviation. Every party in the body politic 
 undergoes its influence, — fi-om 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 religious societies and 
 associations, the great body of established clergy in town 
 and country, the bar, even the medical profession, nay, 
 even literary and scientiiic circles, every class, every 
 interest, every fireside, gives tokens of this 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 prodi- 
 gious, what preternatural event 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 again ; but the political order 
 of things does not renew itself, does not return ; it con- 
 tinues, 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 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 
 
The Second Spring. 169 
 
 out of date ; the past is dead. As well may the dead 
 live to us, well may the dead profit us, as the past 
 return. This, then, is the cause of this national trans- 
 port, this national cry, which encompasses us. The past 
 }ms returned, the dead lives. Thrones are overturned, 
 and are never restored ; States live and die, and then are 
 matter only for history. Babylon was great, and Tyre, 
 and Egypt, and Nineve, 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 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 land in pride 
 of place. It had the honours of near a thousand years 
 upon it ; it was enthroned oh some twenty sees up and 
 down the broad country ; it was based in the will of a 
 faithful people ; it energized through ten thousand in- 
 struments of power and influence ; and it was ennobled 
 by a host of Saints and Martyrs. The churches, one by 
 one, recounted and rejoiced in the line of glorified inter- 
 cessors, who were the respective objects of their grateful 
 homage. Canterbury alone numbered perhaps some 
 sixteen, from St. 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. Swithun. 
 Then there were St. Aidan of Lindisfarne, and St. Hugh 
 of Lincoln, and St. Chad of Lichfield, and St. Thomas of 
 
170 The Second Spring. 
 
 Hereford, and St. Oswald and St. Wulstan of Worcester, 
 and St. Osmund of Salisbury, and St. Birinus of Dor- 
 chester, and St. Eichard 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 depen- 
 dencies, its popular honours, — 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 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 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 Ee- 
 deemer, left it. That old Church in its day became a 
 corpse (a marvellous, an awful change ! ) ; and then it did 
 but 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. 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 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 labour, much expense ; but at last 
 
The Second Spring. 171 
 
 it was done. Oh, that miserable day, centuries before 
 we were born ' What a martyrdom to live in it and see 
 the fair form of Truth, moral and material, hacked piece- 
 meal, 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 was disposed of, and shovelled 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 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 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 commu- 
 ,nity; — but a few adherents of the Old Eeligion, moving 
 silently and sorrowfully about, as memorials of what had 
 been. "The Eoman Catholics;" — not a sect, not even 
 an interest, as men conceived of it, —not a body, however 
 small, representative of the 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 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 
 
172 The Second Spring. 
 
 walking in the streets, grave and solitary, and strange, 
 though noble in bearing, and said to be of good family, and 
 a "Eoman 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 " Eoman 
 Catholics" lived there ; but who they were, or what they 
 did, or what was meant by calling them Eoman 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 great city, we might come to-day upon some Mora- 
 vian chapel, or Quaker's meeting-house, and to-morrow 
 on a chapel of the " Eoman Catholics": but nothing was 
 to be gathered from it, except that there were lights burn- 
 ing there, and some 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 re- 
 port well of " the Eoman Catholics," but, on the contrary, 
 deposed that they had once had power and had abused it. 
 And then, again, we might on one occasion hear it point- 
 edly put out by some literary man, as the result of his care- 
 ful investigation, and as a recondite point of information, 
 which few knew, that there was this difference between 
 the Eoman Catholics of England and the Eoman Catho- 
 lics 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 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 cor- 
 
The Second Spring. 173 
 
 ners, and alleys, and cellars, and the housetops, or in the 
 recesses 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 Pro- 
 testants, the lords of the earth. At length so feeble did 
 they become, so utterly contemptible, that contempt gave 
 birth to pity ; and the more generous of their tyrants 
 actually began to wish to bestow on them some favour, 
 under the notion that their opinions were simply too 
 absurd ever to spread again, and that they 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 
 unbelief might be our plea for mercy. 
 
 A great change, an awful contrast, between the time- 
 honoured Church of St. Augustine and St. Thomas, and 
 the poor remnant of their children in the beginning of 
 the nineteenth century ! It 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 ven- 
 tured to prophesy its rise again. The fall was wonderful ; 
 still after all it was in the order of nature ; — all things 
 come to nought : 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 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 
 
1 74 The Second Spring. 
 
 already ; but they came to Britons, and he to Saxons. 
 The Arian Goths and Lombards, 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 cruciiied to them- 
 selves 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 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 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 of that venerable man, the champion of God's 
 ark in an evil time, could M 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 that a day such as this, in which we 
 stand, would have seemed to him a dream, or, if he pro- 
 phesied 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 wandered from 
 that lowly chapel in the valley which had been for centuries 
 
The Second Spring. 1 7 5 
 
 in the possession of Catholics, to the neighbouring height, 
 then waste and solitary. And let him say to those about 
 him : " I see a bleak mount, looking upon an open 
 country, over against that huge town, to whose inhabi- 
 tants Catholicism is of so little account. I see the ground 
 marked out, and an ample enclosure made ; and planta- 
 tions are rising there, clothing and circling in the space. 
 " And there on that high spot, far from the haunts of 
 men, yet in the very centre 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 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 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 the Kentish strand. It comes from a long 
 procession, and it winds along the cloisters. Priests 
 and Eeligious, theologians from the schools, and canons 
 from the Cathedral, walk in due precedence. And then 
 there comes a vision of well-nigh twelve mitred heads ; 
 and last I see a Prince of the Church, in the royal dye 
 of empire and of martyrdom, a pledge to us from Eome 
 of Eome's unwearied love, a token that that goodly 
 company is firm in Apostolic faith and hope. And the 
 shadow of the Saints is there;— St. Benedict is there, 
 
1/6 The Second Spring. 
 
 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 laboured ; there, too, is St. 
 Dominic's white wool, 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 
 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, 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 synod of a 
 new Hierarchy ; it is the resurrection of the Church. 
 
 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 not be ? What ! those few 
 scattered worshippers, the Eoman 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, 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 her Lord's 
 wUl," inherit the Gentiles, and inhabit the desolate cities.'' 
 
The Second Spring. 177 
 
 " 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 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, 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 ap- 
 peared 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 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 to those who labour 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, stella matutina, harbinger of 
 peace, till our year is one perpetual 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. 
 Mary, my hope, O Mother undefiled, fulfil to 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 
 cone. It was sore to part with them. We clung to the 
 vision of past greatness, and would not believe it could 
 
 12 
 
1 78 The Second Spring. 
 
 come to nought ; 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 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. 
 
 Tes, my Fathers and Brothers, and if it be God's 
 blessed wiU, 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 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 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 
 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 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 since, shall 
 never receive its recompense ? Those priests, secular and 
 
The Second Spring. 179 
 
 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 
 rack, the gibbet, the knife, the cauldron, the numberless 
 tortures of those holy victims, 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 vain ? Shall they lose life, and not 
 gain a better life for the children of those who persecuted 
 them ? Is this Thy way, my God, righteous and true ? 
 Is it according to Thy promise, King of saints, if I 
 may dare talk to Thee of 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 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 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 sacrifice. May God forbid it, 
 for this poor nation's sake ! But still could we be sur- 
 prised, 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 English spring. 
 
i8o The Second 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 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 fear- 
 ful are our trials from the world, the more present to us 
 wiU be our 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 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 
 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 strength of yours ; — but in the 
 strength of God, in the grace of the Spirit, in the armour 
 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 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 
 
The Second Spring. 1 8 1 
 
 yourselves by the fulness of grace, whether nature 
 wished it or no. I do not mean violently, or with 
 unseemly struggle, but calmly, gracefully, sweetly, joy- 
 ously, 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 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 
 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 ? 
 
 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 extenua- 
 tion. When the English College at Eome was set up 
 by the solicitude of a 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 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 Eome, to receive a blessing which might 
 nerve them for their work ? They went for a Saint's 
 blessing; 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 
 
1 82 The Second spring. 
 
 the way to the far East, but who had been fixed as if a 
 sentinel in the holy city, 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 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 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 no: go, for the salutary blessing. 
 
 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 Eome, when our Temple 
 fell, so now surely when it is rising, it is a pleasant 
 token 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 loved by you, and per- 
 chance to do you a service, here in your own land. 
 
SEEMON XI 
 
 OEDBE, THE WITNESS AND INSTEUMENT OF 
 UNITY. 
 
 (Preached in St. Chad's, Birmingham.) 
 
 EvANG. SBC. S. Luc, c. ix. V. 2-4. 
 
 Et misit illos prsedioare regnum Dei, et sanare infirmos. Et ait 
 ad illos : Nihil tuleritis in via, neque virgam, neque peram, neque 
 panem, neque pecuniam : neque duas tunicas habeatis. Et in quam- 
 cumque domum intraveritis, ibi manete, et inde ne eseatis. 
 
 And He sent tbem to preach, the kingdom of God, and to heal the 
 sick. And He said to them : Takenothingforyour journey, neither 
 staff, nor scrip, nor bread, nor money ; neither have two coats ; and 
 whatever house you shall enter into, abide there, and depart not 
 from thence. 
 
 THESE words, taken from the Gospel which has just 
 now found a place in the sacred solemnity in which 
 we are at present engaged, may be called the ceremonial, 
 with which the preachers of the New Law were ordered 
 to go forward for the execution of their charitable work. 
 In this point of view, as in other respects, they are re- 
 markable words, as intimating to us how utterly contrary 
 it is to the character and spirit of the Divine Appoint- 
 ments to do anything without order and prescription. 
 If an occasion could be supposed on which external forms 
 mio-ht have been dispensed with, surely it was then, 
 (183) 
 
184 Order, the Witness 
 
 when the Disciples were to be wanderers on the face of 
 the earth, to be whirled about as leaves by the rude blast, 
 and to be accounted fortunate if they managed in their 
 mission to secure themselves from torture and death. 
 Yet even on that their first entrance into the regions of 
 darkness and sin, ere the faithful had grown into an ex- 
 tended, and were formed into an organized body, ere 
 they had secured vigour and weight sufficient to act upon 
 the world, even in the Church's initiatory and provisional 
 state, we find her furnished b)' her Divine Founder with 
 canons and decrees for the first simple movements and 
 actions of her ministers. Even in those rudimental efforts, 
 the Apostle's rule is to be verified : " Non est dissen- 
 tionis Deus sed pacis." He is not a God of confusion, 
 of discordance, of accidental, random, private courses in 
 the execution of His will, but of determinate, regulated, 
 prescribed action. It might have seemed a matter of 
 indifference how the Disciples addressed themselves to 
 their missionary work ; but no, they were to go forth "in 
 pace, et in nomine Domini" : their very dress, their car- 
 riage, and their journeying, were anticipated for them, 
 and were to be of one kind, not of another. 
 
 All the works of God are founded on unity, for they are 
 founded on Himself, who is the most awfully simple and 
 transcendent of possible unities. He is emphatically One; 
 and whereas He is also multiform in His attributes and 
 His acts, as they present themselves toourminds,itfollows 
 that order and harmony must be of His very essence. 
 To be many and distinct in His attributes, yet, after all, 
 to be but one, — to be sanctity, justice, truth, love, power, 
 wisdom, to be at once each of these as fully as if He were 
 
and Instrument of Unity. 185 
 
 nothing but it, as if the rest were not, — this implies in the 
 Divine Nature an infinitely sovereign and utterly incom- 
 prehensible order, which is an attribute as wonderful as 
 any, and the result of all the others. He is an infinite 
 law, as well as an infinite power, wisdom, and love. 
 Moreover, the very idea of order implies the idea of the 
 subordinate. If order exists in the Divine Attributes, 
 they must have relations one to another, and though each 
 is perfect in itself, it must act so as not to impair the 
 perfection of the rest, and must seem to yield to the rest 
 on particular occasions. Thus God's power, indeed, is 
 infinite, but it is still subordinate to His wisdom and His 
 justice ; His justice, again, is infinite, but it, too, is sub- 
 ordinate to His love; and His love, in turn, is infinite, 
 but it is subordinate to His incommunicable sanctity. 
 There is an understanding between attribute and attri- 
 bute, so that one does not interfere with the other, for 
 each is supreme in its own sphere ; and thus an infini- 
 tude of infinities, acting each in its own order, are com- 
 bined together in the infinitely simple unity of God. 
 
 Such is the unity, and consequent harmony and beauty 
 of the Divine Nature, even when viewed in the lights 
 which are supplied to us by the traditions of the human 
 race and the investigations of the human intellect. But, 
 wonderful as is that order and harmony, considered only 
 in the way of nature, much more wonderful is it in the 
 mysteries of Eevelation. There we are introduced to the 
 ineffable, the adorable, the most gracious dogma of a 
 Trinity in Unity, which is what I may call the triumph 
 of Unity over difficulties, which, to our limited faculties, 
 seem like impossibilitiesand contradictions. How strong, 
 
1 86 Order, the Witness 
 
 how severe, how infinitely indivisible, must be that Unity 
 of God, which is not compromised by the truth of His 
 being Three ! How surpassing is that Unity of substance 
 which remains untroubled and secure, though it is occu- 
 pied and possessed wholly and unreservedly, not only by 
 the Father, but also by the Son ; not only by Father and 
 Son, but by the Holy Ghost also ! And, moreover, as 
 there is a subordination, as I have said, of attribute to 
 attribute, without any detriment to the infinitude of each 
 of them individually, and this is the glory of the God of 
 Nature ; so also does an order, and, as I may say, a sub- 
 ordination exist between Person and Person, and this is 
 the incommiinicable glory of the God of Grace. Father, 
 Son, and Holy Ghost, are all equal to Each Other in 
 their Divinity, else They would not Each be the One 
 God. Yet, true as it is, that not one of the Divine Per- 
 sons is less infinite, less eternal, less all-sufficient, than 
 the Other Two, it is true also that, in the history of the 
 Everlasting mystery, the Father comes first in order, as 
 the Fountain-head of Divinity ; the Son second, as being 
 the Offspring of the First ; and the Holy Ghost third, 
 as proceeding from the Father and th'e Son. And for 
 this reason it would appear that the Second and Third 
 Persons hold certain offices, such as that of mission, 
 which are fitting only in Them. Hence it was fitting 
 that the Son should be incarnate, and not the Father ; 
 and fitting that the Holy Ghost should be the energizing 
 life, both of the animate and rational creation, rather 
 than the Father or the Son. 
 
 Nay, further than this still : so dear to Almighty God 
 is that principle of order and of law, which is a character- 
 
and Instrument of Unity. 187 
 
 istic of His glorious Essence, that, when He would reveal 
 Himself to man. He even placed Himself under the con- 
 ditions of an additional law, which did not belong to 
 His nature, but was the mere creation of His will. He 
 limited, as I may say, the range of His omnipotence by 
 the obligation of His promise. Considered in Himself, 
 He is, of course, in no respect a debtor to His creatures, 
 nor answerable to them ; there was no justice that could 
 exist between them and Him ; they could not profit 
 Him ; nor claim anything of Him ; they were, in our 
 Lord's words, but " servi inutiles " ; yet the Almighty, 
 after wonderfully calling into existence the rational crea- 
 tion, has more wonderfully placed it on a level with 
 Himself. He has invested it with rights and titles. 
 He has given it a power of meriting, and a ground for 
 encountering and influencing His own determinations 
 and acts. Henceforth, not only are His creatures bound 
 but He also. " Dimitte Me," He said to Moses, on his 
 pleading for Israel ; " Let Me go," " Set Me free," " Do 
 not stand in the way of My will," " Dimitte Me ut 
 irascatur furor meus contra eos," " that My wrath may 
 be kindled against them." He was restrained in the 
 exercise of His attribute of justice by the necessity of 
 faithfulness to His word ; but what I remark is, that 
 unless the notion of law, and of subjection to it, were 
 elementary to the idea of the Divine Being, He never 
 would have previously placed Himself in what (as in this 
 instance) may be called a state of restraint. He volun- 
 tarily made promises and put Himself under engage- 
 ments, from it being of His very nature to love order, 
 and rule, and subordination for their own sake. 
 
1 88 Order, the Witness 
 
 Such being the teaching, both of nature and of grace, 
 concerning the Almighty, it is not surprising that, 
 whereas in all things our blessedness lies in being like 
 Him, in this respect especially His pattern should be our 
 duty and our good. The God of order has set up all 
 creation upon unity, and therefore upon law. Time was 
 when philosophists contended that all things went on 
 at random ; that the phenomena of the material world 
 were the result of the blind dance of everlasting atoms, 
 and that the beauty on the face of nature was no 
 earnest or evidence of the existence of any systematic 
 plan of which it was the result. Such a faucy is now 
 simply despised and abandoned even by those who do not 
 recognize the Divine Creator in His works. Even those 
 who have no eyes to see the Omniscient and the Omni- 
 potent, now ridicule and repudiate the idea of chance and 
 hazard in the course of physical nature : for the further 
 their investigations are carried into the material frame- 
 work of the universe, the more certain is the existence, 
 the more encompassing is the range, of order and of law. 
 There is no unrestrained, no lawless freedom in the phy- 
 sical world, — after the pattern of its Maker. It is not, 
 indeed, good as He is good, even in its own degree ; for 
 it is full of fault and imperfection, and might be better 
 than it is. It is not wise as He is wise; rather it 
 has no intelligence at all lodged in it. It is not stable 
 as He is stable ; but, on the contrary, it is ever in 
 motion and ever on the change. But one attribute it 
 has of God, without exception or defect, and that is 
 the attribute of order. Here it is as perfect in its 
 finite degree and after its kind, it is as simply the 
 
and Instrinncnt of Unity. 1 89 
 
 manifestation of harmony and of law, as the infinite 
 Creator Himself. 
 
 And so of the rational creation also, both in heaven 
 and upon earth. The Angels have their hierarchy above ; 
 distributed into nine orders, they hymn the praises, and 
 they fulfil the will, of the Omnipotent. And here below 
 the history of mankind is founded upon the existence of 
 societj', and before and without formed political bodies 
 there is no course of events to record. While men re- 
 main as savages, there is nothing to tell of them ; nor is 
 this all ; — but the more accurately the history of the 
 world can be investigated and put into shape, the more 
 does it evidently appear to advance upon fixed laws, both 
 as regards time and place, though, of course, without 
 interfering with the responsibility of the individual. 
 
 But amongst all the instances of unity, of harmony, 
 and of law, which the Creator has given us after His own 
 image, the most remarkable is that, which He set up 
 when He came upon earth, the most perfect is that 
 which exists in His Church. In the awful music of her 
 doctrines, in the deep wisdom of her precepts, in the 
 majesty of her Hierarchy, in the beauty of her Eitual, in 
 the dazzling lustre of her Saints, in the consistent march 
 of her policy, and in the manifold richness of her long 
 history, — in all of these we recognize the Hand of the 
 God of order, luminously, illustriously displayed. In her 
 whole and in her parts, in her diversified aspects, the one 
 same image of law and of rule ever confronts us; as in 
 those crystallized substances of the physical world, which, 
 both in the mass and in the details, consist in a reitera- 
 tion of one and the same structure. 
 
igo Order, the Witness 
 
 My Brethren in the Sacred Ministry, you see to what 
 conclusion I am conducting the train of thought which 
 I have been pursuing. We, indeed, by virtue of that 
 ministry, are at all times subjects and guardians of that 
 Sacramentum Unitatis, which the Holy Fathers have 
 ever recognized as lodged in the Church of God. Such 
 we are by our of&ce under all circumstances ; — but, if 
 there be a time whei) we are pre-eminently witnesses of 
 this great and eternal truth, it is not when we are per- 
 forming one by one our daily duties, though even then 
 we represent in our individual persons the unity of her 
 teaching and of her rule ; — nor is it even when we offer 
 Mass amid our own people, though then, indeed, we 
 formally unite and seal them all with the impress of the 
 One God, the One Mediator, the One Sacrifice for sin 
 once offered, and the One Faith, — but it is surely at 
 those special and rare seasons, of which the present is 
 one, when all ranks and orders of the elect household 
 are brought together from all parts into one place, under 
 the invocation of One Spirit, in the form of a visible 
 Hierarchy, and as an image of the whole Catholic 
 Church ; — when the Bishop in his Cathedral and on his 
 throne, the Clergy who share his counsels and his 
 anxieties, the Pastors who are deputed from him to feed 
 his flock in every place, the Eegulars whom Christ's 
 own Vicar has sent to minister to him in his incessant 
 toUs, the ecclesiastics of inferior rank, the students from 
 the Seminary, and the faithful people in attendance, 
 when all are thus brought together in the august form 
 of Synod, and in the solemnity of its prescribed cere- 
 monial : and still more, if more need be said, when such 
 
and Instrument of Unity. 19 1 
 
 a meeting of the Church has the singular and most 
 touching prerogative of being the first which has been 
 held through a long three hundred years, and is the 
 token of a change of times, and of a resurrection in this 
 island, of the fair presence of Catholicism. 
 
 My Eevereud Brethren, under such circumstances is 
 it wonderful that my mind recurs to the history and the 
 teaching of a great servant of God, of a primitive Bishop 
 and Martyr, whose lot was cast in a day, which, as re- 
 gards the particular subject before us, may be paralleled 
 to our own ? In the beginning of the New Dispensation, 
 things were in that provisional state which I touched 
 upon when I began ; — not as if the dogma and the rule 
 of the Church could be different at one time and at an- 
 other, but " Hsec omnia operatur unus atque idem Spi- 
 ritus, dividens singulis, prout vult " ; " All these things 
 one and the same Spirit worketh, dividing to every one 
 according as He will." From the first, indeed, as ever, 
 there was but one source of ecclesiastical jurisdiction ; 
 from the first, one Pastor Ordinarius of all the faithful ; 
 from the first, bishops had their thrones in the Church, 
 of divine right ; from the first, the hierarchy was deter- 
 mined ; but not from the first were all these appoint- 
 ments observed with the exactness which they admitted 
 and required. At first, twelve, and not one, were 
 possessed of universal jurisdiction ; at first, bishops and 
 priests, though ever separate in their office, were not 
 always separate in their work and their position ; at first, 
 those who were called to follow the evangelical counsels, 
 observed them, not in community, nor in solitude, but 
 in the bosom of their families. In these, and many 
 
192 Order, the Witness 
 
 other ways, the visible Church, though set up from the 
 first in its substance, was not from the first manifested 
 in the fulness of operation and institution. 
 
 But, when the last Apostle had been taken to his 
 throne above, and the oracle of inspiration was for ever 
 closed, when the faithful were left to that ordinary- 
 government which was intended to supersede the special 
 season of miraculous action, then arose before their eyes 
 in its normal shape and its full proportions that majestic 
 Temple, of which the plans had been drawn out from 
 the first by our Lord Himself amid His elect Disciples. 
 Then was it that the Hierarchy came out in visible glory, 
 and sat down on their ordained seats in the congregation 
 of the faithful. Then followed in due course the holy 
 periodical assemblies, and the solemn rites of worship 
 and the honour of sacred places, and the decoration of 
 material structures ; one appointment after another, 
 realizing in act and deed the great idea which had been 
 imparted to the Church since the day of Pentecost. 
 Then, in a word, was it that the Church passed from 
 what I may call the Apostolic Vicariate, to its true form 
 of Diocesan Episcopacy, which whoso destroys, as a Pope 
 and Doctor especially dear to English Catholics has 
 intimated, is the forerunner of Antichrist. 
 
 And this change of government took place, not be- 
 cause persecution had ceased, not because the powers of 
 the world gave leave, but because it seemed good to the 
 Holy Ghost, for the welfare of the faithful, at that very 
 time to bind together, in every part of the Church, ruler 
 and subjects, into a closer and more loving unity. And 
 so, as a beginning and in encouragement of the good 
 
and Instrument of Unity. 193 
 
 work, the same Divine Providence at that very time sent 
 her a glorious martyr, St. Ignatius of Antioch, to be her 
 prophet and doctor, — as in regard to the doctrine of the 
 Incarnation, as in regard to the " science of the saints," 
 so pre-eminently as regards the structure and the sacra- 
 mental power of the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy. Welcome 
 and cheering did his words sound in the ears of those 
 early Christians, as they were wafted to them while he 
 travelled along to martyrdom. Suitably and seasonably 
 do they speak to us at present, who are now assisting in 
 the same ecclesiastical revolution which was in progress 
 then. Appositely, surely, and without apology, I may 
 now quote some portion of them, as a fit comment on 
 the ceremonial of these days. 
 
 " Jesus Christ," he says to the Ephesians, " our true 
 Life, is the Mind of the Father ; and so the Bishops, ap- 
 pointed even to the utmost bounds of the earth, are after 
 the mind of Jesus Christ. Wherefore it will become you 
 to concur in the mind of your Bishop, as also ye do. 
 For your famous Presbytery, worthy of God, is knit as 
 closely to its Bishop as the strings to a harp. Therefore 
 by your unanimity and harmonious love, Jesus Christ 
 is sung; and each of you taketh part in the chorus. 
 Wherefore, it is profitable for you to live in blameless 
 unity, that so ye may always have fellowship with God. 
 Let no man deceive himself; if he be not within the 
 Altar, he faileth of the bread of God. For, if the prayer 
 of one or two be of such force, as we are told, how much 
 more that of the Bishop and the whole Church ? He 
 therefore that does not join himself to the congrega- 
 tion, is proud, and has already condemned himself. 
 
 13 
 
194 Order, the Witness 
 
 Let us take heed, then, not to set ourselves against the 
 Bishop, that we may be subject to God. And the more 
 any one seeth his Bishop keep silence, the more let him 
 reverence him ; for whomsoever the Master of the house 
 sends to be over His own household, we ought to receive 
 him, even as we would Him that sent him. It is plain, 
 therefore, that we ought to look to the Bishop, even as to 
 the Lord Himself." 
 
 To the Magnesians : " Meet it is, that for the honour 
 of Jesus Christ, the Bishop of us all,^ who wills it, that 
 ye should preserve an obedience that is without guile ; 
 since a man does not deceive the Bishop whom he sees, 
 but he practises rather with the Bishop invisible, and so 
 the question is not with flesh, but with God, who knows 
 the secret heart.'' 
 
 To the Trallians: "He that is within the Altar is 
 pure ; but he that is without is not pure. That is, he 
 that doeth anything without the Bishop and the Pres- 
 byters and Deacons, is not pure in his conscience." 
 
 To the Philadelphians : " Although some would have 
 deceived me according to the flesh, yet the spirit is not 
 deceived, being from God. Por it knows both whence it 
 comes, and whither it goes, and reproves the secret heart. 
 I cried whilst I was among you, I spoke with a loud 
 voice : Give ear to the Bishop and to the Presbytery and 
 to the Deacons. And some suppose that I spake this, as 
 knowing beforehand the separation of some. But He is 
 my witness, for whose sake I am in bonds, that I knew 
 nothing from any man. But the Spirit spake, saying in 
 this wise : Do nothing without the Bishop ; keep your 
 ' Parts of two seiitenoes are put togethier here. 
 
and Instrument of Unity. 195 
 
 bodies as the temples of Grod ; love unity ; flee division ; 
 be followers of Christ, as He of His Father." 
 
 May we all learn from the parting words of one, who 
 warned us, as I may say, in the very agonies of martyr- 
 dom, to advance more and more in the spirit of obedience, 
 in brotherly affection, in mutual forbearance and con- 
 cession, in sympathy and compassion one for another. 
 '' In humilitate superiores sibi invicem arbitrantes,'' 
 says the apostle, " non qute sua sunt singuli conside- 
 rantes, sed ea quae aliorum. Supportantes invicem, et 
 donantes vobismet ipsis, si quis adversus aliquem habet 
 querelam," " In humility, esteeming others better than 
 themselves : each one not considering the things that are 
 liis own, but those that are other men's ; bearing with 
 one another, and forgiving one another, if any have a 
 complaint against another." The world looks upon us 
 as a political, crafty, grasping set of men, like its 
 own children. It recognizes, in the establishment of 
 our Hierarchy, the work of an ambitious aspiration ; and 
 thinks us bound together by mere earthly bond, by 
 selfishness, by expedience, by party spirit, by servile fear, 
 and by ignorance. It knows nothing (how can it know ?) 
 of that hidden life, of that faith, that love, that spirit 
 of adoration, which is our incorporating principle. It 
 knows nothing of His Divine Presence, who, when He 
 left the earth visibly, told us that we should still possess 
 Him, though the world would not. It has no experience 
 of the operations of grace, of the efficacy of the Sacra- 
 ments, of the power of prayer, of the virtue of holy relics, 
 of the communion of Saints, of the glorious intercession 
 
196 Order, the Witness 
 
 of the Mother of God, and of the care and tenderness of 
 the Guardian Angel. It takes for granted, that what it 
 sees, and just as much as it sees, is the whole of us. We 
 know, my dear and Eeverend Brethren, we know, we 
 witness to each other, and to God, in calm and thankful 
 confidence, that we have that which the world does not 
 dream of. We know well, that in all these matters 
 which, during the last several years, have brought the 
 wrath of man upon us, in the establishment of the Hier- 
 archy and the celebration of Synods, we have but been 
 aiming to do God's will more perfectly. We know well, 
 that we have acted as those who one day must give 
 account for their gifts and their works before the awful 
 judgment seat ; and that what the world takes for ambi- 
 tion or craft, has been but an effusion of love. 
 
 You, my Lord and Father, are by these very changes, 
 — by becoming the Bishop of an English Diocese, and 
 no longer the Vicar of the Holy See, sent hither for the 
 charge of the faithful, — you are circumscribing your 
 power, and laying yourseK under obligations which be- 
 fore you had not. Now no longer the mere represen- 
 tative of him who has the plenitude of jurisdiction, but 
 as the shepherd of a flock you are bound to your clergy 
 and people, you are knit into the body of the faithful 
 whom you rule and whom you serve, by a more intimate 
 tie, and a severer liability. Not only in will and in 
 intention, but from your office and your position, hence- 
 forth you will be taking no measures by yourself, but 
 with the counsel of others, as well as for their well-being. 
 As the Eternal placed Himself under the conditions of a 
 compact, when He would reveal Himself to sinful man, 
 
and Instrument of Unity. 197 
 
 as He made Himself subject to the law of human nature 
 when He took human flesh, so do the diocesan obliga- 
 tions which you have undertaken make you less free than 
 you were before, and, from love to the souls of your 
 priests and your people, do you rejoice in such captivity. 
 
 And still more is this true, my Keverend Brethren, of 
 each of us, the Bishop's children and servants, each in 
 his own place. We are no longer solitary labourers in 
 our several spheres, cut off from our brethren, and at a 
 distance from our head. We are, in a sense in which 
 we were not before, members of a body. We are partici- 
 pating in a special way in the great Sacramentum 
 Unitatis, and are bringing ourselves thereby nearer to 
 the Divine Source of truth, purity, and charity, who is 
 present when we are gathered together. We are met here 
 to gain grace, and instruction, and consolation, and en- 
 couragement, from the One Eternal Bishop of the Church, 
 whom our visible Father and Head represents. We are 
 come, that that celestial order and peace, and that perfec- 
 tion of law, and that hierarchy of gifts and virtues, of 
 which the Church is the manifestation, may also be set 
 up and manifested, according to our measure, in our own 
 persons. We come here to go back more able to govern 
 ourselves, and to do God's will, and to preach His word, 
 and to be a pattern to His people. 
 
 Yes ! if there be on earth a visible image of heaven, it 
 is in the Church collected together in one place ; and we 
 come here to drink, from that present source of grace, 
 the strength, and health, and vigour needful for us on our 
 journey thither. When even a fallen servant of God and 
 his satellites entered the company of prophets under the 
 
19^ Order, the Witness, &c. 
 
 Old Law, and saw them prophesying, and Samuel 
 standing over them, the Spirit of God came upon the 
 intruders, and they too began to prophesy. Again, 
 under the New Law, when even an unbeliever came into 
 the assemblies of the infant Church (an Apostle is our 
 warrant for saying it), he wns overcome and transformed 
 by the harmony of her worship. Her very presence and 
 action was the sufficient note of her divinity. What, 
 then, my Eeverend Brethren, will not be the influence of 
 her ceremonial on us, who, erring though we be as mortal 
 men, still, as we trust, have the grace of God within us, 
 are aindng after meekness, purity, charity, and detach- 
 mentfrom the world, and are faithfully though imperfectly 
 fulfilling the high commission severally given to us ? 
 May we not believe, through the mercy of Him who has 
 chosen us, that we shall carry back with us a something 
 which hitherto we had not ? — a fuller and deeper view of 
 the great dispensation of which we are the ministers, a 
 clearer understanding of the beauty of God's House, 
 a firmer faith in the solidity of that rock on which it 
 stands, a closer devotion to Him who inhabits it, a more 
 subdued, more peaceful, and more happy temper, to 
 encounter the trials which meet us on our course, and 
 which are appointed to lead us forward to heaven. 
 
SERMON XII. 
 
 THE MISSION OP ST. PHILIP NEEI. 
 
