THE
T II E
SPIRIT AND BEAUTY
OF THE
CHRISTIAN RELIGION.




THE REV. DR. STORK'S WORKS,
PUBLISIIED BY
LINDSAY & BLAKISTON.
I.
IIOME SCENES OF TIIE NEW       TESTAMENT:
OR, CHRIST IN TIE FAMILY. 1 volume, 12mo., with a beautiful Frontispiece,
Price, in cloth, plain, $1; full gilt, $1.50.
II.
TIHE CIILDREN OF TIIE NEW        TESTAMENT.
In I volume. 12mo., with a Frontispiece. Price, in cloth, plain, 75 cents;
full gilt, $1.
"II.
AN ILLUSTRATED LIFE OF MARTIN LUTIER,
THE GREAT GERMAN REFORMER. With a Sketch of the Reformation in Germany. Edited, with an Introduction, by the IRev. TIIEOPmILUS STORE, D.D.
Beautifully illustrated by sixteen designs, printed on fine paper. A
handsome octavo volume. Price, in cloth, gilt backs, $1.50; full gilt,
$2.50; in embossed leather, marble edges, gilt backs, &c., $2.
IV.
LUTITER'S CIIRISTMAS TREE.
Beautifully Illustrated by Six Engravings. Price, in paper covers, 12~.
cents; cloth, gilt, 25 cents.
This pretty book is an outline of the life of Martin Luther, beautifully
illustrated, and written for the use of children. It will make an excellent
Christmas present, and a most appropriate Sunday School gift.
V.
JESUS IN TIE TEMPLE:
OR, Tu}E MODEL FOR YOUTH. With a pretty Frontispiece. Price, in paper
covers, 121/ cents; cloth, gilt, 25 cents.
This is a beautiful and attractive little book for young people; an appropriate present at any season.




TIlE
SPIRIT AND BEAUTY
OF THE
CHRISTIAN RELIGION:
SELECTIONS FROM
CHATEAUBRIAND'S GENIUS OF CILRISTIANITY.
TRANSLATED FROM TIlE FRENCH,
WITH
AN INTRODUCTION,
BY
EMMA B. STORK.
PHILADELPHIIA:
LINDSAY & BLAKISTON.
1858.




Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by
LINDSAY       & BLAKISTON,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Ullited States for the
Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
STEREOTYPED BY J. FAGAN.      PRINTED BY C. SHIIEMAN & SON.




CONTENTS.
Page
INTRODUCTION; with some interesting particulars in the
Life  of  Chateaubriand.......................................  13
The  Bible.............................................................  27
The  Existence  of  God............................................  29
The Character of the True God............................... 31
General Spectacle of the Universe............................. 32
Mystery........................................... 8G
Paradise............................................................... 39
Physical  M an.......................................................  49
Adam    and  Eve...............................        53
Marriage....................................,......  59
The Father-Priam.................................... 65
The Mother- Andromache.......................................  69
The Son -Gusman.....................................  72
The Daughter- Iphigenia....................................... 75
Virtues and Moral Laws.....................................   80
Our Saviour...............................  83
The  Passions.........................................................  88
Dido,  or  Passionate  Love.....................................   92
The Christian Religion as a Passion......................... 98
Undisciplined  Passions...........................................  103
Faith....................................................................  105
Hope  and  Charity..................................................  109
Desire of IIappiness................................. 113
Redemption........................................... 117
(xi)




Xii                   CONTENTS.
Page
Christianity a great Blessing to Mankind- Services rendered to Society by the Clergy, and the Christian
Religion  in  general...........................................  124
Missions-General Idea of       issions..............    126
Defence  of  Christianity............................................  128
The  Sabbath..........................................................  131
Singing and Prayer.......................................  134
Christian Festivals........................................   137
Christian Tombs................................... 140
Country Churchyards.............................................. 142
The Influence of Christianity upon History...........    143
Beauties of History.................................  147
Christian Eloquence.........................................  149
Moral Harmonies..................................... 152
The Influence of Christianity upon Music................. 157
The Influence of Christianity upon Painting............... 160
Songs of Birds —For Man they are Created............... 163
Language of Animals —Laws appertaining thereto...... 167'Birds' Nests......................... 169
The Infidel and Christian Mother............................. 172
Remorse of Conscience.................................  179
The Christian's Death-bed........             183
Two Views of Nature-Ocean; Niagara Falls............ 185
Youth and Old Age of the Earth........................ 191
The World without Christianity-Conjectures............. 194
Beautiful Extracts from   Chateaubriand's Letter to M.
De Fontanes, upon Madame Dc Stael's Theory of
Perfectibility..................................................  204




INTRODUCTION;
WITH SOME INTERESTING PARTICULARS IN THE
LIFE OF CHATEAUBRIAND.
WE offer no apology for presenting this purely
original translation of choice selections from Chateaubriand's Genius of Christianity. Our aim is
to do good, and, if possible, to displace the cheap
literature of the day, especially the works of Sand,
Balzac, Sue, Dumas, and a host of popular French
writers, by a clear and healthful rill of wholesome
waters. We are aware that a beautiful and complete English translation of this work has recently
been published. But, as portions of our own translation appeared some years ago in the "Evangelical Magazine," and in the "Home Journal,"
and were favorably received, we were induced to
complete our original design, to prepare a small
volume, in order to present to miscellaneous
readers this excellent production at a moderate
price, as all the other editions were large and
costly.
We have consulted our liberty of conscience, to
2                           (13)




14           INTRODUCTION.
expunge, in our translation, some of the sentiments of the pious and faithful Chateaubriand.
Some remarks have been intentionally modified
from the original (in a few instances), where they
were tinctured with the Popish doctrine of penances. Others are omitted for the same reason.
We have no sympathy with the austerities and
penances of the Roman Catholic Church. We
believe she is a dark-way to the kingdom of
Heaven: many noble, holy souls have lived and
died in her communion: we will gratefully accept
their good, and follow Chateaubriand, Fenelon,
Pascal, and a host of worthies, only so far as
they followed Christ our Lord. Our Protestant
Churches, although emerging from the Roman
Catholic, and therefore rejoicing in a clearer day,
even these are, as yet, but dimly illuminated;
many dark spots are upon our Sun, and we are
watching and waiting for its millennial brightness.
The Bride, the elect Church (from all communions), shall yet arise, and "shine as the sun,
and be terrible as an army with banners;" but
the world yet languisheth in the shadows which
her failure to attain unto perfect love casts over
her.
Chateaubriand says, with equal simplicity and
beauty, that with Pascal he beholds Jesus Christ
everywhere. He seeks not to prove that Christianity is excellent, because it descends from God;




INTRODUCTION.               15
but it comes from God because it is excellent. He
is to be regarded as a moderate and enlightened
Catholic, and he manifested a liberal and benevolent feeling towards all denominations of Christians. "Are they not all of the great family of
Jesus Christ?" Few are aware that he is, without a single exception, the most eloquent writer
of the present age; that his writings combine the
strongest love of rational freedom with the warmest
inspiration of Christian devotion." We were delighted with his letter to M. De Fontanes, criticising Madame De Stael's theory of Perfectibility,
for the discriminating and valuable thought it
contains; and from which we have culled some
beautiful sentiments. We confess our surprise
that it has been omitted in the edition of 1815,
and also of 1856, as it bears so directly, in its
authority and judgment, upon the dangerous doctrines and tendencies of the present age. Whoever will read the description of Madame De
Stael's disease, in the letter to which we have
referred, will be forcibly impressed with its resemblance, in its general features, to the womenmiseries and wrongs of the present day. They
seem to float in a peculiar aroma of sadness.
Verily, "there is nothing new under the sun;"
and " what has been will be." Women-skeptics,
and manly-women, ever have been, and always
will be; and we would most affectionately and




16           INTRODUCTION.
devoutly raise our feeble voice, in expostulation
and entreaty, to our lovely and beloved sisters, to
pause ere, in their temerity, their footsteps stumble upon the dark mountains of error which oppress the land, and which threaten to engulph this
generation (like those of old) in their deep and
awful chasms. " Oh! that they were wise, that
they would consider their latter end."  As it appears to us, there never was an age so sorely
beset, as is the present one, by spiritualism on the
one side, and strong-minded women on the other,
and delusive dreamers innumerable. Yet, although
starting from diverse points, their end is the same
— insanity and destruction. They rank under
two classes-the credulous, and the incredulousbelievers in nothing, and believers in all things;
the one class making a god of themselves, and the
other making gods of everything-far worse than
the heathen, who bow down to stocks and stones,
they are absorbed in raps, and sounds, and the
most puerile nonentities. In departing from the
fountain of living waters, " they have hewn out
to themselves cisterns, broken cisterns which can
hold no water." "The literature of disorder," as
it has been most appropriately termed, has much
to do with this state of morals; and we are deeply
concerned to obviate this fatal tendency, by inducing a purer taste, to present the Bible as the
only rule of faith and practice. Chateaubriand,




INTRODUCTION.               17
with all the eloquence of an enthusiastic and
noble patriotism, raised his voice to save
France, in the memorable "Reign of Terror;"
and he was, as we think, instrumental in awakening the careless and deluded to a more hopeful
and Christian spirit. The highest promotion was
offered to him by the Emperor, if he would support his power; but, where he could not approve,
no price could buy him. He was an honest,
noble patriot, and defended the oppressed and
down-trodden; and he said that, over every
Christian republic, should be written in golden
letters: "No Slavery."  Would to God there
were more such, in our day of deterioration and
corruption. France acknowledged his ameliorating influence; and we feel satisfied that his ardent
piety, and pure taste, are calculated to eclipse
and obliterate the flimsy and pernicious writings
which have so long contaminated the press. The
Bible, the open Bible, can alone cleanse the polluted stream which is fast bearing us onward to
the whirlpool of destruction and perdition. The
rising generation are fearless of everything, and
forgetful of that August Being "who has power
to destroy both soul and body in hell." It is a
huge mistake, to suppose that we may fearlessly
see, and hear, and read all that comes under our
notice. No! we are exhorted to fear, lest our
eternal destiny be imperilled; "to be wise con2*




18           INTRODUCTION.
cerning good, but simple in our knowledge of
evil."  It seems a little matter, to read a bad
book, but eternal death may be in its pages.
WVith ourselves it has ever been a matter of most
earnest concern, and of devout petition for Divine
guidance, lest the serpent-poison should lurk
therein, and lest the page we ponder should
breathe contagion over our soul. " Happy is the
man who feareth always." Our responsibility as
Christian patriots, and more especially as parents,
may be best illustrated by facts. In an Essay by
Dr. Bittle, we read: "that a Christian father, in
speaking of Tom Paine's writings, commended
their political acumen, in the presence of his son.
The youth obtained all his works, and read them,
and became insane, and was confined in the
asylum. The father became so distressed with
the result of his heedless remark, that he put an
end to his wretched existence. We hope we may
be pardoned for our earnestness on this subject,
as we love the young, and wish them to attain to
the perfect stature to which they are destined
as reasonable, and above all, as immortal beings.
Without disrespect or injustice to Chateaubriand, we
flatter ourselves that our sympathies run in the same
channel; and that he, being dead, may yet speak,
through our feeble instrumentality. He confesses
that he was betrayed, in early life, into skeptical
sentiments by bad books, and through the company




INTRODUCTION.               19
he kept; from which the prayers, and tears, and
death of his mother and sister, through the Divine
blessing, rescued him. Our humble attempt we
commit, in faith and trust, to that Divine Saviour
who can evolve strength out of weakness; who
uses the feeble things of the world to confound
the wise; yea, and things that are not to bring
to nought things that are - that no flesh should
glory in his presence.
As not inappropriate to our design, we quote
some startling facts, selected from the " Methodist
Protestant," and from an article styled "The
Literature of Disorder."  "An able writer has
traced the anarchical principles which came so
prominently to the surface in 1848, in Paris, to
what he calls the literature of disorder, which, he
says, prevailed in France for nearly twenty years
preceding. Unfortunately, the evil worked by this
literature of disorder was not confined to France.
It spread, through cheap translations of Sue, Dumas, and Sand, to the United States. It is no
unsound idea, on the contrary it is pitiable truth,
that much of the lawlessness, as well as licentiousness, in which this generation exceeds the last, is
to be traced to the influence of this French literature, and to the American imitation of it. Nor is
this all.... It is taught under the mask
of philanthropy, and with the cant of being the
true road to human progress.... Is it ex



20           INTRODUCTION.
aggerating, therefore, to trace the growth of disorder in the United States in part to this vicious
literature, and the vicious philosophy inculcated
in too many journals? Neither the'Vigilance
Committees' of San Francisco, nor the lawlessness that raged in Kansas, nor worse evils as yet
only gestating in the womb of the future, surprise
us. When men sow the storm, they must look to
reap the whirlwind. There is but one way to
check the evil. It is to return to the principles
of our forefathers; to hold up the law of all laws,
the law of order; to be mutually forbearing, selfdenying, and kindly-affectioned one to another.
If this is not done, ruin will yet overtake us, ruin
both social and political; and a few generations
hence historians will write over the fallen temple
of our liberties:' fuit Illium.' The continued increase of these publications is sufficient evidence
that they are read (says the Methodist Protestant).
An estimate, made some few years ago, put down
the number of different classes of novels at about
six thousand; and since that time the annual increase has been marvellous.'In Great Britain
alone, one hundred thousand dollars were expended in one year, by one firm, simply in advertising three works, and these of a licentious character.' The religious press should speak out
plainly. The Dublin University Magazine says:'We do not hesitate to say that such works exert




INTRODUCTIO N.               21
a most deteriorating and enervating moral influence.' The excitement is intensely injurious to
everything like healthful mental development;
and, not unfrequently, it acts upon the body as
perniciously as upon the mind. Progress at college life is arrested by the novel; the hand of the
industrious artizan is paralyzed by the novel;
maternal love turns from the couch of suffering
childhood to finish the concluding chapters of
some fascinating novel; the holy hours of the
Sabbath are prostituted to this delusive mental
intoxication; runaway matches, undertaken in
delirious romance, and ending in bitter and lifelong remorse, are promoted by the novel....
The attention of Christian people should be called
to this subject. They should remonstrate with
those who are indifferent to its effects upon the
children entrusted to their care for mental and
moral training."
As some account of the life of Chateaubriand
cannot fail to interest the reader, we append what
interesting and important particulars we could
glean from reliable authority. In the Biographical Notice of Dr. Charles J. White, we read that
"Ren4 Francis Augustus, Viscount de Chateaubriand, was born at Saint Malo, in France, on the
4th of September, 1768. His family, on the paternal side, was one of the most ancient in Brittany."
He had an extraordinary memory, a proud and




22           INTRODUCTION.
sensitive heart. "His father designed him for the naval profession, but Chateaubriand manifested some
inclination for the ecclesiastical state. Diverted,
however, from this project by the reading of pernicious books, he exchanged his sentiments of
piety for those of infidelity; and, in his solitary
situation, with the passions for his guides, he became the sport of the most extravagant fancies."
He became weary of life, and had to combat
against the temptation to commit suicide. " He
left France, alarmed by the revolutionary spirit,
and embarked, in January, 1791, for the United
States of America. A few days after his arrival
in Baltimore, he proceeded to Philadelphia; and,
having a letter of introduction to General Washington, from Colonel Armand (Marquis de la
Rouene), who had served in the War of American
Independence, he lost no time in calling on the
President. Washington received him with great
kindness, and with his usual simplicity of manners.
On the following day he had the honor of dining
with the President, whom he never saw afterward,
but whose character left an indelible impression
upon his mind.'There is a virtue,' he says,'in
the look of a great man.' * On leaving Philadelphia, he visited New York, Boston, and the other
principal cities of the Union, where he was sur* Mn6oires d'Outre-Tombe.




INTRODUCTION.               23
prised to find, in the manners of the people, the
cast of modern times, instead of that ancient
character which he had pictured to himself. From
the haunts of civilized life he turned to those wild
regions which were then chiefly inhabited by the
untutored savage; and, as he travelled from forest
to forest, from tribe to tribe, his poetical mind
feasted upon the grandeur and beauty of that virginal nature which presented itself to his contemplation. At the Falls of Niagara he was twice in
the most imminent danger of losing his life, by
his enthusiastic desire to enjoy the most impressive view of the wonderful cataract. In 1792, he
returned to his native country, where he had the
happiness of again embracing his mother. At
Saint Malo he formed a matrimonial alliance with
Mademoiselle de Lavigne, a lady of distinction...
He was sorely tried by the afflictions of his family.
He had received the distressing intelligence that
his brother and sister-in-law, with his friend,
Malesherbes, had been guillotined by the revolutionary harpies, and that his wife and sister had
been imprisoned at Rennes, and his aged mother
at Paris.... The political revolution of
February, 1848, which hurled Louis Philippe from
the throne, did not surprise him, because he had
predicted it in 1830. Drawing near to his end
when the insurrection of June broke forth at
Paris, he spoke with admiration of the heroic




24           INTR ODUCTION.
death of the Archbishop; and, having received
the last rites of religion, with great sentiments of
piety, he expired on the 4th of July, 1848."
The original of the following work (as remarked by Rev. H. Kett), as soon as it was published, was received as a production of uncommon
excellence, and it accordingly shone with extraordinary brilliancy. The work is worthy of so
favorable a reception; and it displays the various
and attractive charms, and the beneficial and
widely-extended influence of the Christian religion. Its author does not expatiate upon its external evidences, to prove that the Christian
religion had a Divine origin; but he takes
another, and more delightful road, for he confirms
its truth by displaying its Beauties. Herein the
reader will find powerful argument to convince
his reason, sublime images to delight his fancy,
and pathetic sentiments to touch his heart.
Christianity is the great diffusive principle, the
operative power which has removed ages of darkness, and opened upon our pathway the sunlight
of Heaven. Chateaubriand addresses the heart,
and he is truly original; his fruits and his flowers
lose nought of their freshness in passing through
his hands; they are gathered by himself, and
they are presented to us fresh and sparkling with
the crystal dew of the morning. " The strain of
pensive and solemn sentiment which pervades the




INTRODUCTION.               25
work can be best accounted for by adverting to
some particular circumstances of the author's life.
He informs us that, during the horrors of the
French revolution,'he was doomed to six years
of exile and misfortunes;' and some events occurred in his family, sufficient to overwhelm any
common mind with despair, but which gave to his
the most salutary turn.'Those who attack Christianity,' he observes,'have often endeavoured to
excite doubts as to the sincerity of its friends and
champions....     My religious opinions have
not always been the same as they are at present.
Offended by the abuses of some institutions, and
by the vices of some men, I was formerly betrayed
into declamation and sophistical arguments against
Christianity. I might throw the blame upon my
youth, upon the madness of revolutionary times,
and upon the company I kept; but I wish rather
to condemn myself, for I do not know how to defend that which is indefensible. I will simply
relate the manner in which Divine Providence
was pleased to call me back to my duty. My
mother, after having been thrown, at seventy-two
years of age, into a dungeon, where she was an
eye-witness of the destruction of some of her children, expired at last upon a pallet, to which her
misfortunes had reduced her. The remembrance
of my errors diffused great bitterness over her last
days. In her dying moments she charged one of
3




26           INTRODUCTION.
my sisters to call me back to that religion in
which I had been educated. My sister, faithful
to the solemn trust, communicated to me the last
request of my mother. When her letter reached
me beyond the seas, far from my native country,
my sister was no more; she had died in consequence of the rigors of her imprisonment. These
two voices issuing from the tomb; this death,
which served as the interpreter of death; struck
me with irresistible force. I became a Christian.
I did not yield, I allow, to great supernatural
illumination; but my conviction of the truth of
Christianity sprung from  the heart. I wept,
and 1 believed.'
" The appearance of the work of this great and
admired author in an English dress would prove,
it was thought, a valuable addition to our stock
of national literature."
E. B. S.
PHILADELPHIA, March, 1858.




THE
GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY.
TIIE BIBLE.
How wonderful is that book which commences
at Genesis, the opening of the world, and concludes with Revelations at the restitution of all
things!  Which is announced in the clearest
style, and which terminates with the most emblematical language! May we not conclude that
Moses is grand and simple, like the creation of
the world, and the innocence of the primitive race
whom he describes; and that all is terrible and
supernatural, in the last prophesy, in keeping
with the awful visitation upon wicked nations, and
the final adjustment of all things, which are therein
represented? The sacred books of heathen nations are uncongenial to our taste and manners.
The Zendavesta of the Parsees, the Vidam of the
Brahmins, the Koran of the Turks, and the Edda
of the Scandinavians, the Sanscrit poems, the
maxims of Confucius, are not either wonderful or
(27)




28              THE BIBLE.
attractive to us; we find nothing in them extraordinary, or beyond our usual association of ideas.
In thought, and in expression, they may be compared with each other. The Bible alone is an
original production, and stands out as an isolated
monument, in solitary grandeur! Explain it to a
Tartar, to a Caffre, to an American savage; put
it into the hands of a Bonze, or a Dervis, and it
is a curious fact that they will be equally astonished by it. Twenty authors, living at periods
very remote from each other, wrote the Scriptures; and, although they are composed in as
many different styles, yet they are each inimitable
and unrivalled by any other writer. The Old and
the New Testament, while differing in style, are
equally impressive in their Divine authority and
inspiration. And these are not the only discoveries which men have found in the Bible; even
those who will not believe in the authenticity of
this book, are compelled to acknowledge, in spite
of themselves, that there is a peculiar unction in
this same Bible. Deists and Atheists, of all
classes, are moved, by some magnetic impulse, to
the perusal of this so much admired, and yet disparaged book. There is no emergency in human
life but a corresponding text is there to meet it,
as if designed for the particular occasion. It
would be difficult to persuade us that all possible
contingencies, fortunate or adverse, could have




TIIE EXISTENCE OF GOD.           29
been anticipated, with all their results, in a book
penned by man. For it is certain that the Scriptures contain the account of the creation of the
world, and the prediction of its end: the groundwork of every human science: all political precepts and forms of government, from the patriarchal down to the despotic - from the simplicity
of pastoral life, to the corruption of idleness and
luxury: the moral precepts applicable to all ranks
and to all circumstances of life, whether prosperous or adverse: finally, every variety of style
- styles which, forming a perfect whole, yet of
many different parts, an exclusive composition,
which no genius of man could produce.
THIE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
ONE of the chief Christian doctrines yet remains to be examined- the condition of a future
life, with its rewards and punishments.
But we must not attempt the subject, without
first considering the two grand pillars which form
the basis of all religions - the existence of God,
and the immortality of the soul. The natural
development of our subject requires this study,
since it is only after we have "kept the faith"
here below, that we shall be received into those
mansions prepared for believers, beyond the sky.
3*




30     THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
Ever faithful to our plan, we shall discard all abstract arguments, and confine our attention to the
wonders of nature around us, and to the moral
and poetical aspects of our subject. Among the
ancients, Plato and Cicero, and in our day,
Clarke and Leibnitz, have given proofs, through
metaphysics and through geometry, of the existence of the Supreme Being. The finest minds, in
every age, have adopted this consolatory doctrine.
What matters it if infidels have rejected it? Cannot the Divine Being exist without their suffrage?
Even death requires we should argue for his prerogative; for the grave, to which infidelity consigns man as his end, offers no attraction to his
manhood. Let us forsake these miserable disputants, who fail even to agree among themselves:
those, on the contrary, who do believe in a superintending Providence, harmonize upon the chief
points of their doctrine; while the men who deny
a Creator are incessantly disputing upon the
origin of their being; a fathomless abyss opens
before them; they need a sounding-line for its
depths, but they know not whence to project it.
Morever, there is, in all error, a certain moral
obliquity; so that the mote in a brother's eye at
once disgusts and offends, while the bosom sin is
tolerated and overlooked: thus even Atheists are,
among themselves, in an eternal dispute.




CHARACTER OF THE TRUE GOD.         31
CHARACTER OF TIIE TRITE GOD.
IT is a wonderful fact, that the Jehovah of the
Old Testament should be the God of the New; or,
that Jacob's God should also be the Saviour,
Christ Jesus the Lord —that same Almighty
Being who rendeth the heavens with His lightning glance, is yet the same merciful God, blessing us with innocence and peace. " Consider the
lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not,
neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you,
that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like
one of these." (Matt. ch. vi., v. 28, 29.)
We rejoice that, everywhere around us, are
living proofs of the poetical superiority of the
Christian's God over the gods of heathen mythology....."It is a vain presumption to attempt
to contrast the finite with the infinite; the one is
but the shadow of the other, as created intelligence
is but a feeble emanation from the Omniscient
Creator. Ingenious fiction is but the imitation
of truth; and all its power is due to its counterterfeit appearance." *
* M. de la IIarpe.




32        GENERAL SPECTACLE
GENERAL SPECTACLE OF THE UNIVERSE.
THERE is a God! The humble flowret of the
vale, and the lofty cedar of the forest, proclaim
His handiwork; the buzzing insect murmurs His
praise; the elephant salutes Him at the early
dawn; and the birds, amid the shade trees, chant
to Him; while the thunderbolt reveals His power,
and the ocean echoes His majesty and greatness.
Man only has said   "There is no God."   Can
there be a creature so stolid, as never to look
heavenward in his sorrow, or to regard the Qarth
and his fellows, as he rejoices in prosperity?? Has
nature been, indeed, so far above his compr hension, that he considers all as the hap-hazard of
accident? But has chance been able to constrain
chaotic and irregular matter, and to produce such
an arrangement of perfect order? Man might be
called the revealed thought of God; and the universe, His imagination made visible.
Those who have admired the beauties of nature,
as proofs of a superior intelligence, ought to note
one important circumstance which adds greatly to
its sphere of wonders: it i. that of motion and
rest; light and darkness; the regular return of
the seasons, with the planetary bodies, which vary
the decorations of the world, and which only appear to succeed each other, and are in reality per



OF TIE UNIVERSE.              33
manent. It is not the spectacle, but the spectator,
who changes; the scene which becomes darkened
to us, is brilliantly illuminated for our opposite
neighbors. Thus, in His perfect work, God has
united absolute permanence with progressive continuance; the first is placed in time, the second
extends into space; by the former, the embellishments of the universe are one, infinite, yet always
the same; by the latter, they are multiplied, finished, and yet ever new; without the one, there
would be no majesty in creation; without the
other, there would be monotonous sameness. On
this globe time bears a new relation to us; the
smallest of its fractions becomes a complete whole,
which comprehends all, and by which everything
is modified, from the crushing of an insect to the
birth of a world; each moment contains in itself
a miniature eternity.
Let us, in thought, collect together the most
beautiful changes in nature: suppose we could
behold, at once, all the seasons of the year, with
all the hours of the day; the freshness of springtime, with the riches of autumn; a cloudy evening, and a stormy sky; the prairie enamelled with
flowers, and the forest despoiled by the tempest,
with waving fields of grain: we should then form
some conception of the grandeur of the universe.
Whilst you are admiring this sun retiring beneath
the western clouds, another observer beholds him




34        GENERAL SPECTACLE
coming forth from the east, clad in his golden
drapery of the morning. By what wonderful
magic does that old star pale away in the dusky
twilight of summer, and then suddenly emerge
into the brilliant young orb, withdrawing her
fleecy veil, in the dawn's dewy fragrance?
Daily the sun arises, mounts to his zenith, and
then sleeps upon the world; or, rather, our senses
deceive us, there is no real sunrise, noon, or sunset. All is reduced to a fixed point, from whence
this day-god emits, at one and the same time,
three lights, from one unique substance. This
triple splendor is, perhaps, one of the most beautiful natural phenomena; for it gives us an idea
of the everlasting greatness and almighty power
of God; it also becomes to us a glowing image
of His adorable Trinity. Let us conceive of a
scene of nature abandoned to the movements of
matter alone; what would happen? Why, we
we should see the clouds, following the laws of
gravitation, falling perpendicularly upon the
earth, or rearing themselves into vast airy pyramids; then the air would become either too
heavy, or too etherial, for the organs of respiration. The moon would be too near us, or too far
off, revolving round and round, now changing
into a blood-red hue, and then growing dark
through enormous spots, or taking up the whole




OF TIHE UNIVERSE.             35
firmament with its single orb. Seized with a
strange dizziness, she would dash about like a
ball, or spin around like a top, turning topsyturvy
over the earth. The stars would appear as if
stricken with the same vertigo; it would be a
scene of frightful commotions; suddenly summer
would appear, and would be immediately arrested
by winter; the cow-boy would lead the pleiades,
and the lion would roar among the lambs;
there the planets would rush with the rapidity
of lightning; here they would be immovably
fixed, sometimes collecting in groups, forming a
new milky way- then, disappearing altogether,
they would withdraw the curtain of the world,
and, as Tertullian expresses it, they would reveal
the abysses of eternity.  But such terrifying
scenes we shall not behold ere the day when
God, withdrawing from the universe, will have
no occasion to destroy, but merely to abandon it
to its orphanage.




