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Vol. XII,— No. 19.
Whole Number 591
THE CATHOLIC HERALD
18 PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY BY
M. FITHIAN,
No. 72 North Second Street, Philadelphia.
Terms.—Two Dollars and Vitty Cents, if paid
in advance, or Three Dollars, payable half yearly.
No paper discontinued until all arrearages are
‘settled.
All Communications, except from Agents or
Subscribers enclosing remittances, must be post
paid, and addressed ‘+ To the Editor of the Ca-
tholic Herald, Philadelphia, Pa.”
By permission of the Post-Master General, any
Post-Mastercan frank a letter containing a remit-
ance, for a Subscriber.
Ploctry.
THE WIDOW'S CHARGE,
BY MRS. L, H. SIGOURNEY.
Deal gently thou, whose hand hath won
‘The young bird from the nest away;
Where careless ‘neath a vernal sun
She gaily carrolled day by day:
‘The haunt is lone—the heart must grieve,
From whence hertimid wing doth soar,
And pensive list, at hush of eve
‘Yet hear her gushing song no more.
Deal gently with her,—thou art dear,
Beyond what vestal lips have told,
And like a lamp from fountains clear,
She turns confiding to thy fold;
She, round thy sweet domestic bower,
‘The wreaths of changeless love shall twine,
Watch for thy step at vesper hour,
And blend her holiest prayer with thine.
Deal gently, thou, when faraway, .
"Mid stranger scenes her foot shall rove,
"And should’st thou, wondering, mark a tear
“Unconscious from her eyelid break,
Be pitiful, and soothe the fear,
‘That man’s strong heart can ne'er parteke.
‘A mother yields her gem to thee,
On thy true breastto sparkle rare—
She places ‘neath thy household tree
‘The idol of her fondest care;
And by thy trust to be forgiven
When judgment wakes in terror wild,
By all the treasured hopes of heaven,
Deal gently with the widow's child.
From the London ‘Table.
REVIEW.
The Cistercian Saints of England. St. Ste-
phen Harding. London: Toovey, 1844,
* "Phe origin of this work will be best ex-
plained by the following paragraph, taken from
the “advertisement” prefixed to it, :
“The following pages were printed with the
view of forming one of a series of Lives of
English Saints, according to a prospectus
which appeared in the course of last autumn,
but which has since, for private reasons, been
superseded. As it is not the only work under-
taken in pursuance of the plan then in’ con-
templation, it is probable that, should it meet
with success, other lives, now parily written,
will be published in a similar form by their
respective authors on their own responsibili-
ty.”
This advertisement is signed with the ini-
tials “I, LH, N.,’’ and dated “Lildlemore, Jan-
uary, 1844." Our readers will, of course,
understand that this life. of St. Stephen, the
founder of the Cistercian Order, and the spir-
itwal father of St. Bernard, is from the pen of
is. Newman.
We entreat all those of our readers who may
wish \o be puzzled as to the state of the Puseyite
movement, \o beg, borrow, or buy, and read
this liule volume, We promise them infinite
entertainment, instruction, and even edifica-
tion in its perusal; and when they have peru-
sed it, we also promise them, if they can man-
age to forget the author’s name, and one or
two doubtful phrases—the doubtfulness. of
which seems to be intentional and for a pur-
pose—that they will either have the impres-
sion on their minds thal the writer is a Catho-
lic, or else lift their hands and eyes to heaven
in speechless amazement that the writer still
remains a Protestant. In a word, if they call
to mind that Mr. Newman still remains in
strict communiun and participation with the
sins of heresy and schism, they will feel a hor-
ror at the mental blindness which resists the
entrance of so much light. Oh God, they will
say to themselves, what can have been this
man’s sin that Thou shouldst permit him so
close an approach, so clear an insight, and yet
shouldst debar him from all effective posses-
sion of those spiritual treasures which he seems
so formed to appreciate? What judgment is
this that Thou holdest suspended over his
head! To what infinite delusionsgaast Thou
allowed him to become a victim i what
mysterious end dost ‘Thou allow tiis man to
teach and preach to others the truths of Thy
gospel and the way of salvation, while for
himself Thou leavest him powerless and help-
less, a beggar at the outer gate? It is a very
mournful and shocking spectacle— worse than
that of princes and heroes in ragged garmenis
asking alms of the passer by,
ewman—in the absence of all
personal k led, ave ever entertain-
ed a most profound and sincere respect;
mingled, tvo, with a feeling of gratitude, for
cavses to which we shall not allude more dis-
tinetly. We have with all our hearts rejoiced
over every symptom he has exhibited of near-
er approach to the gates of the heavenly city;
and we have sorrowed deeply over every in.