 (Preached in the Oratory, Birmingham.) 
 
 EccLi., c. xxxiii. -u. 16-18, 
 
 Et ego novissimus evigilavi, et quasi qui coUigit aoinos post vinde- 
 miatores. In benedictione Dei et ipse speravi, et quasi qui vindemiat, 
 replevi torcular. Bespicite quoniam nou mihi soli laboravi, sed 
 omnibus exquirentibus disoiplinam. 
 
 I awaked last of all, and as one that gathereth after the grape- 
 gatherers. In the blessing of God I also have hoped ; and as one 
 that gathereth grapes, have I fiUed the wine-press. See that I have 
 not laboured for myself only, but for aU that seek discipline. 
 
 THE Picture of St. Philip is ever in this Chapel, and 
 his image is ever in our minds. Not only we, who 
 belong to his Congregation, and have devoted ourselves 
 to his service, but you, my dear Brethren and Children, 
 who come to worship here under his shadow, you, too, I 
 am persuaded, carry him away with you to your homes, 
 and find by experience the benefit of such a Patron. His 
 commemoration is of daily wont in this neighbourhood, 
 and the Octave of his Festival runs round the full cir- 
 cuit of the year. At no season is it necessary to remind 
 
 you of him ; nor at this particular season is there any 
 (199) 
 
200 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 special reason, either from ritual or from custom, which 
 makes it suitable or dutiful to do so. And yet, in our 
 own case it is more natural to think and speak of him 
 at this time than at any other, for we are approaching 
 the anniversary of his coming into England and into 
 Birmingham, and are returning thanks to our good God 
 in a series of devotions, for all the mercies which, through 
 his intercession, have, in the course of two years, been 
 poured out upon us. We are now close upon com- 
 pleting the second year since the first introduction ^ of 
 the Oratory into England ; close upon completing the 
 first, since it took up its abode in this populous town,^ 
 to which the Apostolical Brief sent it. Our prospects, 
 we know surely, will extend, and our successes multiply, 
 as time goes on ; and we may be enabled to furnish the 
 elements, or to lay the rudiments of Oratories for other 
 places ; but, if the proverb be true, that " he who begins, 
 does half the work," we had a mercy shown us this time 
 last year, the like of which we never can have shown 
 us again. 
 
 Nor do we at this season turn only in gratitude to our 
 dear Saint and Father, for what he has gained for us ; we 
 also turn to him as our most necessary pattern in the 
 acknowledgment which we must make to God for it. He 
 who has gained for us God's mercies, he, my dear Fathers 
 of the Oratory, must teach us to use them worthily; 
 and this leads us to think over and dwell both on him 
 and on his history, as though it were now his yearly 
 festival; — to enlarge upon the special traits of his 
 character and memorable passages of his life, if not for 
 1 February 2, 1848. ^ Birmingham. 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 201 
 
 his sake, at least for our own ; if not to do him honour, 
 at least to gain guidance for ourselves, by reason of the 
 light which all that is recorded of him casts upon our 
 vocation, our duties, and our work ; for then only are we 
 his true followers when we do as he did. Moreover, 
 ilfchough all this is a subject of thought which concerns 
 us, the members of the Oratory, primarily, yet it must 
 have an interest for those also who, like yourselves, my 
 Brethren, make use of our ministrations ; for, whereas 
 there are many professions, missions, and undertakings 
 in the length and breadth of the Catholic Church, you 
 will, by considering it, understand more exactly what it 
 is in particular, that the Oratory proposes to do for you. 
 Let us, then, inquire what St. Philip's times were, 
 and what place he holds iu them ; what lie was raised 
 up to do, how he did it, and how we, my Fathers of the 
 Oratory, may make his work and his way of doing it a 
 pattern for ourselves in this day. 
 
 1. His times were such as the Church has never seen 
 before nor since, and such as the world must last long for 
 her to see again; nor peculiar only in themselves, but in- 
 volving a singular and most severe trial of the faith and 
 love of her children. It was a time of sifting and peril, 
 and of " the fall and resurrection of many in Israel." 
 Our gracious Lord, we well know, never will forsake 
 her ; He will sustain her in all dangers, and she will last 
 while the world lasts ; but, if ever there was a time when 
 He seemed preparing to forsake her, it was not the time 
 of persecution, when thousands upon thousands of her 
 choicest were cut off, and her flock decimated ; it was not 
 
202 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 in the middle age, when the ferocity of the soldier and 
 subtlety of the sophist beleaguered her, — but it was in 
 that dreary time, at the close and in the fulness of which 
 St. Philip entered upon his work. A great author, one 
 of his own sons. Cardinal Baronius, has said of the dark 
 age, that it was a time when our Lord seemed to be 
 asleep in Peter's boat ; but there is another passage of the 
 Gospel still more wonderful than the recoi'd of that sleep, 
 and one which had a still more marvellous accomplish- 
 ment in the period of which I have to speak. There was 
 a time when Satan took up bodily the King of Saints, 
 and carried Him whither he would. Then was our most 
 Holy Saviour and Lord clasped in the arms of ambition, 
 avarice, and impurity : — and in like manner His Church 
 also after Him, though full of divine gifts, the Imma- 
 culate Spouse, the Oracle of Truth, the Voice of the 
 Holy Ghost, infallible in matters of faith and morals, 
 whether in the chuir of her Supreme Pontiff, or in the 
 unity of her Episcopate, nevertheless was at this time so 
 environed, so implicated, with sin and lawlessness, as to 
 appear in the eyes of the world to be what she was not. 
 Never, as then, were her rulers, some in higher, some in 
 lower degree, so near compromising what can never be 
 compromised ; never so near denying in private what 
 they taught in public, and undoing by their lives what 
 they professed with their mouths ; never were they so 
 mixed up with vanity, so tempted by pride, so haunted 
 by concupiscence ; never breathed they so tainted an 
 atmosphere, or were kissed by such traitorous friends, or 
 were subjected to such sights of shame, or were clad in 
 auch blood-strained garments, as in the centuries upon 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 203 
 
 and in which St. Philip came into the would. Alas, for 
 us, my Brethren ! the scandal of deeds done in Italy then 
 is borne by us in England now. 
 
 It was an age when the passionate wilfulness of the 
 feudal baron was vigorous still ; when civilization, 
 powerless as yet to redress the grievances of society at 
 large, gave to princes and to nobles as much to possess 
 as before, and less to suffer ; increased their pomp, and 
 diminished their duties and their risks ; became the cloak 
 of vices which it did not extirpate, made revenge certain 
 by teaching it to be treacherous, and unbelief venerable 
 by proving it to be ancient. Such were the characteristics 
 of St. Philip's age ; and Florence, his birth-place, pre- 
 sented the most complete exhibition of them, — and next 
 to Florence, Eome, the city of his adoption. 
 
 Florence was at that time the most intellectual, the 
 most magnificent city of Italy. About a century before, 
 one of its richest merchants and bankers ^ had become 
 its virtual ruler, and had transmitted his power to his 
 descendants, who still possessed it. The history of this 
 family is intimately connected with that of the Holy 
 See ; at times they were its enemies : they ended in 
 giving to it three or four princes of their own blood to 
 till it : but whether in alliance with it or at war, whether 
 at Florence or at Eome, they exerted, at least for many 
 years, an influence prejudicial to its real, that is, its 
 religious well-being. 
 
 This was the time of the revival of what is called 
 classical learning ; that is, the learning of ancient Greece 
 and Eome. Constantinople had lately been taken by the 
 '■ Cosmo de' Medioi. 
 
204 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 Turks, who still hold it ; its scholars, with their traditions 
 and their manuscripts, escaped to Italy, and they found a 
 home at Florence with this powerful family. The heads of 
 this family became the special patrons of Literature and 
 the Arts, and leaders of the classical revival. Under their 
 auspices, public schools were opened ; the Greek language 
 was studied; an academy was established for philosophy; 
 a library was founded, and placed in the Dominican Con- 
 vent of St. Mark. Its librarian in course of time became 
 Pope,^ and founded at Eome the famous Vatican Library. 
 Books in the languages of the East, — Hebrew, Arabic, 
 even Indian, were collected ; the lost writings of Greek 
 and Eoman authors were brought to light and published. 
 So far, you will see, there was little which could be 
 censured ; the revival of learning was in itself a great 
 benefit to mankind, and the labour which it involved was 
 well bestowed. But, in this world, evil follows good as 
 its shadow ; human nature perverting and corrupting 
 what is intrinsically innocent or praiseworthy. So, in 
 this instance, the pursuit of the old learning became a 
 passion. As the crumbling cloisters of the East were 
 ransacked, and manuscripts were found and deciphered, 
 — as the ruins of pagan edifices were excavated, mounds 
 of earth removed, and the sculptures of classical art dis- 
 interred, — an uncontrollable excitement, an intoxication, 
 seized upon the classes which were engaged in the work. 
 It seized upon young and old : while one celebrated 
 archaeologist^ spent fifty years in the discovery of ancient 
 authors, and another's ^ hair turned white on his losing 
 by shipwreck his cargo of discoveries, noble ladies became 
 ' Nicholas V. ^ Poggio. ' Guarino. 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 205 
 
 prodigies of learning, and a youth ^ of twenty exhibited 
 himself at Eome as the master of twenty-two languages, 
 and proposed nine hundred subjects for disputation. 
 
 The wonderful art of printing, which had been lately 
 discovered, added to the excitement, not merely by what 
 it actually did in that day, but by the brilliant future 
 which it opened on the imagination, to the advance both 
 of knowledge and of society. 
 
 Nor was this the limit of the discoveries of that re- 
 markable age; — news came of another continent beyond 
 the ocean ; America, North and South, became known 
 to Europe, and the extent of the earth was doubled. The 
 strangest tales were circulated, true and false, of the 
 riches, of the gold, silver, and gems, of the animals, of 
 the vegetable productions, of the new hemisphere. The 
 public mind was agitated by a thousand fancies ; no one 
 knew what was coming ; anything might be expected ; 
 a new era had opened upon the world, and enormous 
 changes, political and social, were in preparation. There 
 was an upheaving of the gigantic intellect of man ; he 
 found he had powers and resources which he was not 
 conscious of before, and began in anticipation to idolize 
 their triumphs. 
 
 And, while the world was becoming so strong, the 
 Church, on the other hand, was at the moment pro- 
 portionally weak, as far as relates to the human instru- 
 ments of her power. Great, indeed, was her temporal 
 exaltation at that day ; great she was then, as she will 
 ever be, in her invisible, divine strength ; but in the 
 ordinary elements of her greatness and weapons of her 
 I Pico of MJrandola, 
 
2o6 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 success, in order and discipline, in pastoral vigilance, in 
 the sanctity of her individual members, in these respects 
 certainly she was taken at disadvantage. I do not like, 
 nor would you, my Brethren, wish me, to enlarge upon a 
 most sorrowful subject. The great Italian families in- 
 trigued and fought for her supreme rule, as if it had 
 been a mere earthly principality. And on this ac- 
 count, she was unable at the moment, from scarcity of 
 champions, to cope with the vehement enthusiastic move- 
 ment which I have been describing, and which assailed 
 her within and without. All things are good in their 
 place : human learning and science, the works of genius, 
 the wonders of nature, all, as I have said, have their use, 
 when kept in subordination to the faith and worship of 
 God ; but it is nothing else but an abuse, if they are 
 suffered to engross the mind, and if religion is made 
 secondary to them. Yet they are so fascinating, — so 
 enchanting, — so present, tangible, constraining, in their 
 influence, — that, unless the watchmen of the Holy City 
 are on the alert, they are almost sure to act to the pre- 
 judice of the highest interests of man. So it was at the 
 time I speak of ; what was beautiful was placed before 
 what was true ; or rather, the beauty of the creature was 
 preferred to the transcendent beauty of the Creator. 
 Nature and art, the rich material, the creative mind, 
 were suffered to invade and oppress the Church, instead 
 of ministering to her. The world entered her sacred 
 precincts forcibly, and embellished them after its own 
 fashion. It addressed itself to her rulers, who were 
 already enervated by the homage of nations ; and it 
 attempted to pei-suade them to disguise the awful Bride 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 207 
 
 of the Lamb in an old heathen garb, of which her very 
 coming had long since been the destruction. More 
 seemly by far had it been to ask her to take part in the 
 abolished ceremonies of the Mosaic law, than to intrude 
 classical literature upon her instead of the teaching of 
 the Holy Fathers. It was Satan carrying her up to the 
 high mountain, and showing her all the kingdoms of the 
 earth and their glory, with the hope of tempting her to 
 forget her mission. 
 
 " Eat and drink, for to-morrow we die : " so was it 
 said of old by the heathen ; so was it now said, almost 
 in the same words, by Christians, not meaning, indeed, 
 to deny the life to come, but hoping to inherit the future 
 without giving up any enjoyment of the present. The 
 artists, poets, and philosophers, who flourished under the 
 smile of the great Florentine family, and their disciples 
 through Italy, if they were not allowed to decorate Holy 
 Church at their will and pleasure, at least could do as 
 they would with the world ; and fallen as it is, they 
 made it still, by the splendour of their genius, a very 
 paradise of delight. They flung a grace over sin, and a 
 dignity over unbelief. Life was to them one long revel; 
 they feasted, they sported, they moulded forms and 
 painted countenances of the most perfect human beauty; 
 they indulged in licentious wit, they wrote immodest 
 verses, they lightly used the words of Scripture ; they 
 quarrelled, they used the knife, they fled to sanctuary, 
 and then they issued forth again, to go through the same 
 round of pleasure and of sin. Festivals and Carnivals 
 became seasons of popular licence, for dramas and mas- 
 querades ; and the excesses of paganism were renewed 
 
2o8 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 with the refinements supplied by classical associations. 
 Dances, processions, and songs, formed part of the enter- 
 tainment. Florence especially was the scene of the 
 pageant, and its whole population were either actors in 
 it, or spectators. The time chosen for it was the night ; 
 the performances were carried on by torchlight ; bands 
 of women, as well as of men, had their appointed parts 
 in them, nor were they concluded till after daybreak. 
 On St. John Baptist's day, in the year preceding St. 
 Philip's birth, such an exhibition, with tournaments and 
 other celebrations, was held in that same city, his birth- 
 place. Seven sacred princes came up incognito to attend 
 it ; twoi lions and a panther were sent as a present from 
 a member of the reigning family, then seated in the 
 Vatican ; and a triumphal arch was erected, in honour 
 of the donor, opposite to the Dominican convent of St. 
 Mark. 
 
 All this for the people : — Their rulers, who had in- 
 troduced or patronized these shows, and the immediate 
 circle of those rulers, went further. They took heathen 
 names ; they kept the feasts of the heathen founder of 
 Eome, and the heathen philosopher Plato; they died 
 with heathen consolations sounding in their ears. They 
 attempted to hold intercourse with the evil powers ; — 
 we have the record of a scene in the great Eoman amphi- 
 theatre, called the Coliseum. The sorcerer is said to 
 have possessed a sacred character ; thousands of devils 
 are described as rising at his incantation, who promised, 
 and who kept their promise, to grant a wicked gratifi- 
 cation to the celebrated artist^ who consulted them. A 
 iCeUini. 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 209 
 
 greater sin could not have been committed by an eccle- 
 siastic, but scandals there were worse. If even in the 
 very opening of the Gospel, when faith was keenest and 
 the heart purest, there was a Judas among the Apostles, 
 and a Nicolas among the deacons, and a Simon Magus 
 among the neophytes, we need not wonder, much as we 
 may lament, that in the degenerate age I am speaking 
 of, lapses should occur, far more numerous than those 
 early ones, if not so great in enormity of crime. One of 
 the most zealous restorers of the ancient learning, who 
 has been already spoken of, was an ecclesiastic with a 
 family ; ^ one of the chief writers of licentious tales had 
 on him both religious and episcopal obligations.^ And 
 a writer,^ who is reckoned the vilest of his day, being 
 patronized by one of the great Florentine family at 
 Kome, was audacious enough to set his heart (unsuccess- 
 fully) on becoming a Cardinal of Holy Church. 
 
 Good and evil, sacred prerogatives and sinful hearts, 
 were brought into close contact, marvellously and 
 awfully. The Sovereign Pontiffs were familiarly dealt 
 with, and then slaudered behind their backs by the 
 profligate artists whom they had benefited. Holy men 
 grew up and won their crowns, out of families on which 
 history has set its note of shame. Two saints, contem- 
 poraries of St. Philip, will occur to you, my dear Fathers, 
 as instances of this portent: — St. Francis Borgia, the 
 third Father-General of the Society of Jesus, bears a 
 name, shameful in the history of Eome ; St. Mary Mag- 
 dalene of the Pazzi came of a Florentine stock infamous 
 
 ^ Bandello. ' Pietro Aretino. 
 
 14 
 
210 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 for a deed of combined sacrilege, bloodshed, and treachety 
 perhaps without a parallel. 
 
 These are some of the traits of the times in which 
 St. Philip was sent on earth : certainly, an Apostle was 
 needed both for Florence and for Eome. 
 
 2. And for Florence, that Apostle seemed to have 
 been found just before St. Philip's day. You may recol- 
 lect, my Brethren, I have more than once spoken of the 
 great Dominican convent of St. Mark. That convent, 
 built though it was by the first prince of the rich family 
 I have so often mentioned, was devoted to a style of art 
 and a description of learning far different from those for 
 which Greece or Eome was famous. Under the shadow 
 of St. Dominic, such learning alone had place, which 
 ministered to the most symmetrical theology, and to a 
 philosophy in accordance ; and the serene wisdom which 
 his name recalls, had been carried out into poetry and the 
 fine arts, by the genius of his children and his clients. 
 That very convent of St. Mark is still adorned by the 
 celebrated paintings executed by the Dominican artist, 
 called, like the Dominican St. Thomas, the Angelical ; 
 and about the same time, it had been under the rule of 
 the celebrated Dominican confessor and writer, afterwards 
 archbishop of the city, St. Antoninus. Here, too, came 
 about thirty years afterwards, and shortly before St. 
 Philip's birth, that fiery Eeformer, also a Dominican, of 
 whom I am to speak as a sort of Apostle of Florence, a 
 man certainly of commanding eloquence and extraor- 
 dinary infiuenee, full of the traditions of his order, and 
 cherishing a fierce hatred of the reviving heathen litera- 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 2 1 1 
 
 ture and the classical taste of the day ; I mention his 
 name, on account of the affection which St. Philip felt 
 for his memory, — Savonarola. 
 
 A true son of St. Dominic, in energy, in severity of life, 
 in contempt of merely secular learning, a forerunner of 
 the Dominican St. Pius in boldness, in resoluteness, in zeal 
 for the honour of the House of God, and for the restora- 
 tion of holy discipline, Savonarola felt " his spirit stirred 
 up within him," like another Paul, when he came to that 
 beautiful home of genius and philosophy ; for he found 
 Florence, like another Athens, " wholly given to idola- 
 try." He groaned within him, and was troubled, and 
 refused consolation, when he beheld a Christian court and 
 people priding itself on its material greatness, its intel- 
 lectual gifts, and its social refinement, while it abandoned 
 itself to luxury, to feast and song and revel, to fine shows 
 and splendid apparel, to an impure poetry, to a depraved 
 and sensual character of art, to heathen speculations, and 
 to forbidden, superstitious practices. His vehement spirit 
 could not be restrained, and got the better of him, and 
 — unlike the Apostle, whose prudence, gentleness, love 
 of his kind, and human accomplishments are nowhere 
 more happily shown than in his speech to the Athenians,^ 
 — he burst forth into a whirlwind of indignation and 
 invective against all that he found in Florence, and 
 condemned the whole established system, and all who 
 took part of it, high and low, prince or prelate, eccle- 
 siastic or layman, with a pitiless rigour, — which for the 
 moment certainly did a great deal more than St. Paul 
 was able to do at the Areopagus; for St. Paul made 
 ^ Acts xvii. 
 
212 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 only one or two converts there, and departed, whereas 
 Savonarola had great immediate success, frightened and 
 abashed the offenders, ralHed round him the better dis- 
 posed, and elicited and developed whatever there was of 
 piety, whether in the multitude or in the upper class. 
 
 It was the truth of his cause, the earnestness of his 
 convictions, the singleness of his aims, the impartiality 
 of his censures, the intrepidity of his menaces, which 
 constituted the secret of his success. Yet a less worthy 
 motive lent its aid ; men crowded round a pulpit, from 
 which others were attacked as well as themselves. The 
 humbler offender was pleased to be told that crime was 
 a leveller of ranks, and to find that he thus was a gainer 
 in the common demoralization. The laity bore to be 
 denounced, when the clergy were not spared ; and the 
 rich and noble suffered a declamation which did not stop 
 short of the sacred Chair of St. Peter. 
 
 " In the houses of great prelates and great doctors," 
 he cried out, " nothing is thought of but poetry and 
 rhetoric. Go and see for yourselves ; you will find them 
 with books of polite literature in their hands, pernicious 
 writings, with Virgil, Horace, and Cicero, to prepare 
 themselves for the cure of souls withal. Astrologers have 
 the governance of the Church. There is not a prelate, 
 there is not a great doctor, but is intimate with some 
 astrologer, who predicts for him the hour and the moment 
 for riding out, or for whatever else he does. Our preachers 
 have already given up Holy Scripture, and are given 
 to Philosophy, which they preach from the pulpit, and 
 treat as their queen. As to Holy Scripture, they make 
 it the handmaid, because to preach philosophy looks 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 213 
 
 lejirned, whereas it should simply be an aid in the inter- 
 pretation of the divine word." 
 
 "Our Church,'' he continued, "has outside many fine 
 ceremonies in divine worship, fine vestments, an uncom- 
 mon display of drapery, gold and silver candlesticks, so 
 many fine chalices, quite magnificent. Those great pre- 
 lates with their fine mitres on, of gold and jewels, with 
 crosiers of silver, with their fine chasubles, and copes of 
 brocade, there they are at the altar, singing fine vespers, 
 fine masses, so solemnly, with so many fine ceremonies, 
 so many organs and singers, that your head turns. And 
 they seem to you, those men, to have great gravity and 
 a saintly show; and you think that the;^ cannot do 
 wrong, but that their words and their deeds are Gospel, 
 and claim your observance. That is how the modern 
 Church is made. Men feed on these husks, and make 
 themselves happy in these ceremonies, and say that the 
 Church of Jesus Christ never was in a more flourishing 
 state, and that divine worship never was so well carried 
 out as at present, — as on one occasion a great prelate 
 said, that the Church never was in such honour, and its 
 prelates never in such repute, whereas its first prelates 
 were but small men, because they were humble and poor, 
 because they had not such ample bishoprics, such rich 
 abbeys, as ours of this day, nor had they as yet such 
 gold mitres, such chalices. Do j'ou take me ? I mean 
 in the primitive Church, the chalices were of wood, and 
 the prelates of gold ; but now the chalices are of gold, 
 and the prelates are wooden." 
 
 " Italy ! " he cried out in the tone of a prophet, " 
 rulers of Italy ! prelates of the Church ! the wrath 
 
214 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 of God is over j'ou, and your conversion alone will avert 
 it. Do penance, while the sword is in the scabbard, and 
 ere it is imbrued in your blood. Italy ! thou shalt be 
 given into the hands of a fierce, a barbarous nation, 
 whose only pleasure will be to do thee ill. And Eome 
 shall fare worse from them than any other city ; your 
 possessions and your treasures shall be given into their 
 hands." 
 
 Such bold language effected for the moment a revolu- 
 tion rather than a reform. The eloquent preacher be- 
 came the political partisan ; the great family was forced 
 by political circumstances to give way, and for the better 
 part of ten years Savonarola was ruler of Florence. Not 
 only the populace, but courtiers, noble ladies, scholars, 
 artists, aU put themselves at his disposal, and became his 
 disciples. He found a way to the hearts of philosophers, 
 poets, painters, engravers, sculptors, architects, and made 
 them renounce their heathen tastes and heathen aspira- 
 tions. " Behold the sun," he said ; " its beauty consists 
 in possessing light; behold the blessed spirits, their 
 beauty is light ; and God Himself, because He is the 
 most full of light, is beauty itself. The beauty of every 
 creature is more perfect, the more closely it resembles 
 God's beauty ; and the body is beautiful in proportion to 
 the beauty of the soul. Conceive what must have been 
 the beauty of the Blessed Virgin, who possessed such 
 sanctity, sanctity that shone from all her features. Con- 
 ceive how beautiful was Christ, who was God and man. 
 Kow even Aristotle, who was a pagan, bids us not to 
 tolerate indecent pictures, lest children, seeing them, 
 be corrupted ; but what shall I say to you, Christian 
 
The Jld^ission of St. Philip. 215 
 
 painters, who execute these immodest figures ? I tell you 
 to do so no more. You who have them and destroy them, 
 will do a work pleasing to Almighty God and the Holy 
 Virgin. 'You have dedicated My temple and My 
 Churches to your God Moloch,' says the Almighty. 
 See how they act at Florence ! mothers take their un- 
 married daughters to the cathedral, decked out for show, 
 till they look like nymphs. ' These are your idols, which 
 you have placed in My Temple.' The young men say of 
 this or that maiden, 'This is Magdalen,' 'That is St. 
 John,' because you paint figures in the church, which 
 resemble this woman or that. You painters act wrongly ; 
 you introduce worldly vanities into the Church. Do you 
 believe that the Blessed Virgin was dressed as you re- 
 present her? I tell you that she was modestly dressed, 
 and so veiled that one could scarce see her face ; and St. 
 Elizabeth too was modest and simple in her attire." ^ 
 
 Wonderful were the conversions which followed on the 
 enunciation of truth so undeniable, so grave in import, 
 so earnestly enforced. As to the artists, many of them 
 became Dominicans, and the convent of St. Mark had to 
 be enlarged to hold them. The members of another con- 
 vent in the city, feeling their state of relaxation, begged 
 to be allowed to come over to him in a body, and to take 
 the rule of St. Dominic upon them. The population of 
 Florence rose from their beds after midnight in winter 
 to attend upon his sermons. There they stood in the 
 Church, waiting, taper in hand, or singing hymns, or 
 praying, or saying office, for three or four hours, till he 
 began to preach. They showed the fruits of his exhor- 
 ' Vide Father Meehan's translation of Marohetti's work. 
 
2i6 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 tations in their homes. Women reformed their dress, 
 youths unlearned their light songs, heads of families read 
 the lives of the Saints to their children. At length the 
 zealous preacher determined on having, in token of re- 
 pentance, a solemn conflagration in the great squai-e, of 
 all the scandals and the various occasions of sin with 
 which the city abounded. At the time of the Carnival, 
 the special festival of the world, the flesh, and the devil, 
 he invited the whole city to this stern act of reparation. 
 He raised a high pyramid, with a quantity of gun- 
 powder at its base. His innumerable penitents formed 
 in long procession, and hither they marched with the in- 
 struments and incentives of iniquity in their hands, to be 
 offered up in expiation of their sins. It was a costly 
 sacrifice, ruthlessly performed. Artists brought their 
 beautiful pictures, portraits, and figures in ivory or 
 alabaster, and flung them upon the pyre ; others brought 
 richly worked tapestries; others, lutes, flutes, guitars, 
 cards, dice, looking-glasses, perfumery, paint, masks, 
 disguises ; others, novels and poems. Lighted torches 
 were then applied, and, amid the ringing of bells and the 
 acclamations of the vast multitude, the whole was reduced 
 to ashes. A foreigner had in vain offered 20,000 crowns 
 to ransom them from the flames. The same impressive 
 ceremony was repeated in the following year. 
 
 A very wonderful man, you will allow, my Brethren, 
 was this Savonarola. I shall say nothing more of him, 
 except what was the issue of his reforms. For years, as 
 I have said, he had his own way ; at length, his inno- 
 cence, sincerity, and zeal were the ruin of his humility. 
 He presumed ; he exalted himself against a power which 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 217 
 
 none can assail without misfortune. He put himself in 
 opposition to the Holy See, and, as some say, disobeyed 
 its injunctions. Eeform is not wrought out by dis- 
 obedience ; this was not the way to be the Apostle 
 either of Florence or of Eome. Then trouble came 
 upon him, a great reaction ensued ; his enemies got the 
 upper hand ; he went into extravagances himself ; the 
 people deserted him ; he was put to death, strangled, 
 hung on a gibbet, and then burned in the very square 
 where he had set fire to the costly furniture of vanity 
 and sin. And then the rich and powerful family 
 returned to Florence ; and things went on pretty much 
 as before ; and, on the very year preceding St. Philip's 
 birth, took place that riotous festivity on St. John 
 Baptist's day, over against the convent of St. Mark, of 
 which I have already spoken. 
 
 And now I have added something more to the picture, 
 which I have proposed to give you, of the state of things 
 both in Florence and in Eome, when St. Philip was 
 raised up to be an Apostle of another sort. 
 
PAET II. 
 
 ! TJILORENCE, then, had her Apostle ; — we have re- 
 -L viewed his commencement and his end : — a zealous, 
 heroic man, but not, as far as we can judge, reaching to 
 the level of a saint. It is not by the enthusiasm of the 
 multitude, or by political violence, — it is not by power- 
 ful declamation, or by railing at authorities, that the 
 foundations are laid of religious works. It is not by 
 sudden popularity, or by strong resolves, and demon- 
 strations, or by romantic incidents, or by immediate 
 successes, that undertakings commence which are to last. 
 I do not say, that to be roused, even for a moment, from 
 the dream of sin, to repent and be absolved, even though 
 a relapse follow it, is a slight gain ; or that the brilliant, 
 but brief, triumphs of Savonarola are to be despised. 
 He did good in his day, though his day was a short one. 
 Still, after all, his history brings to mind that passage in 
 sacred history, where the Almighty displayed His pre- 
 sence to Elias on Mount Horeb. "The Lord was not in 
 the wind," nor " in the earthquake," nor " in the fire " ; 
 but after the fire came " the whisper of a gentle air." 
 
 So was it with the Lord of grace Himself, when He 
 came upon earth ; so it is with His chosen servants after 
 
 Him. He grew up in silence and obscurity, overlooked 
 (218) 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 219 
 
 by the world ; and then He triumphed. He was the 
 grain cast into the earth, which, while a man "sleeps and 
 rises, night and day, springs up and grows whilst he 
 knoweth not." He was the mustard seed, " which is the 
 least of all seeds, but, when it is grown up, becometh a 
 tree, and shooteth out great branches, so that the birds 
 of the air dwell under its shadow." He grew up " as a 
 tender plant, and as a root out of a thirsty land " ; and 
 " His look was, as it were, hidden and despised, where- 
 fore we esteemed Him not." And, when He began to 
 preach. He did not " contend nor cry out, nor break the 
 bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax '' ; and thus 
 " He sent forth judgment unto victory." So was it in 
 the beginning, so has it been ever since. After the 
 storm, the earthquake and the fire, the calm, soothing 
 whisper of the fragrant air. After Savonarola, Philip. 
 
 1. Philip was born in Florence within twenty years 
 after him. The memory of the heroic friar was then 
 still fresh in the minds of men, who would be talking 
 familiarly of him to the younger generation, — of the 
 scenes which their own eyes had witnessed, and of the 
 deeds of penance which they had done at his bidding. 
 Especially vivid would the recollections of him be in 
 the convent of St. Mark ; for there was his cell, there the 
 garden where he walked up and down in meditation, 
 and refused to notice the great prince of the day ■} there 
 would be his crucifix, his habit, his discipline, his books, 
 and whatever had once been his. Now, it so happened, 
 St. Philip was a child of this very convent ; here he 
 received his first religious instruction, and in after times 
 1 Lorenzo de' Medici. 
 
2 20 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 he used to say, " Whatever there was of good in me, 
 when I was young, I owed it to the Fathers of St. 
 Mark's, in Florence." For Savonarola he retained a 
 singular affection all through his life ; he kept his pic- 
 ture in his room, and about the year 1560, when the 
 question came before Popes Paul IV. and Pius IV., of 
 the condemnation of Savonarola's teaching, he interceded 
 fervently and successfully in his behalf before the Blessed 
 Sacrament, exposed on the occasion in the Dominican 
 church at Rome. This was in his middle age. 
 
 To return to his youth : at the age of eighteen, he left 
 Florence for good, first going to a town in the kingdom 
 of Naples ; then at the end of two years, to Eome, where 
 he lived for sixty years, without once going beyond the 
 circuit of its seven Basilicas. There he died, when he 
 had nearly completed his eightieth year. A simple out- 
 line of a histoiy, you will say, my Brethren, singularly 
 deficient in incident or adventure ; yet, though he made 
 only one journey in his long life, he turned it to account ; 
 and the chances of external situation which then befell 
 him, few as they were, were instruments in the forma- 
 tion of his mind and in the direction of his future 
 course. The Florentine pupil of St. Dominic fell under 
 the inspirations of St. Benedict in the territory of 
 Naples, and found St. Ignatius in person, and in the 
 flesh, when he got to Eome. 
 