36              MYSTERY.
MYSTERY.
LIFE'S holiest influences are as an enigma, full
of mysterious import, and shadow forth a meaning, otherwise impenetrable, in objects the most
beautiful, or grand, or impressive.
The most striking sentiments are those which
affect us somewhat confusedly: modesty, pure
love, virtuous friendship, are enveloped in secrets.
Even loving hearts but imperfectly comprehend
each other; the soul's inner depths are never revealed to mortal eye. Innocence, in her turn, is
she not the most surprising of mysteries? Why
is infancy so happy, but because she sees not the
future? And what saddens old age so much as
this sight-seeing, this world-knowledge; happily
for her, when this life's mysteries are closed,
those of death will open. If it is thus with true
sentiments, it is the same with the virtues; the
most angelical are those which, flowing forth immediately from God, are like charity which loves
to veil herself amid her own beneficent influences.
The pleasure of meditation has also its unsealed
fountains, as we shall discover in reflecting upon
the operations of the intellect. The earliest inhabitants of Asia themselves interpreted by symbols,
in imitation of the profoundness of the Divine




MYSTERY.                 37
nature. To what study do we most frequently
recur? Is it not to that which always leaves us
something to desire, and which rivets our attention towards an infinite perspective? If we lose
our way in the woods, a natural instinct teaches
us to avoid the plains, where all is opened up to
our vision at a single glance; we run on, in search
of the forest, those cradles of religion, those hidden groves, whose trembling shadows and startling
sounds, and solemn silence, are full of mysterious
meaning; those solitudes, where the primitive
fathers of the Church were fed by the bees and
the ravens, and where holy men enjoyed such
heavenly communing, that they exclaimed: " Lord,
it is enough; we shall expire with joy, unless
strengthened to support this unspeakable glory."
In fine, we do not stop to gaze upon a modern
well-known monument; but what a fund of
thought is furnished to the traveller, if, upon a
desert isle in the ocean's midst, a bronze statue,
with mutilated arms pointing to the horizon, and
covered with hieroglyphics, and time-worn by the
rocking waves, is suddenly discovered.
The universe is a mystery, not yet explained,
or manifest to finite comprehension. Man himself, what is he but a curious riddle? From
whence comes the lightning-flash which we call
existence, and into what midnight gloom is it
suddenly extinguished?
4




838             MYSTERY.
The Eternal has placed life and death, under
the form of two phantom vessels, at the extreme
limits of our career: the one brings in the wonderful mechanism of our life, which the other
eagerly hastens to destroy.
It is not, then, suprising, considering this natural tendency in man for the hidden or mysterious,
that religious worship, among all nations, should
have been based upon impenetrable secrets: the
Selli pondered over the astonishing words of the
doves of Dodona; the inhabitants of India, Persia, Ethiopia, Scythia, Gaul, Scandinavia, each
had their caverns, their sacred mountains, or
oaks, where the Brahmins, the Magi, the Gymnosophists, or the Druids, uttered the inexplicable
oracles of immortals. God forbid that we should
ever compare these mysteries to the mysteries of
the true religion; or the unsearchable wonders of
the Lord of heaven and earth, to the puerile obscurities of these gods, the work of men's hands!
We would simply note the fact, that there is no
religion without its mysteries; therein is contained
both the worship and the sacrifice; God is alone
the grand secret of nature; the Divinity was represented, in Egypt, veiled, and the Sphynx (the
emblem of mystery) was perched upon her temples.




PARADISE.                89
PARADISE.
WE must confess, that the "Paradise Lost,"
of Milton, has the same effect as the " Infernal
Regions," of Dante, of which we have spoken
in a previous chapter. It is, that the marvellous
is the subject-matter, and not the machinery of
the work. But we find herein striking beauties,
which belong exclusively to our Christian religion.
The poem opens in hell, and yet there is nothing
in this beginning which offends the rule of simplicity laid down by Aristolje. Such a wonderful
edifice must needs have a striking and majestic
portico, so that the reader may be introduced
into this unknown world, without danger of losing
himself. Milton is the earliest poet who has concluded his epic with the misfortune of his principal
personage, which is contrary to the rule generally
adopted. We take the liberty of thinking that
there is something more solemnly interesting, and
much more in natural accordance with the condition of humanity, in giving a sad termination to a
poem, than its being brought to a happy conclusion. We might even assert that the catastrophe
in the "Iliad" is tragical. For, even granting
that the son of Peleus attains the end of his desires, yet the conclusion of the poem leaves upon




40              PARADISE.
us a sentiment of deep sadness: we have just witnessed the funeral obsequies of Patroclus, and
Priam removing the body of Hector, and the
grief of Hecuba and Andromache, and we remotely foreshadow the downfall of Troy, and the
death of Achilles. The infancy of Rome poetized
by Virgil is, undoubtedly, a grand subject. Then,
what shall we say of the subject of a poem, which
describes a catastrophe in which we ourselves are
involved, and which portrays to us not only the
founder of such and such a society, but the Father
of mankind. Milton does not entertain us with
battles, funeral rites, camps, or besieged cities;
he carries us back to the first idea of God, revealed in the creation of the world, and to the
earliest sentiments of man issuing from the hands
of the Creator. Can there be anything more
majestic, or more interesting, than this study of
the juvenescent workings, the earliest movements
of the heart of man? Adam awakens to life; he
opens his eyes; he knows not from whence he
came. He looks up at the firmament; by an impulse of desire, he would transport himself towards
this arched roof, and he discovers that he is
standing with his head elevated to the skies. He
examines his limbs; he runs, he stops, he wishes
to speak, and he speaks. He names, naturally,
the objects which he beholds; and he exclaims:
" 0 thou sun, and ye trees, forests, hills, valleys,




PARADISE.                 41
divers animals!" These creatures he calls by
their appropriate names. And why does Adam
thus address himself to the sun and to the trees?
Sun, trees," does he say, " know you the name
of Him who has created pe?"    Thus the consciousness of the existence of the Supreme Being
is the earliest sentiment which man experiences:
the first want which is felt, is this want of God!
How sublime is Milton in this passage! But
would he have been thus elevated in his expressions, if the religion of the Lord Jesus Christ had
been unknown to him? God reveals himself to
Adam; the creature and the Creator discourse together; they speak about solitude. We will suppose these reflections. Man was not designed for
solitude.  "It is not good that man should be
alone." Adam sleeps; God draws even from the
side of our first parent a new creature, and presents her to him upon awaking. " Grace is in all
her steps, heaven in her eye, in all her gestures
dignity and love." She is called Woman, because
she is created from man.  " Unto her man shall
cleave, forsaking his father and his mother."' They twain shall be one; whom God has joined
together, let no man put asunder." How unhappy
will be the lot of all, who respond not to these decrees of God! The poet continues to unfold these
grand aspects of human nature- this sublime
reason of Christianity. The character of the wo4*




42              PARADISE.
man is admirably drawn in the fatal fall. Eve
falls through self-love; she flatters herself that
she is strong enough to be exposed alone; she
cares not that Adam should attend her to the
places where she cultivates her flowers. This
beautiful creature, who believes herself invincible,
and, by reason of her weakness, knows not that a
single word can overcome her. Woman is often
portrayed to us as the victim of her vanity. When
Isaiah threatens the daughters of Jerusalem, he
warns them that their " ear-rings, their rings,
and bracelets, and veils," will be taken away from
them.
We have remarked, in our own time, a striking
example of this character. During the Revolution
there were many females who had given multiplied
proofs of heroism; and yet, whose virtue had
afterwards been sacrificed through a ball, an ornament, or a feast. Thus is explained one of the
mysterious truths concealed in the Scriptures: in
condemning woman to pain and sorrowing travail,
God has endowed her with firmness to endure suffering; but, as a punishment of her fault, she has
been permitted to feel her weakness, in offering so
faint a resistance against the fascinations of pleasure. Thus Milton calls woman -nature's fair
defect-"Beautiful blemish of nature."   The
manner in which the English poet has conducted
the fall of our first parent deserves to be ex



PARADISE.                 43
amined. An ordinary mind would have assuredly
overturned the world the very moment that Eve
carried the fatal fruit to her lips; Milton is satisfied that earth should heave a deep sigh as she
recognizes her offspring, Death, which is henceforth entailed upon her; it is still more wonderful, because the immediate effect is less startling.
What calamities does not this patient calmness
lead us to anticipate in the future! Tertullian,
in searching out the reason why the universe was
not dissolved by the crimes of men, assigns this as
the sublime cause, namely, the long suffering and
the patience of God. When Eve offers to her
spouse the fruit of knowledge, he does not abase
himself in the dust, nor does he rend his garments, nor cry out aloud. He is seized with fearful trembling, he is dumb, with parted lips, and
anxious eye riveted upon his companion. He
perceives the enormity of the crime; on the one
side, if he disobeys, he becomes subject to death;
on the other, if he remains faithful, he retains his
immortality, but he loses his bride, from henceforth condemned to the tomb. He can refuse the
fruit; but can he live without Eve? the conflict
is soon decided, and all the world is sacrificed for
love. Far from overwhelming his companion
with reproaches, Adam consoles her, and receives
the fatal apple from her hand. At this consummation of crime, there is as yet no perceptible




44              PARADISE.
change in nature; the faint rumblings of passion's voice are heard only in the heart of the
unhappy pair. Adam and Eve sleep; but innocence no longer guides their pleasant dreams.
They soon start up out of this agitated slumber,
as from unrest. It is then that their sin is presented to them. "What have we done!" exclaims
Adam; "why art thou naked?    Let us seek a
covering for ourselves, that we be not discovered
to our shame." No vestments can conceal this
humiliating consciousness of wrong-doing. Meanwhile their sin is known in heaven; the angels
mourn with a holy sadness, but "that sadness
mixed with pity did not alter their bliss;" most
Christian expression, and of a sublime tenderness.
God sends his Son to judge the guilty; the Judge
descends. He calls Adam; " Where art thou?"
Adam hides himself. "Lord, I am afraid to appear before Thee, because I am naked."  "How
knowest thou that thou art naked? IHast thou
eaten of the fruit of the tree of knowledge?"
What a dialogue? There is nothing herein of
human invention. Adam confesses his crime;
God pronounces the sentence: "Man! by the
sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread; cursed is
the earth, for thy sake; dust thou art, and unto
dust shalt thou return. Woman, thou shalt travail
in pain and sorrow." Behold, in a few words, the
history of mankind. We know not how the reader




PARADISE.                 45
is affected by this scene; but, as for ourselves,
there is something so grand and extraordinary in
this Genesis picture, that we acknowledge it is
beyond all critical analysis; language fails to give
expression to our admiration; her art has become
weak and futile. The Son of God ascends again
to heaven, after having clothed the guilty. Now
the famous drama opens, in which Adam and Eve
are the operators, and in which it is supposed
that Milton has consecrated an event in his own
life, in the reconciliation between himself and his
first wife. We are satisfied of this fact, that all
great writers embody their own history in their
works. They portray, in the experience of another, their own heart-struggles; and the finest
touches of genius are the result of these soulremembrances. Adam retires alone to pass the
night under an arbor, but the very air is changed
around him; chilling vapors and leaden clouds
obscure the skies; the lightning has stricken the
trees; all living creatures are fleeing from the
face of man; the wolf is pursuing the lamb;
while the vulture is decoying the dove. Adam
sinks into despair; he would gladly return to his
mother earth. But a doubt afflicts him, and
causes him to hesitate. If he should have within
him yet a spark of immortality? What, if this
breath of God which he has received should never
be extinguished? If even death (or annihilation)




46             PARADISE.
should not be to him a last resource? If he
should indeed be condemned to an eternity of
misery? No questions of philosophy could be
more beautiful or attractive, more elevated and
solemn. Not only the ancient poets have been
unable to build up despair upon a similar foundation, but even moralists themselves have nothing
to compare with it in grandeur. Eve has heard
the groanings of her spouse. She approaches
towards him. Adam repulses her. Eve casts
herself at his feet, bathed in tears. Adam is
moved; he raises up the mother of mankind.
Eve proposes to him a life of celibacy, and that
she should die, in order to save her race. This
noble despair, springing so naturally from a woman, as much by its excess as by its generosity,
affects our primitive father. What reply can he
make to his wife?  "Eve, the hope which thou
buildest upon the tomb, and thy contempt of
death, proves to me that thou hast within thyself
a living principle, which can never be destroyed!"
The unhappy pair resolve to pray to God, and to
petition the mercy of the Eternal. They humbly
prostrate themselves before Him, and with one
heart and voice solicit mercy from Him, who
alone can speak pardon and peace to the trembling conscience. These prayers reach the heavenly abode; the Son takes upon himself the




PARADIS E.                47
office of presenting them to His Father. We admire reasonably the crippled prayers in the Iliad,
which follow the injury, in order to make some
reparation for the evils committed. However,
Milton will contrast favorably even with this distinguished allegory. These breathings from a
contrite heart, which have found the only way in
which the sighs of a lost world must soon follow;
these lowly vows, which are now mingling with
the incense which burns before the Holy of Holies; these penitential tears, which cause rejoicings among celestial spirits; these tears,
which are presented to the Eternal by the Redeemer of the world; these tears, which move
God himself (so powerful is the first prayer of
sorrowing and repentant man); these collected
beauties contain within such moral greatness,
something so solemn, and so affecting, that they
are not to be surpassed even by the prayers of
the chorister of Ilion. The Most High, in pitying condescension, grants the final salvation of
man. Milton is skilful in early Scripture history,
and also possesses a fine taste; in every portion
of his poem there are traces of a God who, from
the beginning of time, devoted himself to death,
in order to redeem man from death. Adam's
fall becomes more powerful and more tragical,
when we understand that its consequences reach




48              PARADISE.
even to the Son of God. Besides these more
prominent beauties which belong to the conception of "Paradise Lost," there are a crowd of
lesser beauties, which it would absorb too much
time to rehearse in detail. Milton has powerful
command of language. We feel the visible darkness, the terrible silence, &c. This confidence
and boldness of imagery in leading or guiding
them to salvation, like the discord in nmusic, has
a very brilliant effect. Genius has its deceptive
appearances; but it is necessary carefully to
discriminate, because, when she becomes affected,
it is but an idle play of words, pernicious alike
to language and to good taste. Let us observe,
that, although the Eden hymn has imitated the
songs of Virgil, it still maintains its originality
even while appropriating to itself foreign riches;
the original writer is not he who never imitates
any one, but he whom no person can imitate.
*       *      *       *       *      *




PHYSICAL MAN.                49
PHYSICAL MAN.
IN order to perfect our view of final causes, or
proofs of the existence of God, drawn from nature's wonders, nothing more remains for us but
the examination of the human frame. Let us
attend to those masters who have given this subject their profound attention.  Cicero thus describes the constitution of man: " With regard to
our senses by which the soul recognizes external
objects, their structure answers admirably to their
destination, and they are arranged in the head as
in a fortified citadel. The eyes are like sentinels,
occupying the most conspicuous station, where
they can take an elevated survey of surrounding
objects, and be a suitable protection. To the
sense of hearing a prominent position is also
assigned, to receive the sound, which naturally
ascends. The nostrils have a claim to a like prominency, as they are indispensable to the mouth,
in assisting the sense of taste, in detecting wholesome or deleterious food. The taste, which is to
test the quality of what we eat, stands at the entrance of the reception passage for liquids and for
solids. The sense of touch is delicately extended
over the whole body, in order that no impression
may be received, either of heat or cold, without
5




50           PIIYSICAL MAN.
an instantaneous feeling. And as no accomplished architect will place a disagreeable object
of sight or smell in the view of the building, so
nature has skilfully removed all similar offences
from the human frame. But is there any other
artist than nature possessed of such admirable
skill, and who has so artistically arranged our
senses? She has protected the eyes with a fine
transparent covering, that we may look through
them, and with a compact texture, in order to retain them in position. They glide smoothly from
side to side, at the beck of the will, and are
secured against external injury. The pupil, which
is formed to receive the rays of light, although
so small, is a beautiful piece of mechanism, and
momently contracts and dilates, to suit its important office.  The eyelids close gently over
them, with their soft and delicate substance:
they are exquisitely contrived to open and shut,
at pleasure, with ornamental fringes of hair to
brush out troublesome motes, and to defend them
when open, as well as to shade them beautifully when
they are closed and useless in sleep. Again, our
eyes have the advantage of prominences which
protect them from above and below, by the eyebrows and the cheeks. The nose is placed between them as a separating wall. As for the ear,
it is always open, because we have need of its service, even when wrapt in slumber. The slightest




PHYSICAL MAN.                51
sound is heard, and we are instantly awakened
and on the alert. Its passages are complex rather
than straight, to prevent anything sliding within
them, to which they would otherwise be liable.
But our incomparable hands, what a necessity are
they to us, and how useful and accomplished in
the arts! The fingers open and close without
effort, so flexible are their joints; with their
assistance, the hands use the pencil and the
chisel; they play on the lyre, and on the lute:
so much for the agreeable. As for the useful,
they cultivate the soil, build houses, make clothes,
and various utensils of metal and other substances. The imagination contrives, the senses
examine, and the hand executes: so that, if we
are lodged, clothed, and fed -if we have cities,
homes, and temples, we are indebted to our wonderful hands. We cannot but be convinced that
chance alone never could have formed the human
mechanism, with such noble qualities, such admirable design, any more than this excellent discourse could have been composed by an illiterate
writer, without eloquence or skill." Many authors
have proved, and especially the physician Nieuwentyt, that the limits within which our senses
operate are those best adapted for them, and that
we should be exposed to numerous inconveniences
and dangers, were those organs, to any considerable extent, enlarged. Galen, in the midst of an




52           PHYSICAL MAN.
anatomical analysis of a human body, overwhelmed with admiration, suddenly drops the
scalpel, and exclaims:  Oh, Thou adorable Being
who hast made us! I believe I am chanting a
hymn to Thy glory, while engaged in so sacred a
discourse! In unfolding the excellency of Thy
works, I feel that I honor and exalt Thee more,
than by offering up before Thee whole mountains
of living sacrifice, or in perfuming Thy temples
with the most precious incense. True piety consists in first learning to know myself, and afterwards instructing those around me in Thy true
character, and Thy exalted goodness, and Thy
power, and Thy wisdom. Thy benevolence is
displayed in the equal distribution of Thy gifts,
generously awarding to each man the organs
necessary for him; Thy wisdom is seen in the
excellence of Thy bounty; and Thy power is
manifested in the execution of Thy designs."




ADAM    AND EVE.              53
ADAM AND EVE.
SATAN has penetrated into the terrestrial paradise. In the midst of the animal creation,
" He saw
Two of far nobler aspect, erect and tall,
of daughters, Eve." *
Our first parents had reclined themselves in
the shade upon the banks of a fountain. There
they were partaking their evening repast, in the
midst of the animal creation, which were gambolling around their king and their queen. Satan,
concealed under the form of one of these creatures, contemplates the happy pair, and feels
himself almost softened at the touching spectacle
of their beauty, their innocence, and by the
prospective evil which shall overshadow this transient bliss. Admirable scene! Meanwhile Adam
and Eve discourse lovingly together near the
fountain, and Eve thus addresses her spouse:
"That day I oft remember, when from sleep
her silver mantle threw." f
* Par. Lost, Book 4th.
- Par. Lost, Book 4th, ver. 449-502, inclusive; then the
591st verse until the 609th.
5*




54           ADAM AND EVE.
Adam and Eve retired to their nuptial bower,
after having offered up their prayer to the Eternal. They penetrated to the obscurity of the
grove, and reclined upon its flowery bed. Then
the poet, pausing before this opening arbor, sings
a hymn to Hymen, with his eye gazing upon the
polestar and the firmament sparkling with stars.
He thus began this grand epithalamium, without
premeditation, and as if by an inspired breath,
after the olden style:
"Hail, wedded love, mysterious law, true source
Of human offspring." 
"Healthful, conjugal love, mysterious law, originator of posterity!" It is thus that the Grecian
army sang, immediately after the death of Hector: " We have gained a glorious victory!  We
have killed the immortal Hector!" In a like manner the Salii celebrated the festival of Iercules,
impetuously exclaiming, in Virgil: "It is thou
who hast enchained the two centaurs, sons of a
river-god," &c.
This hymeneal anthem gives the finishing touch
to Milton's picture, and completes the painting of
the loves of our primogenitors. We need not apprehend that we shall be reproached with the
length of this quotation. "Voltaire remarks,
that, in all other poems, love is regarded as a
weakness. In Milton alone is it a virtue. The
poet has been able to raise, with a chaste hand,




ADAM AND EVE.                55
the veil which covers elsewhere the raptures of
this passion. IHe transports the reader into this
garden of delights. He seems to imbue him with
the joy, the pure and impassioned ecstasy, with
which Adam and Eve are filled.
" He does not elevate him above human nature,
but only makes him superior to its excesses; as
it is a nonpareil in love, so is it a unique in poetical compositions." If we compare the loves of
Ulysses and Penelope with those of Adam and
Eve, we discover that the simplicity of Homer is
more ingenious, that of Milton more magnificent.
Ulysses, king and hero though he is, betrays
some touches, nevertheless, of the rustic; a wild
and artless manner characterizes his attitudes,
his stratagems, and his words. Adam, though
newly born and without experience, is already
the perfect model of the man. We feel that he is
not issued forth as the seed of the weak woman,
but he is fashioned from the hands of the living
God. He is noble, majestic, and at the same
time full of innocence and genius. He is such as
the Scriptures describe as one worthy of being
respected by the angels, and of walking in solitude with his Creator. As to the consorts -if
Penelope is more reserved, and afterwards more
tender, than our first mother, it is because she
has been disciplined by trial, and sorrow has rendered her distrustful and sensitive. Eve, on the




56           ADAM AND EVE.
contrary, joyously abandons herself. She is communicative and bewitching; she is slightly touched
with coquetry. And why should she be as serious
and prudent in her manners as Penelope? Does
not the whole world lie at her feet, and beckon
her smilingly onward? If grief contracts the soul,
happiness most certainly enlarges it. In the first
example, there is no solitude deep enough to hide
her sorrows; in the second, there are not hearts
enough to rehearse her pleasures.
However, Milton did not design to paint a perfect character in his Eve; he has represented her
as irresistibly charming, but as rather indiscreet
and lavish of her words, in order, in some measure, to anticipate the mischief into which she
will be plunged by this fault. As for the rest,
the loves of Ulysses and Penelope are chaste and
dignified, as it ever should be between wedded
souls.
We would remark here, that, in luxurious paintings, the ancient poets betray at the same time a
simplicity and a chastity which is astonishing.
They are most independent in their ideas, and no
less free in their expression; we, on the contrary,
bewilder the judgment with our extreme caution
in managing the eyes and the ears. Whence
originates this magic of the ancients, and why is
it that a nude Venus of Praxiteles is no less
charming to our minds than to our senses? It is




ADAM    AND EVE.              57
that the ideal is beautiful, and impresses the
soul, rather than the senses.  Thus it is that
the genius and intellect alone become enamored,
and not the passions; it is this passionate taste
which can alone lose itself in the master-piece, or
beau-ideal. Every terrestrial emotion is extinguished, and is replaced by a divine tenderness;
the consuming soul winds itself round the admired
object, and spiritualizes even the more sensual
terms it is compelled to employ in the expression
of its passion. But neither the love of Penelope
and Ulysses, nor that of Dido for Eneas, nor that
of Alceste for Admetus, can be compared, in point
of sentiment, to Milton's two nobler personages,
in the sacred feeling which characterizes their
affection. True religion can alone halo the character with a tenderness as holy as it is sublime.
In order to make his picture more complete,
Milton has, by a fine touch of his genius, hidden
the Spirit of Darkness beneath the spreading
branches of a noble tree. The rebellious angel
spies out the beauteous pair; from their own lips,
he learns their fatal secret; he rejoices within
himself at their predicted downfall; and the whole
description of the felicity of our first parents is
truly but the first step towards frightful calamities.
Penelope and Ulysses recall a past misfortune.
Eve and Adam anticipate unknown future miseries. All dramatic scenes fail of their effect, which




58           ADAM   AND EVE.
presume to present a play, without a due commingling of joy with sorrow, either developed, or
a foreshadowing of coming doom in its representation. Perfect happiness wearies us; absolute unmitigated evil repulses us. The first is shriven
of remembrances and tears; the second, of smiling
happiness and alluring hope. If you ascend from
sorrow to joy, as in Homer's scenes, you will be
more touchingly moved, or more gently melancholy; because the soul will remember the past,
but as a dream of the night, and will sweetly repose itself in the enjoyment of the present: if, on
the contrary, you descend from a condition of
prosperous joy to tears and woe, as in Milton's
pictures, you will be more deeply grieved, and
more profoundly affected, because the heart is
more suddenly and painfully aroused from its
clustering delights with the foreshadowing evils
which threaten it.
Therefore we must, in every life-picture, unite
happiness and misfortune together, and make the
evil counterbalance the good, in order to be in
true accordance with nature.
In the cup of human life are commingled two
ingredients- the one sweet, the other bitter;
but, deeper than the bitterness of the second,
there yet remain the lees, which they both equally
deposit at the bottom of the vase.




M A It l I A G E.         59
MARRIAGE.
EUROPE is indebted to the Church for the
small number of good laws which she possesses.
The wisest of our emperors and of our kings, such
as Charlemagne, and Alfred the Great, believed
they could not do better than to adopt into their
civil code the ecclesiastical law, drawn from the
Levitical, the Evangelical, and the Roman jurisprudence. How glorious is Christianity! how
impressive, how majestic!
Jesus Christ has conferred a new dignity upon
the holy estate of marriage, by making it the
sacred and mysterious emblem of his union with
the Church. Can the sacrament of marriage be
too highly extolled, when we reflect that our whole
social economy is based upon it? How shall we
sufficiently admire the wisdom of Him who has
distinguished it with His own signature and presence. The Church has ever carefully guarded
this important institution. She has determined
the degrees of consanguinity in which the union
will be lawful. The spirit which has regulated
this interdiction is worthy of the purity of our religion, as it is founded no less upon physical than
upon moral reasons.... The custom of betrothing has been observed by the Church from




60             M A RR IA G E.
remote antiquity; and Aulus Gellius informs us
it was established among the people of Latium;
and the Romans and the Grecians adopted it;
and in Gospel times we are reminded of the betrothment of Joseph and Mary. The intention of
this custom is to give opportunity to the bride and
bridegroom to become fully acquainted with each
other, before they unite together in indissoluble
bonds. In rural villages, the ceremony of betrothing is occasionally observed with all its pristine
beauty. Upon a glorious autumnal morn, you
may see a young peasant, seeking his bride-elect
at her parental homestead. Musicians accompany
him (recalling the days of ancient minstrelsy),
playing some rustic sonnet, or romantic air of the
days of chivalry, or pilgrim chants. Past ages
seem to revive from their gothic tombs, and invest
these young people with their ancient manners
and remembrances. The village priest pronounces
a blessing upon the bride, who deposits upon the
altar a distaff adorned with flowers. The company
return again to the farm-house with the lord and
lady of the manor, and the priest, and the judge
of the hamlet, to partake of an entertainment with
the young couple, and their neighbors and friends.
The feast terminates with a dance upon an adjoining barn floor, and the young lady from the manor
honors the bridegroom with her hand in the dance,
to the music of the bagpipe, whilst the spectators




M A RRIAGE.               61
arc seated upon the fresh-gathered sheaves, recalling the times of Jethro's daughters, the reapers
of Boaz, and the betrothment of Jacob and Rachel.
The publishing of the bans followed the betrothing. This excellent custom is designed to prevent
clandestine marriages, and also to ascertain if
there are any impediments, among the contracting
parties, which ought to be considered. But behold
the majestic advance of the Christian marriage!
ler step is dignified, her mien elevated, serious,
sublime! A new career opens before man; he is
admonished that he has just completed the most
momentous act of his life. The nuptial blessing
(pronounced by God himself over the first pair),
in impressing the husband with a profound respect, tells him that, like Adam, he is about to
become the head of a family, and that he now
assumes all the responsibility of this state of humanity. The female is equally well instructed.
IHer prospective happiness is veiled by the image
of her new duties. A voice seems to address her
from the sacred altar: "Oh, woman! hast thou
well considered the vow thou hast made? Dost
thou know, that henceforth there is no liberty for
thee but the tomb? Knowest thou that, within
thy mortality, thou hast the seed of the immortal,
which is to be fashioned after the likeness of
God?"   Marriage, among the ancients, was a
scene full of irreverent joy, and unaccompanied
6




62              I AR RIAG E.
with serious gravity or decorum. Christianity
alone has invested this institution with honor and
dignity. Wiser than philosophers, she has well
ordained that man should have but one wife, and
that he should cleave to her until death. If the
passions of men have revolted against this law;
if they have not perceived the disorder which
divorce brings into families, in disturbing the
order of succession, unnaturalizing the parental
affections, and in corrupting the heart, in turning
marriage into a merely civil institution, we cannot
hope to produce any effect by what we have said
upon this point. Without entering very deeply
into the matter, we shall remark that if, by granting divorces, we expect to make married life happier (which is the grand argument of the day), we
are under a fatal delusion. He who has failed in
making the happiness of one wife, and whose affection is not founded upon the lasting bond of
esteem; who cannot confine himself to the family
yoke; he who proves restless under the first nuptial-tie, will never be able to make the second wife
happy —it is a vain and deceitful expectation.
For himself, he will gain nothing by his mutability: what he calls unsuitability of disposition in
his companion, proceeds alone from his own capricious temper, and unreasonable exactions. Longcontinued friendship and habit are more necessary
to happiness, and even to love, than is often ima



MARRIAGE.                 63
gined. We only rest upon the objects of our affection when we have passed many of our days with
them — when we have suffered and rejoiced together. We should know each other soul-deep; the
mysterious veil which concealed the two spouses
in the primitive Church must be removed in all its
foldings from each other, whilst it still remains
impenetrable to the rest of the world. What, shall
it be, upon the slightest caprice, that I must fear
the loss of my wife and children, and that I must
be deprived of them in my old age? And do they
tell me that I shall become a better husband under
this apprehension? No! we do not prize an uncertain good; we love to confide in our blessings,
and to secure permanent possession. Let us not
give to hymen the wings of love; let us not make
a flying phantom out of a sacred reality. One
thought will forever drive away your happiness in
your momentary ties; remorse would pursue you;
unconsciously you would compare one wife with
the other-the one you have deserted with the
one you have found; and, do not deceive yourself,
the heart is too often in league with bygone objects
and pleasures. This distraction of mind would
blight all your pleasures and joys. In caressing
your new child, you would be reminded of the
one you have neglected; you would have heartreproaches in the very embraces of affection. In
man there is a tendency to unity; if he dissipates




64              MARRIAGE.
his affections, he loses peace of mind; like God,
whose image he bears, his soul seeks continually
the concentration of past, present, and future,
into one grand whole. The Christian wife is no
mere mortal; she is an extraordinary being, mysterious, angelical; she is flesh of his flesh, and
bone of his bone —"they twain are one flesh."
Man, in uniting himself with her, has but rejoined
his own substance; his soul, as well as his body,
are incomplete without her: he has strength, she
has beauty; he fights for his country, and labors
in the field, but he knows nothing about domestic
duties; a wife is necessary to him, to prepare his
food, and to make his home comfortable and
happy. If he has a grief, his companion has an
ever ready sympathy and consolation; is he weary
with daily toils, his cherished wife cheers him with
her smiles, and in her heart-welcome and presence
he is refreshed and encouraged. Without her he
would become rude, unpolished, and solitary. Woman flings around man the flowers of life, like the
circling vines of the forest, which decorate the
oak trunks with their perfumed garlands. Finally,
the Christian husband and wife live, flourish, and
die together; together they educate their children; together they return to dust; and together
will they arise from the tomb, upon the resurrection morn.