stance of his apparently unaccountable back-
wardness. We need hardly add that. both
these feelings are immeasurably increased by
the perusal of the beaotiful little work before
us. But still the question recurs tous, Why
does this man, seemingly and. by repute so
full of piety, humility, and spiritual discern-
ment, still dug to his breast the ignominious
fetters of that false practice and belief? We
cannot say. Rumours, indeed, have reached
us—we hardly like to allude to them—from
which it would appear that he is overpowered
by the delusion. uf visions from above, con-
firming bim i: is present course. , God
Knows if this be true; but if itbe, itis, indeed
most lamentable,’
Other rumours. aliribute
his holding his position to a mere feeling of
policy; a policy of which it is reported—but
we do not believe the ramour—that even some
Catholics approveit. Ile thinks, forsooth,
that he can do more service to God by remain-
ing as he is, and thus holding out bis hand to
the weaker Agglicans to help them on their
way. That any Catholic in his senses can
approve of such a policy, we do not believe,
inasmuch as to approve it would be to approve
the most awful sins, for the sake of sowe rot-
ten calculations of prospective benefit. Of
course heresy and schism are sins, let those
who are without say whatthey will; and itis,
of course, impossible that any Catholic can
seriously approve acontinuante in them furan
instant of time, even to secure the brightest
and most brilliant results. Nay, we do not
anderstand how any one, even on the borders
of conversion, can for any length of time
nourish so insane a thought. Either the
church. of Rome is the true church—is a
church which the waverer intends to enter, or
itis not. “If it is not, any such policy as that
we have alluded to can have. no place, In
this event Mr. Newman cannot have the, no-
tion of remaining for a time longer in the An-
glican establishment, in order, when he leaves
it fur Rome, to draw a mighty train after him,
On the other hand, if the church of Rome be
the true church, which he intends to enter, he
van only enter it by condemning his present
course ; by re; enting of his present “policy”
asa sin; by acknowledging that to remain
out of communion with Rome willingly fora
moment, and upon any pretext, is, pro tanto,
a rejection of the grace of God, a renunciation
of the hopes of salvation. Surely, even such
a waverer must understand that his first duty
is to his own soul; and that nothing, howev-
er specious, can excuse hit for neglecting or
postponing, even for the twinkling of an eye,
that great primary obligaiion . It is not for
him to save sinners, but to save himeell. ‘The
first he cannot do; he can only Plan and wa-
ter, while God giveth the increase. ‘I'he se-
cand he can do; he must do; nor can any
pretence excuse the guilt of his neglect. How
does such a one know that this very moment
may not be his lasi—the last moment «f mer
cy given him by the Almighty to redeem his
life from the hand of the spoiler? And how
will it be with him if he deliberately throws
away this last moment? declares, on system,
that he will not avail himself of this gracious
opportunity? but, as if * the supper of whe
Lamb” was a common human banquet, re-
solves that he will accept an invitation to it at
a ‘* more convenient season?” We need
hardly ask how he knows that this more con-
venient season will ever arrive to him.