 Benedict, Dominic, Ignatius : — these are the three 
 venerable Patriarchs, whose Orders divide between them 
 the extent of Christian history. There are many Saints 
 besides, who have been fruitful in followers and institu- 
 tions, and have multiplied themselves in Christendom, 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 221 
 
 and lived on earth in their children, when they them- 
 selves were gone to heaven. But there are three who, 
 in an especial way, have had committed to them the 
 office of a public ministry in the affairs of the Church 
 one after another, and who are, in some sense, her 
 " nursing fathers," and are masters in the spiritual Israel, 
 and ruling names in her schools and her libraries ; and 
 these are Benedict, Domiuic, and Ignatius. Philip came 
 under the teaching of all three successively. 
 
 2. It was the magnificent aim of the children of St. 
 Dominic to form the whole matter of human knowledge 
 into one harmonious system, to secure the alliance be- 
 tween religion and philosophy, and to train men to the 
 use of the gifts of nature in the sunlight of divine grace 
 and revealed truth. It required the dissolution and re- 
 construction of society to give an opportunity for so great 
 a thought ; and accordingly, the Order of Preachers 
 flourished after the old Empire had passed away, and 
 the chaos which followed on it had resulted in the crea- 
 tion of a new world. Now, in the age of St. Philip, a 
 violent effort was in progress, on the part of the powers 
 of evil, to break up this sublime unity, and to set human 
 genius, the philosopher and the poet, the artist and the 
 musician, in opposition to religion. Accordingly, the 
 work of the glorious Order of St. Dominic was more than 
 ever called for, whatever might be those new methods of 
 prosecuting it, more suitable to the times; and, if Philip 
 was destined, as he was, to play an important part in 
 them in the cause of God, it was therefore necessary that 
 he should be imbued with the great idea of that Order. 
 It was necessary that he should have deeply fixed within 
 
222 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 him, as the object of his life, that single aim of subduing 
 this various, multiform, many-coloured world to the 
 unity of divine service. I mean there are Saints, whose 
 mission lies rather in separating off from each other the 
 world and the Truth ; that of other Saints lies in bring- 
 ing them together. Philip's was the latter. Suitably 
 then, and reasonably, did he receive his elementary for- 
 mation of mind from the Fathers of St. Mark. And 
 when this bad been secured, then he was sent off, " not 
 knowing whither he went," to other tutors, and towards 
 the scene of his destined labours, to do a work like St. 
 Dominic's work, though he was not to be a Dominican. 
 3. Then he came to St. Benedict. Close by the town 
 to which his father had sent him, is the celebrated 
 monastery of Monte Cassino, the principal seat of the 
 Benedictine Order. The relaxation, which at that time 
 prevailed in so many regular communities, seems not to 
 have reached this ancient sanctuary ;^ but the judgments, 
 which even in Savonarola's day were falling on Italy, 
 had not fallen short of Monte Cassino. The nei<;hbour- 
 hood had been the scene of war ; and the foreign troops 
 had pillaged the Church, and the new generation of 
 monks had been nurtured in adversity. " Not far from 
 San Germane," that is, the town to which Philip had 
 been sent, says the author of his life, " there is a cele- 
 brated mountain, which, according to a very ancient and 
 common tradition, is one of those which opened at our 
 Saviour's death. It belongs to the Benedictine Fathers 
 of Monte Cassino, who have a church there dedicated to 
 the Most Holy Trinity. This mountain is split from 
 
 1 Vide Tosti's history of that abbey. 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 223 
 
 top to bottom by three huge fissures ; and in the middle 
 of the three, which is the steepest, there is a little chapel 
 on a rock, under the care of the monks, and on it is a 
 crucifix painted, which the sailors salute with their 
 guns as they pass by. Here Philip was in the habit 
 of retiring for prayer and meditation on the Lord's 
 Passion." 
 
 Observe, my dear Brethren, Philip is now in quite a 
 new scene, — no longer amid the mediaeval grandeur, but 
 among the Saints and associations of primitive ages ; it 
 is no longer the busy, gaudy town, but the calm and 
 pure country ; no longer cloisters and paintings, but 
 rocks and sea, leading to meditation ; no longer golden 
 mitres and jewelled copes, under high arches and painted 
 windows, but secluded, unfurnished chapels, and rude 
 crucifixes ; no longer the vision of our Lord's Passion 
 portrayed by sacred art, but the very rent in the solid 
 mountain, opened in that same hour when He hung upon 
 the Cross ; no longer the holy doctrines and devotions of 
 later piety, but the aboriginal mystery, contained in 
 Scripture, Creed, and Baptism, and battled for in the first 
 centuries, the dogma of the most Holy Trinity. Thus, 
 everything about Philip threw him back into the times 
 of simplicity, of poverty, of persecution, of martyrdom ; 
 the times of patience, of obscur& and cheerful toil, of 
 humble, unrequited service ; ere Christianity had gained 
 a literature, or theology had become a science, or any but 
 saints had sat in Peter's chair; while the book of nature 
 and tlie book of grace were the chief instruments of 
 knowledge and of love. Such was the school of St. 
 Benedict ; nor did that dear and venerable Father let the 
 
224 1^^ Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 young pilgrim go, even when his two years' sojourn in 
 his neighbourhood was at an end. For if a direct 
 divine summons took him to Eome, still St. Benedict, 
 as I may say, chose out for him his lodgings there ; for 
 he sent him to those ancient basilicas, and cemeteries, 
 and catacombs of the Holy City which spoke of the 
 early monks and the primitive religion, and these you 
 know he haunted, or almost lived in them, till ten years 
 and more had passed from the date of his leaving Flo- 
 rence. " Philip Neri is a great saint," said a Dominican 
 Friar, who kept his eyes upon the youth ; " and among 
 his other wonderful things, he has dwelt for a whole ten 
 years in the caves of St. Sebastian, by way of penance; " 
 lodging, I say, as St. Benedict would have had him, 
 with the old martyr Popes, and their saintly court and 
 retinue, their deacons and chamberlains, and chaplains ; 
 with St. Callistus, and St. Sebastian, and St. Laurence; 
 with St. Mark and St. Marcelhan, with St. Agnes and 
 St. Cecilia, with St. Nereus and St. Achilleus, with 
 St. Papias and St. Maurus, till at length he had that 
 marvellous visitation, when the Holy Ghost came down 
 upon him in a ball of fire, about the time of Pentecost, 
 and filled his heart with consolations so overwhelming 
 that, lest he should die of ecstasy, he came up into the 
 world of men, and set about a work to flesh and blood 
 more endurable. 
 
 Thus was the second stage of Philip's education 
 brought to a close ; and, as from St. Dominic he gained 
 the end he was to pursue, so from St. Benedict he learned 
 how to pursue it. He was to pursue Savonarola's purposes, 
 but not in Savonarola's way ; rather, in the spirit and 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 225 
 
 after the fashion of those early Eeligious, of which St. 
 Benedict is the typical representative. Those early 
 Eeligious lived in communities, which were detached 
 from each other, not brought together under one common 
 governance ; they were settled in one place, and had no 
 duties beyond it ; vows were not a necessary element of 
 their state ; they had little or nothing to do with eccle- 
 siastical matters or secular politics ; they had no large 
 plan of action for religious ends ; they let each day do 
 its work as it came ; they lived in obscurity, and laid a 
 special stress on prayer and meditation ; they were simple 
 in their forms of worship, and they freely admitted lay- 
 men into their fellowship. In peculiarities such as these 
 we recognize the Oratory of St. Philip. Least thought 
 had he of all men, of living in his works beyond his day ; 
 he could scarcely be brought to throw his disciples into 
 the form of community, and to perpetuate that form by 
 ecclesiastical recognition. Then he would not go and 
 preside over them : then, when obliged to go, he would 
 not let them call him Father Superior. Then he would 
 not listen to their founding houses in other cities. Much 
 less would he take dignities himself, or suffer them to do 
 so. He would not permit any forms or observances to 
 be the characteristics of his Congregation, besides mutual 
 love and hard work. For the interior life he sent them 
 back, with especial earnestness, to the Apostolic Epistles, 
 and to the traditions of that early monk, John Cassian. 
 In his exterior worship, he imitated, as Cardinal Baro- 
 nius observes, the form furnished by St. Paul, in his first 
 Epistle to the Corinthians. " It is by a divine counsel," 
 says that glory of the Oratory, speaking in his Annals, 
 
 15 
 
226 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 in the tone of an historian, "that there has been in great 
 measure renewed in our age in Eome, after the pattern 
 of the Apostolic assembly, the edifying practice of dis- 
 coursing in sermons of the things of God. This has 
 been the work of the Eeverend Father Philip Neri, a 
 Florentine, who, like a skilful architect, laid the founda- 
 tion of it. It was arranged, that almost every day those 
 who were desirous of Christian perfection should come 
 to the Oratory. First, there was some length of time 
 spent in mental prayer, then one of the brothers read a 
 spiritual book, and during the reading the aforesaid 
 Father commented on what was read. Sometimes he 
 desired one of the brethren to give his opinion on some 
 subject, and then the discourse proceeded in the form of 
 dialogue. After this, he commanded one of them to 
 mount a seat, and there, in a familiar, plain style, to dis- 
 course upon the lives of the Saints. To him succeeded 
 another, on a different subject, but equally plain ; lastly, 
 a third discoursed upon ecclesiastical history. When 
 all was finished, they sang some spiritual hymn, prayed 
 again for a short time, and so ended. Things being 
 thus disposed, and approved by the Pope's authority, it 
 seemed as though the beautiful form of the Apostolical 
 assembly had returned, as far as times admitted." 
 
 This, of course, took place long after that portion of 
 Philip's life on which I am immediately eng'aged. From 
 eight to eighteen, ten years, he was under the teaching 
 of St. Dominic ; from eighteen to twenty-eight or 
 twenty-nine, he was with St. Benedict, and the ancient 
 Saints of Eome. Xor even, when the end of that period 
 was come, did he quite leave St. Benedict. During the 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 227 
 
 whole sixty years that he passed at Kome, there was 
 only one great turning-point or crisis of his life; it was 
 when, at about the age of forty, he thought of going to 
 the East. Now, to determine this point, he did not take 
 the counsel of any Dominican, nor of any Jesuit, either 
 of which courses might have seemed natural, but he went 
 to a Benedictine of the great Basilica of St. Paul, and 
 by him was referred to another monk of the Benedictine 
 family, who lived on the spot of St. Paul's martyrdom, 
 and this father, directed by St. John the Evangelist, 
 told him that " Ms Indies were to be in Eome, where 
 God would make much use of him." Observe this, too, 
 my Brethren : St. John the Evangelist was the infor- 
 mant. Philip lives in especial intercourse with the 
 Saints of the Apostolic ages, with St. Paul, with St. 
 John the Evangelist. Again, St. Mary Magdalen and 
 St Philip and St. James were his own particular 
 patrons ; and St. John the Baptist appeared to him in 
 vision. I do not recollect any Saints of a later date, 
 with whom he was in such intimate communion. 
 
 4. Such was the character of the devotions, such the 
 cast and fashion of interior life, which are proper to 
 St. Philip ; Benedictine, as I may call them. At length 
 he came back to the world, and there he found and made 
 acquaintance with the third great Patriarch whom I 
 have named, St. Ignatius, who was then in Eome. That 
 memorable Saint had taken up his abode, and established 
 his Society there, while Philip was in his long retreat, 
 and now he was at hand for Philip to liear and to 
 consult, for the space of eleven years, when he died. 
 Now what did St. Ignatius do for him ? There is a 
 
2 28 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 remarkable resemblance, as any one may see, in tbe 
 practical teaching of the two, and that, in matters where 
 that teaching is in contrast to what was more usual in 
 and before their day. It cannot be doubted that, while 
 in theological traditions St. Philip was one with St. 
 Dominic, in the cure of souls he was one with St. Igna- 
 tius. An earnest enforcement of interior religion, a 
 jealousy of formal ceremonies, an insisting on obedience 
 rather than sacrifice, on mental discipline rather than 
 fasting or hair-shirt, a mortification of the reason, that 
 illumination and freedom of spirit which comes of love ; 
 further, a mild and tender rule for the Confessional ; fre- 
 quent confessions, frequent communions, special devotion 
 towards the Blessed Sacrament, these are peculiarities of 
 a particular school in the Church, and St. Ignatius and 
 St. Philip are Masters in it. From St. Benedict's time 
 there had been a broad line between the world and the 
 Church, and it was very hard to follow sanctity without 
 entering into Religion. St. Ignatius and St. Philip, on 
 the contrary, carried out the Church into the world, and 
 aimed to bring under her light yoke as many men as 
 they could possibly reach. Both of them, of course, 
 acted under a divine guidance ; but, as they lived at the 
 same time and on the same spot, it is natural to think 
 that, humanly speaking, one must have taken his tradi- 
 tion from the other ; and, as St. Philip is the younger, 
 it is as natural to think that he gained it from St. Igna- 
 tius. As then he learned from Benedict what to ie, and 
 from Dominic v^liat to do, so let me consider that from 
 Ignatius he learned Tiow lie was to do it. 
 
 St. Philip, on one occasion, acknowledged his debt in 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 229 
 
 one particular to the elder Saint ; he said to some Jesuits 
 whom he met, " You are children of a great Father. I 
 am under obligations to him, for your Master, Ignatius, 
 taught me to make mental prayer." Nay, strange as it 
 may appear, it would seem that, at least at one time of 
 his life, he wished to be admitted among his children ; 
 at another time, perhaps, to which I have already 
 alluded, to join them in the East with others in his 
 train. 
 
 5. My Brethren, I do not feel it to be any want of 
 devotion or reverence towards our dear Father, to speak 
 of him as looking out to be taught, or willing to be 
 governed. It is like his most amiable, natural, and un- 
 pretending self. He was ever putting himself in the 
 background, and never thought of taking on himself 
 rule, or seizing on a position, in the Church, or of 
 founding a religious body. And I seem to have Father 
 Consolini's authority for saying that I please him more 
 by doing towards him what he would do for himself, 
 than by showing now a zeal in his behalf, for which he 
 would not have thanked me when living. Father Con- 
 solini, as you recollect, was the most intimate friend of 
 St. Philip, of all his spiritual children. The Saint " was 
 most jealous in concealing his gifts from the eyes of the 
 world," but "from Consoliui he hid nothing." Well, 
 then, you would think, that after Philip's death, his 
 loving disciple would tell all that he could, as loudly and 
 as widely as he could, in his honour. Not so ; so far 
 from it, that the author of that Father's life, whom I 
 have just been quoting, tells us that, although he was 
 the most devoted, as well as the best beloved of the sons 
 
230 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 of St. Philip, yet, when the Holy Father's canonization 
 was first commenced, he did not wish it to be forwarded 
 by the Congregation. He himself at first refused to 
 give evidence in the Process, and, when commanded by 
 his Superiors, he gave it with evident reluctance. How 
 natural this is ! St. Philip was too near him to allow 
 of his speaking to his praise. To praise him was to 
 praise himself and all the Fathers. Let strangers praise 
 him, not a son of his own. And if they wish to love 
 him, let them come and learn to love him for what he 
 is. We too do not wish him other than he is ; we love 
 him too much for what he is, to wish him praised for 
 what he is not. 
 
 It is further said of Father Consolini : " He was so 
 deeply penetrated with this feeHng, that, though he 
 knew from the Saint himself the way in which he re- 
 ceived from the Holy Ghost that wonderful visitation of 
 the fracture of his ribs, yet he never revealed the parti- 
 culars to any living person till within a few days of his 
 death." He recollected the Saint's words, " Secretum 
 meinn miJii," "My secret is my own." And again: 
 " When he heai'd that some priests had united together 
 under the invocation and institute of St Philip, with 
 the name of Eeformed Priests, he was gravely displeased 
 with the vanity of such a title, saying, that had Philip 
 been living, he would have gone to the Pope to dissolve 
 such a Congregation." 
 
 O touching and most genuine traits of our sweetest 
 and dearest Father, and most impressive lesson to us, and 
 remarkable contrast to the spirit of the vehement friar of 
 St. Maik's ! Philip had shown them from a boy. One 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 231 
 
 of the first things told us of him in his very childhood 
 is, that " he never spoke lightly, as boys do, of becoming 
 a priest or a religious; he concealed the wish of his 
 heart, and from childhood upwards he eschewed display, 
 of which he ever had a special hatred." Things which 
 other saints have allowed in themselves, or rather have 
 felt a duty, he could not abide. He did not ask to be 
 opposed, to be maligned, to be persecuted, but simply to 
 be overlooked, to be despised. Neglect was the badge 
 which he desired for himself and for his own. " To de- 
 spise the whole world," he said, " to despise no member 
 of it, to despise oneself, to despise being despised." He 
 took great pleasure in being undervalued and made little 
 of, according to the Apostle's sentiment, " If any man 
 among you seem to be wise, let him become a fool, that 
 he may be wise." And hence you know, when he be- 
 came so famous in his old age, and every one was think- 
 ing of him mysteriously, and looking at him with awe, 
 and solemnly repeating Father Philip's words and re- 
 hearsing Father Philip's deeds, and bringing strangers to 
 see him, it was the most cruel of penances to him, and 
 he was ever behaving himself ridiculously on purpose, and 
 putting them out, from his intense hatred and impatience 
 of being turned into a show. " He was always trying," 
 says his biographer, " either by gestures, or motions, or 
 words, or some facetious levity, to hide his great devo- 
 tion ; and when he had done any virtuous action, he 
 would do something simple to cover it." 
 
 6. This being the disposition of St. Philip, you will 
 understand how it was, that while he wished to do the 
 very work which Savonarola intended, he set about it. 
 
232 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 not on principle merely, but on instinctive feeling, in so 
 different a way. Here, as iu other cases, the slowest 
 way was the surest, and the most quiet the most effec- 
 tual; and he rather would not have attempted that work 
 at all, than have sacrificed his humility and modesty to 
 the doing of it. Accordingly he, whose mission was to 
 Popes, Cardinals, and nobles, to philosophers, authors, 
 and artists, began with teaching the poor who are found 
 about the doors of the Eoman Churches. This was his 
 occupation for years ; soon he added to it another under- 
 taking of the same kind. He used to go about the 
 squares, shops, warehouses, schools, and shop-counters, 
 " talking with all sorts of persons in a most engaging way 
 about spiritual things, and saying, ' Well, my brothers, 
 when are we to set about serving God, and doing good?'" 
 and he began to make some great conversions. 
 
 Eome was at that time in a very different state from 
 what it was when Savonarola had discharged his threats 
 upon it. A most heavy judgment had come upon it a 
 few years before Philip arrived there, and that judgment 
 had come in mercy upon the city of God's choice. The 
 Germans and Spaniards had besieged, taken, and sacked 
 it, with excesses and outrages so horrible, that it is thought 
 to have suffered less from the Goths and Huns than from 
 troops nominally Christian. Its external splendour has 
 never been recovered down to this day ; its churches were 
 spoiled and defaced ; its convents plundered ; its Car- 
 dinals, Bishops, monks, and nuns, treated with the most 
 extreme indignities, and many of them murdered ; and 
 sacrileges committed innumerable. People thought what 
 happened was the fulfilment of the predictions of Savo- 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 233 
 
 narola; but, amid these miseries, the grace of God 
 spoke, and the guilty population was softened. I'irst 
 St. Cajetan, who was himself tortured by the ruffianly 
 soldiers, had already begun to call to prayer and repent- 
 ance ; St. Ignatius followed, preaching. Then came St. 
 Philip, but in his own quiet way, like " the whispering 
 of a gentle air," " his speech trickling like dew, as a 
 shower upon the herb, and as drops upon the grass." 
 
 He began, as I have said, with the poor; then he went 
 among shopmen, warehousemen, clerks in banks, and 
 loungers in public places. Encouraged by these successes, 
 he addressed himself to men, not merely of careless, but 
 of the worst kind of lives, and them also he gained for 
 God. His charity brought him into various situations 
 of trial ; but when attempts were made upon his virtue, 
 his zeal and devotion brought him through them. All 
 this time he was visiting the hospitals, and attending to 
 the necessities, both bodily and spiritual, of the sick. 
 
 This had been his life, in some degree, before he left 
 his retreat in the basilicas and cemeteries ; and it lasted 
 altogether ten years. At the end of them he joined a 
 small community of pious people, in number fifteen, 
 " simple and poor," we are told, " but full of spirit and 
 devotion," and "inflaming one another, bywords and 
 by example, with the desire of Christian perfection." 
 Philip, though still a layman, preached: and, because 
 he was doing an unusual thing, dissolute youths came to 
 make game of him ; but it was dangerous for such to 
 come near him ; on one occasion he converted thirty of 
 them by a single sermon. He and his associates made 
 it their duty to attend on the pilgrims, and on the sick 
 
234 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 who had left the hospitals, convalescent, but not recovered. 
 Thus his work gradually extended; for these pilgrims 
 and sick were from all countries, and many of them were 
 Jews or heretics, whom he brought into the fold of the 
 Church. 
 
 7. He had been fifteen years in Eome before he was 
 ordained ; and then at length, on his receiving faculties 
 for hearing confessions, he began, at the age of thirty- 
 five, his real mission, — that long course of ministry, 
 which, carried on for years three times fifteen, down 
 almost to the hour of his death, has gained for him the 
 title of Apostle of Eome. 
 
 Tou know, my Brethren, what is commonly meant by 
 an Apostle of a country. It means one who converts its 
 heathen inhabitants to the Christian faith, such as St. 
 Augustine of England ; accordingly, his proper function 
 is Baptism. Hence you find St. Augustine, St. Patrick, 
 St. Boniface, or St. Francis baptizing their hundreds 
 and thousands. This w^s the of&ce to which St. PhUip 
 wished to minister in India ; but it was his zeal and 
 charity that urged him, not his mature judgment : for 
 the fierce conflicts, and the pastoral cares, and the rude 
 publicity of such exalted duties, were unsuited to his 
 nature; so he was kept at home for a different work. 
 He was kept at home, in the very heart of Christendom, 
 not to evangelize, but to recover ; and his instrument of 
 conversion was, not Baptism, but Penance. The Con- 
 fessional was the seat and seal of his peculiar Aposto- 
 late. Hence, as St. Francis Xavier baptized his tens of 
 thousands, Philip was, every day and almost every hour, 
 for forty-five years, restoring, teaching, encouraging. 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 235 
 
 and guiding penitents along the narrow way of salva- 
 tion. 
 
 We are told in his Life, that "he abandoned every 
 other care, and gave himself to hearing confessions." 
 Not content with the day, he gave up a considerable 
 portion of the night to it also. Before dawn he had 
 generally confessed a good number. When he retired to 
 his room, he still confessed every one who came ; though 
 at prayers, though at meals, he broke off instantly, and 
 attended to the call. When the church was opened at 
 daybreak, he went down to the Confessional, and re- 
 mained in it till noon, when he said Mass. When no 
 penitents came, he remained near his Confessional ; he 
 never intermitted hearing confessions for any illness. 
 " On the day of his death he began to hear confessions 
 very early in the morning ; " after Mass " again he went 
 into the Confessional;" in the afternoon, and "during 
 the rest of the day down to supper time," he heard con- 
 fessions. After supper, " he heard the confessions of 
 those Fathers whp were to say the first Masses on the 
 following morning,'' when he himself was no longer to 
 be on earth. It was this extraordinary persevering ser- 
 vice in so trying, so wearing a duty, for forty-five years, 
 that enabled him to be the new Apostle of the Sacred 
 City. Thus it was, as the lesson in his Office says, that 
 " he bore innumerable children to Christ." He was 
 ever sufl'ering their miseries, and fighting with their sins, 
 and travailing with their good resolves, year after year, 
 whatever their state of life, their calling, their cir- 
 cumstances, if so be that he might bring them safe 
 to heaven, with a superhuman, heroic patience, of 
 
236 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 which we see so few traces iu the fiery preacher at 
 Florence. 
 
 Savonarola, in spite of his personal sanctity, in spite 
 of his protests against a mere external sanctity in 
 Catholics, after all, began with an external reform; he 
 burned lutes and guitars, looking-glasses and masks, 
 books and pictures, in the public square: but Philip 
 bore with every outside extravagance in those whom he 
 addressed, as far as it was not directly sinful, knowing 
 well that if the heart was once set right, the appropriate 
 demeanour would follow. You recollect how a youth 
 came to his Exercises one day, dressed out "in a most 
 singular and whimsical fashion" ; and how Philip did but 
 tix his eyes on him, and proceed with the discourses and 
 devotions of the Oratory, and how, by the time that 
 they were at an end, the poor sinner had become quite 
 another man ; his nature was changed all at once, and he 
 became one of the Saint's most fervent penitents. A 
 rich ecclesiastic came to him in coloured clothes, like a 
 layman : Philip talked with him for a fortnight, without 
 saying a word about his dress. At the end of the time 
 he put it off of his own accord, and made a general 
 confession. His biographer says: "He was very much 
 against stiffness and off-hand prohibitions about wearing 
 tine clothes, collars, swords, and such-like things, saying 
 that if only a little devotion gained admittance into their 
 hearts, you might leave them to themselves." If he spoke 
 of them, it was good-naturedly and playfully. You 
 recollect he said to a lady, who asked if it was a sin 
 to wear slippers with very high heels, according to an 
 excessive fashion of the day, " Take care they do not 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 237 
 
 trip you up." And to a youth, who wore one of those 
 large, stiff frills, which we see in pictures, he remarked, 
 " I should caress you much more, if your collar did not 
 hurt me." 
 
 Savonarola is associated in our minds with the pulpit 
 rather than the confessional : his vehemence converted 
 many, but frightened or irritated more. The conse- 
 quences came back upon himself and his penitents. 
 Some of his convert artists were assassinated, others were 
 driven into exile, others gave up their profession alto- 
 gether in disgust or despair. Philip had no vocation, 
 and little affection, for the pulpit ; he was jealous of^what 
 the world calls^elgquence, and he mortified his disciples 
 when they aspired to it. One he interrupted and sent 
 down ; another he made preach his sermons six times 
 over: he discoursed and conversed rather than preached. 
 And "he could not endure harsh rebukes," says the 
 writer of his life, " or anything like rigour. He allured 
 men to the service of God so dexterously, and with such 
 a holy, winning art, that those who saw it cried out, 
 astonished : ' Father Philip draws souls as the magnet 
 draws iron.' He so accommodated himself to the temper 
 of each, as, in the words of the Apostle, to become ' all 
 things to all men, that he might gain all.' " And his 
 love of them individually was so tender and ardent, that, 
 even in extreme old age, he was anxious to suffer for 
 their sins ; and " for this end he inflicted on himself 
 severe disciplines, and he reckoned their misdeeds as his 
 own, and wept for them as such." I do not read that 
 Savonarola acted thus towards Pope Alexander the Sixth, 
 whom he so violently denounced. 
 
238 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 It is not surprising that, with this tenderness, with 
 this prudence, and with the zeal and charity to which 
 both were subordinate, his influence increased year by 
 year, tOl he gained a place in the heart of the Eoman 
 population, which he has never lost. There are those 
 whose greatest works are their earliest ; there are others, 
 who, at first scarcely distinguishable from a whole class 
 who look the same, distance them in the long run, and 
 do more and more wonderful works the longer they live. 
 Philip was thirty-five before he was ordained; forty, 
 before he began his exercises in his room ; fifty, before 
 he had a church ; sixty before he formed his disciples 
 into a congregation ; near seventy, before he put himself 
 at the head of it. As the Blessed Virgin's name has by 
 a majestic growth expanded and extended itself through 
 the Church, " taking root in an honourable people, and 
 resting in the Holy City," so the influence of PhUip was, at 
 the end of many years, paramount in that place which he 
 has so long dwelt in as an obscure, disregarded stranger. 
 Sharp eyes and holy sympathies indeed had detected 
 "Philip N'eri, as a saiut living in caves," when he was 
 a youth ; but it required half a century to develope this 
 truth to the intelligence of the multitude of men. At 
 length there was no possibility of mistaking it. Visitors 
 to Eome discerned the presence of one who was greater 
 than Pope and Cardinals, holy, venerable and vigilant as 
 the rulers of the Church then were. " Among all the 
 wonderful things which I saw in Eome," says one of 
 them, writing when Philip was turned fifty, " I took the 
 chief pleasure in beholding the multitude of devout and 
 spiritual persons who frequented the Oratory. Amid the 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 239 
 
 monuments of antiquity, the superb palaces and courts of 
 so many illustrious lords, it appeared to me that the 
 glory of this exemplar shone forth with surpassing 
 light." " I go,'' says another visitor, ten years later, 
 "to the Oratory, where they deliver every day most 
 beautiful discourses on the gospel, or on the virtues and 
 vices, or ecclesiastical history, or the lives of the saints. 
 Persons of distinction go to hear them, bishops, prelates, 
 and the like. They who deliver them are in holy orders, 
 and of most exemplary life. Their superior is a certain 
 Eeverend Pather Philip, an old man of sixty, who, they 
 say, is an oracle, not only in Eome, but in the far-off 
 parts of Italy, and of France and Spain, so that many 
 come to him for counsel ; indeed he is another Thomas k 
 Kempis, or Tauler." 
 
 But it required to live in Eome to understand what 
 his influence really was. Nothing was too high for him, 
 nothing too low. He taught poor begging women to 
 use mental prayer ; he took out boys to play ; he pro- 
 tected orphans ; he acted as novice-master to the children 
 of St. Dominic. He was the teacher and director of 
 artisans, mechanics, cashiers in banks, merchants, 
 workers in gold, artists, men of science. He was con- 
 sulted by monks, canons, lawyers, physicians, courtiers ; 
 ladies of the highest rank, convicts going to execution, 
 engaged in their turn his solicitude and prayers. Car- 
 dinals hung about his room, and Popes asked for his 
 miraculous aid in disease, and his ministrations in death. 
 It was his mission to save men, not from, but in, the 
 world. To break the haughtiness of rank, and the fasti- 
 diousness of fashion, he gave his penitents public morti- 
 
240 The Mission of St. Philip. 
 
 fications ; to draw the young from the theatres, he opened 
 his Oratory of Sacred Music ; to rescue the careless from 
 the Carnival and its excesses, he set out in pilgrimage to 
 the Seven BasUicas. For those who loved reading, he sub- 
 stituted, for the works of chivalry or the hurtful novels 
 of the day, the true romance and the celestial poetry of 
 the Lives of the Saints. He set one of his disciples to 
 write history against the heretics of that age ; another 
 to treat of the Notes of the Church ; a third, to under- 
 take the Martyrs and Christian Antiquities ; — for, while 
 in the discourses and devotions of the Oratory, he pre- 
 scribed the simplicity of the primitive monks, he wished 
 his children, individually and in private, to cultivate all 
 their gifts to the full. He, however, was, after all and 
 in all, their true model, — the humble priest, shrinking 
 from every kind of dignity, or post, or office, and living 
 the greater part of day and night in prayer, in his room 
 or upon the housetop. 
 
 And when he died, a continued stream of people, says 
 his biographer, came to see his body, during the two 
 days that it remained in the church, kissing his bier, 
 touching him with their rosaries or their rings, or taking 
 away portions of his hair, or the flowers which were 
 strewed over him; and, among the crowd, persons of 
 every rank and condition were heard lamenting and ex- 
 tolling one who was so lowly, yet so great ; who had been 
 so variously endowed, and had been the pupil of so many 
 saintly masters ; who had the breadth of view of St. 
 Dominic, the poetry of St. Benedict, the wisdom of St. 
 Ignatius, and all recommended by an unassuming grace 
 and a winning tenderness which were his own. 
 
The Mission of St. Philip. 241 
 
 Would that we, his children of this Oratory, were 
 able — I do not say individually, but even collectively, nor 
 in some one generation, but even in that whole period 
 during which it is destined to continue here — would 
 that we were able to do a work such as his ! At least 
 we may take what he was for our pattern, whatever be 
 the standard of our powers and the measure of our 
 success. And certainly it is a consolation that thus 
 much we can say in our own behalf, — that we have 
 gone about his work in the way most likely to gain his 
 blessing upon us, because most like his own. We have 
 not chosen for ourselves any scene of exertion where 
 we might make a noise, but have willingly taken that 
 humble place of service which our Superiors chose for 
 us. The desire of our hearts and our duty went together 
 here. We have deliberately set ourselves down in a 
 populous district, unknown to the great world, and have 
 commenced, as St. Philip did, by ministering chiefly to 
 the poor and lowly. We have gone where we could get 
 no reward from society for our deeds, nor admiration 
 from the acute or learned for our words. We have 
 determined, through God's mercy, not to have the praise 
 or the popularity that the world can give, but, according 
 to our Father's own precept, " to love to be unknown." 
 