TIIE FATHER-PRIAM.              65
THIE FATHER -PRIAM.
GLANCING from the conjugal character, we
pass onward to the paternal relation: we will look
at the father in the two most touching and sublime aspects of human life - old age united with
misfortune. Priam-this fallen monarch once so
glorious, and from whom the grandees of earth
had again and again sought favors, and at whose
nod they trembled; Priam, alas! thou art fallen!
The hair sprinkled with ashes, the cheeks bedewed
with tears, alone and at the midnight hour has
penetrated to the Grecian camp. Humbled and
kneeling before the merciless Achilles, kissing his
terrible hands - those destructive hands which
were so often stained with the blood of his sonsit is from them he would redeem the body of his
son Hector. " Remember your own father, oh!
godlike Achilles! he is, like myself, bending
under the weight of years, and he is, with me,
trembling upon the verge of the grave. Perhaps
even at this moment he is overwhelmed by powerful neighbors, without having any one near to defend him. And yet, when he hears that you live,
his heart will rejoice; every day he will watch to
welcome the return of his son from Troy. Woe
is me, most unfortunate parent that I am; from
6*




66       THE FATIIER-PRIAM.
among my numerous sons sent to the great battle
of Ilion, but one is left to me. I counted them by
fifties, when the Greeks descended upon these
shores; nine issued from one family, and the remainder were brought to me through different captives. The greater number became victims of
cruel Mars. There is one alone, who, by the
might of his brave arm, defended his brothers and
Troy. Him you have also killed fighting for his
country. Hector: it is for him that I approach
the Grecian fleet; I come to redeem his body,
and I bring you an immense ransom. Respect
the gods, oh, Achilles! Take pity upon me;
recollect your own father! Oh! how unhappy I
am! No unfortunate has ever been reduced to
such an extreme wretchedness! I kiss the hands
which have killed my son!"
What a beautiful prayer! What a striking
scene is presented to the reader! Night -the
tent of Achilles; this hero weeping with the
faithful Automedon over Patroclus; Priam suddenly emerges from the dusky shadows, and impulsively precipitates himself at the feet of the
son of Peleus! Beyond, in the darkness, wait
the chariots, which are laden with the presents
of the Trojan sovereign; while at some distance,
upon the banks of the Iellespont, are the mutilated remains, abandoned without honor, of the
generous Hector. If you study the discourse of




THE FATIER-PRIAM.               67
Priam, you will observe that the second word
uttered by the miserable monarch is that of father,
and the second thought presented in the same
verse is a eulogy upon the proud Achilles-Achilles comparable unto the gods. Priam has obtained
a great victory over his own feelings, thus to address the murderer of Hector; herein he has
shown a deep acquaintance with the human heart.
The most touching remembrance that could be
brought to the son of Peleus, after being reminded
of his own father, was undoubtedly the age of this
venerated parent. Until this period, Priam has
not dared to speak a word with regard to himself;
but, as this opportunity presents itself, he impulsively seizes it with affecting simplicity: like myself, he says, he trembles upon the verge of the
tomb. Thus Priam only alludes to himself in
union with Peleus: he compels Achilles to behold
only his own parent in the person of a suppliant
and unhappy king. The image which is presented
of the helpless and forsaken old monarch, perhaps
overcome bypowerful neighbors during the absence
of his son; the description of his sorrows changed
to joyfulness, upon learning that this son is still
rejoicing in life and health: this comparison of
the possible griefs of Peleus with the irreparable
ills of Priam, is a well-managed address of heartcrushing sorrow with propriety and dignity. With
what venerable and holy skilfulness does the old




68       T IIE FATII E R-PRIAM.
man of Ilion imperceptibly lead the splendid
Achilles to hearken patiently to a eulogium even
upon Hector! He at first carefully refrains from
naming the Trojan hero; he only says, there yet
remained one; and he names not Hector to his
conqueror, but after having told him that he had
killed him while fighting for his country; he then
adds the simple word, Hector! Thus the son of
Peleus is satiated with vengeance ere his enemy
is recalled to him. If Priam had at first named
Iector, Achilles had thought of Patroclus; but
it is no longer Hector that is presented to him,
but a disfigured body; these are but the wretched
remains that had been outcast to the dogs and the
vultures; still less would they show them to him
now but with this apology: he was fighting for
his country. The haughty Achilles is satisfied
with having triumphed over a hero, who had stood
alone as the defender of his brethren and the
walls of Troy. In concluding, Priam, after speaking of men to the son of Thetis, reminds him of
the justice of the gods; and he finally leads him
back again to the recollection of Peleus. The concluding passage of the prayer of the monarch of
Ilion is of the highest order of pathetic sublimity.




THE MOTHER-ANDROMACIIE.             69
TIIE MOTHER — ANDROMACHE.
THERE is a voice heard in Rama, says Jeremiah (the prophet), weeping and lamentation,
" Rachel weeping for her children, and will not
be comforted, because they are not." This voice
prolongs her echo over the mountains of time,
with tears and many groans. "Rachel is still
mourning her sons, and will not be consoled, because they are not."  How beautifully mournful
is this, "because they are not!" A religion which
has so delicately consecrated a single word, has
penetrated the depths of the maternal heart. The
veneration of the Virgin-mother, and the love of
our Lord Jesus Christ for children, is a sufficient
proof that the spirit of Christianity has a tender
sympathy with the genius of mothers. For the
critic, we herein design to open a new idea, which
we shall discover in the description of a heathen
mother, as given by a modern author, viz., that
this author, unconsciously to himself, has drawn
his picture with the Christian features. In order
to prove the moral or religious influence which an
institution exercises over the heart of man, it is
not needful that the related example should be
drawn from the foundation of this institution; it
suffices that the description should be permeated




70   TIIE MOTIIER-ANDROMAC HE.
by its spirit or genius: thus it happens, that the
elysium of Telemachus is really a Christian's
paradise. In like manner, in the Andromache of
Racine, its principal sentiments, and the most impressive, are the emanations of a Christian poet.
In the Andromache of the Iliad, it is rather the
wife than the mother; that of Euripides portrays
a character at once violent and ambitious, which
detracts from the maternal character; that of
Virgil is tender and sad, but it is still less the
mother than the wife; the widow of Hector says
not: "Where is Astyanax?" but "Where is
Iector?"
The Andromache of Racine is more sensitive,
more interesting, than the ancient Andromache.
This verse, so artless and so lovely: "To-day I
have not yet embraced him," is the language of a
Christian woman. This custom found no sympathy with the Greeks, and the Romans had still
less of this outgushing heartiness. Homer's Andromache laments over the anticipated misfortunes of Astyanax, while, for the present, she concerns herself very little about him. The mother
in our religion, without having less prescience, is
more gentle and loving; and oftentimes, while
pressing her child to her heart, obliterates her
own griefs. The ancients, it must be acknowledged, gave but a cursory glance over childhood;
the cradle language appeared weak and trifling to




T IE MOTIIER-ANDROMACIIE.           71
them, and had no charms for their ears. It was
the God of the Bible who alone stood up fearless
and undaunted on the side of "little children,"
and who placed them before men as their examples. Matt. 18: 3. Mark 9: 35, 36. "And
taking a little child, Jesus sat him in the midst
of them, saying, Whosoever shall receive in my
name a little child, receiveth me. Except ye be
converted, and become as little children, ye shall
in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven."
Now, these precepts are entirely contrary to the
pride of human nature; we herein see human nature elevated, refined-human nature evangelized.
This humility which Christianity has shed over
these natural sentiments, has changed for us the
relations of the passions; and she has, so to
speak, thereby, with her piercing wand, shivered
to atoms the false standard of the modern Andromache. When, in the Iliad, the widow of Hector
describes the destiny which awaits her son, the
picture which she draws of the future misfortunes
of Astyanax, has in it something mean and base.
The humility of our religion is far from employing
similar language; her expressions are as noble as
they are touching. The Christian subjects himself voluntarily to the severest conditions of this
present existence; but we are conscious that he is
governed by the highest moral principles; that he
humbles himself, but only to his God, and not to




72         TIIE SON    GUSMAN.
men; and, while even passing through the fire, he
loses not his dignity. Faithful to his Master, without cowardice, he despises the chains which he
bears but for a moment, and from which he will
soon be relieved by death. He regards the fleeting shadows of this life but as a dream, a passing
night-vision- endures its changes without complaint or murmur, because liberty and oppression,
prosperity and misfortune, the crown and the
slave-cap, are all alike to his spiritual vision. IIe
looks not alone on the things seen, but at the unseen; for "the things which are seen are but for
a moment, but the things which are not seen are
eternal."
TIIE SON- GUSMAN.
VOLTAIRE has furnished us with another Christian character in the Son. He is neither the docile Telemachus with Ulysses, nor the haughty
Achilles with Peleus; but he is a young man full
of fire and enthusiasm, whose passions are brought
into subjection to religious principles, and whose
inclinations are tempered by gentleness and forbearance. Alzire, notwithstanding the unnaturalness of the characters, is a very attractive play:
we see drawn, as upon a chart, the Christian
morality which elevates it above the vulgar code;




TIIE SON-GUSMAN.              73
and it is, in itself, a divine poetry. The peace
which reigns in the soul of Alvarez is not alone
the peace of nature. Let us suppose that Nestor
would seek to moderate the passions of Antilochus: at first, he would relate examples in the
history of children who have been ruined because
they turned a deaf ear to parental advice; then,
giving some general maxims upon the inexperience
of youth and the wisdom of age, he would crown
his remonstrances with a eulogy upon himself, and
a sigh after the days of olden time. The influence
which Alvarez employs is of an altogether different kind; he casts into forgetfulness his hoary
locks and his paternal authority, and speaks only
in the name of religion. His endeavor is not to
deter Gusman from any private or aggravated
crime; he counsels him in an enlarged charity,
and in every virtue - a celestial humanity, as it
were, brought down from heaven by the God-man,
and which never had an abiding-place upon this
earth before the establishment of Christianity.
Indeed, Alvarez commanding his son as a father,
and requiring his obedience as a subject, is a most
beautiful lesson in morals, and as far superior to
the morality of the ancients as the Evangelist
surpasses the dialogues of Plato in the instruction
of the virtues. Achilles wounds his enemy, and
insults him after having conquered him. Gusman
is as proud as the son of Peleus; pierced with
7




74         TIIE  SON-GUSMAN.
blows from the hands of Zamor, expiring in the
flower of his age, losing at the same time an
adored wife and the command of a vast empire,
behold and listen to the sentence which he pronounces over his rival and his murderer, brilliant
triumph of religion, and of paternal example, over
a Christian Son.
Gusman to Zamor:
"Now learn the difference with thy faith and mine:
Thine bids thee lift thy dagger to my throat -
Mine canforgive the wrong, and bid thee live."
And to what religion belongs this high morality
and this death? It reigns here as a splendid fact,
or beautiful truth, superior to all poetical ideality.
When a truthful ideal is presented to us, it is no
exaggeration; it is recognised instantly by all
good and great minds. Voltaire is very ungrateful, to have calumniated a worship which has furnished him (as an author) with his best title to
immortality. This verse which he has written
should have recalled him to himself: it originated,
undoubtedly, in an involuntary inspiration of approval and of admiration.
What then! true Christians inherit all the virtues!
They are born to command.
And let us add, that the best things of genius
fall also to their portion.




THIIE DAUGHTER- IPHIGENIA.          75
TIHE DAUGHTER -IPHIGENIA.
IPHIGENIA and Zara present an interesting
contrast in the daughter. Both yield themselves
to paternal authority, and devote themselves to
the religion of their country. Agamemnon, it is
true, requires of Iphigenia the double sacrifice of
her love and of her life, and Lusignan only asks
of Zara to forget her love; but for a passionate
woman to live and renounce the object of her devotion is, perhaps, a more grievous and painful
condition than death itself. As to their natural
interest, the two situations might be the same; let
us see whether the religious interest is equally
balanced. Agamemnon, in obedience to the gods,
does nothing, after all, but sacrifice his child to
his ambition.
Why should the young Grecian devote herself
to Neptune? Is he not a tyrant whom she ought
to detest? The spectator takes part with Iphigenia even against heaven. The pity and terror
which is felt, depend solely upon situation, and
upon spontaneous sympathy; and even if the religious character of the piece is changed, it is quite
evident that the dramatic effect would remain the
same. But in Zara, if you take away the pious
motive, the whole effect of the piece will be de



76     THE DAUGHTER- -IPHIGENIA.
stroyed. Does Jesus Christ require this bloody
sacrifice? Does He command this renunciation
of affection? Ah! is it possible there can be a
doubt upon this point?  Was it not to redeem
even Zara, that he was nailed to a shameful cross;
that he endured the insults, contempt, and injustice of mankind? Did He not drink the cup of
bitterness to the dregs? And will Zara give her
heart and hand to those who have persecuted this
merciful God! to those who sacrifice Christians
every day of their lives! to those who hold in
irons this successor of Bouillon, this defender of
the faith, this father of Zara! Truly the religious
sentiment is not out of place here; and whoever
would suppress it, would annihilate the piece. As
to the remainder, it appears to us that Zara, as a
tragedy, is still more interesting than Iphigenia,
for this reason, because it is yet to be developed.
And this will oblige us to ascend to the first principles of composition as an art. It is a matter of
fact, that these examples, placed before the humbler classes for imitation, ought to be taken from
the highest rank in society. This remark holds
to a manifest agreement, that the fine arts in unison with the human heart know how to develop.
The representation of misfortunes, which we have
ourselves experienced, would afflict us, without our
being suitably instructed or improved thereby.
There is no necessity of our frequenting public




THE DAUGIITER-IPIIGENIA.            77
spectacles, in order there to learn the secrets of
our own firesides; fiction will not please us, when
the sad reality exists beneath our own roof. Besides, it is improbable that any moral lesson will
be received from a mere resemblance; rather, on
the contrary, we shall be apt to despond with the
picture of our own condition, or to become envious
of a position elevated above our own. The multitude are interested by theatricals, but they do not
care to look in upon a thatched cottage, as if
there they should behold a representation of their
own indigence; they demand of you the great,
clothed in purple; the ear would hear noble
names, and pompous titles, and the eye would be
riveted upon the misfortunes of kings and princes.
Morality, curiosity, the nobleness of art and
purity of taste, and perhaps the envious nature
of man, require that the characters in tragedy
should be elevated above the masses. But if the
personage be distinguished, his sorrow ought to
be common to all, and felt by them. Indeed, it
is in this aspect that Zara appears to us more
touching than Iphigenia. That the daughter of
Agamemnon dies, in order that a fleet may set
sail, is a motive scarcely appreciable by the multitude. But with Zara we forget to reason, as
every one can feel the conflict between passion
and duty. Ience, take this as a dramatic rule:
that it is necessary, as much as possible, to ground
7*




78   TIIE DAUGHTER-IPIIIGENIA.
the tragical interest, not upon an object, so much
as upon a sentiment; and that the personages
ought to be removed from the spectator by their
rank, but draw near to them by their misfortunes.
We should, however, seek, in the subject of Iphigenia as portrayed by Racine, the faint outlines
of the Christian character; but the reader can
draw these reflections for himself, as they follow
naturally; and we shall close these observations
with one more remark. Father Brumoy has remarked, that Euripides, in giving Iphigenia a
dread of death, and a desire to escape, has written more in harmony with nature than Racine,
whose Iphigenia seems to be too much resigned.
This reflection is good in itself; but, what Father
Brumoy did not perceive is, that the modern
Iphigenia is the Christian daughter. Her father,
and Heaven have spoken, and there is no alternative but obedience. Racine has not given to his
heroine this moral courage, but in sympathy with
the unconscious influence of a religious institution,
which has entirely remodelled our moral code.
Here Christianity transcends nature, and is consequently more in harmony with beautiful poetry,
which encourages to a slightly exaggerated picture, and ever adorns and ennobles its subject.
The daughter of Agamemnon conquering her
affection and love of life, shows off to greater advantage than Iphigenia mourning her sins. It is




THE DAUGITER-IPHIIGENIA.              79
not always that purely natural things will most
affect us. It is natural to fear death; and yet a
victim who grieves for herself, dries up the tears
we should shed 6ver her. The human heart is
ambitious in its aspirations: it would be an object
of admiration; it contains within itself an enthusiasm for an unknown beauty or good for which it
was originally destined. The Christian religion is
so beautifully arranged, that it is a species of
poetry in itself, since it develops the beau-ideal
of character: herein the martyrs are discovered
by our painters, and the cavaliers of chivalry by
our poets, &c. Christianity is equally vigorous in
her descriptions of vice as of virtue, since it is
true that crimes are increased in proportion to
the number of laws which the guilty can break.
How striking that passage in St. Paul: " When
the law came sin revived."
Thus the muses, who overlook the medium
classes in society, should seek the more perfectly
to accommodate themselves to a religion who ever
places her examples either above or below man.
In order to complete more perfectly the circle of
natural characters, we ought to mention fraternal
affection; but what has been said concerning the
son and the daughter, will apply equally to brothers, or to brothers and sisters. To conclude:
the Holy Scriptures contain the account of Cain
and Abel, the earliest and the greatest tragedy




80    VIRTUES AND MORAL LAWS.
which the world has seen. Elsewhere we shall
speak of Joseph and his brethren.
In a word, Christianity leaves natural character
as it has ever been represented by the ancients;
but she goes beyond them, as she imbues it with
all her softening influences. It necessarily augments the power of the drama, as the resources
are increased; and as the subject-material upon
which she can operate are multiplied, so are her
beauties augmented.
VIRTUES AND MORAL LAWS.
TiE larger number of the ancient philosophers
have made a division of the vices and the virtues;
but religion, in her wisdom, goes beyond that of
men. Let us consider, at first, pride, which the
Church pronounces to be the first and the deadliest of all vices. It is the sin of Satan -it is
the primeval sin of the world. Pride is so insidiously the principle of evil, that it mingles itself
among the different infirmities of the soul; it burns
in the smile of envy, it shines in the elegant wit
of the voluptuary, it counts the gold of avarice, it
sparkles in the eyes of passion, and in its train
follow the elegancies of effeminacy.
It was pride which caused Adam's apostasy; it




VIRTUES AND MORAL LAWS.            81
was pride which armed Cain with the fratricidal
club; it was pride which built Babel, and overturned Babylon. Through pride, Athens perished
with Grsecia; pride broke the throne of Cyrus,
divided the empire of Alexander, and finally
crushed Rome under the weight of the world.
In the private circumstances of life, the effects
of pride have been still more fatal. It makes its
attempts even upon God. In looking into the
causes of atheism, we are led to this sad conclusion, that the principal motive of those who rebel
against heaven, and have complained of something in society, or in nature (always excepting young people seduced by the world, or
writers, who only make a noise), is pride. But,
wherefore do not those who are so easily fascinated by the caprices of mere chance, and its
frivolous advantages -why do they not know, or
seek to find the remedy of slight misfortunes, or
evils, by themselves drawing nearer to the Divinity? This is the true foundation of goodness.
God is so essentially the supreme good, and the
beauty of excellence, that his name alone, pronounced with love, is sufficient to impart something divine to a man the least favored by nature,
as has been remarked concerning Socrates. Let
us leave atheism to those who have not enough
nobleness to raise themselves above the misfortunes of life, but evince, in their blasphemies, that




82    VIRTUES AND MORAL LAWS.
man's first vice has still but too perceptible a
lodgment within him. If the Church has given to
pride the first rank in the scale of human degradations, she has not less skilfully classed the
other six capital vices. It must not be acknowledged that the order in which we see them classed
is arbitrary; it is sufficient to examine them, to
perceive that religion passes naturally from crimes
which attack society in general to those delinquencies, or offences, which rest but upon the
guilty. Thus, for example, envy, luxury, avarice,
and anger, follow immediately from pride; because these are vices which exercise themselves
upon a foreign subject, and which only exist
among men; whilst gluttony, and indolence,
which come from the latter, are selfish and
shameful inclinations, forced to derive from themselves their chief pleasures or delights. The virtues preferred by Christianity, and the rank
which she assigns to them, are equally true to
nature. Before Jesus Christ, the soul of man
was a chaos; the Word spake, and immediately
all was illumined in the intellectual sphere, as the
same word had of old arranged the physical
world; this was the moral creation of the universe. The virtues arose up as pure fire in the
heavens; some of them, as sparkling suns, attracted all eyes by their brilliant light; while
others, as modest stars, sought the security of the




OUR SAVIO UR.               83
shade, where, nevertheless, they could not conceal
themselves. From that time we see an admirable
balance established between strength and weakness; religion directs her thuuders against pride,
a vice which sustains itself as a virtue; she discovers it in the folds of our hearts, she follows it
in its metamorphoses; the sacraments are arrayed
against it in a holy antagonism, and humility,
clothed with sackcloth, the eyes cast down and
streaming with tears, becomes one of the first virtues of the faithful.
OUR SAVIOUR.
JESUS Christ appeared in the midst of men full
of grace and truth. His words were convincing
by their authority and mildness. He came as a
"man of sorrows," and all His consolations were
for the unfortunate. His miracles, says Bossuet,
display even more of goodness than of power. His
usual mode of instruction was by dialogue, or
parable, which were adapted to the minds of the
people. He teaches by the wayside; and as He
walks through the meadows, Hie directs the attention of His disciples to the humble daisy-flower,
and to the lilies, and exhorts them to trust in Providence, which supports the feeblest plant, and




84           OUR SAVIOUR.
feeds the smallest of birds; and in looking upon
the fruits of the earth, He teaches them to judge
a man by his works; "A good tree cannot bring
forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring
forth good fruit; therefore by their fruit ye shall
know them." Kindly regarding smiling infancy,
HIe recommends innocence and humility; and,
finding Himself among a flock of sheep, He calls
Himself the " Good Shepherd," carrying the lambs
in His bosom. Seated upon a mountain top in
spring-time, while at His feet eager crowds were
gathering, He draws instruction from the natural
objects by which they are surrounded. From the
spectacle of this collection of poor and unhappy
people, He pictures the beatitudes; "Blessed are
they who mourn; Blessed are they who hunger
and thirst," &c.
Those who obey these commands, and they who
neglect them, are compared to two men who build
houses - the one upon a rock, and the other upon
moving sand: according to some interpreters he
shows, in this discourse, a flourishing hamlet,
built upon a hill, and at its base cottages destroyed
by an inundation. When, of the Samaritan woman, Jesus asks for a drink of water, He opens
His doctrine to her under the beautiful image of
a spring of living water.
The most violent enemies of the Saviour have
not dared to bring a reproach against His charac



OUR SAVIOUR.                85
ter. Celsus, Julian, Volusian, have acknowledged
His miraculous power; and Porphyry relates that
even the heathen oracles reverenced Him for Iis
illustrious piety. Tiberius wished to place Him in
the rank of their gods; according to Lampridius,
Adrian had dedicated several temples in his honor,
and Alexander Severus worshipped Him with the
images of holy souls between Orpheus and Abraham. Pliny has rendered an illustrious testimony
to the purity and simplicity of the primitive Christians, who imitated closely the example of their
Redeemer and Lord. Against every philosophic
system of antiquity, they have brought the reproach of certain vices; even the patriarchs had
their weaknesses; the Lord Jesus Christ is alone
without a blemish; He is the image of the invisible Father who dwells among heavenly places.
Pure and holy as the Son of God, tabernacling in
the flesh, the love of God and man inspired His
soul; infinitely superior to the vain glory of the
world, He perseveres, through suffering, to achieve
His grand object, in man's recovery and salvation; constraining all, by the power of His virtues, to believe His doctrine, and to imitate the
perfection of His character. He was amiable and
accessible; His charity was unlimited: the Apostle gives us an idea in two words-He went about
doing good. His resignation to the will of God
distinguished Him every moment of His career;
8




86            OUR SAVIOUR.
He was affectionate, and reciprocated friendship;
Lazarus, whom He raised from the dead, was His
friend, and He hallowed, as it were, this noblest
sentiment of the heart, by the performance of this
greatest of His miracles. He was also a model of
patriotism: "Jerusalem! Jerusalem!" he cried,
in uttering the judgment upon this guilty city,
" How often would I have gathered thy children,
as a hen gathers her brood under her wing, but
thou wouldst not!"   From the hill-top, as HIe
cast His eyes over this condemned city, given up
to a horrible destruction for her crimes; He could
not restrain His tears; IIe saw the city, says the
Apostle, and " Ie wept over it." Nor was IIis
patience less remarkable, when His disciples entreated Him to command fire from heaven on the
Samaritan city, where hospitality was refused to
Him: He turned upon them with indignation, and
replied: "ye know not what ye ask." If the Son
of man had descended from heaven with all His
power, it would not have been so noble a display
of the virtues, to endure these evils; but in this
lies the glorious mystery: the Messiah came as a
man of sorrows; Iis heart was acquainted with
grief, like His brethren; hardened unbelief, and
insensibility of soul, were the sole conditions
which drew down His severe displeasure. He
continually repeated: "Love one another; Father," He exclaimed upon the cross, "forgive




OUR SAVIOUR.                87
them, for they know not what they do.'  He
parted from Iis much-loved disciples in sadness;
He suffered the pangs of death, and the agonies
of the crucifixion; His sweat was, as it were, great
drops of blood falling down upon the ground; He
feared that His Father had forsaken Him. When
the angel presented to Him the bitter cup, he
said: " Oh! my Father! if it be possible, let this
cup pass from me; nevertheless, not my will, but
Thine be done." At this time, also, these words
escaped His lips, breathing the sublimity of grief:
" ly soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even unto
death." Ah! if the purest morality, and the
most tender heart-if a life spent in removing the
errors, and relieving the sufferings of mankind, are
attributes of the Divinity, who can deny that Jesus
Christ is God? Model of every virtue, friendship
could rest in His bosom-or observe the beautiful
confidence with which Jesus entrusts His mother
to the beloved disciple as His dying legacy. His
compassion is upon all the unfortunate, in relieving their wants, and wiping away their tears:
mark what admirable charity, in His judgment
upon the adulterous woman. How touching is
Hiis love for children! what kindness and candor!
The firmness of His soul illuminates the darkness
of the crucifixion, and His last breath is a sigh
of pity.