Ofcourse, in making these remarks, we
cannot pretend to know that they, or any of
thea, are in point of fact. applicable to Mr.
ewman. We speak only from rumoor in
the first instances but we cannot help feeling
that the book before us supplies an instance
elaborately described by Mr.-Newman, and
which may have impressed itself on him as
bearing some faint resemblance to ‘his own
case, Pethaps the notion is only fanciful; but
we have been much struck by it, and shall
presently quote the passage to which we. re-
=
od
“Many of our readers, we dare say, know
litle of St. Stephen, the Englishman, one of
the first founders of the monastery of Citeaux,
its third abbot, and the founder of the Cister-
cian order, of which Citeaux was the first
house. It is of the illustrious personage that
Mr. Newwan here treats, and incidentally of
the early life of St. Bernard, who was one of
his most illustrious convertites; and of that
state of public and intellectual disorder which
rendered the foundation of the Cistercian order
and the development of St, Bernard, a neces-
sary remedy, and an era in the church, Of
the early part of this most interesting history
we can say little ; but we come to the time
when the arduous labours attending the first
foundation of Citeaux were drawing to a close.
Mr. Newman thus describes the arsival of St.
Bernard and his band of novices :
“Whatever the vision portended, it. is cer-
tain that the days of mourning for Citeaux
were nearly over. Fourteen years of widow-
hood and barrenness had. now passed away
at length to bring consolation with it, . Ia the
year 1113, the iron hammee which hung at
the lowly gate of the monastery sounded, and
a large number of men entered the cloisier,
traveller who had been benighted in the forest
_—.
* Perhaps in connection with these guesses the
following passage from one of Mr. Newman's re-
cent productions may have some interest—** An
I speak with the more freedom, because, as it has
been said already, the public notes of the church
are not her only tokens, and a failure and defi-
ciency in them here and there is no argument that
the presence of God is away from the church.
Such a misfortune, must, indeed, diminish her ex-
ternal power in the places where it is found, but
not her influence at home; it may stint her growth
and obstruct her propagation, but her present fruit
may remain on her notwithstanding, with a firm
hold. | For, after all, what really and practically
attaches any one to the church, is not the outward
display of inagnificence or greatness, but the expe-
ricnce uf her benefits upon himself. Vhese private
and special evidence of the Divine Presence I may
have another opportunity ofenlarging upon; mean-
while J’ will mention a personal consideration of
another kind, whch‘ though, abstractedly, of less
influence, yet, under the circumstances in which
it comes to us, surely, ought to be considered not
aslight argument for a Christian's continuing
where Providence originally placed him, in spite of
the scandals which surround him. Jtis this: in
various parts of our church, various persons who
do not kaow each other, and who gained their reli-
ious views in different woys—men and women
have, in consequence of the miserable confusions
of the time, been tempted to look out for the true
church elsewhere... ‘They have been tempted to do
so; but yet, when they, proceeded on, and came
towards, or upon, or over the , border, they havey
one by one—though separate from each other—felt,
as it were, a nameless feeling within them, for-
bidding and stopping them. » Now, did this take
place in the instance of one person only, one might
impute it to some accident of his particular condi«
tion: he has been imbued with early prejudice, or
he has dear ties of friends, relatives, or wdmirers,
to detain him; or he has committed himself to
stated.ents which he is ashamed to falsify by his
actions; or he shrinks from throwing himself vpos
strangers, and the foslorn, dreary life which wil
be theconsequence. Doubtless there are ten thous
sand bad motives to hinder our concurrence in the
motions of grace. But I think the persons in
question, viewed as a whole, have been too honest,
tvo free in mind, too independent and fearless, too
distressed and unhappy, too acute and far-sceing,
too religious, too enthusiastic, too many—to admit
of this account of their common feeling. ‘This
feeling has been sometimes singular and distine-
tive, and of 80 cogent an influence, that where in-
dividuals Aave lett us, the step has commonly been
taken in a moment of excitement, or of weakness,
or in a time of sickness, or under misapprehension,
or with manifest eccentricity of conduct, or in de-
liberate disvbedience to the feeling in question, 2s
if that feeling were a human charm, or spell of
earth, which it was a duty to break at all risks,
and which, if onee broken, others would break
also,”
_which they now came to exchange for the poor
sincé ‘ils first foundation, and the fifieenth was |
‘which was hardly ever visited except by some}
|| attbe head of philosophical schools, And was :
of Citeaux, Thirty men entered, and com-
ing to Stephen, begged to be admitted as novi-
ces, There were amongst them men of mid-
dle age, who had shone in the councils of’
princes, and who had hitherto worn nothing
Jess thai the forred mantle or the steel hauberk i
cowl of St, Benedict; but the greater part were f
young men of noble features and deportment ; :
and well they might, for they were of the no- i
blest houses in Burgundy.’ The.whole troop y
was led by one young man of about twenty- i
three years of age, and of exceeding beauty.