 May this spirit ever rule us more-and more ! For me, 
 
 my dear Fathers of the Oratory, did you ask me, and 
 
 were I able, to gain some boon for you from St. Philip, 
 
 which might distinguish you and your successors for the 
 
 time to come, persecution I would not dare to supplicate 
 
 for you, as holy men have sometimes supplicated ; for the 
 
 work of the Oratory is a tranquil work, and requires 
 
 16 
 
242 The Mission 0/ St. Philip. 
 
 peace and security to do it well. Xor would I ask for 
 you calumny and reproach, for to be slandered is to be 
 talked about, and to some minds notoriety itself is a 
 gratification and a snare. But I would beg for you this 
 privilege, that the public world might never know you 
 for praise or for blame, that you should do a good deal of 
 hard work in your generation, and prosecute many usefid 
 labours, and effect a number of religious purposes, and 
 send many souls to heaven, and take men by surprise, 
 how much you were really doing, when they happened 
 to come near enough to see it ; but that by the world 
 you should be overlooked, that you should not be known 
 out of your place, that you should work for God alone 
 with a pure heart and single eye, without the distrac- 
 tions of human applause, and should make Him your 
 sole hope, and His eternal heaven your sole aim, and 
 have your reward, not partly here, but fully and entirely 
 hereafter. 
 
 Blessed shall you and I be, my dear Fathers, if we learn 
 to live now in the presence of Saints and Angels, who are 
 to be our everlasting companions hereafter. Blessed are 
 we, if we converse habitually with Jesus, Mary, and 
 Joseph, — with the Apostles, Martyrs, and great Fathei-s 
 of the early Church, — with Sebastian, Laurence, and 
 Cecilia, — with Athanasius, Ambrose, and Augustine, — 
 with Philip, whose children we are, — with our guardian 
 angels and our patron saints, careless what men think 
 about us, so that their scorn of us involves no injury to 
 our community, and their misconception of us is no 
 hindrance to their own conversion. 
 
SERMON XIII. 
 
 THE TEEB BESIDE THE WATEES. 
 
 (Preached in St. Mary's, Oscott.) 
 
 Psalms, c. i. v. 3. 
 Et erit tanquam lignum, quod plantatum est seous daoursus 
 aquarum, quod fructum sumn dabit in tempore suo. Et folium ejus 
 non defluet, et omnia quaecuuque faciet prosperabuntur. 
 
 He shall be like a tree which is planted near the running waters, 
 which shall bring forth its fruit in due season. And his leaf shall 
 not fall off ; and all whatever he shall do shall prosper. 
 
 AMONG the many images under which the good 
 man is described in Holy Scripture, perhaps there 
 is none more vivid, more beautiful, and more touching 
 than that which represents him as some favoured and 
 thriving tree in the garden of God's planting. Our 
 original birth-place and home was a garden; and the 
 trees which Adam had to dress and keep, both in them- 
 selves and by the sort of attention they demanded, 
 reminded him of the peaceful happy duties and the 
 innocent enjoyments which were the business of his life. 
 A garden, in its perennial freshness and its soothino' 
 calm, is the best type of heaven, and its separate plants 
 
 and flowers are the exactest types of the inhabitants of 
 
 (243) 
 
244 The Tree beside the Waters. 
 
 heaven. Accordingly it is introduced into the last page 
 of Scripture as well as into the first; it makes its 
 appearance at the conclusion of man's eventful history 
 as in the record of its opening. As in the beginning we 
 read of the Paradise of pleasure, with the great river and 
 its four separate streams, with all manner of trees, fair 
 to behold and pleasant to eat of, and, above all, the Tree 
 of life, — so, in the last chapter of the Apocalypse, we 
 are told of the river of water of life, clear as crystal, pro- 
 ceeding from the throne of God and of the Lamb, which 
 he that thirsteth may drink freely ; and of the Tree of 
 Life, bearing twelve fruits, the leaves of which were for 
 the healing of the nations. 
 
 And, in like manner, when we turn to that portion of 
 the sacred volume which more than any other both 
 reveals and supports the hidden life of the servants of 
 God in every age, — I mean the Psalter, — we find, pre- 
 fixed to the collection, the Psalm from which my Text 
 is taken, in which the obedient and just man is set 
 before us under the self-same image ; under the image of 
 some choice specimen of the vegetable world, that inno- 
 cent portion of the divine handiwork which is deformed 
 by no fierce passions, which has no will and pursues no 
 end of its own, and which seems created only to please 
 the eye of man, and to be his food, medicine, and 
 refreshment : 
 
 " Blessed is the man who hath not walked in the coun- 
 sel of the ungodly, nor stood in the way of sinners, nor sat 
 in the chair of pestilence : but his will is in the law of the 
 Lord, and in His law he shall meditate day and night. 
 
 " And he shaU be like a tree which is planted near the 
 
The Tree beside the Waters. 245 
 
 running waters, wliicli shall bring forth its fruit in due 
 season. And his leaf shall not fall off ; and all whatso- 
 ever he shall do shall prosper." 
 
 This spiritual plant of God is placed by the running 
 waters ; it is nourished and recruited by the never-fail- 
 ing, the perpetual, the daily and hourly supply of their 
 wholesome influences. It grows up gradually, silently, 
 without observation ; and in proportion as it rises aloft, 
 so do its roots, with still less observation, strike deep 
 into the earth. Thus it determinately takes up its habi- 
 tation in one place, from which death alone shall part it. 
 Year after year it grows more and more into the hope 
 and the posture of a glorious immobility and unchange- 
 ableness. What it has been, that it shall be ; if it 
 changes, it is as growing into fruitfulness, and maturing 
 in its fruit's abundance and perfection. Nor is that 
 fruit lost; it neither withers upon the branches nor 
 decays upon the ground. Angels unseen gather crop 
 after crop from the unwearied never-failing parent, and 
 carefully store them up in heavenly treasure-houses. 
 Its very leaf remains green to the end ; not only its 
 fruit, which is profitable for eternal life, but its very 
 foliage, the ordinary dress in which it meets our senses, 
 its beautiful colouring, its rich yet delicate fulness of 
 proportion, the graceful waving of its boughs, the musi- 
 cal whispers and rustlings of its leaves, the fragrance 
 which it exhales, the refreshment which it spreads around 
 it, — all testify to that majestic, serene beneficence which 
 is its very nature, and to a mysterious depth of life which 
 enables it ever to give out virtue, yet never to have less 
 of it within. 
 
246 The Tree beside the Waters. 
 
 Such is the holy servant of God, considered in that 
 condition which is both his special reward and his ordi- 
 nary lot. There are those, indeed, who, for the good of 
 their brethren, and according to the will of God, are 
 exercised by extraordinary trials, and pass their lives 
 amid turbulence and change. There are others, again, 
 who are wonderfully called out of error or of sin, and 
 have experience of much conflict within or without them 
 before they reach the heavenly river, and the groves 
 which line its banks. Certainly history speaks much 
 more of martyrdom and confessorship on the one hand, 
 and of inquiry and conversion, of sin and repentance, on 
 the other, than of the tranquil Christian course; but 
 history does but give the surface of what actually takes 
 place in the heavenly kingdom. If we would really 
 bring before us what is both the highest blessedness in 
 God's service, and also in fact the ordinary portion of 
 good men, we shall find it to consist in what from its 
 very nature cannot make much show in history ; — in a 
 life barren of great events, and rich in small ones ; in a 
 life of routine duties, of happy obscurity and inward 
 peace, of an orderly dispensing of good to others who 
 come within their influence, morning and evening, of a 
 growth and blossoming and bearing fruit in the house 
 of God, and of a blessed death in the presence of their 
 brethren. Such has been the round of days of many 
 a pastor up and down Christendom, as even history has 
 recorded, of many a missioner, of many a monk, of 
 many a religious woman, of many a father or mother of 
 a family, of many a student in sacred or profane litera- 
 ture, — each the centre of his own circle, and the teacher 
 
The Tree beside the Waters. 247 
 
 of his own people, though more or less unknown to the 
 world. This had beeu the blessedness of holy Job, as 
 he sets it before us himself : " I said, I shall die in my 
 nest, and as a palm-tree shall multiply my days. My 
 root is opened beside the waters, and dew shall continue 
 in my harvest. They that heard me ... to my words 
 durst add nothing, and my speech dropped upon them. 
 They waited for me as for rain, and they opened their 
 mouth as for a latter shower." ^ It is expressed also in 
 the words of the Canticle, which, though belonging in 
 their fulness to our Lord Himself, yet in their measure 
 apply to the benefits which any holy man extends to 
 those who are within the range of his attraction : " As 
 the apple-tree among the trees of the woods, so is 
 my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his 
 shadow whom I desired, and his fruit was sweet to 
 my mouth." 
 
 I have said that the servant of God resembles a tree, 
 not only in his graciousness, his fruitfulness, and his 
 repose, but also in his immobility. This is a point which 
 may be suitably enlarged upon. Like a tree, he is con- 
 fined to one place, and his duties lie at home ; at home 
 he is priced ; he is the blessing and the pride of his own 
 neighbourhood or circle ; but his name will be little 
 known beyond it, much less has he a world-wide reputa- 
 tion. Christendom is divided into a great number of 
 districts, each with its own character and interests ; each 
 has its own indigenous saints ; each has its own patrons, 
 its holy men, its benefactors, its patterns. Each region 
 or province has those within it to whom it has given 
 
 1 Job xxix. 18-23. 
 
248 The Tree beside the Waters. 
 
 birth, and who in time become its teachers ; who form 
 its traditions, mould its character, and thereby separate 
 and discriminate it from other regions. And thus it 
 is that each part of the Catholic Church has excellences 
 of its own which other parts have not, and is as dis- 
 tinct from the rest in genius and in temper as it is in 
 place. 
 
 It is true, indeed, that in a certain sense local differ- 
 ences are unknown in that Eeligion which comes from 
 God. What it is in one place, such it is in another, 
 and ever must be so. The very name of Catholic is con- 
 trasted with local, and precludes any variation in revealed 
 truth wherever it is found. This is undeniable ; and St. 
 Paul insists upon it. Christianity, he says, has destroyed 
 all distinction of a national, or family, or party nature. 
 He reminds us that we are citizens of one city, and par- 
 takers of one and the same new nature ; and that, when 
 old things passed away, local interests and ideas went 
 away among them. " As many of you," he says, " as 
 have been baptized in Christ, have put on Christ." There 
 is neither Jew nor Gentile, barbarian nor Scythian, bond 
 nor free, male nor female ; " for you are all one in Christ 
 Jesus." ^ This certainly is never to be forgotten ; but 
 it is in nowise inconsistent with the peculiarity on which 
 I wish to insist. If St. Peter, who is the very witness 
 and foundation of unity, has placed himself at Pome 
 for ever, instead of wandering from kingdom to kingdom 
 and from city to city, if he has thus given local, nay 
 almost national attributes to the Holy See, we may be 
 sure that there is nothing judaical, or otherwise secular 
 1 Gal. iii. 27, 28. Col. iii. 11. 
 
The Tree beside the Waters. 249 
 
 or carnal, if we throw ourselves heartily and with a 
 special warmth of attachment upon the country or the 
 place in which we personally find ourselves, drink in its 
 particular spirit, and glory in the characteristic tokens 
 of a Divine Presence which have been bestowed upon it. 
 There is nothing surely contrary to the strictest evan- 
 gelical purity, and the firmest maintenance of the prin- 
 ciples of Catholicity, and the most loyal devotion to the 
 See of St. Peter, though we gather about us our own 
 traditions, and sit under their shadow, and delight in 
 their fruit ; nothing unbecoming, if in this country, in 
 England, and in this part of England, which in some 
 sense has been the heart and centre of the ancient faith, 
 where there have been so many old Catholic families, 
 where there are so many religious institutions, where 
 the sacred fire has been tended and nourished in evil 
 times so assiduously, and whence in an especial manner it 
 has in late years burst forth again and spread far and 
 wide, — I say, there is nothing unseemly, — least of all 
 within these walls, and amid these most solemn and 
 affecting duties, and on this rare occasion, — there is 
 nothing surely strange, nothing that demands excuse, if 
 we remind ourselves, each in his own heart, and with an 
 appeal to each other, of what has been the aspect which 
 the Church has worn in these parts, what are the pecu- 
 liar graces which have here been given to her children, 
 what he was, of whom we have been just now bereaved, 
 and whose last rites have brought us together, and how 
 he contributed to make the mind of this diocese what 
 we find it to be. 
 
 There is but one consideration, my Eeverend Brethren, 
 
250 The Tree beside the Waters. 
 
 which makes such a line of thought unsuitable on this 
 occasion; and that is, the consideration of the person 
 who is bringing it before you. There is no need to say 
 that I feel deeply, what every one here must understand 
 quite well, that I am not the person who has any right, 
 or any power, to refer back to the history of Catholicism 
 in these parts, or to attempt to trace the connexion of 
 the dear and venerated priest, of whom we are now 
 taking leave, with that history. I can scarcely do more 
 than remind you that there is such a characteristic 
 history, and that there is such an intimate connexion ; 
 and I leave it to you individually, by your vivid recol- 
 lection and actual experience of the past and present 
 state of the diocese, to give a meaning to my words 
 fuller than my own. Nay, putting aside his relation to 
 things and persons about him, not even in his own per- 
 sonal character can I worthily describe the man whom I 
 so much loved and so much admired ; for it is plain that, 
 however kind he was to me and mine, and whatever 
 confidence he gave us, still I have never lived nor 
 worked with him, I have never been partner in his 
 anxieties, I have never witnessed his daily life, and am 
 unable, except in that external aspect which is presented 
 to a stranger, to record his virtues and his good works. 
 And further still, who can understand, who can under- 
 take to describe, the excellences of a holy man, except 
 one who in good measure partakes of them, and can by 
 sympathy enter into the spirit by which his words and 
 his deeds have been governed ? It is said in the lesson 
 of the Office for St. Bonaventure's day, that when St. 
 Thomas found him writing the Life of St. Francis, he 
 
The Tree beside the Waters. 251 
 
 observed, " Suffer a saint to minister to a saint " ; and 
 what is true of sanctity in those highest measures, by 
 which upon death it merits at once the heavenly crown, 
 is true of it in all its manifestations. As well might a 
 man who could not read attempt to estimate some 
 literary labour, or a man without an ear attempt to 
 judge of music, as they presume to speak of a holy ser- 
 vant of God, who had not themselves that key to his 
 thoughts and his motives which sanctity like his alone 
 can give. 
 
 But further, even putting aside this serious considera- 
 tion, after all, who among us has the power to speak 
 of any man in the presence of his friends, without pain- 
 ing them by the insufficient estimate which they are sure 
 to feel that we are taking of him ? Those who have 
 known another long, who are familiar with definite as- 
 pects of his character, with special passages of his life, 
 with the trials which have brought him out, or the 
 unostentatious graces which have at all times adorned 
 him, — such persons are naturally disappointed with any 
 account which does not do justice to their own true, 
 though it may be their private and particular, view of 
 him ; just as intimate friends are never satisfied, or at 
 least, are never one and all satisfied, with any portrait 
 of him, however faithful it may be in the judgment of 
 strangers. All that I can say for my own encourage- 
 ment, in speaking to you, my Eeverend Brethren, in such 
 disadvantageous circumstances, is this : — first, that his 
 Lordship would not have asked me in his own and your 
 name to undertake duties, which I was not likely on the 
 whole to discharge in a manner honourable and rever- 
 
252 The Tree beside the Waters. 
 
 ential to the memory of our common friend ; and next, 
 that an external judgment, such as mine must be, is 
 sometimes useful, whether by confirming the view which 
 would be taken by friends, or by contributing something 
 additional to their testimony. These considerations are 
 my support in the duty which has been laid upon me. 
 
 The Eight Reverend Dr. Weedall, the friend whom 
 we have lost, was born September 6th, 1788.^ He was 
 left an orphan a few years after his birth ; and at the 
 early age of six he was sent to the school of Sedgley Park, 
 at that time consisting of about one hundred and thirty 
 boys, under the presidency of Dr. Kirk, a little more 
 than thirty years after its first establishment. The 
 history of that important place of education has been 
 latel}' given to the public by a writer especially qualified 
 for the work ;^ and there is no one, I may say, who has 
 followed his graphic narratives and his minute investi- 
 gations with deeper interest and respect than myself. 
 There is something, to ray mind, exceedingly touching 
 in watching the work of God in its silent and humble 
 beginnings. He who is the highest, is never more 
 awful than when He condescends to be lowest ; and 
 when I read the unpretending account, to which I am 
 referring, of the ordinary lowly toil, the homely life, and 
 the simple amusements of the good and faithful men 
 who began and carried out that work amid the contempt 
 
 1 " In London,'" says the Very Rev. Canon Macdonnell, in some 
 notes with which he has favoured me, " his father had been contem- 
 porary with Bishop Slilner, at Douay, and followed the profession 
 of medicine." 
 
 ^ The Very Rev. Dr. Husenbeth, V. G. Provost of Northampton. 
 
The Tree beside the Waters. 253 
 
 or neglect of the world, I am drawn by an irresistible 
 sympathy to venerate the spot on which they laboured, 
 as if the patriarch's ladder rested upon it, and Angels 
 were thither descending and thence ascending between 
 earth and heaven. 
 
 To this place came Henry Weedall, on the 11th of 
 December, 1794 ; and if a person could be named, whom, 
 from knowing in age, we could fancy we had seen in the 
 simplicity and bloom of early boyhood, it would be he. 
 I seem to be able to picture to myself an innocent child 
 of six years old, attracting the hundred inquisitive eyes 
 of his new companions by the refinement and delicacy of 
 his appearance.^ He was asked a number of questions, 
 as is usual with fresh-comers to a school ; and among 
 other accomplishments of the child, it was found that he 
 could sing. I wish I could relate, without a familiarity 
 unsuitable to this place and occasion, what occurred, as 
 it has been handed down to us in the words of a priest 
 who, much older than our friend, was then preparing for 
 holy orders in the house. It seems to me a type of him- 
 self, and beautifully prophetic of his whole life : it was 
 as if his Guardian Angel on that occasion took his place, 
 and sang the destiny of sixty-five coming years, his 
 calm duties, and the cheerful, gentle, guileless spirit with 
 which he met them. In a sweet voice he began a song 
 known to us all, the substance of which is a resolve and 
 an engagement to put aside care for ever, and be happy and 
 
 1 " The late Bev. Mr. Jones of Warwick Street," says the same 
 very reverend correspondent, "who was a sort of parlour-boarder at 
 Sedgley Park, took great notice o£ the child, and showed him much 
 kindness. He became a sort of patron to him, and continued so 
 for many years, even after his ordination." 
 
2 54 Tlie Tree beside the Waters. 
 
 joyful under all circumstances, and to make all persons 
 about us happy and cheerful as ourselves. It is no won- 
 der that his appearance, his manners, and his ways drew 
 all our hearts to him : we are told that he soon became 
 a universal favourite in the school.^ 
 
 From Sedgley Park he was removed,^ in June, 1804, 
 to old Oscott College, where he received his education 
 for the priesthood.* This occupied close upon ten years. 
 At the age of twenty-four, on the 26th of May, 1812, he 
 was ordained sub-deacon; on the 15th of April following, 
 deacon ; and priest on the 6th of April, 1814. During the 
 first years of his priesthood, he was accustomed on Sun- 
 days to come into Birmingham, and to catechise at St. 
 Chad's small chapel as an assistant to the well-known cler- 
 gyman who held the mission. He soon gained reputation 
 as a preacher, the personal gifts, which we all recollect 
 so well, fitting him especially for the office ; and he was 
 often selected to fiU the pulpit on special occasions.* 
 
 ^ " He became a generaJ favourite ; " I still quote from Canon Mac- 
 donnell, who came to the school two years before WeedaU left it : " with 
 superiors, for dooOity, piety, and general good conduct ; with fellow- 
 students, for his pacific and obhging disposition. He was pointed 
 out to me as the head boy of the school, when I went there in 1802." 
 
 - " He told me," says Mr. MaodonneU, " that !Mr. SimMss, the 
 spiritual director, " to whom we are indebted for the incident recorded 
 in the foregoing page, " on WeedaU leaving school, asked him how 
 long he had been there ; and whenhe answered nine years, Mr. S. said, 
 that the next nine years would pass away more quickly than those." 
 
 ' " He pursued his studies with great credit, and became a good 
 classical scholar according to the CTorriculum. of the coUege, and dis- 
 tinguished himself by his compositions in prose and verse. He was 
 always regiilar and unostentatious, ajid his whole demeanour inspired 
 respect. Both at Sedgley Park and at Oscott he distinguished him- 
 self among the students in games." 
 
 * " His prepared discourses were singularly beautiful. His first 
 occasional sermon was at St, Peter's, for the schools. It was printed. " 
 
The Tree beside the Waters. 255 
 
 In course of time he became Vice-president of the 
 College;^ and in 1825, on the consecration^ of Dr. 
 Walsh as coadjutor to Dr. Milner, he succeeded him as 
 its President. At this time he was thirty-seven years 
 of age. 
 
 He remained in this office till the year 1840, during 
 which time he planned and raised the magnificent pile 
 of buildings in which we are now assembled : which was 
 soon to be illustrated by so much genius, and has since 
 been associated with such memorable ecclesiastical 
 events. It was the great work of his life, and will be 
 his memorial to posterity. 
 
 In 1840, on the new arrangement of the Apostolic 
 Vicariates, he was nominated to one of those in the north ; 
 but his heart was in his old work and on his old scene 
 of action, and his excellent judgment told him, that to 
 begin life over again in a new sphere at the age of fifty- 
 two, was neither desirable in itself nor suited to him. 
 He had no wish to lose the vantage-ground on which he 
 stood, and from which he could command the co-opera- 
 tion in such services as might remain to him, of the 
 many Catholics -who had successively been trained up 
 
 1 Long before this he had had the teaching of the junior classes. 
 " He was popular with his pupils," says Canon MacdonneU. " Mild 
 and gentle, without weakness. The ecclesiastics held conferences : 
 his displays were remarkable for eloquent language, able argument, 
 and happy repartee. In 1818 he succeeded to the chair of theology. " 
 
 ^ " Mr. Weedall preached the consecration sermon. It was a most 
 elaborate composition, and his health gave way. He was obliged to 
 retire from the Presidency of the College, and travel. He went to 
 Rome and probably to other parts of Italy." Since these pages 
 have been in type, I have received remarkable evidence of the life- 
 long trial to which the weakness of his health subjected him. 
 
256 The Tree beside the Waters. 
 
 under his eye. He was quietly exerting an influence 
 throughout Catholic England, and Oscott was a centre far 
 more favourable to its extension than that which was 
 (iffered to him elsewhere. He understood also, as all his 
 friends would understand, that his calling was for a college 
 life, — for the quietness and peace, for the opportunities 
 of devotion, for the gradual formation of young minds, 
 for the literary leisure, which a place of education afforded 
 him. Like the Venerable Bede, it seems to be his vo- 
 cation to live and die in the cloister. What should lie 
 do, with his graceful attainments, his delicate sensitive- 
 ness, his modest and unassuming simplicity, in the rude 
 world, amid duties which, though they involved far 
 higher ecclesiastical dignity and spiritual privilege, were 
 intended for men of commanding minds, and of force as 
 well as firmness of character? Like the trees in the 
 parable, — with the fig-tree, and the olive, and the vine, — 
 he was loth to leave " his sweetness and delicious fruit, 
 his richness, and the wine which cheereth God and men," 
 to be promoted over the other trees. If there was a man 
 to be found who fulfilled the image with which I opened 
 this discourse, — if there was any one who ought not to be 
 transplanted, and was too useful in his present place to 
 need it, — it was the heavenly-minded priest of whom 
 I am speaking. Not only then from that sincere 
 humility which was pre-eminently his, and was his 
 motive principle on this occasion, but with calm pru- 
 dence, he betook himself to the Apostolic Throne, and 
 succeeded in gaining from Pope Gregory permission to 
 decline the high honour which had been intended for 
 him. The Pope, however, struck with his saintliness of 
 
The Tree beside the Waters. 257 
 
 character, told him that " he should not let him off so 
 easily another time." ^ 
 
 At this date he had been President of Oscott College 
 for fourteen or fifteen years : he was now to be absent 
 from the dear home of his youthful studies and his sacer- 
 dotal labours for not much short of the same time. 
 During these years he was upon the mission at Hampton, 
 Leamington, and Handsworth. In 1853 he returned to 
 the College, where he has continued till his death. 
 
 As I'egards this latter portion of his history, which we 
 all know so well, I am enabled to avail myself of your 
 Lordship's circular letter. 
 
 "There can be very little doubt," that letter says, "but 
 that the illness in which our venerated friend and brother 
 in Christ so long suffered and lingered was brought on 
 through that constant application of mind, that untiring 
 solicitude of heart, and that unceasing energy of will, 
 with which he devoted his declining years to the interests 
 of the College over which he presided. In his vigour of 
 life he raised that College up in its splendour, and, at 
 the voice of obedience, left it prospering ; at the same 
 voice of obedience he returned again to it, in its hour of 
 difficulty, and expended on its service all the energies 
 of life that yet remained to him. God blessed his work, 
 and now He has been pleased to take the workman." 
 
 One would have thought that a life so innocent, so 
 active, so holy, I might say so faultless from first to last, 
 might have been spared the visitation of any long and 
 
 • " He was certainly in Italy," says Canon Maodonnell, " between 
 1825 and 1840, but I cannot recollect the occasion. On this yisit 
 he went to Naples." 
 
 17 
 
258 The Tree beside the Waters. 
 
 severe penance to bring it to an end; but, in order 
 doubtless to show us how vile and miserable the best of 
 us are in ourselves, and, even when we are in the fulness 
 of grace and in the fervour of charity, how many imper- 
 fections we have in thought, word, and deed; and, more- 
 over, to give us a pattern how to bear suffering ourselves, 
 and to increase the merits and to hasten and brighten the 
 crown of this faithful servant of his Lord, it pleased 
 Almighty God to send upon him a disorder which, during 
 the last six years, fought with him, mastered him, and at 
 length has destroyed him, so far, that is, as death has 
 still power to destroy, since the Cross of Christ has given 
 it its death-blow. It is for those who came near him 
 year after year to store up the many words and deeds of 
 resignation, love, and humility which that long penance 
 elicited. These meritorious acts are written in the Book 
 of Life, and they have followed him whither he is gone. 
 They multiplied and grew in strength and perfection as 
 his trial proceeded ; and they were never so striking as 
 at its close. When a friend visited him in the last week, 
 he found he had scrupled at allowing his temples to be 
 moistened with some refreshing waters, and had with 
 difficulty been brought to give his consent ; he said he 
 feared it was too great a luxury. "When the same friend 
 offered him some liquid to allay his distressing thirst, his 
 answer was the same. As he read to him various texts 
 of Scripture, he came, among others, to St. Paul's re- 
 flexion on his own approaching dissolution : " Bonum 
 certamen certavi, cursum consummavi, fidem servavi. In 
 reliquo reposita est mihi corona justitiae." "I have 
 fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have 
 
The Tree beside the Waters. 259 
 
 kept the faith. Now there is laid up for me the crown 
 of justice." When the last words were read, the holy 
 old man burst into tears and remained awhile quite 
 overcome. On the next time that his friend came, the 
 day before his death, the sufferer recurred to the text, 
 and repeated it. It had been his consolation ever since 
 it had been read to him. At this time, though he was 
 quivering with unintermitting convulsions, he repeated 
 the alternate verses of the Miserere with that extreme 
 composure, deliberateness, and measured exactness, which 
 was so familiar with him. Within a few hours of this 
 he died. Some time before, he had put into the hands 
 of a friend a habit of the third order of Mount Carmel, 
 of which he was a member, with the expression of his 
 wish that he should be clothed in it on his death. This 
 wish of course was carefully observed. He died at four 
 o'clock on the morning of the 7th, last Monday, on a day 
 of black vestments ; so that his friends were able to say 
 a Mass pro defuncUs for the repose of his soul within a 
 few hours after his departure. May God give him rest ! 
 Indeed, who can doubt that He has already granted it 
 to him, and has taken him from the place of purification 
 to His Eternal Presence ? 
 
 He had lately entered upon his seventy-second year. 
 For nearly ten years of his life he was at Sedgley Park. 
 When close upon sixteen he went to Oscott College, 
 where above forty years of his life, from first to last, 
 have been spent. About the year 1830, at the instance 
 of Dr. Walsh, his Bishop, he received the degree of 
 Doctor in Divinity. On the erection of the Cathedral 
 Chapter of Birmingham, in the year 1856, he was nomi- 
 
26o The Tree beside the Waters. 
 
 nated its Provost ; and, shortly afterwards, he received 
 the appointment of Domestic Prelate to his Holiness. 
 Shortly before this he had celebrated his jubilee, on the 
 completion of the fiftieth year of his connexion with the 
 College. 
 
 And now, my Lord, and my Eeverend Brethren, I have 
 performed, in such way as I have been able, the duty 
 which you have imposed upon me. We are taking our 
 last farewell of the remains of one of the old school, — of 
 that old school of Catholics which has characteristics so 
 great and so special. We are committing to the grave 
 all that is mortal of a priest of solid piety, of deep and 
 calm devotion, of mortified life, of ever wakeful, firm 
 conscientiousness, of a spirit truly ecclesiastical, of sin- 
 gular consistency, equability, perfection in conduct, of 
 virtue which ripened thoroughly upon the tree before it 
 has been gathered. There was nothing crude, nothing 
 extravagant, nothing fitful, nothing pretentious, in the 
 character of our dear and venerated friend. He was ever 
 one and the same ; ever simple, single-minded, blameless, 
 modest, and true. You ever knew where to find him. 
 He was an unselfish spirit, which laboured, and then let 
 others enter into his labours. His was a discriminating 
 judgment, which found the right place for every duty 
 that had a claim on his attention ; which enabled him 
 freely to cultivate human learning without its encroach- 
 ing on the time and interest due to sacred studies ; and 
 to consecrate himself to the inward life of religion with- 
 out thereby neglecting " whatever is lovely, whatever is 
 of good fame," in his intercourse with others. A pleasing 
 
The Tree beside the Waters. 261 
 
 speaker, an elegant writer, with a natural playfulness of 
 thought and manner which made him dear to friends 
 and agreeable to all, through the whole man shone the 
 spirit of evangelical charity, and made his gentleness and 
 refinement seem what they really were, a growth from, 
 or a graft upon, that pure harmony of soul which is a 
 supernatural gift. He and his patron the venerable 
 Dr. Walsh, the late Vicar-Apostolic of this district, 
 fellow-disciples of Dr. Milner, entered into the intimate 
 heart of that remarkable man, and made themselves heirs 
 of its truest characteristic in perpetuating his devotional 
 spirit. It was Dr. Milner, the sharp controversialist, as 
 the world has often considered him, who set himself to 
 soften and melt the frost which stiffened the Catholicism 
 of his day, and to rear up, safe from our northern blasts, 
 the tender and fervent aspirations of Continental piety. 
 The small chapel at Maryvale, which is so well known 
 to us all, contains the first altar dedicated in England to 
 the Sacred Heart of our Lord.^ 
 
 Well did those two servants of God, his pupils, con- 
 tinue the work of Milner ; — and now the last of the three 
 has been taken away from us, and we are left to follow 
 out the lessons and the patterns which they have given 
 us. We do not lament their departure ; we thank God 
 that He gave them to us, and continued each of them to 
 labour through a sufficient length of life for His glory 
 and our edification. We do not lament their loss ; for 
 they are gone to their reward, and can do more for us by 
 their intercessions before the Eternal Throne than by 
 their prolonged presence on earth. We do not lament 
 ' Vide Note at the end. 
 
262 The Tree beside the Waters. 
 
 bheir absence ; for they have done their work. Every 
 one is made for his day ; he does his work in his day ; 
 what he does is not the work of any other day, but of 
 his own day ; his work is necessary in order to the work 
 of that next day which is not his, as a stepping-stone on 
 which we, who come next, are to raise our own work. 
 God grant that we too may do our own work, whatever 
 it may be, as perfectly as he did his, whom we are now 
 consigning to the grave ! God in His great mercy 
 grant, by the sacrifice of the Immaculate Lamb, once 
 made on the Cross, daily renewed at the Altar, through 
 the intercession of His dear Virgin Mother, for the 
 merits of all Saints, especially those connected with this 
 Diocese and College, — God, the Holy Trinity, Father, 
 Son, and Holy Ghost, grant us, with unselfish hearts 
 and pure love of Him, ever to aim at His glory, and to 
 seek His will, and to ask for His grace, and to obey His 
 word, labouring according to our strength, labouring to 
 the end, — as he did, the dear friend whom we have 
 lost, — labouring to the very end, in humility, diligence, 
 and love ! 
 
SERMON XIV. 
 
 IN THE WOELD, BUT NOT OP THE WOELD.^ 
 
 (Preached in the Church of the Jesuit Fathers, London.) 
 Ep. 1 Joan., ii. 17. 
 
 Mundus transit et oonoupisoentia ejus : qui autemfacitvoluntatem 
 Dei, manet in setemum. 
 