88           TIIE PASSIONS.
THE PASSIONS.
CIHRISTIANITY has changed the relations of the
passions, in changing the foundations of vice and
virtue.
From our examination of natural characters,
we come to consider the passions. We know that
it is almost impossible to speak of the first without embracing the second; but our design now is
to enlarge upon the last.
If a religion was known, whose primary object
was to put a curb upon the passions of men, such
a religion would invariably increase the play of
the passions in the drama of that epoch; she
would be more favorable to the description of the
sentiments than any religious institution which,
not recognising these heart-pleasures, could only
be acted upon by external objects. For in this
is the superiority of our worship over that of antiquity; the Christian religion is a celestial
breeze, which swells the sails of virtue, and multiplies the stormy conflicts of conscience around
vice. The foundations of morality have been
changed among men, at least among Christians,
ever since the preaching of the Gospel. For example, among the ancients it was accounted noble
to be of a haughty spirit, and humility was de



TIIE PASSIONS.              89
spised as a mean baseness: among Christians, on
the contrary, pride ranks as the greatest of vices,
and humility leads in the class of the virtues.
This transformation alone places nature in a new
light; and it will be our object to discover, in the
passions, an agreement or harmony which was obscured to those of earlier times.  Charity is the
root of all good; while vanity is at the source of
all that is evil in our nature; so that vicious passions are always founded on pride, while love enters into the composition of virtuous emotions.
You will recognise the justness of this principle,
in its application. For instance, why is it that
courage has been elevated into greater honor
among the moderns, than among the ancients?
How is it that a brutal instinct has been transformed into a virtue, and valor enlarged in its
proportions among us?
It is by the blending of humility, the Christian
virtue, with this instinct so naturally contrary to
it. From this union has arisen magnanimity, or
a poetical generosity -a kind of passion (which
chivalry has extended) quite unknown among the
ancients. One of our most cherished sentiments,
and perhaps the only one which the soul can
claim (all others are more or less selfish in their
nature, or their end), is friendship. And how
beautifully has Christianity elevated this pure
affection, by laying as its foundation-stone charity?
8*




90            TIIE PASSIONS.
Jesus Christ reposed upon the bosom of John;
and, when upon the cross, friendship's dying lips
breathed forth those memorable words, worthy of
a God: "Mother, behold thy Son: Son, behold
thy mother." Christianity, which has revealed to
us our double nature, and shown to us the contradictions of our being, and has penetrated to
the height and depth of our heart, is, like
ourselves, full of contrasts, since it presents to
us a Man-God, an Infant of days the master of
worlds, the creator of the universe issuing from
the weakness of a creature - Christianity, let us
tell you, in all these striking changes, is yet
pre-eminently devoted to friendship. This sentiment is as much strengthened by opposition of
qualities as by resemblances. In order that perfect friendship should exist between two persons,
they should have equal powers of attraction, and
of repulsion or opposition: their genius should be
of the same strength, but different in kind; contrary opinions, but similarity of principles; separated by their prejudices (or likes and dislikes),
but united by the same generous sensibilities;
variable humors, and yet similar tastes: in a
word, striking contrasts of character, and yet
noble harmonics of soul. This ardor which charity
sheds over the virtuous passions, gives to them a
divine character. In ancient times eternity of
sentiment was unknown, and passions were wrecked




THE PASSIONS.               91
fatally in the tomb. Friends, brothers, and relations parted from each other at death, and felt
that theirs was an eternal separation; to the
Greeks, and also to the Romans, the crowning
happiness was that the ashes of loved ones might
commingle at death; but how mournful it is,
when all must be closed up in an urn of sweet
and tender memories! polytheism had made man
a fixture in the past; Christianity has opened before him a future full of hope.
The enjoyment of right sentiments upon earth
is but a foreshadowing of the joys which await
us hereafter. The principle of affection is not
limited to this world; two beings who truly love
each other here below, are walking in the heavenly pathway, where they will meet again, if
guided by virtue; so that this forcible expression
of the poet - breathe out thy soul into that of thy
loved one —is literally true of two Christians.
In being disrobed of their body, they only remove an obstacle to their more spiritual union,
and their souls will enjoy perfect communion in
the bosom of the Eternal. Let us not believe,
however, that, in revealing to us the springs from
which our passions flow, Christianity has disenchanted life. Far from betraying the imagination, in examining everything, she has spread
clouds and shadows over things unprofitable to
our final estate; and is superior, in this respect,




92   DIDO, OR PASSIONATE LOVE.
to that daring philosophy which tries to penetrate
the nature of man, and to fathom all things. We
must not too deeply probe the recesses of the
heart; the truths which dwell there are among
the number of those which require twilight and
perspective. It is a folly to be incessantly reasoning among the passions, and applying the cold
judgment to the loving part of our being. This
idle curiosity leads gradually to the most generous objects; it dries up the sensibilities, and, so
to speak, deadens the soul: the mysteries of the
heart are like those of ancient Egypt; the profane who seek to discover them, without being
initiated by religion, are suddenly stricken with
death.
DIDO, OR PASSIONATE LOVE.
IN modern times we have advanced to this commingling of the intellect with the passions, this
new species of love, which, in its rarest and most
disinterested form, is denominated friendship.
The ancients were ignorant of the very name of
that which is properly called love, among us.
Christianity has brought this sentiment to its
perfection. She has unweariedly sought to refine
and elevate the affections of the heart, and even




DIDO, OR PASSIONATE LOVE.            93
to spiritualize those tendencies which appeared to
be the least susceptible of her influences. This so
much disparaged religion has furnished a new
order of poetical combination to those very authors
who have derided it; one can perceive, in a large
class of romances, the beauties which have arisen
from this passion, although in them it is only half
Christianized.
Richardson's Clementina, for instance, is a
master-piece, which is not equalled even among
the classic writers of Greece. But let us examine
this subject more closely; and, without speaking
of rural love, we will consider passionate love.
This is not so holy an affection as conjugal fidelity, nor has it the simplicity of pastoral love;
but, more extravagant than either, it ravages the
soul where it reigns.
Not strengthened by the seriousness of marriage, nor influenced by the innocence of rural
manners, allowing no other fascination but its
own, it is, at the same time, its own illusion, its
own substance, and its own folly. It is unknown
to the mechanic and the laborer; the one is too
busy, and the other too natural-for this passion only lives among the wealthier classes of
society, whose leisure and indolence impose heavy
taxes upon the heart, whose self-love is tormentingly active. Christianity, it is true, lights up the
dark abyss of our passions; and the most distin



94   DIDO, OR PASSIONATE LOVE.
guished orators of the Church have pictured the
disorders of the soul, with the most powerful
effect. How truthfully has Bourdaloux portrayed
the ambitious man! And Massillon, how successfully has he brought, out of the recesses of our
souls, our weaknesses and errors!  "It is the
character of this passion," says this eloquent
man, "of absorbing the whole heart, &c.: one is
fit for nothing; but, spell-bound, as it were, by
this madness; rushing wildly hither and thither,
retracing everywhere the fatal image, everywhere
inordinate desires are awakened, whether in the
world, or in solitude, as often by distance as by
proximity, either by the most trifling or the most
serious objects, even the holy temple itself, its
sacred altars, its solemn mysteries, all alike subserve these passionate remembrances."
"It is an unruly distemper," continues this
same orator, in his sermon upon the sinful woman
(John chap. viii., ver. 3, &c.), "to fix our hearts
upon that which can neither advance our moral
perfection, nor contribute to our true welfare, or
lasting contentment of soul; for, to love, is to
seek happiness in the object we love; it is to demand and obtain, in the beloved object, all our
souls need; we appoint it a savior for the soul's
emptiness, to fill up the frightful chasm of which
our hearts are conscious; and we fondly flatter
ourselves that it will be able to supply all our




DIDO, OR PASSIONATE         LOVE.    95
need; in it we imagine to have secured satisfaction for all our desires, a remedy for all ills, a dispenser of all our blessings...     But this
creature-affection is filled with disappointment,
and is cruelly variable and insecure; doubts are
forever arising, whether our love is reciprocated;
the heart restlessly torments itself with jealous
fears, and vague suspicions; is it true and faithful, more deeply it will suffer; it will become the
martyr to its own distrust: it is not necessary
that I should tell you what your own experience
teaches, or that I should address you in the style
of your inordinate passions."
In this strange sickness, the presence of the
object exerts at once a magical influence, and an
irresistible power. Dido has continued to occupy
herself with the cares of her government, and the
interests of her native city; a storm arises, and
brings a hero to her coast. The queen is no
longer mistress of herself; a violent passion is
enkindled in her soul; she forgets her kingdom,
her discretion, and her virtue, and madly resigns
her heart to its captor. But, alas, repentance
too soon follows; the spell is broken, and the disenchantment is complete. Dido suddenly awakens
as from a dream; she looks around her in terror,
and finds herself alone and deserted, trembling,
as it were, upon the edge of a frightful precipice.
How soon has this charming abode vanished, of




96   DIDO, OR PASSIONATE LOVE.
which love had been the fairy architect! Cloudpalaces, illuminated by the sun for a single moment, and then suddenly extinguished forever!
Dido rushes out wildly, calling after, and seeking.Eneas.
Treacherous one! how vain was thy hope to
escape clandestinely from these shores, or to
hide thy cruel designs from me. Could not our
love, nor this hand which I have bestowed upon
thee, nor yet Dido, ready to be consumed upon
the funeral pile- could not these arrest thy
steps?
How eloquent is the grief, the passion, the
truth, from the heart of this betrayed one! The
crushing emotions of her soul rush up so wildly,
that her language becomes incoherent and disjointed, and her utterance becomes trembling and
oppressed.
Observe the authorities whom she quotes in her
supplications. Is it in the name of the gods, or
of a sovereign, she speaks? No! She makes
no account of the forsaken and humbled Dido;
but with meekness and love she entreats the son
of Venus, by her tears and by her own hand
given to the perfidious one; if to this she joins a
loving remembrance, it is but an effort to revive
its influence over XEneas; by our nuptials, by our
interrupted union..




DIDO, OR PASSIONATE LOVE.            97
She addresses also the places that witnessed
her happiness, for it is natural to the unfortunate
to animate or personify with their own emotion
all the objects which surround them; abandoned
by their fellow-creatures, they seek for pity by
awakening the insensible objects around them
with their sorrow. This roof, this friendly fireside, where she formerly sheltered the unworthy
one, are the true gods for Dido.... Afterwards, with the dexterity of a woman, and a
loving-hearted one, she recalls gradually the
remembrance of Pygmalion, and of Iarbas, in
order to arouse either the generosity or the jealousy
of the Trojan hero. She imagines that ZEneas
will be irresistibly moved by such a torrent of
tears, imprecations, and prayers: in these moments of folly, the passions, incapable of pleading their cause with success, leave no method
untried, even when their words are but wafted
o'er the air, or lost upon the wind.
9




98     TIIE CHRISTIAN RELIGION
TIHE CHRISTIAN RELIGION AS A PASSION.
NOT satisfied with enlarging the sphere of the
passions, in the drama and in the epoch, the
Christian religion is herself a kind of passion,
which has her transports, her enthusiasm, her
joys and sorrows, as well as her sighs and tears;
and she has also her devotees of the world, and
her lovers of solitude. This, we are aware, will
be derided by the world as fanaticism: our reply
shall be in the language of Rousseau: " Fanaticism, though occasionally cruel and sanguinary,
is, nevertheless a passion, which elevates the human heart, and renders it capable of great and
noble efforts, and triumphs over death itself;
which imparts to man a wonderful interior strength,
and only requires a wise direction, to gush forth
into the most sublime and noble virtues. Whereas
infidelity has, in general, a rationalistic and transcendental spirit, permeating all life, and enervating
and paralyzing the soul, concentrating every impulse in the meagerness of a selfish isolation, and
in the subjection of humanity, and thus insidiously
undermining the foundation of all society: so little
has individualism in common, that it will never
equalize the opposing principles of ordinary life."
But for the present we shall dismiss this question;




AS A PASSION.                99
now, we are chiefly occupied with the dramatical
effect. For Christianity herself, regarded as a
passion, is a grand reservoir of treasures to the
poet. This religious passion is so much the more
energised, that she is in contradiction with all
others, and that she must consume all with her
sacred fire, which threaten to become her rivals.
Like all great emotions, she is tinctured with
seriousness, and even sadness; she leads through
the cloistered aisles, and upon the solitary mountains. Christian excellence is not perishable-it
is an eternal beatitude, for which the disciples of
Plato sighed, and were willing to depart from
earth. She veils herself to her earthly aspirants;
she folds the drapery of the universe around her
as a mantle; for, if but a single gleam falls
directly upon the heart of man, he would not be
able to sustain it, he would be overwhelmed amid
unutterable delights. To realize the enjoyment
of this supreme excellence, Christians have selected
a different pathway from that of the Athenian
philosophers. Their abode in this world was a
continual self-denial, and by thus sanctifying
their life-work, they became more prepared to
possess the object of their desires.... Massillon, in describing this heavenly affection, thus
proceeds: "The Holy One, the Lord alone is
good, true, faithful, constant to His promises,
amiable in His arrangements, magnificent in His




100   THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION
gifts, sympathizing in His tenderness, indulgent
even in His anger; the one only Being, great
enough to fill the heart's immensity; the alone
One powerful enough to satisfy every desire; the
One who is alone generous enough to heal every
grief, who alone'hath immortality' forever to be
loved! indeed, the one Being, whom we shall ever
regret to have so long delayed to love."
The author of the "Imitation of Jesus Christ"
has given selections from St. Augustine, and the
other Fathers of the Church, expressing the divine
love in the most glowing and impassioned language:
" Truly, love is a great good, love is a most desirable wealth; it will make the heaviest burdens
light, and it will endure with equanimity the varied discipline of this life; pain itself will lose its
poignancy, and the bitterest draught will become
sweet and pleasant." " The love of God is expansive; it enkindles the noblest emotions in the
soul, and inspires with desires after infinite perfection."  "Love leads ever upwards- higher,
higher, it will not permit itself to be enchained by
earthly objects."  "Love would be free, and
would disentangle the affections from earth, lest
its inward light should be dimmed, and lest it
should be dazzled by its riches, or subdued by its
adversities." "There is not, whether it be in
heaven or on earth-whether it be gentle or pow



AS A PASSION.              101
erful-either more elevated or more expansiveeither more agreeable or more satisfying-in fine,
love is beyond all our comparisons, because love
is of God, and, thus elevating itself above every
creature, it can nowhere find rest but in God."
"He who loves is always happy; he runs, he
flies, he is free, he cannot be enchained; he resigns everything, and yet possesses all things, because he reposes in the one only Being and Sovereign, who is above all, and who is the dispenser
of every good and perfect gift."  " He rests not
satisfied in the gifts; but gives up his whole soul
to the glorious Giver." "He only who thus loves,
can comprehend the desires of love, and the earnest words which a soul awakened by God addresses to Him, when exclaiming:'Thou art my
God, thou art my beloved, thou art mine, and I
am thine.' Attend, my heart, that thou mayest
learn this depth of love by an interior and spiritual taste, enjoy this sweetness of love, and float
thyself, thus to speak, in this ocean of thy love."
" He who nobly loves," continues the author of
the Imitation "will remain firm in temptations,
and will never give way to the artifices of his
enemy." And it is this Christian passion, it is
this grand quarrel between the loves of earth,
and the loves of heaven, which Corneille has described in his admirable dialogue..  This
sentence, twice repeated: "I am a Christian,"
9*




102   TIIE CHRISTIAN      RELIGION.
equals the finest sayings of the classics. Corneille, who is so conversant with the sublime, has
conceded that the religious affection was capable
of the highest elevation of enthusiasm, since the
Christian loves God as the supreme excellence,
and heaven as his native home...   No
affection can be permanent, which is not cemented
by virtue; the soul seeks truth; when led into
error, it is because falsehood assumes for the
moment the guise of truth. We are incessantly
betrayed into deception, and yet we hate lying;
this feebleness of soul attaches to us from our
original depravity; we have lost moral power, and
yet retain the evil proclivity; and we earnestly
seek the light which our impaired vision cannot
endure. The Christian religion, by the merits of
the Son of man, has reopened to us a brilliant
pathway through the shades of death, and has restored us to our birthright. Heirs with Jacob in
the promised land, the Christian pants to enter
this celestial City, the New Jerusalem, where his
possessions are reserved. And this celestial affection, which our poets can chant after the manner
of Corneille, unlocks a treasury of gems unknown
to olden times, and which would not have been
neglected by either Sophocles or Euripides.




UNDISCIPLINED       PASSIONS.     103
UNDISCIPLINED PASSIONS.
IT is important to observe the condition of the
soul, which, as a prelude to the passions, has been
overlooked. In the undeveloped state of the passions-young, bracing, and ardent-they are imprisoned, as it were, and consequently feed upon
each other, without an end or object. As nations
advance in civilization, this irregularity of the
passions will be increased; for it is a sad truth,
that the living examples around, no less than the
flood of publications which treat of men and manners, will but serve to give a premature wisdom,
without its practical experienee. Joy eludes us,
and deceptions follow us; we recall our restless
desires, and our dreamy illusions vanish. Imagination is prolific, abundant, and wonderful; everyday existence is poor, arid, and disenchanted.
One dwells with a warm, living heart in an empty
world; one is dissatisfied with everything, without
learning the value of anything. This state of
soul infects life with a bitterness that is incredible; the heart turns and tortures itself in a hundred ways to employ and consume its unprofitable
energy. The ancients knew little of this secret
disquietude, this poignancy of stifled passions,
which prey upon each other. Politics, or the




104   UNDISCIPLINED       PASSIONS.
business of the forum, or the exercises of the
gymnasium, or of the martial field, as well as the
affairs of every-day life, engaged their attention,
and allowed no time or space for this weariness
of the heart. Nor were they disposed to indulge
extravagant expectations, vain hopes, or objectless
fears; nor were they subject to the same flexibility of opinion, and practice, or love of variety,
and change, which is a fruitful source of discontent and discouragement.... Indeed, the
Greeks and Romans did not extend their vision
beyond the concerns of this life, and had no suspicion of pleasures superior to the joys around
them; their religious worship, unlike ours, did
not lead out of the finite into the infinite, or inspire them with a taste for meditation and prayer.
The adaptation of the Christian religion to the
evils of our condition and necessities, ever portrays to us the two pictures of heavenly delights
against earthly sorrows; and by this means she
opens in the heart an inexhaustible source of
hopeful reveries, amid its present contingency of
evils with its future glowing hopes. The Christian calls himself a pilgrim, passing through a
valley of tears, and finds rest only in the grave.
The world is not the object of his desires, for he
knows that man has but a few days to live, and
the world with all that is therein is swiftly passing away.




FA ITH.                105
The persecutions which the primitive Christians
endured, assisted to promote this dissatisfaction
with the objects of time and sense. Frequently
robbed of their estates by invading enemies, their
hearts received an impression of sadness, and perhaps even of misanthropy, which was never fully
overcome..
Thence has arisen a sinful melancholy (in
fleeing from the duties of active life) enkindled
by this play of the passions —  hen these passions, without an object, become self-consumers
in a solitary heart.
FAITI.
AND which were the virtues so much recommended by the sages of Greece? Strength, temperance, and discretion. Jesus Christ could alone
teach to the world that faith, hope, and charity,
are virtues which suit no less the ignorance than
the misery of men. Undoubtedly, this is a profound reason, which portrays faith to us as the
source or foundation of the virtues. In this conviction is power or efficacy. An argument is not
strong, a poem is not inspired, a painting is not
striking, but because the mind or eye which
judges of it is convinced of a certain truth con



106               FAITH.
cealed in this argument, this poem, this picture.
A small number of soldiers, persuaded of the skilfulness of their general, might perform miracles.
Thirty-five thousand Grecians followed Alexander
to the conquest of the world; Lacedsemonia
placed confidence in Lycurgus, and Lacedsemonia
became the wisest of cities; Babylon believed
herself intended for greatness, and in her grandeur she was prostituted to her worldly faith; an
oracle gave the world to the Romans, and the
Romans obtained the world; Columbus alone, of
all mankind, was obstinate in his belief of a new
universe, and a new universe was wafted to him
by fortune. Friendship, patriotism, love, all the
noble sentiments, are also a kind of faith. It was
because they believed, that Codrus and Pylades,
and Regulus and the Arrians, worked wonders.
Hence it happens that hearts which have no belief or trust, which treat as illusions the attachments of the soul, and noble actions as madnesswho regard with pity the imaginations and the
tenderness of genius, on this account - these
hearts never achieve anything great or generous:
they have no faith but in matter and in death,
and they are already as insensible as the one, and
as icy as the other. In the language of ancient
chivalry, give out, or manifest thy faith, was synonymous with all the prodigies of honor. Roland,
Du Guesclin, and Bayard, were trusty chevaliers;




FAITH.                 107
and the fields of Roncevalles, D'Auray, De
Brescy, the descendants of the Moors, the Enlish, the Lombards, transmit to posterity the
heroic men, who had faith and confidence in their
God, their lady-love, and their king. What antique and touching ideas attach themselves to one
single word, fireside,* the etymology of which is
so remarkable! Shall we mention the martyrs,
the heroes, who, as St. Ambrose relates, without
armies, without legions, have vanquished tyrants,
softened lions, took from the flaming fire its
violence, and drew from the piercing sword its
sharpness?
Faith itself, concealed under this figure, is a
power so terrible, that she would overturn the
world, if she were applied to perverse ends.
There is nothing impossible to a man under the
influence of a strong conviction, and who unconditionally submits his reason to that of another
man. This proves that the most eminent virtues,
when they separate from God, and when they are
considered in their simple moral relations, approximate the greatest vices. If philosophers had
made this discovery, they would not have taken
so much pains to fix the limits of good and evil.
Christianity has not required a scale, or shell,
like that of Aristotle, to place there, ingeniously,
Our beautiful English word, " home," is not expressed
in French.




108               FAITH.
one virtue between two vices; it has decided the
difficulty more surely, by showing us that the virtues are virtues only so far as they reflow towards
their source; that is to say, towards God.
The virtues of society grow out of faith; since
it is true, by the unanimous agreement of the
wise, that the doctrine which commands a belief
in a Deity, who punishes and rewards, is the
firmest support of politics and morals. If we
apply faith to her legitimate ends, and cause her
to look upwards towards the Creator; if we make
her the intellectual eye, by which we discover the
wonders of the holy city, and the empire or domain of real existences; if she applies her wings
to your soul, to elevate you above the trials of
life, you will acknowledge that the Bible has not
exalted this virtue too much, when the prodigies
are told which can be performed through her
sacred influences. Celestial faith! Consolatory
faith! Thou doest more than transport mountains; thou bearest the grievous burdens which
oppress mankind.




HOPE AND CHARITY.              109
HOPE AND CHARITY.
HOPE, the second theological virtue, has almost
the same strength as faith; desire is the father
of power; whoever strongly desires, obtains. Jesus
Christ said: "Seek, and ye shall find; knock,
and it shall be opened unto you." Pythagoras says,
in the same sense: "Power dwells near necessity;
for necessity implies privation, and privation walks
side by side with desire." Desire, or hope, is a
true genius, and the originator of power. It
is that, in man's estate, to which he is born, and
that innate aspirating which is never extinguished.
Does a man find himself defeated in his endeavors,
it is because he had not desired with earnestness;
it is that he is wanting in that love which grasps,
sooner or later, the object to which he aspires;
of that love which, in the Divine Being, embraces
all and rejoices over all worlds, with a boundless
and ever-satisfying hope, and which revivifies itself continually.
There is, however, an essential difference between faith and hope, as regards their vigor.
Faith receives her inspiration from without; she
comes to us as a stranger. Hope, on the contrary,
receiving her influence from within, pleasantly
diffuses herself around and beyond us. The first
is imposed upon us; the second springs from our
10




110       HOPE AND CIARITY.
own wishes; that is an obedience, this a love, or
an affection. But, from faith, the other virtues
flow more naturally as she proceeds direct from
God; consequently, being an emanation from the
Eternal, she is more beautiful than hope, which is
but a part of man; therefore, the Church has
justly placed faith in the first rank. But hope
offers in herself an individual character; it is that
which brings her in connection with our miseries.
Undoubtedly, that religion which makes a virtue
of hope was revealed from Heaven! This nurse
of the unhappy, placed near to man, is like a mother near her sick child, who cradles it in her
arms, nourishes it from her maternal fountains,
presenting the refreshing cordial which soothes
its grief. She sits a watcher at its lonely pillow,
and lulls it asleep by her magical songs. Is it
not strange to see hope, whose office it is so
gently to guard us, and which seems a spontaneous
movement of the soul, transformed, for the Christian, into a virtue strictly enjoined? so that he
would be obliged to take a long draught at this
enchanted cup, where so many sorrowful ones
esteemed themselves happy if but for a moment
they could moisten their lips. Nay more, and
here is the marvel, he will be rewarded for having
hoped, for having, in this manner, secured his
own felicity. The faithful, always militant in this
life, ever contending with the enemy, are treated




HOPE AND CHARITY.             111
by religion, even in their defeat, like the conquered generals whom the Roman senate received
in triumph, for the sole reason that they had not
despaired of final safety. But if the man whom
hope never abandoned was, by the ancients, regarded as something remarkable, what would they
have thought of the Christian, who no longer
talks about hope, but cherishes it as his life? As
to charity, daughter of Jesus Christ, in the proper
sense she signifies kindness and joy. Religion,
wishing to convert the human heart, and to direct
our affections and our tenderness to advantage,
has invented a new passion; she has, in order to
explain it, availed herself neither of the word
love, which is not sufficiently rigid, nor of the
word friendship, which loses itself in the tomb,
neither of the word pity, which is too nearly
allied to pride; but she has found the expression,
charity, which embraces love, friendship, and
pity, and which, at the same time, contains
something celestial, or heavenly. By this she
directs our thoughts towards heaven, refining
them, and reconveying them towards the Creator; by this she teaches us this wonderful truth,
that men should, so to speak, love themselves
through God, which spiritualizes their love; thus
employing this immortal essence as a conductor
towards him. But if charity, directly emanating
from the Eternal, and from his word, is a Chris



112       HOPE AND CHARITY.
tian virtue, she is also in strict alliance with nature. It is this uninterrupted harmony of heaven
and earth, of God and humanity, by which the
character of the true religion is recognized.
The moral and political institutions of antiquity
are often in opposition with the feelings of the
soul.  Christianity, on the contrary, ever in
agreement with the affections, does not command
abstract and solitary virtues, but virtues drawn
from our wants, and useful to us. It has placed
charity as a well of abundance in the midst of
the deserts of life. " Charity," says the Apostle,
"suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth
not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed
up; doth not behave itself unseemly; seeketh
not her own; is not easily provoked; thinketh
no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth
in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all
things, hopeth all things, endureth all things."




DESIRE OF HAPPINESS.            113
DESIRE OF IAPPINESS.
WERE there no other proofs of the existence of
God than the wonders of nature, these are so
striking, that they would be sufficient to satisfy
any sincere inquirer after truth. But if those
who deny a Providence find it difficult to explain
these miracles, without acknowledging a superintending Mind, they will find themselves still more
embarrassed in answering the questions of their
own hearts. In renouncing a Supreme Being,
they are obliged to deny a future existence; and
yet their soul is troubled and uneasy; she presents herself, as it were, before them, and compels them to acknowledge, in spite of all sophistries, her existence and immortality. If, as
they believe, the soul is extinguished in the
tomb, whence arises this restless desire of happiness which torments us?
It is not impossible to satisfy our earthly passions; love, ambition, anger, can be fully satisfied;
this soul-thirst is the only want which seems to have
no answering object; for we know not, indeed,
the nature of that felicity for which we sigh. We
must grant that, if all is material, nature has
made a grand failure; she has created an instinct, which can find no response or adaptation
10*




114     DESIRE    OF HAPPINESS.
to anything. It is certain that the soul demands
an infinite good; for no sooner is she in possession of her coveted object, than she desires anew
-the universe itself cannot satisfy her. Infinity
is the only platform upon which she can expand
herself; she enjoys arithmetical problems, in measuring the grandest and the smallest dimensions.
In fine, excited and inflamed, rather than content
with what is discovered, she ardently flies to the
bosom of God, whence flow all ideas of the infinite, in perfection, in time, and in space. But she
plunges herself into this Divinity, because this
Divinity is unsearchable. " Clouds and darkness
are round about Him." Ps. 97, ver. 2. "Verily
Thou art a God, that hidest Thyself, 0 God of
Israel, the Saviour." Isaiah, chap. xlv. ver. 15.
Could she even obtain a distinct view, she would
disdain it, like all the other objects of her measurement. And there is some reason in this; for,
if the soul could perfectly explain the eternal
principle or divine essence, she would be either
superior to this principle, or at least an equal.
The rule is different with respect to divine and
human objects; a man may understand the power
of a king without being a prince; but a man who
comprehends God must be God. For the animal
creation is not perplexed with these aspirations
which convulse man's heart; the frisking lamb is
happy upon the meadow turf, and the tiger is




DESIRE OF     IAPPINESS.        115
content with his pristine range. If, as some philosophers assert, the different arrangement of the
organs constitute the only advance which man has
made over the brutes, this reasoning might be admitted for purely mechanical acts; but of what
service is my hand to my thought, when, in the
clearness of a starry night, I glance throughout
all space to find the Director of so many worlds?
Why does not the ox imitate me? The instincts
of nature suffice for him; my feet and my arms
would be useless incumbrances; he can slumber
upon the green sward, or raise the head towards
the sky, and ask in his roaring after that unknown
Being who fills immensity with His presence. But
no! satisfied with the turf upon which he treads,
he asks no questions of the firmament, nor of the
brilliant suns, which declare there is a God!
These spectacles impress not the unconscious animal; and yet, as he peacefully obeys nature's
laws, and rests beneath the shade-trees, he is
himself no small proof of a Provident Creator.
The only creature who is not sufficient to himself,
and who is continually seeking something beyond
and above, is man. They tell us the peasantry
feel nothing of this disquietude; undoubtedly, they
are happier than skeptical philosophers, as they are
diverted from these anxieties by their daily toil;
the sweat of the brow allays for a season this insatiate thirst after happiness. But, when you




116     DESIRE OF HAPPINESS.
observe them toiling for six days of the week, in
order to enjoy a seventh day's rest, ever seeking, yet finding not repose, until death comes
to them in the midst of their heart-longing, will
you tell us, that they share not the secret aspirations of all men after an unknown felicity? It is
pretended that the narrow bounds of earth can
satisfy, but it is not the fact; for, offer to the
poorest laborer the richest gifts, relieve all his
wants, and give him perfect repose- after a few
months have elapsed, he will again become weary,
and a prey to new desires.... If it is impossible to deny that man's aspirations reach even
to the tomb; if it is certain that the wealth of
earth, far from allaying this thirst, only serves to
deepen the soul's need, and to increase its avidity,
we must of necessity conclude that there is a
something beyond time. " The ties of this world,"
says St. Augustine, " are attended with real hardship, and false pleasures; with real sorrows, and
evanescent joys; with severe labor, and but little
repose; with many afflictions, and but empty
joys. Far from complaining that the desire of
happiness has been placed in this world, and her
attainment in the next, let us in this admire the
goodness of God. Since we must, either sooner
or later, leave this world, Providence has extended
a powerful attraction beyond its boundaries, to
draw us thither, and to diminish the terrors of




REDEMPTION.               117
the tomb: when a mother would encourage her
child to leap over an obstacle in the pathway, she
extends to him, from the other side, an agreeable
object, to allure him onwards."
REDEMPTION.
ALTHOUGH the Trinity will ever be to man, in
this life, a mysterious truth, yet redemption opens
the wonderful history of his humanity, his destination, and his soul....  The Trinity
confounds our thoughts, overwhelms us with
glory, and we shrink into nothingness before the
Triune Jehovah. But the affecting history of
redemption, in filling our eyes with tears, prevents their being too much dazzled, and encourages us to fix them at least a moment upon the
Cross. Out of this mystery arises the doctrine
of original sin, which reveals man's nature and
trial. Reject this truth, received by tradition
among all nations, and we are immersed in impenetrable darkness. In what manner shall we
otherwise account for the vicious proclivities of
our nature, which are resisted by an inward
voice, telling us we were made for virtue? How
otherwise, but by a principle of declension, can
we account for the ages of toil man has endured,