He was rather tall in stature ; his’ neck was : :
long and delicate, and his whole frame very |
thin, like that of a man in weak health. His i
hair was of a light color, and his complexion t
was fair; but with all iis paleness, there was ee
a virgin bloom spread over the thio skin of his’
cheek. His fave was such as. had attracted
the looks of many. high-born ladies ; but an
angelic purity and a dovelike simplicity shone
forth ia his eyes, which showed at once the
serene chasteness of his soul. This young |
man was he who was afterwards St. Bernard,
and who now came to be the disciple of Ste-
phen, bringing with him’ four brothers and a
number of young ooblemery to fill the empty ’’
cells of the navices of Citeaux. “Well was it
worth toiling all the cold, dreary night of ex-
pectation, if'such was, to be the ultimate result
of the fishing.” ‘On’ that day,’, says an old &
monk, ‘the whole house seemed to have heard
the Ifoly Spirit responding to them in these
words—Sing..O barren, thou that didst not
bear; break forth into singing, and ery aloud,
thou that didst not travail with child, for more ..
are the childrey of the desolate, than the chil-
dren of the married wife.’ ” . .
Ile then pitts the previous life of this great .
sainis 4
SeDaring the-whole time of the: desolation» ”!
of Citeaux, andie internal conflictaof itwabs.. -
bot, the Holy Spirit had been silently leading? 4 --..- =~’
Bernard, and presyeving him from the world, ‘
that he’might come pure and undefiled to this
poor abbeys %) gs t have
* + *
s . ee :* * ‘ i
It.was not without a. painful stroggle that:
he had been brought there, as indeed such is ;
God's way ; all’, great saints have had great: |
tials, for there can be no crucifixion without’:
pain.: After the death of his mother, whom
he loved tenderly, and to whom Godentrusted + a OEE
the forming of bts holy mind, he began to think |! est
seriously of beedming a monk 1
ied in his. youth, ‘yet her. sacre:
haunted him even in manhood, and she is even
said to have appeared to him to beckon him on. :
to the cluisier, . ‘Phe beauty of his person and. :
the corrupt manners ‘of the age, more than
once al this critical time put his purity in dan-
ger, and thougi{. through the grace of the Holy
Spirit, he walked through the midst of the
burning fire ever without feeling it, yet he de.
termined to shun a world where! wickedness +
so abounded.)
* 3 * * *
Ilis first step was, however, comparatively
easy, but much remained to be done before
Stephen received his illustrious disciple within
the walls of Citeaux.’ Bernard had gained u |
victory over the concupiscence of the flesh, and »
over the pride of high birth 5: military glory,
which was the passion of all bis brothers, had
no attractions for him, but he had still a weak »
side on which the tempter could aseail hita, «
and this was the pride of intelleet. No-one!
can read his writings without seeing the won. \!
deriul genius which they show; the. same ||
burning eloquence which made him a Christian» >
preacher, if it had been heard in Kings’ courts. \
would have carried all before it; and the acutes
ness with which he at once sees intu deep
metaphysical questions, would have put. bin»
£2
ey
all this to go tov? Was bis longue to remain
silentin Cistercian dreariness? and his acute~
ness to be buried with rude and unlearned»
monks? €8, 80 it was; all was to be sacri-
ficed, beauty of form, noble birth, quickness -
and depth of thought; brilliant eloquence ; all
were to be nailed to the cross, and he was to’
become a common labourer, planter, reaper,
ploughman, and if so be, hedger and ducher,’
wrapped in acoarse cow}, with low-born men<
for his fellows, >We have not. yet spoken of *
one tie, perhaps the strongest of all, and the!
one which cost the most pain-to break, and (
that was the love of friends and ‘relations, ©:
The slightest acquaintance with hig life wit}
show the painful struggle of his affections, *
even when he was abbot of Clairvaux; haw .
nee Te
——~ Pal
, 4 ‘