 The world passeth away, and the desire thereof ; but he that doeth 
 the will of God, abideth for ever. 
 
 I HAVE been asked by those whose wish at such a 
 moment is a command, to say a few words on the 
 subject of the sorrowful, the joyful solemnity, which has 
 this morning brought us together. A few words are all 
 that is necessary, all that is possible ; — ^just so many as 
 are sufficient to unite the separate thoughts, the separate 
 
 ^The following sermon, I know well, is quite unworthy of its 
 subject ; moreover, when read, it will, I much fear, come short of the 
 expectations both of those who heard it delivered and of those who 
 have heard of it. Words spoken by mourner to mourners, when hearts 
 are open and sensibilities awake, have a life in them which departs 
 with their utterance ; and, on being written down and read, are but 
 memorials of their own tameness and impotence. 
 
 Those, however, who so lovingly asked me to speak, now ask me 
 to put on paper what I said. They have the best right to decide in 
 this matter ; and, in complying with their wishes, at least I have the 
 mournful pleasure of recording the long friendship which it was my 
 joy and pride to have with one who was beloved and is lamented by 
 so many. — Adiiertiscmenl to First Editimi. 
 
 (263) 
 
264 In the World, but not of the Wortd. 
 
 memories, the separate stirrings of affection, which are 
 awakened in ns by the presence, in our midst, of what 
 remains on earth of the dear friend, of the great soul, 
 whom we have lost, — sufficient to open a communication 
 and create a sympathy between mind and mind, and to 
 be a sort of testimony of one to another in behalf of 
 feelings which each of us has in common with all. 
 
 Yet how am I the fit person even for as much as 
 this ? I can do no more than touch upon some of those 
 many points which the thought of him suggests to 
 me ; and, whatever I may know of him, and say of him, 
 how can this be taken as the measure of one whose 
 mind had so many aspects, and who must, in conse- 
 quence, have made such distinct impressions, and exer- 
 cised such various claims, on the hearts of those who 
 came near him ? 
 
 It is plain, without my saying it, that there are those 
 who knew him far better than I could know him. How 
 can I be the interpreter of their knowledge or their 
 feelings ? How can I hope by any words of mine to do 
 a service to those, who knew so well the depths of his 
 rare excellence by a continuous daily intercourse with 
 him, and by the recui'ring special opportunities given to 
 them of its manifestation ? 
 
 I only know what he was to me. I only know what 
 his loss is to me. I only know that he is one of those 
 whose departure hence has made the heavens dark to 
 me. But I have never lived with him, or travelled 
 with him ; I have seen him from time to time ; I have 
 visited him ; I have corresponded with him ; I have 
 had mutual confidences with him. Our lines of duty 
 
In the World, hit not of the World. 265 
 
 have lain in very different directions. I have known 
 him as a friend knows friend in the tumult and the 
 hurry of life. I have known him well enough to know 
 how much more there was to know in him ; and to look 
 forward, alas ! in vain, to a time when, in the evening 
 and towards the close of life, I might know him more. 
 I have known him enough to love him very much, and 
 to sorrow very much, that here I shall not see him again. 
 But then I reflect, if I, who do not know him as he 
 might be known, suffer as I do, what must be their suf- 
 fering who knew him so well ? 
 
 1. I knew him first, I suppose, in 1837 or 1838, 
 thirty-five or six years ago, a few years alter he had 
 become Fellow of Merton College. He expressed a 
 wish to know me. How our friendship grew I cannot 
 tell ; 1 must soon have been intimate with him, from the 
 recollection I have of letters which passed between us ; 
 and by 1841 I had recourse to him, as a sort of 
 natural adviser, when I was in difficulty. From that 
 time I ever had recourse to him, when I needed advice, 
 down to his last illness. On my first intimacy with 
 him he had not reached the age of thirty. I was many 
 years older ; yet he had that about him, even when a 
 young man, which invited and inspired confidence. It 
 was difficult to resist his very presence. True, indeed, 
 I can fancy those who saw him but once and at a 
 distance, surprised and perplexed by that lofty fasti- 
 diousness and keen wit which were natural to him ; but 
 such a misapprehension of him would vanisli forthwith 
 when they drew near to him, and had actual trial of 
 
266 In the World, but not of the World. 
 
 him; especially, as I have said, when they had to 
 consult him, and had experience of the simplicity, 
 seriousness, and (I can use no other word) the sweetness 
 of his manner, as he threw himself at once into their 
 ideas and feelings, listened patiently to them, and spoke 
 out the clear judgment which he formed of the matters 
 which they had put before him. 
 
 This is the first and the broad view I am led to take 
 of him. He was, emphatically, a friend in need. And 
 this same considerateness and sympathy with which he 
 met those who asked the benefit of his opinion in 
 matters of importance was, I believe, his characteristic 
 in many other ways in his intercourse with those 
 towards whom he stood in various relations. He was 
 always prompt, clear, decided, and disinterested. He 
 entered into their piirsuits, though dissimilar to his own ; 
 he took an interest in their objects ; he adapted himself 
 to their dispositions and tastes ; he brought a strong and 
 calm good sense to bear upon their present or their 
 future; he aided and furthered them in their doings 
 by his co-operation. Thus he drew men around him ; 
 and when some grave question or undertaking was in 
 agitation, and there was, as is wont, a gathering of 
 those interested in it, then, on his making his appear- 
 ance among them, all present were seen to give to him 
 the foremost place, as if he had a claim to it by right; 
 and he, on his part, was seen gracefully, and without 
 effort, to accept what was conceded to him, and to take 
 up the subject under consideration ; throwing light upon 
 it, and, as it were, locating it, pointing out what was 
 of primary importance in it, what was to be aimed at. 
 
In the World, but not of the World. 267 
 
 aiid what steps were to be taken in it. I am told that, 
 in like manner, when residing on his property in France, 
 he was there too made a centre for advice and direction 
 on the part of his neighbours, who leant upon him and 
 trusted him in their own concerns, as if he had been 
 one of themselves. It was his unselfishness, as well as 
 his practical good sense, which won upon them. 
 
 Such a man, when, young and ardent, with his advan- 
 tages of birth and position, he entered upon the public 
 world, as it displays itself upon its noblest and most 
 splendid stage at Westminster, might be expected to act 
 a great part and to rise to eminence in the profession 
 which he had chosen. Not for certain; for the refine- 
 ment of mind, which was one of his most observable 
 traits, is in some cases fatal to a man's success in public 
 life. There are those who cannot mix freely with their 
 fellows, especially not with those who are below their 
 own level in mental cultivation. They are too sensitive 
 for a struggle with rivals, and shrink from the chances 
 which it involves. Or they have a shyness, or reserve, 
 or pride, or self-consciousness, which restrains them from 
 lavishing their powers on a mixed company, and, is a hin- 
 drance to their doing their best, if they try. Thus their 
 public exhibition falls short of their private promise. 
 Now if there was a man who was the light and the 
 delight of his own intimates, it was he of whom I am 
 speaking ; and he loved as tenderly as he was beloved ; 
 — so far then he seemed rather made for domestic life. 
 
 Again, there are various departments in his profes- 
 sion, in which the particular talents which I have been 
 assigning to him might have had full play, and have led 
 
268 In the World, but not of the World. 
 
 to authority and influence, without any need or any op- 
 portunity for those more brilliant endowments by which 
 popular admiration and high distinction are attained. 
 It was by the display of talents of an order distinct 
 from clearness of mind, acuteness, and judgment, that 
 he was carried forward at once, as an advocate, to 
 that general recognition of his powers, which was the 
 response that greeted his first great speech, delivered in 
 a serious cause before an august assembly. I think I am 
 I right in saying that it was in behalf of the Anglican 
 Chapters, threatened by the reforming spirit of the day, 
 j that he then addressed the House of Lords ; and the 
 1 occasion called for the exercise, not only of the talejits 
 which I have already dwelt upon, but for those which 
 are more directly oratorical. And these were not 
 wanting. I never heard him speak; but I believe he 
 ihad, in addition to that readiness and fluency of 
 language, or eloquence, without which oratory cannot 
 be, those higher gifts which give to oratory its power 
 and its persuasiveness. I can well understand, from 
 I what I knew of him in private, what these were in his 
 ' instance. His mien, his manner, the expression of his 
 countenance, his youthfulness — I do not mean his youth, 
 but his youthfulness of mind, which he never lost to 
 the last, — his joyous energy, his reasonings so masterly, 
 yet so prompt, his tact in disposing of them for his 
 purpose, the light he threw upon obscure, and the 
 interest with which he invested dull subjects, his 
 humour, his ready resource of mind in emergencies; 
 gifts such as these, so rare, yet so popular, were neces- 
 sary for his success, and he had them at command. On 
 
In, the World, but noi of the World. 269 
 
 that occasion of his handselling them to which I have 
 referred, it was the common talk of Oxford, how the 
 most distinguished lawyer of the day, a literary man 
 and a critic, on hearing the speech in question, pro- 
 nounced his prompt verdict upon him in the words, 
 " That young man's fortune is made." And indeed it 
 was plain to those who were in a position to forecast 
 the future, that there was no prize, as it is called, of 
 public life, to which that young man might not have 
 aspired, if only he had had the will. 
 
 2. This, then, is what occurs to me to say in the first 
 place, concerning the dear friend of whom we are now 
 taking leave. Such as I have described, were the 
 prospects which opened upon him on his start in life. 
 But now, secondly, by way of contrast, what came of 
 them ? He might, as time went on, almost have put 
 out his hand and taken what he would of the honours 
 and rewards of the world. Whether in Parliament, or 
 in the law, or in the branches of the Executive, he had 
 a right to consider no station, no power, absolutely be- 
 yond his reach. His contemporaries and friends, who 
 fill, or have filled, the highest offices in the State, are, in 
 the splendour of their several careers, the illustration of 
 his capabilities and his promise. But, strange as it may 
 appear at first sight, his indifference to the prizes of life 
 was as marked as his qualifications for carrying them 
 off. He was singularly void of ambition. To succeed 
 in life is almost a universal passion. If it does not 
 often show itself in the high form of ambition, this is 
 because few men have any encouragement in themselves 
 
270 In the World, but not of the World. 
 
 or in their circumstances to indulge in dreams of great- 
 ness. But that a young man of bold, large, enterprising 
 mind, of popular talents, of conscious power, with initial 
 successes, with great opportunities, one who carried 
 with him the good-will and expectation of bystanders, 
 and was cheered on by them to a great future, that 
 he should be dead to his own manifest interests, that 
 he should be unequal to the occasion, that he should 
 be so false to his destiny, that his ethical nature should 
 be so little in keeping with his gifts of mind, may 
 easil)' be represented, not only as strange, but as a 
 positive defect or even a fault. Why are talents given 
 at all, it may be asked, but for use? What are 
 great gifts but the correlatives of great work ? We 
 are not born for ourselves, but for our kind, for 
 our neighbours, for our country : it is but selfish- 
 ness, indolence, a perverse fastidiousness, an unman- 
 liness, and no virtue or praise, to bury our talent in a 
 napkin, and to return it to the Almighty Giver just as 
 we received it. 
 
 This is what may be said, and it is scarcely more than 
 a truism to say it ; for undoubtedly, who will deny it ? 
 Certainly we owe very much to those who devote them- 
 selves to public life, whether in the direct service of the 
 State or in the prosecution of great national or social 
 undertakings. They live laborious days, of which we 
 individually reap the benefit; nevertheless, admitting 
 this fully, surely there are other ways of being useful 
 to our generation still. It must be recollected, that in 
 public life a man of elevated mind does not make his 
 own self tell upon others simply and entirely. He is 
 
In the World, but not of the World. 2 7 1 
 
 obliged to move in a groove. He must act with other 
 men ; he cannot select his objects, or pursue them by 
 means unadulterated by the methods and practices of 
 minds less elevated than his own. He can only do 
 what he feels to be second-best. He proceeds on the 
 condition of compromise ; and he labours at a venture, 
 prosecuting measures so large or so complicated that 
 their ultimate issue is uncertain. 
 
 Nor of course can I omit here the religious aspect of 
 this question. As Christians, we cannot forget how 
 Scripture speaks of the world, and all that appertains 
 to it. Human Society, indeed, is an ordinance of God, 
 to which He gives His sanction and His authority ; but 
 from the first an enemy has been busy in its depravation. 
 Hence it is, that while in its substance it is divine, in 
 its circumstances, tendencies, and results it has much of 
 evil. Never do men come together in considerable 
 numbers, but the passion, self-will, pride, and un- 
 belief, which may be more or less dormant in them one 
 by one, bursts into a flame, and becomes a constituent 
 of their union. Even when faith exists in the whole 
 people, even when religious men combine for religious 
 purposes, still, when they form into a body, they 
 evidence in no long time the innate debility of human 
 nature, and in their spirit and conduct, in their avowals 
 and proceedings, they are in grave contrast to Christian 
 simplicity and straightforwardness. This is what the 
 sacred writers mean by " the world," and why they warn 
 us against it ; and their description of it applies in its 
 degree to all collections and parties of men, high and 
 low, national and professional, lay and ecclesiastical. 
 
272 In the World, but not of the World. 
 
 It would be hard, then, if men of great talent and of 
 special opportunities were bound to devote themselves 
 to an ambitious life, whether they would or not, at the 
 hazard of being accused of loving their own ease, when 
 their reluctance to do so may possibly arise from a re- 
 finement and unworldliness of moral character. Surely 
 they may prefer more direct ways of serving God and 
 man ; they may aim at doing good of a nature more 
 distinctly religious ; at works, safely and surely and 
 beyond all mistake meritorious ; at offices of kindness, 
 benevolence, and considerateness, personal and par- 
 ticular ; at labours of love and self-denying exertions, 
 in which their left hand knows nothing that is done 
 by their right. As to our dear friend, I have already 
 spoken of the influence which he exercised on all 
 around him, on friends or strangers with whom he was 
 connected in any way. Here was a large field for his 
 active goodness, on which he did not neglect to exert him- 
 self. He gave to others without grudging his thou;;hts, 
 time, and trouble. He was their support and stay. 
 When wealth came to him, he was free in his use of it. 
 He was one of those rare men who do not merely give 
 a tithe of their increase to their God ; he was a fount 
 of generosity ever flowing. It poured out on every 
 side ; in religious offerings, in presents, in donations, in 
 works upon his estates, in care of his people, in alms- 
 deeds. I have been told of his extraordinary care of 
 families left in distress, of his aid in educating them and 
 putting them out in the world, of his acts of kindness to 
 poor converts, to single women, and to sick priests ; and 
 I can well understand the solicitous and persevering 
 
In the World, but not of the World. 273 
 
 tenderness with which he followed up such benevolences 
 towards them from what I have seen in him myself. 
 He had a very retentive memory for their troubles 
 and their needs. It was his largeness of mind which 
 made him thus open-hearted. As all his plans were on 
 a large scale, so were his private charities. And when an 
 object was public, and required the support of many, 
 then he led the way by a munificent contribution himself 
 He built one church on his property at Loch Shiel ; 
 and another at Galashiels, which he had intended to be 
 the centre of a group of smaller ones round about; and he 
 succeeded in actually planting one of these at Selkirk. 
 Nor did he confine himself to money gifts : it is often 
 more difficult to surrender what we have made our own 
 personally, than what has never come actually into our 
 tangible possession. He bought books freely, theo- 
 logical, historical, and of general literature; but his love 
 of giving was greater than his love of collecting. He 
 could not keep them ; he gave them away again ; he 
 may be said to have given away whole libraries. Little 
 means has any one of determining the limits of his 
 generosity. I have heard of his giving or offering for 
 great objects sums so surprising, that I am afraid to 
 name them. He alone knows the full measure of his 
 bounties, who inspired and will reward it. I do not 
 think he knew it himself. I am led to think he did not 
 keep a strict account of what he gave away. Certainly 
 I know one case in which he had given to a friend 
 many hundreds, and yet seemed to havo forgotten it, 
 and was obliged to ask him when it was that he had 
 
 done so. 
 
 18 
 
274 I''^ th-e World, but not of the World. 
 
 I should trust that, in what I am saying, I have not 
 given any one the impression that he was inconsiderate 
 and indiscriminate in giving. To have done this would 
 have been to contradict my experience of him and my 
 intention. As far as my opportunities of observing 
 him extended, large as were his bounties and charities, 
 as remarka.ble was the conscientious care with which he 
 inquired into the nature and circumstances of the cases 
 for which his aid was solicited. He felt he was but the 
 steward of Him who had given him what he gave away. 
 
 He gave away as the steward of One to whom he 
 must give account. There are at this time many 
 philanthropic and benevolent men who think of man 
 only, not of God, in their acts of liberality. I have 
 already said enough to show that he was not one of 
 these. I have implied the presence in him of that sense 
 of religion, or religiousness, which was in fact his 
 intimate and true life. And indeed liberality such 
 as his, so incessant and minute, so well ordered, 
 and directed too towards religious objects, almost of 
 itself evidences its supernatural origin. But I insist on 
 ihis point, not only for its own sake, but because of its 
 bearing upon that absence of ambition, which in a man 
 so energetic, so influential, is a very remarkable point of 
 character. Such apathy, so to call it, might be, though 
 not an Epicurean selfishness, still a natural temper, the 
 temper of a magnanimous mind, such as might be found 
 in ancient Greece or Eome, as well as in modern times. 
 But in truth in him it was much more than a gift of 
 nature ; it was a fruit and token of that religious 
 sensitiveness which had been bestowed on him from 
 
In the World, but not of the World. 275 
 
 above. If it was really the fact, that his mind and heart 
 were fixed upon divine objects, this at once accounts for 
 what was so strange, so paradoxical in him in the 
 world's judgment, his distaste for the honours and the 
 pageants of earth ; and fixed, assuredly they were, 
 upon the invisible and eternal. It was a lesson to all 
 who witnessed it, in contrast with the appearance of 
 the outward man, so keen and self-possessed amid the 
 heat and dust of the world, to see his real inner secret 
 self from time to time gleam forth from beneath the 
 working-day dress in which his secular occupations 
 enveloped him. 
 
 I cannot do justice by my words to the impression 
 which in this respect he made on me. He had a tender 
 conscience, but I mean something more than that — I 
 mean the emotion of a heart always alive and awake at 
 the thought of God. When a religious question came 
 up suddenly in conversation, he had no longer the 
 manner and the voice of a man of the world. There 
 was a simplicity, earnestness, gravity in his look and in 
 his words, which one could not forget. It seemed to me 
 to speak of a loving desire to please God, a single-minded 
 preference for His service over every service of man, a 
 resolve to approach Him by the ways which He had 
 appointed. It was no taking for granted that to follow 
 one's own best opinion was all one with obeying His will; 
 no easy persuasion that a vague, obscure sincerity in 
 our conclusions about Him and our worship of Him was 
 all that was required of us, whether those conclusions 
 belonged to this school of doctrine or that. That is, 
 he had deep within him that gift which St. Paul and 
 
276 In the World, but not of tJie World. 
 
 St. John speak of. when they enlarge upon the charac- 
 teristics of faith. It was the gift of faith, of a living, 
 loving faith, such as " overcomes the world " by seeking 
 " a better country, that is, a heavenly." This it was 
 that kept him so "unspotted from the world" in the 
 midst of worldly engagements and pursuits. 
 
 No wonder, then, that a man thus minded should 
 gradually have been led on into the Catholic Church. 
 Judging as we do from the event, we thankfully recognize 
 in him an elect soul, for whom, in the decrees of Omnipo- 
 tent Love, a seat in heaven has been prepared from all 
 eternity, — whose name is engraven on the palms of those 
 Hands which were graciously pierced for his salvation. 
 Such eager, reverential thoughts of God as his, prior 
 to his recognizing the Mother of Saints, are surely but 
 the first tokens of a predestination which terminates in 
 heaven. That straightforward, clear, good sense which 
 he showed in secular matters did not fail him in reli- 
 gious inquiry. There are those who are practical and 
 sensible in all things save in religion ; but he was con- 
 sistent ; he instinctively turned from bye- ways and cross- 
 paths, into which the inquiry might be diverted, and 
 took a broad, intelligible view of its issues. And, after 
 he had been brought within the Fold, I do not think I 
 can exaggerate the solicitude which he all along showed, 
 the reasonable and prudent solicitude, to conform him- 
 self in all things to the enunciations and the decisions 
 of Holy Church ; nor, again, the undoubting conviction 
 he had of her superhuman authority, the comfort he 
 found in her sacraments, and the satisfaction and 
 trust with which he betook himself to the intercession 
 
In the World, but not of the World. 277 
 
 of the Blessed Virgin, to the glorious St. Michael, to 
 St. Margaret, and all Saints. 
 
 3. I will make one remark more. I have spoken, 
 first, of his high natural gifts, of his various advantages 
 for starting in life, and of his secular prospects. Next, 
 in contrast with this first view of him, I have insisted on 
 his singular freedom from ambition, and have traced it to 
 that religiousness of mind which was so specially his ; to 
 his intimate sense of the vanity of all secular distinction, 
 and his supreme devotion to Him who alone is " Faith- 
 ful and True," And now when I am brought to the third 
 special feature of his life, as it presents itself to me, I 
 find myself close to a sacred subject, which I cannot even 
 touch upon withoutgreat reverence and something of fear. 
 
 We might have been led to think that a man already 
 severed in spirit, resolve, and acts from the world in 
 which he lived, would have been granted by his Lord 
 and Saviour to go forward in his course freely, without 
 any unusual trials, such as are necessary in the case of 
 common men for their perseverance in the narrow way 
 of life. But those for whom God has a love more than 
 ordinary He watches over with no ordinary jealousy; 
 and, if the world smiles on them, He sends them crosses 
 and penances so much the more. He is not content 
 that they should be by any common title His ; and, 
 because they are so dear and near to Him, He provides 
 for them afflictions to bring them nearer still. I hope 
 it is not presumptuous thus to speak of the inscrutable 
 providences of God. I know that He has His own wise 
 and special dealings with every one of us, and that what 
 
278 In the World, but not of the World. 
 
 He determines for one is no rule for another. I am con- 
 templating, and, if so be, interpreting, His loving ways 
 and purposes only towards the very man before us. 
 
 Now, so it was, there was just one aspect of this 
 lower world which he might innocently love ; just one, 
 in which life had charms for a heart as affectionate as it 
 was religious. I mean that assemblage of objects which 
 are included under the dear name of Home, If there 
 was rest and solace to be found on earth, he found it there. 
 Is it not remarkable, then, that in this, his sole earthly 
 sanctuary, He who loved him with so infinite a love 
 met him, ^dsited him, not once or twice, but again and 
 again, with a stern rod of chastisement ? Stroke after 
 stroke, blow after blow, stab after stab, was dealt against 
 his very heart. " Great and wonderful are Thy works, 
 Lord God Almighty; just and true are Thy ways, 
 King of ages. Who shall not fear Thee, Lord 
 and magnify Tby name? for Thou only art holy." I 
 may speak with more vivid knowledge of him here than 
 in other respects, for I was one of the confidants of his 
 extreme suffering under the succession of terrible inflic- 
 tions, which left wounds never to be healed. They ended 
 only with his life ; for the complaint, which eventually 
 mastered him, was brought into activity by his final 
 bereavement. Nay, I must not consider even that great 
 bereavement his final one ; his call to go hence was itself 
 the final agony of that tender, loving heart. He who 
 had in time past been left desolate by others, was now 
 to leave others desolate. He was to be torn away, as 
 if before his time, from those who, to speak humanly, 
 needed him so exceedingly. He was called upon to 
 
In the World, but not of the World. 279 
 
 surrender them in faith to Him who had given them. 
 It was about two hours before his death, with this great 
 sacrifice, as we may suppose, this solemn summons of 
 his Supreme Lord confronting him, that he said, with a 
 loud voice, "Thy will be done"; adding his favourite 
 prayer, so well known to us all, " Fiat, laudetur, atque 
 in seternum superexaltetur, sanctissima, altissima, ama- 
 bilissima voluntas Dei in omnibus." They were almost 
 his last words. 
 
 We too must say, after him, "Thy will be done." 
 Let us be sure that those whom God loves He takes 
 away, each of them, one by one, at the very time best 
 for their eternal interests. What can we, in sober 
 earnest, wish, save that very Will of Grod ? Is He not 
 wiser and more loving than we are ? Could we wish 
 him back whom we have lost ? Who is there of us who 
 loves him most but would feel the cruelty of recalling 
 to this tumultuous life, with its spiritual perils and its 
 dark future, a soul who is already rejoicing in the end 
 and issue of his trial, in salvation secured, and heaven 
 begun in him ? Eather, who would not wish to have lived 
 his life, and to have died his death ? How well for him 
 that he lived, not for man only, but for God ! What are 
 all the interests, pleasure, successes, glories of this world, 
 when we come to die ? What can irreligious virtue, what 
 can innocent family affection do for us, when we are going 
 before the Judge, whom to know and love is life eternal, 
 whom not to know and not to love is eternal death ? 
 
 happy soul, who hast loved neither the world nor 
 the things of the world apart from God ! Hajjpy soul. 
 
28o In the World, but not of the World. 
 
 who, amid the world's toil, hast chosen the one thing 
 needful, that better part which can never be taken away ! 
 Happy soul, who, being the counsellor and guide, the 
 stay, the light and joy, the benefactor of so many, yet 
 hast ever depended simply, as a little child, on the 
 grace of thy God and the merits and strength of thy 
 Eedeemer! Happy soul, who hast so thrown thyself 
 into the views and interests of other men, so prosecuted 
 their ends, and associated thyself in their labours, as 
 never to forget still that there is one Holy Catholic 
 Eoman Church, one Fold of Christ and Ark of salvatioQ, 
 and never to neglect her ordinances or to trifle with her 
 word ! Happy soul, who, as we believe, by thy continual 
 almsdeeds, offerings, and bounties, hast blotted out 
 such remains of daily recurring sin and infirmity as 
 the sacraments have not reached ! Happy soul, who, 
 by thy assiduous preparation for death, and the long 
 penance of sickness, weariness, and delay, has, as we 
 trust, discharged the debt that lay against thee, and art 
 already passing from penal purification to the light and 
 liberty of heaven above ! 
 
 And so farewell, but not farewell for ever, dear James 
 Eobert Hope Scott ! He is gone from us, but only gone 
 before us. It is for us to look forward, not backward. 
 We shall meet him again, if we are worthy, in " Mount 
 Sion, and the heavenly Jerusalem," in " the company of 
 many thousands of angels, the Church of the first-born 
 who are written in the heavens," with " God, the Judge 
 of all, and the spirits of the just made perfect, and Jesus, 
 the ^Mediator of the iSTew Testament, and the blood which 
 speaketh better things than that of Abel." 
 
SEEMON XV. 
 
 THE POPE AND THE EEVOLIJTION. 
 (Preached in the Church of the Oratory, Birmingham.) 
 
 EvAiTG. SEC. Matt., c. xvi. v. 18, 19. 
 
 Et ego dico tibi, quia tu es Petrus, et super lianc petram aedifieabo 
 ecclesiam meam ; et portse inferi nou prsevalebunt adversus earn. Et 
 tibi dabo olaves regni ccelorum. 
 
 And I say to thee, that thou art Peter, and upon this rook I will 
 build My Church ; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. 
 And I will give to thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 THIS day, the feast of the Holy Eosary of the Blessed 
 Virgin Mary, has been specially devoted by our 
 Ecclesiastical Superiors to be a day of prayer for the 
 Sovereign Pontiff', our Holy Father, Pope Pius the 
 Ninth. 
 
 His Lordship, our Bishop, has addressed a Pastoral 
 Letter to his clergy upon the subject, and at the end of 
 it he says, " Than that festival none can be more appro- 
 priate, as it is especially devoted to celebrating the 
 triumphs of the Holy See obtained by prayer. We 
 therefore propose and direct that on the Festival of the 
 Eosary, the chief Mass in each church and chapel of our 
 
 diocese be celebrated with as much solemnity as circum- 
 (281) 
 
282 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 stances will allow of. And that after the Mass the Psalm 
 Miserere and the Litany of the Saints be sung or recited. 
 That the faithful be invited to offer one communion 
 for the Pope's intention. And that, where it can be 
 done, one part at least of the Eosary be publicly said 
 at some convenient time in the church, for the same 
 intention." 
 
 Then he adds : " In the Sermon at the Mass of the 
 Festival, it is our wish that the preacher should instruct 
 the faithful on their obligations to the Holy See, and 
 on the duty especially incumbent on us at this time of 
 praying for the Pope." 
 
 I. " Our obligations to the Holy See." What Catholic 
 can doubt of our obligations to the Holy See ? especially 
 what Catholic under the shadow and teaching of St. 
 Philip Neri can doubt those obligations, in both senses 
 of the word " obligation," the tie of duty and the tie of 
 gratitude ? 
 
 1. For first as to duty. Our duty to the Holy See, 
 to the Chair of St. Peter, is to be measured by what the 
 Church teaches us concerning that Holy See and concern- 
 ing him who sits in it. Now St. Peter, who first occupied 
 it, was the Vicar of Christ. You know well, my Brethren, 
 our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, who suffered on the 
 Cross for us, thereby bought for us the kingdom of 
 heaven. " When Thou hadst overcome the sting of 
 death," says the hymn, " Thou didst open the kingdom 
 of heaven to those who believe." He opens, and He 
 shuts; He gives grace. He withdraws it; He judges, 
 He pardons, He condemns. Accordingly, He speaks of 
 Himself in the Apocalypse as " Him who is the Holy 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 283 
 
 and the True, Him that hath the key of David (the key, 
 that is, of the chosen king of the chosen people), Him 
 that openeth and no man shutteth, that shutteth and no 
 man openeth." And what our Lord, the Supreme 
 Judge, is in heaven, that was St. Peter on earth ; he had 
 those keys of the kingdom, according to the text, " Thou 
 art Peter, and upon this rock I will build My Church, 
 and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And 
 I will give to thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven ; 
 and whatsoever thou shalt bind upon earth, shall be 
 bound also in heaven ; and whatsoever thou shalt loose 
 on earth, shall be loosed also in heaven." 
 
 Next, let it be considered, that kingdom, which our 
 Lord set up with St. Peter at its head, was decreed in 
 the counsels of God to last to the end of all things, 
 according to the words I have just quoted, " The gates of 
 hell shall not prevail against it." And again, " Behold, 
 I am with you all days, even to the consummation of 
 the world." And in the words of the prophet Isaias, 
 speaking of that divinely established Church, then in the 
 future, " This is My covenant with them. My Spirit that 
 is in thee, and My words which I have put in thy 
 mouth, shall not depart out of thy mouth, nor out of the 
 mouth of thy seed, nor out of the mouth of thy seed's 
 seed, saith the Lord, from henceforth and for ever." 
 And the prophet Daniel says, "The God of heaven will 
 set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed . . . and 
 it shall break in pieces and shall consume all those king- 
 doms (of the earth, which went before it), and itself 
 shall stand for ever." 
 
 That kingdom our Lord set up when He came on 
 
284 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 earth, and especially after His resurrection; for we are 
 told by St. Luke that this was His gracious employ- 
 ment, when He visited the Apostles from time to time, 
 during the forty days which intervened between Easter 
 Day and the day of His Ascension. " He showed Him- 
 self alive to the Apostles," says the Evangelist, "after 
 His passion by many proofs, for forty days appearing 
 to them and speaking of the kingdom of God." And 
 accordingly, when at length He had ascended on high, 
 and had sent down " the promise of His Father," the 
 Holy Ghost, upon His Apostles, they forthwith entered 
 upon their high duties, and brought that kingdom or 
 Church into shape, and supplied it with members, and 
 enlarged it, and carried it into all lands. As to St. 
 Peter, he acted as the head of the Church, according to 
 the previous words of Christ ; and, still according to his 
 Lord's supreme will, he at length placed himself in the 
 See of Eome, where he was martyred. 
 
 And what was then done, in its substance cannot be 
 undone. " God is not as a man that He should lie, nor 
 as the son of man, that He should change. Hath He 
 said then, and shall He not do ? hath He spoken, and 
 will He not fulfil ? " And, as St. Paul says, " the gifts 
 and the calling of God are without repentance." His 
 Church then, in all necessary matters, is as unchangeable 
 as He. Its framework, its polity, its ranks, its offices, its 
 creed, its privileges, the promises made to it, its fortunes 
 in the world, are ever what they have been. 
 