118           REDEMPTION.
" eating his bread in the sweat of his brow;" his
constant exposure to sorrow, and trial, and tears;
the misfortunes of the righteous, and the fearless
impunity of the wicked?
The philosophers of antiquity, owing to their
ignorance of this fact, were betrayed into many
curious doctrinal errors. We require no other
proof of the fatal truth, of the sad tainture of
our birthright, than the recollection of the curse
pronounced upon Eve, which is being fulfilled
every day before our eyes, and which the Redeemer came to remove. What mysteries foretell
man's twofold destiny, enfolded in the joys and
sorrows of maternity! How wonderful are the
ways of the Most High! how merciful, even in
His justice! After all, every day we witness examples of the father's crimes visited upon his son,
and a long course of wickedness culminating upon
the head of a virtuous descendant —strong proof,
alas! of a taint in the blood. But a God of
mercy and of grace, foreseeing the consequences
of our lapsed condition, has come down from heaven, and devoted himself to save us. Let us not
appeal so much to our understandings, as to our
hearts, all weak and guilty as we are, in regarding the death of the Just One for the sinner. If
this Son, "beloved of the Father;" this example
of obedience, and of faithful affection; Olivet's
prayerful retreat, the bitter cup, this bloody




REDEMPTION.               119
sweat, this soul-agony, this sublime virtue, this
cross, this broken rock, this rended veil, this
darkened sun; if thus beholding God dying for
man will not soften our hearts, and enkindle our
love, it is to be feared we shall forever be incapable of apprehending the sublime in action, an embodied miracle..
Upon the scheme of redemption we shall hazard
some thoughts, in order to show that the Christian theory is not so absurd as some vain philosophers would suppose. Universal tradition teaches
that man was created in a perfect state, from
which he has fallen. This opinion has been supported by the learned of every age and country,
as the only rational solution of man's present moral
condition. Thus man becoming mortal and imperfect through his disobedience, has forfeited his
original destination to immortality and perfection.
The question is, how to recover him from this
condition? He cannot reach it through his own
energy, for the same reason that a sick man cannot exercise the same elevation of thought that
would be feasible to a healthy mind. We see
here at once a disproportion between the weight
to be raised, and the power required to move it;
there is, then, a necessity of some help on our
side, or of a Redeemer. Your arguments are all
very well for the early ages, they reply, but we
are fully equal to attain our immortality. How




120           REDEMPTION.
unjust and absurd, to punish us all for the sins
of our ancestors!
Without pronouncing upon the right or wrong
of the matter for the present, we shall be satisfied that there is, in fact, such a law. Everywhere
around us we behold innocent children, suffering
through the parent's neglect and guilt; it is a
natural physical law which seems to pervade the
universe. Unfortunate children enter into life
laden with diseases, through the parent-veins. Do
we, then, complain of nature? Why should we?
The sicknesses of the soul, like bodily ills, perpetuate themselves by a common law; and a man
will receive, in his latest posterity, the meet reward of his deeds. Universal tradition confirms
the fall of man, the transmission of natural and
physical evils from generation to generation; yet
the original destiny of man was to perfection of
nature and of being. Redemption is, then, a necessity, if humanity is ever to be restored to its
original state from which it has fallen. This truth,
once admitted, will discover to us the way in
which it may be restored. This power must either
be in man, or above man. In man, in order to
redeem, the price must bear a proportionate value
to that which is to be redeemed. Or, let us imagine, for a moment, that sinful and mortal man
should himself attempt to regain his perfect and
immortal destination. How could sinful man




REDEMPTION.               121
atone for his own sins, much less for the evils of
a world? Heaven seems to have waited until four
thousand years had rolled on from the fall until
the recovery, in order to let mankind prove how
insufficient the entire race of humanity were for
such an offering. We can arrive at no other conclusion, but that a Redeemer must be found in a
condition above man.
Milton has a sublime idea, when he supposes
that, after the fall, the Eternal demands of the
affrighted heavens if there was one who would
sacrifice himself for the salvation of humanity.
Profound silence rested upon the angelic assembly; and, amid the countless orders of seraphim
and cherubim, of thrones and dominions, of angels
and archangels, not one was inspired to offer himself for this sacrifice.
This imagination of the poet is a grand theological truth,... If the Son of Man himself found the cup bitter, how could ever an angel
have carried it to his lips? He could not have
drank it to the dregs, and thus the sacrifice would
have failed to be accomplished. Our Redeemer
must, then, come from the Godhead; must be one
of the three persons existing from all eternity; we
see the Son, by His divine nature, is the one alone
to redeem us. The Lamb of God, which dwelt in
His bosom; the well-beloved Son, medium which
reunites the two extremes - life-principal in nal




122           REDEMPTION.
ture-He alone could reconcile man to His Creator. He came - this new Adam - man according to the flesh - man-perfect in keeping the law,
yet God-man according to His Essence. This
humiliation of Christ to atone for man's pride, is
the most wonderful of all mysteries. Christianity
is not affected by vain witticism, or scoffing
ribaldry. The Gospel was designed for honest,
simple minds; the promises are to the poor in
spirit: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs
is the kingdom of God;" its precepts are all plain,
so that "a wayfaring man, though a fool, shall
not err therein."  Her doctrines have their home
in the heart, and not only in the head; she does
not teach us how to argue, but how to live. Nevertheless, the wisest philosopher may find therein a
mine of untold wealth for his research. The
Bible is the fountain of divine truth; the most
affecting histories, with the sublimest actions, are
intermingled with the most profound mysteries,
and the most guileless simplicity. Such are the
truths of Revelation, that we expect to find a
natural eloquence in the Gospel, although destitute of all scientific display; so divine is their
authority that, to admit one point, you are constrained to accept all. For, if you hope to escape
by denying one fact, such for instance as original
sin, soon carried on from one conclusion to another, you will be obliged to resort to atheism;




REDE MPTION.               123
but, from the instant of acknowledging its first
truth, there is a God, you will be compelled to
believe in the Christian religion, despite all your
previous notions and dogmas, as Clarke and Pascal have remarked.  This, as it seems to us, is
one of the strongest proofs of Christianity.  In
conclusion, we feel no surprise as we behold the
heavenly orbs rolling on, for century after century, over our heads, without confusion or disruption; we can believe that, in a worship established
by Himself, we should find the same law of order,
and beautiful adjustment; we are not astonished
that He should cause the attractions and grandeur
of His mysteries to turn in the circle of an irresistible logic, as He causes the stars, in their
orbits, to bring again to us the refreshing flowers,
after the wintry storm, each necessary and beautiful in their season. It is difficult to conceive
of the infidelity of this age. If it is true, as philosophers assert, that religion is necessary for
mankind, what form of worship should we exchange for that of our forefathers? We have a
sickening recollection of "the reign of terror,"
when men attempted to rear altars to liberty over
the wrecks of Christianity. With one hand they
prepared scaffolds for their fellows; and with the
other they wrote over their temples: Eternity,
to God, and death (or annihilation) to man-these
very temples wherein crowds of unfortunates had




124     CHRISTIANITY       A GREAT
been once gathered, to receive consolation, where
the God of the universe was once worshippedthese very temples were now dedicated to a virtue,
whom no one recognised, and to the Goddess of.eason, who never yet dried a tear.
CHRISTIANITY A GREAT BLESSING TO MANKIND.
FERVICES RENDERED TO SOCIETY BY TIE CLERGY, AND THE
CHRISTIAN RELIGION IN GENERAL.
IT is, in fact, no acknowledgement at all, when
we recognise only in a vague manner the benefits
which Christianity has conferred upon mankind.
We should adroitly penetrate into the nature of
her gifts, and portray the grace with which she
scatters her varied blessings, her remedies for human woes, her inexhaustible treasures, and her
intelligence, with the general expansion of her
resources. Religion ministers to our affections,
the delicacy of our thoughts, and even to our proper self-love; she accommodates herself to our
weakness, and gently sustains us. For ourselves,
who have been for years interested in this study:
so many lovely traits are revealed, such sure
foundations, so many surprising sacrifices appear,
that we are convinced that there is merit enough




BLESSING TO MANKIND.            125
in Christianity wherewith to expiate all the crimes
of men: celestial religion! which requires us to
love even this sad humanity which so unjustly
calumniates her. In order to present a general
idea of the immense benefits of religion, we shall
imagine Christianity to be a great republic, where
all that is operating in one part is at the same
time carried out in the other portions. Thus,
when we shall speak of hospitals, missions, or of
the colleges of France, the same may be said of
the missions, colleges, &c., of Italy, Spain, Germany, Russia, England, America, Africa, and of
India. We must see (to say the least) two hundred millions of men, who practice the same virtues, and make the same sacrifices. We must
recollect, at the same time, eighteen hundred
years have elapsed since these virtues were represented, and that these same acts of love and faith
have, during this long interval, been repeated
over and over again. But the mind fails in computing the number of individuals solaced and enlightened by Christianity, among so many nations,
and during such a long succession of ages!
11*




126             MISSIONS.
MISSIONS.
GENERAL IDEA OF MISSIONS.
HEREIN we see one of the great and novel
ideas which belongs only to the Christian religion. To the idolator this divine enthusiasm was
unknown, which animated the Apostle to the
Gentiles.  The ancient philosophers were far
enough from deserting their academic retreats,
and the luxuries and delights of Athens, to go, at
the beck of a divine impulse, to humanize the
savage, to instruct the ignorant, to heal the sick,
to clothe the naked, or to disseminate the seeds of
concord and peace among warlike nations: this is
what the Christian religion has done, and is doing
every day. The ocean storms, the polar ice and
gloomy day, the scorching tropics-none of these
things moved them; they lived with the Esquimaux, wrapped in his seal-skin, and with the
Greenlander they partook of his oily fare; they
scour the desert with the Tartar and Indian,
while they follow the wandering Arab, and travel
with the Caffre the burning desert sand. They
have their converts in China, Japan, India, and
there is no ocean isle, or reef, that has escaped
their zeal; and whereas, formerly, Alexander




MISSIONS.               127
wanted more kingdoms to feed his ambition, in
their love and faith they demand the earth itself
as their trophy.
When regenerated Europe became as a band
of brothers under the preaching of the Cross,
these disciples turned their attention towards
those regions which were still languishing under
the darkness of idolatry. They were moved with
compassion, in seeing this degradation of man;
they were constrained to devote themselves to the
salvation of these strangers. This heroic decision
led them through dismal marshes, into impenetrable forests, to plunge into foaming rivers, and to
ascend inaccessible rocks: it exposed them to the
jealousy of cruel and superstitious nations: on
the one hand, they had to contend with the barbarism of ignorance; while, on the other, they
were met by the prejudices and vices of civilization. They had counted the cost, and were firm
and steadfast in their benevolent attempt. Those
renegades who have revolted from the religion of
their fathers, will at least acknowledge that there
is a sublimity in the self-devotion of these missionaries, who, being fully persuaded that there is no
salvation but through the Gospel of Christ, submitted to unheard-of evils, in order to tell the
"good news" to every creature.
When a man, in the sight of an admiring
crowd, within view of his parents and friends, ex



128  DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY.
poses himself to death for his country, he only
exchanges a few short hours of life for ages of
glory. Through him, his family become illustrious, and are elevated to riches and honors. But
the missionary, whose life is consumed in the
depths of the forests, where he dies a frightful
death, unconsoled by even one sympathizing spectator, his deeds unheralded by fame, and leaving
no patrimony to his family - obscure, despised,
treated as a fool, an idiot, and a fanatic-submitting to every opprobrium, and to every hardship
and torture, in order to save the soul of an unknown savage -in what terms can we speak of
this death, this sacrifice?
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY.
IN perilous times, ought not every Christian to
be a priest, and confessor of Jesus Christ?
Most assuredly, Chateaubriand would never have
dreamed of writing in defence of Christianity,
were there not poems, and romances, and books
of all kinds, in which religion is derided and contemned. And it is well to defend religion from
impious sarcasms, and to prove that, if the infidel
pen can scandalize her as ignoble and ridiculous,
without taste or genius, as destitute of attraction or
tenderness, and as the enemy of all progress-the
religious writer should boldly plead her cause, and




DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 129
stamp her nobility, simplicity, and divine beauty
and attraction, and reclaim her from the abuse of
her ignorant opposers. Convince the young that
an honest man can be a Christian without being a
fool; dissipate the notion, that only rogues and
idiots embrace religion, and your cause will soon
be gained: the victory will require time, it is
true, but only attract their attention, and, in addition to reason and fact, draw out their affections, and you may lead them whithersoever you
will. Would you conduct your patient by a single track to the summit of a steep mountain?
Show him, at every step, the varied beauties
around him; allow him to pause, and gather the
lovely flowers which bloom upon the pathway;
and, by almost imperceptible degrees, he will
reach the top. This book has not been written
solely for the Christian, and the scholar, but for the
world, for persons in all conditions; it is designed
to interest the most trifling young man, and to
divert him from the pages of the insidious novel,
or infidel production. How! exclaims a well-intentioned but timid spirit, would you seek to make
religion popular? Ah! indeed, would to God
that religion was fashionable in this sense —that
Christianity would fashion the opinions of the
whole world. This, it is true, would offer a shelter to private hypocrisy; but it is certain, on the
other hand, to improve public morality. The rich




130 DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY.
would no longer tempt the poor, nor the master
corrupt the dependant, nor the father give atheistic principles to his children; religious observances would lead to faith in her doctrines, and,
with reviving piety, there would be a new era of
morality and virtue. Infidels have sought to enlist the popular voice in their support, or to make
impiety fashionable; and yet it is only the frivolous and perverted who are thus beguiled. Chateaubriand has studiously sought to efface this
impression; and how much stronger is his truthful simplicity than the brilliancy of error! Our
author would employ the same weapons in defence
of Christianity which are wielded against her: he
has united example with precept; he has shown
how religion embellishes and exalts our existence,
corrects our passions, without extinguishing them,
investing all employments in which she operates
with a peculiar interest. He points out the beautiful sympathy which unites her doctrines with the
heart's emotions, and with the scenes of nature;
that she is indeed the great consoler amid the
trials and misfortunes of life; and he is not content with merely advancing these sentiments, but
he proves them in his works. To enter into this
writer's spirit, to appreciate his works, we must
love religion, as well as perceive its utility. A
prominent idea is to make religion attractive to
our hearts, as well as to demonstrate its merits




TIHE SABBATH.              131
and utility to our understandings. Pascal says,
that two discoveries are found in the truths of our
religion, viz., a divine beauty which makes them
amiable, and a holy majesty which makes them
venerable. "The heart has reasons, which are
unfathomable to our understandings."
TIIE SABBATII.
WE have often before had occasion to remark
the beauty of this seventh day, which corresponds
to that of the rest from the Creation; this division of time was known in remotest antiquity. It
is of no consequence to inquire, at present, whether this obscure tradition of the creation was
transmitted to mankind through the descendants
of Noah, or whether shepherds discovered this
division of time by their observations of the stars;
but one thing is certain, that it is the most perfect
that any legislator could have enforced. Independently of its adaptation to the strength of
men and animals, there is also a geometrical harmony, with which the ancients sought to connect
the individual and general laws of the universe;
she gives six days for labor, and six, by two simple multiplications, gives the three hundred and
sixty days of the ancient year, and the three hundred and sixty degrees of circumference.




132           TIIE SABBATI.
We discover both grandeur and philosophy in
this religious law, which divides the circle of our
labors, as well as the revolutions of the stars. As
if man had no other cessation of his toils than the
consummation of ages, nor less space for his sorrows, than the duration of time itself. 
We know by experience that five days is too short
an interval of labor, and ten is too long. During
the reign of terror in France, the Convention
could not compel the peasants to labor for ten
successive days; the strength of man and of beast
was found inadequate to such a demand. Even
the oxen give out at the end of the sixth-day
labor, and seem to recognise the law marked by
the Creator for the general rest of His creatures.
The peasants say, our oxen know the Sabbath,
and will not labor upon that day.'" Even the ox
knoweth his owner, and the ass his master's crib;
but my people do not know, they do not consider."
The Sabbath secures two great objects, being at
the same time a day of leisure, and of religious
observance. There is a necessity that man should
relax his labors; but, as the civil law cannot reach
him in his pleasures, to remove all restraints, by
abolishing the religious law, is to replunge him
into a state of nature, and to leave him as a wild
savage in the midst of society. In order to avoid
this danger, the ancients made their day of rest
also a day of religious observance; and Chris



TIIE SABBIATII.            133
tianity has consecrated this example. However,
this blessed day of earth, this day of Jehovah's
repose, offended the spirit of a Convention who
had made alliance with death-because they were
worthy of such company. After six thousand
years of universal consent, after sixty ages of
hosannas, the wisdom of a Danton, in daring impiety, affected to discover evil in the workmanship
and laws of the Eternal, who had pronounced it
all "very good." He would immerse us in chaos,
and would substitute its traditionary ruin and
darkness for the creation-origin of light, and the
order of worlds; he wished to separate the French
people from all others, and to make them, like the
Jews, a hated and isolated race; a tenth-day, in
honor of the memory of Robespierre, was to be
substituted for the ancient Sabbath, hallowed from
time immemorial; this day sanctified by the worship of our fathers, regarded as a holiday and festival by millions upon millions of Christians upon
the surface of our globe; the rest and joy-day of
saints on earth, and of celestial bands; and
guarded, even so to speak, by God himself in the
ages of eternity.
12




134     SINGING AND PRAYER.
SINGING AND PRAYER.
IT is generally conceded that, in lyrical compositions, the Hebrews have no superior; thus the
Church which daily chants the lessons of the prophets, and the psalms, preserves a treasure in
these beautiful sacred melodies. There is also, in
the Gospels and the Epistles, an additional legacy
furnished by the Apostles. Racine, in imitating
these hymns, has confessed, with Malherbe and
Rousseau, that they were worthy of his muse....
This music of Israel upon the lyre of Racine could
not fail to please; no human voice is so powerful
as this inner cord, and soul-tune, which, as Plato
observes, sounds the morning alarum to those who
have strayed from virtue, by singing with omnipotent power in their hearts. But, without dwelling upon these hymns, the prayers used by the
Church are admirable; and it is only our habit
of repeating them from our infancy, which dulls
our perceptions of their excellence and beauty.
What enthusiasm of applause would embalm Plato
and Seneca, if their works should contain an expression of faith so simple, so pure, so clear as
this is: "I believe in one God, Father, all-powerful, Creator of heaven and earth, and of all things
visible and invisible." " Our Father who art in




SINGING AND PRAYER.            135
heaven." Herein we acknowledge one only true
God. "Hallowed be thy name."   God is alone
worthy of our adoration. All things else are vain
and unsatisfying. " Thy will be done on earth as
it is in heaven." Sublime sentiment, which comprehends all the Divine attributes: holy confidence, and resignation, which embrace the physical and moral order of the universe. " Give us
this day our daily bread." How touchingly simple, yet philosophical! For what is man's real
need?-a morsel of bread, and that required only
day by day; for, will to-morrow be for him?
" Who knoweth what a day may bring forth?"
"And forgive us our offences as we forgive those
who have offended against us."  Herein is contained both morality and charity. "Lead us not
into temptation; but deliver us from evil." Behold the human heart unveiled; see man in his
ignorance and weakness. He asks not for strength
to conquer, but he prays that he may not be
attacked, and for deliverance from temptation and
suffering. He alone who created man could thus
fully understand and supply His creature's need.
Have we ever pondered, what a restraint prayer
is upon a being so blind and impulsive as man:
witness his daily and humble confession: 1 have
sinned in my thoughts, words and actions. Pythagoras had recommended a similar confession to
his disciples; but it was the glory of Christianity




136      SINGING AND PRAYER.
to realise the dreams of virtue which were merely
shadowed forth by the teachers of Rome and of
Athens.... The acts of faith, hope, charity,
and contrition, dispose the heart to virtue; the
Christian prayers and ceremonials relative to civil
or religious objects, or even the common occurrences of life, present the most elevated sentiments, the most perfect arrangement, the most
affecting remembrances, in a style at once simple
and sublime.... We shall never forget the
impression of our own hearts during a shipwreck,
in which this psalm was read: "Oh! give thanks
unto the Lord, for He is good. For He commandeth and raiseth up the strong wind, which
lifteth up the waves thereof. Then they cry
unto the Lord in their trouble, and He bringeth
them out of their distresses. HIe maketh the
storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still."... The Christmas carols of our grandfathers
also possessed merit; they thus preserved the
simplicity and vitality of their faith. There is an
irresistible charm of truth and nature in rural
sounds, and village melodies.  The Christmas
hymns, which describe rustic scenes, have an inexpressible grace, from the lips of a female.
When accompanying her voice with her spinningwheel, with her little ones around her, listening,
rivetted, and entranced, to the story of the infant




CIRISTIAN FESTIVALS.            137
Saviour in the manger, we should seek in vain for
sweetcr melody, or a religion more consoling and
appropriate to a mother.
CHRISTIAN FESTIVALS.
CHRISTIAN festivals are not like the oblations
of Paganism; they do not lead in triumph a
sacred ox-god, or stag, nor are they compelled to
worship, under pain of imprisonment, a cat or a
crocodile; or to become intoxicated in the street,
and to commit all kinds of abominations in honor
of Venus, Flora, or Bacchus. In our solemnities,
on the contrary, every observance is pre-eminently
moral. If the Church has banished the dance
from them, it has been in view of the evil tendencies which lurk around an amusnment apparently
so innocent. The God of the Christian desires
the affections of the heart, and the peaceful movements of a soul which regulates the harmonious
concert of the virtues.... The Christian festivals are admirably sympathetic with nature. The
feast of Corpus Christi occurs at a moment when
the heavens and the earth declare His power, when
the woods and the fields teem with life and vegetation: all are united by the tenderest ties - not
a single plant stands widowed in the meadows.
12*




138     CHRISTIAN FESTIVALS.
The falling leaf, on the contrary, is the sign of
man's mortality, who withers as the flowers of
the field... Those who have forgotten the
faith of their childhood, when a religious festival
was a family reunion, and who affect to despise those simple pleasures of innocence, most
unquestionably are to be pitied. What do we
receive in exchange for these harmless enjoyments?  Alas! they have failed; the Convention had holy days; then famine was called
holy, and the hosanna was changed into the
fierce cry of death forever!  Strange event!
powerful men, speaking in the name of equality
and the passions, have never been able to found
a festival; and yet the most obscure saint, who
had only talked of poverty, obedience, and selfdenial, had his joyful days, at the very moment
when the observance of his religion doomed him
to death. Let us hence learn, that festivals
which spring from a religious emotion, and
from a grateful remembrance of benefits enjoyed,
are those alone which are likely to be durable.
It is not sufficient to call upon men to rejoice -
for there are days of mourning, as well as of joy;
and we will often find that we are more ready to
weep, than to command our smiles. We cannot
doubt, but that these religious observances were
of infinite value to the support of good morals,
and in retaining and encouraging cordiality and




CHRISTIAN     FESTIVALS.        139
love between neighbors and friends.  Former
customs are already becoming obsolete, when a
mother, upon the death of her husband, would
send for her eldest son, and resign to him the
household keys, and instal him as head over the
family. We have not retained this high sense
of man's dignity, which Christianity has inspired.
The mothers and the children would rather trust
to the written contract, than confide in nature's
instinct of affection; and the law is everywhere
exalted to regulate manners. The Christian festivals were so much more delightful, as they were
a relict of olden times; and we are pleased to
discover, in examining the past, that our grandfathers were accustomed to commemorate the
same day as ourselves. These festivals were, besides, often repeated; the result was that, in
spite of the evils of life, religion had found means
to give, from one generation to another, some
happy hours to millions of sorrowful hearts.




140        CHRISTIAN     TOMBS.
CIIRISTIAN TOMBS.
IN our religion we can speak of the grave in a
cheerful spirit, with hope and consolation; we
feel that it is only the resting-place of the body.
The monuments of idolatry speak only of the
past; those of the Christian point to the future.
Christianity is perfect in all things, and she has
never encouraged those crude notions so prevalent in false religions. Thus, in relation to sepulture, she has disregarded all ancient superstitions,
with reference to circumstances and places; she
has distinguished herself above all other religions,
by the sublime custom of depositing the ashes of
the faithful within the shadow of the temples of
the Lord, and she carries her dead within the bosom of the Living God. Lycurgus had no fears, in
placing tombstones in the midst of Lacedaemonia;
for he thought, with us, that the ashes of the fathers,
so far from abridging the days of the children,
prolonged in reality their existence, in teaching
them the moderation and virtue which would conduct them to a happy old age. Those human reasons which are opposed to the divine, are far from
being convincing. Do Frenchmen live longer than
the other nations of Europe, who still continue to
bury their dead within their towns?...




CHRISTIAN      TOMBS.          141
It was reserved for our age to accomplish what
was considered as the greatest misfortune among
the ancients; and the very severest punishment
was accorded to those wretches who would desecrate the ashes of the dead; and, above all
things, was sacrilegious dispersion applauded as
the grand master-piece of philosophy. And what
was the crime of our ancestors, that we should
deprive them of their last resting-place, except
this, to have brought into being such degenerate
sons? But let us regard the end of all this, and
see the extent of human wisdom: in some of the
villages of France they have built prisons upon
their cemetery lots; they reared their penitentiary over the places which God had decreed
should be the end of all misery and bondage. For
"there the wicked cease from troubling, and there
the weary are at rest."  There is, in fact, one
point of striking resemblance between these prisons and those cemeteries, and that an awful one,
namely, that the iniquitous judgments of men
were executed where God had pronounced the
decrees of Iis inviolable justice.*
* The ancients would have considered that state as
overthrown, in which the asylum of the dead was violated.
We pass over in silence the abominations perpetrated
during the days of the revolution. There is not a domestic animal in any nation, ever so little civilized, but is
buried with more decency than the body of a French citizen was at that time.