 Therefore, as it was in the world, but not of the 
 world, in the Apostles' time, so it is now : — as it was 
 " in honour and dishonour, in evU report and good 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 285 
 
 report, as chastised but not killed, as having nothing 
 and possessing all things," in the Apostles' times, so it 
 is now : — as then it taught the truth, so it does now ; as 
 then it had the sacraments of grace, so has it now ; as 
 then it had a hierarchy or holy government of Bishops, 
 priests, and deacons, so has it now ; and as it had a Head 
 then, so must it have a head now. Who is that visible 
 Head now ? who is now the vicar of Christ ? who has 
 now the keys of the kingdom of heaven, as St. Peter had 
 then ? Who is it now who binds and looses ou earth, that 
 our Lord may bind and loose in heaven ? Who, I say, 
 if a successor to St. Peter there must be, who is that suc- 
 cessor in his sovereign authority over the Church ? It 
 is he who sits in St. Peter's chair : it is the Bishop of 
 Eome. We all know this; it is part of om: faith ; I am 
 not proving it to you, my Brethren. The visible head- 
 ship of the Church, which was with St. Peter while he 
 lived, has been lodged ever since in his Chair : the suc- 
 cessors in his headship are the successors in his Chair, 
 that continuous line of Bishops of Eome, or Popes, as they 
 are called, one after another, as years have rolled on, one 
 dying and another coming, down to this day, when we 
 see Pius the Ninth sustaining the weight of the glorious 
 Apostolate, and that for twenty years past, — a tre- 
 mendous weight, a ministry involving momentous duties, 
 innumerable anxieties, and immense responsibilities, as 
 it ever has done. 
 
 And now, though I might say much more about the 
 prerogatives of the Holy Father, the visible head of the 
 Church, I have said more than enough for the purpose 
 which has led to my speaking about him at all. I have 
 
286 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 said that, like St. Peter, he is the Vicar of his Lord. 
 He can judge, and he can acquit; he can pardon, and he 
 can condemn ; he can command and he can permit ; he 
 can forbid, and he can punish. He has a supreme juris- 
 diction over the people of God. He can stop the ordi- 
 nary course of sacramental mercies; he can excommuni- 
 cate from the ordinary grace of redemption; and he can 
 remove again the ban which he has inflicted. It is the 
 rule of Christ's providence, that what His Vicar does in 
 severity or in mercy upon earth. He Himself confirms 
 in heaven. And in saying all this I have said enough 
 for my purpose, because that purpose is to define our 
 obligations to him. That is the point on which our 
 Bishop has fixed our attention ; " our obligations to the 
 Holy See ; " and what need I say more to measure our 
 own duty to it and to him who sits in it, than to say 
 that in his administration of Christ's kingdom, in his 
 religious acts, we must never oppose his will, or dispute 
 his word, or criticise his policy, or shrink from his side? 
 There are kings of the earth who have despotic autho- 
 rity, which their subjects obey indeed but disown in 
 their hearts ; but we must never murmur at that abso- 
 lute rule which the Sovereign Pontiff has over us, because 
 it is given to him by Christ, and, in obeying him, we 
 are obeying his Lord. We must never suffer ourselves 
 to doubt, that, in his government of the Church, he is 
 guided by an intelligence more than human. His yoke 
 is the yoke of Christ, he has the responsibUitj' of his own 
 acts, not we ; and to his Lord must he render account, 
 not to us. Even in secular matters it is ever safe to be 
 on his side, dangerous to be on the side of his enemies. 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 287 
 
 Our duty is, — not indeed to mix up Christ's Vicar with 
 this or that party of men, because he in his high station 
 is above all parties, — but to look at his formal deeds, and 
 to follow him whither he goeth, and never to desert him, 
 however we may be tried, but to defend him at all 
 hazards, and against all comers, as a son would a father, 
 and as a wife a husband, knowing that his cause is the 
 cause of God. And so, as regards his successors, if we 
 'live to see them; it is our duty to give them in like 
 manner our dutiful allegiance and our unfeigned service, 
 and to follow them also whithersoever they go, having 
 that same confidence that each in his turn and in his 
 own day will do God's work and will, which we have felt 
 in their predecessors, now taken away to their eternal 
 reward. 
 
 2. And now let us consider our obligations to the 
 Sovereign Pontiff in the second sense, which is con- 
 tained under the word "obligation." "In the Sermon 
 in the Mass," says the Bishop, " it is our wish that the 
 preacher should instruct the faithful on their obligations 
 to the Holy See;" and certainly those obligations, that 
 is, the claims of the Holy See upon our gratitude, are 
 very great. We in this country owe our highest 
 blessings to the See of St. Peter, — to the succession of 
 Bishops who have filled his Apostolic chair. For first it 
 was a Pope who sent missionaries to this island in the 
 first age of the Church, when the island was yet in 
 pagan darkness. Then again, when our barbarous 
 ancestors, the Saxons, crossed over from the Continent 
 and overran the country, who but a Pope, St. Gregory 
 the First, sent over St. Augustine and his companions to 
 
288 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 convert them to Christianity ? and by God's grace they 
 and their successors did this great work in the course of 
 a hundred years. From that time, twelve hundred years 
 ago, our nation has ever been Christian. And then in 
 the lawless times which followed, and the break-up of 
 the old world all over Europe, and the formation of the 
 new, it was the Popes, humanly speaking, who saved 
 the religion of Christ from being utterly lost and coming 
 to an end, and not in England only, but on the Con- " 
 tinent ; that is, our Lord made use of that succession of 
 His Vicars, to fulfil His gracious promise, that His Eeli- 
 gion should never fail. The Pope and the Bishops of the 
 Church, acting together in that miserable time, rescued 
 from destruction all that makes up our present happi- 
 ness, spiritual and temporal. Without them the world 
 would have relapsed into barbarism — but God willed 
 otherwise ; and especially the Eoman Pontiffs, the suc- 
 cessors of St. Peter, the centre of Catholic Unity, the 
 Vicars of Christ, wrought manfully in the cause of faith 
 and charity, fulfilling in their own persons the divine pro- 
 phecy anew, which primarily had related to the Almighty 
 Eedeemer Himself: " I have laid help upon One that is 
 mighty, and I have exalted One chosen out of the people. 
 I have found David My servant, with My holy oil have 
 I anointed him. For My hand shall help him, and My 
 arm shall strengthen him. The enemy shall have no 
 advantage over him, nor the son of iniquity have power 
 to hurt him. I will cut down his enemies before his 
 face, and them that hate him I will put to flight. And 
 My truth and My mercy shall be with him, and in My 
 Name shall his horn be exalted. He shall cry out to 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 289 
 
 Me, Thou art my Father, my God, and the support of 
 my salvation. And I will make him My first-born, 
 high above the kings of the earth. I will keep My 
 mercy for him for ever, and My covenant shall be 
 faithful to him." 
 
 And the Almighty did this in pity towards His people, 
 and for the sake of His religion, and by virtue of His 
 promise, and for the merits of the most precious blood 
 of His own dearly-beloved Son, whom the Popes repre- 
 sented. As Moses and Aaron, as Josue, as Samuel, as 
 David, were the leaders of the Lord's host in the old 
 time, and carried on the chosen people of Israel from 
 age to age, in spite of their enemies round about, so 
 have the Popes from the beginning of the Gospel, and 
 especially in those middle ages when anarchy prevailed, 
 been faithful servants of their Lord, watching and fight- 
 ing against sin and injustice and unbelief and ignorance, 
 and spreading abroad far and wide the knowledge of 
 Christian truth. 
 
 Such they have been in every age, and such are the 
 
 obligations which mankind owes to them ; and if I am 
 
 to pass on to speak of the present Pontiff, and of our 
 
 own obligations to him, then I would have you recollect, 
 
 my Brethren, that it is he who has taken the Catholics 
 
 of England out of their unformed state and made them 
 
 a Church. He it is who has redressed a misfortune of 
 
 nearly three hundred years' standing. Twenty years ago 
 
 we were a mere collection of individuals ; but Pope Pius 
 
 has brought us together, has given us Bishops, and 
 
 created out of us a body politic, which (please God), as 
 
 time goes on will play an important part in Christendom, 
 
 19 
 
290 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 with a character, an intellect, and a power of its own, 
 with schools of its own, with a definite influence in the 
 counsels of the Holy Church Catholic, as England had 
 of old time. 
 
 This has been his great act towards our country ; and 
 then specially, as to his great act towards us here, towards 
 me. One of his first acts after he was Pope was, in his 
 great condescension, to call me to Rome ; then, when 
 I got there, he bade me send for my friends to be with 
 me; and he formed us into an Oratory. And thus it 
 came to pass that, on my return to England, I was able 
 to associate myself with others who had not gone to 
 Rome, till we were so many in number, that not only 
 did we establish our own Oratory here, whither the Pope 
 had specially sent us, but we found we could throw off 
 from us a colony of zealous and able priests into the 
 metropolis, and establish there, with the powers with 
 which the Pope had furnished me, and the sanction of 
 the late Cardinal, that Oratory which has done and still 
 does so much good among the Catholics of London. 
 
 Such is the Pope now happily reigning in the chair of 
 St. Peter ; such are our personal obligations to him ; 
 such has he been towards England, such towards us, 
 towards you, my Brethren. Such he is in his benefits, and 
 great as are the claims of those benefits upon us, great 
 equally are the claims on us of his personal character and 
 of his many virtues. He is one whom to see is to love, 
 one who overcomes even strangers, even enemies, by his 
 very look and voice ; whose presence subdues, whose me- 
 mory haunts, even the sturdy, resolute mind of the Eng- 
 lish Protestant. Such is the Holy Father of Christendom, 
 
The Pope mid the Revolution. 291 
 
 the worthy successor of a long and glorious line. Such 
 is he ; and, great as he is in office, and in his beneficent 
 acts and virtuous life, as great is he in the severity of 
 his trials, in the complication of his duties, and in the 
 gravity of his perils, — perils which are at this moment 
 closing him in on every side ; and therefore it is, on 
 account of the crisis of the long-protracted troubles of 
 his pontificate which seems near at hand, that our Bishop 
 has set apart this day, the feast of the Holy Eosary, for 
 special solemnities, and has directed us to "instruct the 
 faithful on their obligations to the Holy See," and not 
 only so, but also " on the duty especially incumbent on 
 us at this time of fraying for the Pope." 
 
 II. This then is the second point to which I have to 
 direct your attention, my Brethren — the duty of praying 
 for the Holy Father ; but, before doing so, I must tell 
 you what the Pope's long-protracted troubles are about, 
 and what the crisis is, which seems approaching : — I will 
 do it in as few words as I can. 
 
 More than a thousand years ago, nay near upon fifteen 
 hundred, began that great struggle, which I spoke of 
 just now, between the old and the new inhabitants of 
 this part of the world. Whole populations of barbarians 
 overran the whole face of the country, that is, of England, 
 Prance, Germany, Spain, Italy, and the rest of Europe. 
 They were heathens, and they got the better of the Chris- 
 tians ; and religion seemed likely to fail together with 
 that old Christian stock. But, as I have said, the Pope 
 and the Bishops of the Church took heart, and set about 
 converting the new-comers, as in a former age they had 
 converted those who now had come to misfortune ; and. 
 
292 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 through God's mercy, they succeeded. The Saxon Eng- 
 lish, — Anglo-Saxons, as they are called, — are among those 
 whom the Pope converted, as I said just now. The new 
 convert peoples, as you may suppose, were very grateful 
 to the Pope and the Bishops, and they showed their 
 gratitude by giving them large possessions, which were 
 of great use, in the bad times that followed, in main- 
 taining the influence of Christianity in the world. Thus 
 the Catholic Church became rich and powerful. The 
 Bishops became princes, and the Pope became a Sove- 
 reign Ruler, with a large extent of country all his own. 
 This state of things lasted for many hundred years ; and 
 the Pope and Bishops became richer and richer, and 
 more and more powerful, until at length the Protestant 
 revolt took place, three hundred years ago, and ever 
 since that time, they have, in a temporal point of view, 
 become of less and less importance, and less and less 
 prosperous. Generation after generation the enemies of 
 the Church, on the other hand, have become bolder and 
 bolder, more powerful, and more successful in their mea- 
 sures against the Catholic faith. By this time the Church 
 has well-nigh lost all its wealth and all its power ; its 
 Bishops have been degraded from their high places in the 
 world, and in many countries have scarcely more, or not 
 more, of weight or of privilege than the ministers of the 
 sects which have split off from it. However, though 
 the Bishops lost, as time went on, their temporal rank, 
 the Pope did not lose his ; he has been an exception to 
 the rule ; according to the Providence of God, he has 
 retained Eome, and the territories round about Eome, far 
 and wide, as his own possession without let or hindrance. 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 293 
 
 But now at length, by the operation of the same causes 
 which have destroyed the power of the Bishops, the 
 Holy Father too is in danger of losing his temporal posses- 
 sions. For the last hundred years he has had from time 
 to time serious reverses, but he recovered his ground. 
 Six years ago he lost the greater part of his dominions, 
 — all but Eome and the country immediately about it, — 
 and now the worst of difficulties has occurred as regards 
 the territory which remains to him. His enemies have 
 succeeded, as it would seem, in persuading at least a large 
 portion of his subjects to side with them. This is a real 
 and very trying difficulty. While his subjects are for 
 him, no one can have a word to say against his temporal 
 rule ; but who can ' force a Sovereign on a people which 
 deliberately rejects him? You may attempt it for a 
 while, but at length the people, if they persist, will get 
 their way. 
 
 They give out then, that the Pope's government is 
 behind the age, — that once indeed it was as good as 
 other governments, but that now other governments 
 have improved, and his has not, — that he can neither 
 keep order within his territory, nor defend it from 
 attacks from without, — that his police and his finances 
 are in a bad state, — that his people are discontented 
 within, — that he does not show them how to become 
 rich, — that he keeps them from improving their minds, 
 — that he treats them as children, — that he opens no 
 career for young and energetic minds, but condemns 
 them to inactivity and sloth, — that he is an old man, — 
 that he is an ecclesiastic, — that, considering his great 
 spiritual duties, he has no time left him for temporal 
 
294 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 concerns, — and that a bad religious government is a 
 scandal to religion. 
 
 I have stated their arguments as fairly as I can, but 
 you must not for an instant suppose, my Brethren, that 
 I therefore admit either their principles or their facts. It 
 is a paradox to say that ecclesiastical and temporal power 
 can never lawfully, religiously, and usefully be joined 
 together. Look at what are called the middle ages, — 
 that is, the period which intervenes between the old 
 Eoman Empire and the modern world ; as I have said, 
 the Pope and the Bishops saved religion and civil order 
 from destruction in those tempestuous times, — and they 
 did so hy means of the secular power which they possessed. 
 So much for the fact ; next, going on to the principles 
 which the Pope's enemies lay down as so very certain, 
 who, that has any pretension to be a religious man, will 
 grant to them that progress in temporal prosperity is 
 the greatest of goods, and that everything else, however 
 sacred, must give way before it? On the contrary, 
 health, long life, security, liberty, knowledge, are cer- 
 tainly great goods, but the possession of heaven is a far 
 greater good than all of them together. With all the 
 progress in worldly happiness which we possibly could 
 make, we could not make ourselves immortal, — death 
 must come ; that will be a time when riches and worldly 
 knowledge will avail us nothing, and true faith, and 
 divine love, and a past life of obedience will be all in all 
 to us. If we were driven to choose between the two, it 
 would be a hundred times better to be Lazarus in this 
 world, than to be Dives in the next. 
 
 However, the best answer to their arguments is con- 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 295 
 
 tained in sacred history, which supplies us with a very 
 apposite and instructive lesson on the subject, and to it 
 I am now going to refer. 
 
 Now observe in the first place, no Catholic maintains 
 that that rule of the Pope, as a king, in Eome and its 
 provinces, which men are now hoping to take from him, 
 is, strictly speaking, what is called a Theocracy, that is, 
 a Divine Government. His government, indeed, in 
 spiritual matters, in the Catholic Church throughout 
 the world, might be called a Theocracy, because he is 
 the Vicar of Christ, and has the assistance of the Holy 
 Ghost ; but not such is his kingly rule in his own domi- 
 nions. On the other hand, the rule exercised over the 
 chosen people, the Israelites, by Moses, Josue, Gideon, 
 Eli, and Samuel, was a Theocracy : God was the King of 
 the Israelites, iiot Moses and the rest, — theij were but 
 Vicars or Vicegerents of the Eternal Lord who brought 
 the nation out of Egypt, l^om, when men object that 
 the Pope's Government of his own States is not what it 
 should be, and that therefore he ought to lose them, be- 
 cause the rule of a religious ruler should be perfect or not 
 at all, I take them at their word, if they are Christians, 
 and refer them to the state of things among the Israelites 
 after the time of Moses, during the very centuries when 
 they even had God for their King. Was that a period of 
 peace, prosperity, and contentment ? Is it an argument 
 against the Divine Perfections, that it was not such a 
 period ? Why is it then to be the condemnation of the 
 Popes, who are but men, that their rule is but parallel 
 in its characteristics to that of the King of Israel, who 
 was God ? He indeed has His own all-wise purposes for 
 
296 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 what He does ; He knows the end from the beginning ; 
 He conld have made His government as perfect and as 
 prosperous as might have been expected from the words 
 of Moses concerning it, as perfect and prosperous eis, 
 from the words of the Prophets, our anticipations might 
 have been about the earthly reign of the Messias. But 
 this He did not do, because from the first He made that 
 perfection and that prosperity dependent upon the free 
 will, upon the co-operation of His people. Their loyal 
 obedience to Him was the condition, expressly declared 
 by Him, of His fulfilling His promises. He proposed to 
 work out His purposes through them, and, when they 
 refused their share in the work, everything went wrong. 
 Now they did refuse from the first ; so that from the 
 very first. He says of them emphatically, that they were 
 a " stiffnecked people." This was at the beginning of 
 their history ; and close upon the end of it, St. Stephen, 
 inspired by the Holy Ghost, repeats the divine account 
 of them : " Tou stiffnecked and uncircumcised in heart 
 and ears, you always resist the Holy Ghost; as your 
 fathers did, so do you also." In consequence of this 
 obstinate disobedience, I say, God's promises were not 
 ftilfiUed to them. That long lapse of five or six hundred 
 years, during which God was their King, was in good 
 part a time, not of well-being, but of calamity. 
 
 Now, turning to the history of the Papal monarchy 
 for the last thousand years, we must allow that the Eo- 
 man people have not the guilt of the Israelites, because 
 they have not been opposing the direct rule of God ; and 
 I would not attribute to them now a liability to the same 
 dreadful crimes which stain the annals of their ancestors; 
 
The Pope and the Revohdion. 297 
 
 but still, after all, they have been a singularly stiffnecked 
 people in time past, and in consequence there has been 
 extreme confusion, I may say anarchy, under the reign 
 of the Popes ; and that restless impatience of his rule 
 which exists in the Eoman territory now, is only what 
 has shown itself age after age in times past. The Eoman 
 people not seldom offered bodily violence to their Popes, 
 — killed some Popes, wounded others, drove others from 
 the city. On one occasion they assaulted the Pope at 
 the very altar in St. Peter's, and he was obliged to take 
 to flight in his pontifical vestments. Another time they 
 insulted the clergy of Eome ; at another, they attacked 
 and robbed the pilgrims who brought offerings from a 
 distance to the shrine of St. Peter. Sometimes they 
 sided with the German Emperors against the Pope ; 
 sometimes with other enemies of his in Italy itself. As 
 many as thirty-six Popes endured this dreadful contest 
 with their own subjects, till at last, in anger and disgust 
 with Eome and Italy, they took refuge in France, where 
 they remained for seventy years, during the reigns of 
 eight of their number. 
 
 That I may not be supposed to rest what I have said 
 on insufficient authorities, I will quote the words of that 
 great Saint, St. Bernard, about the Eoman people, seven 
 hundred years ago. 
 
 Writing to Pope Eugenius during the troubles of the 
 day, he says, " What shall I say of the people ? why, 
 that it is the Eoman people. I could not more concisely 
 or fully express what I think of your subjects. What 
 has been so notorious for ages as the wantonness and 
 haughtiness of the Eomans? a race unaccustomed to 
 
298 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 peace, accustomed to tumult; a race cruel and un- 
 manageable up to this day, which knows not to submit, 
 unless when it is unable to make fight. ... I know the 
 hardened heart of this people, but God is powerful even 
 of these stones to raise up children to Abraham. . . . 
 Whom will you find for me out of the whole of that 
 populous city, who received you as Pope without bribe or 
 hope of bribe ? And then especially are they wishing to 
 be masters, when they have professed to be servants. 
 They promise to be trustworthy, that they may have the 
 opportunity of injuring those who trust them. . . . They 
 are wise for evil, but they are ignorant for good. Odious 
 to earth and heaven, they have assailed both the one 
 and the other ; impious towards God, reckless towards 
 things sacred, factious amongst themselves, envious of 
 their neighbours, inhuman towards foreigners, . . . they 
 love none, and by none are loved. Too impatient for 
 submission, too helpless for rule; . . . importunate to gain 
 an end, restless till they gain it, ungrateful when they 
 have gained it. They have taught their tongue to speak 
 big words, while their performances are scanty indeed."^ 
 
 Thus I begin; the Israelites and the Eomans have 
 both been stiffnecked : — and now let us continue the 
 parallel between them. 
 
 I have said that, while the Israelites had God for their 
 King, they had a succession of great national disasters 
 arising indeed really from their falling off from Him ; 
 but this they would have been slow to acknowledge. 
 They fell into idolatry ; then, in consequence, they fell 
 into the power of their enemies ; then God in His mercy 
 ' De Consid. iv. 2. Vide Note at the end. 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 299 
 
 visited them, and raised up for them a deliverer and ruler, 
 a judge, as he was called, — who first brought them to 
 repentance, and next brought them out of their troubles ; 
 however, when the judge died, they fell back into idola- 
 try, and then they fell under the power of their enemies 
 again. Thus for eight years they were in subjection to 
 the King of Mesopotamia ; for eighteen years to the King 
 of Moab ; for twenty years to the King of Canaan ; for 
 seven years to the Madianites ; for eighteen years to the 
 Ammonites ; and for forty years to the Philistines. After- 
 wards Eli, the high priest, became their judge, and then 
 disorders of another kind commenced. His sons, who were 
 priests also, committed grievous acts of immorality in the 
 holy place, and in other ways caused great scandal. In 
 consequence a heavy judgment came upon the people ; 
 they were beaten in battle by the Philistines, and the Ark 
 of God was taken. Then Samuel was raised up, a holy 
 prophet and a judge, and in the time of his vigour all 
 went well ; but he became old, and then he appointed 
 his sons to take his place. They, however, were not like 
 him, and every thing went wrong again. " His sons 
 walked not in his ways,'' says the sacred record, " but they 
 turned aside after lucre, and took bribes, and perverted 
 judgment.'' This reduced the Israelites to despair ; they 
 thought they never should have a good government, 
 while things were as they were ; and they came to the 
 conclusion that they had better not be governed by 
 such men as Samuel, however holy he might be, — that 
 public affairs ought to be put on an intelligible footing, 
 and be carried on upon system, which had never yet been 
 done. So they came to the conclusion that they had 
 
300 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 better have a king, like the nations around them. They 
 deliberately preferred the rule of man to the rule of 
 God. They did not like to repent and give up their 
 sins, as the true means of being prosperous ; they 
 thought it an easier way to temporal prosperity to have 
 a king like the nations, than to pray and live virtuously. 
 And not only the common people, but even the grave and 
 venerable seniors of the nation took up this view of 
 what was expedient for them. "All the ancients of 
 Israel, being assembled, came to Samuel, . . . and they 
 said to him . . . Make us a king to judge us, as all 
 nations have." Observe, my Brethren, this is just what 
 the Eoman people are saying now. They vnsh to throw 
 off the authority of the Pope, on the plea of the disorders 
 which they attribute to his government, and to join them- 
 selves to the rest of Italy, and to have the King of Italy 
 for their king. Some of them, indeed, wish to be without 
 any king at all ; but, whether they wish to have a king 
 or no, at least they wish to get free from the Pope. 
 
 Now let us continue the parallel. When the ptophet 
 Samuel heard this request urged from such a quarter, 
 and supported by the people generally, he was much 
 moved. "The word was displeasing in the eyes of 
 Samuel," says the inspired writer, " that they should 
 say, Give us a king. And Samuel prayed to the Lord." 
 Almighty God answered him by saying, " They have not 
 rejected thee, but Me ; " and He bade the prophet warn 
 the people, what the king they sought after would do to 
 them, when at length they had him. Samuel accord- 
 ingly put before them explicitly what treatment they 
 would receive from him. " He will take your sons," he 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 301 
 
 said, "and will put them in his chariots; and he will 
 make them his horsemen, and his running footmen to go 
 before his chariots. He will take the tenth of your corn 
 and the revenues of your vineyards. Your flocks also he 
 will take, and you shall be his servants." Then the 
 narrative proceeds, "But the people would not hear the 
 voice of Samuel, and they said. Nay, but there shall be 
 a king over us. And we also will be like all nations, 
 and our king shall judge us, and go out before us, and 
 fight our battles for us." 
 
 Now here the parallel I am drawing is very exact. It 
 is happier, I think, for the bulk of a people, to belong to 
 a small State which makes little noise in the world, than 
 to a large one. At least in this day we find small States, 
 such as Holland, Belgium, and Switzerland, have special 
 and singular temporal advantages. And the Eoman 
 people, too, under the sway of the Popes, at least have 
 had a very easy time of it ; but, alas, that people is not 
 sensible of this, or does not allow itself to keep it in 
 mind. The Eomans have not had those civil incon- 
 veniences, which fall so heavy on the members of a first- 
 class Power. The Pontifical Government has been very 
 gentle with them ; but, if once they were joined to the 
 kingdom of Italy, they would at length find what it is 
 to attain temporal greatness. The words of Samuel to 
 the Israelites would be fulfilled in them to the letter. 
 Heavy taxes would be laid on them ; their children would 
 be torn from them for the army ; and they would incur 
 the other penalties of an ambition which prefers to have 
 a share in a political adventure to being at the head of 
 Catholic citizenship. We cannot have all things to our 
 
302 The Pope and the Revolution, 
 
 wish in this world ; we must take our choice between 
 this advantage and that; perhaps the Eoman people 
 would like to secure both this world and the next, if they 
 could ; perhaps, in seeking both, they may lose both ; 
 and perhaps, when they have lost more than they have 
 gained, they may wish their old Sovereign back again, 
 as they have done in other centuries before this, and 
 may regret that they have caused such grievous disturb- 
 ance for what at length they find out is little worth it. 
 
 In truth, after all, the question which they have to 
 determine is, as I have intimated, not one of worldly 
 prosperity and adversity, of greatness or insignificance, 
 of despotism or liberty, of position in the world or in the 
 Church ; but a question of spiritual life or death. The 
 sin of the Israelites was not that they desired good 
 government, but that they rejected God as their King. 
 Their choosing to have " a king like the nations " aroimd 
 them was, in matter of fact, the first step in a series of 
 acts, which at length led them to the rejection of the 
 Almighty as their God. When in spite of Samuel's 
 remonstrances they were obstinate, God let them have 
 their way, and then in time they became dissatisfied with 
 their king for the very reasons which the old Prophet 
 had set before them in vain. On Solomon's death, about 
 a hundred and twenty years after, the greater part of the 
 nation broke off from his son on the very plea of Solo- 
 mon's tyranny, and chose a new king, who at once 
 established idolatry all through their country. 
 
 Now, I grant, to reject the Holy Father of course is not 
 like the sin of the Israelites, for they rejected Almighty 
 God Himself: yet I wish I was not forced to believe 
 that a hatred of the Catholic Eeligion is in fact at the 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 303 
 
 bottom of that revolutionary spirit which at present 
 seems so powerful in Rome. Progress, in the mouth of 
 some people, — of a great many people, — means apostasy. 
 Not that I would deny that there are sincere Catholics 
 so dissatisfied with things as they were in Italy, as they 
 are in Eome, that they are brought to think that no 
 social change can be for the worse. Nor as if I pre- 
 tended to be able to answer all the objections of those 
 who take a political and secular view of the subject. 
 They may be right according to their own line of 
 thought, but their line is not the highest. Here I have 
 nothing to do with secular politics. In a sacred place 
 I have only to view the matter religiously. It would ill 
 become me, in my station in the Church and my imper- 
 fect knowledge of the facts of the case, to speak for or 
 against statesmen and governments, lines of policy or 
 public acts, as if I were invested with any particular 
 mission to give my judgment, or had any access to 
 sources of special information. I have not here to deter- 
 mine what may be politically more wise, or what may be 
 socially more advantageous, or what in a civil point of 
 view would work more happily, or what in an intellectual 
 would tell better ; my duty is to lead you, my Brethren, 
 to look at what is happening, as the sacred writers would 
 now view it and describe it, were they on earth now to do 
 so, in the broad view and the outcome of the whole matter, 
 and to attempt this by means of the light thrown upon 
 present occurrences by what they actually have recorded 
 or taught whether iu the Old Testament or in the New. 
 We must remove, I say, the veil off the face of events, 
 as Scripture enables us to do, and try to speak of them 
 
304 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 as Scripture interprets them for us. Speaking then in 
 the sanctuary, I say that theories and schemes about 
 government and administration, be they better or worse, 
 and the aims of mere statesmen and politicians, be they 
 honest or be they deceitful, these are not the deter- 
 mining causes of that series of misfortunes under which 
 the Holy See has so long been suffering. There is some- 
 thing deeper at work than anything human. It is not 
 any refusal of the Pope to put his administration on a 
 new footing, it is not any craft or force of men high in 
 public affairs, it is not any cowardice or frenzy of the 
 people, which is the sufficient explanation of the present 
 confusion. What it is our duty ever to bear in mind, is 
 the constant restless agency all over the earth of that 
 bad angel who was a liar from the beginning, of whom 
 Scripture speaks so much. The real motive cause of the 
 world's troubles is the abiding presence in it of the 
 apostate spirit, " The prince of the power of this air," 
 as St. Paul calls him, " The spirit that now worketh on 
 the children of unbelief." 
 
 Things would go on well enough but for him. He it 
 is who perverts to evil what is in itself good and right, 
 sowing cockle amid the wheat. Advance in knowledge, 
 in science, in education, in the arts of life, in domestic 
 economy, in municipal administration, in the conduct of 
 public affairs, is all good and from God, and might be 
 conducted in a religious way ; but the evil spirit, jealous 
 of good, makes use of it for a bad end. And much more 
 able is he to turn to his account the designs and 
 measures of worldly politicians. He it is who spreads 
 suspicions and dislikes between class and class, between 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 305 
 
 sovereigns and subjects, who makes men confuse together 
 things good and bad, who inspires bigotry, tyranny, 
 party spirit, obstinacy, resentment, arrogance and self- 
 will, and hinders things from righting themselves, find- 
 ing their level, and running smooth. His one purpose 
 is so to match, and arrange, and combine, and direct the 
 opinions and the measures of Catholics and unbelievers, 
 of Eomans, and foreigners, of sovereigns and popular 
 leaders — all that is good, all that is bad, all that is 
 violent or lukewarm, narrow-minded or falsely liberal in 
 the good, all that is morally great and intellectually 
 persuasive in the bad — as to inflict the widest possible 
 damage, and utter ruin, if that were possible, on the 
 Church of God. 
 
 Doubtless in St. Paul's time, in the age of heathen 
 persecution, the persecutors had various good political 
 arguments in behalf of their cruelty. Mobs indeed, 
 or local magistrates, might be purposely cruel towards 
 the Christians ; but the great Eoman Government at a 
 distance, the grave rulers and wise lawyers of the day, 
 acted from views of large policy ; they had reasons of 
 State, as the kings of the earth have now ; still our 
 Lord and His Apostles do not hesitate to pass these 
 by, and declare plainly that the persecution which they 
 sanctioned or commanded was the work, not of man, but 
 of Satan. And now in like manner we are not engaged 
 in a mere conflict between progress and reaction, modern 
 ideas and new, philosophy and theology, but in what is 
 infinitely higher, in one scene of that never-ending conflict 
 which is waged between our Eedeemer and the Evil One, 
 
 between the Church and the world ; and, in St. Paul's 
 
 20 
 
3o6 TJie Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 words, " we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but 
 against principalities and powers, against the world- 
 rulers of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness 
 in the high places." 
 
 Such is the Apostle's judgment, and how, after giving 
 it, does he proceed ? " Therefore," he says, " take unto 
 you the armour of God, that you may be able to resist 
 in the evil day, and to stand in all things perfect. 
 Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with 
 truth, and having on the breast-plate of justice, and 
 your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of 
 peace ; in all things taking the shield of faith, whereby 
 you may be able to quench all the fiery darts of the 
 wicked. And take unto you the helmet of salvation 
 and the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God." 
 And then he concludes his exhortation with words which 
 most appositely bear upon the point towards which all 
 that I have been saying is directed, — " praying at all 
 times with all prayer and supplication in the spirit, and 
 watching therein with all instance and supplication for 
 all the Saints, and for me," that is, for the Apostle 
 himself, "that speech may be given me, that I may 
 open my mouth with confidence to make known the 
 mystery of the Gospel." 
 
 Here, then, we are brought at length to the con- 
 sideration of the duty of prayer for our living Apostle 
 and Bishop of Bishops, the Pope. I shall attempt to 
 state distinctly what is to be the object of our prayers 
 for him, and, secondly, what the spirit in which we 
 should pray, and so I shall bring my remarks on this 
 great subject to an end. 
 