142    COUNTRY CHURCIHYARDS.
COUNTRY CIURCIYARDS.
THE ancients had no burial-places to be compared, in beauty, to our country churchyards;
the fields, the meadows, with the sighing trees,
and bubbling water, a smiling perspective, surrounded with their simple images of beauty the
laborer's tomb. We love to see the overshadowing
yew tree, the fresh wavy grass, the poplars, the
elm and box trees, the apple tree by the manse,
with the small crosses, speaking of hope and consolation. In the midst of these peaceful monuments rises the village church, with its tall spire,
surmounted with the rustic emblem of vigilance
and alarm. In these retired spots, we hear only
the song of the redbreast, and the noise of the
sheep, as they crop the herbage over the tomb of
their former shepherd.
There were pilgrim-tracks, and signs of poverty; for the rich and the careless passed not the
way by these humble tombs. We marked the
touching epitaph: William, or Paul, with simply the year of their birth and death. Upon
some there was no inscription, not even a name.
The Christian laborer here rests forgotten, in
death, like the useful productions among which
he lived! Nature makes no engraving upon the




INFLUENCE OF CIIISTIANITY. 143
oak trunks fallen in the forest. Iowever, strolling one day through a country cemetery, we perceived a Latin inscription upon a stone, which
told the tomb of an infant. Surprised at this
display, we approached, to learn the erudition of
the village curate. We read these words of the
Evangelist: "Suffer the little children to come
unto me."
The graveyards of the Swiss are often placed
upon rocks, whence you have a comprehensive view of their lakes, and precipices, and valleys. The chamois and the eagle there make
their dwelling; and death grows upon these steep
sites, like the Alpine plant, whose root is plunged
into the eternal iceberg.
TIHE INFLUENCE OF CHRISTIANITY UPON
HISTORY.
IF Christianity has so materially advanced the
study of mental philosophy, it should also be
favorable to the genius of history, since the latter
is but a branch of moral and political philosophy.
Whoever rejects the sublime sentiments which
religion gives us of nature, and its Author, voluntarily relinquishes a fertile source of original
thoughts and illustrations. It is not to be doubted




141        TIIE INFLUENCE OF
that he who has made the course of Providence
his study will best understand men; that man
will have power to unmask human subtleness, who
has been conversant with the secrets of divine
wisdom. The intrigues of kings, the wickedness
of large cities, the manceuvring and machinations
of political life, the insidious pampering of the
passions of men, the restlessness which oftentimes
seizes the people against constituted authority,
the frequent transmission of power from the king
to the subject, from the noble to the plebeian,
from the rich to the poor -these diverse influences will remain an inexplicable riddle to us, if
we have failed to make acquaintance with the
Most High, and His adjustment of the spirits of
strength and prudence, of weakness and error,
which He permits among the nations for their
salvation or destruction. Let us, then, place
eternity as the basis of time's history; let us
trace or connect everything with God, as the universal cause. Let us glorify Him, who reveals
the secrets of all hearts, and who can thus bring
a happy issue out of the present evils and disasters which afflict our race. God reigns over the
the kingdoms of men! ungodliness, that is to say,
the absence of moral virtue, becomes the immediate cause of the downfall of any nation: this is,
as it appears to us, a more noble historical foundation, and also a much more reliable one than




CHRISTIANITY UPON HISTORY. 145
the first. In order to give an example, let us revert
to the French revolution, that we may see if ordinary causes could have originated, in the course of
a few years, such an unnatural and artificial state
of manners, which obliterated all that was noble
or ingenuous from the heart of man. The spirit
of God having retired from the nation, nothing
remained but their original depravity unrestrained,
as in the case of Cain and his descendants. A
reasonable mind must retire from the conflict,
baffled at all attempts at reform; whoever would
extend the hand of friendship, would behold this
hand suddenly wither; the red flag waves over
the city gates; war is declared among all nations; then the predictions of the prophet are fulfilled: "The bones of the kings of Juda, the
bones of the priests, the bones of the inhabitants
of Jerusalem, will be cast out of their graves."
Unmindful of the past, they trample under foot
all their ancient institutions; having no hope in
the future, they leave nothing to posterity; their
tombs and their descendants are equally profaned.
From this living page, transmitted by our ancestors, and from which we should learn wisdom for
ourselves, we shall rest only upon the present
time, and each one sacrificing to his own corruptions, as an abominable priesthood, see crimes increasing beyond all precedent, and that nothing
worse can follow. Whilst this spirit of desolation
13




146 INFLUENCE OF CHRISTIANITY.
was consuming the interior of France, a better influence was protecting her borders. Upon her
frontier alone were valor and prudence to be
found, while, in the interior, everything is demolished; beyond, all is victory and triumph. The
citizens are no longer at their firesides, but in
camp upon the Rhine, like to the times of the
Merovingians: they believed that the Jews were to
be driven out of the land of Goshen, to subjugate
the barbarous nations of the deserts. No human
event bears any relation to such a combination
of circumstances. The religious mind can herein
alone trace the profound designs of the Most
High; if the coalescing powers would have been
satisfied to lull the revolutionary spirit, perhaps
they might have succeeded, and France might
have had a respite from her troubles, and quietly
repaired her errors, and retrieved her misfortunes. But the Lord saw iniquity in all these
high places; and He said to the stranger soldier,
I will break the sword in thy hand, and thou
shalt no longer destroy the people of Saint Louis.
Thus religion seems to lead to the explanation of
the most incomprehensible facts in history. Besides there is, in the name of God, a power of
majesty and glory, which imparts to the style a
dignity of utterance, so that the religious writer
is almost always the most eloquent. Without
being religious, one may possess intellect, but




BEAUTIES OF HISTORY.             147
not true genius. Let us add, that we intuitively
feel the honesty of a faithful historian, and are
inclined to credit all that he relates. The sophistical writer, on the contrary, we distrust; for,
in most instances, giving us the worst side of
society, we are led to regard him as both deceitful and malicious.
BEAUTIES OF HISTORY.
BUT an objection is started here; if Christianity is favorable to the genius of history, why
are modern writers often inferior to the ancients
in this important division of literature? But this
objection is not a strict fact, since one of the
finest historical monuments which exists,' The
Discourse upon Universal History," was dictated
by a Christian spirit. But setting this work aside
for the moment, the reasons of our inferiority, if
such exist, deserve to be examined. The difficulty appears to be in two kinds-as pertains to
the history, and also to the historian. Ancient
history produces a picture, which modern times
have not equalled. The Greeks have been especially remarkable for their heroic characters, and
the Romans are no less wonderful for the grandeur of their works. Rome and Athens started,




148     BEAUTIES OF HISTORY.
from a state of nature, to achieve the highest degree of civilization, scaling the complete ladder
of virtue and vice, of ignorance and culture.
We see man and his thoughts developing, at
first, as an infant; afterwards, led on by his
youthful passions, wise and strong in his maturity; and then gradually dwindling away
into old age, feeble and decayed.  Man was
adapted to his condition, passing from the royal
or paternal government to the republican, and
falling into despotism with the decrepitude of
age. We must admit that modern history does
not present so finished a picture, so complete a
collection of subjects, or such great moral lessons,
as are found in ancient history. The moderns,
suddenly sprung up (mushroom-like), know not
their origin; these are but young branches grafted
upon old trees. You see, at once, great vices and
great virtues; the most astonishing ignorance
united with the most affected precision of language and thought. The ideas of Titus Livy, and
of Bossuet, are affluent, and the language is flowing and connected; every word, as employed by
them, has a distinct meaning, and originates from
the preceding, and becomes the germ of the word
which is to follow. It is not by banks, or straight
lines, that the mighty waves flow on (if we may
use this image); they direct, far away from their
source, a richly-freighted vessel, which is ever




CHRISTIAN ELOQUENCE.            149
accumulating; they roll grandly along the meadows; they embrace, in their sportive undulations,
great cities, and immense forests, and rush on to
old ocean with a whirlpool of waters.
CHRISTIAN ELOQUENCE.
CHRISTIANITY furnishes so many proofs of her
excellence, that, no sooner is one subject dismissed, than others demand our attention. Among
the ancients, eloquence was confined to judicial
and political subjects. Moral eloquence, that is
to say, the eloquence of all times, of all countries,
of all governments, descended from heaven to our
earth through the Scriptures. Cicero defends a
client; Demosthenes triumphs over an adversary,
or tries to rouse a degenerate people into patriotic
ardor; they both address the passions, and their
only hope of success is in agitating their slumbering souls. Pulpit eloquence takes a higher range,
and seeks a nobler victory. HIer province is to
discipline the passions of the enchanted and bewildered soul; it is in moderation and calmness
she would be heard. Her theme is love to God,
and love for man, unchangeable and inexhaustible. The support of a party, the acclamations of
the multitude, are not desired; neither great occa13*




150     CHRISTIAN     ELOQUENCE.
sions for display: in the most peaceful era, at the
grave of the humblest citizen, she would make the
most sublime impression; the most soul-stirring
pleading would be on the behalf of obscure and
oppressed virtue, and tears would flow for a man
utterly unknown and neglected. Yielding neither
to fear nor injustice, she boldly speaks the truth
before kings, yet without insulting them; and,
without flattery, admonishes and consoles the unfortunate. While politics, and the affairs of time,
are not neglected, they ever hold a secondary
place; she views them from her majestic elevation, as an eagle from a mountain peak looks upon
the diminished objects beneath him. That which
distinguishes Christian eloquence above that of
the Greeks and Romans, is the evangelical earnestness which is its soul; or, as La Bruyere says,
the sublime melancholy which breathes through
it. One may read once, perhaps twice, the orations of Cicero, and of Demosthenes; while, over
the sermons of Bossuet, of Bourdaloue, and of
Massillon, one could meditate day and night.
How justly and eloquently do these pious men
reflect upon the emptiness of all earthly objects.
"Our whole life," they observe, "is but the panorama or vision of a day, and we consume this fleeting period with the most trifling pursuits. You
attain the object of your wishes, you realise all
your fond hopes, you become king, emperor, mas



CHRISTIAN ELOQUENCE.             151
ter of the world; a moment more, and death will
efface these shadows with your own shadow."
These kind of meditations, so earnest, natural,
and sublime, were quite unknown among ancient
orators. The heathen destroyed themselves, in
pursuing the shadows of life; they knew not that
our real existence commenced only at death. The
Christian religion has alone taught this great lesson of the tomb, through the writings of the Apostle Paul; they no longer permit the half savages
of Greece to argue upon the immortal mind of
man, as of a material substance. Religion has
been the source of eloquence in all ages, and in
all countries. If Demosthenes and Cicero were
naturally great orators, it is mainly owing to
their religious tone of mind; on every occasion
they appealed to their gods. The members of the
Convention, on the contrary, possessed but mutilated specimens, and feeble imitations of eloquence,
because they attacked the faith of their fathers,
and thus interdicted the inspiration of the heart.




152       MORAL HARMONIES.
MORAL IARMONIES.
AMONG the moral harmonies of Christianity, we
must give a prominent rank to popular devotions,
which consist in certain superstitions and rites,
practised by the multitude, without being prescribed or forbidden by the church.  It is, in
fact, but the harmonies of the religion of Nature.
When people imagine they hear the voice of the
departed in the wind; when they speak of the
visions of the night; when they go on pilgrimage
for the relief of their woes, it is evident that
these impressions are but the touching associations
between natural scenes and sacred dogmas with
the misery of their hearts. Consequently, it follows that these popular devotions combined in
their worship will become poetical, since poetry is
founded upon the feelings of the soul, in connexion with the accidents of nature, exalted into
mystery with the aid of religious ideas. It would
be lamentable if, while willingly following the
guidance of reason, we should rigorously condemn
the superstitions which aid the multitude in supporting the misfortunes of life, and which impose
a morality upon them which the best laws would
fail of securing. It is commendable -it is beautiful, so to speak - that God should be in all our




MORAL HARMONIES.              153
thoughts, and that we should feel ourselves
constantly surrounded by His miraculous agencies.... The common people are wiser than
their philosophers.  Every fountain, each cross
by the wayside, the sigh of the night wind, inspires awe and veneration. Nature is a constant
miracle to the man of faith....  Happy,
thrice happy, they who believe! Their every
smile will be a perennial joy, and their tears will
all be wiped away. Religion embalms them in her
urn, and presents them to the Eternal. The
steps of a true believer are never lonely; good
angels walk by his side, counsel him in his
dreams, watch over him, and defend him against
the evil ones. These celestial friends are so devoted to him, that they consent to become exiles
on earth for his sake. " Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to them who
are heirs of salvation?"
Can we find, among the ancients, anything
more praiseworthy than the former observances
of our religion, now become almost obsolete. The
custom of planting the cross is an emblem of suffering. In looking upon this emblem, the good Samaritan will drop a tear for the unfortunate, and the
faithful citizen will offer a prayer for his brother.
And then, perhaps this pilgrim was a stranger,
buried far from his own country, as was the illustrious Unknown, sacrificed by the hands of men




154        MORAL HARMONIES.
whom lie came to save, far from His celestial
country. What condescension towards us from
God! How does it ennoble human nature!
I-ow wonderful, that we should dare to trace any
agreement between our mortal days and the eternal existence of the Governor of the world....
A natural superstition seems to be connected
with death, and the populace imagine a thousand
forms of its announcement —so poetical, as it
relates to unseen and immortal objects - so mysterious is its awful silence! Sometimes premonitions of decease are received through the tinkling
of a clock which goes of itself; sometimes a dying
person receives the warning by three raps upon
the boards of his room. A mother, whose son
died in a remote country, received the intelligence in her dreams. Those who ridicule all
presentiments, will never know the secret telegraph by which two loving hearts may communicate with each other from one end of the world
to the other. Various opinions have influenced
humanity, but always of a religious character;
they have often such a natural simplicity, as to
embarrass the writer. Robbing a swallow's nest,
killing a redbreast, a wren, or a cricket, farmhouse guests, or to neglect an old trusty dog,
was regarded as an ill omen, a kind of impiety
which would not fail to bring some disaster.
Through a commendable respect for old age,




MORAL HARMONIES.              155
they accounted the presence of an aged person in
a household to be a good omen; and that an ancient domestic brought happiness and good luck
to his master. Herein we discern traces of the
worship of the lares; and we are reminded of
Laban's daughter carrying away her paternal
gods. It was a common belief that no one could
commit a wicked act, without being haunted forever after with frightful spectres. Antiquity,
wiser than ourselves, knew better how to guard
these harmless and useful harmonies, for the preservation of religion, conscience, and morality.
Another opinion was also maintained, namely,
that a man who rejoiced in ill-gotten gains had
made a compact with evil spirits, and linked his
soul with hell. Christian people were peculiarly
the care of friendly divinities. For them all
things were favorable; sunshine and storm, the
changing seasons, their employments, agriculture,
the arts: birth and infancy, old age, and matrimony, and death, each had their saint and patron.
Let us not pass a rigid censure upon their credulity. Religion, far from laying down rules upon
this subject, is satisfied to regulate their excess,
and to prevent abuse and deception. She is concerned to inquire if the end is good, and whether,
among the masses, virtue and morality will not be
even better supported, than by the severity of the
civil law itself. And is there a doubt of this fact,




156       MORAL IARMONIES.
in any reflecting mind? Violent declamation
against superstitions often opens the door to every
crime. The evils which would thereby accrue would
confound sophists themselves, and would by no
means remove the difficulty. In casting off religious
restraint, the most monstrous opinions would be received and created. They would become the victims
of terrors, so much the more frightful, as the object would be unknown; they would shiver in a
graveyard, even when they should see written:
" death is an eternal sleep;" and in affecting to
despise the Divine power, they would interrogate
the fortune-teller, or read their destinies from the
whimsicalities upon a pasteboard. No! mysteries
are unavoidable; a future of hope to man is a necessity, because he was made for immortality. One
of the most striking proofs of the importance of
some form of worship, is the existence of conjurers and necromancers among a people; it arises
from a natural religious instinct. The approximation is very close, from a belief in nothing, to a
belief in everything; when prophets have retired,
a call is made for the diviners; and, when religious ceremonies are renounced, a resource is
sought in witchcraft; and, when they close the
temples of the Lord, they open the magician's
cave.




INFLUENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 157
THE INFLUENCE OF CHRISTIANITY UPON
MUSIC.
BROTHERS of poetry, the fine arts will now be
the subject of our studies; following naturally in
the progress of the Christian religion, when she
appears in the world, she is at once recognised as
their mother; they lend to her their terrestrial
charms, and she inspires them with her Divinity;
music writes her hymns, painting describes her
mournful triumphs, sculpture meditates with her
over the tombstones, and architecture builds for
her temples as sublime and mysterious as her own
thoughts.
Plato has wonderfully defined the nature of
music: "We ought not," he says, "to judge of
music by pleasure, nor should those seek after her
whose only object is pleasure, but those who contain within themselves a resemblance to the beautiful." In effect, music, considered as an art, is
an imitation of nature; it is then her perfection
so to represent her, as to make her surpassingly
beautiful, or to reproduce her in the most beautiful manner possible.
Or if pleasure is a thing of opinion merely,
which varies with the times, manners, and people,
and which cannot be the beautiful, since the beau14




158        THE INFLUENCE       OF
tiful is forever the same, it is unity, and exists
absolutely.
Hence every institution which has sought to
purify the soul, and to eschew tumult and discord,
has sought to revive virtue, and is by this quality
alone a propitious offering to the most sublime
music, or to a most perfect imitation of the beautiful. But if this institution possesses, besides
this, a religious character, she then contains
within herself the two essential conditions of harmony, the beautiful and the mysterious. Chanting comes down to us from the angels, and the
true origin of harmonical concerts is heaven. It
is religion which breathes out her sighs upon the
night winds, from the youthful heart, beneath the
tranquil dome of heaven; it is religion which
sings so sweetly at the bedside of the unhappy.
She utters, through Jeremiah, her lamentations,
and she inspires the sublime penitential psalms of
David. More stately under the ancient covenant,
she describes only the sufferings of monarchs and
of prophets; more modest and not less loyal
under the new law, her gentle breathing agrees
equally well with the powerful as with the weak,
because she has found united, in Jesus Christ,
humility with greatness. Let us add, that the
Christian religion is essentially melodious, and
for this single reason, that she loves solitude. It
is not that she is an enemy of the world, but, on




CHRISTIANITY UPON MUSIC. 159
the contrary, she carries herself very complaisantly towards it; but this heavenly Philomel
prefers obscure and hidden retreats.  She is
chilled by a crowd, and is a retiring stranger
among men; she rather loves to dwell amid the
forests, which are the palaces of her father, and
her ancient dwelling-place. It is there that she
elevates her voice towards the heavenly firmament, from the midst of nature's harmonies;
nature publishing without ceasing the praises of
the Creator; and there is nothing more religious
than the hymns which she sings with the winds,
the oaks, and the reeds of the desert. Thus, the
musician who would follow religion in her affinities, is compelled to learn to imitate these harmonies of solitude. It is necessary he should
know the language of the trees, and of the
waters; it is requisite that he should have heard
the sound of the wind through the cloistered
aisles, and the murmurs which reign in the
Gothic temples, and around the churchyard ferns,
and throughout the ivied vaults of the dead.
Christianity has invented the organ, and has
breathed her sighs even over brass. It has preserved music even in the barbarous ages of the
world; and wherever she has placed her throne,
there the people are taught to sing naturally,
like the feathered songsters. When savages have
been civilized, it has been accomplished through




160       THE INFLUENCE OF
her hymns; and the wild Indian who will yield
nothing to her dogmas, is subdued by her sacred
symphonies. Religion of peace! you have not,
like other creeds, imposed upon mankind precepts of hatred and discord; you alone have
taught them love and harmony.
THE INFLUENCE OF CIRISTIANITY UPON
PAINTING.
THE Grecian writers record an incident, handed
down from antiquity, which is treasured up as the
origin of the art of painting. It was this: a
young female, who, gazing upon the figure of her
lover upon the opposite wall, sketched his outline
with chalk, and thus produced, from a transient
fancy, an art of the most perfect illusion. But
the Christian school have been under the tuition
of a greater instructor, even the Divine Artist
Himself, who, moulding together a little dust in
His magnetic hands, pronounces the words: "Let
us make man in our image!"  We have, then,
received the first model from the hands of the
Infinite Jehovah, who presented to the world this
splendid picture of spiritualized clay, animated by
the breath of the Creator. There is in error, as
well as in truth, a power which constrains silence;




CHRISTIANITY UPON PAINTING. 161
both, when carried to the extreme point, enforce
conviction-the first negatively, the latter affirmatively. Therefore, when we hear that Christianity is the enemy of the arts, we remain silent,
from astonishment; for we are at the same instant reminded of Michael Angelo, Raphael, the
Caracci, Domenichino, Lesueur, Poussin, Couston, and a number of other artists, whose names
alone would fill volumes. The Fathers of the
Church lavished profuse encomiums upon paintings.  St. Gregory thus expresses himself: "I
could not behold the picture of Abraham's sacrifice, without shedding tears, as the whole pathetic
history was placed vividly before me."..
St. Basil goes still farther; for he asserts that
painters stir up the soul as powerfully by their
pencil representations, as the eloquence of the
most impressive oratory. In the eighth century,
a monk named Methodius executed that "Last
Judgment" which converted Bogoris, king of the
Bulgarians.... At length, about the thirteenth century, the Christian religion brought
back triumphantly the choir of muses to the
earth, after vanquishing numberless enemies....
The first architect was Bouchet, (a Greek), Nicolas the first sculptor, and Cimabue the first
painter, that recovered the antique style from the
ruins of Rome and Greece. From that time the
arts attained great excellency, until, in the age
14*




162 INFLUENCE OF CHRISTIANITY.
of Leo Tenth, when Raphael and Michael Angelo
shone out with their resplendent genius upon the
world. But it is not our design to give a complete history of the art. What we desire to show
is, that Christianity is more favorable to the art
of painting than any other religion. For it is
easy to prove three things: first, that Christianity, being of a spiritual and mystic nature,
presents to the artist a more beautiful ideal, more
heavenly and sublime, than is found in any material worship: second, that, in disciplining and
regulating the passions, she diffuses over the human countenance a more lovely and tender expression, and more clearly displays the soul in
the muscles and proportions of the figure: third,
that she has furnished the artist with more beautiful subjects, more liberal, dramatic, and touching, than those of mythology. The New Testament has improved and elevated the genius of
painting. It has imparted a higher degree of
tenderness, while still preserving its sublimity.
Who has not admired, a hundred times, "The
Nativity," "The Virgin and Child," "The Flight
in the Desert," "The Crowning with Thorns,"
"The Sacrament," "The Mission of the Apostles," "The Descent from the Cross," "The Women at the Holy Sepulchre?"  What can affect
the heart like these sacred pictures?  Christianity everywhere portrays to us virtue and mis



SONGS OF BIRDS.              163
fortune; but polytheism is a description of unhallowed mirth and prosperity. As for our religion,
it is our own history; it is for our perusal that
these lessons from so many tragical scenes are
preserved. We are the figures in the pictures
which the pencil has transmitted to us. Oh! thou
blessed religion of Jesus Christ! be thou exalted
forever on the earth; thou hast represented, in
the Louvre, "The Crucifixion of the King of
Kings," "The Last Judgment;" on the ceiling of our court of justice, a "Resurrection;"
and, at the public hospital, "The Birth of our
Saviour," in the very homes of those orphans who
have been forsaken by their father and mother 
SONGS OF BIRDS.
FOR MAN THEY ARE CREATED.
NATURE has her festival seasons, at which she
summons the musicians from various regions of
the globe. We may observe travelling thither (on
wings of the wind), some astonishing performers
and accomplished artists, trilling their unrivalled
sonatas, and also wandering bards, whose skill
consists alone in simple ballad singing; while far
beyond, in the blue ether, come the pilgrims, re



164         SONGS OF BIRDS.
hearsing a thousand times the tedious verses of
their holy songs.  List!  The yellow-hammer
whistles, the swallow purls, the wood-pigeon coos;
the first warbler, perched upon the highest branches
of a young elm tree, challenges our blackbird,
who will not be surpassed by this stranger; now
sounds the secondo, from beneath a friendly
thatch, warbling his commingled strains, even
until the season of evanishing; while a third
songster, by his prolonged quavers, and amid embowered oak leaves, resembles the undulating
notes of a horn in the woods; and this concerto
is completed by the robin redbreast, who encores
his little song over the barn door, where he has
hidden his grand mossy nest. But the nightingale, disdaining to drown her voice in this symphonious chorus, awaits the hallowed hour of contemplation and repose, and then takes upon herself, amid the shadows of evening, her part in
this musical entertainment.  As the twilight
deepens, and when the faint murmurings of busy
day echo over the little hillocks and on the riverside, through the woods and over the valleys,
and as silence increases, and hovers over the
forest, so that not a leaf or moss trembles, and as
the moon awakens in the heavens, then it is that
the ear of man is attuned and listening to the
finest and rarest choristers in the universe, chanting their hymns to the Eternal. At first echo




SONGS OF BIRDS.             165
around brilliant peals of joy. The warbling is
confused; it changes —now grave, then gay;
now soft, then loud. There is a pause. It is
slow-it is lively; it gushes from a heart exuberant with joy, palpitating with love. But suddenly it ceases: the bird is silent. It begins
again! How changed are its accents! What
tender melody! Sometimes they are languishing
but varied modulations; sometimes the strain is
rather monotonous, resembling the old French
romances, master-pieces of simplicity and melancholy. Then, again, the song is as often expressive of sadness, as well as of joy. The bird that
has lost its little ones still sings; but it is the
well-remembered strain of bygone happiness, for
he knows no other; but he has changed the keynote, by a rapid stroke of his art, and the canticle
of pleasure has become the complaint of grief.
Those who seek to disinherit man, and to take
away the empire of nature from him, take great
pains to prove that nothing is made for us. Now,
for example, the ear is so nicely or finely accommodated to the warbling of birds, that a skilful
persecutor of these hosts of the woods can
ravish their nests, and remorselessly pursue them
with snares or weapons, can torture and wound
them, yet cannot impose silence upon them. Inevitably, despite our callousness, they are formed
to charm us; they thus fulfil and accomplish the




166         SONGS OF BIRDS.
design of the Creator. Even as captives in our
dwellings, they increase their harmonies. There
is no doubt some compensation hidden under this
misfortune, for all the unhappy love to give vent
to their grief in song; even as the bird-catchers,
by a barbarous refinement of cruelty, in crushing
out the eyes of a nightingale, rendered her voice
yet more melodious. This Homer among birds
obtained his living by singing, and composed his
noblest airs after the loss of sight. Demodocus,
saith the poet of Chios, in describing himself and
the Phascian achievements in their songs, made
him the favorite of the muse; but good and evil
had been strangely blended for him, for she had
given increased sweetness to his songs (or verses),
by imposing blindness upon him. Birds appear
to us to be true emblems of the Christian here below; they prefer, like the faithful, solitude to the
world, heaven to earth, and their voices extol unceasingly the wonders of'the Creator.




LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS.            167
LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS.
LAWS APPERTAINING THERETO.
THERE are some laws concerning the cries of
animals, which, as it seems to us, have not been
sufficiently observed, and which well deserve our
attention. The varied language of the animals
of the desert appear to us formed, either from
their grandeur or from the time of day in which
they appear, to be the charm of the places which
are frequented by them. The strong, thirsty, and
voracious roar of the lion is in keeping with the
gloominess of the embrasures where he is heard,
whilst the lowing of our kine and oxen charms the
rural echoes of our valleys; the goat has something trembling and savage in his voice, adapted
to rocks and ruins, where he loves to suspend himself; and the warlike horse imitates the slender
sounds of the trumpet, and, as if he knew almost
by intuition that he is not designed for rustic
labors alone, he is passive under the husbandman's goad, but becomes inspired and elated
under the bridle of the warrior. Philomel and
the owl take in succession the dominion of night,
and mark it either as charming or gloomy; the
one sings to the zephyrs, groves, the moon, and




168     LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS.
lovers; the other, to the winds, ancient forests,
darkness, and death. Indeed, almost all animals
that live on blood have a peculiar cry, resembling
that of their prey. The sparrow hawk squeaks
like the rabbit, and mews like the young kitten;
grimalkin himself has a kind of purr or murmur,
similar to that of the small birds which frequent
our gardens; the wolf bleats, bellows, or growls;
the fox shouts, or imitates the cluck of a hen; the
tiger roars like a wild cow; and the sea bear
makes a sort of wheezing or rattling sound, like
the restless beating of the waves, where he seeks
his prey. This law is very striking, and therein
is, perhaps, concealed a frightful mystery. Let
us observe that men monsters follow the instinct
of these carnivorous quadrupeds; tyrants even
have often masked themselves under a tender sensibility of voice and manner, and outwardly they
affect the language of the unfortunate ones whom
they yet secretly intend to destroy; nevertheless,
a watchful Providence has not designed that their
deceptions should entirely escape detection; and,
therefore, it has been ineffaceably imprinted in
their countenance and expression; and as we
shall discover, on a closer examination of these
ferocious characters, we shall find under their
assumed mildness a false and cruel temper, a
thousand times more hideous than their undisguised malice.




BIRDS' NESTS.              169
BIRDS' NESTS.
WE shall discover a beautiful arrangement of
Providence in the construction of birds' nests.
We cannot contemplate them without being moved
by the Divine goodness, which gives industry to
the weak, and foresight to the careless. As soon
as the trees have unfolded their leaves, thousands
of workmen begin their labors. The first carry
long straws into the crevice of a dilapidated wall;
the latter plaster their brick-work in the windows
of a church; and others steal horsehair from a
young colt, or seize upon a tuft of wool which
the lambs have deposited upon a rock. There
are wood-cutters, who cross the branches upon
the top of a tree; and here are spinners,
who wind their silken fringe over a thistle.
Thousands of palaces are completed, and each
one is a nest; and in each nest you may see
charming metamorphoses - a delicate egg, and,
soon afterwards, a tender little birdling covered
with down. This nursling enlarges its plumage,
and the parent-bird teaches it to balance itself
upon its couch. Soon it jumps up, to peep over
its tiny cradle, whence it takes its first view of
nature. Trembling and pleased, it drops in again
among its brothers, who have neither of them yet
15




170          BIRDS' NESTS.
seen this grand spectacle; but it makes a second
attempt, reassured by its parent, and this young
air-king, bearing its crowned head from infancy,
ventures to look out upon the vast firmament,
the waving pine-tops, and the depths of verdure beneath the paternal oak.   Meanwhile,
the forests are rejoiced to hail their new guest,
the old bird, who having become disabled for
flight, draws near to a running brook, where,
resigned and dying, she rests upon the same bank
and stream where she sang her loves, and upon
one of whose trees her nest still hangs, with her
harmonious offspring. In this place we shall mention another law of nature. In the class of the
smaller birds, the eggs are generally colored
with one of the prominent male streaks. The
bullfinch makes her nest among the currantbushes, the hawthorn, or amid the thickets of our
gardens; the eggs are similar to its plumage,
slate-colored. We remember, upon one occasion,
having found one of these nests in a rosebush;
it resembled a pearl shell, or incasing, holding
four blue pearls: a rose tree drooped over it,
sparkling with dew; the male bullfinch was
perched upon a neighboring shrub, motionless,
like a flower of purple and azure. These objects
were mirrored in a clear stream of water, overshadowed by a walnut tree, which formed the
foreground to the scene, and was gilded by the




BIRDS' NE STS.             171
beams of the rising sun. A bountiful Providence has presented to us, in this little picture,
some idea of the elegance and variety with which
IHe has enamelled nature. Among the larger
birds, the law of the color of the egg varies.
We conjecture that, in general, the egg is white
among birds where the male has several females,
or among those whose plumage has no fixed color
for the species. In the classes of aquatic birds,
and forest rangers, who make their nests, the one
upon the sea, the other on the summit of the
trees, the egg is generally of a bluish-green, and
tinted, so to speak, by the elements with which
it is surrounded. Certain birds, which sing amid
high rocks and time-worn towers, have green
eggs, like the jay, or reddish, like the brick building which they inhabit. It may thus be established as a universal law, that, upon her egg,
the bird imprints the history of her loves, and
the symbol of her manners and of her destiny.
With a single glance at this frail monument, one
can immediately tell to what species it belonged,
what were its customs, its dress, its tastes; whether it passed days of danger upon the sea, or, if
more fortunate, it led a pastoral life; whether it
was civilized or savage, an inhabitant of the mountains or of the valleys. The forest antiquary has
a less equivocal means of information than he of
the city; a leafless tree, or moss-covered oak,




172        TIIE INFIDEL AND
will furnish a more direct and accurate account
of its originator, than will a ruined column of the
architect who devised its plan. Tombstones among
men are the leaflets of their history; nature, on
the contrary, bears a living impress; she does not
require either granite or marble to perpetuate her
writing. Time has destroyed the vast pyramids
of the kings of Memphis, with all their pompous
pageantries; but it has not been able to efface a
single letter of the engraving which the Egyptian
ibis bears of her history upon her egg-shell.
THE INFIDEL AND CHRISTIAN MOTIER.
THERE are two classes of atheists, yet distinct
from each other: the first assert unblushingly the
doctrine that there is no God, and, consequently,
that there is no difference between good and evil,
and that the world belongs to the most cunning
and powerful, or that " might makes right." The
second are the honest dupes of their own credulity, who, with feigned sweetness, make themselves
ridiculous, by rushing into every folly to uphold
their system. Sentiments of morality and kindness are ever on their lips; most treacherously
they salute you as my brother, whilst plotting
your destruction; they are triplets of wickedness,