The Pope and the Revohition. 307 
 
 1. In order to ascertain the exact object of our prayers 
 at this time, we must ascertain what is the occasion of 
 them. You know, my Brethren, and I have already 
 observed, that the Holy Father has been attacked in his 
 temporal possessions again and again in these last years, 
 and we have all along been saying prayers daily in the 
 Mass in his behalf. About six years ago the northern 
 portion of his States threw off his authority. Shortly 
 after, a large foreign force, uninvited, as it would seem, 
 by his people at large, — robbers I will call them, — (this 
 is not a political sentiment, but an historical statement, 
 for I never heard any one, whatever his politics, who 
 defended their act in itself, but only on the plea of its 
 supreme expedience, of some State necessity, or some 
 theory of patriotism) — a force of sacrilegious robbers, 
 — by a sudden movement broke into provinces nearer 
 to Kome, and, without any right except that of the 
 stronger, got possession of them, and keeps them to 
 this day.^ Past outrages, such as these, are never to be 
 forgotten ; but still they are not the occasion, nor do 
 they give the matter, of our present prayers. What 
 that occasion, what that object is, we seem to learn 
 from his Lordship's letter to his clergy, in which our 
 prayers are required. After speaking of the Pope's 
 being " stripped of part of his dominions,'' and " de- 
 prived of all the rest, with the exception of the marshes 
 and deserts th^t surround the Roman capital," he fastens 
 our attention on the fact, that " now at last is the Pope 
 to be left standing alone, and standing face to face with 
 those unscrupulous adversaries, whose boast and whose 
 ' Vide Note at the end. 
 
3o8 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 vow to all the world it is, not to leave to him one single 
 foot of Italian ground except beneath their Sovereign 
 sway." I understand, then, that the exact object of 
 our prayers is, that the territory stUl his should not be 
 violently taken from him, as have been those larger 
 portions of his dominions of which I have already 
 spoken. 
 
 This too, I conceive, is what is meant by praying 
 also for the Holy See. " The duty of every true child 
 of Holy Church," says the Bishop, " is to offer con- 
 tinuous and humble prayer for the Father of Christen- 
 dom, and for the protection of the Holy See." By the 
 Holy See we may understand Eome, considered as the 
 seat of Pontifical government. We are to pray for 
 Eome, the see, or seat, or metropolis of St. Peter and 
 his successors. Further, we are to pray for Eome as 
 the seat, not only of bis spiritual government, but of 
 his temporal. We are to pray that he may continue 
 king of Eome ; that his subjects may come to a better 
 mind ; that, instead of threatening and assailing him, or 
 being too cowardly to withstand those who do, they 
 may defend and obey him ; that, instead of being the 
 heartless tormentors of an old and venerable man, tliey 
 may pay a willing homage to the Apostle of God ; that, 
 instead of needing to be kept down year after year by 
 troops from afar, as has been the case for so long a time, 
 they may, " with a great heart and a willing mind," 
 form themselves into the glorious body-guard of a 
 glorious Master ; that they may obliterate and expiate 
 what is so great a scandal to the world, so great an 
 indignity to themselves, so great a grief to their Pather 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 309 
 
 and king, that foreigners are kinder to him than his 
 own flesh and blood ; that now at least, though in the 
 end of days, they may reverse the past, and, after the 
 ingratitude of centuries, may unlearn the pattern of 
 that rebellious people, who began by rejecting their 
 God, and ended by crucifying their Eedeemer. 
 
 2. So much for the ohject of our prayers ; secondly, as 
 to the spirit in which we should pray. As we ever say 
 in prayer " Thy will be done," so we must say now. 
 We do not absolutely know God's will in this matter ; 
 we know indeed it is His will that we should ask ; we 
 are not absolutely sure that it is His will that we should 
 gain. The very fact of our praying shows that we 
 are uncertain about the event. We pray when we are 
 uncertain, not when we are certain. If we were quite 
 sure what God intended to do, whether to continue the 
 temporal power of the Pope or to end it, we should not 
 pray. It is quite true indeed that the event may depend 
 v/pon our prayer, but by such prayer is meant perse- 
 verance in prayer and union of prayers ; and we never 
 can be certain that this condition of numbers and of 
 fervour has been sufficiently secured. We hope indeed to 
 gain our prayer if we pray enough ; but, since it is ever 
 uncertain what is enough, it is ever uncertain what will 
 be the event. There are Eastern superstitions, in which 
 it is taught that, by means of a certain number of 
 religious acts, by sacrifices, prayers, penances, a man 
 extorts from God of necessity what he wishes to gain, 
 so that he may rise to supernatural greatness even 
 against the will of God. Far be from us such blasphe- 
 mous thoughts ! We pray to God, we address the 
 
3IO The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 Blessed Virgin and the Holy Apostles and the other 
 guardians of Eome, to defend the Holy City ; but we 
 know that the event lies absolutely in the hands of 
 the Allwise, whose ways are not as our ways, whose 
 thoughts are not as our thoughts, and, unless we have 
 been furnished with a special revelation on the matter, 
 to be simply confident or to predict is presumption. 
 Such is Christian Prayer ; it implies hope and fear. We 
 are not certain we shall gain our petition, we are not 
 certain we shall not gain it. Were we certain that we 
 should not, we should give ourselves to resignation, not 
 to prayer ; were we certain we should, we should employ 
 ourselves, not in prayer, but in praise and thanksgiving. 
 While we pray then in behalf of the Pope's temporal 
 power, we contemplate both sides of the alternative, his 
 retaining it, and his losing it ; and we prepare ourselves 
 both for thanksgiving and resignation, as the event may 
 be. I conclude by considering each of these issues of his 
 present difficulty. 
 
 (1.) First, as to the event of his retaining his tem- 
 poral power. I think this side of the alternative 
 (humanly speaking) to be highly probable. I should 
 be very much surprised if in the event he did not in 
 some sense keep it. I think the Eomans will not be 
 able to do without him ; — it is only a minority even 
 now which is against him ; the majority of his subjects 
 is not wicked, so much as cowardly and incapable. 
 Even if they renounce him now for awhile, they will 
 change their minds and wish for him again. They will 
 find out that he is their real greatness. Their city is a 
 place of ruins, except so far as it is a place of holy 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 3 1 1 
 
 shrines. It is the tomb and charnel-house of pagan 
 impiety, except so far as it is sanctified and quickened 
 by the blood of martyrs and the relics of saints. To 
 inhabit it would be a penance, were it not for the pre- 
 sence of religion. Babylon is gone, Memphis is gone, 
 Persepolis is gone ; Eome would go, if the Pope went. 
 Its very life is the light of the sanctuary. It never 
 could be a suitable capital of a modern kingdom with- 
 out a sweeping away of all that makes it beautiful and 
 venerable to the world at large. And then, when its 
 new rulers had made of it a trim and brilliant city, they 
 would find themselves on an unhealthy soil and a de- 
 fenceless plain. But, in truth, the tradition of ages and 
 the inveteracy of associations make such a vast change 
 in Eome impossible. All mankind are parties to the 
 inviolable union of the Pope and his city. His au- 
 tonomy is a first principle in European politics, whether 
 among Catholics or Protestants; and where can it be 
 secured so well as in that city, which has so long been 
 the seat of its exercise ? Moreover, the desolateness of 
 Rome is as befitting to a kingdom which is not of this 
 world as it is incompatible with a creation of modern 
 political theories. It is the religious centre of millions 
 all over the earth, who care nothing for the fickle and 
 helpless people who happen to live there, and much for 
 the martyred Apostles who so long have lain buried 
 there ; and its claim to have an integral place in the 
 very idea of Catholicity is recognized not only by 
 Catholics, but by the whole world. 
 
 It is cheering to begin our prayers with these signs 
 of God's providence in our favour. He expressly en- 
 
312 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 courages us to pray, for before we have begun our 
 petition, He has begun to fulfil it. And at the same 
 time, by beginning the work of mercy vnthout us. He 
 seems to remind us of that usual course of His provi- 
 dence, viz., that He means to finish it with us. Let us 
 fear to be the cause of a triumph being lost to the 
 Church, because we would not pray for it. 
 
 (2.) And now, lastly, to take the other side of the 
 alternative. Let us suppose that the Pope loses his 
 temporal power, and returns to the condition of St. 
 Sylvester, St. Julius, St. Innocent, and other great 
 Popes of early times. Are we therefore to suppose that 
 he and the Church will come to nought ? God forbid ! 
 To say that the Church can fail, or the See of St. Peter 
 can fail, is to deny the faithfulness of Almighty God to 
 His word. " Thou art Peter, and upon this rock will I 
 build My Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail 
 against it." To say that the Church cannot live except 
 in a particular way, is to make it " subject to elements 
 of the earth." The Church is not the creature of times 
 and places, of secular politics or popular caprice. Our 
 Lord maintains her by means of this world, but these 
 means are necessary to her only while He gives them ; 
 when He takes them away, they are no longer neces- 
 sary. He works by means, but He is not bound to 
 means. He has a thousand ways of maintaining her ; 
 He can support her life, not by bread only, but by every 
 word that proceedeth out of His mouth. If He takes 
 away one defence. He will give another instead. We 
 know nothing of the future : our duty is to direct our 
 course according to our day ; not to give up of our own 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 3 1 3 
 
 act the means which God has given us to maintain His 
 Church withal, but not to lament over their loss, when 
 He has taken them away. Temporal power has been the 
 means of the Church's independence for a very long 
 period ; but, as her Bishops have lost it a long while, 
 and are not the less Bishops still, so would it be as 
 regards her Head, if he also lost his. The Eternal God 
 is her refuge, and as He has delivered her out of so many 
 perils hitherto, so will He deliver her still. The glorious 
 chapters of her past history are but anticipations of other 
 glorious chapters still to come. See how it has been 
 with her from the very beginning down to this day.^ 
 First, the heathen populations persecuted her children 
 for three centuries, but she did not come to an end. 
 Then a flood of heresies was poured out upon her, but 
 still she did not come to an end. Then the savage tribes 
 of the North and East cauje down upon her, and overran 
 her territory, but she did not come to an end. Next, 
 darkness of mind, ignorance, torpor, stupidity, reckless 
 corruption, fell upon the holy place, still she did not 
 come to an end. Then the craft and violence of her own 
 strong and haughty children did their worst against her, 
 but still she did not come to an end. Then came a time 
 when the riches of the world flowed in upon her, and the 
 pride of life, and the refinements and the luxuries of 
 human reason, and lulled her rulers into an unfaithful 
 security, till they thought their high position in the 
 world would never be lost to them, and almost fancied 
 that it was good to enjoy themselves here below ; — tut 
 still she did not come to an end. And then came the 
 1 Vide " Idea of a University " (1852), p. U. 
 
314 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 so-called Eeformation, and the rise of Protestantism, and 
 men said that the Church had disappeared, and they 
 could not find her place. Yet now, three centuries after 
 that event, has, my Brethren, the Holy Church come to 
 an end ? has Protestantism weakened her powers, terrible 
 enemy as it seemed to he when it arose ? has Protestant- 
 ism, that bitter energetic enemy of the Holy See, harmed 
 the Holy See ? Why, there never has been a time, since 
 the first age of the Church, when there has been such a 
 succession of holy Popes, as since the Eeformation. 
 Protestantism has been a great infliction on such as have 
 succumbed to it ? but it has even wrought benefits for 
 those whom it has failed to seduce. By the mercy of 
 God it has been turned into a spiritual gain to the 
 members of Holy Church. 
 
 Take again Italy, into which Protestantism has not 
 entered, and England, of which it has gained possession : 
 now I know well that, when Catholics are good in 
 Italy, they are very good ; I would not denj' that they 
 attain there to a height and a force of saintliness of 
 which we seem to have no specimens here. This, how- 
 ever, is the case of souls whom neither the presence nor 
 the absence of religions enemies would affect for the 
 better or the worse. Nor will I attempt the impossible 
 task of determining the amount of faith and obedience 
 among Catholics respectively in two countries so different 
 from each other. But, looking at Italian and English 
 Catholics externally and in their length and breadth, I 
 may leave any Protestant to decide, in which of the two 
 there is at this moment a more demonstrative faith, a 
 more impressive religiousness, a more generous piety, a 
 
The Pope and the Revolution. 315 
 
 more steady adherence to the cause of the Holy Father, 
 The English are multiplying religious buildings, de- 
 corating churches, endowing monasteries, educating, 
 preaching, and converting, and carrying off in the 
 current of their enthusiasm numbers even of those who 
 are external to the Church ; the Italian statesmen, on 
 the contrary, in our Bishop's words, " imprison and 
 exile the bishops and clergy, leave the flocks without 
 shepherds, confiscate the Church's revenues, suppress 
 the monasteries and convents, incorporate ecclesiastics 
 and religious in the army, plunder the churches and 
 monastic libraries, and expose religion herself, stripped 
 and bleeding in every limb, the Catholic Religion in the 
 person of her ministers, her sacraments, her most devoted 
 members, to be objects of profane and blasphemous ridi- 
 cule." In so brave, intelligent, clear-sighted a race as 
 the Italians, and in the 19th century not the 16th, and in 
 the absence of any formal protest of classes or places, the 
 act of the rulers becomes the act of the people. At the 
 end of three centuries Protestant England contains more 
 Catholics who are loyal and energetic in word and deed 
 than Catholic Italy. So harmless has been the violence of 
 the Eef ormation ; it professed to eliminate from the 
 Church doctrinal corruptions, and it has failed both as to 
 what it has done and as to what it has not done ; it has bred 
 infidels, to its confusion, and , to its dismay, it has succeeded 
 in purifying and strengthening Catholic communities. 
 
 It is with these thoughts then, my Brethren, with 
 these feelings of solemn expectation, of joyful confidence, 
 that we now come before our God, and pray Him to 
 have mercy on His chosen Servant, His own Vicar, in 
 
3 1 6 The Pope and the Revolution. 
 
 this hour of trial. We come to Him, like the prophet 
 Daniel, in humiliation for our own sins and the sins of 
 our kings, our princes, our fathers, and our people, in all 
 parts of the Church ; and therefore we say the Miserere 
 and the Litany of the Saints as in a time of fast. And 
 we come before Him in the bright and glad spirit of 
 soldiers who know they are under the leading of an 
 Invincible King, and wait with beating hearts to see 
 what He is about to do; and therefore it is that we 
 adorn our sanctuary, bringing out our hangings and 
 multiplying our lights, as on a day of festival. We 
 know well we are on the winning side, and that the 
 prayers of the poor, the weak, and the despised, can do 
 more, when offered in a true spirit, than all the wisdom 
 and all the resources of the world. This seventh of 
 October is the very anniversary of that day on which 
 the prayers of St. Pius, and the Holy Eosary said by 
 thousands of the faithful at his bidding, broke for ever 
 the domination of the Turks in the great battle of 
 Lepanto. God will give us what we ask, or He will 
 give us something better. In this spirit let us proceed 
 with the holy rites which we have begun, — in the pre- 
 sence of innumerable witnesses, of God the Judge of 
 all, of Jesus the Mediator of the New Covenant, of His 
 Mother Mary our Immaculate Protectress, of all the 
 Angels of Holy Church, of all the blessed Saints, of 
 Apostles and Evangelists, Martyrs and Confessors, of Holy 
 preachers, holy recluses, holy virgins, of holy innocents 
 taken away before actual sin, and of all other holy souls 
 who have been purified bj'' suffering, and have already 
 reached their heavenly home. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 ON SEEMONS IX. and X. 
 
 SERMONS IX. and X. were preached under cirouinstanoes which at 
 this distance of time (1870) may require some notice, that the 
 allusions made in them may be intelligible to the general reader. 
 Accordingly the following extracts are here given from the public 
 journals between Michaelmas and Christmas, 1850. 
 
 " The New Bomish Hierarchy. 
 
 " The following is the Papal Bull, ' ad perpetuam rei memoriam.' 
 ' The power of governing the Universal Church, entrusted by our Lord 
 Jesus Chiist to the Eoman Pontiff, in the person of Peter, Prince of 
 the Apostles, has maintained for centuries in the Apostolic See the 
 admirable solicitude with which it watches over the welfare of the 
 Catholic religion in all the earth, and provides with zeal for its progress. 
 Thus has been accomplished the design of its Divine Pounder, who, by 
 establishing a head, has in His profound wisdom ensured the safety 
 of the Church unto the uttermost time. The efiect of this solicitude 
 has been felt in most nations, and among those is the noble king- 
 dom of England. . . . 
 
 " ' Having before our eyes then the good example of our predecessors, 
 and desirous, by imitating them, of fulfilling the duties of the supreme 
 Apostolate, pressed besides to follow the movements of our hearts for 
 that portion of our Lord's vineyard ... we have resolved, and do 
 hereby decree, the re-establishment in the kingdom of England, and 
 according to the common laws of the Church, of a hierarchy of Bishops 
 deriving their titles from their own sees, which we constitute by the 
 present letter in the various Apostolic districts. To commence with 
 the district of London, it will form two sees : to wit, that of West- 
 minster, which we hereby elevate to the metropolitan or Arohiepis- 
 oopal dignity, and that of Southwark, &c., &c. . . . The diocese of 
 Westminster will include, &o., &c. . . Thus in the very flourishing 
 
 (317) 
 
3 1 8 Notes. 
 
 kingdom of England there will be one single ecclesiastical province, 
 with one Archbishop and twelve sufiragans, &c. . . . 
 
 " ' The Archbishop and Bishops of England will thus have the in- 
 tegral power to regulate all that belongs to the execution of the com- 
 mon law, or what is left to the authority of Bishops by the general 
 discipline of the Church. As for us, most assuredly they shall never 
 have to complain that we do not sustain them by our apostolical 
 authority, and we shall always be happy to second their demands in all 
 which appears calculated to promote the glory of God and the good 
 of souls. . . .' " 
 
 2. 
 
 Cardinal Wiseman's Pastoral. 
 
 "Nicholas, by the divine mercy, of the Holy Roman Church, by 
 the title of St. Pudentiana, Cardinal Priest, Archbishop of West- 
 minster, &c., to our dearly-beloved, &c. 
 
 "... How can we for one moment indulge in selfish feelings, when, 
 through that Loving Father's generous and wise coxinsels, the greatest 
 of blessings has just been bestowed upon our country, by the restora- 
 tion of its true Catholic hierarchical government, in communion 
 with the See of Peter. . . 
 
 "The great work then is complete ; what you have long desired and 
 prayed for is granted. Your beloved country has received a place 
 among the fair Churches, which, normally constituted, form the splen- 
 did aggregate of Catholic communion. Catholic England has been 
 restored to its orbit in the ecclesiastical firmament, from which its 
 light had long vanished, and begins now anew its course of regularly 
 adjusted action round the centre of unity, the source of jurisdiction, 
 of light, and of vigour. . . . 
 
 " Then truly is this day to us a day of joy and exultation of spirit, 
 the crowning day of long hopes, and the spring-day of brighter pro- 
 spects. . 
 
 " Given out of the Flaminian Gate of Rome, this 7th day of 
 October, in the year of our Lord, 1850," &c. 
 
 3. 
 
 The Tunes, Oct. 14, 1850. 
 ' ' We are informed by the official gazette of Kome, that, his Holiness 
 the Pope having recently been pleased to erect the city of Westminster 
 into an Archbishopric, and to appoint Dr. ^^'iseman to that see, it was 
 on this new-fangled Archbishop of Westminster that the rank of Cardi- 
 nal has been conferred. We really do not wish to attach an undue im- 
 poi'tanoe to what we shall be told is a mere question of words. It may 
 
Notes. 3 1 9 
 
 be that the elevation of Dr. Wiseman to the imaginary Archbishopric 
 of Westminster signifies no more than if the Pope had been pleased to 
 confer on the editor of the TahUt the rank and the title of Duke of 
 Smithfield. But if this appointment be not intended as a clumsy joke, 
 we confess that we can only regard it as one of the grossest acts of f oUy 
 and impertinence which the Court of Eome has ventured to commit, 
 since the Crown and the people of England threw off its yoke. The 
 selection of the city of Westminster, the very seat of the Court and 
 the Parliament of England, and the appropriation by a foreign priest 
 or potentate of the time-honoured name which is most identified with 
 the glories of our history, and even with the tombs of our statesmen, 
 our soldiers, and our kings, is a most ostentatious interference vrith 
 those rights and associations to which we, as a nation, are most 
 unanimously and devotedly attached. . . . 
 
 " The absurdity of the selection of this title for this illegitimate pre- 
 late is equal to its arrogance. Everybody knows that Westminster 
 never was in early Christian times a Bishop's see, but a monastery. . . . 
 It is a mere figment of the Papal brain. As applied to the city and 
 liberty of Westminster, or to the Abbey of St. Peter's, Westminster, it 
 is a term devoid of meaning ; but its meaning lies, we fear, in an unam- 
 biguous intention to insult the Church and the Crown of England. ..." 
 
 The Times, Nov. , 1850. 
 
 "Let Dr. UUathome imagine, if he can, on the faith of history, 
 which he dare not quote, that the foundations of his episcopal chair 
 will only be consolidated by the interference of the State. We tell him 
 that the day s of his episcopate are numbered, and that it is not because 
 his chail: is built upon a rock, but merely because his appointment has 
 been adroitly made during the recess of Parliament, that he is in the 
 enj oyment of that seat, the foundations of which he dreams are eternal ; 
 and that, though it be not in the power of our Legislature to prevent 
 him from having been the first Eoman Catholic Bishop of Birming- 
 ham, it will most assuredly be their wiU, and completely in their power, 
 to provide that he shall be the last. . . . We have felt it our duty to call 
 public attention to the violent and incendiary language employed by 
 the Rev. Dr. XTUathorne, under the pretence of issuing a pastoral letter 
 to soothe the irritation and awaken the Christian charity of his people. 
 The prospect is gloomy enough on this side of St, George's channel. It 
 is melancholy to think that, to gratify the fire-new zeal of a few rest- 
 less converts, and the inflated pride of a few ambitious ecclesiastics, this 
 country, but two months ago so perfect and so united, should be the 
 theatre of dissensions which have urged on one party even to the shed- 
 
320 Notes. 
 
 ding of blood. Heavy as the responsibility is on those who have done 
 this thing, it is nothing when compared with the guilt which they have 
 incurred toward Ireland. . . . Every Papal aggression, successful or 
 unsuccessful, must be equally pernicious to Ireland. , , . " 
 
 5. 
 
 Lorrd John Russell to the Bishop of Durham. 
 
 "Downing Street, Nov. 4, 1850. 
 
 "I agree with you in considering ' the late aggression of the Pope upon 
 our Protestantism ' as ' insolent and insidious ' ; and I therefore feel as 
 indignant as you can do upon the subject. . . . There is an assumption 
 of power in aU the documents which have come from Borne, — a pre- 
 tension to supremacy over the realm of England, and a claim to sole and 
 undivided sway, which is inconsistent with the Queen's supremacy, 
 with the rights of our Bishops and Clergy, and with the spiritual inde- 
 pendence of the nation, as asserted even in Boman Catholic times. . . . 
 There is a danger, however, which alarms me much more than an ag- 
 gression of a foreign sovereign. Clergymen of our own Church, who 
 have subscribed the Thirty-nine Articles, have been the most forward 
 in leading their flocks, ' step by step, to the very verge of the preci- 
 pice. . . .'" 
 
 Th£ Lord Chancellor at the Lord Mayor's Banquet. 
 "Protestant England is informed that she has now come under a 
 Boman Catholic Hierarchy. Considering the language of the docu- 
 ment to which I refer, and considering the truly Bomish construction 
 which some attempt to put upon the oath of supremacy, it would 
 seem as if some were acting in anticipation of the fulfilment of an 
 ancient prophecy, which presents a Cardinal's cap as equal to the 
 crown of the Queen of England. If such be anticipated, I answer 
 them in the language of Gloster : — 
 
 '"Under our feet we'll stamp thy Cardinal's hat, 
 In spite of Pope, or dignities of Church.' "i 
 
 The Anglican Clergy of Westminster to the Bishop of London. 
 ' ' For the first time since the Bef ormatiou, a Bomish ecclesiastic, 
 
 1 The Lord Chancellor in the Honse of Lords. " His speech in allusion to the 
 Cardinal's hat had been much adverted to ; he had made this allusion for 
 the reason that he had been supposed to be guilty of disrespect to the 
 Cardinal, and he had no wish to offer an alfront to a pei-son in his situation." 
 
Notes. 321 
 
 nominated by the Bishop of Rome, has assumed the title of Arch- 
 bishop of an English city ; and the English city, whose name he has 
 usurped, is that in which the Sovereigns of England are crowned, 
 the Parliaments of England sit, and the laws of England are ad- 
 ministered — the city of Westminster. We have reason to believe 
 that this step is only a preliminary one, 
 
 " We lament also the fact, that, among British subjects, especially 
 among Christian ecclesiastics, any should be found to assume a title 
 taken from a metropolitan city in the realm of England, and thus be 
 guilty of invading her Majesty's constitutional prerogative, which is 
 to be the sole fountain of honour and dispenser of titles in that realm, 
 and so be justly chargeable with an outrage against the British Con- 
 stitution and with indignity to the British Crown. . . ." 
 
 The ArcMeacon of London to the Clergy in the Archdeaconry. 
 
 " Great as were the usurpations of the Popes of Rome upon the 
 rights and liberties of England in the times prior to the Reformation, 
 it may be doubted whether any act of the Popes ever surpassed in 
 violence that of which the present Pope has been guilty in annihilating 
 two most ancient provinces of the Western Church, those of Canter- 
 bury, York, &c. ... If these evils are to be avoided, it must be, under 
 God's blessing, by a. combination scarcely less powerful and united 
 than that which in 1688 prevented James II. from carrying into efltect 
 his wishes for the conversion of England to Popery. . . . That our 
 bishops will, both in and out of Parliament, do their duty in endea- 
 vouring to deliver our Protestant country from Papal aggression, we 
 cannot doubt. . . . The voice of the country wiU be with them in every 
 resistance which they shall offer to the establishment of the Pope's juris- 
 diction in England, and to the recognition, either secret or avowed, of 
 any of the emissaries of the Church and Court of Rome, who may be 
 sent to this country by virtue of the recent Bull for the establishment 
 of a Papal hierarchy ' in this fiourishiag kingdom of England.' " 
 
 9. 
 
 The Clergy of the Archdeaconry of Middlesex. 
 
 ' ' We, &c., &o. , consider it our duty to make a public declaration of our 
 sentiments in an emergency without a precedent in the annals of this 
 reformed Church. The Bishop of Rome, in pursuance of an aggressive 
 policy, not attempted in this country since the Reformation by the bold- 
 est of hispredecessors,has presumed to nominate a Romish ecclesiastic. 
 Archbishop of Westminster, &c. . . . We therefore feel it our bounden 
 
 21 
 
32 2 Notes. 
 
 duty, at this vinprecedented crisis, to protest against this usurpation of 
 authority by a foreign prelate, and to invite the co-operation of our lay 
 brethren in prevailing on her Majesty's Government, and, if necessary 
 on the Legislature, to adopt such measures as shall cause this schisma- 
 tical and intrusive step to be retraced, and to prevent those evil conse- 
 quences to our national institutions which it must otherwise produce." 
 
 10. 
 
 The Anglican Bishops (except two) to the Queen. 
 
 "We . . . approach your jNIajesty with sentiments of veneration and 
 loyalty, at a time when an unwarrantable insult has been ofiered to 
 the Church and to your Majesty, &c. . . . We consider it our duty to 
 record our united protest against this attempt to subject our people 
 to a spiritual tyranny from which they were freed at the Eef ormation ; 
 and we make our humble petition to your Majesty to discountenance 
 by aU constitutional means the claims and usurpations of the Church 
 of Eome, by which religious divisions are fostered, and the labour of 
 our clergy impeded in their endeavours to diffuse the light of true 
 religion amongst the people committed to their charge." 
 
 11. 
 
 One of the two Dissentient Bishops to the Queen. 
 
 " Looking at the recent act of the Pope . . . as the act of a foreign 
 Sovereign, it presents indeed most weighty subjects of consideration to 
 jurists and statesmen, no less than whether the parcelling out of your 
 Majesty's realm of England into dioceses, and the placing over them by 
 a foreign potentate bishops selected by himself, be or be not an infrac- 
 tion of the law of nations. If it be, he cannot doubt that your Majesty 
 has been advised, or will soon be advised by your ministers, to demand 
 the revocation of an act so grossly insulting to yoiu: royal dignity. ..." 
 
 12. 
 
 The other Bishop to his Clergy. 
 
 "... How far the power assumed by the Pope of establishing a new 
 hierarchy of bishops, deriving their titles from our cities and towns, and 
 of parcelling the land into new dioceses, affects the prerogative of the 
 Crown, and whether such titles may be lawfully assumed, under the 
 authority of a foreigner by English subjects — these are questions which 
 deserve, and, I doubt not, will receive, the greatest consideration from 
 those who are better qualified to pronounce upon them. I will only 
 observe that the language employed in the Bull seems as if it were 
 
Notes. 323 
 
 studiously framed to convey tlie idea of an absolute sovereignty claimed 
 by the Pope over the kingdom of England, and would have suited the 
 timeofKing John as well as the reign of Queen Victoria. . ." 
 
 13. 
 
 A Noble Lord, u, Member of the Lower House of Parliament. 
 " We deny synodioal action to our own Church, shaU we allow it to a 
 rival and hostile body ? Hitherto we have been free from this moral 
 pestilence ; and if we resist this hierarchy we shall continue to be free ; 
 admit it, and you admit the introduction of a code which denounces 
 not only those who are now without the pale, but all who may be per- 
 suaded to withdraw from it. But let us not be misunderstood ; we do 
 not stand here to ask for penal enactment," &c. 
 
 14. 
 
 Her Majesty on occasion of various Addresses to her. 
 
 (1.) "I heartily concur with you in your grateful acknowledgments 
 of the many blessings conferred upon this highly favoured nation, and 
 in your attachment to the Protestant faith and to the great principles 
 of civil and religious liberty, in the defence of which the city of London 
 has ever been conspicuous. That faith and those principles are so justly 
 dear to the people of this country, that I confidently rely on their cor- 
 dial support in upholding and maintaining them against any danger 
 with which they may be threatened, from whatever quarter it may 
 proceed." 
 
 (2.) "Your tried and consistent advocacy of the equal enjoyment of 
 civil rights by all classes of your fellow-subjects entitles the expression 
 of your sentiments on the present occasion to pecuUar consideration. 
 Youmay be assured of my earnest desire and firm determination, under 
 God's blessing, to maintain unimpaired the religious liberty, &c. . . 
 and to uphold, as its surest safeguard, the pure and scriptural worship 
 of the Protestant faith," &c., &c. 
 
 (3.) " It wUl continue to be, as it ever has been, my utmost endeavour 
 in the exercise of the power and authority entrusted to me, as the 
 Supreme Governor of this realm, to maintain the independence and 
 to uphold the constitutional liberties of my people against aU aggres- 
 sion and encroachment." 
 
 (4.) " You may rely on my determination to uphold alike the rights 
 of my Crown and the indejpendence of my people against all aggres- 
 sions and encroachments of any foreign power. Your earnest en- 
 deavour, in the charge of your important duties, to train up the youth 
 entrusted to your care," &c., &c. 
 
 (5.) "I fully participate in your expressions of gratitude, &c. . . . and 
 
324 Notes. 
 
 I rejoice in the proofs ■whioli have been given of the zealous and undi- 
 minished attachment of the English people to the principles as- 
 serted at the Reformation." 
 
 15. 
 
 Reports ciraulated and believed of the Queen's sentiments about the 
 Pope's Bull. 
 
 " The Queen herself had been the first to resent the recent audacious 
 usurpation of the Pope. She sent speedily for the Home Secretary, vrho 
 found her in her drawing-room in a state of great excitement, and her 
 Majesty exclaimed, ' Sir George, I am Queen of England, and I shall not 
 bear this. ' The other report, as it circulates in the Courts, is, that ' her 
 Majesty had read the Pope's Bull, and was fully alive to her own posi- 
 tion. On the day that it was received she sent for Lord John Russell, 
 and, with the document in her hand, said, ' ' Am I the Queen of England, 
 my Lord ? " To which Lord John replied, " Who dare doubt it, your 
 Majesty ? " Upon that her Majesty said, " Look at this, and act upon 
 it."'" 
 
 16. 
 
 A Member of the Upper House of Parliament. 
 