CHRISTIAN MOTHER.             173
conjoining with the vices of atheism, sectarian intolerance, and odious self-conceit. These men
pretend to say, that infidelity does not destroy
happiness or virtue, and that it is quite as profitable to be unbelieving as to be religious; it is this
point we would examine. If utility is a reasonable
guage of the merits of this subject, then, surely,
atheism is beneath contempt, for it benefits no
one. Let us look upon human life, and begin
with the poor and unhappy, since they form the
majority upon earth. Come hither, ye crowds of
unfortunate ones; has infidelity any consolation
to bestow upon you?  What! no reply - not a
single voice. Hark! what do I hear? a hymn
of praise ascending with sighs towards the Supreme Lord! There is no mistaking these -
they are the heirs of faith. Let us ask the
happy, what can infidelity give them? Ah! how
sweet it is to believe that these enjoyments will
be prolonged beyond this life. With what despair would they not leave this world, if they believed they were forever separated from happiness; in vain would the wealth of ages accumulate for them; annihilation would only be a
doom, the more frightful and repulsive. Riches,
sanctified by religion, will greatly add to felicity,
by diffusing therewith an ineffable tenderness of
spirit, which would otherwise be inevitably cloyed
and indurated by a long course of prosperity, un15*




174         THE INFIDEL      AND
less embalmed in heavenly affections. Religion
preserves the soul in perennial bloom; we might
call it the holy oil with which Christianity consecrates royalty, and life, and death, to prevent
their becoming bitter and unfruitful.
Next on the role, the warrior advances. Can
he become infidel? This child of glory, to whom
fame is so dear, will he consent to annihilation?
The chief captains of antiquity were all
remarkable for their religious feeling. Epaminondas, the deliverer of his country, was remarkable as being one of the most pious men of his
age. Xenophon, that philosophic soldier, was a
model of piety, &c.... But there is no
character more worthy of admiration than the
Christian hero; the people love and revere him
as a father; he defends the laborer and the harvest, and protects innocence against injustice; he
is a kind of war-angel, whom God sends to ameliorate that scourge.  The villages open their
gates to him immediately upon the sound of his
approach; the ramparts fall before his virtues;
he is beloved by the soldier, and is the nation's
idol; he unites Christian charity to the warrior's
courage; his conversation is interesting and instructive; his manners have a graceful courtesy
and native address; we are astonished to find so
much sweetness in a man accustomed to live in
the midst of perils and cruelties; thus is the




CHRISTIAN MOTHER.              175
honey oft concealed beneath the oak-rind, which
has braved many a storm. After another trial,
shall we determine that atheism will not do for
the soldier? Infidelity will not prove desirable
either in a natural or a social state. If morality
depends entirely upon the doctrine of a Supreme
Lawgiver, and the immortality of the soul, it is
not for the interests of parents or children to be
skeptical upon this subject. And how, for example, can we conceive of a woman to become an
infidel? Upon what can such a frail flower depend, if religion does not sustain her feebleness?
Nature's most sensitive plant, ever exposed to
disease and the loss of her charms, what will
support her, this creature of smiles and tears, if
her hope is not beyond this transient existence?
If it were for no other reason, for the sake of
her beauty a female ought to be pious. Sweetness, submission, sensibility, tenderness, are her
portion of endowments bestowed upon her by the
Creator; and infidelity will be as a withering
blight over these attractions.
Woman is naturally fond of mystery; she loves
to be retired; she only half reveals her mind and
heart; she may be read as a riddle, yet not fully
understood; she is full of secrets as a wife and
maiden, who beguiles us by her simplicity; she
was formed for virtue, and all those mysterious
sentiments of chastity and love: shall this being,




176        THE INFIDEL      AND
renouncing all the sweet instincts of her nature,
attempt, with her rash and feeble hand, to rend
the veil which enshrouds Omnipotence? What
would she accomplish by this sacrilegious effort?
Does she imagine, by connecting herself with
these ridiculous blasphemies and metaphysics, that
we should have a grand idea of her genius? Most
assuredly she has no idea of entering into matrimony. What man, in his senses, would unite himself with an infidel woman? The unbelieving wife
cannot understand her true position; she occupies her time with arguments about virtues which
she fails to practice, or as a devotee of worldly
pleasures. A vacant mind, a withered heart, consumed by ennui, she has neither a God to worship, nor domestic duties to occupy the vast
chasm in her time. But retribution comes at
last; time travels swiftly onwards, leading old
age by the hand. The spectre, with blanched
locks and drooping form, icy hands and trembling
steps, is seated upon the threshold of this unbelieving woman's abode; she views his hideous approach, and utters a despairing cry. But who
will hear her voice? Ias she a husband? Alas!
he is there no longer; many years he has left, in
sadness, his dishonored home. Has she children?
Ruined by an impious education, and evil example, what do they care for their mother! The
past is as a barren waste, upon which no lovely




CHRISTIAN MOTHER.             177
flower of virtue has bloomed, to refresh her present desolation. For the first time it occurs to
her, that even religion would be more desirable
than her unutterable sufferings. Vain regret!
The natural course of atheism is into irrevocable
unbelief, whose fruit is despair. When, in life's
closing scenes, the poison of a false philosophy is
ossifying the heart; when, over the horizon of the
grave, annihilation as a funeral star is slowly
ascending; when the gate of repentance is closed
up by death; when the seal of unbelief is upon
the soul, hope is dead. Oh! the horrors of that
isolation, when, deserted by God and man, she
dies-breathing her last sigh upon the callous
ear of a mercenary hireling: what a wretched
life, what a gloomy end!
What a contrast is the death of a Christian
mother! How beautiful and touching! She is
full of peace and love, and abounding in blessings; she is surrounded by her family and friends;
her husband confides in her, her children and her
domestics love and respect her: she possesses the
confidence of neighbors and friends, as faithfulness
to God is the best guarantee of integrity towards
men.   The faith of this Christian woman is
strengthened by her happiness, and her happiness is confirmed by her faith; she believes in
God, because she is happy, and she is happy, because she trusts in God.




178  THE INFIDEL AND CHRISTIAN.
The goodness of Providence is displayed in the
cradle of the nursling: the smile of an infant is,
to a mother, the most convincing reality of a supreme happiness; a benevolent hand has provided
for all its wants; and she looks upon her child,
and then up to her Heavenly Father, with gratitude and prayer....  Thus the religious
mind argues, from the sensibilities of the soul, the
sweet attachments of life, filial piety, conjugal
love, maternal tenderness. Infidelity reduces all
to the instincts of the brute; and, as the first
argument for its system, reveals to you a callous
heart. In the Christian worship we are confident
that our sufferings will soon have an end. We
have the promise that all our tears will be wiped
away in our future home. (' There shall be no
more sorrow, nor crying, nor any more pain."
"For the days of their mourning shall be ended."
In the infidel's creed, human griefs are the consuming incense, death is the officiating priest, a
coffin the altar, and annihilation the divinity.




REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE.            179
REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE.
CONSCIENCE affords another proof of the immortality of the soul. Every man carries within him
the tribunal before which he is judged, awaiting
the final verdict, which is to confirm the sentence.
If vice is but the result of a physical organization,
whence arise the terrors which torment the days
of prosperous gilt? Why is remorse so terrible,
that all the rigors of poverty and virtue are preferred, rather than the gains of ill-gotten wealth?
Why hath blood a voice, and the very stones
speech? The tiger destroys his prey, and sleeps;
man becomes a homicide, and is sleepless; he seeks
the desert-places, and yet solitude affrights him;
he wanders among the tombs, and yet he dreads
the grave. His glance is restless and unquiet; he
dare not look upon the festal walls, lest he there
read his fatal secret. The very acuteness of his
organs of sight and hearing seem to be his especial misery; he sees spectres and shadows everywhere, and by night and day he is surrounded
with spies, his ear hears noises when the whole
world is in silence, and he imagines poison in
every mouthful of food he eats; and from the
vest of the friend whom he embraces, he starts as
at the touch of a concealed poniard.




180    REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE.
Oh, conscience! thou art no imaginary phantom, nor fear of man's retribution! I question
myself; I place it in this form: if thou couldst,
by a simple desire, kill a man in China, and enjoy
his fortune in Europe, with the absolute conviction that it could never be known, wouldst thou
cherish such a wish? No! I hear a voice from
the depth of my soul, which protests so loudly
against the indulgence of such a thought, that I
cannot for an instant doubt the supremacy of conscience. That is a mournful necessity, which
obliges us to deny remorse, in order to obliterate
the immortality of the soul, and a future state of
retribution. We are well aware that atheism, in
its devious windings, has had recourse to this
shameful abnegation. Let the poor sophist, writhing in the torture of the gout, exclaim: "Oh,
pain! I will never confess that thou art an evil!"
And, though it were possible to find men who are
so unfortunate as to be capable of stifling the
inner voice, what would be the gain? We ought
not to judge of him who has the full control of
his members, by the paralytic cripple, whose
limbs refuse to perform their accustomed office;
sin, when it has reached its zenith, is as a canker
in the soul: in rejecting religion, we refuse the
only remedy which can restore its sensibility to
the decayed heart. This wonderful religion of
Jesus Christ is, as it were, a second conscience,




REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE.            181
to replace the loss man has sustained in the fall.
Do we sin by excess, by too great prosperity, by
violence of passion? She is prompt to warn us
of the insecurity of riches, and of the illusions of
an ardent imagination. Is it, on the contrary,
through infirmity, or weakness, that we are betrayed, or by poverty, or hardness of heart? She
teaches us to despise riches, while, at the same
time, she reanimates our languid graces, and
awakens us into new life and activity. Her charity
is especially superabounding and forbearing towards the transgressor; mercy and compassion are
extended to the guilty, and the most miserable
wretch she heals with her gentle ministrations.
She only requires repentance for the past, and
hope and reformation for the future.   "But,
where sin abounded, grace did much more abound."
Romans chap. v. 20. The Son of God came to
save sinners, and His religion is established as
a refuge for the guilty; and Jesus Christ has
granted full and free forgiveness to the penitent,
to redeem from the curse of the law. The evangelical conscience is a living, tender, and obedient
conscience, full of good works, with entire selfrenunciation. Although we have been speaking
upon the remorse which follows crime, it seems
almost superfluous to dwell upon the happiness of
virtue. The interior tranquillity which we feel
in well-doing is no more the mere combination of
16




182    REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE.
matter, than the reproaches of conscience when
we commit a bad action.     If sophists maintain that all virtue is but disguised self-love, and
that pity is but a refined emanation of this passion, we would ask them if they have never felt
an interior impulse to relieve the distressed, or if
it has been a dread of returning to second infancy
which has attracted them towards innocent childhood? Virtue and tears are the source of hope
to man, and the basis of his faith; for, how can
he believe in a God, who has no confidence in virtue, and who distrusts the sincerity of tears? We
should fatigue the reader, by pausing to show how
strongly this interior voice, called conscience,
proves the immortality of the soul, and the existence of God. "There is in man," says Cicero,
"a power which inclines to good, and which deters from evil, not only before the formation of
people and cities, but as ancient as this God by
whom the heavens and the earth exist and are
controlled; for reason is an essential attribute of
Divine intelligence, and this reason, which is in
God, must of necessity determine what is vice or
virtue."




THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATII-BED. 183
THE CIIRISTIAN'S DEATH-BED.
BUT it is at the silent portals of the tomb,
hovering upon the borders of the celestial world,
that Christianity displays its sublimity.
The ashes of the dead have been ever respected in all ancient worship, but it was never
dreamed of, to prepare the soul for those unknown shores from which it never returns.
Come! behold the most beautiful spectacle
which earth can present; come, see a Christian
die. This man is no longer a denizen of this
world; his earthly citizenship has ceased; his
relations with society are ended. He no longer
dates from time, but henceforth from the cycles
of eternity. A minister of Jesus watches beside him, and cheers and consoles him. They
commune about the last conflict, and the immortality of the soul: when did antiquity present
such a scene? Socrates died like a philosopher; but the most ignorant peasant, and the
meanest cottager of gospel liberty, are yet more
exalted in the power of God, and of a hope full
of immortality! Every day such scenes are realized by the humblest Christian, as he triumphs
over the agonies of death.




184 THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH-BED.
Religion rocked him in the cradle of life; and
her maternal hand, and her beautiful hymns,
will again soothe his slumbers upon the bed of
death. She prepares the baptism of this second
birth. As the ties of earth are breaking, she
opens before him the heavenly portals: already
has his soul leaped from his prison-house, and
his countenance bears the celestial impress.
Entranced, he hears the seraphic melody; he
pants for the blissful region, whither this divine
hope bears him, daughter of virtue and of death.
This angel of peace hovers over him, and touches
with her golden sceptre his wearied eyelids,
and gently closes them to the light. He dies;
and, long after he is no more, do his friends
keep their silent watch, believing that he still
slumbers, so softly has this believer passed away!
" Let me die the death of the righteous, and let
my last end be like his."




TWO VIEWS OF NATURE.             185
TWO VIEWS OF NATURE.
OCEAN - NIAGARA FALLS.
WE shall present to the reader two prospects
in nature; the one upon the sea, and the other
upon land; the one from the midst of the Atlantic waves, the other in the forests of the New
World - so that it will be impossible to attribute
the majesty of these objects to the designs of
men. The ship in which we sailed for America,
soon losing sight of land, left us bounded in
space by the two azures, above and below us; a
vast palette, as it were, prepared to receive the
future creations of some master-artist. The waters
changed their hue into that of liquid emerald.
Although the wind blew from the east, the rolling waves came dashing on from the west; vast
undulations extended along, as mountain ranges
from horizon to horizon, and in their valleys long
vistas were opened through the desert of the
deep. A beautiful variety of scenery was arranged
by these movable landscapes; sometimes a group
of green mounds represented graves in a vast
cemetery, separated by furrows; sometimes the
summits, curling surges, resembled white flocks,
hovering over the heath; now the space was
16*




186     TWO VIEWS OF NATURE.
diminished, for want of an object of comparison;
but, if a billow reared its crested head, if a wandering wave undulated like a remote coast, or a
squadron of sea dogs passed by in the distance,
the space opened suddenly before us. We were
most powerfully impressed with an idea of magnitude, when a fleecy mist, slowly gathering over
the watery waste, seemed to expand immensity
itself. How inspiring is the ocean, full of sublime thought, and solemn grandeur! How does
the imagination plunge into reveries, either as a
wanderer into the north seas, with its ice-hills
and tempests, or gloaming over to the sunny isles
and orange groves blest with peace and plenty!
We oftentimes strolled upon deck at midnight,
and watched with the seamen, in profound meditation. Silence reigned, save the dashing of the
prow through the billows, while lurid sparks ran
with a white foam along the sides of the vessel.
The Christian's God, hast thou not written thine
Omnipotence upon the great deep, and upon the
sparkling firmament? Millions of radiant orbs
rolling through the sombre azure of the celestial
dome, with the peerless moon in their midst, a
shoreless sea, infinity upon the heavens and
upon the waters! Never have I been more profoundly affected by Thy majesty, than during
these seasons, when, suspended between the stars
and the ocean, I had immensity over my head,




TWO VIEWS OF NATURE.            187
and immensity beneath my feet! I am nothing;
I am but a lonely traveller; I have often heard
scholars dispute upon the existence of the Divine
Being, and I could never understand them. But
I have always remarked, that it is among the
grand scenes of nature that this incomprehensible
Being has revealed Himself to the heart of man.
One evening (it was profoundly calm) we found
ourselves in the beautiful waters which bathe the
Virginia shore; every sail was furled; I was engaged below, when the bell sounded which called
the crew to prayers. I hastened to mingle my
petitions with those of my fellow-voyagers. The
officers and passengers were assembled, and the
chaplain stood at a little distance from them with
his book in his hand; over the poop, the seamen
were scattered; our faces were all turned towards
the west, whither the prow of the vessel pointed.
Through the rigging, in the midst of boundless
space, shone the glorious orb of day, whose lustre
even then almost blinded our eyes, although it was
soon to be hidden from us by its evening plunge
amid the saluting waves. From the motion of the
stern, it appeared as if this fiery globe every moment changed its horizon. A few floating clouds
awaited the moon's ascent in the east; the rest
of the sky was serene; and, towards the north, a
water-spout, forming a glorious triangle with the
luminaries of day and night, glistening with all




188     TWO VIEWS OF NATURE.
the rainbow hues, rose from the sea, like a column
of crystal supporting the heavenly archway. He
who, in this spectacle, could not see the glory of
God, claims our pity. Tears rolled down my
cheek, beyond my control, when my hardy companions, removing their tarpaulin hats, began, in
a hoarse voice, to offer up their simple praise to
that God, who is the guardian of the mariner.
How affecting were the prayers of these men,
who, from a frail plank, in the midst of the
ocean, contemplated a sun-setting in the waves!
How the supplications of these poor sailors to the
Father of mercies touched the heart! The consciousness of our insignificance, excited by the
voice of infinity; our hymns resounding to a distance over the silent waves; the night approaching, with its perils; our vessel itself a wonder
among so many wonders; a religious crew, penetrated with awe and admiration; a supplicating
priest; Omnipotence treading the waves, and
supporting the sun at its western couch, and commanding the moon from the eastern hemisphere,
and bending a listening ear to the feeble cry of
His creatures, wandering through this immensity
- this is a scene which surpasses the painter's
skill, and the writer's eloquence, and which the
whole heart of man is not capacious enough to
embrace!
Let us now take the terrestrial view. At evening




TWO VIEWS OF NATURE.            189
twilight I wandered away in the forest, and found
myself at some distance from the " Cataract of
Niagara;" gradually I perceived the day fading
away around me, and I enjoyed in my solitude
the splendid spectacle of a night in the forests of
the New World. An hour elapsed from the sunsetting, when the moon coquettishly peered over
the trees on the opposite side; a delicious breeze
accompanied this queen of night from the east,
and seemed to precede her in the forests as her
balmy breath. The majestic luminary slowly careened through the azure vault; sometimes she
alighted upon groups of clouds which resembled
snow-crowned mountains. These clouds, folding
or expanding their veils, rolled themselves out
into transparent zones of white satin, dispersed
into light flakes of foam, or formed in the heavens
bright beds of down, so lovely to the eye, that
you would have imagined you felt their softness
and their elasticity. The scene below was not
less ravishing; the soft and bluish beams of the
moon streamed through the interstices of the
trees, and gleams of light penetrated into the obscurity of the most profound darkness.  The
river, which flowed at my feet, was now lost in
the forest, and again reappeared, studded with the
brilliant stars which were mirrored upon her
waters. In a vast plain, beyond this stream, the
silvery moon rested motionless upon the verdure.




190     TWO VIEWS OF NATURE.
Birch trees, trembling in the wind, and scattered here and there, created islands of floating
shadows upon this motionless sea of light. Silence
and repose reigned around me, save the falling
leaves, the sighing night wind, or the occasional
hooting of the owl; but at a distance was heard,
at intervals, the solemn roar of the falls of Niagara, which was prolonged in the stillness of
night, and reverberated from forest to forest, and
again died away upon the lonely shore. The
grandeur, the awful solemnity of this scene, human language cannot describe; the most resplendent nights in Europe can give no idea of it; the
imagination seeks in vain, amid our cultivated
fields, to refresh herself; she is everywhere
bounded by the habitations of men; but, in these
wild regions, the mind is delighted to roam over
an ocean of forests, to gaze down into these foaming gulfs, and meditate upon the banks of the
lakes and rivers, and, as it were, feel itself alone
before God.




YOUTH    AND OLD AGE.          191
YOUTI AND OLD AGE OF THE EARTH.
WE proceed to the last objection, upon the
modern origin of the globe. "The earth," it is
said, "is an aged nurse, who shows many signs
of her decrepitude. Examine her fossils, her
marbles, her granites, her lavas, and you will
read therein a series of innumerable years,
marked by circles, by strata, or by branches,
like those of the snake by his rattles, of the horse
by his teeth, or of the stag by his antlers." This
difficulty has been answered a hundred times by
this reply: God created all things, and undoubtedly created the world, with all its signs of
maturity and perfection of arrangement, which
we behold and admire. Indeed, it is more than
probable that the Author of nature produced at
once old forests and young plantations; and that
the animal creation presented the same pleasing
contrast of graceful youth with mature age.
The oaks, in uprising from the fertile soil, bore,
no doubt, in their branches, the parent birds
with their young colony. Worm, chrysalis, and
creeping insect resting upon the herbage, deposited their golden egg in the forest, or floated
through the air. The bee, although she has but




192      YOUTI AND OLD AGE
opened to the light, counts already her ambrosial sweets, by generations of roses. We can
fancy that the ewe was not without her bleating lambs, nor the linnet without her little
ones; that the fragrant shrubs concealed, amid
their leafy verdure, the nightingale, astonished
at the warbling notes in which she chants her
early loves.
If the world had not, at the same time, been
both old and young, the grand, the imposing,
and the moral would have been wanting in nature, for these sentiments are essentially maintained by antique objects. Every scene would
have lost its novelty and wonders. The fragmented rock would no longer have jutted over
the precipice, with its long, grassy pendant;
the woods, wanting in variety, would no longer
show their beautiful changes, of curved trees in
every direction, and of massive pillars bending
over the watery rapids. The inspired thoughts,
the magical sounds, the genii, with the sacred
awe of the forest, would have been wanting,
together with the sombre bowers which serve
for their retreats; and the solitudes of earth
and heaven would have remained naked, and
destitute of charms, without those columns of
oak which unite them together. The very day
that ocean rolled forth his reverberating billows, he doubtless laved rocks already worn by




OF THE EARTI.              193
the waves, shores strewed with specimens of shellfish, roaring gulfs, and naked cliffs, which protect the shelving beach from the ravages of the
waters.  Without this original antiquity, the
workmanship of the Eternal would have been
destitute of majesty and grandeur; and, what
could never be the case, nature, in her simplicity and innocence, would have appeared less
charming than she is at present in her corruption. A wearisome insipidity of plants, animals,
and the elements, would have crowned the earth
without poetry. But God was not so crippled,
in arranging the bowers of Eden, as infidels pretend. Man, himself the monarch, arises in the
full majesty of manhood, in order to be perfectly
adapted to the grandeur of his new empire; and
his companion, in like manner, arose, with all the
graces of youthful simplicity and beauty, to harmonize with the flowers, and the birds, in all the
innocence and love of the rejoicing creation.
17




194            THE WORLD
TIIE WORLD WITIOUT CHRISTIANITY.
CONJECTURES.
BEFORE closing this work, we shall enter into an
examination of the important question which forms
the title of this chapter, and by endeavoring to discover what would have been our probable condition
at the present day, had not Christianity appeared
upon the earth, we shall know better how to appreciate this divine religion. Augustus attained power
by crimes, and reigned under the form of virtue.
He succeeded as a conqueror, and, to distinguish
himself, he maintained order and peace. Not
being a great man, he wished to be considered a
fortunate prince. He had a peaceful reign, the
volcano of corruption slumbered, and this calm
was called prosperity. Augustus possessed the
genius of circumstances; he reaped the benefits
which the true genius had prepared for him, but
his good fortune did not remain with him. Tiberius had a supreme contempt for all men, and he
did not care to conceal it. The only candor he
showed was where he ought to have dissembled;
and yet he, base as he was, could not refrain from
an exulting exclamation, when he found the Roman senate and people were more dishonorable




WITHOUT CHRISTIANITY.            195
than himself. Rome deified Nero: and, for a
long time after the death of this tyrant, his spectre made the empire tremble with joy and exultation. Here let us pause, and contemplate Roman manners. Neither Titus, nor Antoninus,
nor Marcus Aurelius, could change the foundation. God alone could effect a renovation. The
Romans were always a horrible people; their
leaders could never have so misled them into detestable vices, unless there had been a certain
natural proclivity, and perverse forwardness, to
encourage them. Athens, although corrupt, was
never execrable; she was devoted to enjoyment,
and would sing even in her chains. She discovered that her conquerors had not taken all from
her, since they still left to her the temple of the
muses. When Rome had virtues, they were virtues against nature. The first Brutus decapitated
his son, and the second assassinated his father.
There are virtues of position which we too readily
take for radical virtue, and which are only the
result of localities. At first Rome, in her freedom, was frugal, because she was poor; courageous, because, sword in hand, she came out of a
brigand's cave. She always was ferocious, unjust,
avaricious, and luxurious; she had nothing to
commend her but her talents; her character was
odious. Augustus ordered a father and son to
kill each other, and they obeyed him. The senate




196            THE WORLD
was too vile even for a Tiberius...   This
effeminacy of character was united to a frightful
corruption of manners. It was the same Nero,
already so often quoted, who invented the Juvenalian festivals. The cavaliers, the senators, and
the ladies of the first rank, were obliged to engage
in theatrical exhibitions, after the example of the
emperor, and to degrade themselves by the vilest
representations.... In these ancient entertainments, death played a prominent part; it was
there invited as a contrast, in order to heighten
the pleasures of life. What people, but these,
could ever have placed such an opprobrium upon
life and death, as to play off upon the theatre
these two great mysteries of nature, in order to
dishonor and to strike out, at one blow, the workmanship of God?
Their slaves were kept at incessant labor, with
irons upon their feet; for nourishment, they gave
them a little bread, with salt and water; at night,
they were shut up underground, where no air
could reach them but from a skylight in the
arched roof of their dungeon. There was a law,
forbidding the destruction of the African lions,
reserving them for the Roman spectacles. When
an unfortunate creature perished in the arena,
torn by a panther, or pierced by the horns of a
stag, many invalids ran and bathed in the blood,
and received it upon their thirsty lips. Caligula




WITIOUT CHRISTIANITY.           197
wished that the Roman people had but one head,
that he might cut it off at one stroke.... It
was a common custom to behead five, and even
twenty thousand persons, of all ranks, and all
sexes and ages, upon a bare suspicion of the emperor; and the friends of the victims were called
upon to assist at these horrid butcheries, and to
ornament their houses with flowers and garlands.... It is the total extinction of the moral
sense which gave to the Romans this facility of
dying, which has been so insanely lauded. Suicides are always common among a corrupt people.
Man, reducing himself to the instinct of the
brute, dies after the same manner..    If
the Romans became captives, it was owing to
their corruption of manners. Servility produces
tyranny; and, by a natural reaction, tyranny
prolongs servitude. Let us no longer complain
of the actual state of society; the most corrupt
of modern nations is a nation of philosophers
compared with Pagan nations... Tradition has handed down to us an account of the
wickedness of men, and of the terrible catastrophies which have invariably followed corruption
of manners. May it not be possible, that God has
connected the physical and moral order of the
universe, in such a manner, that a confusion in
one necessarily leads to changes in the other, and
that great crimes lead naturally to great revolu17*




198            THE WORLD
tions? Thought acts upon the body in an inexplicable manner; man is, perhaps, the thought
of the great body of the universe. This greatly
simplifies nature, and enlarges infinitely the sphere
of man: this fact would also furnish a key for the
explanation of miracles, which re-enter into the
ordinary course of events. So that the Deluge,
the embarrassments, the overthrow of kingdoms
and states, have their secret cause in the vices of
men; that crime, and its punishment, are the
two motive powers placed in the moral and physical scale of the world: the connection is fine, as
it makes but one whole out of the creation, which
appears to be double at a casual glance. It may
have been, that the corrupt Roman empire had
drawn from their desert retreats those barbarians,
who, without recognising their exterminating mission, by a natural instinct were called " God's
scourge." What would have become of this world,
if the great oak of Christianity had not preserved
the rest of mankind from this new deluge? What
would have remained for posterity? How else
could these beacon lights have been preserved to
us? We may judge of the abyss into which we
should have been plunged to-day, if the barbarians had surprised the world under polytheism,
by the actual condition of nations where Christianity is extingnished. We should all be Turkish
slaves, or something worse still; for Mohammed



WITHOUT CHRISTIANITY.            199
anism is, at the least, founded upon a thread of
morality, which it has drawn from the Christian
religion. It is, then, very possible that, were it
not for the conservative power of Christianity,
the shipwreck of society and of her luminaries
would have been total. We can never calculate
how many ages would have been necessary to recover mankind from the corruption of ignorance
and barbarism in which we should find them
buried.... We find that the Gospel has
prevented the destruction of society. Philosophy
only served to give a false and impious glare,
which, without aiding in removing idolatry, produced the evils and crimes of atheism in the
great, leaving superstition to the common people.... Jesus Christ may then be called, in a
material sense, as He is in a spiritual one, the
Saviour of the world. His visit to our earth is,
humanly speaking, the greatest event which could
ever arrive to men, since it is a part of Scripture
prophecy, that the face of the earth is to be renewed. The period of the advent of the Son of
man was very remarkable; somewhat earlier, his
morality would not have been so absolutely required; the people were still sustaining their
ancient laws; a little later, and this divine messenger would have witnessed the disruption of
society. Now-a-days, philosophy is our boast;




200            THE WORLD
but surely the frivolity with which religious institutions are treated is anything but philosophical.
The Gospel has, in every respect, changed man's
condition; it has far advanced him towards perfection.... In the heavens, Christianity
has placed but one God; upon the earth she has
abolished slavery. On the other hand, if you
regard these mysteries (as we have intimated)
as the archetype of the laws of nature, there
will be nothing in this to distress an upright
mind; the truths of Christianity, far from demanding the submission of reason, require, on
the contrary, its most sublime exercise. This
remark is so just - the Christian religion, which
they would make us believe is a remnant of
barbarism, is so well adapted to the philosophic
spirit, that one could almost believe that it was
revealed to Plato. Not only the morality, but
also the doctrines of the disciples of Socrates
bear a striking relation to that of the Evangelist....  Here is the great error of
those who praise polytheism, for having separated the moral from the religious law, and who
complain of Christianity for adopting a different
course. They do not perceive that Paganism
addresses itself to an immense crowd of slaves;
and that, consequently, it is afraid of enlightening the human race; that it does everything for




WITHOUT CHRISTIANITY.             201
the senses, and makes no provision for the soul;
Christianity, on the contrary, who designs and
wishes to remove slavery, has revealed to man
the dignity of his nature, and taught the doctrines of reason and virtue. We assert, then,
that the evangelical religion is intended for a
free people, from this simple fact of uniting morality to religion. It is high time to arouse from
the supineness in which we have lived for some
years past.... The fear of God is departing from the rising generation, and already we
see the most alarming signs manifested; and the
age of innocence is darkened by many heinous
crimes.*
What is that philosophy worth, after all, which
cannot visit among the poor, but contentedly
dwells among the rich, and that might bestow at
least a religion upon the cottager; or, rather,
that better directed, and worthy of its name, it
would level the walls which it has raised up between man and his Maker....   Our modern governments undoubtedly owe to Christianity their solidity, and their stability. The
lessons of the Gospel make the true philosopher,
* The public papers resound with the crimes committed
by youthful criminals of eleven and twelve years of age.
The evil must be alarming, when the peasants themselves
complain of the vices of their children.