 " PeUow-countrymen and Brother-Protestants, . . . Had I been her 
 Minister when the Popish Bull which conveyed it arrived, not one day 
 should have elapsed ere a right trusty messenger had left England's 
 shores with this short and decisive communication : — 
 
 "'Victoria,by the grace of God, &c.,&c. To the Pope, greeting : If 
 the Bull recently issued by your Holiness, claiming dominion within 
 my realms and placing both myself and my Protestant subjects out of 
 the pale of Christianity, is not, within one hour after this letter is de- 
 livered to you, withdrawn, and an ample apology made for the insult 
 which you have offered tome and to my people, in the name of Protes- 
 tant England, I declare war against you, and there shall be no peace 
 with Rome tiU I have received due satisfaction at your hands.' " 
 
 17. 
 
 A Weekly Paper. 
 
 " ' The eye of childhood fears a painted devil.' The Dutch saved the 
 expense of soldiers by painted sentinels in sentry boxes. The Pope's 
 titular bishops are substantially no more formidable, but they are signs 
 of offence not to be stuck up without provoking resentment. . . . Our 
 fear, we confess, is more for the mock bishops than of them. We are 
 not without our apprehensions on behalf of Dr Wiseman, in whose see 
 are Haynau's doughtydraymen,who have so awkward a way of handling 
 
Notes. 325 
 
 unwelcome visitors. The ofienoe comes of Austrian instigation ; and 
 it would be curious enough, if Southwark again, with its shovels 
 and besoms, played the rash part of an avenger. Men who presume 
 to ignore our laws could have no right to complain if our laws ignored 
 them and refused them protection ; but Protestant zeal is bound to a 
 scrupulous observance of Christian principles which forbid retalia- 
 tion. We therefore trust that Dr. Wiseman and his brethren will 
 encounter no personal indignities, nothing beyond cold regards and 
 a dignified defiance. This is not an age for the revival of Lord 
 George Gordon's riots ; our populace is not now made of the stuff 
 for burning and destroying under fanatical pretences." 
 
 18. 
 
 An Anglwan Olergyman in the Pulpit. 
 
 " I would make it a capital offence to administer the Confession 
 in this country. Transportation would not satisfy me, for that 
 would merely transfer the evil from one part of the world to the 
 other. Capital punishment alone would satisfy me. Death alone 
 would prevent the evil. That is my sober conviction."^ 
 
 19. 
 
 Another Anglican Olergyman. 
 
 " In speaking of the Confessional he described the priest sitting 
 as God in his chair, and hearing the darkest secrets, which he did 
 not reveal to any mortal man, for they were entrusted to him as 
 God. Even if a murder was confessed, the priest would refuse to 
 make it known. The Scripture says, ' Thou shalt do no murder,' 
 and he (the speaker) unhesitatingly declared that the man who 
 should listen to the confession and not make it known, was an 
 accessory after the fact, and he did not think his dear brother went 
 too far when he declared his opinion that such a man ought to be 
 hanged. He then went on to speak of the Pope, &c. . . . Arrogance 
 ought to be put down and punished. . . . The introduction of the 
 Canon Law was the real object of the establishment of the Romish 
 Episcopacy here, and it was not to be allowed to be introduced here 
 among freemen. The speaker then stated the nature of the Pro- 
 testant measure that should be demanded. They must have one to 
 deprive the Popish Bishops of their titles, and to give them a place, 
 
 1 In a letter to the papers this clergyman observes, "Under ordinary circum- 
 stances I would have taken no further notice of the affair in public, but the 
 circumstances [of the town] at the time were peculiar. . . I determined 
 therefore to disarm hostility, as far as I could, by candidly expressing in the 
 evenirijj the regret which I sincerely felt at having used a phrase in the pulpit 
 so liable to misconception." 
 
326 Notes. 
 
 not in a palace, but in a prison, if they resumed them. They must 
 have an Act to send Dr. Wiseman away and to suppress this ag- 
 gression. . . . The reverend gentleman was frequently interrupted 
 by enthusiastic peals of applause from an audience worked up to a 
 high pitch of excitement." 
 
 20. 
 
 An Alderman of the City of London. 
 " He said, that, in his opinion, any person convicted under the 
 13th of Elizabeth would be liable to imprisonment ; but that to 
 institute such proceedings would be unwise and impolitic. . . . but 
 if the rumoxurs he had just heard were true, that Dr. Wiseman had 
 received notice to quit the kingdom within forty-eight hours, it 
 would render all other proceedings imnecessary." 
 
 21. 
 
 Proceedings of Vestries, Paj-ishes, &c. 
 
 (1.) Exeter. — " At a recent vestry meeting at Exeter last week the 
 following extraordinary resolution was adopted:— 'That the meet- 
 ing defies the Pope and the devil ; and that they also repudiate all 
 bishops, deans, canons, priests, or deacons who have the least 
 tendency towards Puseyism.' " 
 
 (2.) Salisbury. — " On Wednesday the effigies of his Holiness the 
 Pope, Cardinal Wiseman, and the twelve Bishops were completed. 
 Friday evening, about 5 p.m.. Castle Street was so densely crowded 
 that no one could pass to the upper part of it. Shortly after some 
 hundreds of torches were lighted, which then exhibited a forest of 
 heads. About half-past six his Holiness was brought out amid the 
 cheering of the populace. The procession, being formed, proceeded 
 in the following order : — Torch -bearers, brass band, torch-bearers, his 
 Holiness in full pontificals, seated in a, huge chair ; torch-bearers, 
 bishops, three abreast ; torch-bearers, Cardinal Wiseman, &c., ifec. 
 Within the precincts of the close the National Anthem was played 
 amid deafening cheers. At this time the scene was very imposing. 
 The procession having paraded the city, the effigies were taken to 
 the Green Croft, where, over a large number of faggots and barrels 
 of tar, a huge platform was erected of timber; the effigies were 
 placed thereon, and a volley of rockets sent up. The band played 
 the Doxology, and deafening cheers followed. A light being applied 
 to the combustibles below, the flames rose to the platform ; hundreds 
 of fireworks were then hurled at the effigies. Then followed the 
 Morning Hymn, and the National Anthem, in which thousands 
 joined." 
 
 (3.) Ware. — " On Tuesday-week his Holiness Pio Kono was burnt in 
 effigy on an eminence overlooking the town. The figure was dressed in 
 
Notes. 327 
 
 full pontificals, with tlie triple orown on its head, and the addition 
 of a large pair of ram's horns. In the waggon was a donkey, to re- 
 present his Excellency the Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster. 
 After solemnly parading the streets, the efifigy was escorted by a 
 large concourse of people to Musley Hill, where it was solemnly sus- 
 pended by the neck on a gallows erected over a huge pile of faggot- 
 wood and tar-barrels, and then burned amid the roars and execrations 
 of the multitude." 
 
 (4.) Peckham.— " The Pope was burned in efBgy on Peokham Com- 
 mon. A van drawn by four horses drew up fronting a house on the 
 Green, from which emerged some dozen men, armed with various 
 weapons, each leading a man attired in the surplice of a Eomish 
 clergyman, the latter being tumbled into the vehicle amid the shouts 
 of several thousand persons. The next brought out were two 
 athletic fellows, one attired as a Cardinal and the other as his chap- 
 lain. A few yards in advance stood an Herculean fellow bearing a 
 burlesque effigy of the Pope, and having in his hand what purported 
 to be the late memorable Bull, Ac, &c. The procession proceeded 
 towards Camberwell, followed by at least 10,000 persons. It was 
 hailed in its progress through the various streets with the loudest 
 acclamations, and cries of ' No Popery I ' ' Hurrah for the Queen I ' 
 ' No foreign priesthood I ' " &c., &c. 
 
 (5.) Bradninch. — "The Haynau and anti-tractarian demonstration 
 came off in good style on Thursday last. A very large procession 
 formed adjoining the Guildhall about eight o'clock in the evening, 
 in which figured the effigies of Haynau and Cardinal Wiseman, ex- 
 cellently got up. The church bells rang, the band played the ' Eogue's 
 March,' and the procession, lighted by numerous torches, paraded 
 the town. Placards were carried, inscribed, ' The brutal Haynau,' 
 'Down with tyraimy,' 'Down with Popery,' 'No Puseyites,' 'No 
 Traotarianjsm,' &c. There were several masked characters, and all 
 made up such a sight as was never witnessed in this ancient torough 
 beforfe. After perambulating the town," &c., &o. 
 
328 Notes. 
 
 ON SERMON Xm. 
 p. 255. 
 
 In a note on p. 255 above I have spoken of the infirmity to which 
 Dr. Weedall was for so many years subjected. An account of it is 
 introduced into Dr. Husenbeth's carefully written Life of him, in the 
 most interesting narrative he gives us of Dr. Weedall's nomination 
 to the Vicariate of a northern district. This narrative is too long for 
 insertion here, but passages from it will form so important an addition 
 to my own mere outline of Dr. Weedall's career, written immediately 
 after his death, that I think it right to avail myself of it. 
 
 Dr. Husenbeth, his contemporary and early friend, writes as 
 follows : — 
 
 " The New College of St. Mary [Oscott] was now opened and entered. 
 In every part of the establishment offices and duties were extended, 
 and cares and responsibilities seriously augmented. But Dr. Weed- 
 all's spirits were buoyant, and his courage equal to the weightier 
 charge ; and, though a martyr to his chronic maladies, he held on 
 with energy and perseverance marvellous and indomitable. . . . 
 
 "The New College filled rapidly, so that at this time, February, 
 1839, there were 135 students, exclusive of divines. This was almost 
 double the average number which used to be reckoned in the Old 
 College. Bishop Walsh had purchased at Rome the valuable Marini 
 Library, and on the 28th of October he formally made a present of it 
 to the New College. . 
 
 " The New College was receiving presents from various quarters, 
 and becoming rapidly a repository of valuable and curious works of 
 art, and specimens of antique carvings and furniture of mediaeval 
 patterns. The munificent John, Earl of Shrewsbury, presented a 
 large and valuable coUeotion of 200 pictures, besides various articles 
 of Gothic furniture, and carved figures of saints and sacred subjects. 
 
 "Thus then were realized the best hopes of the sons of St. Mary's, 
 and of her many friends and admirers scattered over the kingdom. 
 Thus had Dr.WeedaU accomplished a workwhich had long been alsothe 
 ardent object of his aspirations and exertions. For to him was the merit 
 of the successful erection and establishment of the New College pre- 
 eminently due. It was the wonder of all who knew him, and knew how 
 much he suffered from constitutional maladies, how he could have car- 
 ried through, and splendidly completed, a work so vast in extent, so com- 
 plicated in detail, and so difficult of execution. . . . Dr. Weedall might 
 well hope to repose after Ms labours, and enjoy their fruits. He might 
 well congratulate himself on the prospect of watching the growth and 
 promoting the prosperity of this colony, which, under the Divine guid- 
 
Notes. 329 
 
 ance and protection, he had so prosperously established in this new 
 and enviable locality. . . Under his mild judicious government, the 
 New House prospered and flourished ; it was already nearly as full of 
 students as it had the means of accommodating, and one heard on every 
 side, and from every reporter, that all went well at the New College. 
 
 "The beloved and respected President had built himself an airy 
 nest, and was tranquilly reposing in it ; but, alas 1 it was doomed to 
 be in his regard only another verification of the well-known line. 
 Sic vos, non vobis, nidificatis aves I How truly did Dr. Newman 
 say in his Funeral Oration, ' His was an unselfish spirit, which la- 
 boured, and then let others enter into his labours ' ! 
 
 ". . . So far from never suffering, the subject of this biography had 
 been all his life familiar with it. He had never been entirely free from 
 torture in his head and eyes ; and there had been long periods in his life 
 when he laboured under acute pain and misery from those afiections, 
 and also from, another chronic malady, which was a source of continued 
 sufiering, more or less severe, and which proved fatal in the end. . 
 But he was to be sanctified still ; the gold was yet to be cast again into 
 the crucible, that it might come forth still more purified and refined 
 
 " On a sudden, then, when he beheld his grand work accomplished, 
 and had befoin to enjoy some rest from his labours, he was obliged to 
 part from his beloved Oscott, and bid a long farewell to the spot where 
 he had lived and laboured for six-and- thirty years. A greater trial could 
 hardly be imagined. At the age of fifty-two, with all his habits formed 
 and rooted by long experience in a college life, after all he had done for 
 Oscott, after all his labours and sufferings for its welfare, when he had 
 long toiled to nurture it and foster its growth, when he had seen it 
 graduaUy advance with alternate joy and anxiety, when he had been its 
 child first, and then its father and protector, and had at last brought it 
 triumphantly to completion and stability, and begun to enjoy that 
 satisfaction and repose in it which he so eminently desired, he was re- 
 quired to part at once from the home of his heart, his own beloved crea- 
 tion and long-cherished abode. He suddenly received notice from the 
 Holy See of his nomination as Bishop of Abydos inpartibus, and Vicar 
 Apostolic of the New Northern District of England. ... At the same 
 time, the Vice-President of the College, the Rev. William Wareing, was 
 named Bishop of Ariopolis and Vicar Apostolic of the New Eastern 
 District. 
 
 " This announcement came on poor Dr. Weedall like a thunder-clap ; 
 he had never had the least idea or intimation of it. As a station of hon- 
 our, he had no ambition for it ; as a charge of responsibility, he shrank 
 fromit;asapostof difficulty and anxiety, he felt quite unequal to it. . . . 
 
 " It was a mystery to Dr. Weedall how it could have been brought 
 about; for not the least rumour had preceded it, nor did even the Bishop, 
 
330 Notes. 
 
 Dr. Walsh, know that any snoh appointment was contemplated. The 
 other three [existing Bishops] knew as little ; for one of them, writing 
 to another, said, ' I hope these appointments may not be correct. . . . 
 I should have been very sorry to have been suspected of having any 
 hand in them.' . . . These are Bishop Walsh's own words: — 'You could 
 not have been more astounded than I was at the appointment of my 
 much-valued friend,Dr.Weedall, which quite overwhelmed him. Ihad 
 not the least expectation of it, as I had expressly written to Propaganda, 
 when his name among others was sent to me and to the other Vicars 
 Apostolic for our respective opinions on the qualifications, &c., of the ■ 
 individuals proposed, that, although iu other respects I considered him 
 worthy of the episcopate, I was decidedly of opinion that his delicate 
 state of health would quite unfit him for the responsibility of the 
 sacred oflice. ' 
 
 "The following letter from Dr. Weedall himself to the present writer 
 wiU best express his own feelings. It is dated June 1, 1840 : — ' Your 
 letter has renewed aU my afSiction, which for the last few days has been 
 most intense. I assure you I had not the slightest suspicion of any such 
 event, or of the merest possibility of it. This announcement has been 
 to me like the stroke of death. Even Dr. Walsh did not know of it. 
 But it is announced under such circumstances, that my friends here will 
 not sufier me to think that any protest ought to be made, or would be 
 accepted. I know not what to say, or what to do. I send you the only 
 letters I have yet received. I fear it is too late to do anything. . . .' 
 
 " To understand this it must be observed, that in the letters an- 
 nouncing the appointment to.Bishop Walsh, his lordship was ordered 
 to make no opposition, and to enjoin obedience to the elect ; and it was 
 declared that no excuse on account of health, or of any other supposed 
 obstacle whatever, woiild be admitted. But what was still more ex- 
 traordinary was, that in one of the two letters sent for perusal to the 
 present writer by Dr. Weedall, as intimated in the above letter, and 
 which came to him as a private and friendly communication from an 
 English Monsignor at Borne, not connected with the English College, 
 he was told that this letter was written by the express command of 
 his Holiness to signify to Dr. WeedaU that he required him, in virtue 
 of holy obedience, to accept the mitre, and that he would admit of no 
 excuse. At the same time the Prelate himself strongly exhorted him 
 to offer no opposition to what was manifestly the holy will of God. . . . 
 
 " No wonder that, with all this solemn warning and threatening, 
 poor Dr. Weedall should have been bewildered and frightened, and at 
 a loss what course to pursue. He was, as a distinguished ecclesias- 
 tic wrote, ' quite broken-hearted at his appointment. They will hear 
 no excuse at Bome ; he must leave his beloved Oscott . . . alas ! never 
 to return. . . . BothPresidentandVice-Presidentof Oscott are elected.' 
 
 " To add to his perplexity, it soon reached him that the clergy of his 
 
Notes. 331 
 
 proposed district were exerting themselves to get his appointment 
 changed, feeling aggrieved that a stranger and an invalid should be 
 placed over them. . . They even signified to him in substance 
 that they considered his appointment injudicious, though they did 
 not blame him for it ; and that if it were persisted in, they should 
 indeed endeavour to behave to him with due respect, but that he 
 would have a troublesome life among them. . . . 
 
 ' ' Portimately, he determined to set ofi without delay for Kome, 
 and learn on the spot the true state of the matter. .' . . Whatever 
 might be the result of his journey to Rome, one thing was certainly 
 intended, and he, poor man, must have understood it ; he was no 
 more to be President of St. Mary's College. . . . He announced his 
 departure in an afiectionate letter to the present writer two days 
 before he left Oscott, in which he said he hoped, by putting himself 
 into closer communication with certain influential persons at Rome, 
 he might still avert the heavy calamity from falling upon him. . . 
 
 " In the meantime he found a most kind and valuable friend at 
 Rome to plead his cause at the fountain-head. The Right Rev. Dr. 
 Baines was then at Rome, and was invited in the latter part of July 
 to go out to Castel Gandolfo, where the Pope was staying by the 
 advice of his physicians, on a special visit to his Holiness. He 
 went accordingly on Sunday, the 19th of July. . . . They were 
 alone, and, after dinner . . the Pope observed that, as he had 
 been some days away from Rome, he should like to know what 
 arrivals there had been iu his absence. Dr. Baines replied that he 
 had not heard of any particular, but that Dr. Weedall was expected 
 to arrive soon. ' Dr. Weedall ! ' said the Pope, ' who is Dr. Weed- 
 all ? ' . . Dr. Baines gladly seized the opportunity of explaining to 
 his Holiness that he was coming to petition to be relieved from his 
 appointment. The Pope asked on what grounds . . . and the Bishop 
 told his HoUness that it was on account of the very delicate state of 
 his health. . . . ' He has been given to understand that your Holi- 
 ness has laid a special command upon him to accept the charge, and 
 that you will listen to no excuse. ' 'Oh, no,' said the Pope ' nothing 
 more has been sent to him than is sent usually to Bishops when 
 appointed. ' . . The reader . . . will perhaps be tempted to doubt 
 the accuracy of the above relation ; but he may fully rely upon its 
 truth, as the writer received it word for word from the lips of Dr. 
 Baines himself ; and . . : Dr. Baines wrote the same to Dr. Weedall. 
 
 " Thus relieved and encouraged, he hastened on [from Lucca] to the 
 Eternal City, and wrote thus to his biographer from Rome [October 
 7] ; — 'It is not the least part of my solicitude during my long and 
 tedious illness, that I was putting your patience and friendship to so 
 severe a test. . . . His Holiness had neither authorized, much less en- 
 j oined, the strong language which had tongue-tied Dr. Walsh. I met 
 
332 Notes. 
 
 at Propaganda with the greatest kindness, hut at the same time with 
 the greatest reluctance ... to relieve me from an appointment on 
 which they had set their hearts, which had actually been gazetted in 
 the new Roman Directory, and from which my improved appearance, 
 owing to the air and baths of Lucca, ofiered no very obvious grounds 
 for exemption. ... I begged permission of his Eminence . . . to be 
 allowed to state my reasons in a memorial. . . . All this I fortunately 
 did a few days before I fell ill. The matter rested here for a considerable 
 time, as the intervals here are very long between the various stages of 
 public or private business. Meanwhile I got one tolerably good fever 
 and a terrific dysentery. ... As soon as I recovered a little ... I was 
 unwilling to do anythingthat might seem to be irregular, and not quite 
 in accordance with that profound respect which I felt for, and the most 
 complete deference which I wished to payto the holy and venerableman, 
 the Cardinal Prefect of Propaganda. ... I found his Eminence quite 
 as unwilling as ever to release me from the appointment, kind in the 
 extreme, pious, saintly, and his wishes and prayers aU seeming to con- 
 centrate in one object, the conversion of England. I entered respect- 
 fully into all his wishes, but ventured to ask, ' ' Has your Eminence read 
 the memorial which I took the liberty of presenting some time ago ? " 
 " Why, no," said the Cardinal; "itisamongmypapers,"and turned the 
 conversation to something else. But I was not surprised ;heistoooldto 
 pay much attention to public business. But I knew others had read it. 
 I knew that the Pope had read it. ... I have some reason to think 
 that they took a medical opinion on the case, which I rather invited, in 
 order that there might be ground for their receding without any com- 
 promise of either the dignity or authority of Propaganda. Here, how - 
 ever, was a second or third stage, and another interval, of which, of 
 course, I took advantage to get through another stout fever at Mr. 
 Englefield's beautiful villa, near Prascati. This was of much longer 
 dmration. I was to have gone with Dr. Baines to be introduced to the 
 Pope at Castel Gandolfo, but was confined to my bed. His Holiness, 
 however, sent me a most fatherly message, bade me not to be uneasy, 
 but to get well as fast as I could. In a few days I received an official 
 release from Propaganda. . . . Here the matter is at an end. ... It 
 would have been madness in me to have accepted the mitre. You know 
 in part what the state of my health has been for some years. But no 
 one but myself could knowhow fearfully all the symptoms had increased 
 of late years, but particularly for the last two years of my residence at 
 Oscott. During those last two years the wear and tear of mind has 
 been immense. I have sacrificed time, health, studies, everything to the 
 successful establishment and management of Oscott. My late illness 
 has shown the dreadful state of derangement in which my whole system 
 has been . . . and but for this respite, I must have been in my grave.' 
 
Notes. m 
 
 " [Dr. Baines wrote] : — ' One thing I have accomplished. I have 
 procured the liberation of Dr. Weedall. . . . Notwithstanding the 
 declared consent of the Pope for his being released, the Propaganda 
 hung back, and wanted not to give their sanction. They stUl professed 
 hopes of subduing his opposition. . . . ' 
 
 "Dr. Weedall's Memorial to Propaganda. — 'The disorder under 
 which I have laboured for so many years is one of no ordinary cha- 
 racter ; not a headache, but a mischievous affection of the nerves of the 
 head. . . . It began when I was ten years old. . . . I found a difficulty in 
 going through my humanity studies ; and when I came to philosophy 
 and divinity, it had increased to an alarming height. I could not read 
 even for five minutes in the day ; I could not even at times bear the light. 
 I was obliged to give up entirely my course of philosophy ; and the whole 
 of my theological studies, such as they were, were learned by listening 
 to a fellow-divine who would read over the lesson. ... I was obliged 
 to have a dispensation from m.y Office, by commutation for theEosary, 
 for three or four years after I was ordained priest. . . . Afterwards . . . 
 my head and eyes grew rather better, the eyes more serviceable ; but I 
 never have been able to make use of them without great inconvenience 
 fora whole day together, and never much by candlelight. . . .Latterly, 
 my head and eyes have been getting worse. Owing to the fatigue and 
 anxieties of a large establishment, and all the wear and tear of mind 
 arising from a large buUding superadded, I have been reduced to 
 such a state of weakness of head and constitution, that I thought I 
 should have been obliged to give up everything. The nerves of the 
 head are so bad, that I fall at times into a helpless lethargy. ... 
 Even now, though I am better, I cannot kneel down at night to say 
 my last devotions, &c., &c. . . . ' 
 
 " Meanwhile his many friends in England were looking for his return 
 with most uneasy feelings on bis account. ' What is to be done about 
 him, with him, of him ?' wrote one of his intimate friends. ' I am much 
 afraid of the poor Doctor's feelings when he returns andfinds things all 
 going on and done, and planned without the least reference to him.' 
 A Catholic nobleman in England, . . . whose sons had aU been edu- 
 cated at Oscott, under Dr. Weedall, made him a proposal to become his 
 domestic chaplain. To this he replied, that, with a grateful sense of his 
 Lordship's kindness, as he had received no such proposal from his 
 Bishop, he was unwilling to assume, without official notification, that 
 he was to be removed from a place where he thought he had formed a 
 home. . . . Early in the following year, 1841, . . . it was conjectured 
 that he might go to Prior Park. . . . Mr. Foley, who . . . was at the same 
 time serving the mission at Old Oscott, and conducting a small prepara- 
 tory school there, felt deeply for Dr. WeedaU, who seemed so lost and 
 neglected; and generously ofiered to give up his place to him. . . . This 
 
334 Notes. 
 
 ofierDr. Weedall accepted. . . . Bishop Wareing, one of his earliest and 
 most attached friends, proposed to him to come and preside over an ec- 
 clesiastical seminary which he was about to commence at Gilford's 
 Hall in Sufi oik. He did not at once decline the ofier ; there were many 
 reasons which might have led him to accept it. . . . He had some wish 
 to go to Nottingham and assist in carrying out the new Cathedral there 
 of St. Bamahas. . . . He was quite resolved to leave [Old] Oscott, where 
 he now saw plainly that his absence was even desired. He was now 
 disposed to supply for a time for Mr. Foley at Hampton-on-the-hiU. 
 ... In June, 1843, he removed to Leamington . . . succeeding the 
 Rev. William Cunningham in the charge of the mission. 
 
 " In the month of August, 1848, the Eight Rev. Dr. UUathorne was 
 appointed Vicar Apostolic of the Central District. . . . Bishop UUa- 
 thorne well knew and properly appreciated the talents and merits of 
 his intimate friend Dr. Weedall, and he lost no time in availing himself 
 of his valuable counsels. In a pastoral letter his Lordship made the 
 following announcement respecting him : — ' Desirous to have near us 
 a prudent ecclesiastic to share our counsels, we have appointed the 
 Very Rev. Dr. Weedall to reside with us as our Vicar General, both in 
 temporals and spirituals, whom we have also appointed Dean of our 
 Episcopal Chinrch.' . . . He signified in the same Pastoral his appoint- 
 mentofDr. Weedall to preside over three important councils, of the tem- 
 poralities of the district, of Oscott College, and of the School at Sedgley 
 Park. . . . In June, 1852, again the Bishop of Birmingham paid a just 
 tribute to the merits of Dr. Weedall by appointing him the first Pro- 
 vost of his Cathedral Chapter. . . . 
 
 "Dr. Weedall had now been separated from his beloved Oscott for 
 thirteen years. . . . His kind Bishop seized the earliest opportunity to 
 honour him as he so well merited,and to restore him to his deserved and 
 dignified position at St. Mary's College [Oscott]. He returned thither, 
 and resumed the presidentship on the 2nd of July, 1853." 
 
 In another part of this volume Dr. Husenbeth says, " It has always 
 been a subject of astonishment to all who knew Dr. Weedall, how he 
 managed, with the continued drawback of that severe afiection of his 
 head and eyes, to acquire so much knowledge on almost every subject. 
 If he could lay hold of any one to read to him, he was always eager to 
 avail himself of the opportunity; if he could economize a little eyesight, 
 he would read as long as he could endure it by daylight ; he was always 
 seen with some book under his arm or in his hand. He contrived to 
 keep pace with the literature of the day. Besides reading for his school 
 of theology, he managed to acquire a good knowledge of other books in 
 various departments of science and literature. If he took a walk with a 
 
Notes. 335 
 
 companion, he was sure to bring fortli some useful and interesting 
 paper in a review, or a newspaper, wliich he would propose to have 
 read as they walked along. Many an article in the Edinburgh or 
 Quarterly Reviews, &c., &c. . . . has the present writer read to him 
 as they went to bathe, &c. . . ." 
 
 p. 261. 
 
 In another place(p. 108 of his Life) Dr. Husenbeth states more exactly 
 than above (p. 261) the circumstances of the devotion of the Sacred 
 Heart in the Chapel of Old Oscott. "The devotions of the Sacred 
 Heart had already been in practice for many years in England; 
 but Bishop Milner . . . when he obtained the approbation of the 
 Holy See for an association of Missionary Priests in the midland 
 district, which he called the Institutio Sooietatis Liberse, in the year 
 1814, procured also, that certain indulgences, already granted to the 
 Sodality of the Sacred Heart in Rome, should be extended to the 
 members of this Societas Libera, and also, on certain conditions, to all 
 the faithful of his district. One condition being, that the prayers 
 should be recited before an image or picture of the Sacred Heart ; 
 when the Old Chapel in the House was discontinued, he had a 
 picture, &c., (fee, painted on glass in the window over the altar of 
 the New Chapel, &c. . . . Neither the Chapel nor the altar was 
 actually dedicated in honour of the Sacred Heart." 
 
33^ Notes. 
 
 ON SEEMON XV. 
 
 p. 298. 
 
 St. Bernard was led to say this to the Pope in consequence of the 
 troubles created in Eome by Arnald of Brescia. " Ab obitu Cselestini 
 hoc anno invalesoere coepit istiusmodi rebellio Bomanorum adversus 
 Pontificem, eodemque haeresis dicta Politicorum, sive Amaldistarmn. 
 Ea erant tempora inf elicissima, ciim Eomani ipsi, quorum fides in uni- 
 verso orbe jam h, tempore Apostolorum annunciata semper fuit, resi- 
 lientes modo k Pontifice, dominandi cupidine, ex filiis Petri et disci- 
 pulis Christi, fiunt soboles et alumni pestilentissimi Amaldi de Brixia. 
 Venim, ciim tu Romanes audis, ne putes omnes eMem insaniS. 
 peroitos, nam complures ex nobilium Bomanorum f amiliis, iis relictis, 
 pro Pontifice rem agebant, &c." Baron. Annal. in ann. 1144. 4. 
 
 p. 307. 
 
 The foUowiug Telegram in the Times of September 13, 1860, con- 
 taining Victor Emmanuel's formal justification of his invasion and 
 occupation of XJmbria and the Marches in a time of peace, is a docu- 
 ment for after times : — 
 
 Turin, Sept. 11, CTening. 
 
 The King received to-day a deputation from the inhabitants of 
 Umbria and the Marches. 
 
 His Majesty granted the protection which the deputation solicited, 
 and orders have been given to the Sardinian troops to enter those 
 provinces by the following Proclamation : — 
 
 " Soldiers 1 You are about to enter the Marches and XJmbria in 
 order to establish civil order in the towns now desolated by misrule, 
 and to give to the people the liberty of expressing their own voshes. 
 You will not fight against the armies of any of the Powers, but vrill 
 free those unhappy Italian provinces from the bands of foreign ad- 
 venturers which infest them. You do not go to revenge injuries done 
 to me and Italy, but to prevent the popular hatred from unloosing 
 itself against the oppressors of the country. 
 
 " By your example you will teach the people forgiveness of offences, 
 and Christian tolerance to the man who compared the love of the 
 ■Italian fatherland to Islamism. 
 
 "At peace vrith aU the great Powers, and holding myself aloof from 
 any provocation, I intend to rid Central Italy of one continual cause of 
 trouble and discord. I intend to respect the seat of the Chief of the 
 
Notes. 337 
 
 Church, to whom I am ever ready to give, iu accordance with the 
 allied and friendly Powers, all the guarantees of independence and 
 security, which his misguided advisers have in vain hoped to obtain 
 for him from the fanaticism of the wicked sect which conspires 
 against my authority and against the liberties of the nation. 
 
 " Soldiers I I am accused of ambition. Yes; I have one ambition, 
 and it is to re-establish the principles of moral order in Italy, and to 
 preserve Europe from the continual dangers of revolution and war." 
 
 The next day the Times, in a leading article, thus commented on 
 the above : — 
 
 "Victor Emmanuel has in Garibaldi a most formidable competitor. 
 . . . [Piedmont] must therefore, at whatever cost or risk, make her- 
 self once more mistress of the revolution. She must revolutionize the 
 Papal States, iu order that she may put herself in a position to ar- 
 rest a dangerous revolutionary movement against Venetia. . . . These 
 motives are amply sufficient to account for the decisive movement of 
 Victor Emmanuel. He lives in revolutionary times, when self-pre- 
 servation has superseded all other considerations, and it would be 
 childish to apply to his situation the maxims of international law 
 which are applicable to periods of tranquillity. 
 
 ' ' These being the motives which have impelled Piedmont to draw 
 the sword, we have next to see what are the grounds on which she 
 justifies the step. These grounds are two, — the extraordinary mis- 
 rule and oppression of the Papal government, and the presence of 
 large bands of foreign mercenaries, by which the country is oppressed 
 and terrorized. The object is said to be to give the people an oppor- 
 tunity of expressing their ovm wishes and the re-establishmeut of 
 civil order. The King promises to respect the seat of the Chief of 
 the Church, — Eome, we suppose, and its immediate environs ; but, 
 while holding out this assurance, the manifesto speaks of the Pope 
 and his advisers in terms of bitterness and acrimony unusual in 
 the present age, even in u, declaration of war. He will teach the 
 people forgiveness of offences, and Christian tolerance to the Pope 
 and his general. He denounces the misguided advisers of the Pon- 
 tiff, and the fanaticism of the wicked sect which conspires against 
 his authority and the liberties of the nation. This is harsh language, 
 and is not inconsistently seconded by the advance into the States of 
 the Church of an army of 50,000 men." 
 
 It was the old Fable of the Wolf and the Lamb. 
 
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