202             THE WORLD
and her precepts, the faithful citizen....
Indeed, remarks Montesquieu, we owe to Christianity, and in government, a certain political
freedom, and in war a humanity which human
nature alone would not have realized. It authorized this inalienable right of the subject to
life, liberty, and conscience, wherever rulers are
not blinded by self-love and ambition. Let us
add, as a crowning blessing, a blessing which
ought to be written in letters of gold, in the
annals of philosophy: "The abolition of slavery."
As for ourselves, we are fully persuaded that
Christianity will arise triumphantly from every
ordeal which may be permitted for her purification: we are persuaded that she will bear the
severest scrutiny of reason; the deeper she is
fathomed, the more secure will prove her foundations. Her mysteries explain man and nature,
precept is confirmed by example; her charity,
under a thousand forms, has displaced the cruelties of the heathen; her worship is more satisfying to the understanding and the heart, than the
pomp and parade of idolatry; to her we owe
everything valuable, literature, science, agriculture, the fine arts; she unites morality with religion, and man to God; Jesus Christ, the Saviour
of the soul of man, is no less the regenerator of
his frame; He has come most happily to coun



WITIOUT CHRISTIANITY.             203
terbalance the deluge of barbarism, and the
general corruption of manners. When the proof
of miracles is denied to Christianity, the sublimity of its morality will still remain, in the diffusion of its blessings, in the beauty of its ceremonies, to afford adequate proof that it is the
most heavenly religion, and the purest worship
which mankind ever observed.... These
reflections and proofs have resulted in the following conviction, namely, that Christianity is perfect, and that men are imperfect. For perfection can never issue out of imperfection. Christianity, then, does not come from man. If it
is not from man, it must be from God. If it is
from God, it must have come to man by a revelation.
Then Christianity is a revelationfrom God.




204       M ADAME DE STAEL'S
BEAUTIFUL EXTRACTS
From Chateaubriand's Letter to JI. De Fontanes,
upon Madame De Stael's Theory of Perfectibility.
MY DEAR FRIEND:As soon as I received the work of Madame
De Stael, in my solitude, I hastened to read it,
curious to know what a lady, so intelligent and
spirituelle, could say in defence of her doctrine
of Perfectibility.
Ah! it would be indeed sweet to believe that
we become more and more perfect from race to
race, and that the son is always better than his
father. If any proof could be afforded of this
excellence of the human heart, it would be to discover that Madame De Stael possessed the illusive principle in her own heart. Sometimes I
fear that this lady, who so often complains of
mankind, and yet boasts of their perfectibility,
should be like the priests who have lost faith in
the idol over whose altars they throw incense....
You are aware, my dear friend, that it is my
folly to see Jesus Christ everywhere, as Madame
De Stael her perfectibility. I have the misfor



THEORY OF PERFECTIBILITY. 205
tune to believe, with Pascal, that the Christian
religion alone explains the problem of man.
Thus, you perceive, I have sheltered myself under
the authority of a great name, in order to encourage you to tolerate my contracted notions, and
my anti-philosophical convictions. That which
Madame De Stael asserts of philosophy, I attribute to religion...   Christianity alone has
made this warfare between the flesh and the
spirit so favorable to great dramatic effect. Thus
you see, in Eloisa, the most impetuous and
ardent of the passions wrestling with powerful
religious convictions. Eloisa loves; she is enthusiastic and impassioned, but she elevates herself
above all by a marble wall, and stoical insensibility; eternal rewards and punishments await
her fall or her triumph. Dido, on the contrary,
only loses an ungrateful lover: but Eloisa is
agitated by a totally different care! Her choice
must be between God and a faithful lover. And
she cannot beguile herself with any cherished
hopes, she dare not secretly yield even the
smallest iota of her heart: the God whom she
serves is a jealous God —a God who will be
supremely enthroned, who will punish even the
shadow of a thought. He discerns the intents. Qf
the heart; no one is to be preferred before him.
" Thou shalt have no other gods before me." For
"I, the Lord thy God, am a jealous God." I am
18




206       MADAME DE STAEL'S
sorry that Madame De Stael has not religiously
developed the system of the passions. Perfectibility is not, in my opinion, the instrument that is
to be used to measure our weakness. Human
nature, has it taken a single step in moral
science?  No! it advances only the physical
sciences.... Fatal blindness of these systems, Madame De Stael denominates the fidelity
of the martyr folly in those very acts which, elsewhere, her own generous heart would have praised
with enthusiasm. I allude to youthful maidens
choosing death, rather than the caresses of tyrants,
and to noble men who refuse to bow down to idols,
shedding their life-blood in sight of an astonished
world, as faithful witnesses for the unity of the
Godhead, and the immortality of the soul. I
think this is beyond all philosophy. What ought
to have been the astonishment of the human race,
when in the midst of the most shameful superstitions, everything is God but God Himself, as
has been remarked by Bossuet!... There
are strange contradictions in Madame De Stael's
work; sometimes she appears almost a Christian,
and I am ready to rejoice; but the next moment
philosophy gains the ascendancy. Oftentimes,
inspired by her natural sensibility, which tells her
there is no real beauty or pathos without religion,
she allows her soul to escape. But, suddenly,
argumentation awakens, and carries her off from




THEORY OF PERFECTIBILITY. 207
heart impulses. To me her work is a singular
mixture of truth and error....    I have
dwelt among the American Indians, and I have
remarked that they always speak of time passed,
but never of a time to come. Some grains of
dust, in the depth of the tomb, remain to them as
the witness of a passed existence; but there is
nothing to point out to them an existence in the
unknown future. This expectation of the future,
which is so familiar to us, is yet one of the
greatest abstractions at which the thought of man
can arrive. The unconscious savage knows not,
as we do, that grief overflows grief; that the soul,
without recollection or forethought, does not concentre in itself the past, the present, and the future, in a sort of mournful eternity.... The.moral beau-ideal is formed in the same manner as
the physical ideal. Certain movements of the
soul are unveiled; for the soul, like the body, has
its shamefacedness and concealments. And I
cannot avoid remarking, that man is the only
being among living creatures that is susceptible
of being represented more perfect than in nature,
and thus approximating to the Divinity. It is a
grand idea of the Author of our being, and a
proof of our immortality.... Intellect may
exist without religion, but it is almost impossible
to possess genius. It is deplorable to find men,
in the eighteenth century, who, instead of using




208       MADAME DE STAEL'S
the perfect instrument which Racine and Bossuet
employed to strike the key-note of their eloquence, have recourse to the scale of a narrow
philosophy, which subdivides the soul in degrees
and minutes, and reduces the whole universe,
God Himself included, into a simple subtraction
of nothing! Every writer who refuses to believe
in a God, Creator of the world, and Judge of
men, to whom He has given an immortal spirit,
banishes forever infinity from his works. He
imprisons thought in a sphere of matter, from
which he cannot disenthrall himself. He no
longer sees anything noble in nature; all her
operations are corrupted and defiled. The vast
ocean is but a drop of bituminous water; the
mountains are small protuberances of limestone
or quartz. The two splendid luminaries in the
heavens, which cheer our daily toils, and evening
watches, are only two heavy masses, formed by
chance by we know not what fortunate collection
of matter. Thus all is disenchanted, everything
is uncovered to the unbeliever, even man himself
he professes to understand; and, if you could listen to him, he would explain to you what your
thought is made of, how it moves, and whence it
came, and also by what mechanism your heart is
warmed and stirred, at the recital of a noble action. What a wonderful comprehension of that
which the grandest genius has failed to fathom!




TIIEORY OF PERFECTIBILITY. 209
But approach, and see what these great luminaries of philosophy are made of. Look down
into this tomb; contemplate this shrouded corpse,
this shadowy statue robed in a winding-sheet;
this is the whole of the atheist. But as I have a
desire to convert my neighbor, I acknowledge to
you, in confidence, that I would give a great deal
to see Madame De Stael take refuge under the
drapery of religion. This is what I would dare
to tell her, if I had the honor of her acquaintance: "You are, undoubtedly, a superior woman; you are strong-minded, and your imagination is oftentimes original and charming...
Your style is often brilliant and elevated. But,
in spite of all these advantages, your work is very
far from being what it ought to become. The
system is monotonous, without spirit, and too full
of metaphysical expressions. We are repulsed by
the sophistry of the sentiments. Learning makes
no amends where the heart is sacrificed to the intellect. Whence originate these faults? It is
from your philosophy. This is an essential defect
in your work, or, is there really any eloquence
without religion? You have, in order to supply
man's need of an eternity of hope, been obliged to
form it out of your system of perfectibility upon
earth, in order to replace this infinity, which you
refuse to see in the heavens. If you desire fame,
return to religious principles. I am convinced
18*




210       MADAME DE STAEL'S
that you have in you the germ of a work infinitely
more beautiful than any which you have yet produced. Your talents are but partially developed;
philosophy has crushed you; and, if you retain
your opinions, you will never attain the heights
to which you might reach, by following the pathway which has conducted a Pascal, Bossuet, and
Racine to immortality." Thus would I appeal to
Madame De Stael's love of glory. But, when I
come to the article of happiness, in order to make
my sermon less wearisome, I would vary my
style. I would borrow the language of the forest,
which is permitted to me in the character of a
savage. I would address my neophyte: "You
appear to be unhappy; you often complain, in
your work, of wanting hearts to understand you:
do you know that there are certain souls who seek
in vain, throughout all nature, for congenial spirits
(who are made for each other), and who are condemned by the Great Spirit to an eternal widowhood? If this is your afflictive case, religion is
your only remedy. The word philosophy, in the
language of Europe, seems to me to correspond to
the word solitude in the idiom of savages. For,
will philosophy ever be able to fill up the vacuum
of our days? Canst thou people solitudes with
deserts? Here is a female from the Appalachian
mountains, who says: there are no good genii, for
I am unhappy, and so are all the inhabitants of




THEORY OF PERFECTIBILITY. 211
the hamlets in the valleys; and, moreover, I have
never yet met any man, however favored, and
how joyous soever his mien, who had not a hidden
grief. The heart the most serene in exterior, resembles the natural wells of the Alachua savannahs;* the surface appears to you calm and pure;
but, when you look into the depths of the tranquil lake, you perceive a huge monster, which the
wells have nourished amid their waters. The woman wishes to consult the juggler of the desert of
Scambre, to inquire if there are any good fairies.
The juggler replies to her: Lily of the waters,
upon what wilt thou lean, if there are no good
* These natural fountains (or wells as they are called)
may be found at the base of the Appalachian mountains,
in the Floridas. Each well issues from the centre of a
hill, planted with orange trees, evergreen oaks, and catalpas. This hill opens, in the form of a crescent, towards
the savannah, and a stream of water flows from the well
through this aperture. The trees overshadowing the fountain give a perfectly black color to the water beneath;
but, at the base of the mount, at the mouth of the stream,
upon which the light reflects through this channel, and
glistens over this lake as a mirror, it has the magical
effect which the glass produces in the camera obscura of
the painter. This charming retreat is the habitation of a
huge crocodile, reposing in the middle of the basin; and
which, from the greenish cast of his coat, and jets of colored
spray from his immense nostrils, you would take for a
bronze dragon in some grotto among the groves of Versailles.




212       MADAME DE STAEL'S
genii?  Thou, above all others, shouldst believe
in them, for the sole reason that thou art unhappy. What is there in life to thee, without
happiness, and without hope? Occupy thyself in
good deeds; fill up thy solitary hours with benevolent plans. Be as a star to the unfortunate,
expand thy modest light in the shade; be witness
to the tears which flow in silence, that the unhappy may fasten their eyes upon thee without
being dazzled with thy superior lustre. Behold
the only means of finding the happiness of which
thou art in search! The Great Spirit has only
stricken thee, in order to awaken thee to the woes
around thee, and that thou shouldst hasten to their
relief. If thy heart is like the wells of the crocodile, it is also as the tree which yields its balsam
for the wounds of men, when the iron has entered
its fibres. The juggler of the desert of Scambre
having thus spoken to the woman from the Appalachian mountains, re-enters the crevice of his
rock."
Adieu, my dear friend, I love you and embrace
you with all my heart.
THE AUTHOR OF THE GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY.
The touching allusion made to the "sandal
tree" by Chateaubriand, has reminded us of an




THEORY OF PERFECTIBILITY. 218
exquisite poetic scrap from the pen of J. Edmonston, which we insert, as not unworthy of its
place among these clustering gems.
"When, on a fragrant sandal tree,
The woodman's axe descends,
And she who bloomed so beauteously,
Beneath the weapon bends -
E'en on the edge that wrought her death,
Dying, she breathes her sweetest breath,
As if to token, in her fall,
Peace to her foes, and love to all.
" How hardly man this lesson learns,
To smile and bless the hand that spurns;
To see the blow, to feel the pain,
And render only love again!
One had it, but Ile came from heaven;
Reviled, rejected, and betrayed,
No curse IIe breathed, no plaint He made;
But when in death's dark pang IIe sighed,
Prayed for his murderers, and died."
THE END.








LINDSAY & BLAKISTON'S PUBLICATIONS.
A BEAUTIFUL PRESENTATION VOLUME FOR 1858.
THE BIBLE GALLERY;
ILLUSTRATING
tnr ~auunurt 3ift nuh }niosn.
WITH
PROMINENT EVENTS
IN THE
LIVES OF HIS DISCIPLES, THE PATRIARCHS, AND PROPHETS,
AND
THE WOMEN OF THE OLD AND NEW TESTAMENTS,
With Twenty-four llustrations on Steel.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
1. " I am the Vine, ye are the Branches."  13. Saul presenting his Daughter to David.
2. Christ in the Temple.                14. Abraham offering up Isaac.
3. The Holy Family.                     15. The Arrival of Rebecca.
4. Christ at the Well of Sychar.        16. Jaoob at the House of Laban.
5. Jesus stilling the Tempest.          17. Moses smiting the Rock.
6. The Healing of the Daughter of Jairus.  18. Elijah fed by Ravens.
7. The Healing of the Ten Lepers.       19. Martha and Mary.
8. Christ's charge to Peter: " Feed my lambs." 20. Sarah, Hagar, and Ishmael.
9. Christ weeping over Jerusalem.       21. Queen Esther, the wife of Ahasuerus.
10. Peter and John at the Gate of the Temple. 22. Miriam and Pharaoh's Host.
11. Paul before King Agrippa.            23. Ruth gleaning in the Fields of Boaz.
12. John on the Isle of Patmos.          24. The Syro-Phoenician Woman.
PREFACE.
This volume, illustrating, as it does, most beautifully, both in prose and poetry, from the
pens of distinguished Authors, prominent events in the Lives of Our Saviour, His Disciples,
and holy Men and Women of old, forms a fitting presentation book, at all seasons.
While, from its mechanical execution and the beauty of its numerous engravings, it is a
becoming ornament for the centre-table or the boudoir, it will impart to the minds of its
readers a high moral taste and sound instruction.
The publishers, therefore, feel no hesitation in bringing it before the public, in its present
shape, and commending it to their attention.
In one vol. royal octavo, elegantly bound.
Price, in full cloth, gilt sides, edges, etc., $4.
In Antique Morocco, $6.




LINDSAY & BLAKISTON'S PUBLICATIONS.
flje      3jl2u. 1ojn             ITmmingf             XOrks.
~HE APOCALYPTIC SKETCHES, 1st and 2d Series. 2 Vols. Lectures on
the Book of Revelation.
THE APOCALYPTIC SKETCHES, 3d Series. 1 Vol. Lectures on The Seven
Churches.
LECTURES ON OUR LORD'S MIRACLES. 1 Vol.
LECTURES ON OUR LORD'S PARABLES. 1 Vol.
THE PROPHETIC STUDIES, or Lectures on the Book of Daniel. 1. Vol.
TWELVE URGENT QUESTIONS. Personal, Practical, and Pointed. 1 Vol.
SIGNS OF THE TIMES, or the Past, Present, and Future. 1 Vol.
THE LAST OF THE PATRIARCHS, or Lessons from the Life of Joseph.
1 Vol.
FAMILY PRAYERS, For every Morning and Evening in the Year. With
Reference to appropriate Scripture Readings. 2 Vols. Volume 1, January
to June; Volume 2, July to December.
MINOR WORKS, First Series.       Containing The Finger of God, Christ ouw
Passover, and The Comforter. In 1 Vol.
MINOR WORKS, Second Series. Containing Message from God, The Great
Sacrifice, and Christ Receiving Sinners. 1 Vol.
MINOR WORKS, Third Series. Containing Infant Salvation, The Baptismal
Font, and The Communion Table. 1 Vol.
Price, bound in cloth,      75 cents per volume.
is"     "      leather, $1.             "
c It will do the heart and head good to read Dr. Cumming's writings; they will cheer
many a pilgrim on his way to Heaven."-Christian Advocate.
l They are enriched with a high tone of orthodox doctrine, and with great devotional
sweetness; they form an important addition to our practical religious literature."-Episco.
pal Recorder.
" Elevated in thought, attractive in style, and devotional in tone, they must command
attention."-Presbyterian.
" There is a freshness, beauty, and spirituality about them which cannot fail to give them
favor with the man of taste, as well as the true Christian."-'Puritan Recorder.
" He is one of the soundest and most popular preachers of the age."-Baptist Watchman
and Observer.




LINDSAY & BLAKISTON'S PUBLICATIONS.
THE CHRISTIAN          LIFE.    In two vols., 12mo.
Vol. I. containing "Its Course, its Hindrances, and its Helps,"
Vol. II containing "Its Hopes, its Fears, and its Close."
Price, for the two volumes, $2.
"The Christian Life is set forth in this volume with all that delightful fervor and force which characterized the late admirable author. It contains an exhibition of principles that are of universal interest
to the religious reader."- Harper's Aagazine.
"We honor the boldness of the man, we admire his scholarship, and we love his piety." -
Evan2elist.
" Dr. Arnold's name is a sufficient guarantee of their substantial merit. They are remarkable for
their simplicity, justness of discrimination, good sense, and practical tendency." - Presbyterian.
Arr bionf Wtate~q
SCRIPTURE REVELATIONS CONCERNING A FUTURE STATE. Price,
75 cents.
SCRIPTURE REVELATIONS CONCERNING GOOD AND EVIL ANGELS.
Price, 63 cents.
THOUGHTS AND APOPHTHEGMS, Religious and Miscellaneous, from the
Writings of Archbishop Whately. Price, $1.
"There is a directness of aim and argument, and a wide compass of mind in the Writings of Archbishop Whately, which commend them to thoughtful, discriminating readers "-'Lutheran Observer.
" Well it is for the Protestant cause, which, in some respects, never had a more valiant champion, that
Richard Whately is still Archbishop of Dublin. We nost cordially recommend his writings. They
ean never be read without instruction." —Episcopal Recorder.
" Intellectual vigor, extensive erudition, strong common sense, and manly argument, commend hi
works to the attention of students and general readers." - Christian Observer.
THE GLORY OF THE REDEEMER IN HIS PERSON AND WORK.
12mo. Price, $1.
GLIMPSES OF THE           TRUTH     AS   IT  IS IN   JESUS.     12mo.    Price, 75 cents.
THE INQUIRER DIRECTED TO AN EXPERIMENTAL AND PRACTIOAL
VIEW OF THE WORK OF THE HOLY SPIRIT. Price, 75 cents.
" Dr. Winslow writes as from the heart. He has beheld not only with the eye of the intellect, but
byfaith, what he portrays. His style is fervid, because his spirit is all aglow with the theme. The
Christian will find these most charming and delightful books."- Central Christian Herald.
"Mr. Winslow has written much, and written well. Always happy in the selection of his subjects,
he was never more so than in these volumes. His works are richly evangelical, highly spiritual, and
scriptu rally practical." -Christian Witness.
"The deep and pure spirituality which characterizes all the preceding works of this dear servant of
God, shmn s most beautifully here. His writings are a feast, both for body and soul." —Chrstian
Lady's Magazine.




LINDSAY & BLAKISTON'S PUBLICATIONS.
4fI        XU{u. A              pi. Ii5npuIjiS 3aork.
THE    TWO PILGRIMS: or the Israelite and the Christian on their Journey
to the Earthly and the Heavenly Canaan. In one volume, 12mo. Price,
in cloth, plain, $1; full gilt, $1.50.
"The title of this book clearly indicates its scope. It uses the Old Testament as a succession of pictures to illustrate Christian experience. It might be called the harmony of the two Testaments, as
seen in the experience of believers. It shows that the experience of the pious Israelite repeats itself
in that of the Christian. The design of the work is happy, and, so far as we have read, its execution is
satisfactory. It is written in a flowing, yet chaste and impressive style, and it appeals powerfully to
the heart of the believer. To us there appears to be decided advantages in contemplating divine truth
in the view in which it is here presented. It is a practical and effective rebuke of the habit, which
exists in some quarters, of disparaging the Old Testament. One who has not reflected on the subject
will, in the reading of this book, be surprised at the fulness of the Old Testament in its bearings on
Christian experience."-Puritan Recorder.
THE MEMORY         OF THE DEAD: or the Sepulchres of our Departed. Fifth
Edition. In one volume, 12mo. Price, $1; cloth, gilt, $1.50.
As flowers which night, when day is o'er, perfume,
Breathes the sweet memory from a good man's tomb."
Sir E. L. Bulwer.
" This is a volume to comfort and to cheer; to render the grave familiar, and to derive from its contemplation the most encouraging hopes. A fine tone pervades the volume, and it abounds in just sentinlents, ornately expressed. We should be glad to see that general seriousness of feeling which would
make such a volume popular."-Presbyterian.
" All Christians who are looking forward to the bliss of heaven, by passing through the tomb, will be
strengthened and comforted by glancing over the lessons here inculcated as addressed to the pilgrim
in search of that better country."-Cristianr Chronicle.
Aft %mn. ~. + Brot'sg Werk B
WHO     ARE THE BLESSED: or Meditations on the Beatitudes.                      One vol.,
12mo. Price, 75 cents.
"In this very interesting volume of discourses on Christ's sermon on the Mount, those whom the
Great Teacher pronounced blessed, are made the subject of each respective chapter.' Who are the
Blessed' is answered by the themes treated of as follows: The Poor in Spirit; The Mourners; The
Meek; The Hungry and Thirsty; The Merciful; The Pure in Heart; The Peace-Maker, and the Persecuted. These themes are discoursed upon with great clearness and force. The writer manifests
throughout a distinct apprehension and thorough knowledge of his subject, and his style attracts the
reader, and deepens his interest as he proceeds. The discourses are, in the highest sense, editying
and instructive."-Evangelical Lutheran.
THE LIFE OF PHILIP MELANCHTHON, the Friend and Companion of
Luther, according to his Inner and Outer Life. Translated from the German of CHARLES FREDERICK LEDDERHOSE, by the REV. G. F. KROTEL, Pastor of the Trinity Lutheran Church, Lancaster, Pa. With a Portrait of Melanchthon. In one volume, 12mo. Price, $1.
"  elanchthon, the learned, pious, gentle Philip, the cherished friend and ablest coadjutor of Luther,
aud the universal favorite of the reformers and their disciples in the sixteenth century; who does not
wish to become familiar with the incidents of his eventful life, and hold converse with his pure, wise,
and lovely spirit? The book before us is just such a one as will gratify this desire. Its manner is simple and natural, the style is chaste and perspicuous, the narrative straight-forward and always in motion; vwhile the author, as far as practicable, stands in the back-ground, and allows the subject of the
biography and cotemporaries to give their own history, and utter their sentiments in their own wr.y."
-South. Presbyterian.




LINDSAY & BLAKISTON'S PUBLICATIONS.
lliuitrue t              tooks+
THE WOMEN OF THE SCRIPTURES.                By Distinguished American Writers.
Edited by the REV. H. HASTINGS WELD. With Eight Illustrations, engraved
on steel.
SCENES IN THE LIFE OF THE SAVIOUR. Illustrating the Saviour's Life
and Passion. Edited by the REV. R. W. GRISWOLD. With Eight beautiful
Engravings.
SCENES IN THE LIVES OF THE PATRIARCHS AND PROPHETS. Edited
by the REV. H. HASTINGS WELD. With Eight Illustrations, engraved on
steel.
SCENES IN THE LIVES OF THE APOSTLES. Edited by the REV. H. II, T
INGS WELD. With Eight beautiful Illustrations.
Octavo volumes, sold separately, or in sets.
Price per volume, bound in cloth, gilt backs,            -   $1 50
a        is"       " t "        full gilt edge, &c.,   -    2 00
it"      "         " <  Turkey morocco, gilt, or antique,   4 00
"These volumes are among the most elegant specimens from the American Press. In neatness and
chasteness of execution, they are perhaps unsurpassed. The engravings illustrate most strikingly, and
with great beauty, some of the most sublime and the most touching Scripture scenes. They also contain some of the richest specimens of Sacred Poetry, whose subject and style are such as deeply to interest the imagination, and at the same time to make the heart better. We hope that the Christian'
table, at least, may be adorned with the volumes mentioned, and such as are like them." —N. B.
Puritan.
THE CHRISTIAN'S DAILY DELIGHT. A Sacred Garland culled from English
and American Poets. Beautifully Illustrated by Eight Engravings on steel.
In one volume, octavo, cloth, gilt backs, -   -     -    price, $1 50
i"      "       "    cloth, full gilt sides, edges, &c.  "    2 00
"       "       "    Turkey morocco, gilt, or antique,  "     4 00
" In this attractive volume we find much to please the eye; but the most valuable recommendation
of the work is found in the lessons of piety, virtue, morality, and mercy, which are thrown together in
this many-colored garland of poetic flowers."-Episcopal Recorder.
THE PARABLES OF FREDERICK ADOLPHUS KRUMMACHER. From the
Seventh German Edition.      Elegantly Illustrated by Twenty-six Original
Designs, beautifully printed OL fine paper.      A  handsome demi octavo
volume.
Elegantly bound in cloth, gilt backs,  -      -      -     Price, $1 50
"        "        "   full gilt sides, backs, and edges,  "    2 00
"        "         t  Turkey morocco, antique,   -       "    4 00
" 1 rte simple and Christian parables of Krummacher, chiefly the productions of his younger years,
gave acquired a wide popularity, and have long afforded a fund on which our periodicals have freely
drawn, in their collected form they have passed through various editions in Germany, but we doubt
whether any of them have been so tasteful and beautiful in all their appliances as the one before us.
The typography is very chaste, and the illustrations neat and appropriate."-Presbyterian.




LINDSAY & BLAKISTON'S PUBLICATIONS.
3Libvrarhi     for'^oul g }r5cp t        nn fuor fo   1oI.o
THE YOUNG AMERICAN'S LIBRARY- 12 volumes -containing:
The Life of GENERAL WASHINGTON,  The Life of GENERAL TAYLOR,
"   BENJAMIN FRANKLIN,        "   NAPOLEON BONAPARTE,
"   GENERAL LAFAYETTE,        "   HENRY CLAY,
GENERAL MARION,            "   DANIEL WEBSTER,
"   WILLIAM PENN          The YANKEE TEA PARTY. or Boston in 1776.
"   GENERAL JACKSON,      The OLD BELL OF INDEPENDENCE.
Each volume beautifully illustrated by Eight Engravings, and neatly bound
in cloth, gilt backs. Price. of the whole sett, enclosed in a neat box, $6;
of any volume separately, 50 cents.
THE GIFT LIBRARY- 6 volumes - containing:
Mary Howitt's DIAL OF LOVE- 1 vol.  Mrs. Myers's NEIGHBOR'S CHILDREN -
"    MIDSUIMMER FLOWERS-1 vol.    2 vols.
Mrs. Hughes's BUDS AND BLOSSOMS - 1 vol.  TRUE RICHES -1 vol.
With numerous Illustrations, bound in cloth, gilt backs to match. Price, for
the sett enclosed in a box, $3.75; for any volume separately, 63 cents.
MRS. LEE'S YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY -4 volumes - containing:
THE AUSTRALIAN WANDERERS,     THE AFRICAN CRUSOES,
THE ANECDOTES OF ANIMALS,     THE ANECDOTES OF BIRDS, F'SHES, &c.
Twenty Illustrations, bound in cloth, gilt backs to match. Price,for the sett,
in boxes, $3; for any volume separately, 75 cents.
AUNT MARY'S LIBRARY- 10 volumes - by Mrs. HUGHES, cortaining:
LIZZIE LINDEN,   GENEROSITY,          GIPSY FORTUNE- ELLR.
FRANK WORTHY,     MOTHER'S BIRTH-DAY,  YOUNG SAILOR,
MAY MORNING,     PROUD GIRL HUMBLED, HOLIDAYS IN THE COUNTRY,
YOUNG ARTIST
fach with a Colored Frontispiece, bound in cloth. Price, per sett, in boxes,
$2.b0.
THE ANIMALS OF THE BIBLE, containing numerous Engravings of Groups
of Animals, beautifully Colored from Nature, with Descriptive Letter-Press.
One volume, large quarto, bound in cloth. Price, $1.25.
THE YOUNG AMERICAN'S PICTURE GALLERY. A Series of Seventy Illustrations of Prominent Events and Men in the History of the United States,
with Descriptive Letter-Press. A beautiful quarto volume, bound in cloth,
gilt sides. Price, $1.25.
THE HOME STORY - BOOK, for Young People, containing Tales, Stories,
Charades, &c., with numerous Colored and other Illustrations. A demy
quarto volume, cloth, gilt. Price, $1.